duce you to my daughters. Come, be tempted."

I had heard a great deal about Mesdemoiselles Colette and Jeanine. They had been mentioned to me as two extraordinary children, and worthy of observation.

I accepted, and we entered the diningroom, which, for want of space, I will not describe.

I took my seat at the right hand of Madame Dumas, whose affable and hospitable welcome is never to be forgotten. Her daughters were seated opposite me, and I did not take my eyes off of them while tak ing my breakfast. Colette is fourteen years old, she is no longer a child, and she is not yet a young girl. Besides, she has from her babyhood defied classification. Do little children usually talk in the following manner? The day after the first representation of the "Supplice d'une Femme "-that drama in which a child chooses between her parents, who are about to separate-Dumas said to Colette, who was scarcely six years old:

'Papa and mamma are going away from each other. Which will you stay with?" "With the one who doesn't go away," answered Colette, without hesitation.

"This lesson from such youthful lips terrified me," said Dumas. "It is the lesson of the piece condensed into a few words. I attribute it to chance, and a little also to Colette's home-staying instincts. If she staid with the one who remained at home, she would avoid being disturbed."

Jeanine, who is almost eight years old, makes less profound replies. One Sunday morning-she was then five years old-her nurse, whom she did not wish to accompany to mass, described to her the surprise of the Virgin when she did not see Jeanine in her usual place at the church:

The breakfast drew to a close. I can bear witness that the author of the "Idées de Mme. Aubray" possesses a splendid appetite. I expressed my surprise, however, when I saw him mix his wine with mineral water, an action which is a symptom of a difficult digestion.

"What kind of water do you drink?" I asked him.

"Simply pure water. But you may have noticed that the bottle which contains it is of a remarkable form, and has an elaborate ticket on it. The secret lies in that. One day my stomach, which is usually good-natured, picked a quarrel with me. 'I know what the rascal wants,' I said to myself. 'He sees all his comrades get mineral water, and so he is jealous and rebels. I will be more cunning than he, however. ever since, I give him pure water out of an old Vichy-water bottle. He takes it unflinchingly, thinks he is satisfied, and has behaved like an angel ever since."

And so,

Every medal has its reverse. If the taste of Alexandre Dumas for fine paintings gives him exquisite delight, it also procures for him intolerable nuisances.

The daubers without renown, the scrawl. ers out of work, the sculptors without or ders, all flock to him. All of them complain of the hard times, and lament their poverty, and cry famine! The great author, who has one of the most compassionate natures that I have ever known, and who tries hard to do good with discretion, always allows himself to be moved. The poor devils who appeal to his good heart always go away satisfied, for, if he does not put money into their pockets, at least he puts much hope into their hearts.

All, however, do not yield to the salutary influences of his advice and the charm of his words. One day he received the visit of a landscape-painter, who showed him a remarkable etching.

"That is very fine," cried Dumas. "I will buy it. How much do you want for it?" "It is not valuable," said the artist, "because I am alive; but after I am dead it will be worth something. Give me a hundred francs for it."

"There they are; but, believe me, do not talk so. Work hard, and you will succeed." That very evening Dumas heard that the artist had returned home, had paid his debts with the hundred francs, and had blown out his brains!

Then there are others who bring him a

Colette is Dumas père, and Jeanine is Dumas fils. Colette is extravagant, prodigal, generous, and excitable. Her actions are thoughtless and spontaneous. Jeanine makes up her mind long beforehand, never gives an opinion till she knows the cause of things, and seems already to have acquired a large stock of experience.

As soon as she knew how to write-she was then six years old-Colette wrote down all her impressions every evening in a huge book. Her father has always taken care that she should keep up her journal regularly. Therein, for the last eight years, Colette has set down, in a language which has gradnally become purer, her judgments and her opinions upon every thing that strikes her. Therein may be found queer accounts of plays, for Colette is passionately fond of the thea

steps of us, and others seized on the wing the crumbs that the master threw out to them.

"I know them almost all," he said. "The one you see there, perched on the rose-bush on the right, is a regular gamin of Paris. He reminds me of a boy who, the morning of the first representation of Le Fils Naturel," stopped me on the steps of the Gymnase and asked me for a place, saying:

"I have a right to a free ticket, for I have never known my parents."

When the sparrows were satisfied, we went up to the vast picture-gallery on the first floor by a staircase whose walls literally disappeared under the mass of pictures which covered them. The most original of these paintings is a portrait of Victor Hugo at the age of twenty, painted by Deveria.

One may form an idea of the number of masterpieces collected in this house when I say that the illustrious proprietor has been obliged to place on the walls of this staircase pictures by Diaz, Corot, and Daubigny, which at least enjoy there an excellent light. The enchantment borders on ecstasy in this immense hall, adorned from floor to ceiling with all the most remarkable productions of the modern school of French art. I would consume reams of paper if I tried to enumerate the Meissoniers, the Millets, the Rousseaus, the Duprés, that hang upon the walls.

