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 Yet sometimes I wonder over the words of Cardinal Gasparri: "Turkey has not only dictated to England, but to France and Italy as well."

And now, here in Angora, I see them coming along their one wide road. All mingled without a thought of social distinctions; all intent upon the same goal—their country's freedom; all alike proud of the price they have paid—officers and deputies, ministers and civil servants, soldiers, peasants, and caravan-drivers. Are not these, then, the one true democracy of the world?

"If I resent being called American," I told my friends here, "it certainly is not because I dislike democracy. In Western practice, alas, it has been like 'freedom for women'—so imperfectly carried out."

From its original bungalow design, the building of the Grand Nationalist Assembly still retains a certain resemblance to the club-pavilion. But considerable extensions are being put forward as rapidly as a climate that only varies from ten to fifteen degrees below zero will permit; while its commanding position, and the care bestowed upon the entrance and grounds, are admirably calculated to uphold the honour and dignity of the Nationalist flag overhead.

There is a large ante-room on the left as you enter, where I generally spent a good part of the day, after my first visit to the Assembly, occasionally finding my way into the actual Debate. There were always coffee and cigarettes in the ante-room; and it was there I met practically all the ministers and deputies, who must, at last, have grown weary of my endless questions on every conceivable aspect of their ideals and their activities. "You must accept me," I said, in half-serious apology, "as a self-constituted Father Confessor" to the new nation he loves and admires so much.

Across the corridor, too, I was allowed sometimes to say "good afternoon" over a cup of coffee to "the