savoir faire, and charming goodhumour. To Mustapha modern education is the upset of all the old sanctions and loyalties, the creation of a world of rude laughter instead of gentlemanly quietness and respect for age. One day we saw this keenly brought home to him. He would allow the children, who inevitably gathered round our tents at every village, what he considered sufficient time to satisfy their curiosity. He would then cry to them, "Clear out, little ones," and if any still ventured to stay - well, the rapid action of reaching for a stone is, by a merciful provision

of Allah, as effective with children as with Turkish sheepdogs. At one village where we halted the new school was already in full swing. The usual crowd of children gathered round our tents; Mustapha allowed them the usual period of immunity, then came his shout, and the reach for a stone. All fled, except one small figure. The two faced each other, the one blushing but defiant, Mustapha astonished and hurt that it should be a girl. For a minute they stood; then the stone dropped from his fingers, and he turned back to the tents, beaten.

The encounter between Mustapha and the small maiden does not need much in the way of commentary. The most obvious symbol of the new Turkey to the peasants of every village is the school-house rising, or already completed, in their midst. It is usually built more solidly than the surrounding houses, of unhewn stone and mud, with a corrugated iron roof, and the most prominent site in the village is chosen for it, so that the traveller finds a Harrow-on-the-Hill at nearly every resting-place. The school building dominates the village mosque, just as education is to supersede the Mohammedan religion, which, at least outwardly, is moribund even in the villages. The tekes, on the other hand, still have consider

able influence; superstition is no weaker in Turkey than in more advanced European countries. The voice of the Hoja, or village priest, falls on deaf ears as he chants his call to prayer from the mosque, though sometimes an old man, in the midst of bargaining with you over a rug, will politely beg to be excused, kneel on the rug and carry out his devotions, and then return to the business in hand.

'Hoja' means 'teacher,' and it used to be the Hoja's task to train a few village pupils to read. These teachers' were formerly exempt from military service, until this privilege was lately brought in question and the holders of it subjected to examination. Those who satisfied the examiners that they could read were to retain the privilege. There is a story of an English priest in the thirteenth century, whose bishop set before him the opening words of the Canon of the Mass, "Te igitur, clementissime Pater," &c., and asked what governed 'Te.' After some consideration the priest replied, with more respect to piety than grammar, Pater, quia omnia regit." The examination of the Hojas must in many cases have gone on similar lines. They knew much of the Koran by heart, but the secular examiners unsympathetically set passages from the newspapers, where many were found to be completely at sea.

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Village education is therefore no longer in the hands of the religious authorities. As yet few villages have their secular schoolmaster, though provision is rapidly being made. At Konia, for example, where St Paul once taught, there are several thousand students in training for the task. Alongside of this movement proceeds the emancipation of women. The streets are full of schoolgirls in djibbabs, carrying their satchels in as debonair and independent a manner as if they had never heard that women have no souls, and can only win salvation through their husbands. Yet their mothers took the veil at twelve. Even in one of the remote townships we saw a procession of school children march down the street, chanting a nationalist song and headed by a boy and grown girl,

while the peasants in from the country stared at the outrageous immodesty.

There is a significant corner in Konia where stands the building that was erected as the Sultan's emergency palace during the war. Now it is converted into a boys' school. Outside stands a statue of Mustapha Kemal, one of the first human effigies to be erected in Turkey, in defiance of religious opinion. 'Mustapha Kemal' and 'Angora' dominate men's minds in the villages as the school-house dominates their homes, and this in a land of startlingly mixed nationality, where one village is Turkish, the inhabitants of a second are Kurds from the borders of Persia, those of a third Tartars from the south of Russia, while a fourth village will have been 'exchanged'en bloc from Macedonia. Six hours' ride will introduce you to as many races. All alike are directly linked up to the central government; each village has its hereditary headman, who is connected through Assistant District Commissioner and District Commissioner to the governor of the province. The headman knows he will be held responsible for the sins of his village, whether it be the theft of a pair of boots, or murder, or even inhospitality to those who carried a 'big letter' from the great ones. If the shrewd suspected that written stones were a clue to hidden gold, and our inquiries were only met with glum shakes of the head, our Mustapha held

a master-key to the secrets of the heart. Come," he would say, turning to us with the gesture of one delivering an ultimatum, "let us go to Angora."

