The daily morning journal and courier., 1904-11-17

pretty, baby face, in the uniform of a general-a vevritabIe General Tom Thumb steps out, an old officer close behind guiding him with fatherly hand, and walks with quaint dignity between the officials who line the entrance, re- turning their salaams with grave com posture as he passes into the courtyard. He is one of the Sultan's nephews; and little later another, somewhat older, alights from a second carriage and en- ters the palace.
 Grooms lead forward some fine gray and dappled horses, and halt with them near the great green gates. Next, stroll ling slowly and unconcernediy down the middle of the way, chatting quietly with an officer walking by his side, and halo ited in the plainest of plain black gowns, comes the chief mullah, an old man, some say. If all the truth were known-behind him the assistant priest. Soldiers and officers reyevvrently salute. Again they salute us at intervals two young men in magnificent uniforms the one military. the other naval, and each attended by train of officers pace smartly down the road and at the foot mount two of the led grays and await the coming of the chief figure of the ceremony. These are the Sultan's sons. Both are stout and full featured. The elder with somewhat prominent hooked nose and a set smile, has skin of corpse~like pallor-it might be enam- elled, or at least thickly powdered. The other is a younger edition of his broth CT. with a complexion more of the nor nal. The little princes have already taken their carriages again and aIight- ed within the forecourt of the mosque.
 Dead silence falls. The sun beats hot ly down; the uniforms of the waiting thousands of fighting men make bright, harmonizing patches of varied color like a carpet of the Orient, the goldein ep- aulets and jeweled orders of the officers flash and sparkle in the high light. So stiIl is it that the swish of the long broom which one of the drab worknen is lightly passing over the sand to make all meet for the sassage of the Padishah is distinctly noticeable. Pigeons fiutter noiselessly down and strut about as if anxious to take part in the pomp; the dogs have as noiselessly withdrawn, and curled up in sleep again under the walk. They may make generals step aside and viziers pick way, but in the path of the Padishah, before whom all men are as dogs, and dogs no more than men, they know that even they may not lie.
 Now the weird chant of the call to the faithful to prayer falls on the wa iting air. High up in the gallery of the sol- itary minaret Is the black figure of the muIlah. As he chants, the soldiers again present arms, two closed black carriages slowly wind their way down, and disappear under the trees at the side of the mosque. Tn the first is the Sultan's aged mother, closely yelled, with three other ladies, one of whom draws aside her head cover for a mo- ment to give the strangers on the terrace a glance of curiosity, and dis closes young and beautiful face, Tn the second are three ladies of the harern.
 Silence again falls, waits expectant a while, and breaks suddenly In loud burst of trumpets. The Sultan is an- nounced The mullah has descended: !: another takes his place. His sonorous voice breaks clear with the first words of the cell as the strains Of an ap- preaching band are heard from the di- rection of the great arch. Then, as his strong musical notes rise and fall there emerges double string of gallant fig- ures, high officers of the army and navy, magnificent in gold and in jeweled or ders, who step briskly along with clank- ing sword scabbards and hands swing ing wide in rhythmic unison. Then the tattered and venerable black and silver standard of the Caliph, the only flag of it's kind in the world. Then the sharp word of command, the uplifted rows of gleaming bayonets the low pended forms of the salaaming officials as a solitady barouche in black and dead ened gilt, with a gaudy gold and crim- son coachman behind pair of bays ap- breaches in slow and solemn state
 Long live the Padishah!' A great throng shout in which all poin, rises resonant, and is repeated, and again re- peated, while all bow low, and place right hand to heart, to lip and to fore head. It is the Sultan. Facing him in the carriage is the minister of war, a great fat man bursting out of his uni form, who never ceases to salaam as his imperial master addresses him. Behind the barouche scurry along in vdisordered hurry come scores of court functionaries and servants, the latter bearing a number of articles that may be required by their august mas ter. Foremost among them is one who carries a Gladstone bag. Curious con- junction, giving rise to curious refec- tions.
 One intense gaze at that pallid, haunting face, with the keen yet weary eyes, the sharp hooked nose, the scanty grizzled beard-that mask, severe enough now, whose smile, if smile ever lights 1t, is no index to the thought be- hind; that glance which turns languidly toward us as the Sultan briefly &C., knoWledges our salute-and it is gone again.
 Behind the scurrying crowd comes a black hooded phaeton drawn by pair of magnificent white Arabs with proud 1xy araEinor ,,pp1xs and 1anor e,iIlya,, 4o ;1e,