#aidedecamp

[eric-jeandriens]

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter - Monday, January 10

BUFFY: Spike ... this nice woman is, uh, (meaningfully) from Social Services? SPIKE: Oh, right! (gets up) Uh ... hey! Buffy's a great mom. She takes good care of her little sis. (Both Buffy and Ms. Kroger smiling) Like, um, when Dawn was hanging out too much in my crypt, Buffy put a right stop to it. MS. KROGER: (frowning) I'm sorry, did you say- BUFFY: Crib! (fake laugh) He said crib. You know kids today and their buggin' street slang.

~~Gone~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for a couple of new editors! Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more here.

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Blame it on the Scotch (Giles/Spike, T) by kez

Lovers Paradox (Buffy/Spike, T) by JaneRemmington

Time Turned Backwards (Xander/Graham, M) by AideDeCampe

Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker (Joyce, Not rated) by Vidicon666

The Uses of Mistletoe (Buffy/Spike, R) by slaymesoftly

[Chaptered Fiction]

Cuddling With Darkness Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, Not rated) by slaymesoftly

More than one soul is lost tonight Chapter 1 (Angelus/OC, E) by BaronessZemo

Trial of pain Chapter 2 (Xander/Cordelia, T) by R4ik3n

[Images, Audio & Video]

FANART: BTVS “Every Outfit” Season One by whatshisfaceblogs

PODCAST: Helpless by Buffy the Vampire Straya

[Fandom Discussions]

What is it you don't like about Spuffy? by herinsectreflection

Darla is tragically underutilized in this show by roselightfairy

Xander dying instead of Anya by house-monster-fucker

friendship and romantic relationships are viewed as equally important by sofipitch

it’s interesting how Angel (the episode) mirrors some of the latter half of Season 2. by duchessofbuffonia17

BBDiscusses : Into the Woods by Cheese Slices

Characters you'd love no matter WHAT they've done? by Anyanka Bunny Slayer

Ted related to Warren? by diegzs

What if Buffy had killed the deputy mayor instead of Faith? by Charcoal422

Ben and glory by Bookishworm111

Defence of xander video by Bookishworm111

Buffy is so good it's depressing by Kaykalauer

How did they find potentials? by Simple-Ceasar

Turok-Han final battle BS by dumbosjumbo

Buffy and Xander by AstridDante

Angel: A spin off done right! by CangelFrance

First rewatch... with the kids by natipou

The most unrealistic part of Buffy by Reviewingremy

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[hashtagcwinstagram]

#Repost @sunnyrea37 ・・・ Lt. Col. John Laurens ready for a command at the Siege of Yorktown. . #historicalcostuming #historiccostuming #johnlaurens #johnlaurenscosplay #laurens #laurenscosplay #johnlaurensofsouthcarolina #americanrevolution #southcarolina #history #historicalcostume #historicalcosplay #aidedecamp #continentialarmy #18thcentury #18thcenturycostume #18thcenturycostuming #18thcenturyuniform #continentialarmyuniform #aidedecamplife #revolutionarywar #washingtonsindespenciblemen #williamsburg #yorktown https://ift.tt/2XP6QPw

[seakclauswinkler]

Why? German artist SEAK Claus Winkler‘s „ Why? „ The artist is painting, that the man is the price, having women with in his life which competing for him sharing him. In the Pictures the Artist‘s beautiful office taking photos to be the go to solution for the artist. Cause she brings the best business results, competing with the/ other women. We man judging the results, the patterns results, recognizing the patterns. Seperating the just showing she brings results, from the actual results. That’s what the artists art is. Making women competing for the man, the art watcher/ the art owner. The painting the everyday influence. #SEAK #ClausWinkler #SEAKClausWinkler #Kunstvermittler #Artistswhy #whatstthewhy #Women #frauen #office #Playingoffice #Bürospielen #Artworld #patternrecognition #jealousy #Dreiecke #triangles #sharingthealpha #redpilled #Livingwithart #Womenbecome #beimKünstler #Artistgallerina #artistsoffice #aidedecamp #aidedecamp #artistmanagement #artistmanager #artistmanagers #winggirl #winggirls #flügelfrauen (hier: Germany) https://www.instagram.com/p/CiaeIEVIRkw/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[righthr]

g here he is an uncles adjutant the most brilliant position Everyone knows him so well and appreciates him so much The other day at the Apraksins I heard a lady ask cest ça le fameux prince André Ma parole dhonneur103 She laughed  He is so accepted everywhere He can very easily be an aidedecamp You know the sovereign spoke to him very graciously Annette and I talked about ho

