his wife's birthplace, and this not only brought
him a visit from mamma when he could ill
afford it, but his wife exercised her privilege
under the marriage laws of Turkey, by making
a return journey. Mothers-in-law need not
legally be brought into the house, in Turkey,
but whether they can practically be kept out
by an ordinary husband it is hard to say.
Nourri Effendi's relative had kindly gone as
far as Stambool to visit him and his wife. As
for the visits of wives to their mothers, that is
a totally different matter. A refusal to allow
such expression of affection might be attended
by a summons to the nearest police magistrate,
and a warrant to levy on the goods of the
culprit such sum for travelling charges, outfit,
dresses, presents, &c., as the lady might demand,
and competent assessors—possibly female
—declare to be consistent with the wife's pretensions
in society.

From Nourri Effendi I learned the opinions
of Turkish wives on the important subject of
followers. "Madame," said he, "has kept me
at home again, asking me to buy her a pair of
black slaves, which she says we absolutely require
for our respectability; but that I do not
see." I had long known that in Turkey everything
must be perfect, and therefore in pairs.
As a boy I had seen the braces of pistols and
the pairs of knives and watches, and this prepared
me for seeing the male and female population
paired off, to avoid the imperfection of
the odd state and the consequent perils of the
evil eye. A pair of slaves was a new idea. The
pair of slaves did not mean two boys or two
girls, but a pair, a boy and a girl.

"I have told her several times we do not
want them, and cannot afford them , but she
persists, as women will, and says ' they will be
a great economy besides.' I do not like blacks
in the house, because they are only fresh-caught
barbarians, and, besides, we cannot want two.
' Why not,' said I, ' get some decent orphan
girl from the country, whom we can take care
of;' but madame answers she does not want
girls, as in a short time they are sure to have
brothers and cousins, who will see them; but a
black from Africa has no cousins."

From the lady with servants, the transition
to the lady without them is not great.

Osman Aga, the son of a good family in a
large provincial city, was, when I knew him, a
retired captain of cavalry on half-pay or pension,
married to a lady whose patrimony was some
small bit of property near the former city of
Assos. Osman had profited little at school; he
could not write, and he did not like reading—
that art, indeed, he now left to his wife. In
those good old times he could be a captain
without them. As every one, instead of signing
his name, affixes his signet, Osman was
sufficiently qualified when he contented himself
with the figures which would fill up a return of
his troop, or make out the quantities in an
account for barley or chopped straw—in case
no learned private was at hand to officiate as
clerk.

Besides his long period of service in every
part of the empire, Osman Aga had been in
the brilliant Bulgarian campaign against the
Russians, and wore the medal. He was never
tired of extolling the gallantry and conduct of
the handful of English heroes who had served
with the Ottoman army; though a thorough
patriot, he often wished that the Turkish
soldiery were led by such officers.

The captain had served so long as to earn his
pension; a sum of twelve pounds a year, paid
monthly—when not in arrear. On this sum,
there are still parts of Turkey in which he
could have kept his wife and daughter; but he
could not do that in a western city, to which
progress had brought European prices. He inherited
a small house in a respectable quarter,
but had no other patrimony. His sole remaining
resources were the scanty olive and grape
crops on the fields of Adileh Hanum, which
furnished little coin for remittance.

Osman was anxious to eke out his narrow
income by some small employment, and had
lately lost a petty berth on the extraordinary
staff at the customs, to which he was waiting to
be restored. A Turkish friend of rank spoke
very strongly to me of Osman Aga as a man of
character and integrity, and begged me to use
my influence to get him temporary occupation.
Osman Aga became, therefore, an occasional
caller at my house. He was a thin man, of
middle height and of soldierly bearing, about
fifty-five. His uniform frock-coat was carefully
kept and brushed. Its smartness was of the
past, and the medals were its only ornament.
He was always neat, though in Turkey a button
or two off, or any such divergence from symmetry,
is no more thought of than in Munster.

In his walks to my house, he by-and-by
brought a shy little baby girl, with large black
eyes. Sometimes she was in full dress, going
out on a holiday; her finger-nails and palms
duly stained with henna, a pretty embroidered
handkerchief on her head, with a jewel, a gold
coin, or a flower adorning it; sometimes she
was in her ordinary muslin walking dress;
never gaudy. An elder boy had died of fever,
and she was the only child. Little Fatmeh was
soon familiar in my family. Her gentle well-
behaved ways won regard for her, though she
could seldom be prevailed on to accept anything.
When she did so, the fruit, or whatever it might
be, was always first shown to her father, and
then taken home to her mother.

At last, I got a temporary berth for Osman
Aga as kerserdar, or police inspector, at an
unhealthy place in the country: to the great
delight of himself and his family, and also of
mine. The small income would at once place
them at ease. Adileh Hanum called on my
wife, with Fatmeh, to express her gratitude.
She was a quiet ladylike woman of five-and-
thirty; well and neatly, but not richly, dressed,
with the Constantinople yashmak, and not the
provincial veil.

This lady told my family of the strain the
captain's loss of office had brought on their
small income, and the benefit my intervention
had conferred on them. They were thankful to