Stamboul with its mosques and white minarets, and beyond the Sea of
Marmora. Where a woman's life is so much spent in the house, such a
place for air and exercise is much to be prized, but I fear my pretty
Austrian friend will sigh for the freedom of Vienna after the novelty
of the East has worn off.

[Illustration: MARBLE STAIRCASE, PALACE OF BESKIK-TASCH.]

Of course we paid a visit to Seraglio Point, whose palmy days,
however, have passed away. The great fire of 1865 burned the palace,
a large district on the Marmora, and swept around the walls of St.
Sophia, leaving the mosque unharmed, but surrounded by ruins. The
sultan never rebuilds: it is not considered lucky to do so. Indeed,
he is said to believe that if he were to stop building he would die.
Seraglio Point has been abandoned by the court, and the sultan lives
in a palace on the Bosphorus, and one of the loveliest spots on earth
is left to decay. We entered through the magnificent gate of the
Sublime Porte, passed the barracks, which are still occupied by
the soldiers, visited the arsenal and saw the wax figures of the
Janizaries and others in Turkish costume. The upper part of the
pleasure-grounds is in a neglected state, and those near the water are
entirely destroyed. In one of the buildings are the crown-jewels and a
valuable collection of other articles. There were elegant toilet sets
mounted in gold; the most exquisitely delicate china; daggers, swords
and guns of splendid workmanship and sparkling with jewels; Chinese
work and carving; golden dishes, cups and vases, and silver pitchers
thickly encrusted with precious stones; horse trappings and velvet
hangings worked stiff with pearls, gold and silver thread, bits
of coral, and jewels; three emeralds as large as small hen's eggs,
forming the handle of a dirk; and in a large glass case magnificent