are a danger for a despot. They are shadows that may again become substance. An insurgent faction may use them to legalize its cause, even though there be no true and vital revival of the spirit of liberty.

The most disturbing feature of the present crisis of parliamentary government is that, although we are perfectly aware of its defects and its decadence, we do not as yet see what will succeed it. Scanning the distance from our Bluebeard's tower, the only rescuers we discern are partisans of force, and purveyors of ephemeral and transitory remedies. The current reaction against parliamentarism promises to take the form of disguised dictatorships preserving the external aspects of a democracy, as has happened in Italy. But these afford no solution for the essential problem of government to-day, which is to qualify the state

to perform efficiently its multiplying functions.

That remedy may lie in the direction of decentralization, in larger reliance upon technical experts, or in developing professional and class participation in public functions. Perhaps it will be necessary to relieve the state of many of its new duties, and to confine it to its former place as a coördinating medium and police agency. This is what our old-school individualists advocate. If this is done we shall have to reconstruct our economic life on some guild or syndicalist basis that will ensure the efficient performance of social services; and we shall be obliged to give the political government in its diminished sphere of action sufficient authority to maintain an equilibrium of interests among the social classes, whose present conflicts are virtually chronic civil war.

EARLY this morning three Gypsy bands came into the courtyard of our neighbor Zivko Srbich and played and sang in his honor. For this is his Slava day, his day of 'glorifying.' He is celebrating the feast of the Archangel Michael, which is said to be the anniversary of the day on which his forefathers accepted Christianity. The Archangel is the patron not only of Srbich's house, but of the houses of all his male relatives, distant or near, whose blood runs back for centuries

and centuries to the original Christian Srbich; and so quite likely it will continue to be for many generations.

In his living-room stands an icon of the Archangel, before which a light is burning continually throughout the year. Of course to-day the icon is especially garlanded for the occasion; and on the table burns a huge candle, in honor of the family patron.

All labor is suspended during the observance of Slava. This is a holiday observed with greater solemnity than

any other holiday of the year. The women have toiled for days to give the house a thorough cleaning, and to make it possible for every member of the family to appear in his or her best finery. They have prepared a huge Slava kolach or cake and a special Slava dish of wheat, known as kolyivo. In pagan times kolyivo was the lamb, or kid, or ram, sacrificed on the altar to Perùn, Svetovit, Vesna, Devana, or some other ancient deity of the Slavs. When they accepted Christianity, the people were told that the Christian God and his saints do not wish animals to be sacrificed to them, that instead a dish of boiled white wheat would be offered them. So now the kolyivo is made of wheat sweetened and mixed with walnuts or almonds.

To-day Zivko Srbich, attired in his best holiday garb, sits in his house and receives his visitors. The door barely closes behind one caller when it again. opens and admits another or perhaps a whole party. At times as many as ten people are sitting on little stools in a semicircle before the gospodar.

First of all are his relatives. As long as the father lives, the sons cannot observe their own Slava but must assemble in their parents' home. In addition there are numerous cousins from the country, who, like the sons and daughters, usually remain as guests for a few days or a week.

Besides his kinsmen scores of acquaintances and friends call to wish Srbich a happy Slava. Since a great number of Belgrade families 'glorify' on this day-only Saint Nicholas having more Slavas than Archangel Michael the hackmen do a big business. Many a citizen has to hire a conveyance in order to complete his Slava calls; and half-a-dozen carriages stand in front of a single house.

Since I am his neighbor and often drop in at his courtyard evenings, I

too call on Gospodar Srbich. He has not specially invited me the man is getting old and forgetful—but I am sure that he will be delighted to have me come; for a Serb is never happier than when his house is crowded with guests and visitors. That is an unmistakable sign that the head of the family is a prominent man, in whose home genuine old Slav hospitality is still found a man who can 'please and honor' his guests. Moreover, on this day even a total stranger has a right to call and be entertained.

The mistress of the house receives me at the entrance. I kiss her hand and say: 'May the Slava be happy!' Our Slovenian backs are rather stiff when it comes to bending over to kiss a person's hand, but in Belgrade handkissing is as customary as, for instance, in Croatia or in Russia.

