bright yellow boots under a brilliant scarlet ferraja and an unusually
white yashmak, you will generally find the wearer is a jet-black
negress. Sitting so much in the house _à la Turque_ is not conducive to
grace of motion, nor are loose slippers to well-shaped feet, and I must
confess that a Turkish woman walks like a _goose_, and the size of her
"fairy feet" would rejoice the heart of a leather-dealer.

[Illustration: ENTERING A MOSQUE.]

We have been to see the Howling Dervishes, and I will endeavor to give
you some idea of their performances. Crossing to Scutari in the steam
ferryboat, we walked some distance till we reached the mosque, where the
services were just commencing. The attendant who admitted us intimated
that we must remove our boots and put on the slippers provided. N----
did so, but I objected, and the man was satisfied with my wearing them
over my boots. We were conducted up a steep, ladder-like staircase to a
small gallery, with a low front only a foot high, with no seats but
sheepskins on the floor, where we were expected to curl ourselves up in
Turkish fashion. Both my slippers came off during my climb up stairs,
and were rescued in their downward career by N----, who by dint of much
shuffling managed to keep his on. Below us were seated some thirty or
forty dervishes. The leader repeated portions of the Koran, in which
exercise others occasionally took part in a quiet manner. After a while
they knelt in line opposite their leader and began to chant in louder
tones, occasionally bowing forward full length. Matters down below
progressed slowly at first, and were getting monotonous. One of my feet,
unaccustomed to its novel position, had gone to sleep, and I was in a
cramped state generally. Moreover, we were not the sole occupants of the
gallery: the sheepskins were full of them, and I began to think that if
the dervishes did not soon begin to howl, _I_ should. Some traveler has