The day of the “Selamlic,” the birthday of Mahomed, when the Sultan leaves his palace in great pomp and goes to the neighbouring “Hamidieh Mosque” to public prayers, fell that year on a Friday, the Mahomedan Sabbath. Thanks to Mme. Lebedeff, we had the opportunity to see the ceremonial of the “Selamlic,” and the Sultan’s State visit to the mosque. She had got cards of admission for us to the terrace of one of the wings of the palace, where places were reserved for the members of the diplomatic corps with their wives and daughters. Mme. Lebedeff came to fetch Zoe and me in her phaeton, in a grand toilet, with a Turkish Order glittering on her breast, which made her look very pompous and very patronising. Great animation reigned in the town; people crowded in the streets so that our carriage could scarcely move. The windows and house-tops were full of spectators, and the native women seemed to be all out of doors, walking about in groups, wrapped up in long white veils which covered them from head to foot. In a narrow street we had got into the stream of carriages, and nearly ran into a cab. In a moment I was out of the phaeton, just when a platoon of soldiers was advancing on me. Seeing my critical position, a young Turk, who occupied the cab we got into, asked me to get into his carriage, but Mme. Lebedeff drew me back hastily. At length, after many struggles, we arrived at our destination and mounted on the terrace, where Constantinople’s high society had gathered in a brilliant throng around us. On the square under our feet were guards of honour and massed troops: twelve battalions, fifteen squadrons and eight military bands, were ranged. We found ourselves just over the bayonets of a regiment of Tunis Zouaves, very good-looking, dark-skinned men. The Muezzin in the minaret began to call to prayers, and there soon appeared a smart coach containing the recluses of the Sultan’s harem, preceded by the Grand-master of the eunuchs, and two negro and two white footmen. The numerous sons of the Sultan, armed with spears, came behind cantering on magnificent steeds. An infinite number of Pashas, Beys and Effendies brought up the rear, with a great number of German officers, who had come to Constantinople to teach the military art to the Turkish army; and then, to the desperate and wild sounds of the Turkish bands, the Sultan appeared, reclining in a victoria with a coachman in Albanian costume. The Padishah was acclaimed with enthusiasm by the populace, and the troops saluted him putting their hand on the breast and forehead. As soon as the Sultan had entered the Mosque, religious chants were heard. On Friday the service lasts twenty minutes usually, but this time it was prolonged more than an hour through the reading aloud of the Prophet’s biography. The Sultan returned to the palace mounted on a fine long-tailed Arab; the horse’s trappings and saddle were covered with precious stones. The Sultan stood at his window