England exchanged Heligoland for a protectorate over Zanzibar in 1890. That meant the end of the slave trade, and also the introduction of sanitary methods. Today one can drink the water of Zanzibar safely. It is piped from a large spring three miles inland; and as for the filth that made the town smell to heaven, that also has been swept aside by the broom of civilization; so that today one can stroll along the narrow picturesque alleys and smell only clove and copra, the two chief articles of export. The people are quiet and orderly. Zanzibar today proves that the white man, particularly the Englishman, can assume the burden of dominion for the benefit of all concerned.

From Zanzibar we sailed along the east coast of Africa, calling at Mombasa, on our way to Aden; thence we proceeded up the Red Sea and through the Suez Canal to Port Said. Three days at Cairo and four at Alexandria measured our brief stay in Egypt. At Alexandria I had the pleasure of spending a few days with my sister, who is the wife of a distinguished Egyptian, a Pasha and a Senator. He is a Pharaonic Egyptian, a Copt, a devout man, for the Copts have been Christians twelve centuries. Egypt, as Herodotus said, is a land of paradox. The Mohammedan Egyptian shouts "Egypt for the Egyptians"; but he is no Egyptian; until recently he boasted that he was an Arab. Young Effendis sent telegrams to Europe asking for the expulsion of the English infidel; their loyalty is not to Egypt, but to Islam. The so-called Egyptians of Cairo and Alexandria are mongrels, who bear in their veins the blood of successive invaders, Greeks, Arabs, and Turks. The true Egyptian is the race of which my brother-in-law is a sample, the native of Pharaonic stock and Christian religion. These are quiet reasonable people, who recognize that Egypt is not yet ripe for self-government and are willing to live under British protection, if only the government in London will give the educated natives a chance to learn the art of administration by allowing them the minor offices, and not filling these with the sons and nephews of British dignitaries. This was done excessively after the War, when England was full of unem

ployed young men suddenly demobilized. Before the War, Egypt was under the nominal suzerainty of the Turkish Sultan, but under the military occupation of the British. When Turkey joined our Germanic enemies, Egypt became a British protectorate, chiefly, of course, to safeguard the Suez Canal. This protectorate was contested after the War on the basis of self-determination, that piece of political dynamite which Woodrow Wilson threw into the chaos of after-war conditions. British officialdom was distasteful to the Egyptians because there was too much of it, as I have stated. In 1922, on the report of the Milner commission, the protectorate was withdrawn, with reservations, and the Sultan of Egypt was made King. A constitution was established, the British representative becoming a High Commissioner, supported by a military force, which was needed to maintain order. Unfortunately, during the War requisitions for labor and provisions were made on the Egyptians, through Egyptian sub-officials, in a manner, unavoidable perhaps in a state of war, but nevertheless irritating to the native population. It is claimed that educational methods are planned deliberately to keep the Egyptians subservient. The present King is a poor thing; he was in the Italian army, and is not truly representative of his people. The leader of the nationalistic party, Zaghloul Pasha, is an able man, but somewhat lacking in political sagacity. He suggested that the Suez Canal be put under the control of the League of Nations or be protected by Egyptian troops, both of these suggestions obviously being entirely unacceptable to England, which could not take such a chance of having the Canal jeopardized. Another grievance is the control of the Nile water. The big barrages, or dams, at Assuan and Senaar conserve the flood-water, but they check the spread of the sediment to which the great valley of Egypt owes its fertility. The new dam at Senaar holds the water of the Blue Nile for use in the Sudan, but utilizes only the water that otherwise would run to waste during the season of flood. Egypt is the gift of the Nile, it is true, but modern Egypt is undoubtedly the beneficiary of British rule. The peasants, the fellaheen,

are no longer under the lash; the precious water of the Nile is no longer wasted; the people are prosperous. At Port Said, Ismailia, Cairo, and Alexandria I saw what we would call a building boom, a great activity in the erection of homes, most of them of beautiful stone and in a style that we might envy. On enquiry one is told that this one is built on cotton, that one on cigarettes, another on sugar. Egypt is restless, not by reason of misgovernment or tyranny, but because it has drunk the heady wine of self-determination, which was meant by Woodrow Wilson for the smaller peoples of Europe-the Czechs, Poles, and Slovaks—and not for the seething masses of awakening heathendom. These, having seen the European peoples killing each other, and having obtained a smattering of education, including the half-baked ideas concerning liberty that Europe has developed, are now in a ferment of unrest, presenting a task before which modern statesmanship appears to be shrinking in obvious ineptitude. The granting of political rights to a people should be contingent upon their ability to exercise those rights intelligently.

TWIN SONGS OF AUTUMN

MIRA MACLAY

I

Now Autumn comes a desert queen,
Tawny; inscrutable; serene;

With flaming eyes that seem to see
All summers past, all springs to be.
She knows what winters lie between-
What sleep-Nor cares!

II

O Spring is a bride and Summer a wife, While Autumn's a woman unwearied of life; A prodigal, she hastes to spend

Her gold, her smiles, as if no end

There were.

Perchance she knows both strife

And end-Yet dares!

REFLECTIONS ON DESIGN AND THE PRIMITIVE

PAUL LOUIS FAYE

Three years ago the writer of this article, momentarily the victim of a certain cacoethes pingendi, came out with a series of about three hundred reproductions of Indian pottery designs. To anyone interested in primitive life painted ceramics is an unfailing arbiter. Better, perhaps, than rugs and basketry it wields the spell of symbolism. Even beyond the pale of sentimental iconography it may promote the attention of the student of design. As he plied his brush from motive to motive the writer felt dawning upon him something like the revelation of a technique. Summer came. The road lay open. The work remained a prelude to a trip to Pueblo land.

Several points had by then impressed themselves. First, that the ancient Hopi had an unusual, not to say, unerring sense of design. Second, that although endowed with such a sense of design they were comparatively uninterested in realistic representation. Third, that they could conceive representation quite independently of the actual form of the object to which their inspiration may be traced. They not only stylized but decomposed the object, rebuilding the elements thus obtained into a new and distinct unit. This, for instance, is what the artist Hopi seems to have done. He sees a bird and wants to represent it. After a fashion he can do so realistically. There are examples of such attempts, generally gauche and uncouth. But a demon seems to be at work in him. Unavoidably certain parts of the bird demand his attention. These are organized into patterns of growing complexity. Sometimes an element is emphasized till all the others disappear. The outline is now