“This modern Turkish Washington lives with his civilian and military household in a little house near the station and opposite the building of the National Assembly. This house, which is surrounded by a garden with big trees and flowers, was originally the house of the station master. It has eight or ten rooms, small and unpretentious, soberly furnished throughout. The only luxury in the house is a writing-desk almost as large as the room it occupies. At this table Mustapha Kemal Pasha spends all his time when he is not at the front or on military and administrative tours of inspection, or working at the National Assembly. It is in this den that the General works from early in the morning until late at night, without any distraction, continuously and painstakingly striving to bring about his dream--not a dream of personal ambition or of national conquests, but a dream of freedom and of independence for a people--his people--whose one aim is to remain master of its own home. “The leader of Turkish women, Halidé Edib Hanoum, is in her own field as great a figure as Mustapha Kemal Pasha. Her talents are most diversified and she has, like Mustapha Kemal Pasha, a very strong will for putting through anything she undertakes. Although she is still young she has been for many years at the head of the movement for the emancipation of Turkish women. You probably remember, as I do, that she first attracted public attention when her verses were published. It created quite a stir in Turkey as she was the first Turkish poetess, at least the first who came out under her own name and bowed to the public through her books. I still remember the first time I saw her, in the good old pre-war days in the summer of 1913. I had gone with some friends to the Sweet Waters of Asia on the Bosphorus which were at that time the fashionable 'rendezvous' on Friday afternoons. The little stream bordered with old trees and green meadows was crowded with rowboats and caiks leisurely gliding on its transparent waters. Suddenly among the boats I saw a slender skiff with two rowers wearing embroidered Oriental liveries. At the stern a young girl was sitting, her veil a little more transparent than it was usually worn at the time and her dark brown locks showing a little more than those of her sisters. She held a white embroidered parasol daintily in her hand to shelter her from the strong rays of the summer sun. Her pensive black eyes were beautiful. Her boat crossed ours and the vision had disappeared in a few seconds. I held my breath and asked my companions who she was, and when I heard that it was 'Halidé Hanoum, the poetess' I was more impressed than ever. Little did I guess that the next time I would see Her it would be here in Angora.