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the laying of the corner-stone of an observatory which he erected near the point of his promontory and in which he afterward installed a fairly large celestial telescope. About the same time I happened to see the fall of a very brilliant meteor in bright sunshine and in the middle of the afternoon. Mr. Bell made me write an account of it for "Science," and a few days later, learning from farmers that it had fallen near the source of Middle River, he drove thirty or forty miles in search of it. But the country in that region was wild, wooded, and mountainous, and he did not succeed in finding it.

Mr. Bell's working methods were painstaking and systematic. When he took up for investigation any matter, great or small, he went back to the beginning of research in that field and experimented for himself, regardless of all that had been done later by other students. When I once suggested to him that he might economize time by accepting facts already well established and pushing on from the known to the unknown, he replied that he got more useful ideas by finding things out for himself than by relying on the work of other men. Perhaps he did. He was untiring in experiment, had wonderful industry, and never allowed himself to be discouraged.

The daily routine of his life in Baddeck was very simple. In the forenoon -generally the late forenoon-he went to the laboratory to watch the work there in progress, and then to his office. in a small detached building, where he looked over records, considered problems, and made notes of matters that he wished to discuss with his engineer assistant, Mr. Baldwin. He was always a voluminous note-maker. Perhaps the long litigation over his telephone patent made him appreciate the importance of dates and records; but certain it is that he committed to paper every constructive idea that occurred to him, and every stage of its development into a plan, an experiment, and finally an invention. He also published on his estate a weekly paper called the "Beinn Bhreagh Recorder," which contained notes of his kite, sheep, and other experiments, as well as items of interest to his friends and employees. It was a mimeographed journal and had a circulation of only fifteen or twenty copies; but from it might be compiled a fairly comprehensive history of his experiments and their results.

In the late afternoon, when he had finished his work, Mrs. Bell usually came for him and they walked home together along the beautiful road that he had built from the head of the bay to the point of the promontory. In the evening he read his mail, talked with his family or friends, looked over the newspapers and magazines, or went to the piano and played an accompaniment for chorus singing, of which he was very fond. His serious reading was generally done late at night, after everybody else had gone to bed. He was semi-nocturna!

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in his habits, and often sat up until two or three o'clock-sometimes later-and made up arrears of sleep in the early hours of the next day. Once a week, on Sunday, he retired to a house-boat, anchored or drawn up on the beach in some beautiful, secluded place, and there became absolutely incommunicado for twenty-four hours. It was an inflexible rule that during this one day he should not be visited, telephoned to, or disturbed unless in case of death, fire, or other great calamity. In this houseboat he prepared his own meals, ate them alone, and took care of himself generally.

Among the many tastes and feelings that Mr. Bell and I had in common, the one that made him most sympathetic to me was his love of nature. It was that, more than anything else, which first made Cape Breton Island attractive to us both. He took delight in water, woods, and mountains, and was never happier than when he was out on the inland sea of Cape Breton in one of the various boats that he designed and built. Frequently, for a week at a time, he and Mrs. Bell would live in a house-boat in some secluded harbor or cove, fishing, dredging up oysters, and exploring in skiff or canoe the neighboring coast. Then, when they next took an outing, they would drive in a "gypsy wagon"

along one of the many picturesque roads that intersect the island, or follow up some clear, dashing trout stream which tumbled down in rapids and cascades from the higher hills. Always on such excursions they bivouacked or camped out wherever night overtook them.


In the fall of 1893, while exploring with E. J. Glave a wild part of the island, twenty-five or thirty miles north of Baddeck, I visited for the first time a group of small but beautiful lakes situated at a height of twelve hundred feet above the sea on the forested watershed where the Baddeck River has its source. The largest of these lakes seemed to me particularly attractive, and a little later, that same fall, I bought from the Government one hundred acres of wild land on its eastern shore and put up there a comfortable log cabin which we named "Cariboo Camp." The next fall Mr. and Mrs. Bell came out to visit us, and were so delighted with the woods, the scenery, and the exhilarating air that they built a cabin of their own, about half a mile from ours, and persuaded Professor Langley to join them in buying two square miles or more of wild land around the whole group of lakes, so as

1 For six years one of Henry M. Stanley's pioneer officers in Central Africa. He died of tropical fever on the lower Congo about two years after his visit to Baddeck.

to protect them in future from timber speculators and lumbermen.

