but they must be near. At any moment a crackling volley may leap out upon us. Pulses begin to beat.

In the trench itself eyes are strained and ears cocked. It is an eerie sensation to know that men are near you, and creeping nearer, yet remain inaudible and invisible. It is a very dark night. The moon appears to have gone to bed for good, and the stars are mostly covered. Men unconsciously endeavour to fan the darkness away with their hands, like mist. The broken ground in front, with the black woods beyond, might be concealing an army corps for all the watchers in the trenches can tell. Far away to the south a bright finger of light occasionally stabs the murky heavens. It is the searchlight of a British cruiser, keeping ceaseless vigil in the English Channel, fifteen miles away. If she were not there we should not be making-believe here with such comfortable deliberation. It would be the real thing.

Bobby Little, who by this time can almost discern spiked German helmets in the gloom, stands tingling. On either side of him are ranged the men of his platoon some eager, some sleepy, but all

silent. For the first time he notices that in the distant woods ahead of him there is a small break-a mere gapthrough which one or two stars are twinkling. If only he could contrive to get a line of sight direct to that patch of sky-—

He moves a few yards along the trench, and brings his eye to the ground-level. No good: a bush intervenes, fifteen yards away. He moves further and tries again.

Suddenly, for a brief moment, against the dimly illuminated scrap of horizon, he decries a human form, clad in a kilt, advancing stealthily....

"Number one Platoon-at the enemy in front-rapid fire!"

He is just in time. There comes an overwrought roar of musketry all down the line of trenches. Simultaneously, a solid wall of men rises out of the earth not fifty yards away, and makes for the trenches with a long-drawn battle yell.

Make-believe has its thrills as well as the genuine article.

And SO home to bed. M'Snape duly became a lancecorporal, while Dunshie resigned his post as a scout and returned to duty with the company.

COMING from Jelat, the road enters Tokat through walled orchards dotted with yailas. In these buildings, which are generally a single room raised six or eight feet above the ground and opening to opening to a balcony, the owner and his family live during harvest or even throughout the summer. Many were still occupied, and fluttering white clothing and brightly striped shawls hung over balcony railings as I passed.

Tokat lies in the meeting of two deep valleys, the larger not more than three-quarters of a mile in width. One of the promontories of the intersection ends in a precipitous tongue of rock, 500 or 600 feet high, with a castle on the summit. The town is perhaps somewhat more than half the size of Amasia. It is bosomed in gardens and orchards, and, seen from the hills, is a compact mass of red roofs set in greenery. For long it has been a place of busy trade, especially with the wild districts to the east. So in its streets one sees Kurds and Laz, besides Turks, Circassians, Greeks, and Armenians; and more swords and daggers are worn than in any town west of Erzingan.

In Tokat, or close to it, was born Osman Pasha, defender of Plevna. But the town contains many Arme

nians, and does not appear to take particular interest in the memory of the last great Moslem soldier.

The khan to which I went was by far the best it ever was my fortune to find. It was

built of stone and floored with the same material. My room was clean. There was a good rug on the floor; hangings were on the walls; there was a stove; even a gilt-framed mirror. The balcony went round three sides of the courtyard, and each door was numbered. -an incredible refinement it seemed

and the figures enclosed by a painted wreath of flowers. Everything spoke of well-todo travellers, merchants and others, who came from distant parts and required to stay more than a night in the town. It was a pleasure to lounge on the shady balcony and watch the travellers arrive. They came in dusty arabas-men dressed in European style except for the red fez, and Armenian women not so European in clothing, and still less so in face. There were well-mounted horsemen accompanied by armed servants. There were 8 few officers in khaki. The khan was busy, and the yard had much of the movement and excitement that old English coaching inns must have shown.

We began the next day by

climbing up a rough cliff to the castle, a partially ruined medieval structure, used as a magazine where still in repair. Apparently we went up by a way that no one else ever thought of taking, for at the top we found an easy path an easy path down, with a guard-house at the bottom. There was a sentry here armed with rifle and bayonet. He stopped as we approached and shouted that the castle was forbidden, and seemed inclined to make trouble. But Achmet contemptuously slapped his own bulky hinder garments for answer and passed on. looked a risky way to treat a sentry in harness, and I asked why he had acted thus. He replied with the sufficing word "Ermenie," that set me wondering what was possible to a slim Armenian sentry in dealing with an offensive heavy Moslem. I looked back to get an inkling, if I could, of the sentry's thoughts. He had resumed his beat- the wisest course, considering all thingsglad no doubt that the trespass was over and not beginning.

