buke, their watchful waiting for returning favor, their hesitating approach at any appearance of relenting, their throwing themselves on their back with mute, out-stretched paws, their wild leaps of delight at a smile detected, their yelps of joy at the removal of the misunderstanding. There are few who can resist such touching behavior.

We can never forget how the dog Argus detected the returning footsteps of Ulysses, the Odysseus of Homer's Odyssey, after an absence of twenty years. The hero had to be identified to his former acquaintances, as he was by the proposed test of his wife Penelope, drawing to fullest tension his old bow which no other had been able to bend. But Argus caught the familiar sound of the footsteps a considerable distance away, wagged his tail significantly, with a felicity that could only be fawned recognized his lord, and dropped dead at the feet of the master. Thus sang the blind bard of the return to Ithaca of him who had fought ten years at Troy and had wandered as many more here and there:

"Argus, the dog, his ancient master knew;
He, not unconscious of the voice and tread,
Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head;
He knew his lord; he knew, and strove to meet;
In vain he strove to crawl and kiss his feet;
Yet (all he could) his tail, his ears, his eyes
Salute his master, and confess his joys.
Soft pity touched the mighty master's soul;
Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole;
The dog, whom Fate had granted to behold
His lord, when twenty tedious years had rolled,
Takes a last look, and, having seen him, dies:
So closed for ever faithful Argus's eyes."'

We now visit the Grand Bazaar, which has a vaulted roof, and which is really a vast department store with three thousand tiny shops, where can be purchased all sorts of oriental things. There are rugs and jewels and brasses, and antiques — “made in Germany" the month before. In a light which is only twilight we wander in a maze of streets that are cobbled and that in a straight line would extend about five miles. We wind among labyrinthine aisles, in which we easily get lost, and are glad to emerge into the daylight.

We cannot overlook the cisterns, into which the water was brought by aqueducts from the neighboring mountains. A view of two of these underground constructions will suffice. That built by Philoxenus, a Senator who came from Rome with Constantine, is elaborate, as is fitting for a work of a distinguished person of great wealth. It, however, does not have "a thousand and one columns," by which it often is designated, but it does have 212 pillars to support its roof, or 636, counting them as being in three tiers. There is no longer water here. Silk-spinners are the present tenants, who patiently labor at their appointed tasks amid the depressing gloom. Larger still is the Royal or Basilica Cistern which was constructed by Constantine himself and enlarged by Justinian, and which still holds the precious liquid that quenches the thirst. Its rows of columns to the number of 336 and 40 feet high, standing in what seems a considerable lake, give weird vistas, and the whole has the appearance of a submerged palace. To see the Stygian darkness of a space 390 feet long by 174 broad illumined by torches that glimmer on the dark, undulating surface is most fascinating.

The Mosques are deserving of inspection. The most prominent, aside from San Sophia, are those constructed by the greatest of the Sultans, whose tombs or turbehs are in

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TILDEN FOUNDATIONS

the adjoining grounds. Their mausoleums are octagonal in shape, are domed structures, and are lighted by tiers of windows. The Mosque of Mohammed the Second, the Conqueror, was built eighteen years after his victory on the site of the Church of the Holy Apostles. It has the loftiest dome of any, 256 feet high. Suleiman the First, or the Magnificent, completed his in 1556. This is recognized as one of the finest. It contains columns from pagan temples and Christian churches. The Mosque of Achmet the First, who became Sultan in 1603, has the distinction of having the largest number of minarets, six, only one less than that at Mecca, and the whole structure is regarded as most beautiful. In approaching the Mohammedan places of worship we see for our church spires slender and graceful minarets. No bell in silvery tones sends forth its summons to the devout to gather together, but a Muezzin, often with trained, musical voice, performs this office. From a sort of balcony high up, five times a day, he calls to worship, reminding passers-by that there is one God, and that Mohammed is his prophet, closing with "Prayer is better than sleep, come to prayer." Once within, worshipers are expected to remove their shoes from off their feet, or at least to put on slippers which are provided, for they are on holy ground. We see no pews, but everywhere rugs on which the people are sitting, rocking to and fro, touching the matted floor with their foreheads, and going through various genuflections, as they repeat their prayers, always with their faces toward Mecca.

We proceed next to Seraglio Point, where emperors and sultans long had their palaces, where there is a wall with a high gate, which gave the designation of the Sublime Porte to the Turkish court. We go to the Church of St. Irene, first erected by Constantine, and rebuilt by Justinian in 532.