"I do not ask you to buy this canvas, only put in into a lottery; your connections are extensive, and you can easily dispose of the tickets."

Dumas consents, and advances the required sum to the needy artist. Then he cuts out fifty squares of paper, adorns them with pretty numbers, takes half himself, and offers the rest to his acquaintances. But that which succeeds a hundred times fails the hundred-and-first time. Dumas offers them in vain; he sighs, and takes ten more numbers. "I can certainly dispose of fifteen," he says to himself. At last a visitor comes who lets himself be tempted. But six months pass without another person being taken in.

In the mean time the gentleman who took the single number besieges Dumas with letters, and asks him, in pressing terms:

"When are you going to draw the lot

tery?"

If he meets him on the street, he calls to him from afar:

"Will the lottery be drawn soon? " Tired of waiting, and in order to get rid of the troublesome man, Dumas takes the other fourteen tickets, which gives him fortynine out of the fifty. He then proceeds to draw the lottery, and, to cap the climax, it is the gentleman with the one ticket who draws the picture!

I said just now that Dumas possesses a great many drawings by Meissonier. The most interesting one is, without doubt, one called "The Interior of an Artist's Studio." It represents the woman who inspired the novelist with the "Affaire Clemenceau" posing nude before her husband. It was a present made by the great artist to the great

author some time after the publication of his famous book, and it was only after the author's repeated requests that Meissonier wrote at the foot of the sketch, "To my friend Dumas."

"Why did you not wish to write that inscription?" asked the latter.

"My dear fellow," said Meissonier, "drawings with inscriptions are always sold cheap." "But I do not intend to sell yours." "Then you must be very rich."

Dumas possesses among his pictures marvelous compositions which he procured for nothing, and which are now worth fabulous sums. He is slightly vain of having been by turns a picture-dealer and connoisseur.

"The profession which would have given me most satisfaction," he said, "is that of a bric-a-brac dealer. To speculate in pretty things is at once the most amusing and most profitable of pastimes. There is nothing more stupid or disagreeable than to sell candles and tooth-brushes; but Raphaels, Corots, old ivory, or old tapestry! . . . If ever I perceive that my faculties are growing weak; if, as clever as Rossini, I know when to stop, neither too soon nor too late, I will set up a huge shop for the sale of works of art. It is the best possible business. To live with the masterpieces of the past and of the present; to have them under your eyes; to inhale their venerable dust; to exchange them or dispose of them at a profit when one is tired of admiring them; to buy others, and contemplate them anew-what a vision! And then there are surprises, chances. Is it not flattering to see a Rothschild enter your shop, who pays you ten thousand francs for the unique vase which you discovered in the provinces, in a narrow alley, in the possession of an old merchant of iron-works, who asked you three francs to be certain of getting thirty sous for it-what an casy fortune! That is independence, earned not by hard work, but by great enjoyments. I know something about it; I was on that scent early in life, and I possessed a gallery long ago, so I was enabled to answer Montigny fifteen years ago when he asked me to write a play, the subject of which did not suit me, and who said, in order to persuade me, that the play would bring me in at least a hundred and fifty thousand francs: If I am in pressing need of that sum, I will sell ten of my pictures. . . . I would rather traffic in the art of others than in my own.'"

Side by side with the pictures for which Dumas has paid their weight in gold, and others that he has bought for a song, I saw others that he has won at billiards. At billiards? Yes, at billiards.

The immense salon which, with the apartments of Madame Dumas and her daughters, occupies the whole of the first floor, contains for its furniture a large table covered with albums, sketches, and pamphlets; an Érard piano; a colossal divan, which divides the room in halves in the middle; and a small billiard-table. A game at billiards is the favorite relaxation of the new academician. He knows almost all the tricks and ruses of the game, and is so proud when he conquers his adversary that he recalls the pretensions of Ingrés to be considered a good violin

player. I think that Dumas is as much interested in the issue of a game as in the success of one of his plays. His playing is sure, but I think the style lacks elegance. It is among the intimate friends of the family that Dumas finds his spectators and his usual partners; they are called Lavoix, Denayrouse, Protais, Philippe Rousseau, Vollon, and Meissonier.

It is after his meals that Dumas loves to indulge in his passion for billiards. Madame Dumas and her daughters talk in one corner of the room to Charles Narrey. Other intimates stand round the billiard-table and criticise the players, and, as the game does not require the concentration of mind needed for whist, Parisian wit does not abdicate its rights. It is a running fire of jokes and conundrums. Sometimes the epicurean Nisard, the brother of the great Nisard, throws into the midst of the fun philosophical remarks and Latin quotations, but Chamfort always gets the upper hand of Tacitus.