It

During the afternoon I wished to climb to a rock high up the valley side. We spent nearly half an hour in trying to find a way through the maze of alleys, each of which stopped with a dead end. At last I proposed to try farther along. But Achmet seemed to think his reputation at stake, and that he must discover or make a way here. After trying various doors and finding them fastened, he came to one that flew open before his vigor

a

ous push, and he went in, bidding me follow. Certainly it was a mean house, but it was Turkish; and I would rather have forced my way into a British mansion than have gone alone into this slum. dwelling in Tokat. I followed, however, wondering not little what the outcome would be. Achmet went through the house and out into a yard, and there was confronted by an unveiled woman. I expected a bother, but he said a few words, and all was well. So we went on, climbing over walls and crossing yards, and at last reached the open hillside.

of

The old commercial khans of Tokat testify to its earlier trade. When tumult and raid were more frequent than now, merchants required a place of security from violence and fire in which to keep their goods and do business. So these trading khans were built, of which many may be seen in Anatolia. Such a one is the Kara Mustapha Khan at Marsovan; and one that I entered at Tokat looked even earlier date. It had a two-storeyed arcade of heavy pointed stone arches surrounding a large paved quadrangle. The outer walls were of stone, and almost without openings. The shops or booths stood inside these walls and left a gangway between them and the arches of arches of the arcade. There was a stone fountain in the middle of the courtyard; a few small trees grew scattered about; and over a high, horizontal trellis of poles a

grape vine had been trained, apparently to provide shelter for animals. Doves fed among bales of tobacco, bags of corn, bundles of shovels and iron rod, and stacks of charcoal, firewood, and skins. Over the red-tiled roof of the khan the castle on its rock stood out against a cloudless sky. In these surroundings business men of Tokat did their dealing, and clerks, sitting cross-legged and smoking incessantly, wrote with reed pens and dusted their writing with pounce. Though there is no need now to close the great iron-studded doors of these khans against raid, they are still of use in tumult. More than once it has happened in time of massacre that hundreds of Armenians have found safety in these massive buildings.

Before I left Tokat the following morning rumour came to the khan of trouble somewhere on the road to Sivas. It gave no details; it was a mere flying story of disturbance between Moslems and Armenians, like many which pass along the roads.

With a stage before me said to be only six hours, it was eleven o'clock when I left the khan. After clearing the town the road entered a wooded glen with a rushing stream in the bottom, and began a long ascent over Kurt Dagh. Longdistance caravans and vehicles had left at dawn, but the road was filled with local traffic. There were charcoal-burners' donkeys loaded with two sacks of charcoal apiece; firewoodsellers' donkeys carrying roots

and stumps and faggots corded to pack-saddles; horses with bales of tobacco-leaf; bullockcarts piled with sacks of grain ; and now and then a few camels. There were also Kurdish and Circassian riders, aristocrats of the road, proud of their horses and weapons; peasants on foot wearing goat-skin charooks, and peasants going more delicately on donkeys. Slowly pacing, with slung rifles, were two blueuniformed mounted zaptiehs, on the watch for tobaccosmugglers.

Every man in this country who owns a pack-animal is a potential smuggler of tobacco. The crop is grown under State control. Except the higher grades, which are exported, it may be bought only by the Tobacco Monopoly Company. The Company buys at a low fixed price, and retails at one enormously greater. Therefore between districts which grow tobacco and districts which do not there is every reason for a contraband traffic. The country has few roads, but a maze of tracks and byways, and the smuggler has always more than a sporting chance. He finds risk and excitement, with large gains as the sure reward of success. Small wonder that with all these attractions professional bands of smugglers exist who undertake adventures on a large scale.

Troops, gendarmes, and zaptiehs all keep a more or less watchful eye on smuggling ; but to deal better with the traffic the Company maintains its own police. They are not