Year: 1876

"A TURKISH


The safest plan is to go from the ba-


obliged to seek relief in suds and hot


water, for the bazaars are unfortunately


over-populated and your presence there


is pretty sure to suggest emigration to


the least desirable members of the COM


munity. Goaded on by an itching de-


sire for change, direct Ali to hasten


to the bath. Ali knows all about it,


and orders me to dismount precisely at


a door that is by no means inviting.


The donkey stands unhitched where we


leave him. He would stand till dooms-


day if Ali should forget to resume


charge of him. We thread black


passage that is full of dust and cobwebs,


turning suddenly into room paved


with marble, walled with marble and


domel with white stone that might as


well have been marble also. In the


center of the roOm-a large square one
-gushes fountain. The dome is per-


forated with star-shaped windows sunk


deep in the white and semi-transparent


partitions that separate one from the


other-a kind of alabaster honeycomb,


with all the tints of the rainbow stream


ing through it upon the plashing foun-


tain below. Ali turns me over into the


hands of half-naked attendant, and 1


am at once conducted up


three steps into an alcove where


several couches, standing side by side,


these is Turk in the final agonies of


disrobing. On the next Greek has


passed from this sorrowful world into


deep dream of something or other.


My third companion is apparently just


recovering from the ravages of the


bath, and is taking the nargileh in mild


doses every few moments. He seems


to be doing well, and am encouraged


to proceed with my bath. Swathed in


numerous towels, shirts, pillow-cases,
etc.; poised on wooden sandals, with


very tall legs under them, am led
from one chamber to another, from
tepid air into an atmosphere that
Sticks in my throat and weighs upon
my chest and burns me, so that faint
and grow nervous and fall into the
arms of the attendant, who dashes cold
water in my face and smiles his soft,
persuasive sleepy oriental smile. He
rubs me down in a small marble cell
filled with a rosy light, and currycombs
me with harsh bundles of date-leaf
fibres. He twists me in postures that
are as painful as they are undigni-
fled, and then leaves me to re-
cover. Enter second slave with soap
and water. 1 am smothered in suds
that blind me and fill my nose and
mouth, soused from head to foot, bu-
ried an inch deep in soapy foam, and
again left to get out of it the best way
L can. Deserted in that Shiny place 1


find my way to a fountain in the corner
of room and gradually come to the
light of day once more. Then 1 ain
swathed in more sheeting and given
back into the hospital ward, where the
fresh air makes me drunk with delight.
All this time young Ali keeps his eye
on me and speaks a few words of en-
couragement. A slave brings delicious
sherbet chilled with snow. 1 know the
physical joys of the paradise these Mos
lens are waiting for; coffee soon fol-
lows, mere mouthful, but enough for
a sensation. From time to time, as 1
lie at length on this couch of ease,
drop into dreams that are somehow
never out of hearing of the plash of the
fountain under the dome, never out of
the sight of a window that opens
upon a rose garden and admits
the breath of the fairest of
flowers. Some one wakes me to unroll |
my wrappers and to roll me again in
fresh and dry. Then 1 feel
the stem of the inargileh creeping to
my lips, and with monstrous sighs in
hale the fragrance of the bubbling pipe.
Ali must have grown hungry at last,
for he it was who urged me to resume
the duties of life, and with the aid of
an attendant or two I did it. The bar
Der brushed me, the boy of the bath
brought me a rose that was a little |
and busted ME vaguely, as
if it were a matter of little moment,
which it was, and then went back into
the world feeling lighter every way
in heart, in head, in pocket-every soul
in that blessed bath had to have his
separate fee and his separate frown at
the size of -COa,stanti,aOpte Letter TO
San Francisco Chronicle.


A MAN has got to be an awful good
Christian to reach right over and put a
silver quarter in the collection box