We were doing very well when right in front of a great arch one of our horses fell down. We had a crowd in a minute, and as it was getting dusk I can't say that I liked the situation. But Suleiman got the horse on his feet somehow, and we pushed along and once more entered that diabolical Street of Smells. It had been bad day by day, but nothing to what it was now. There were no lights, except an oil-lamp here and there; the place was swarming with humanity and dogs, general vileness permeating everything. The woman who thought she had died and gone to hell could be certain of it here. It seemed that we would never get out of that street. We had to go slower, and the horrible gully was eternal in its length. How far ahead our party was we did not know. We were entirely alone in that unholy neighborhood with our faithful Suleiman, who looked like a cutthroat, anyhow. I wished he didn't look like that, and Laura said quietly that she never expected to see the light of another dawn. Bumpety-bump--bark, howl, clatter, darkness, stench--rolling and pitching through that mess, and then, heavenly sight--a vision of lights, water, the end of the Galata bridge! We made our way through the evening jam and the wild bedlam at the other end, crossing a crimson tide of fezzes, to reach the one clean place we have seen in Constantinople--that is, the ship. The ship is clean--too clean, we think, when we hear them scrubbing and mopping and thumping the decks at four o'clock in the morning, just about dog-howling time. Which brings me to a specimen of our ship German--American German--produced by a gentle soul named Fosdick, of Ohio. He used it on the steward after being kept awake by the ship-cleaning. This is what he said: "Vas in damnation is das noise? How can I schlaff mit das hellgefired donner-wetter going on oben mine head?" That is the sort of thing we can do when we get really stirred up. It is effective, too. There was no unseemly noise this morning. FOOTNOTES: [3] Note--a year later.--The Selamlik here described was among the last of such occasions. A few weeks later, in April, 1909, Abdul Hamid regained a brief ascendancy, ordered the terrible massacres of Adana, and on April 27th was permanently dethroned. He was succeeded by his brother, Mehmed V., who attends mosque with little or no ceremony. Abdul meantime has retired to Salonica, where he is living quietly--as quietly as one may with seventeen favorite wives and the imminent prospect of assassination. XXI LOOKING DOWN ON YILDIZ Heretofore, during our stay here, whenever any one happened to mention the less attractive aspects of Constantinople, I have said: "Yes, the city is pretty bad, but I'll wager the country is a dream. Remember Algiers and her suburban villas? It will be the same here."