of materials from the ancient Byzantine palaces, and in a department of which the sanjiak shereef (holy standard), boorda-y shereef (holy mantle), and other venerated relics of the prophet Mohammed are preserved.  To this place, on the 15th of Ramadan, the Sultan and leading dignitaries of the Empire repair to do homage to the holy relics, upon which it would be the highest sacrilege for Christian eyes to gaze.  The hem of this holy mantle is reverently kissed by the Sultan and the few leading personages present, after which the spot thus brought in contact with human lips is carefully wiped with an embroidered napkin dipped in a golden basin of water; the water used in this ceremony is then supposed to be of priceless value as a purifier of sin, and is carefully preserved, and, corked up in tiny phials, is distributed among the sultanas, grand dignitaries, and prominent people of the realm, who in return make valuable presents to the lucky messengers and Mussulman ecclesiastics employed in its distribution.  This precious liquid is doled out drop by drop, as though it were nectar of eternal life received direct from heaven, and, mixed with other water, is drunk immediately upon breaking fast each evening during the remaining fifteen days of Ramadan.  Arriving at Kadikeui, the opportunity presents of observing something of the high-handed manner in which Turkish pashas are wont to expect from inferiors their every whim obeyed.  We meet a friend of my companion, a pasha, who for the remainder of the afternoon makes one of our company.  Unfortunately for a few other persons the pasha is in a whimsical mood to-day and inclined to display for our benefit rather arbitrary authority toward others.  The first individual coming under his immediate notice is a young man torturing a harp.  Summoning the musician, the pasha summarily orders him to play “Yankee Doodle.”  The writer arrived in Constantinople with the full impression that it was the mosqne of St. Sophia that has the famons six minarets, having, I am quite sure, seen it thus quite frequently accredited in print, and I mention this especially, in order that readers who may have been similarly misinformed may know that the above account is the correct one, does not know it, and humbly begs the pasha to name something more familiar.  “Yankee Doodle!” — replies the pasha peremptorily.  The poor man looks as though he would willingly relinquish all hopes of the future if only some present avenue of escape would offer itself; but nothing of the kind seems at all likely.  The musician appeals to my Turkish-speaking friend, and begs him to request me to favor him with the tune.  I am of course only too glad to help him stem the rising tide of the pasha’s wrath by whistling the tune for him; and after a certain amount of preliminary twanging be strikes up and manages to blunder through “Yankee Doodle.”  The pasha, after ascertaining from me that the performance is creditable, considering the circumstances, forthwith hands him more money than