I wish a happy Slava also to the master of the house. A girl a relative of the mistress - brings me a piece of the Slava cake baked of unbolted flour. Custom requires that. The cake is blessed. They have taken it to the church. They would rather have had the 'pope,' or parish priest, come to the house to bless it, but as this is a day of many Slavas in Belgrade it was physically impossible for him to do so. The good father therefore requested them to bring the cake to the church, adding with a smile that this would be his only opportunity to see most of them in the sacred edifice. Although the churches in Belgrade are few and small, they are never filled, not even during the services on Sundays and holidays. The Serb is not usually an unbeliever, but he is often more preoccupied with this world than with the next. Also, the rules of the Orthodox Church do not require him to attend church, even on Sundays.

After the cake comes the kolyivo, followed by a few cups of wine or

brandy with pastries. While the greetings and toasts are more or less stereotyped, the conversation in between flows freely. Finally they serve coffee, which is the sign that the caller may depart without offending the household.

Slava, of course, involves heavy expense for many families. I once lived in the house of the widow of a gymnasium professor, whose husband had died a prisoner of war in Austria. Though her means were very limited, she received over sixty Slava visitors, of whom twelve remained for dinner. She told me that before the war her husband, the late professor, on this day entertained all his brighter pupils; and the family had to save up money for Slava for months in advance.

The observance lasts two days, the second day being allotted chiefly to women's calls - that is, to calls of widows and unmarried girls.

Societies, military organizations, schools and other institutions have their Slava. In January, on the day of Saint Sava, all the schools, including the universities, 'glorify.' Slava of the Karageorges, the royal family, falls on the day of Saint Andrew, in December.

I attended the last Slava celebration of the Third Belgrade Gymnasium. The principal first received the visitors and listened to their good wishes. Later the faculty and the student body assembled in the Gymnasium hall; there the principal explained to them the history of Slava, which reaches back to the dawn of Serbia's history as a nation. 'Where Serbs, there Slava,' he said, and urged them always to observe the custom faithfully. Then the school 'pope' or chaplain chanted long prayers and the students responded, also chanting. Afterward a few hymns were sung and declamations were delivered. The celebration culminated with the cutting and distribution of the Slava cake.

Slava therefore plays an important part in both Serbian private and public life. In my opinion it is directly responsible for a certain ease exhibited by the people in social intercourse. The self-possessed courtesy of the Serbs in any company is striking. This is in no small part due to the custom of making ceremonial calls.

Indeed social life in Serbia is delightfully free and unaffected. On Sundays or in the evenings people gather in the houses or in the courtyards of their friends and discuss the problems and events of the day. Caste barriers are practically unknown.

Nowadays all social observances, including Slava, are burdensome for many families, especially for government officials without other income

than their meagre salaries. Such a man's relatives or friends may be fairly prosperous merchants, whose hospitality he can no longer return on the same scale as that he receives situation that deeply wounds his inborn Serbian pride.

But it was no burden to celebrate Slava in the good old patriarchal days, when every family in Belgrade had its own house and garden, when prices were low, when, in fact, one could have free mutton if he had slaughtered a sheep and sold the skin across the river in Austria.

The Serb is now praying for the return of those good old times — for the idyllic life of the days before the war. There is a little tale going the rounds that illustrates this feeling. The Lord one day asked the representatives of the various nations what they wished. The German prayed for power, the Frenchman for glory, the Russian for vodka. But the Serb begged the Heavenly Father to grant him many pleasant meetings with his friends, so that he might, as of yore, 'talk things over with them' - da se pogovorimo.

It has become a trite saying that the Great War has changed man's outlook on life. Those idealists who saw in war an infallible means of uplifting and invigorating the race must have come to realize that their theory was built on a fallacy, and those who expected a refinement of the moral fibre are no doubt shedding tears of disappointment. In the realm of finance we find the legal as well as the moral obligation to pay so blatantly denied that debts no longer worry the normal human being. When Governments go back on their promise to exchange their paper for the amount of metal represented on its face, and merrily manufacture more promissory paper notes, which they can have no intention of ever redeeming, it must be evident that this reversion of formerly accepted principles cannot fail to react on ordinary people.

