First of all, then, the face of the Turkish woman is no longer a mystery, and owing to this fact alone much of the poetry that surrounded her has disappeared. That jealous veil which, according to the Koran, was to be at once the “seal of her virtue and a safeguard against the world,” has become a mere form. Every one knows how the _yashmac_ is arranged. There are two large white veils--one, bound around the head like a bandage, covers the forehead down to the eyebrows, is knotted just above the nape of the neck, and falls over the back in two long ends reaching to the waist; the other covers all the lower part of the face and is carried back and tied in with the first in such a manner as to give the effect of a single veil. These veils, however, which are supposed to be of muslin and adjusted so as to leave nothing visible but the eyes and the upper part of the cheeks, have worn away to something very thin and flimsy indeed, while they have drawn farther and farther apart, until now not only most of the face, but the ears, neck, and hair, and not infrequently a European hat and feathers worn by “reformed ladies,” are plainly visible. Hence the reverse of the former order of things has come about. Then it was the older women who were allowed to appear with their faces somewhat less closely covered, while the young ones were obliged to conceal them rigorously. Now the young ones, especially if they be handsome, show as much of their features as possible, while the older women, in order to deceive people, wear their veils thick and closely drawn. And so an infinite number of charming and romantic incidents told by poets and writers of fiction are no longer possible, and among other fables is that of the husband seeing his bride’s face for the first time on the night of his marriage. Beyond the face, however, all is still concealed, and not so much as a passing glimpse can be had of waist or bosom or arm: the _ferege_ hides everything. This is a sort of tunic furnished with a cape and very long sleeves, full and shapeless, and falling like a cloak from the shoulders to the feet. In winter it is made of cloth, in summer of silk, all of one color, and that usually brilliant--now bright red, now orange, now green; but, whatever may be the change in color from year to year, the cut is never altered. Notwithstanding the fact that the women are enveloped in this manner, so great is the art with which they can adjust the _yashmac_ that the pretty ones pass for beauties, and those who are ugly look pleasing. It is difficult to say just what it is they do with those two veils. How artfully they dispose of their ample folds, drawing them back and allowing them to fall in simple classic lines or arranging them like coronets or turbans! With what subtle grace they employ them to at once display and conceal their charms, offering a tantalizing suggestion, a promise, a check, and revealing unlooked-for marvels! Some of them seem