MY TURKISH BATH.
DEAR PUNCHINELLO: It happened to be eleven o'clock some time during yesterday forenoon.
I generally take something at that hour.
Yesterday I took a Turkish Bath.
I took a horse-car. (That, however, is neither here nor there: but it got within two blocks of there at 11.25.) I ran up the steps of the T.B. establishment, and wired the inmates. The door flew open, and an ideal voter, erst a chattel (I hope I am not obscure in this deeply interesting portion of the narrative) pointed his thumb over his shoulder, displayed a choice assortment of ivory, and chuckled with great natural ease. I supposed this to be a custom with the colored population of Turkey, and passed on.
Everything was Turkish. I was struck with the order of the bath: also the scimetary of the apartments. As I think I before remarked,--I passed on.
The M.D. proprietor shook hands with me very cordially. I also shook hands with him. I told him that I wanted no ceremony; but if agreeable to him, I would gird up my loins and go in. He intimated that the only ceremony was to fund a small portion of the contents of my pocket-book. I am a little hard of hearing,--and I passed on.