ra, there were bow-windows in the principal rooms of each
story. A large divan quite fills each window, and there the Greek and
Armenian ladies lean back on their cushions, smoke their cigarettes
and have a good view up and down the street. There was a pretty
music-room with cabinet piano and harp, and opening from that the
loveliest little winter garden. The bow-window was filled with plants,
and orange trees and other shrubs were arranged in large pots along
the side of the room. The wall at one end was made of rock-work, and
in the crevices were planted vines, ferns and mosses. Tiny jets of
water near the ceiling kept the top moist, and dripped and trickled
down over the rocks and plants till they reached the pebbly basin
below. The floor was paved with pebbles--white, gray, black and a
dark-red color--laid in cement in pretty patterns, and in the centre
was a fountain whose spray reached the glass roof overhead. There were
fish in the wide basin around the fountain, which was edged with a
broad border of lycopodium. A little balcony opening out of an upper
room was covered with vines, and close to the balustrade were boxes
filled with plants in full bloom.

[Illustration: THE SULTAN'S NEW PALACE ON THE BOSPHORUS.]

But the housetop was my especial admiration. It was flat, with a stone
floor and high parapet. On all four sides close to this were wide,
deep boxes where large plants and shrubs were growing luxuriantly.
Large vases filled with vines and exotics were placed at intervals
along the top of the parapet. Part of the roof was covered with a
light wooden awning, and a dumb-waiter connected with the kitchen, so
that on warm evenings dinner was easily served in the cool fresh air
of the roof. The view from here was magnificent--the Golden Horn,
Stamboul with its mosques and white minarets, and beyond the Sea of
Marmora. Where a woman's life is so much spent in the house, such a
place for air and exercise is much to be prized, but I fear my pretty
Austrian friend will sigh for the freedom of Vienna after the novelty
of the East has worn off.

[Illustration: MARBLE STAIRCASE, PALACE OF BESKIK-TASCH.]

Of course we paid a visit to Seraglio Point, whose palmy days,
however, have passed away. The great fire of 1865 burned the palace,
a large district on the Marmora, and swept around the walls of St.
Sophia, leaving the mosque unharmed, but surrounded by ruins. The
sultan never rebuilds: it is not considered lucky