the Nubian had uttered, the effendi confessed that he had lent the
book to a dervish and feared it was indeed lost. It was a lucky hit of
the old darkey's, at any rate.

An opportunity came at last to gratify a long-cherished wish by
visiting a harem. Madame L----, a French lady who has lived here
many years, visits in the harems of several pashas, and invited me
to accompany her. I donned the best my trunk afforded, and at eleven
o'clock we set out, each in a sedan chair. I had often wondered why
the ladies I saw riding in them sat so straight and looked so stiff,
but I wondered no longer when the stout Cretans stepped into the
shafts, one before and the other behind, and started off. The motion
is a peculiar shake, as if you went two steps forward and one back. It
struck me as so ludicrous, my sitting bolt upright like a doll in my
little house, that I drew the curtains and had a good laugh at my
own expense. Half an hour's ride brought us to the pasha's house in
Stamboul--a large wooden building with closely-latticed windows. We
were received at the door by a tall Ethiopian, who conducted us across
a court to the harem. Here a slave took our wraps, and we passed into
a little reception-room. A heavy rug of bright colors covered the
centre of the floor, and the only furniture was the divans around the
sides. The pasha's two wives, having been apprised of our intended
visit, were waiting to receive us. Madame L---- was an old friend and
warmly welcomed, and as she spoke Turkish the conversation was brisk.
She presented me, and we all curled ourselves up on the divans.
Servants brought tobacco in little embroidered bags and small sheets
of rice paper, and rolling up some cigarettes, soon all were
smoking. The pasha is an "old-style" Turk, and frowns on all European
innovations, and his large household is conducted on the old-fashioned
principles of his forefathers. His two wives were young and very