who came from Constantinople, spoke Turkish. Turkish, indeed, was little known among the Albanians except among those who had worked in Constantinople as body-guards, a career for which their faithfulness and bravery eminently fitted them.

These Mohammedans of central Albania were despised alike by Turks and by Christians. The fact that they had turned Mohammedans to save their lands and to keep on the right side of the conqueror made them an object of contempt to the Turks and of hatred to the Christians. It is true that this happened in the fifteenth century, but in the Balkans they have long memories. Being in the majority here, however, they are a powerful faction, and in addition to their periodic risings against the Turks they have fierce religious feuds with the orthodox Albanians of the south, and with the Albanians of the north, who have become Catholics through Austrian and Italian influences. Though religion sits lightly on the shoulders of these wild mountaineers, in its various forms it has helped to fashion those differences which have impeded the welding of the country. into a homogeneous whole. The only certain bond between the various tribes is their excessive pride in Albania and their lust for blood. Every rock, every stronghold, every mountain has its history, and that history is written in blood.

Yet they compel one's sympathy, and they compelled my admiration. If at times they exasperated me with their boastful ness of being the greatest country in the world because they were the greatest fighters, if I became weary of hearing how once, under Iskander Bey, they had held millions of Turks at bay, I had to remember that they were only children in civilization, and that greatness, from their point of view, consisted in the capacity to shed blood.

After we left the south, we did not take our own mules with us. We reasoned that the best way to procure guides for the interior would be to hire mules with their muleteers. Our reasoning proved false. To begin with, we discovered that

the muleteers knew only the main-traveled roads, if one may thus dignify the mountain trails which connected one part of the country with another; and in addition, since all our muleteers "owed blood," they had to leave us at most inconvenient spots, since their feuds had not at all been arranged with a view to the convenience of travelers.

During the first three days of our journey we encountered little that was interesting beyond our unexpected changing of muleteers. The villages we passed through, whether large or small, were squalid and miserable. The contrast between the grandeur of the landscape and the human misery was overpowering. Amid these wonderful, lofty heights one expected to see wonderful edifices and men and women of intellect; and one saw only huts, women bowed under the burden of heavy work, and men, armed to the teeth, ready to take life. At times it seemed to me that I could actually hear Albania moaning, and begging for peace, that she might end this existence of always tearing to pieces. An unfathomable sadness settled upon me. My smallness, my incapacity to help, crushed my spirit. I heard Albania call, and all I could answer was: "No, Albania, I cannot help you. No one can help you, because you are the key to Constantinople from the Adriatic; and all the great Christian nations, pretending they are trying to preserve the balance of power, have their greedy eyes fixed on the Golden Horn and the terrible hegemony of Europe, to which everything else must be sacrificed. Bleed on, Albania; for through your blood each one hopes to wade to Constantinople."

At one of the larger villages where we spent the night our trouble with guides came to an end. We always made it a point, while our tents were being pitched, to call on the religious head of the community, whether a Mussulman, a Catholic, or an Orthodox. We were always courteously received, and since we spoke their respective languages, we came into direct communication with them. As a rule they were men of simple minds, and