Europeanisation is the keynote of the policy of the new Turkey. The Konia racecourse was opened this year and a race meeting held the first time probably for fifteen hundred years or more. Hassan the cook thought that we ought to attend, and came to the 'Station Hotel' the previous evening to inform us that the races were to begin at eleven "alla Franca," though as the connexion between Moslem and European time appears to be fixed by no ascertainable rule, that did not signify much.

At 8.30 A.M. on the following morning Hassan burst into my room. We must hasten to the Square and there meet him; the races were to begin at 9.30. We hurried through breakfast and out of the hotel. There was a hot wind blowing up clouds of vile dust, so we stepped into the nearest cab, which was inevitably driven by the son of the bearded one of Konia, who does not believe in letting a good thing out of the family. We picked Hassan up and arrived at the racecourse at 9.35. It was gaily decorated with the national colours, red and white; the star and cres

cent flapped in the wind at innumerable points. There were a few small stands and a fair crowd of people-the men in the stands or lying on the grass, the women clustered like crows on the flat roofs of the mud houses which ran along one side of the course. We bought tickets and expectantly took our seats in a crowded stand raked by the wind and dust. At 12.30 the first event of any importance took place; the man next Hassan called the water - carrier, and after bargaining unsuccessfully for some minutes over the price of a glass of water, decided that he was not thirsty after all. An hour later a contingent of the Turkish army shambled into sight in double file, each file holding hands. This seemed to be the signal for an inspection of tickets, as a result of which all the occupants of the stand, except ourselves and half a dozen others, were turned out. At two o'clock the first horse came on the scene. Others followed, and it appeared that all the jockeys were tastefully fitted out in identical colours, red and white. An hour later a race started. Quite a number of the crowd sat up to watch. Then they turned over on their other side to resume their interrupted chaffering, the real business of the day.

MOSQUITOES nowadays are amongst the plagues of an English summer. Except in two or three places, nothing is done to control them; and this is the more remarkable because so much is done with conspicuous success in other countries. An account of what might be done in any of our towns or suburbs may be of interest. The first step is to obtain a systematic and scientific record of the different species of mosquito found in the locality, and of their breeding-grounds. Of the twentyfive species found in the United Kingdom, some are rare, and only seven are really important from a 'nuisance' point of view. One breeds exclusively in holes in trees; another breeds in woodland pools, especially in pine-woods; another lays its eggs most frequently in water-barrels, tanks, and empty tins; another selects the shallow margins of weedy waters; another breeds in stagnant salt water; another in fresh, brackish, or salt water; and the seventh breeds in swamps and ditches, and often in abominably foul water.

Until a mosquito has been identified, one does not know where to look for its breedingplaces. Two instances of this will suffice. At a Children's Hospital, which was opened a

few years ago for 'open air' treatment, it was found that the children were so bitten outof-doors that the cure could not be carried out. The hospital authorities screened all the water-butts and garden tanks with no effect. At last they sought expert advice. The mosquito was identified, with the immediate result that a pinewood, hitherto unsuspected, was searched for breeding-grounds. Several small ponds, all swarming with mosquito larvæ, were found. They were filled in, and since then the children have had the openair treatment, by night as well as by day, without further annoyance. In the second instance, a large Government institution on the south coast was suddenly infested by myriads of mosquitoes. The authorities examined all the fresh water within miles, but found nothing. Eventually, on expert advice, the mosquito was identified, with the result that stagnant salt water close to the building was searched, and found to be literally alive with larvæ. It was put under control, and the nuisance thereupon abated.

When the mosquito is identified, its range of flight is known. It varies from only a few hundred yards for one species to three miles for another.