At this time, of course, “patriotism” meant “the Revolution of 1908,” a united attack on the tyranny of Abdul Hamid, who had persecuted Turks, Greeks, and Armenians alike. Once the Constitution had been proclaimed, however, the Armenians turned to Russia for help to establish their own independence; the Greeks sought to revive an “Empire” from Athens. The Turks, who had never hesitated to appoint a Greek or an Armenian among their Viziers and Foreign Ministers, who always sent Christian Ambassadors to England, and who had chosen the Armenian, Gabriel Effendi Nouradunghian, for their Minister of Foreign Affairs, were now driven to concentrate their betrayed enthusiasm upon building up a Turkish nation _of their own_—for themselves alone. Their scholars, therefore, devoted themselves to scientific research; social institutions were founded; they studied philosophy, national economy, and sociology; they prepared their own ethnography, history, and geography, and the reformed Turkish language. They had, as it were, to build up a complete learning; almost a universal knowledge; a true world-culture for Eastern peoples; that, by its “National” inspiration, should create for Turkey a spirit and a soul. That great _savant_, Zia Gueuk Alp, one of the Malta victims, and afterwards Professor of Sociology at Constantinople, has done more for the New literature than any other one writer; as Mehmet Emin Bey, who lives at Adalia, is their leading poet. They have others, of course, who produced fine work; among whom Yahia Kemal would probably prove the outstanding genius, had he the energy to maintain his highest gifts. The pangs of a Nation’s Birth, out of Sacrifice, have found voice. There are two women of genius in this group. To Halidé Hanoum we have already devoted a chapter, in honour of a wise and passionate personality that has impressed itself on the whole history of a generation. We in England, I hope, are shortly to have a translation of her remarkable “Nouveau Touran.” Mufidé Hanoum (Mme. Ferid Bey) also approaches, though she has not reached, the outstanding genius of Halidé Hanoum. She is a younger woman, a less experienced writer, and, maybe, she lacks the inspiration that comes from long strain and suffering. “There are others,” concluded Hussein Raghib, “whom you _ought_ to know, though they are not equally great.” “But I’ve stayed too long already,” I replied, “interrupting your work.” And busy men, even in the East, must not neglect the State for courtesies too prolonged.