In short,

it is a charming atmosphere wherein the most stupid become witty. Witness the happy

mot of a certain husband who was married to a young girl of unspeakable ugliness. This husband sees his wife just as she is. As he was taking leave one evening, Dumas said to him:

"Kiss your wife for me." "Very well," said the other, with a sigh, "but it is only because it is you."

The conversation often takes a serious turn. The guests discuss the last drama, the lately published books, or the last session of the Chamber of Deputies, but, whether grave or frivolous, the conversation ceases at ten o'clock. At that hour Dumas makes his guests understand that he is ready to drop "into the arms of Morpheus." He yawns, and every guest makes a rush for his overcoat. Sometimes they protest. The author is inflexible. He extinguishes all the lamps one by one, and the rebels find themselves suddenly in darkness. They are obliged to grope their way out, and they hear the ironical good-night that Dumas, candle in hand, calls to them from the third story where his bedroom is situated-the empire of Alexander.

It has a very strange aspect, this little nook crowded under the roof beside the lin

en-room. On the mantel-piece stands the bust of Desclée, and in the frame of the looking glass are stuck photographs, autographs, invitation cards, entrance - tickets for the races, for the museums, etc. On the walls hang drawings, water-color sketches, old engravings, and a crayon portrait of Madame Duplessis, "la Dame aux Camélias."

Two lateral dressing-rooms leave a recess in which stands the author's bed, a wide, low bed, on which is flung, in guise of counterpane, a soft square of the rich woolen stuff of Smyrna.

At the back of this recess hang three pictures, one of General Davy Dumas, the author's grandfather, another of his father, Alexandre Dumas; the third, very simply framed, is a sketch representing a dead woman; it is the mother of Dumas fils.

My tale is ended. I took my hero when he got out of bed, I leave him when he is about to return to it.-From the French.

AN EVENING HAREM.*

WE

E will dress like natives: we are about the same height and figure, and therefore you can use my clothes. You will wear a pair of lemon-colored slippers, pointed at the toes; white-linen trousers, like two large sacks, which are gathered at the waist and at the ankles; and a large garment, like a fine linen dressing - gown, prettily embroidered; it fastens round the throat and is belted round the waist; it falls to the knees. As your hair is golden you must wear a paleblue waistband, a blue neck-ribbon, and a blue turban. I shall kohl your eyebrows and eyelashes. Your hair shall hang loose down your back, and be tied in a knot of blue ribbon behind like a colt's mane. You will be covered with jewelry of all colors, sizes, shapes, and sorts, regardless of "sets;" your turban will be literally crusted and caked with it. A small bouquet of two or three flowers will be fastened in your front-hair, so as to hang down your forehead, reaching between your eyebrows-at first it will make you squint. I will also kobl a few stars and crescents on your face. You shall have an oblong white-lace veil, about three yards long and one broad, which you will throw round your head and about your shoulders, falling down your back in two long tails. We will then put on our izars and mandils, and walk to the neighboring harem.

The moment we arrive and are announced the whole family will run to meet us at the boundary-gate which separates them from the world. They will kiss us, and take our hands and, with all the delight of children, lead us to the divan, and sit around us. One will fly for sherbet, another for sweets; this for coffee, that for nargiles. They are so pleased with a trifle-for example, to-day, that we are delighted because we are dressed like them, and they consider that we have adopted their fashions out of compliment to them. They find every thing charming, and are saying how sweet we look in their clothes. If we were habited in our own clothes they would be equally happy, because they would examine every article, would want to know where it was bought, what it cost, how it was put on, and if they could find it in the "Súk." Their greatest happiness is to pull your hair down to see how it is done, and to play with your hat. If you come in ridinghabit, they think you are dressed like a man. A lady's cloth riding under-garments are an awful mystery to them, and they think how happy we are to dress like men and follow our husbands like comrades, while nobody says any thing against us on that account. They envy us our knowledge and independence, and they deplore the way they are kept, and their not being able to know or do any thing.

This feeling, of course, exists only among town harems, who receive enough visits to know there is another sort of woman's world than the one they enjoy. The countryfied and old-fashioned never heard of this; but Nature implants on the brow and eyes of the strictly-kept wife who has two or three sisterwives a melancholy, soured, discontented, hopeless expression, which may be of a trusting resignation, or may be of a vicious, spiteful tendency, as though she would reIt is venge herself on account of her sex. only fair to state that those of this latter kind would only feel about us, and perhaps say it to one another, "Here comes the bold, bad European woman with her naked face, to try

and take our husband from us. Allah be praised, we are the only honest women," etc.; and you must try to become sharp enough to feel when there is sincerity and when there is not. This is a work of time and practice.

