Journal 40, page 14

weighing 250 lbs. I should think. His hair is short & thin, his short beard sprinkled with grey. His eyes swollen & heavy, his mouth the mouth of a man who has exhausted himself upon his lusts. His bloated, purplish hands were both ungloved. He wore a curious plain coat with a gold collar a capuchin hood hanging behind & the invariable fez. Every body raised his hat & the great man looked glumly from side to side & as Mr. P. raises his hat & makes a profound bow, the bear [?] slightly inclines his head-something he never deigned to do until he went to Europe & saw "the style" there, we are told. We watch out sharply to see if the hypothetical old woman hands the Sultan a petition on behalf of some unrighted wrong, but nothing of the kind occurs. Behind the body guard on foot, ride several officers, like the sultan about fifty years of age & such masses of flesh as I never saw before outside the "Fat Woman" exhibition of Barnum's Museum. Well, the long agony is over-our two hours waiting is rewarded- we've seen Sultan & found him one of the ugliest men in his dominion.

-We bring up next, at Dr. Long's where that kindest & nicest of men has a lot of attar of rose, bergamot, jasmin &c ready for Kate & Mrs. P. to examine & in wh. they invest largely-Mr. P. taking over forty dollars worth of the first alone. "Far Away" has already brought a variety of pretty little bottles, one style of which is in the form of a crescent with a star stamped on its side. Miss Long gives me an account of the English party she attended last night, at which they acted charades in imitation of the Druids & reiterates her conviction that "after Constantinople" she could never endure living in America. Mrs. Long puts a little present into my hand & tells me to do all I can to get missionaries to come here where they are so much needed. We exchange autographs-I write a note to nice Mr. Pettibone who, as I learn to my astonishment is a bachelor instead of that "Father in Israel" wh. I took him to be-& a "karacter" for our fussy, faithful, croak-voiced guide & away we hasten to witness the performance of the

Dancing Dervishes.

They are much less disgusting than their howling brethren, & their dancing room, of octagonal shape & nicely paneled & wax- floored, is quite attractive. Twenty men in blue shirts with pretty, blue jackets & white camel's hair (?) hats shaped like an inverted flower pot are whirling around after the manner of school-girls making a cheese, only "more so," their skirts sticking out at an angle of 45 degrees though so long as to exhibit only their bare feet which revolve one around the other in a way never to be comprehended by the uninitiated Frank. A solemn old priest squatted on a mat directs their movements & suddenly stops their mazy dance by a few words of oral prayer. They bend their heads, clasp their necks with their crossed arms & their attitude is certainly reverent & not ungraceful. When, at the close, they all sit or fall upon hands &