drapery of Kurdish stuffs, over which the occupants stretch themselves in cross-legged carelessness.

One or perhaps two large rooms are all in all for them, where they sit, sleep, cook and eat. The Codja-Bashi, with such crude belongings, never seems to think anything is lacking. On the wall, if we charitably term it so, or, rather on a partial partition, are saddles, bridles, guns, the entire paraphernalia of the field and chase, filling in the space between a sort of fence that separates the living apartments from the vast stable. The equine favorites are nearest the family. Like all Orientals and some Occidentals, the horse ranks highest in esteem as a domestic animal. Farther on are donkeys, wallowing buffaloes, cows and sheep, with chickens scattered between them.

As we step in the house we are received with a profusion of salaams. We at once find ourselves surrounded by a large Turkish family-grandfathers, fathers, uncles, brothers, cousins and numerous children, all thronged in the large room-dressed in gay and odd colors, sitting cross-legged around the bright blazing fire, and warming their lazy bones. But we fail to see in the great gathering any women, except the old grandmother, the senior wife of the Codja-Bashi, who is curiously dressed, or rather enveloped in a woolen garment from head to foot, and sits in a dark corner. The young Turks here must surely have some wives. In such a large family, doubtless, there must be some young girls, too. But where are they? All out of sight. As their religion does not allow women to appear

in the presence of men, 110 matter how intimately acquainted, they are all driven into seclusion-a very bad custom, indeed! The more religious a Moslem, the more rigid the privacy of woman is enforced, and as a rule the country people in this neighborhood are the most zealous of religious fanatics.

I sometimes think if one of these over-pious Mohammedan Turks, by chance, should be dropped into an American city, and should see the young sons and daughters of Uncle Sam walking arm in arm in the full swing of social liberties, he would be shocked to death.

At the side opposite the darkest chimney corner, where the grandmother is, sits the Codja Bashi, stretching his feet forth and smoking his long pipe, which is so extremely long that it extends from the corner to the centre of the room. In the course of our conversation the old man remarked concerning his residence, that his great, great, great (that great, however, goes about half a mile), father was born and died on the same spot where he now lives; and that he is about seventy-five years of age, but never has been a dozen saats, or hours, journey from his home. This is the case with many a Turkish peasant-many, indeed, who never set foot outside their farms. Our talk is interrupted, however, by the lusty shouting and fighting of the young boys. Then our host is obliged to go out among them with his ineffectual cries of anger and practical lectures. Before his return to us, however, he is called to another part of the house to

quell a still louder tumult-ten or fifteen dogs are having a lively concert of howling and barking, so our good old Codja-Bashi is now on duty to establish peace among the dogs. On his return, let us ask him why he doesn't kill those useless brutes and get rid of them once for all? He will answer: "It is a great sin against Allah (God), and a violation of our laws." So numerous are the dogs, especially in the country, that when a Turk was once asked the population of his village, he answered: "About one thousand and sixty dogs and nine hundred people."

When the dinner time comes, all the males of the house return from the field, cleanly wash their hands and faces, and sit cross-legged on the floor in a circle around the sufra or low table. There are no knives, forks or plates. The bread is baked on the hearth on hot stones. In the centre is placed a common bowl of hot soup. So large was the bowl that I was about getting ready for a plunge bath, but owing to the fact that I was not a good swimmer, I feared that I might get drowned. When ready for the fray, the Codja-Bashi gave them the signal to commence. Immediately all the spoons enter the same unfortunate bowl. The soup was followed with a dish meat. Each rolled up their long, flowing sleeves, and with bare fingers and unbounded appetites separated the flesh from the bones, laying the latter on the platter. Then came the unfailing accompaniment, yoghurt, or coagulated buttermilk, a highly prized species of refreshment. After a succession of

dishes, the ceremony of eating was ended with washing hands.

Codja-Bashi is the greatest scientific authority in the neighborhood. The fact that he is the oldest dignitary of the village, naturally makes him the authority on everything. One night the conversation of the family was interrupted by a bright flash of lightning, accompanied by heavy thunder. One of the children of the household thereupon asked the "grandfather" the cause of the bright light and the great noise; then the wise old patriarch grasped his sweeping beard and in a dignified tone gave this explanation.

"Up in the clouds," said he, "our prophet Mohammed and Christ went into business together, the profits to be divided equally. One night when Christ was deep asleep, Mohammed stole all the profits and left the place. In the morning Christ discovered the treachery of Mohammed, pursued him in his golden chariot, and so the noise of the pursuer and the rumble of the chariots is what makes the thunder. The lightning is the bullets of fire which Christ shot at his treacherous partner. At length poor Mohammed, finding escape in mid air impossible, suddenly plunged into a deep body of great waters, where he was quickly followed by Christ, and the terrible force of their conflict caused the waters to splash and pour down upon the earth, thus causing the rain."

This certainly beats all modern investigation. Alas! this is all his scientific knowledge. It is impossible to pound philosophical ideas into the empty heads of the Turkish

villagers, because all intellectual studies are based upon traditions, which follow from generation to generation, and each "remarkable" son inherits the traditional knowledge of his great-great-grandfather. The odd part of it all is, that he is absolutely sure of the accuracy and truthfulness of his would-be knowledge, thus failing utterly to discriminate between reality and fiction, fact and fancy. The very idea of the word science does not seem to have entered into his empty head. To talk to these men of science is like talking to a blind man of colors.

The primary step to any sort of attainment is the sense and self-consciousness of ignorance. Do you want salvation? First find out that you are lost. Do you desire knowledge? First realize that you are ignorant, and thus come to the logical conclusion that you do need knowledge. Any individual who does not know that he does not know, shall never know any more than the nothing he does know. How sad to see in such an age of enlightenment midnight darkness settled down upon so many people!

Now let us watch how Codja-Bashi works in the field. He has no set time to commence his harvest; he takes his time, as there is not much fear of rain during the harvest season. As soon as the stalk of the crops are yellow or sufficiently matured, they are cut by hand with scythes and are piled up in the open field like American stacks.

In due season the piles are removed from various quarters near the village to the threshing floor, by large arabahs, or carts, drawn by buffaloes and heifers. The