. The near East; Dalmatia, Greece and Constantinople. er-tained as he drew my attention to two birds on thewall—Monsieur Peacock and Madame Peahen;and he was obliged to abandon all dignity and tolaugh outright when we came to a company of saintsand angels. The most sacred mosque in Turkey lies outside ofStamboul, at Eyub, far up the Golden Horn and notvery distant from the sweet waters of Europe. Init, on their accession, the sultans are solemnly girdedwith Osmans sword instead of being is a place of tombs. Chief eunuchs and grandvizirs sleep near the sea in great mausoleums in-cl
. The near East; Dalmatia, Greece and Constantinople. er-tained as he drew my attention to two birds on thewall—Monsieur Peacock and Madame Peahen;and he was obliged to abandon all dignity and tolaugh outright when we came to a company of saintsand angels. The most sacred mosque in Turkey lies outside ofStamboul, at Eyub, far up the Golden Horn and notvery distant from the sweet waters of Europe. Init, on their accession, the sultans are solemnly girdedwith Osmans sword instead of being is a place of tombs. Chief eunuchs and grandvizirs sleep near the sea in great mausoleums in-closed within gilded railings, and some of them sur-rounded by gardens; on the hillside above themthousands of the faithful rest under cypresses ingraves marked by dusty headstones leaning awry. The center or heart of Eyub is a pleasant village,which gathers closely about the mosque, and is fullof a quietly cheerful life. Just beyond the court ofthe mosque is a Turkish bath, where masseurs, withshaven heads and the usual tuft, lounge in the sun- 256. I r m a photojr iph, cupyriy^lu, by Uiulerwood & Underwood, N. Y. STREET VTSTA IN GALATA FROM END OF BRIDCiFCONSTANTINOPLE STAMBOUL, THE CITY OF MOSQUES shine while waiting- for customers. Near by aremany small shops and cafes. In one of the latter Iate an excellent meal of rice and fat mutton, cookedon a spit which revolved in the street. If you strayfrom the center of the village toward the outskirtsyou find yourself in a deserted rummage of tombs,of white columns, white cupolas, cloisters, rooms fortheological students, mausoleums of white and pinkmarble. No footsteps resound on the pavement ofthe road, no voices are heard in the little gardens, noeyes look out through the railings. As I wanderedthrough the sunshine to the small stone platform,where the Sultan descends from his horse when hecomes to be girded with the sword, I saw no sign oflife; and the only noise that I heard was the per-sistent tap of a hammer near the sea, w
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