Nor is the practice of such arts as these the only occupation by which they seek to enliven the deadly monotony of the greater number of lives passed in a harem--a monotony resulting not so much from the absence of employment and distractions as from their all being so much alike, just as certain books are tiresome from their uniformity of style, while their subjects may be entirely different. They do everything in their power to combat ennui: the whole day is often nothing but a prolonged struggle with this dreaded enemy. Seated upon rugs and cushions, with their slaves grouped around them, they hem innumerable little handkerchiefs to give away to their friends; embroider night-caps and tobacco-pouches as presents for their husbands, fathers, and brothers; tell the beads of the _tespi_ a hundred times; count as high as they know how; spend hours at a time watching the movements of the ships on the Bosphorus or Sea of Marmora from the small round windows of their elevated apartments; or weave interminable romances of love and liberty and riches as they watch the smoke from their cigarettes curl upward in blue wreaths. Tired of their cigarettes, they betake themselves to the chibuk and inhale the “blond hair of Latakia,” then a cup of Syrian coffee and a few sweetmeats, or some fruit or an ice, which they can spend half an hour in eating; then comes a little more smoking, the narghileh this time, perfumed with rose-water, and after it a piece of mastic gum, which they suck to get rid of the taste of the smoke; then some lemonade to do away with the taste of the mastic. They dress and undress, try on all their costumes, make experiments with all the colors in their little boxes, put on and take off patches cut like stars and crescents; and arrange a dozen or so mirrors and hand-glasses in such a way that they can see themselves on all sides; finally, when they are tired out, two young slaves will dance for their amusement accompanied by tambourine and tabor, while a third repeats the well-known song or fairy-tale that every one can say by heart, or the usual couple of mascottes dressed like acrobats perform the regular wrestling-match, which always ends in a stamp on the floor and an artificial, mirthless laugh. Sometimes a troupe of Egyptian dancers will present themselves, and this event is made the excuse for a little fête, or a gypsy comes and the _hanum_ must have her fortune told from the palm of her hand, or purchase a talisman that will preserve her youth, or a decoction to bring her children, or a love-philter. She will pass hours with her face pressed against the window-grating watching the people and dogs pass in the street below, or teaching the parrot a new word; then go to the garden to swing: returning to the house, she says her prayers or throws herself upon the divan to play a game of cards; then a visitor is announced and she jumps up to receive her, and there follows the customary round of coffee, tobacco,