For the next twelve years we all went there every September and spent from two to six weeks in boating, trout fishing, exploring, and blazing trails through the forest. There Mr. Bell, who loved solitude and the wilderness, was perfectly happy and contented-at least for a time. The nearest farmhouse was many miles away over a difficult trail, and when night settled down on the lonely lake the profound stillness was broken only by the soft hooting of owls, the occasional bark of a fox, or the wild, wailing cry of a loon. But even in this congenial environment Mr. Bell wanted something that would give occupation to his active mind, so one fall he proposed to me that we make a survey and a map of the lake without instruments. As the lake was fairly large and extremely irregular in outline, I did not see how it could be done until he took a large sheet of paper, adjusted it so that its sides were exactly north and south, laid a ruler across it, took a sight along the edge of the ruler at a cape on the other side of the lake, and then with a pencil drew a line across the paper in the direction of the sight. "That," he said, "shows the compass bearing of that particular cape from this particular spot and, to a certain extent, locates both. Now if you keep the paper adjusted in the same way with reference to the points of the compass and take, say, twenty sights across it from twenty different positions at that and other features of the coast, the intersections of your lines, when connected, will make a rough outline of the shore." The scheme worked perfectly. We took hundreds of sights across the lake that fall, and made a large detailed map of it, with a possible margin or error of only a few feet. Then, by measuring a base line stretched across the lake on floats, we got the scale, which was 456 feet to the inch. This method of mapping a lake seemed to be Mr. Bell's own idea. I had never before heard of it, and I don't think he had. At any rate, he seemed to be greatly pleased when it "worked out" successfully.

Although Mr. Bell was born in Edinburgh and spent a large part of his later life in Nova Scotia, he was a patriotic American and loved and admired his adopted country. His greatest invention was made in Boston, his permanent home was in Washington, and American institutions represented his ideals of freedom, opportunity, and progress. When the United States went into the World War, he established a boat-building plant near his laboratory in Baddeck, increased his force of workmen, and turned out a large number of lifeboats for the Allied fleets.

During all this time he took an active interest in the affairs of the little village where he had his summer home. He helped to support the public library and e fisheries' protective association that inded in Baddeck; he lectured fre

quently on scientific subjects in the court-house or in his wife's "Gertrude Hall;" and fitted up a large recreationroom in his warehouse, where he met his workmen once a week and interested them in talk, discussions, and entertainments which he himself planned and directed. On the eve of the four hundredth anniversary of the discovery of Cape Breton Island by the Cabots he called the attention of the village to the historic importance of the day by emblazoning the name "John Cabot" on the side of his mountain in huge illuminated letters, and a little later he and his father, Alexander Melville Bell, impersonated John and Sebastian Cabot at a costume ball given by the villagers in the courthouse.

Mr. Bell spent the summer and fall of every year, and sometimes half the winter, in Baddeck; but he always maintained a permanent home in Washington, and some of my pleasantest recollections of him are connected with the informal receptions that he and Mrs. Bell gave, on Wednesday evenings, to the scientific men of the city. They were not "society" affairs, nor were they ever reported in the newspapers, but they were more instructive and entertaining than anything of the kind that I have ever known. There was always a definite programme, planned and arranged by Mr. Bell himself, but the programmes were infinitely varied and covered almost every known field of exploration and research. If a man had done, planned, or found out something new, it was always at one of Mr. Bell's "Wednesday evenings" that he first made it known. Usually, one of the scientific men would talk or read a paper on some subject that he had recently studied or investigated. Then the experts present would discuss it, ask questions, or make pertinent comments and suggestions. The subjects presented were of great diversity and ranged from the indigenous races of China to the life history of eels, and from the latest volcanic eruption to cancerous growths in living plants with highly interesting specimens.

At these weekly gatherings Mr. Bell was at his best. He guided and stimulated the discussions with infinite tact, and if the proceedings threatened to become dull his wide knowledge and fertility of resource enabled him to enliven them with suggestive comments or turn them suddenly into a new and wholly different channel. One evening, I remember, a well-known geographer and explorer read a paper on the Alaskan boundary. The paper was interesting enough, but it was not provocative of animated discussion and only a few of those present had anything to say about it. Then Mr. Bell, remembering that I had just been expelled from Russia, gave a new turn to the proceedings by say. ing:

"Our friend Mr. Kennan has recently had an interesting experience with boundaries; perhaps he will tell us what

happened when he last crossed the boundary of Russia."