Do you see that old woman? She is a sort of faithful dependent in this harem. Do you hear what she is saying? You have by mistake put on your black-kid gloves, and she is asking why your face is so white and your hands are so dark. She probably thinks the human race in our part of the world has piebald specimens. Pull off your glove and throw it on the ground. There! she has run away shrieking. She is one of the old school, and is quite innocent of any thing European. Your glove, being of a thin kid, stands out open like a hand upon the ground, and she confidently believes you have torn your skin off for the pleasure of astonishing her. She will not touch it for the world.

They say that we must stay all the evening with them, and are overjoyed at hearing that we accept. They will prepare music and dancing, and send round and gather their friends.

Do you hear the tom-tom in the garden? That means that the Sitt Leila invites all the harems on her visiting-list to a "small and early." In about an hour a hundred women of their intimes will drop in, all dressed like ourselves, more or less magnificently. There will be a perpetual nibbling of fruit, sweets, and nuts, a similar sipping of coffee and sherbet, amid the bubble of the fountains and fifty or more nargiles. The singing, music, and dancing, will be performed by the guests, who will throw in a good deal of talent. It will be quite modest, and not require checking like the professional performances.

Now you can take a look round, and make your remarks in English. I must not forget to tell you that whenever you speak of any person or thing, whenever you admire any thing, especially a child, be sure to preface your remarks with "Mashallah!" or they will think that you have put the "evil-eye" upon it, and will persuade themselves that it will wither and die. I have seen women clear their children from me as if I had the plague until this was made known to me.

The girl whom you see yonder in yellow cotton is very clever. Her greatest wonderment is that, although I have nice gowns, I never wear any thing but riding-habits and water-proofs, and above all no jewelry, that I spend but little time on divans, but take hard exercise, and am always busy.

That old woman is a relation of her husband. They married very young, and he has the greatest respect for her; she accompanies him on all his expeditions, veiled and with the baggage, of course, and she is the only woman who has this privilege. He asks her advice behind the scenes, for she has natural talent and good sense. She is the head wife, bat, as you see, she is old; he constantly invests in a new wife, a Circassian slave, or what not, and the new-comer enjoys a short reign as the toy of a month, when another succeeds her. She is jealous and miserable, spite her age, and he laughs, and cannot think how she can be so foolish as to care, or to suppose it could be otherwise. But though the skin is shriveled and the eye is sank, the woman's heart has never yet learned to be a philosopher in these matters, nor has it in any clime, or age, or race-and it never will! She alone is "Bint el Naas" (daughter of a good house), the others are all "Surrayeh" (bought ones).

Now notice that other, a thin, brown, plain little woman, who looks about five-andtwenty. There is nothing apparently very attractive, but she has an innate knowledge of the world, she rides, she makes the house comfortable, she receives well, she under

stand's her husband's comforts, she is sympathetic-in a word, she really loves him. When he comes in, notice the gleam of intelligence that passes between them. She is the "favorite." He will not notice nor speak to her, but will come and sit by us, with a word perhaps to No. 1. These two are the principals; all the rest may be young and good-looking, but they are as nothing. You ask if the women in the harems are generally pretty. No; in all the houses of Syria I have seen three or four women who would be singled out as beauties in Europe, and theirs was chiefly la beauté du diable, which withers at the first act of neglect or unkind treat

ment.

Now I will show you that they have the same feelings as ourselves. Go and sit by the old wife. Do you see how pleased and how affectionate she is? After a few minutes ask to have one of the others brought up, to sit at the other side of you. Do you see how her face clouds, and how jealous and vexed she looks? See, she moves away. She descries the "favorite's " slippers at the top of the stairs, and she has given them one vicious kick and sent them flying from the top to the bottom. Poor woman! that is only an emblem of her feelings. How well we understand it! She dares not do any thing more than what is figurative.

You see around you about one hundred and fifty women. Not a man is to be seen. They know the harem have a party, and will avoid even coming near the gate. You noticed that the master of the house vanished on the announcement of the first arrival. You perceive all are dressed more or less alike, only in various colors, and some better, others worse. A few are quite young girls of nine or ten; and some that you think quite childish are married women. That one whom you take to be a disappointed girl of thirty, wizened and soured, is only twelve, with bad health. We shall all sit on these divans, and in groups upon the cushioned floor, changing places occasionally till perhaps past midnight. Every now and then one girl or another will get up and sing or dance for us, and others will play for them. The performers require a little pressing, but after a few "Wallah! ma ba'arif's" (By Allah! I know not how), they begin. A clever girl will improvise as she goes on. At interludes we shall talk, and they will ask me every possible and impossible question about our vie intime. Of course the subject which they are most fond of discussing is our and their domestic life.

