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As for Constantinople, the town is displaying truly Oriental fatalism. "The Germans took the trouble to give us money, to organise our army, to augment our navy, and we hope that everything goes well. If not—the sky will be blue all the same, the figs will ripen at the right season as they did before, the world will not have changed."

Thus might speak the Turk if he troubled himself to speak at all: but he is silent. All the talking there is done by the Germans.

A curiosity of the war is the way the street crowds have altered in composition in the different capitals.

In London there are the refugees, dressed in clothes of all shapes, colours, and dimensions, the special constables, and the crowds of recruits. In Paris—patriotic Paris—one meets many crippled people, for almost every other man not wearing a uniform has a physical deformity. In the Paris underground, at the Metropolitan Railway Station, a new figure, a sympathetic and admirable figure, has appeared: the woman who works while her husband is at the front. Often she has babies clinging to her skirt as she pierces your railway ticket.