1870.] 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST 
465 
jars. I used to wonder what sort of jars they were, and 
little did I then think that I should ever visit the lands of 
the East and see such jars, and hear the same stories of 
the Arabian Nights Entertainments told on the banks of 
the Bosphorus. 
Not many months ago I was in the Orient, and saw the 
story-tellers of the East with crowds around them listen¬ 
ing to their marvelous tales—the same that gave me such 
pleasure when I was a boy—which have been told at 
thousands of firesides in our own country, and which, for 
hundreds of years have been rehearsed over and over 
again in the cafes of Constantinople and Damascus, in 
their feet aud hands at the fountain. Then they sit cross- 
legged upon the floor and smoke their long-stemmed pipes. 
Some of them use the Nagheli —whicli has a flexible tube 
several feet in length, attached to a glass, shaped like a j 
decanter, partly filled with water perfumed with the otto j 
of roses, through which they draw the smoke, sucking 
it through a tube which has an amber mouthpiece. The 
air causes the water to bubble, and when there are fifty 
or a hundred naghelies going at once in a caffe, there is a j 
constant bubbling. 
Servants with red caps (or fezes, as they are called) on : 
their heads, and long, black silk tassels dangling down 
THE 3TOKY-TELLEK. 
the valley of the Euphrates, and in the tents of the Bed¬ 
ouins of tlie desert, and always to gratified listeners. 
The people of the East delight in stories. They do not 
have many books, and there are few newspapers orprint- 
ing presses. They have no Lyceum lectures, nor public 
discussions of any questions. They obtain their news 
from travelers and story-tellers who go from town to town, 
and from caffe to caffe. The story-teller of the Orient is 
an important personage. It is his profession to tell 
stories. He earns his living in that way. If he is a good 
story-teller, if he has a pleasant voice, and if he is lively 
and interesting, he becomes popular, and is treated with 
great courtesy and respect, and quite likely becomes a 
rich man. 
A caffe is a place where the people of the Orient refresh 
themselves when weary. It is not quite like our restau¬ 
rants, and not at all like a lager-beer saloon. You see 
no small pine tables covered with mugs, no sanded floors, 
nor spittoons, nor tobacco juice; no old hair-cloth sofas 
nor rickety chairs—no bar with casks of gin and whiskey 
behind it; but you will find a pleasant apartment, with a 
clean swept floor, covered with mats woven with threads 
of silver and gold. The room is lofty^and the ceiling 
gorgeous with golden stars ; vines are twining round the 
pillars supporting the massive roof. Flowers bloom and 
fountains send up their silvery spray in the adjoining 
court. In such a'place the Turks and Arabs of the eastern 
cities assemble to refresh themselves when their work 
for the day is over. 
The first thing done when they enter a caffe, is to wash 
their backs, pass to and fro amid the throng of cross- 
legged sitters, with silver trays, serving them with figs, 
oranges, grapes, melons, dates, pineapples, sweetmeats, 
and confectionary, and tiny cups of thick, black coffee— 
sweet, and very delicious, after one learns to like it. 
When the caffe is well filled, the story-teller enters, 
wearing a blue or crimson satin robe with a sash, yellow 
trowsers, big enough for meal bags, red morocco slip¬ 
pers, and a white turban, and taking his seat on the ros¬ 
trum, commences his story; just as likely as not the 
hearers may have listened to it a hundred times, hut if 
he tells it well they are never weary of hearing it. It 
may be about the “ Forty Thieves,” or about the “Spirit 
that was shut up in a bottle;” it must be a marvelous 
story, or there must be some wit about it, or it must have 
a moral, and be told with a great deal of spirit, energy, 
and action, to be acceptable. When the teller gets along 
to an interesting part, an attendant goes through the 
crowd to take whatever the listeners are disposed to give. 