[rorealty]

g here he is an uncles adjutant the most brilliant position Everyone knows him so well and appreciates him so much The other day at the Apraksins I heard a lady ask cest ça le fameux prince André Ma parole dhonneur103 She laughed  He is so accepted everywhere He can very easily be an aidedecamp You know the sovereign spoke to him very graciously Annette and I talked about ho

[holidaysbalkan]

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds is the old Byzantine Church of Saint Irene, now painted an ugly pink, and used by the Turks as an armory and museum. It contains many spoils taken by the Turks in battle, which are carefully arranged upon tables and walls. Nothing is disdained, nothing is considered too paltry for exhibition. I saw there flags riddled with bullets; but I saw also odd boots taken from Italian soldiers in Tripoli; caps, belts, water bottles, blood-stained tunics and cloaks, saddles, weapons, and buttons. Among relics from Yildiz Kiosk was a set of furniture which once belonged to Abdul Hamid, and which he is said to have set much store by. It shows a very distinctive, indeed a somewhat original taste, being made of red plush and weapons. The legs of the tables and chairs are guns and revolvers.

As I looked at the chairs I could not help wondering whether ambassadors were invited to sit in them, after they had been loaded to their muzzles, or whether they were reserved for subjects whom the exSultan suspected of treachery. Near them were several of Abdul Hamid’s favorite walking sticks containing revol-vers, a cane with an electric light let into the knob, his inkstand, the mother-of-pearl revolver which was found in his pocket, and the handkerchief which fell from his hand when he was taken prisoner by the Young Turks, who have since brought their country to ruin.

In a series of galleries

In a series of galleries, under arches and ceilings of yellow and white, stands, sits, reclines, and squats, in Eastern fashion, a strange population of puppets, dressed in the costumes of the bygone cen-turies during which Turkey has ruled in Europe. Those fearful ex-Christians, the Janissaries, who were scourges of Christianity, look very mild now as they stand fatuously together, no longer either Christian or Mussulman but fatally Madame Tussaud.

Once they tucked up their coats to fight for the “Father” who had ravished them away from their fathers in blood. Now, even the wicked man, who flees when no one pursueth, could scarcely fear them. Near them the chief eunuch, a plump and piteous gentleman, reclines absurdly upon his divan, holding his large black pipe, and obsequiously at-tended by a bearded dwarf in red, and by a thin aidedecamp in green.

The Sheikhul Islam bends beneath the coiled dignity of his monstrous turban; a really lifelike old man, with a curved gray beard and a green and white turban, reads the Koran per-petually; and soldiers with faces made of some sub-stance that looks like plaster return blankly the gaze of the many real soldiers who visit this curious show.

[travelmgznbg]

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds is the old Byzantine Church of Saint Irene, now painted an ugly pink, and used by the Turks as an armory and museum. It contains many spoils taken by the Turks in battle, which are carefully arranged upon tables and walls. Nothing is disdained, nothing is considered too paltry for exhibition. I saw there flags riddled with bullets; but I saw also odd boots taken from Italian soldiers in Tripoli; caps, belts, water bottles, blood-stained tunics and cloaks, saddles, weapons, and buttons. Among relics from Yildiz Kiosk was a set of furniture which once belonged to Abdul Hamid, and which he is said to have set much store by. It shows a very distinctive, indeed a somewhat original taste, being made of red plush and weapons. The legs of the tables and chairs are guns and revolvers.

As I looked at the chairs I could not help wondering whether ambassadors were invited to sit in them, after they had been loaded to their muzzles, or whether they were reserved for subjects whom the exSultan suspected of treachery. Near them were several of Abdul Hamid’s favorite walking sticks containing revol-vers, a cane with an electric light let into the knob, his inkstand, the mother-of-pearl revolver which was found in his pocket, and the handkerchief which fell from his hand when he was taken prisoner by the Young Turks, who have since brought their country to ruin.

In a series of galleries

In a series of galleries, under arches and ceilings of yellow and white, stands, sits, reclines, and squats, in Eastern fashion, a strange population of puppets, dressed in the costumes of the bygone cen-turies during which Turkey has ruled in Europe. Those fearful ex-Christians, the Janissaries, who were scourges of Christianity, look very mild now as they stand fatuously together, no longer either Christian or Mussulman but fatally Madame Tussaud.

