old water-mill, two fondas, and privately-owned Ford car which a shady central plaza sloping the island island possesses. The down to the sea. A few owner, wishing to make the kilometres beyond it is a smaller most of the occasion, insisted and more remote village, San on taking us as far as the Carlos. Here the road ends road permitted him to go. abruptly. Nothing could be We saw this sporting indimore tranquil, more completely vidual again at night, lolling primitive, isolated, and for- in a box at the cinema, no gotten. Even the commotion doubt with the one and only once caused by the working of courtesan. He was a young a copper-mine, the venture of man, rather flashily dressed, an English company, whose but a sad sight to look upon, derelict plant decays by the for his head had been shaved roadside between the two vil- all over as if he had recently lages, is a thing of the past. suffered from an unpleasant The mine has been abandoned, skin disease. The two girls its English manager is gone, who danced and sang in turn, and only its deserted buildings after the pictures-their names and rusty machinery remain were Angelita Rubio and Marie to bear witness to the un- Benito,-were staying in our quenchable optimism of the fonda, and Teresita, with her English investor. The church usual skill, picked them up of St Carlos, a plain white- when we got home after the washed building, approached performance. We went up to through a charming loggia, is their room, and sat under the decorated with a childlike stars on their their deep square naïveté in a queer, rustic, balcony, singing songs and Baroque style. As in all the drinking dubious crême-deisland churches, the painted menthe. There were several wooden effigies of the saints vaguely theatrical males atwait patiently for their annual tached to them-they, perhaps, outings on either side of the were playing at the rival cinema, aisle. For those who wish to hide themselves amid beautiful surroundings, among an unspoilt peasantry, I can think of no hamlet more suitable for their purpose than San Carlos, where the roadway ends at the church door. It ends, I suppose, as roads should end: because it has nowhere else to go to. We should never have chanced on it had we not, after missing the diligence in Ibiza, hired for our journey the one and the whole party were gay and lively as children, and almost as pleased with Teresita's underclothes as little Margarita had been. They had the true strolling player's gift of making themselves at home, and I can remember few happier evenings. Teresita noted down the airs of many of their songs in her patent musical shorthand, and when she plays or sings the tunes we heard that evening, the Since the consul couldn't help us, we decided to get into a diligence and see what happened. No one could tell us where or when the diligence started. Apparently it went when it felt inclined. Luckily, quite by chance, we found one on the point of departure, and were soon bumping down the highway towards the tiny port of San Antonio. For eight miles or so the road passed between low red hills covered with pines, with well-cultivated fields upon their slopes, and white houses with flat roofs dotted here and there about them; and then suddenly the long narrow inlet, a streak of sapphire amidst the surrounding red and green, became visible, and a few minutes later the car entered the village, and drew up, panting, before the fonda La Esmeralda. It does not take long to explore San Antonio. By the waterside is a little square, planted with acacia-trees, which forms the focus of the village life. In the centre is a fortified church, whitewashed and dazzling in the sunlight. There are perhaps two hundred little houses in the village, arranged in clean but narrow streets cut ting one another at right angles. Beyond the confines of the village is a bare and stony stretch of land, which separates it from the sea-shore. Below is the long narrow harbour. Half-way between the village and the sea a stone jetty stretches out an arm into the harbour to protect the group of faluchas which lie at anchor. The whole scene is enchanting, and in the heat of the afternoon we could not bring ourselves to leave it to go in search of the cave church of Santa Ines, or to look for Moorish pottery, which, it is said, can be picked up by the armful in its neighbourhood. Instead, we walked along by the creek to the cliff's edge, and sat looking across the island-studded Mediterranean, watching the sun sparkling on the white foam and on the dancing waves. When we returned to the fonda, our innkeeper, his wife, his mother, and his handsome son and daughters showed us their best bedroom, and very clean and comfortable it looked. They also gave us an excellent luncheon, though the wine they offered us to wash it down with was dark and acid, and could not be made drinkable even with a large admixture of water. Santa Eulalia, on the eastern side of the island, is a slightly larger village than San Antonio, and is generally considered the more beautiful of the two. It has an interesting, well-situated, fortified church and priest's house, a real brook full of water all the year round, an man, rather flashily dressed. but a sad sight to look upon. for his head had been shaved all over as if he had recently suffered from an unpleasant skin disease. The two girl who danced and sang in tum after the pictures-their name were Angelita Rubio and Mari Benito,-were staying in ou fonda, and Teresita, with her usual skill, picked them up when