not enter that of a much-abused and long-suffering donkey.

The bazaar! How shall I describe what so many travelers have
made familiar? Some one has called it "a monstrous hive of little
shops--thousands under one roof;" and so it is. Each street is devoted
to a peculiar kind of merchandise. It would take more than one letter
to tell all the beautiful things we saw--cashmere shawls, Brousa
silks, delicate gauzes, elegantly-embroidered jackets, dresses,
tablecloths, cushions, etc., of all textures and the most fashionable
Turkish styles. We looked at antiquities, saw superb precious stones,
the finest of them unset, admired the display of saddles and bridles
and the array of boots and slippers in all colors of morocco. A
Turkish woman never rushes round as we did from one shop to another,
but if she wishes to buy anything--a shawl, for instance--she sits
comfortably down on a rug, selects the one she likes best, and
spends the rest of the day bargaining for it; during which time many
cigarettes are smoked by both customer and merchant, much coffee
drunk, long intervals spent in profound reflection on the subject,
and at last the shawl is purchased for a tenth perhaps of the original
price asked, and they part, each well pleased. It takes several visits
to see the bazaar satisfactorily, and we felt as we left it that we
had but made a beginning.

SHEILA HALE.




THE BALLAD OF THE BELL-TOWER.