Once they tucked up their coats to fight for the “Father” who had ravished them away from their fathers in blood. Now, even the wicked man, who flees when no one pursueth, could scarcely fear them. Near them the chief eunuch, a plump and piteous gentleman, reclines absurdly upon his divan, holding his large black pipe, and obsequiously at-tended by a bearded dwarf in red, and by a thin aidedecamp in green.

The Sheikhul Islam bends beneath the coiled dignity of his monstrous turban; a really lifelike old man, with a curved gray beard and a green and white turban, reads the Koran per-petually; and soldiers with faces made of some sub-stance that looks like plaster return blankly the gaze of the many real soldiers who visit this curious show.

[travelsyhe]

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds is the old Byzantine Church of Saint Irene, now painted an ugly pink, and used by the Turks as an armory and museum. It contains many spoils taken by the Turks in battle, which are carefully arranged upon tables and walls. Nothing is disdained, nothing is considered too paltry for exhibition. I saw there flags riddled with bullets; but I saw also odd boots taken from Italian soldiers in Tripoli; caps, belts, water bottles, blood-stained tunics and cloaks, saddles, weapons, and buttons. Among relics from Yildiz Kiosk was a set of furniture which once belonged to Abdul Hamid, and which he is said to have set much store by. It shows a very distinctive, indeed a somewhat original taste, being made of red plush and weapons. The legs of the tables and chairs are guns and revolvers.

As I looked at the chairs I could not help wondering whether ambassadors were invited to sit in them, after they had been loaded to their muzzles, or whether they were reserved for subjects whom the exSultan suspected of treachery. Near them were several of Abdul Hamid’s favorite walking sticks containing revol-vers, a cane with an electric light let into the knob, his inkstand, the mother-of-pearl revolver which was found in his pocket, and the handkerchief which fell from his hand when he was taken prisoner by the Young Turks, who have since brought their country to ruin.

In a series of galleries

In a series of galleries, under arches and ceilings of yellow and white, stands, sits, reclines, and squats, in Eastern fashion, a strange population of puppets, dressed in the costumes of the bygone cen-turies during which Turkey has ruled in Europe. Those fearful ex-Christians, the Janissaries, who were scourges of Christianity, look very mild now as they stand fatuously together, no longer either Christian or Mussulman but fatally Madame Tussaud.

Once they tucked up their coats to fight for the “Father” who had ravished them away from their fathers in blood. Now, even the wicked man, who flees when no one pursueth, could scarcely fear them. Near them the chief eunuch, a plump and piteous gentleman, reclines absurdly upon his divan, holding his large black pipe, and obsequiously at-tended by a bearded dwarf in red, and by a thin aidedecamp in green.

The Sheikhul Islam bends beneath the coiled dignity of his monstrous turban; a really lifelike old man, with a curved gray beard and a green and white turban, reads the Koran per-petually; and soldiers with faces made of some sub-stance that looks like plaster return blankly the gaze of the many real soldiers who visit this curious show.

[privatetourbg]

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds is the old Byzantine Church of Saint Irene, now painted an ugly pink, and used by the Turks as an armory and museum. It contains many spoils taken by the Turks in battle, which are carefully arranged upon tables and walls. Nothing is disdained, nothing is considered too paltry for exhibition. I saw there flags riddled with bullets; but I saw also odd boots taken from Italian soldiers in Tripoli; caps, belts, water bottles, blood-stained tunics and cloaks, saddles, weapons, and buttons. Among relics from Yildiz Kiosk was a set of furniture which once belonged to Abdul Hamid, and which he is said to have set much store by. It shows a very distinctive, indeed a somewhat original taste, being made of red plush and weapons. The legs of the tables and chairs are guns and revolvers.

As I looked at the chairs I could not help wondering whether ambassadors were invited to sit in them, after they had been loaded to their muzzles, or whether they were reserved for subjects whom the exSultan suspected of treachery. Near them were several of Abdul Hamid’s favorite walking sticks containing revol-vers, a cane with an electric light let into the knob, his inkstand, the mother-of-pearl revolver which was found in his pocket, and the handkerchief which fell from his hand when he was taken prisoner by the Young Turks, who have since brought their country to ruin.

