orming alliances and
triple alliances, have been threatening Turkey and shaking their fists at
each other, have been trembling in their boots and calling conferences,
little Greece has fired upon one of Turkey's ships, and "accepts full
responsibility for all her acts."

The first shots came from Crete, that long, beautiful island south of
Greece, called in the time of Homer the "Isle of One Hundred Cities." It
has a most heroic history, remaining free long after Greece herself had
become subject to Rome. Only in the year 68 B.C., after a long and
determined effort upon the part of Rome, did Crete surrender.

And her islanders have the same heroic blood in their veins to-day. The
trouble now is that Turkish misrule, since she was made over to the Turks
in 1840 by the Great Powers, has fanned the old desire for freedom into
flame.

The Greeks were most probably unwise in firing upon the Turkish transport
_Fuad_ as she was bearing munitions to the Turkish garrison at Canea; but
we can hardly blame them.

There comes a time when patience almost ceases to be a virtue. The Cretans
are human. They have waited long, though impatiently, and their very
impatience has shown us how hard the waiting has been for men of such
fiery character. They feel now that they would rather die in the struggle
for freedom than submit longer to the injustice of their Turkish rulers.

I was in Athens when the coming of age of Crown Prince George, the brave,
handsome young Greek of whom we hear so much, was celebrated.

The streets, from the palace to the church where the ceremonies were to
take place, were most beautiful with triumphal arches. Rich tapestries
floated from the windows all along the way, and the flags of all
nations--among them our own dear Stars and Stripes--swung merrily to the
breeze.

The city was full of soldiers. Among them were the Greek mountaineers in
their picturesque costume of white linen, consisting of tunics with long,
flowing sleeves, and kilted skirts so full and so starched that they stood
out like the skirts of a circus rider.

Their long, pointed shoes, which turned up at the toes like a toboggan,
had large red rosettes on the very points. Their caps were gayly colored,
and a long tassel fell from the crown to their shoulders.

Not a very good fighting costume, you will probably think; but if you had
looked into their keen eyes and determined faces, you would have forgotten
the costume--especially if the