The old man came each morning for his tea and cigarettes, and the idea struck me one day to ask him if any of his Turkish acquaintances would like to purchase a Mauser pistol I possessed. He inspected the weapon, and taken with its neat appearance, promised to do his best. In the afternoon he returned, and apologising for coming at an unseemly hour, said that he had not succeeded in finding a purchaser for my pistol, but had discovered a new friend for me. He went on to describe how he had enlarged upon my merits and knowledge of Persian and French to the mudir, or director of the Military School of Sulaimania, an affair run by the Government, and attended by the sons of the Turkish officials in Sulaimania and of a few of the Kurds employed in the local government. This individual Mustafa Beg was extremely anxious for me to meet, and urged me to accompany him to the school, where the mudir lived all day, although lessons ceased at 11 A.M. in this warm weather, having commenced at 6 A.M. The school was upon the outskirts of the town, in a high enclosure. Half of this formed a pretty garden, and the rest a playground, while the building itself was but a row of neglected rooms along one wall. The European style of culture and education supposed to be imparted to the pupils was evidenced by a high horizontal bar, the sign of gymnastic exercises never performed. Over the doors were the signs “Birinji,” “Ekinji,” “Uchinji,” “Durdinji,” and “Baishinji”--first, second, third, fourth, and fifth classes. At the edge of the garden strip was a large tank of clear water, and above it a canopy of boughs had been made, to form what the Kurds call a “chardaq.”