Journal 40, page 02

are soon in motion over figs, pistachio nuts, "manna," dates, & a variety of other "goodies" that tempt us as we pass. "Hamals" (porters of Constantinople) crowd us to the wall as they go bending along under loads of 500 lbs each upheld by artificial humps of leather on their backs.

-Persians with their small, keen features, green dresses & tall black caps like a sugar loaf;-Circassians in great cloaks of Astrakan # heavy Turks & bright eyed Armenians jostle us as we crowd into the bazar. Then the old story of table covers, Brousa jackets & Zouaves while good Bro Paine & I make observations. A lemonade-seller comes clinking along & we taste his beverage finding it too cold for such a raw morning as this.

-All these piano-cloths, chair-covers, lamp mats, table covers &c, have the squandered lives of a thousand Turkish women stitched into their brilliant patterns & graceful arabesques. Richest fabrics & costliest handiwork heaped up on rough [?] [....] painted shelves [.] old sofa where I sit torn & straw lining sticking out-a bedbug crawling perseveringly in my direction, while Kate flourishes [...] into a gorgeous golden jacket & Mrs. P. stays the reckless hand of her generous spouse [...] who is bent upon investing in a whole Turkish costume for "his boy!" Meanwhile I scribble away & Brother P. consoles me for buying no oils, perfumes or pastiles by the assurance that I am "getting things into my head" worth more than all that can be bought here"-("while we are emptying our purses Miss W. is storing her mind."

The bazar business grows serious. Kate is in excited pursuit of a table cloth for Aunt Jane which must have a red border mosaic pattern & not cost over 25 francs. Mrs. P's affections are set upon a dress of Broussa silk & the twain pursue their prey through more ins & outs; dirty allies, dark shops (where I can hardly see to write) & Khans piled up with heterogeneous goods than I ever imagined one could be found outside of a distempered dream. I follow demurely, wrapped up in cloak, shawl, & waterproof & shivering with cold-Mr. Paine accompanies me, pointing out comic sights as we pass along & exhibiting spasmodic tendencies to dart off & buy that costume for his boy, averring that Mrs. Paine will never buy enough at this rate to pay for coming & that unless he makes a dive nothing will ever turn up. Meanwhile our hollow-cheeked, consumptive guide grows hoarse with translating prices from all the oriental tongues into the vilest English I ever heard, & a queer genius with fez perched on the crown of his head & sandy whiskers whorled around his face, pursues our flying steps through every lane of life nor misses once the track!, no matter with what alacrity we may pick up our steps he is in every bazar just one ahead of us-hops behind the heaped up counter & deals out goods, superlatives & grins with the utmost urbanity & a thorough air of being a proprietor.

-We go to an India shawl store (a mania with Mr. & Mrs. P.) & turn over costly shawls-fifteen hundred dollars &c-as seriously & with as careful inspection as if we meant to buy!