We found this home in the second story of a tenement house on East Ninth Street. We entered through the kitchen, and in the one other room, living room, sleeping room and nursery combined, was the man's wife with their three daughters. The youngest was in bed, the older one was reading, while the oldest was entertaining friends--two or three girls and a young man, her "steady company." The room was crowded, but clean, and my Fifth Avenue friend sat down and looked at the novel picture before him. The young people chatted about the recent ball of the Bolsover Sick and Benefit Association, of clothes and beaux; very much as they talk of balls and clothes and beaux on Fifth Avenue. Refreshments were offered us, and then the father told of his good fortune in having been elected secretary of his lodge. Every one was delighted; but the younger daughter, this little Jewish child, said: "Papa, why don't you run for president, once?" He replied: "My child, don't you knows that I gets paid for being secretary, and gets nothing for being president?" Upon which, this child of the Ghetto faced her father half angrily, crying: "Why, papa, don't you know that honour is more than money?" We left the tenement house together and walked across to Broadway, all along that gaily lighted thoroughfare, illy named the White Way. Theatres and concert halls were being emptied, and we were jostled by the crowds. My friend spoke never a word until we reached the marble steps of his home. Then, pressing my hand, he said, with almost a tenderness in his voice: "Honour is more than money." XXI FROM LAKE SKUTARI TO LAKE CHAUTAUQUA When I told a group of friends that I was to speak to the Albanians of Jamestown, N.Y., one of them, who knew both her history and her geography uncommonly well, said, questioningly: "Albanians? Are those the people with white hair and pink eyes?" Then, realizing that Albinos and Albanians are not identical, and being genuine enough not to conceal her ignorance, she asked: "Do you mean the people from Albany, N.Y.?" She may be pardoned for not knowing who the Albanians are, although they are one of the oldest European peoples, who have kept a corner of that continent turbulent, in the attempt to wrest from their master, the Turk, the right of political existence. One cannot say that the Balkan would have been a peaceful nook had it not been for these Ghegs and Tosks, as the two main divisions of the Albanians are called; but certainly, the history of Turk, Greek and Southern Slav would have been different had it not been for the Albanians' clinging tenaciously to ancient rights, and their many struggles against continuous oppression. [Illustration: ALBANIANS ON LAKE SKUTARI The most savage of the Balkan people. ON LAKE CHAUTAUQUA The newest of the Pilgrims, attending the Congregational church, Jamestown, N. Y.]