Although taken by surprise, I gave a brief account of my arrest in St. Petersburg and my expulsion from the Empire.


"To be suddenly arrested," said Mr. Bell, "is an unpleasant experience. wonder how many of us have had it. Will those of you who have been arrested for crime please hold up your hands?"

There were present fifteen gentlemen of the highest social and scientific standing, all of them with a National and most of them with an international reputation. Among them were the secretary of the Washington Academy of Sciences; the chief curator of the Department of Biology in the National Museum; the president of the Washington Anthropological Society; a gold medalist of the Société Géographie de France; the chief of the Weather Bureau; the Surgeon-General of the Army; the chief hydrographer of the Geological Survey; the inventor of the telephone; and half a dozen biologists and geologists of the first rank. To suppose or suggest that any one of them had ever committed a crime seemed preposterous; and yet eleven of them, with Mr. Bell at their head, held up their hands. The effect of this bombshell of inquiry upon the audience was highly amusing. Every one of the eleven looked at his neighbor with amazement, as if to ask, "What did you do?"

Finally, Mr. Bell, with a beaming smile, said:

"Only eleven out of fifteen! That's not so bad. We might all have been arrested. Suppose now we confess what our crimes were."

Amid laughter and humorous banter from all sides, Mr. Bell admitted that he had been arrested on the Canadian border as an escaping embezzler. The president of the Anthropological Society told us how he had been chased and arrested for running by a German tollgate, and the chief of the Weather Bureau described an encounter that he had with the police in Chicago when, after a desperate fight in the dark, he was dragged downstairs and taken in a patrol-wagon to the station-house as a bank burglar. I cannot now remember the crimes or misdemeanors of which the other eight scientists had been accused, but I still have a vivid recollection of the skillful way in which Mr. Bell turned an evening that threatened to be dull into one of the gayest and most entertaining of the season.

Mr. Bell's last work in Baddeck was connected with the water. He had al ways been interested in boats, and had tried many experiments with sails, hulls, and methods of propulsion. Shortly after the war he invented and built a flying-boat, driven by aerial propellers, which rose into the air on submerged planes and attained a speed of seventy miles an hour. At the time of his death he was engaged in perfecting a naval target of improved form which could be

towed swiftly by a destroyer while another warship fired at it.

All of his experiments, successful and unsuccessful, were characterized by novelty and originality, and his work in

many fields added greatly to human happiness and left a permanent impress on the world.

It was eminently fitting that he should be laid to rest on Beinn Bhreagh, the

"beautiful mountain" where he had enjoyed so many years of happiness, and where his grave will have almost the sacredness of a shrine for those who loved him and worked with him.




ETURN trip to Cork, please," said I to the agent in London, as I was booking for Ireland. "Sorry, sir, but we can't book you beyond Dublin-things are too uncertain over there," he replied, smiling.

"Right-o, Dublin it is," I added, and he stamped my ticket. Then the music began.

Avoid the night express, if you can. It was two o'clock in the morning, bleak, cold, and wintry, when the London express pulled into Holyhead Station. The Kingstown steamer was at the dock, under full steam, ready to start, but a close line of military had yet to be passed.

Napoleon speaks somewhere of the value of "two in the morning" courage. It is a great asset.

Although there are no custom duties between England and Ireland, every passenger is obliged to undergo the closest inspection. Nobody is immune. There's no royal road to Dublin. It was a minute search for firearms-for any kind of weapon.

Then we embarked and pointed towards Ireland's Eye. It is a comparatively short run to Kingstown, but, as much always happens during that turbulent trip, let silence reign. Suffice it to say, 'twas a rocky road to Dublin.

Right on the dot of seven we steamed into Kingstown Harbor. The sun was well up, and the freshness of things, the glorious deep green of the sloping hills, was a picture for the gods.

There was much hurrying and scur rying when the train, a few minutes later, slowed up in Westland Row Station, in the heart of Dublin. At once I was struck with the martial air about the place. It reminded me of the Gare Saint-Lazare in Paris during the great war. Uniformed men of the National Troops, as young-looking as senior Boy Scouts, were in evidence on every hand. With bristling arms they expressed authority and claimed respect.

A small army of jaunting-cars, drawn up in line, awaited the call of weary passengers. Strange to say, there was no shouting, no yelling of hotels. "First come first served" was the order of the day, and there was no delay.

