winked, and blinked, and purred, and nodded
its grave head, until I, too, began to wink, and
blink, and nod, and, I dare say, pur — and then I
fell asleep.

I woke up with a start, dreaming I had heard
a great crash of stringed instruments as in the
Upas Tree scene of the Africaine. I woke up
to find the Sleepers Awakened. The gas from
a hundred burners was all ablaze. The glass
shone like diamonds; the cutlery and electro-
plate gleamed like suits of Milan steel; I was
surrounded by mirrors in glowing gold frames;
a dame du comptoir was smiling sweetly out
of a grove of apples, pears, and brandy-
bottles. Legions ot active and wide-awake
waiters were flying about with basins of
bouillon, and cups of coffee, and cold fowls,
and plates of galantine, and bottles of
Bordeaux. The Sleepers had Awakened. The
room was a wilderness of railway rugs, hand-bags,
hat-boxes, waterproofs, reticules, valises,
umbrellas, and travellers. Pale Frenchmen in
monstrous wrappers, still shuddering from the
stomachic influences of the British Channel;
children yelling for something to eat; athletic
Britons clamouring for something to drink;
elderly Britons threatening to write to the
Times because the soup was cold; ladies who
had lost their luggage tickets; gentlemen who
had found their change short; couriers,
commissionaires, inspectors, footmen, and ladies'
maids. It was a Babel, where only twenty
minutes before had been the Palace of the
Sleeping Beauty in the Wood. The paquebot
Anglais was in. The majestic Angora so very
like Lord Denman had prudently withdrawn
herself. The noisy scene was no place for her.

I found the person of whom I was in quest,
and early next morning bade a very
affectionate adieu to Calais, and by the Friday
following had crossed the Alps and reached
Venice, there to find early spring, bright sun,
blue sky, balmy breezes, and open-air cafés. It
has often occurred to me since that it is by no
means improbable that Calais may be a very nice
town. One of the jolliest Englishmen I know
lives there, and has reared a blooming family
there. Perhaps I might have formed a different
opinion of Calais had not my mind been
jaundiced by having come to it eleven hundred miles
out of summer into winter, with the gout and
the toothache.

HAREEM LIFE AT CAIRO.

EUROPEANS seldom know anything of what
really passes in hareems, as the Turks are
exceedingly jealous of their domestic life being
talked about. Many intrigues and scandals
take place, and are known to the ladies in
other hareems, but rarely transpire beyond
their walls. The two following events took
place not long ago at Cairo, and rather
interfere with our ideas (chiefly taken from the
Arabian Nights) of the poetry of Turkish life.

On the road to Old Cairo lives a Bey, whom
we will call Hassan, and whose wife had been a
slave of the viceroy's. It is deemed a great
honour to receive a cast-off slave-girl of the
viceroy, or of one of the princes, as a wife,
and the lady usually gives herself airs, and
generally leads her poor husband a miserable
life, by threatening to complain to the Effendina's
mother, unless all her whims are gratified.
Hassan Bey's wife at some fantasia heard the
celebrated singer Suleiman, and was enchanted
with his voice. She sought every occasion of
seeing him, and one day he rode under her
windows while she happened to be looking out
from behind the musharibiëh. The lady from
that day refused to eat, became melancholy and
sullen, and at length one of her old slaves
ventured to ask the cause of the Khanoum's
sorrow. On being told it, the old woman reflected
awhile, and then proposed to her mistress to
marry Suleiman to one of the girls in the
hareem who had a fine voice, and was rather a
favourite in consequence. The lady approved
of the idea, and charged the old woman with
the direction of the affair. Suleiman, thinking
that out of so good a house as Hassan Bey's he
would get valuable marriage-gifts with his wife,
accepted the proposal. The marriage was
celebrated with some pomp; and Zeeneb, the
slave-girl, was envied by her less fortunate
companions at having made so brilliant a
marriage; for Suleiman earned large sums by
singing at marriage-feasts and burials. The old
woman now explained to Suleiman why her
mistress had given him one of her favourite
slaves, and that he must manage to come often
to the hareem on some pretext or other. For
some time things went on smoothly, until Suleiman
became fonder of his own wife than of
the other lady, and neglected going to the
hareem as often as the latter wished, and also gave
less baksheesh to the eunuchs and slaves.
Hassan Bey, sitting in his divan one day, overheard
his people talking of Suleiman, of baksheesh,
and of his frequent visits, and summoned the chief
eunuch, demanding what all this meant? The Aga
hesitated, but threats soon loosened his tongue,
and he denounced the old slave woman as chief
authoress and abettor of the intrigue. Hassan
Bey had her brought before him, and gave her
the alternative of bringing Suleiman to the
hareem within an hour's time, or of losing her
head. Thoroughly frightened, she went off to
Suleiman's house, and implored him to come to
her mistress, dying, as she said, from longing to
see her heart's beloved one. Zeeneb had her
suspicions aroused by the evident trepidation of
the woman's manner, and besought her
husband not to go. The old woman threatened
to destroy his livelihood through her
mistress's influence in the vice-regal hareem, and
Suleiman at last yielded, but promised Zeeneb
that this should be his last visit to Hassan Bey's
hareem. Unfortunately for poor Suleiman, his
words turned out true, for Hassan Bey cut him
down as he entered the door. Zeeneb waited
for her husband for some hours, and then sent
her mother-in-law to inquire after him. Hassan