The most perfect cleanliness is the leading characteristic of Eastern houses—not a grain of dust, not a foot-mark, defaces the surface of the Indian matting that covers the large halls, whence the several apartments branch off in every direction; the glass from which you drink is carefully guarded to avoid the possibility of contamination; and, the instant that you have eaten, a slave stands before you with water and a napkin to cleanse your hands. To the constant use of the bath I have already alluded; and no soil is ever seen on the dress of a Turkish gentlewoman. I am quite conscious that more than one lady-reader will lay down my volume without regret, when she discovers how matter-of-fact are many of its contents. The very term “Oriental” implies to European ears the concentration of romance; and I was long in the East ere I could divest myself of the same feeling. It would have been easy for me to have continued the illusion, for Oriental habits lend themselves greatly to the deceit, when the looker-on is satisfied with glancing over the surface of things; but with a conscientious chronicler this does not suffice; and, consequently, I rather sought to be instructed than to be amused, and preferred the veracious to the entertaining. This bowing down of the imagination before the reason is, however, the less either a merit on the one hand, or a sacrifice on the other, that enough of the wild and the wonderful, as well as of the bright and the beautiful, still remains, to make the East a scene of enchantment. A sky, whose blue brilliancy floods with light alike the shores of Asia and of Europe—whose sunshine falls warm and golden on domes, and minarets, and palaces—a sea, whose waves glitter in silver, forming the bright bond by which two quarters of the world are linked together—an Empire, peopled by the gathering of many nations—the stately Turk—the serious Armenian—the wily Jew—the keen-eyed Greek—the graceful Circassian—the desert-loving Tartar—the roving Arab—the mountain-born son of Caucasus—the voluptuous Persian—the Indian Dervish, and the thoughtful Frank—each clad in the garb, and speaking the language of his people; suffice to weave a web of tints too various and too brilliant to be wrought into the dull and commonplace pattern of every-day existence. I would not remove one fold of the graceful drapery which veils the time-hallowed statue of Eastern power and beauty; but I cannot refrain from plucking away the trash and tinsel that ignorance and bad taste have hung about it; and which belong as little to the masterpiece they desecrate, as the votive offerings of bigotry and superstition form a part of one of Raphaël’s divine Madonnas, because they are appended to her shrine. CHAPTER VII.