AMANULLAH

this irony ? Was this the grimmest joke in Eastern
history ? Whatever the thoughts behind the mask of
his face, Sir Francis Humphrys, British Minister in
Kabul, wore his Ascot clothes. . . .

Beneath the very brow of the Pamirs there gleamed
a grey top-hat. It was a top-hat of great price and
careful selection. It was a top-hat chosen one sunny
morning in Piccadilly, when all the world was choosing
Ascot clothes and Ascot hats. It was fitted with the
same unctuousness and solicitude as accompanies the
fitting of ordinary hats. It was eased a little on a heater,
the way ordinary hats are eased. And then it was
delivered in the familiar van with the prize-winning
cobs, driven by the silk-hatted coachman. That hat
made history on its last eventful display in the " for-
bidden country." It was never worn again.

Sir Francis wore a grey morning coat and grey
trousers. His stock shamed the brutality of the sur-
rounding hills by its gentility. His patent-leather boots
trod the ends of the earth that day as if they were pacing
the lawns of the Royal enclosure.

Afghanistan was to be modernised. New ideals, new
ambitions, new culture would inspire Amanullah's
beloved land. He had already decided that there should
be a Parliament, and that, nominally at any rate, the
chosen delegates of his people should have something
to say in the ruling of their unworthy selves.

The Parliament should have dignity and prestige.
It would command the respect of the populace. It
would be expensive, but it would be a proud boast in
the countries of civilisation to read of the " Afghan
Parliament."

So Amanullah looked at the Parliaments of Europe.
He saw staid and soberly dressed men passing silently
into great houses of talk. From these houses there

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