resented the Samaritan. The Greek
dreams with sullen intensity of a golden age before the Bulgar was found
in the land, and the challenge implied in the revival of the Hellenic
name, so far from being a superficial vanity, is the dominant
characteristic of the nationalism which has adopted it for its title.
Modern Hellenism breathes the inconscionable spirit of the _emigre_.'

This is only too true. The faith that has carried them to national unity
will suffice neither the Greeks nor any other Balkan people for the new
era that has dawned upon them, and the future would look dark indeed, but
for a strange and incalculable leaven, which is already potently at work
in the land.

Since the opening of the present century, the chaotic, unneighbourly races
of south-eastern Europe, whom nothing had united before but the common
impress of the Turk, have begun to share another experience in common--
America. From the Slovak villages in the Carpathians to the Greek villages
in the Laconian hills they have been crossing the Atlantic in their
thousands, to become dockers and navvies, boot-blacks and waiters,
confectioners and barbers in Chicago, St. Louis, Omaha, and all the other
cities that have sprung up like magic to welcome the immigrant to the
hospitable plains of the Middle West. The intoxication of his new
environment stimulates all the latent industry and vitality of the Balkan
peasant, and he abandons himself whole-heartedly to American life; yet he
does not relinquish the national tradition in which he grew up. In America
work brings wealth, and the Greek or Slovak soon worships his God in a
finer church and reads his language in a better-printed newspaper than he
ever enjoyed in his native village. The surplus flows home in remittances
of such abundance that they are steadily raising the cost of living in the
Balkans themselves, or, in other words, the standard of material
civilization; and sooner or later the immigrant goes the way of his money
orders, for home-sickness, if not a mobilization order, exerts its
compulsion before half a dozen years are out.

It is a strange experience to spend a night in some remote
mountain-village of Greece, and see Americanism and Hellenism face to
face. Hellenism is represented by the village schoolmaster. He wears a
black coat, talks a little French, and can probably read Homer; but his
longest journey has been to the normal school at Athens, and it has not
altered his belief that