A little way down the street is a Turkish pastry-shop. Lecturers and
writers have from time to time held forth on the enormities of
pie-eating, and given the American people "particular fits" for their
addiction to it. Now, while I fully endorse all I ever heard said on the
subject, I beg leave to remark that the Americans are not the _worst_
offenders in this way. If you want to see pastry, come to
Constantinople: _seeing_ will satisfy you--you won't risk a taste.
Mutton is largely eaten, and the mutton fat is used with flour to make
the crust, which is so rich that the grease fairly oozes out and
"smells to Heaven." Meat-pies are in great demand. The crust is baked
alone in a round flat piece, and laid out on a counter, which is soon
very greasy, ready to be filled. A large dish of hash is also ready, and
when a customer calls the requisite amount of meat is clapped on one
side of the paste, the other half doubled over it, and he departs eating
his halfmoon-shaped pie. On the counters you see displayed large
egg-shaped forms of what look like layers of tallow and cooked meat,
cheesy-looking cakes of many kinds and an endless variety of
confectionery. The sweetmeats are perfection, the fresh Turkish paste
with almonds in it melts in your mouth, and the sherbet, compounded of
the juice of many fruits and flowers and cooled with snow, is the most
delicious drink I ever tasted. There are also many kinds of nice
sweet-cakes; but, on the whole, I should prefer not to board in a
Turkish family or employ a Turkish cook. No wonder the women are pale
and sallow if they indulge much in such food!

Being anxious to see a good display of Turkish rugs, and our party
having some commissions to execute, we sallied forth one afternoon on
this errand. If you intend to visit a Turkish carpet warehouse, and your
purse or your judgment counsels you not to purchase, put yourself under
bonds to that effect before you go; for, unless you possess remarkable