And thus we find that the person who ten years ago contemplated suicide because he owed his neighbor a sum of money, which he saw no prospect of repaying, nowadays views his financial embarrassments in an entirely different light. He may now owe ten times more, but what does it matter- nobody pays!

Russia has no intention of paying, Austria cannot pay, France cannot pay unless somebody else who cannot pay pays her, and Germany, who is supposed to pay everybody else, and evidently cannot, feels inclined to take the sponge and wipe the slate clean.

Schwamm darüber having become the policy of those who should set the ex

ample of financial integrity for the multitude, those of the latter who are financially embarrassed find in this principle an easy way of getting over their troubles. Why worry? My own personal obligations do not exceed six figures, whereas no ordinary newspaper has columns wide enough to compress the debts of my betters.

There can be no doubt that the financial mess into which Europe has managed to get herself has reacted on the individual in the manner indicated, and many persons who a few years ago would have considered themselves legally and morally bound by their obligations have nowadays thrown the moral part overboard and eagerly cling to any legal quibble that may nullify the rights of the claimant. Out of this morass only one debtor has recently made a successful attempt to shoulder his burden, and it is to be hoped that the example set by Great Britain will tend toward a restoration of that decency in financial obligations without which the economic and commercial veins of civilized man cannot function.

These considerations lead us to the centre of gravity in this country, which is still Peking. The financial situation there is so grave that it is a wonder the government machine has not yet stopped functioning. The financial embarrassment of the so-called Central Government is not unlike, and yet in many respects quite dissimilar, to the situation that confronted Louis XIV when he called the versatile Scotch economist Law to his aid. By its issue

of paper the Government has faithfully followed in Law's footsteps, but it has not as yet evolved a Mississippi scheme by which to restore its depleted treasury.

'Mississippi schemes' have rather been thrust upon the Government, in a reduced edition, by Japan, inasmuch as China has been obliged to issue 40,000,000 yen, or $20,000,000, in treasury notes for the redemption of the Tsingtau-Tsinanfu Railway. Having no money this is of course the only way in which she can pay Japan for what never belonged to that country, but the 'scheme' becomes significant when China some day is in a position and desires to pay for the railway, for she can only do so provided Japan consents to accept such payment. It is a remarkable way of doing business, and although China has 'got back' her Shantung possessions they are in reality bound hand and foot to her neighbor across the sea.

In this connection it is interesting to read Admiral Kato's and Foreign Minister Uchida's observations regarding Japan's policy toward China. At the opening of the Diet these two statesmen are reported to have said that, as regards China, 'it has been our fundamental policy, as repeatedly declared, strictly to avoid interference and observe impartiality in the internal affairs of that country and help in the awakening and uplifting of the Chinese in the hope that a peaceful and united China may come into being. The Japanese Government is firmly convinced that it is to the best interests of Japan to maintain this policy.'

No one who has the best interests of both countries at heart will deny that if this conviction is based on sincerity it can only redound to the ultimate benefit of these two Oriental Powers; but in the light of past performances one may be forgiven for assuming that Japan's

Foreign Minister had his tongue in his cheek when he gave utterance to those words.

The marvel of all marvels really happened this month. Peking actually managed to weather the lunar storm which threatens every twelvemonth to engulf its Government in a vortex of unpaid bills. The manner of riding off the storm has involved a complicated system of borrowing from Peter in order to pay Paul, Peter receiving enormous interest for his services while the many Pauls have had to be content with accepting a moiety of what was their due.

Teachers, professors, judges, and all government servants have certainly received a small portion of their pay, which was many months in arrear, but as the sums received were a mere fraction of what was actually due, these payments can only serve as a temporary stopgap.

It is evident that a Government which for years has treated its servants in this manner cannot continue forever, and it is a marvel that the association of gentlemen who presume to call themselves the Central Government, and who neither rule nor govern, have been able to keep up the fiction of governing for such a long time.

There are in reality a score of Governments in China, and Peking is certainly not the most powerful among them; but Peking has the advantage of being the only Government recognized by the foreign Powers, and it would seem that this formal recognition is the only plank which keeps the ship of state afloat.

Indirectly, therefore, the foreign Powers are responsible for the continuation of the present farcical Central Government, for no one doubts that if this recognition were withdrawn the Peking Government would crumble to pieces within a week.