Were Turkey once roused to a perfect estimate of her own moral power, she must inevitably cast off the web that has been slowly and craftily woven about her; and which, should no friendly hand disentangle its intricate threads ere it be yet too late, must ultimately fetter her strength beyond all power of resuscitation. To do this she must take an enlarged and correct view of her position—she must be able to appreciate her just value among the nations—she must be capable of combating sophistry with caution, and craft with calculative wisdom. This power she can only acquire by placing herself upon a mental equality with more civilized Europe; by training up her youth to habits of reflection and scientific research; by awakening within their breasts the generous emulation of excellence; and by opening before them paths of honour and advancement, no longer to be trodden by the weak foot of chance, but sacred to superior merit and superior genius. All this must Turkey accomplish ere she can once again be great and free. And it is to prevent this that the subtle policy of her archenemy, Russia, strains every nerve, and exerts every energy—the blandishments of a flattery, to which she is constitutionally too susceptible for her real welfare—the threats of a strength beneath which she is unfortunately already bowed almost to the dust—for should some generous spark of honour be aroused to resistance, there is the unanswerable declaration—_L’Empereur le veut!_ beyond which there is no appeal. Thus Russia looked upon the College with a jealous eye—it might, if suffered to progress towards perfection unchecked, ultimately become a great moral engine in the hands of the Turkish government: and this was, of course, not to be permitted. The Russian Legation consequently took an overwhelming and most generous interest in all the details of the establishment; laughed to scorn the necessity of European science and European assistance, where native talent was so rife—employed her creatures in writing complimentary and fulsome panegyrics on the Institution, which were lithographed at the school, and translated for the Sultan; and, in short, administered such copious draughts of flattery to all connected with the establishment, that their soporific effects are painfully apparent in the quiet, self-gratulatory, smiling satisfaction of those, who, while they believe that they are nursing the new-born Institution into vigour, are actually closing their encircling arms so tightly about its throat that they are strangling it in its first weakness. The School has but one hope—and that is unhappily faint and afar off. There are now between thirty and forty promising young men studying in Europe, who may perchance one day be enabled to effect its resuscitation. But years must elapse ere the most gifted pupils are eligible to become preceptors: and before those years are past, what may be the fate of Turkey? England must resolve the question.