wife besides my aunt. They always had lived together ever since the divorce of my second aunt, and my youngest aunt had also lived here always with her husband. They suggested showing my wife the gardens of the harem and we all wandered out together.

What a great difference ten or twelve years had made in these gardens! The last time I had seen them—before my departure for America—their alleys were carpeted with clean small pebbles, their trees were trimmed, their well-kept flower beds and orchards were a pleasure to the eyes, while the hot-house at the corner was filled with rare tropical plants and fruit-trees. The whisper of running water flew continuously from many fountains and in a small artificial lake a miniature rowboat of polished mahogany lolled lazily in the shade of branches hanging from the shores. It was a thriving garden, speaking of ease and prosperity. But now! It looked as if it had been asleep since the last few years. Gone are the pebbles in the alleys. Broken are the window-panes of the deserted hot-house with its shelves covered with dust and its cracked vases with dried stumps which were once the trunks of tropical plants. Dead leaves rustle under your feet and hush your steps. The trees have grown in a maze of unruly branches. The rose beds of yesteryear have turned wild and now prickly bushes bearing anemic flowers stoop to the ground, fighting for supremacy in the flower garden. Shrubs of lilac, jasmine and honeysuckles—which blossom here in the early fall as well as in spring—faintly scent the air with their reminiscent perfume of past glory. The fountains are silent and the little lake is dry—while the sad nakedness of its gray cement marks the resting-place for the broken remains of what used to be the shining little mahogany rowboat. The beautiful garden is now the ghost of what it used to be. Its soul is alive—perhaps more so than before—but pensive, sad, desolate. The greedy monster of war must have reached as far as this peaceful estate in Erenkeuy, sucking its vitality in its all-devastating tentacles.

How did it ever come about? My uncle and my aunt must have had some reverses unknown to me, they would not carelessly let their property deteriorate in this way if they could have helped it. The thought worried me and I turned to my aunt for an explanation. With her diminutive slippers crushing the dead leaves covering the ground, her jet black hair covered with a delicately embroidered white veil, my aunt was slowly walking on my right through the desolate alleys. Her husband was next to her while my wife, with my cousins and my other aunts walked ahead in the distance, fading gradually in the subtle shadows of the desolate garden. My aunt explained. Her voice was subdued but she was dispassionate, firm and resigned.

“We have tried to be too careful, my son,” she said, “and God has taught us a lesson. Long before the war we had deposited all our holdings with a British bank in London. We believed it would be safer there than in any other place and we lived contented on the income it brought us. It was nothing much but it represented with this place all our savings and it was enough to allow us to live happily and to take good care of our estate. The war came suddenly and our deposits in the bank were seized by England. It was fair, all the nations did the same and confiscated enemy properties within their reach. So we bowed to the inevitable and passed the long years of war as best we could. Your uncle took sick. He is just getting over an ailment which forced him all this time to live in retirement. Nothing was coming in. The family is large, the children had to be educated. We dismissed all hired servants and sold our family jewels. At last the armistice came and we hoped to get back what was ours. But years have passed and years are passing. England has returned the properties of Armenians, Greeks and Jews who are, like ourselves, Turkish citizens, on the grounds that they were pro-Allies but she still refuses to give back the private property of the Turks. No exception is made for those who, like ourselves, were not in politics during the war and even for those who, like your uncle, tried to dissuade the Government from entering the war. Our only crime seems to be that we did not betray our country during the war, that we could not be pro-Ally after our country had entered the war! Well, what can we do? We still must be grateful to God that we have a roof over our heads. Thousands of others are much worse off. We can't take care of this property, but we have mortgaged it and we live as best we can. God has helped us in the past, God will help us in the future if we realize that no matter how careful we are we can't foresee the future, we cannot avoid the decrees of Destiny.” I look in silence at my aunt, there is no bitterness in her, but her finely chiseled face is pensive. She is lost in retrospective thoughts. She is visualizing her garden as it used to be, while her night-dark eyes glance, unseeing, over her present surroundings. She walks slowly, her slender body wrapped in the loose, flowing folds of an Arabian “Meshlah” of silk, glittering with silver threads, which she had thrown over her shoulders when she came out in the garden. She looks typically Turkish. Her slightly aquiline nose gives a refined expression to her proud, clean-cut features. She is small and thin, but her dignified carriage gives the impression of power and self-confidence.

The Pasha, walks next to her, slightly bent by his recent illness. However he is well on his way to complete recovery; his sprightly step, his rosy cheeks, his keen bright eyes denote vigor and growing strength. He caresses his small gray beard and smiles. He passes his hand in his wife's arm and cheerfully says: “Hanoum, we should not complain, we are better off now than we ever were, if our trials have made us wiser. We know better the real value of things than we did before. The Almighty has made me recover my health, we are all alive and well. I am not so old yet, I can work. I will work, and you will again help me as you did in the past. We will together rebuild our home. It is for us to deserve the help of God. We must work for His mercy.”

In the silence that followed new hopes were born in me. The undaunted spirit of the Pasha faithfully reflects the feeling in the Turkey and the Turks of to-day. This is the spirit that has brought them through all their past trials, this is the spirit that has been taken for fatalism, but which is nothing else than an indomitable blend of resignation, confidence in one's self and confidence in the justice of God. It will save Turkey and the Turks as it has saved them in the past. They never have been despondent and they never will give up. Calmly, without any show, without any complaint they always step back into their normal lives, confident that the future will justify their immovable trust in the justice of God.

We slowly return home in the silent twilight of the evening. It is almost dinner time. The old fashioned Turkish families dine always soon after sunset, no matter the season. Here in Erenkeuy the food is supplied by a community kitchen to which most of the neighbours are subscribers. It is distributed twice a day, so the food is always freshly cooked, clean and wholesome. It is less costly and less worrisome than to keep one's own kitchen and my surprise is great to find such an efficient modern innovation in a little village at the outskirts of Anatolia.

After dinner we sit around and talk some more. My cousin plays and sings for us some old Turkish songs. Then we all retire, for the night, the younger ones again kissing the hands of their elders. When we are alone in our room, my wife