• "Jury's Hotel," I called out to the driver, as I jumped up on the seat, satchel in hand. In my college days that was a well-known meeting-place for the "Trinity boys," and I was hoping to renew acquaintance. The driver smiled

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at the name of "Jury" as he flourished his whip and started his horse.

When we got outside the station he slowed up and quietly remarked: "Jury's Hotel is no more, sirr." That was my first surprise.

"The Gresham," I ordered, and I began to sense an alteration in my plans. The cold morning, acting on an empty stomach, was not conducive to happy thoughts. The driver seemed to realize this, for he dropped his jaunty air as he replied: "Begor, sirr, I was searchin' the other day in the ashes of the 'Gresham' for a 'momentum' when the Free State fellows drove me off with the point of their guns."

I had reached my limit. So far, the driver was a distinct negation. His charges were piling up as we drove around the circumference looking for the center. His manner, I confess, irritated me.

"Dublin Castle!" I shouted, and I seemed to crumple up with a feeling of despair.

That driver had a delicious sense of humor, sure enough. He pulled up his horse with a close rein and settled down for the heartiest laugh I have heard in Europe. Even the horse seemed to sense it, for his ears were turned towards his master and he tried hard to turn his head. When the laugh-wave

He drove aimlessly on, while my mind swept by, the driver's face assumed a was working.

"How about the 'Metropole' on Sackville Street?" I asked, wondering what the reply might be.

"Sure, 'twas turned into a cinema hall long ago, sirr, and the front of it is riddled with bullets," he sadly replied.

My trump card was the "Shelbourne," on Stephen's Green, but I was holding it up my sleeve, for the rates were like the Ritz of London and the stakes too high. I made one more try.

"Bring me right away to the 'Hammam'"-and there was a tone of desperation in my voice. The sympathy of the driver was at last aroused.

"You're out o' look, sirr," and he added, lowering his voice: "Twas mined tin days ago by De Valera, and is finced in to keep the dust from flyin', sirr."

solemn tone as he said:

"Dublin Castle, God forgive us! Dublin Castle! Hotbed of murderers and adults! Ireland's hell! War and pistilence and famine all in one! Divil a Dublin Castle for yer honor! No, sirr, the name's not fit for the like o' ye. Lave it to me. Ye'll be in a feather bed to-night that Daniel O'Connell himself might envy!"

He was the son of a prophet. As it turned out, not a hothouse plant in the Hotel Crillon of Paris was as snug and cozy as I found myself during the days that followed.

When the room was secured, I turned to my driver and asked, "How much?" Tim (his name was Tim) had a quizzical look in his kindly eye as he turned his cap around in his hands.

"Sure, I'll lave it to yer honor. "T

a long wait at the station, and didn't I keep ye out o' Dublin Castle?"

We parted on good terms.

Breakfast over, I wandered down Dame Street into College Green, on my way to Trinity College. Reports had crossed the Irish Sea that old Trinity had gone the way of the Four Courts. Visions of wreckage were imaged in my mind.

My old Alma Mater, founded in 1590, with its massive buildings and classic walls, stood out in noble, bold proportions, complete and beautiful. I stood at the entrance, as the names of worldknown men, who did honor to her memory, floated before my vision. Dean Swift and Berkeley, Burke and Goldsmith, Lecky and-but why continue? Their names are legion. Pride and gratitude filled my heart. I doffed my hat to the statue of Edmund Burke and bowed my head before that of Oliver Goldsmith, and crossed the entrance.

Old Williams, porter of the generations, dread of tardy freshmen, was at his post. After the first word was over, I asked, "How are things in the city?" His answer was unique, forceful, true. "They call it civil war, sir, but the name is too respectable. A small army of highwaymen, brigands, under De Valera and Childers are trying to outdo the Germans in wanton destruction, but the end is in sight."

That sentence told the story in its bare truth. No truer statement was made to me in Ireland.

After two hours of sacred wanderings within old Trinity I walked down Westmoreland Street, over O'Connell Bridge, and entered the finest boulevard in Ireland.

Sackville Street was filled with soldiers. Reserves of the British army in their khaki, soldiers of the Free State in their dark-green uniform, numerous bodies of young men in civilian clothes-"Irregulars" in disguise-armed lorries rushing by, bristling with rifles ready for action, men of the Constabulary moving slowly


But the strangest thing of all was the attitude of the people. Peaceful London was over-serious, gloomy. Warlike Dub lin was gay. And this in the very face of wholesale destruction.