If he has succeeded in pleasing them—if it has been a 
story about the bravery of a hero in battle, or if it has 
been a tender love affair, if it has excited them, they toss 
in the piasters (small copper coins) with a liberal hand, 
and, thus encouraged, he becomes more eloquent and 
energetic, and the listeners stroke their beards again and 
again, to express their pleasure at his effort. 
When I was in Damascus I saw the story-tellers in the 
beautiful gardens of that city, watered by the Abana and 
Pharpar rivers that we read about in the Bible. The 
gardeus are filled with flowers and are shaded by groves 
of orange, almond, and pomegranate trees. The almond- 
trees were in blossom and their pure white flowers filled 
the air with fragrance. The orange-trees were loaded 
with golden fruit, and beneath them, suspended from the 
branches, were hundreds of beautiful lamps—red, white, 
blue, green, and yellow—easting their varying lights, 
with all the hues of the rainbow, upon the enchanting 
scene. The smokers sat on their costly carpets and 
listened to the story-teller, and seemed well pleased with 
what he was saying. 
One day when I was on the Bosphorus, I stepped on 
board a steamer and sailed up the beautiful river from 
Constantinople, towards the Black Sea. The steamer 
passed stately palaces standing on the shore, plowed its 
way through innumerable boats, until at last it brought 
ns to a little village called Bebec, where there is an old 
bouse which was built by one of the Grand Viziers of the 
Sultan. It was curiously constructed; the ceilings were 
gorgeously painted, and the window sashes curiously 
carved. The Grand Vizier 1 had an eventful life, and when 
I heard about his adventures, I thought them almost 
equal to any of the stories that I used to hear in child¬ 
hood ; and I dare say that they have often been rehearsed 
by the story-tellers of the East to their admiring audi¬ 
ences, and I am sure that you will like to hear about him. 
Years ago—some time in the last century—there was a 
little shop for the sale of bread in Stamboul, (a part of 
Constantinople), kept by a young Greek named Johannes. 
Opposite the bread shop a young Turk, nameu Ibraham, 
kept pipes and tobacco. Though of different nationali¬ 
ties and religions, a warm friendship—an affection like 
that between David and Jonathan, sprung up between 
the two. One day the Pasha of Bagdad came to do hom¬ 
age to the Sublime Porte, and Ibraham made the acquaint¬ 
ance of some one in the suite, who had wonderful stories 
to relate of Eastern lands. Love for adventure took pos¬ 
session of Ibraham, and he put up tire shutters of his 
shop, saying to Johannes that he was going to try his 
luck in tire world. It was a sad parting, but Ibraham had 
pluck and resolution. “ I mean to be somebody,” said 
he, “ but whatever I am I never shall forget you, Jo¬ 
hannes, and I shall always be your friend.” 
It would require much time to tell of all his adventures 
—how he became a follower in the train of the Pasha ; 
of his arrival at Bagdad ; how he became pipe-bearer to 
the Pasha ; then something else ; something better ; 
working his way tip ; bettering his fortunes through the 
years ; holding the position of secretary, chief officer, and 
at last, himself a Pasha; Governor of Bagdad; then 
called to Stamboul, and made Grand Vizier,—the highest 
office in the gift of the Sultan. 
All these years Johannes was selling bread in the 
bazaar,—a steady, industrious man, with a wife and chil¬ 
dren. One day a company of soldiers appeared in front 
of the shop and told him he must go to the palace of the 
Grand Vizier. In those days men were tied up in sacks 
aud tossed into the Bosphorus, just as you would drown 
a eat, or their heads were chopped off without ceremony 
on a block, which you may still see at the entrance of 
[ Concluded on next page .] 
New JPuzseles to lue Answered. 
No. 397. lUustl ated Rebus —Something that ought oev 
er to he found true. 
Charade .—My first is a Friar of orders gray. 
My next did Bluebeard’s wife betray, 
My whole is an animal resembling man. 
Now tell me, dear guesser, my name if you can. 
