to be a donkey: the head, tail and feet, which
were all I could see of it, led me to believe it was one of those
much-abused animals. The rest of its body was lost to sight in the
voluminous robes of a corpulent Turk; and, as if he were not load
enough for one donkey, behind him sat a small boy holding his "baba's"
robe very tight lest he should slide off over the donkey's tail. I
looked around for Bergh or some member of a humane society, but no one
except ourselves seemed to see anything unusual. I thought if I were a
Hindu and believed in the transmigration of souls, I would pray that,
whatever shape my spirit took when it left its present form, it might
not enter that of a much-abused and long-suffering donkey.

The bazaar! How shall I describe what so many travelers have
made familiar? Some one has called it "a monstrous hive of little
shops--thousands under one roof;" and so it is. Each street is devoted
to a peculiar kind of merchandise. It would take more than one letter
to tell all the beautiful things we saw--cashmere shawls, Brousa
silks, delicate gauzes, elegantly-embroidered jackets, dresses,
tablecloths, cushions, etc., of all textures and the most fashionable
Turkish styles. We looked at antiquities, saw superb precious stones,
the finest of them unset, admired the display of saddles and bridles
and the array of boots and slippers in all colors of morocco. A
Turkish woman never rushes round as we did from one shop to another,
but if she wishes to buy anything--a shawl, for instance--she sits
comfortably down on a rug, selects the one she likes best, and
spends the rest of the day bargaining for it; during which time many
cigarettes are smoked by both customer and merchant, much coffee
drunk, long intervals spent in profound reflection on the subject,
and at last the shawl is purchased for a tenth perhaps of the original
price asked, and they part, each well pleased. It takes several visits
to see the bazaar satisfactorily, and we felt as we left it that we
had but made a beginning.

SHEILA HALE.

THE BALLAD OF THE BELL-TOWER.

"Five years ago I vowed to Heaven upon my falchion blade
To build the tower; and to this hour my vow hath not been paid.

"When from the eagle's nest I snatched my falcon-hearted dove,
And in my breast shaped her a nest, safe and warm-lined with love,

"Not all the bells in Christendom, if rung with fervent might,
That happy day in janglings gay had told my