Sackville Street is in ruins. In the very center of the boulevard, the invincible Admiral Nelson, lifted high on his monument, stands, one-armed, commanding, as if in the throes of Trafalgar. The man and the pillar are covered with bullet marks. The beautiful buildings below Nelson's Pillar, once as graceful as the best in the Champs Elysées in Paris, are in ashes. The General Post Office, greatest of them all, is in ruins. Between the Post Office and Gilbey's wine store stands the gutted Y. M. C. A. building.

In big, golden letters were the words, "Seek ye first the Kingdom. of God," and every letter was mutilated with shot.

The lamentations of Tim, my driver, ame home to me.

The Gresham, the Hammam, the Metropole hotels were in ashes, mined by the forces of De Valera.

From Nelson's Pillar to Parnell's Monument was pile upon pile of ashes. The Huns took revenge upon a hated enemy on their soil. The Irish "Irregulars" wantonly destroyed their own.

Hailing a jaunting-car, I drove towards the North Wall to view what was left of the Custom House. Then, turning in our tracks, we drove along the banks of the Liffey to study the most wanton destruction of all in this cataclysm of blind hate.

The great law buildings, known to the


Soldiers of the A. E. F. are finding their way back to France to revisit the battlefields upon which they and their comrades made history. Mr. Thatcher T. P. Luquer, of the 306th Engineers and the 81st Division, which wore on its shoulders the insignia of the wildcat, tells the story of the change in the devastated regions of France since the A. E. F. came home, in a forthcoming issue of The Outlook.

world as the Four Courts, are blotted out. Its Library, precious as that of Louvain, was burnt with fiendish design. Thus records of priceless value in the history of justice in Ireland were turned into ashes.

This was enough for a day. I envied the light-heartedness of the people.

For five busy days I moved about Dublin, renewing old friendships. My business was to find out the sentiment of the people. How was all this idiotic destruction viewed by the "man in the street"? I met clergymen, of Catholic and Protestant Churches, physicians, attorneys-atlaw, and the verdict was unanimous. "The Free State movement has come to stay. Childers and De Valera are doomed."

My friends were not in favor of my entering the interior. Bridges were blown up. Tracks were destroyed. There was no train schedule. Frequent ambushes, raiding parties.

The outlook was not encouraging; but I determined to visit my relatives in the south.

The Southwestern train to Waterford was impossible, as a bridge at a town called Ballyhale had been mined. After a weary day of it I reached Waterford by way of New Ross.

That historic city of some 25,000 peo

ple is known as the "Urbs Intacta" (city untouched). When Oliver Cromwell threatened to destroy it, the Mayor of the city handed him the keys of the city, and it was saved; hence the name.

In the strange paradox of history it was saved by Cromwell and wrecked by De Valera.

Dublin was repeated. Hotels, post office, destroyed or gutted. Wanton destruction on all sides.

In Hearn's dry goods store on the Quay there was a cheap sale. Bulletriddled blankets were offered at reduced prices. There were "Fire Sales" along the water front. This beautiful city, the joy of tourists, looked like a wateringplace "out of season." The "Irregulars" left behind them the chaos of brigandage.

For seven days I was the guest of my relatives. We visited the home where Lord Roberts, once Commander-in-Chief of the British forces, was born and reared, passed by the residence of the Redmond brothers, once high in the ranks of the Nationals in the British House of Commons. Strange memories were ushered in.

Chums of my childhood, fellow-scholars of old Trinity, were rounded up. Olden days revived. Everywhere, without exception, the yearning of the people was for the Free State Government.

"If an election took place to-morrow," said a prominent attorney-at-law, "ninety per cent of the electors would vote Free State."

Bernard Shaw was in Waterford, awaiting a train for the Fishguard steamer en route to London. Interviewed, he had this to say of De Valera:

"Of course he can enjoy the luxury of dying for Ireland after doing all the damage he can. 'What matter if for Ireland dear we fall?' is still the idiot's battle song. The idiocy is sanctified by the memories of a time when there was nothing to be done for Ireland's freedom but to die for it; but the time has now come for Irishmen to learn to live for their country-instead of which they start runaway engines down the lines, blow up bridges, burn homesteads and factories, and gain nothing by it except such amusements as making my train from Waterford to Rosslare several hours late. Ireland would be just as free at this moment if I had arrived punctually. You see, the cause of Ireland is always dogged by the ridicule which we have such a fatal gift of provoking and such a futile gift of expressing.

