Bangkok, Siam, January, 1917. Siam, an independent kingdom. As a matter of fact, "protected" very sternly and thoroughly by Great Britain and France, so that its "independence" would about cover an oyster cracker. However, it is doubtless protected "benevolently" for what protectorate is anything but benevolent? The more rigorous the protectorate, the more benevolent its character. The Peace Conference seems to have given us a new word in "mandatory." We do not know as yet what adjective will be found to qualify mandatory, but it will doubtless be fitting and indicative of idealism--of sorts. Therefore, all will be well. Our suspicions will be lulled. It is high time that a substitute was found for "benevolent protectorate." The particular form of benevolence noted in Siam was the total inability of the Siamese to exclude British opium. They are allowed, by the benevolent powers, to impose an import duty on all commodities imported--except opium. That is free. The treaty between Siam and Great Britain in 1856 says so. We rather fancy that Great Britain had more to say about this in 1856 than Siam, but maybe not. Anyway, poor old Siam, an independent kingdom, is bound to receive as much opium as may be imported, and is quite powerless, by the terms of this treaty, to enact laws to exclude it. In the last year or two, the Government of Siam has been obliged to put the opium traffic under government control, in order to minimize the worst evils in connection with it, although to restrict and regulate an evil is a poor substitute for the ability to abolish it. All this, you will see, is rather tough on the Siamese, but good business for the British Empire. However, opium is not bad for one. There are plenty of people to testify to that. We Americans have a curious notion to the contrary, but then, we Americans are so hysterical and gullible. An Englishman whom we met in Bangkok told me that opium was not only harmless, but actually beneficial. He said once that he was traveling through the jungle, into the interior somewhere. He had quite a train of coolies with him, carrying himself and his baggage through the dense forests. By nightfall, he found his coolies terribly exhausted with the long march. But he was in a hurry to press on, so, as he expressed it, he gave each of them a "shot" of morphia, whereupon all traces of fatigue vanished. They forgot the pain of their weary arms and legs and were thus enabled to walk all night. He said that morphia certainly knocked a lot of work out of men--you might say, doubled their capacity for endurance.