You asked me the other day why I called everybody Abú So-and-so, instead of calling them by their own names. When we have talked to these women for half an hour, you will learn the importance of their becoming mothers, and especially the mothers of sons. It is considered such a misfortune and disgrace not to have children, that the moment a wife presents her husband with a babe he changes his name for one of higher respect. Instead of the father remaining Sulaymán and the mother Nejemeh, their own names, they are addressed by all, even by their intimate friends, as Abú Salím (father of Salím), and Umm Salím (mother of Salím), the name of their first-born son, and they will retain those appellatives for life. If they are unfortunate enough to have no son, their friends will out of respect pretend to suppose that they have one, and call them Abú and Umm Yusuf.

Leila is now trying to ask me some questions.

"How many sons hast thou?" (This is their alpha and omega.)

"Not one."

"Then how many daughters hast thou?" "Also not one."

"Mashallah! Are they all dead?" "I never had any."

ment.

"How! Thou hast never had a child, O lady!"—with much pity and more astonish"Let us hope that Allah may be merciful, and remove thy reproach. How many years art thou married?" "So many-say ten."

"Listen to us, thy friends, who wish thy happiness."

I need not inflict their advice on my readers; suffice it to say that I have gone through hours of it, and have brought home a boxful of curiosities, all the best proofs of friendship and good-will, from my Eastern friends.

"And does not the Sidi Beg, the honor of the house,' want to put thee away, and take a second wife? Dost thou not, Ya Sitti, feel insecure of thy place, and jealous of his going out and coming in?"

Naturally my wondering and amused expression has gradually developed by this time into a good, hearty laugh, in which they all join.

"Mashallah! See what a danger the Helwe (the sweet one) is running, and hear how she laughs!"

"Oh, no, no; there is no danger! You are all mistaken. Now listen to what I want to explain to you. Our lives and your lives are quite different. You are set apart to dwell among one another, mostly in-doors, in a settled place; your lives would indeed be a failure without children. You are three or four, and your lord and master honors most who has the most sons; and why? Because your ancestor, in the old law, exactly as to-day, could not meet his enemies in the gate' without being backed up by his stalwart sons and their sons, his brothers, and his uncles and their sons. In short, the family who could show the most fighting-men were the most honored, and carried the greatest weight in their town or tribe. So men chose wives who could bear them sons, and visited with their displeasure those who could not. The men of our races marry one wife, and a family will commonly be from six or eight to ten children. I have seen a woman nursing her twenty-fourth child." (Loud murmurs of applause, and Mashallahs.) Children are from Allah. If he sends them we bless him, and if he does not we are contented, for we know that it is for some good purpose, some special mercy to ourselves. The English husband would not put his wife away for any thing. I feel quite secure of my place. The Sidi Beg may marry another after my death, but not before. I never think about jealousy, and it is not in our customs that the 'honor of the house' should notice his slaves, or any one but his wife."

"But what would you do if your husband did bring home the second wife?"

"If I were brought up to it, if it were in my education and religion, if I knew nothing else, it would come to me like any other custom; but that not being the case, I fear that number two would be made very uncomfortable."

"Ah, how happy you are! You are all like men; you wear men's clothes (ridinghabit), you bare your faces, you ride by your husband's side, and share all his dangers and counsels with him like a brother; and we are kept here like donkeys, and not allowed to see any thing or know any thing. You are secure of your husband's affections, and are alone (only wife) whether you have children or not!"

"Some day, perhaps, you will all be like us. Your husband will begin to adopt European habits. Already the Stamboulis are beginning to change a little, but the move must not be made too fast."

"That is true! that is true! Inshallah! Inshallah!"

"Now I have answered all your questions, I want you to answer some of mine, if you

can understand, as you seem to do, my broken Arabic."

"Go on! go on! When you speak Arabic, your words drop out of your mouth like sugar. We could bear it all night-for a week!"

Encouraged by this affectionate bit of flattery, which is not strictly true, but far more pleasant to hear than the northern guffaw at one's failures, I proceed:

"Well, then, your life is as curious to me as mine is to you. Tell me a little, I beg of you. How do you like veiling your faces?

"We do not know what it is to unveil before a man. We should only do so if we meant to insult him, and no good woman would do this. We should feel ashamed, uncomfortable, and ill at ease."

As soon as a girl begins to ripen into womanhood, she is obliged to hide her face; and you will see little things of eight or nine assuming the dignity of womanhood, and refusing to answer a man's "Good-morning."

"I also want to know how, as you never go out, never see any man but your husband, the young girls contrive to be married?"

Well, the mother and the aunts of the young man whom they want to marry go about visiting all the harems, and when they have fixed upon a girl likely to suit, and have made all necessary inquiries concerning her, they go home and describe to the son her appearance, what she can do in the house, what she is likely to have in worldly possessions..

