"How the Turks do enjoy their coffee," said an occupant of our carriage, calling attention to a group squatting on the ground with cups in hand.
Near our carriage a Turk was making coffee on a portable stove and selling the beverage to thirsty customers; an itinerant barber placed his portable stool beside our carriage wheel, opened his kit of tools and was soon busy lathering and shaving dusky faces; a water peddler with his jar on his back played a tune on tumblers by rubbing them with his fingers; a cake peddler's table was upset by passing dragoons and he mournfully picked up the fragments. The trays of the Turkish peddlers of candies and cakes were clean and the articles offered appeared fresh and appetizing. We yielded to temptation and bought some "Turkish delight" and some light flaky biscuit, and, after eating the dainties, wished for more.
THE TIME OF WAITING WAS NOT TIRESOME.
"It is nearly one o'clock," said the guide looking at his watch.
The street cleaners were hastily giving a final polish to the roadway over which the Sultan would drive between the lines of soldiers. A dozen carts filled with clean sand that had been standing near us were hurried up the hill and the white sand was spread over the Sultan's path. The bands ceased playing; the soldiers stood at attention; the Muezzin called to prayer; a trumpet sounded from the gates; and from the palace on the hill carriages emerged containing the veiled wives of the ruler attended by black eunuchs on horseback. A long line of military officers in handsome uniforms followed on foot; then a shout arose from the assembled troops, and a carriage appeared drawn by a very handsome pair of horses in gold-mounted harness. In the carriage the Sultan sat alone. The huzzas of the troops continued until his Majesty entered the mosque. Then all was silent, for the Sultan was at his prayers alone. His wives and his officials had been left at the entrance. No person was permitted to enter. The Iman, or priest in charge, and the Sultan were the only occupants of the mosque.
Without waiting for the ruler's return the visitors hastened away, the carriages raising such a cloud of dust that it was difficult to see across the road. A hasty luncheon in a Pera restaurant followed, and then we turned toward Stamboul. As we drove again across the Galata bridge through the ever interesting throng of humanity that crowds over it, our attention was called to the manner in which merchandise is conveyed through the narrow streets of the city. Wagons are rarely used, but men carry the merchandise on their backs and shoulders. These men passed us laden with immense bales of hides, huge bundles of carpets and rugs, large boxes of dry-goods, great crates of fruits or vegetables, piles of trunks, barrels and sacks of groceries, and cans of oil. The ponderous burdens were heaped upon wooden frames fitted to the backs and strapped to the shoulders of the carriers. When the load was too heavy for one man to carry, it was suspended on poles and carried by two or more of the bearers.
"WHAT A CONTRAST," SHE SAID.