ad, on the river Tigris, through which
they could reach the Persian Gulf.

[Illustration: SACRED DOGS, CONSTANTINOPLE.]

I had arranged to go to Angora, but found a ten-days' quarantine five
miles out of Constantinople, and backed into town, and then made an
effort to secure from the office of the titled German who stands for
the railway company, some idea of the road, its prospects, probable
cost, and estimated earnings, but had my letters returned without a
line.

To show them that I was acting in good faith, and willing to pay for
what I got, I went with Vincent, the guide (the only guide I ever
had), and asked them for some printed matter or photographs, or
anything that would throw a little light along the line of their
plague-stricken railway; but they still refused to talk. No wonder it
has taken these dreamers ten years to build three hundred and sixty
miles of very cheap railroad.

It was my misfortune to fall into a little old Austrian-Lloyd steamer
called the "Daphne." Before we lifted anchor in the Golden Horn I
learned that her boilers had not been overhauled for ten years; and
before we reached the Dardanelles I concluded that the sand had not
been changed in the pillows for a quarter of a century. I have slept
in the American Desert for a period of thirty nights, between the
earth and the heavens, and found a better bed than was made by the
ossified mattress and petrified pillows of the "Daphne." It was bad
enough to breathe the foul air that came up from the camping pilgrims
on the main deck; but the first day out we learned that these ugly
Armenians, greasy Greeks, and buggy Bedouins would be allowed to come
up on the promenade deck and mingle with those who had paid for
first-class passage. Poorly clad, half-starved, poverty-stricken
people, headed for the Holy Land, came and rubbed elbows with American
and European women and children. Of course one sympathizes with these
poor, miserable people, but one does not want their secrets.

[Illustration: THE RAILROAD STATION AT CONSTANTINOPLE.]

We left the Bosporus at twilight, crossed the Sea of Marmora during
the night, and the next morning were at Gallipoli, where the
bird-seeds come from. The day broke beautifully, and the little sea
was as calm as a summer lake. By ten o'clock we were drifting down the
Dardanelles, which resembles a great river, for the land is always
near on either side.

The ship's doctor, who was my guide, at every landing-p