When it grows dark the mulazim takes me to the public coffee-garden, near the burned bazaar, a place which ia really no garden at all only some broad, rude benches encircling a round water-tank or fountain, and which is fenced in with a low, wabbly picket-fence. Seated crossed-legged on the benches are a score of sober-sided Turks, smoking nargilehs and cigarettes, and sipping coffee; the feeble light dispensed by a lantern on top of a pole in the centre of the tank makes the darkness of the "garden" barely visible; a continuous splashing of water, the result of the overflow from a pipe projecting three feet above the surface, furnishes the only music; the sole auricular indication of the presence of patrons is when some customer orders "kahvay" or "nargileh" in a scarcely audible tone of voice; and this is the Turk's idea of an evening's enjoyment.

Returning to the khan, I find it full of happy people looking at the bicycle; commenting on the wonderful marifet (skill) apparent in its mechanism, and the no less marvellous marifet required in riding it. They ask me if I made it myself and hatch-lira ? (how many liras ?) and then requesting the privilege of looking at my teskeri they find rare amusement in comparing my personal charms with the description of my form and features as interpreted by the passport officer in Galata. Two men among them have in some manner picked up a sand from the sea-shore of the English language.

One of them is a very small sand indeed, the solitary negative phrase, "no;" nevertheless, during the evening he inspires the attentive auditors with respect for his linguistic accomplishments by asking me numerous questions, and then, anticipating a negative reply, forestalls it himself by querying, "No?" The other "linguist" has in some unaccountable manner added the ability to say "Good morning " to his other accomplishments; and when about time to retire, and the crowd reluctantly bestirs itself to depart from the magnetic presence of the bicycle, I notice an extraordinary degree of mysterious whispering and suppressed amusement going on among them, and then they commence filing slowly out of the door with the "linguistic person" at their head; as that learned individual reaches the threshold he turns toward we, makes a salaam and says, "Good-morning," and everyone of the company, even down to the irrepressible youngster who was cuffed a minute ago for venturing to twirl a pedal, and who now forms the rear- guard of the column, likewise makes a salaam and says, "Good-morning."

Quilts are provided for me, and I spend the night on the divan of the khan; a few roving mosquitoes wander in at the open window and sing their siren songs around my couch, a few entomological specimens sally forth from their permanent abode in the lining of the quilts to attack me and disturb my slumbers; but later experience teaches me to regard my slumbers to-night as comparatively peaceful and undisturbed. In the early morning I am awakened by the murmuring voices of visitors gathering to see me off; coffee is handed to me ere my eyes are fairly open, and the savory odor of eggs already sizzling in the pan assail my olfactory nerves. The khan-jee is an Osmanli and a good Mussulman, and when ready to depart I carelessly toss him my purse and motion for him to help himself-a thing I would not care to do with the keeper of a small tavern in any other country or of any other nation. Were he entertaining me in a private capacity he would feel injured at any hint of payment; but being a khan- jee, he opens the purse and extracts a cherik - twenty cents.