we got performance. home after the W old water-mill, two fondas, and privately-owned Ford car which We went up to their room, and sat under the stars on their deep square balcony, singing songs and drinking dubious crême-de menthe. There were sever vaguely theatrical males at tached to them—they, perhaps were playing at the rival cinema, and the whole party were gay and lively as children, and almost as pleased with Teresita's underclothes as little Mar garita had been. They had the true strolling player's gift of making themselves at home, and I can remember few happier evenings. Teresita noted down the airs of many of their songs in her paten! musical shorthand, and when she plays or sings the tunes we heard that evening, the whole scene comes back to me-the blaze of stars overhead, the lapping of the sea against the quayside, the groaning of the faluchas jostling one another in the harbour, and the vivacious faces of the blonde Angelita and the dark-haired Marie as they sang, argued, and chattered through the Southern night. All good things have a way of coming to too quick an end, and our visit to Ibiza was no exception. Almost, however, the fates intervened to keep us where we were. When the time came for us to depart, our old friend the Canalejas, due to arrive at 8 P.M., was not, we discovered, expected to arrive before two in the morning. What more natural than that we should while away the hours by taking a nap? We did so, and I remember no more till Teresita came into my room, shook me, and said, "Isn't that the siren ? We looked out of the window. There, indeed, was the Canalejas on the very point of departure. Señor Torres Tur arrived, much agitated. We had five minutes, he said. Telling Teresita to pack, I threw my clothes on, rushed downstairs, and paid the bill. Friendly bandits arrived from nowhere in great agitation. They flew upstairs, seized our luggage, and descended. We followed, breathless, and, waving our farewells, pursued them to the ship. Too late; the gangway was already up, and the donkey-engine was rattling. But no, all was not lost. Telling us to follow, the bandits raced to the nearest steps, and jumped into a small boat. We jumped too. Only at that moment did I feel grateful to the Canalejas for being leisurely in her movements. We reached her without much difficulty-before doing so the bandits extracted fifteen pesetas from me-and seized the rope-ladder which had been let down for us. As a delicate attention, great puffs of steam were emitted from the internals of the ship to make our climb as uncomfortable as possible. At last we reached the deck. The bandits followed with our bags, threw them over the gunwale, and disappeared. We were on board; that was about all we could say. I thought regretfully of my tie, my red-leather slippers, Teresita's Kodak, and all the other treasures which in our haste had been left behind. But most regretfully of all I thought of Ibiza. Why had we left it? What had we been thinking of? The yellow eye of the lighthouse winked knowingly, and without a trace of sympathy. The steward, with the same four days' beard, the same dirty canvas coat, and almost toothless mouth, openly derided us. The dream was all over, nothing left of it but a memory, the sweets of which are not unmixed with the bitterness of regret. Partir c'est mourir un peu! THE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN IVAN KORAVITCH. LATE OF THE IMPERIAL RUSSIAN ARMY. BY VICTOR L. WHITECHURCH. I. HOW THE CAPTAIN ACTED AS A JUDGE. CAPTAIN IVAN KORAVITCH, late of the Imperial Russian Army, took another of the little brown cigarettes from the box beside him, struck a match with a fine gesture, held it aloft for a moment or two while he made some remark in the general conversation, lit the cigarette with lightning rapidity, gave his characteristic twist of the right side of his dark, carefully waxed moustache, and broke into a laugh. A tall, upright, soldierly looking fellow was Captain Ivan Koravitch, with coal-black hair, dark eyes that flashed excitedly at times, intelligent countenance, and a tout ensemble which was the exemplification of intense alertness. His gestures, even for a foreigner, were wonderful: hands, head, eyes-even his whole bodyaccompanying his speech with irresistible descriptive emphasis. He spoke English well and rapidly, sometimes, however, bringing in curious expressions and intonations which, nevertheless, never seemed to be out of harmony. "Yes, I tell you. Last week I paid a visit to your English law courts. Splendid! The judge, arrayed in his gown and wig, sat so! Very fine!” In a moment he had enacted the part of that judge. Leaning forward over the table, one hand grasping an imaginary pen, the other held to his puckered forehead, one actually saw that bewigged functionary engaged in listening to conflicting evidence. "The prisoner, in a big box, was very tired. He had been standing for a long time." Here he sprang from his seat and leaned over the back of his arm-chair, letting his hands hang loosely down: the very picture of weariness. "The advocate, in a black gown "-and he shook out his coat,-"was asking many questions of a witness who was very confused, trying to make him say 'No' when he meant 'Yes.' Splendid!" "Ah!" and he threw himself back in his chair and relighted his cigarette. "But it was much too long-like all your English law. Why have you not a code of laws as we had in Russia before the Revolution ? Yes ? Everything was contained in a book-so big!" A rapid manipulation of his |