"I suppose it will have to be settled, as usual, by another massacre of Irishmen by Irishmen."

The words were scarcely uttered when, at a point not far from where they were spoken, the idol of the common people, the man who won the respect of Lloyd George, the romantic figure of the whole tragedy, Michael Collins, fell by the bullet of a fellowcountryman, with the prayer "Forgive them!" on his dying lips.


ND now that I had been received

and entertained by about everybody in Constantinople, it was time for my audience with the Sultan, who came last, like the prima donna. The official functions at the palace under Abdul Hamid were always dignified and punctilious. Royal carriages were sent with escorts for myself and staff. At the entrance of the palace I was met by the Introducer of Ambassadors, and we proceeded to the salon of the Grand Master of Ceremonies. I was then joined by the Minister of Foreign Affairs and conducted into the presence of the Sultan by the distinguished soldier Osman Pasha, famed as the hero of Plevna, who was then the Grand Marshal of the Palace.

The Sultan, standing, received me in the audience room. He was small, spare in frame, with a short, full black beard. A few years later, when his beard turned gray, he dyed it henna. He wore a plain black frock coat, buttoned to the neck. His complexion was sallow, his nose prominent and aquiline, and his eyes dark, sparkling, animated.

The formalities, presentation of credentials, and brief set addresses on both sides were soon over. His Majesty sat down and invited me to do likewise. Turkish coffee and cigarettes were served the coffee in egg-shaped cups resting in jewel-studded holders. The conversation was interpreted by my dragoman (the Turkish name for an interpreter). The audience concluded, we returned to the Legation in the same stately manner. Then we gave a reception to the American colony, almost exclusively composed of the missionaries resident at Constantinople, the President and Faculty of Robert College. and the Home School, which was then located across the Bosphorus at Scutari.

On the day preceding my audience I presided at the Commencement of Robert College, located at Roumeli-Hissar, of which the venerable Dr. George Washburn was President. The Commencement was similar to commencements at home, excepting that the orations of the graduates were spoken in the various

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brated with pomp and splendor. The Ministers and Ambassadors were pected, as a matter of good will, to attend this ceremonial occasionally.

A description of this ceremonial which I jotted down a long time ago is as follows:

The Sultan's residence is known as Yildiz Palace, Yildiz signifying star. The mosque he usually attends is in the vicinity of the palace grounds, distant about four hundred yards. The visitors are received in a small house or kiosk beside the mosque, where a special suite of rooms is reserved for the diplomatic corps. Ten or more regiments on horse and foot are stationed around the elevation stretching from the palace grounds encircling the mosque.

All is in readiness. At about eleven

languages of the East, besides English o'clock the gates of the palace inclosure

and French. The Turks at that time could not understand the benevolent purposes which inspired, on the part of the Americans, the establishment of colleges and schools throughout the Empire. Their experience with the various institutions of other nations made them extremely suspicious.

THE SULTAN SAYS HIS PRAYERS Friday in the Turkish Court was Selamlik, when the Sultan attended the mosque for prayers. It was always cele

are thrown open. The Sultan is seen in an open barouche, Osman Pasha sitting opposite him. Following the barouche are usually the leading officials of the Government and army officers. The regiments are drawn from different parts of the Empire, and are dressed in glittering uniforms denoting the section from which they come. The most resplendent are the Nubian and Arabian regiments. As the Sultan passes, troops and officials, as from one throat, cry thrice, in Turkish equivalent, "Long live the Sultan!"

He then enters the mosque, and all is still while the prayers are being read. This occupies about thirty minutes. The Sultan then stations himself at a window in the mosque, and the troops file by, the band playing the national march. The Sultan is known to be constantly in fear of assassination, and seldom appears in public except on these occasions. He shows timidity in his expression.

One of his aides-de-camp reports to him the diplomatic representatives and other distinguished persons who are present, and thereafter returns with some gracious message for each. While the prayers are going on in the mosque coffee and cigarettes are served to the guests in the little kiosk. Several carriages, open and closed, together with several saddle horses from the royal stables, are brought down to the mosque. The Sultan chooses which shall be his conveyance for the return to the palace. He usually selects a two-horse top-phaeton, and, himself taking the reins, he drives back to the palace, accompanied again by Osman Pasha.


The decorative things are what many people think of exclusively when con sidering the career of a diplomat. Thes

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