THE

HE first time I visited Albania I went with my brother, who was one of a party of officials sent to investigate a recent uprising. As usual, the cause had been taxes, discussed with rifles and knives, and as usual the outcome had been none too favorable to Turkey. Now, to save her face, she was resorting to that commonest form of useless governmental activity, "investigating."

After the diplomatic work was over, the intention of our party had been to push on through central and northern Albania, Montenegro, Serbia, and Bulgaria, and so back to Constantinople by way of the Black Sea. Unfortunately, one of our members, a slim, fascinating Frenchman, had brought with him an unnecessary amount of French gallantry. The Albanians took his gallantry too seriously, and it cost him his life, although officially he died of typhoid fever. Our mission was to pacify, not to seek further trouble. The incident dampened the spirit of our party.

"One must have a strong stomach to stand the diet of Albania," one of the Greeks remarked, with a grimace. "Mine has always been delicate, and I have tasted enough of this savage country to give me indigestion for the rest of my life. I go no farther."

The rest sided with him. They were pampered city men, and the coarse food, the unavoidable hardships, the constant traveling on muleback along trails that made them dizzy, coupled with the risk of losing their lives should they chance to offend the untutored Albanian sense of propriety, were not to their taste. But for my brother the Balkans possessed an allurement he could never resist. As for me, I was young and full of enthusiasm; my world had been made up of books, and

the mystery of the Balkans attracted me beyond the desire for comfort.

"Oh, do let us go on!" I urged my brother, who needed no urging. Thus our party of many dwindled down to us two and one zaptieh, a southern Albanian and a good fellow, who knew how to control the muleteers, and how to obtain what we needed from the Albanians without getting into fights with them. Moreover, he had a good voice, and enlivened our long rides with weird Albanian songs, which seemed to invoke the spirits of that wild country. The rest of the military escort we dismissed; for, as my brother remarked, it added to our danger, not to our safety, since one could see the hair of the Albanians rise, like the ruffs of angry dogs, at sight of the Turkish soldiery.

Albania is not only the oldest child of the Balkans, but the oldest country in Europe. It is a part of ancient Illyria, and has survived the attacks of the Romans and the Huns, the Macedonians and the Greeks, the Serbs and the Bulgars, and seems likely to survive those of the Turks. Yet it lacks the two great fundamentals that unite a people and make a nation, a common language and a common religion. Capable of resisting aggression and of fighting fiercely and stubbornly, the Albanians have never been able, despite their great pride in, and love for, their country, to put aside their family, their tribal, and their religious feuds in order to form a homogeneous whole.

We found the southern part Greek in speech, Greek in looks, and Greek in faith. When we entered the mountainous region that, after several days of arduous muleback riding, brought us to the plateaus of central Albania, most of the people were Mohammedans, though only the officials,