There seems to be a larger proportion of superior dwelling-houses in Tereklu than in Gieveh, although, to the misguided mind of an unbeliever from the West, they have cast a sort of a funereal shadow over this otherwise desirable feature of their town by building their principal residences around a populous cemetery, which plays the part of a large central square. The houses are mostly two-story frame buildings, and the omnipresent balconies and all the windows are faced with close lattice-work, so that the Osmanli ladies can enjoy the luxury of gazing contemplatively out on the area of disorderly grave-stones without being subjected to the prying eyes of passers-by. In the matter of veiling their faces the women of these interior towns place no such liberal - not to say coquettish - interpretation upon the office of the yashmak as do their sisters of the same religion in and about Constantinople.

The ladies of Tereklu, seemingly, have a holy horror of displaying any of their facial charms; the only possible opportunity offered of seeing anything, is to obtain an occasional glimpse of the one black eye with which they timidly survey you through a small opening in the folds of their shroud-like outer garment, that encases them from head to foot; and even this peeping window of their souls is frequently hidden behind the impenetrable yashmak. Mussulman women are the most gossipy and inquisitive creatures imaginable; a very natural result, I suppose, of having had their feminine rights divine under constant restraint and suppression by the peculiar social position women occupy in Mohammedan countries.

When I have arrived in town and am surrounded and hidden from outside view by a solid wall of men, it is really quite painful to see the women standing in small groups at a distance trying to make out what all the excitement is about. Nobody seems to have a particle of sympathy for their very natural inquisitiveness, or even to take any notice of their presence. It is quite surprising to see how rapidly the arrival of the Frank with the wonderful araba becomes known among these women from one end of town to another; in an incredibly short space of time, groups of shrouded forms begin to appear on the housetops and other vantage-points, craning their necks to obtain a glimpse of whatever is going on.

In the innocence of an unsophisticated nature, and a feeling of genuine sympathy for their position, I propose collecting these scattered groups of neglected females together and giving an exhibition for their especial benefit, but the men evidently regard the idea of going to any trouble out of consideration for them as quite ridiculous; indeed, I am inclined to think they regard it as evidence that I am nothing less than a gay Lothario, who is betraying altogether too much interest in their women; for the old school Osmanli encompasses those hapless mortals about with a green wall of jealousy, and regards with disapproval, even so much as a glance in their direction. While riding on one occasion, this evening, I noticed one over-inquisitive female become so absorbed in the proceedings as to quite forget herself, and approach nearer to the crowd than the Tereklu idea of propriety would seem to justify. In her absent-mindedness, while watching me ride slowly up and dismount, she allowed her yashmak to become disarranged and reveal her features. This awful indiscretion is instantly detected by an old Blue-beard standing by, who eyes the offender severely, but says nothing; if she is one of his own wives, or the wife of an intimate friend, the poor lady has perhaps earned for herself a chastisement with a stick later in the evening.

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Adapted from Thomas Stevens, Around the World on a Bicycle