"Then the young man's mother and father go to the girl's parents, and arrange the match among them. The wedding takes place, and the young man sees his bride for the first time when he lifts her veil after the ceremony."

"But suppose that on their first sighting each other they take a dislike to one another, one or both?"

"In that case it is very easy for the man, but very difficult for the woman. She must not show her feelings, but must remain quite passive, and neither seem pleased nor displeased, for fear of being accounted bold. Frightfully cruel and unjust things are sometimes done on various pretenses; and though it is easy for the mothers and aunts of the bridegroom to deceive him, all sensible wom. en would be prudent, for fear of such an unhappy ending to the wedding."

"Now I wish to inquire further still. How do you feel afterward about the other wives?"

"If we please our bridegroom, and he pleases us, we are very happy for about a year. If a child, especially a son, is born, we feel secure to a certain extent; if not we are very unsettled and anxious, but we are sure that, under any circumstances, before two or three years are passed there will be a second, perhaps a third; and as soon as we are old-and we are old much sooner than your races are we are not much considered."

They pointed out to me a really old woman, who was the grandmother of the harem, in a cotton frock without a single ornament, working like a menial. I thought she was the servant; she was waiting upon all the family, apparently very little more respected or thought of-and that I found the rule more or less in harems. I grieved for this, and explained how we honor our old age. In the East the young seem, on the contrary, to have a horror of it. Yet it is only fair to own that I have seen the same thing in Southern Europe.

"Now tell me, Leila," I continued, "when you see your husband devoted to Nejmeh or to Shems, what do you do?"

The answer was true, tender, and womanly.
Ya Sitti, what can I do? I go away and

cry!"

It was then their turn to question. "Tell us, in return, how you manage to keep your husbands, and to be on equal terms with them. Some say that you who have blue eyes have the 'evil eye,' and can make them do what you like."

"Do not believe that. We have no 'evil eye' among us; we do not know it. We all meet in society, men and women alike. In Franguestán girls are not veiled: they see young men in their father's houses. Men and women are all alike to us, except the one we mean to marry. Eventually a young man will say to himself, I have to choose one woman with whom to live all my life, to love and respect her, and to trust every thing to her prudence. I feel that such-and-such is the only one with whom I would willingly pass all my days.' Then he goes to the girl, and he asks her to be his wife. If she says 'No,' there is an end to the matter, and nobody ever hears of it. If she says 'Yes,' they go to their fathers and mothers, and ask their blessing. The parents consent, and arrange the wedding. They are then betrothed, and have time before marriage to learn all each other's faults and good qualities, and to know exactly what they have taken upon themselves."

"Mashallah! and how does it go on af terward?"

"The woman must take as much pains to look pretty and dress well as she did before; she must love her husband, be very respectful to him, make his house bright and comfortable-even if it be poor, she must try not to make it look so to his friends; she must be constantly waiting upon him, and thinking what she can do to please him; she must also educate herself, that she may be able to be his companion, friend, adviser, and confidante, that he may miss nothing at home; and, finding all that he can desire in his wife, he has nothing to seek elsewhere; she must be a careful nurse when he is ailing, that he may never be anxious about his health; she must not unjustly or uselessly squander his money; she must take an interest in all his pursuits, and study them; she must not confide her domestic affairs to all her friends; must observe the same refinement and delicacy in all her words and actions that she observed before her marriage; she must hide his faults from every one, and always be at his side through every difficulty and trouble; she must never allow any one to speak disrespectfully of him before her, nor permit any one to tell her any thing of him or his doings; she must never hurt his feelings with a rude remark or jest, never answer when he finds fault, nor reproach him when he is in the wrong; never be inquisitive about any thing he does not volunteer to tell her; never worry him with trifles, but rather keep the pleasant news for him when he comes home, and be looking her brightest and her best. Above all, she must see that all his creature comforts are ready. The wife who follows this recipe, O Leila, is never put away; she has no need of the evil eye,' nor lovepotions, nor papers written by the sheik. Her husband could not do without her; he loves her, and knows her as himself. He will listen to no voice but hers, and he would find a second wife very much in the way."

"Mashallah! You speak like a book, and how much you know! Of course it is true, but what do we know of all this?"

