vagrancy into the smallest possible pieces. First she will drop into the nearest mosque to say her prayers and loiter under the arches of the courtyard for a quarter of an hour or so, chatting with a friend; next she will go to the bazâr, glance into half a dozen shops, turn one or two upside down, and finally, after purchasing some trifle, take the tramway down to the fish-market, cross the bridge, and examine at her leisure every wig and headdress in every hair-dresser’s shop in the Rue de Pera; next we find her in a cemetery, where, after settling herself comfortably on one of the tombs, she will sit for some time munching sweetmeats; then back to the city and down to the Golden Horn again, making numberless détours to right and left, and watching everything out of the corner of her eye--shop-windows, signs, posters, the other ladies who pass her, carriages, the open doors of theatres, advertisements; then she will buy a bunch of flowers, give a trifle to some beggar, drink a glass of lemonade from a water-carrier, and, recrossing the Golden Horn, in a käik this time, make some fresh excursions about Stambul; after which she will again take the tramway, alighting at her own door. But even on the threshold she is fully capable of turning back merely for the purpose of walking a little way up the street and making the circuit of a half-dozen houses or so before being shut in for the night, just as some young girl who has been allowed to go out for once alone tries to crowd a little of everything into that one short hour of liberty. A poor fat effendi who should undertake to follow and watch his wife to see if she were up to any mischief would certainly have a hard time of it: he would very probably find himself distanced at the end of the first half hour. * * * * *