IN six months Milosh Obrenovitch had driven the
Turks from Serbia; it took thrice that number of years
to set her independence upon a firm foundation. In
the diplomatic game he had few equals. Astute and
patient, restrained and tenacious, he was well fitted to
wear down the obstinate resistance of Mahmud II.
Turkish diplomacy was summed up by Lord Strangford,
a contemporary British Ambassador at Constantinople,
as "coffee, pipes, and preliminary deliberations," and he
might have added, "preliminary deliberations, pipes, and
coffee." George Canning, not the most patient of our
foreign Ministers, once sent a dispatch to Constantinople,
saying, "The English Government must no longer be
amused by unmeaning promises. We appeal to the
honour of the Sultan for facts." ¹ But the snail pace
and the fictions of Turkish diplomacy, though madden-
ing to foreign diplomats, are by no means futile and
ridiculous. The aim of Turkish policy, which has
always been the same for a century, is admirably
suited to Turkish interests. Conscious of weakness,
the Turkish Foreign Office has seldom dared openly

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