The women will understand and talk well for hours on such subjects. And is it not natural? They are not educated, in our sense of the word; few can read and write. They have never traveled; they go out very little, except in this way, and see nothing but what we are seeing now. Their lives are, therefore, a round of household duties, after which they dress, receive their harem friends thus, or they visit other harems, or they ride to

the Súk and buy trifles. I know some men who are so strict that they will not allow their harems to pay a visit, or to shop for themselves, but order every thing to be sent to the house. These, unfortunately, are thrown on their own society and their own resources, seeing only the master of the house, at times when, perhaps, he is out of humor. Even if he be in the best of tempers, each can claim only part of his attentions. Consider the amount of talent, education, philosophy, mental preoccupation with an object, that we should require to enable us to lead such a life of solitary confinement and monotony. Use enables them to bear it, but even so you see dullness written on the foreheads of strictly-kept harems. They vary as much as families in London. A first-class Constantinople harem is one thing; at Damascus the same rank is another; while those of the middle and lower classes are again different in their degree. I am now quoting the average provincial. They are always delighted, therefore, to talk of the things they do know, or to hear and learn any thing we can tell them. They never forget these conversations, and when they think they have mastered a good new idea they will try and put it in practice.

"Ya Sitti, I remembered what you told me a month ago, and I have tried it, and I am so glad, and so much obliged to you. Do come and talk again by the fountain."

This has frequently been my greeting, long after I have forgotten the visit. They show wonderfully good feeling, and they are mostly very refined. I shall never forget all the kindness and hospitality of a real, hearty, cordial nature I have received among them.

'Tell me, Leila, about your law of divorce. I mean when your husband wants to put you away, or you him.”

"We women of Syria never put our husbands away, but they divorce us on the smallest pretext, and no one takes any notice of it or knows of it."*

"Will any other man marry you in that case?"

"Yes, they will; but if a man has divorced his wife by a triple divorce, i. e., saying, 'I divorce you,' three times, and afterward he is sorry and wishes to take her back, and she be willing, she must, by our law, marry another man and be divorced from him before it can be accomplished. The Shiahs have temporary marriages; we Sunnis think this an abomination. A Shiah says to a woman, 'Will you be my wife for such a term cf years, months, or days, for such a settlement?' She agrees, and they write a paper. If any circumstance makes them wish to separate, he says: "For such and such reasons, I must leave you. I now make you a present of the remainder of your time, and the whole money agreed upon, with which you will keep yourself and the child.' And the woman, among the Shiahs, goes forth honorably and undisgraced. She is open to another marriage, permanent or not."

Have you any kind of liberty?"

* I report these conversations verbally, but they must be taken with many a grain of salt. My husband, who knows the Moslem East, if any man does, assures me that Leila was very far from the truth. It is easy to perceive that the mere fact of having to pay the prenuptial settlement (mahr) must deter many from the step, and even a greater obstacle is the certainty of a feud with the repudiated wife's family. Easterns are very cautious, and for good reasons, about making enemies for life. In Persia, I am told, men, by systematic illtreatment, sometimes drive their wives to demand a divorce, and so to forfeit their money-claims. But at Damascus, as in Constantinople and Cairo, the cadi's court is far too handy and too efficient for this manoeuvre. In fact, I believe that, as a rule, the men suffer most from legal proceedings, It has been said in England that a woman rarely sues for divorce unless she has ulterior intentions, and the same probably applies here.

"Yes, if our husband is not too severe. When every thing in the hause is arranged, we dress in izar and mandil; we go down to the Súk and buy, and we visit all the other harems of our acquaintance. We might even stay on a visit to them of a fortnight if we liked. We are only forbidden to see a man, or to unveil our faces, except in one another's presence."

"I cannot understand, living thus among one another, and going out muffled up as you do, how the breath of scandal can ever touch you."

"Ah, Ya Sitti! it is all the same! Bury thyself, and the worm will bring bad report. When the rain patters on the house-top, do we expect her to come through and wet us? Yet with all care this will sometimes happen. Do we know when the serpent is in the rafters of the ceiling until she drops on the bed?"

I was once invited to contribute to a weekly journal, whose object, doubtless of doing good, was to collect information concerning every race, creed, tongue, mode of life, and condition of woman. This is an admirable safety-valve for all classes at home, where, if there is any grievance, you can hold a committee, and apply knife and fire to the root of the evil. But, if you cannot do so, what is the use of talking it over? what is to be gained by lifting up the curtain of the domestic theatre? I am writing for my own sex, and especially for my own country-women, and yet I leave a thousand things unsaid which would be information, because it would please neither my Eastern friends nor my Western sisters to read a detail of habits so totally different from their own. I do not think that my reasoning will induce El Islám to adopt monogamy, nor to educate one wife, nor to raise her to companionship with himself-yet this alone would root out many hidden evils. To a great extent the morality of society is marvelous; but it is enforced. It is also an inheritance of families, tribes, races. The large towns, of course, are almost the only tainted places. If intrigue is suspected, the police have the right to enter the house and drag the accused into the street; and, although four eye-witnesses are necessary to condemn them, they both know they will certainly die by the hands of their own relatives. In wilder places, if a girl is unfortunate, the parents, relatives, and all the village, dress her like a bride, and make a feast like a "wake" round the mouth of a deep hole; they throw her into it, and return, singing and making merry. The parents have done a meritorious action-the honor of the family is cleared. The man also dies, and there is a thar, or blood feud, d perpetuité. None of these savage acts have taken place in our time, but in the mountain opposite our summer quarter there is one of these deep caves; and we were assured by the villagers that two years before we came one of these horrid feasts took place there in the winter-time. A father or brother will beat bis daughter or sister for looking round at a man out-of-doors, even if accidentally or unintentionally. If a man pass a maiden and say "Good-morning," she must not answer him, unless rudely, to ask how he dare speak to her. Then he says, "That is a good liss; that is the wife for me." If, on the contrary, she return a civil good-morning, or stop and speak a few words to him, he forms a light opinion of her, and looks for marriage elsewhere. In the villages the youths test girls' characters by these experiments. But I see Leila is trying to tell us some

