"Who was the Bulgarian with our Vice-Consul?" I inquired. "He is in business with the Vice-Consul, and, I am sorry to say, does not love us Turks." "Why?" "Because his brother was one of the victims in the late Bulgarian rebellion." "People in England blame us for the massacres," continued Suleiman. "What could we do? Our regular troops were employed elsewhere. This was owing to the intrigues of Russia; we were obliged to employ Circassians. The Circassians hate the Russians, and indeed they have reason to hate them. Those whose own mothers and sisters have been ravished and butchered, cannot be expected to love their oppressors. The Circassians looked upon the Bulgarians as Russians, hence the bloodshed. A few days ago I read an extract from an English paper, which had been translated into Turkish. It was to the effect that an English priest had seen people impaled by our Bashi Bazouks. Have you heard of this?" "Yes, but the story has been contradicted." "It is a pity when Christian priests or Mohammedan Imaums mix themselves up in politics," remarked another Turk; "their place is to calm men's passions, not to rouse them." They left me; my host having previously asked at what time I should like to dine, with the observation that his hour was mine. Three servants were also placed at my disposal, with orders to supply me with anything I might require. The following morning I called upon the Vice-Consul, and found him at home with his wife—a delicate-looking lady, who had braved all the hardships of the journey from Ismid in order to be at her husband's side. Their house was furnished with every English comfort. It was difficult to believe that we were so many days from a railroad. "That piano cost us a great deal of trouble," said the Vice-Consul. "It was brought here in two parts, and on mules." "It is wonderful how it could have survived the journey," said the lady. Going to the instrument, she sounded the notes, which were very fairly in tune. "The Turkish ladies are so astonished with the piano," she continued. "They will sit for hours and listen to me playing." I now started with the Consul to pay a visit to the Pacha. We arrived in a large courtyard, which was badly paved with loose stones. At one end there were some steps which led to the official residence. The courtyard was thronged with people who had been summoned to hear the telegram read about the new Constitution; men in uniform, beggars, people with petitions in their hands, all swearing and jostling each other, as my companion and myself with difficulty made our way up the stairs. We were at once admitted into the audience-room. I found the Pacha, a tall, good-looking man of middle age, engaged in placing his seal upon a number of documents which an official was handing to him. He received us courteously, and proposed that we should accompany him to the court below, and listen to the proclamation of the Sultan's telegram.