thing...

Now they are preparing supper, and you see the huge, flat brass trays perched upon rouad, small mother-of-pearl stools, and covered and balanced with various dishes. A slave will now bring round a brass jug and

platter, with rose-water and a bit of rosecolored scented soap, and slung over her shoulder a silk and embroidered towel. We wash our fingers, but not like Englishwomen, dipping them in the basin. We only use the water from the ewer, and the moment it has left our fingers it becomes ceremonially impure. All sit round these trays. We shall eat with our fingers, dipping into the dishes with bread, and for liquids they will hand to us mother-of-pearl or wooden spoons. There are plates full of rice, with bits of meat and fat; a kid roasted whole, stuffed with pistachio-nuts; kibbeh, or meat, chopped and mixed with burgh'ol, bruised and boiled wheat; mudjadarát, lentils (adas), and rice, or burgh'ol, mixed with a brown sauce, and very tasty; kussah, or badinján, cucumber or vegetable-marrow scraped out and stuffed in sausage-form, with chopped meat, herbs, rice, pepper, and salt. The forced meat is called máhshi. Kubáb, a dish known to Englishmen as cubobs, is roast-meat, fat and lean, sliced, and impaled with onions on a stick, like our cat's-meat, and grilled at the fire with salt and pepper. There are bowls of leben, every sort of fruit and vegetable in season, and piles of sweetmeats. The bread acts the part of plate; of these large, round, flat scones, some are thick, and others are thin as a wafer.

Some time after supper, we will wish goodnight; the whole harem accompanies us to the door, thanking us, and giving us all sorts of nice blessings, such as, "May Allah send you happy dreams!" "We shall hear your voice in our sleep," ""May your night be blessed!"

They will perhaps continue their festivities for another hour. But before we part I must have a word with you. They were very kind, but I am not in the least deceived by their many "Mashallahs." They listened with exemplary patience to my preaching, they allowed me to have my say, and I know that they drew me out with great tact, and even tenderness. They permitted, and even assisted, me to enthrone myself upon my high moral pedestal. But woman's nature is much the same all the world over. The moment the door closed upon us, and privacy was restored, our charming hostesses probably indulged in a long titter, and each said to her neighbor:

"Mashallah! my dear, it is very nice to be a man, but don't you think that as women we may perhaps be better as we are?"

That was the query of the young and pretty. While the other category would exclaim:

"Istaghfar' Allah! why, this is neither man nor woman, nor any thing else. Allah preserve us from this manner of pestilence! 'Amín."

Also, we must qualify that idea that we have in Europe, viz., that there is no education in a harem. Reading and writing are only means, not ends. The object of education is to make us wise, to teach us the right use of life. Our hostesses know every thing that is going on around them. The husband, behind the scenes, will often hold a council with his wives. They consult together, and form good and sensible judgments, and advise their husbands even in political difficulties. Can we do more? Of course, you will understand that I am now speaking of the higher classes. When I compare their book-learning with that, for instance, received by girls at home fifteen or twenty years ago, I can remember that the lessons learned by heart, and painfully engraved upon my memory, have required a toil of unlearning and relearning since I have mixed with the world. As regards mere accomplishments, some ride, dance, sing, and play, as well in their way as we do in ours; some read, some write, and almost all can recite poetry and tales by the hour. The manners of some are soft and

The sunlight of a sunlit land, A land of fruit, of flowers, and A land of love and calm delight; A land where night is not like night, And noon is but a name for rest; Where conversations of the eyes Are all enough; where beauty fills The heart like hues of harvest-home; Where rage lies down, where passion dies, Where peace hath her abiding-place. . . A face that lifted up; sweet face That was so like a life begun, That rose for me a rising sun Above the bended seven hills Of dead and risen old new Rome.