In a series of galleries

In a series of galleries, under arches and ceilings of yellow and white, stands, sits, reclines, and squats, in Eastern fashion, a strange population of puppets, dressed in the costumes of the bygone cen-turies during which Turkey has ruled in Europe. Those fearful ex-Christians, the Janissaries, who were scourges of Christianity, look very mild now as they stand fatuously together, no longer either Christian or Mussulman but fatally Madame Tussaud.

Once they tucked up their coats to fight for the “Father” who had ravished them away from their fathers in blood. Now, even the wicked man, who flees when no one pursueth, could scarcely fear them. Near them the chief eunuch, a plump and piteous gentleman, reclines absurdly upon his divan, holding his large black pipe, and obsequiously at-tended by a bearded dwarf in red, and by a thin aidedecamp in green.

The Sheikhul Islam bends beneath the coiled dignity of his monstrous turban; a really lifelike old man, with a curved gray beard and a green and white turban, reads the Koran per-petually; and soldiers with faces made of some sub-stance that looks like plaster return blankly the gaze of the many real soldiers who visit this curious show.

[melniktravel]

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds is the old Byzantine Church of Saint Irene, now painted an ugly pink, and used by the Turks as an armory and museum. It contains many spoils taken by the Turks in battle, which are carefully arranged upon tables and walls. Nothing is disdained, nothing is considered too paltry for exhibition. I saw there flags riddled with bullets; but I saw also odd boots taken from Italian soldiers in Tripoli; caps, belts, water bottles, blood-stained tunics and cloaks, saddles, weapons, and buttons. Among relics from Yildiz Kiosk was a set of furniture which once belonged to Abdul Hamid, and which he is said to have set much store by. It shows a very distinctive, indeed a somewhat original taste, being made of red plush and weapons. The legs of the tables and chairs are guns and revolvers.

As I looked at the chairs I could not help wondering whether ambassadors were invited to sit in them, after they had been loaded to their muzzles, or whether they were reserved for subjects whom the exSultan suspected of treachery. Near them were several of Abdul Hamid’s favorite walking sticks containing revol-vers, a cane with an electric light let into the knob, his inkstand, the mother-of-pearl revolver which was found in his pocket, and the handkerchief which fell from his hand when he was taken prisoner by the Young Turks, who have since brought their country to ruin.

In a series of galleries

In a series of galleries, under arches and ceilings of yellow and white, stands, sits, reclines, and squats, in Eastern fashion, a strange population of puppets, dressed in the costumes of the bygone cen-turies during which Turkey has ruled in Europe. Those fearful ex-Christians, the Janissaries, who were scourges of Christianity, look very mild now as they stand fatuously together, no longer either Christian or Mussulman but fatally Madame Tussaud.

Once they tucked up their coats to fight for the “Father” who had ravished them away from their fathers in blood. Now, even the wicked man, who flees when no one pursueth, could scarcely fear them. Near them the chief eunuch, a plump and piteous gentleman, reclines absurdly upon his divan, holding his large black pipe, and obsequiously at-tended by a bearded dwarf in red, and by a thin aidedecamp in green.

The Sheikhul Islam bends beneath the coiled dignity of his monstrous turban; a really lifelike old man, with a curved gray beard and a green and white turban, reads the Koran per-petually; and soldiers with faces made of some sub-stance that looks like plaster return blankly the gaze of the many real soldiers who visit this curious show.

[hashtagcwinstagram]

#Repost @revwarbros ・・・ Hamilton matches the fall colors in Williamsburg. . #revwarbros #alexanderhamilton #hamilton #alexanderhamiltoncosplay #hamiltoncosplay #hamiltoncostume #alexanderhamiltoncostume #thelittlelion #aham #history #historicalcostume #historicalcosplay #aidedecamp #continentialarmy #18thcentury #18thcenturycostume #18thcenturycostuming #historicalcostuming #historiccostuming https://ift.tt/2PDZAkt

[tasteoftravel]

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds is the old Byzantine Church of Saint Irene, now painted an ugly pink, and used by the Turks as an armory and museum. It contains many spoils taken by the Turks in battle, which are carefully arranged upon tables and walls. Nothing is disdained, nothing is considered too paltry for exhibition. I saw there flags riddled with bullets; but I saw also odd boots taken from Italian soldiers in Tripoli; caps, belts, water bottles, blood-stained tunics and cloaks, saddles, weapons, and buttons. Among relics from Yildiz Kiosk was a set of furniture which once belonged to Abdul Hamid, and which he is said to have set much store by. It shows a very distinctive, indeed a somewhat original taste, being made of red plush and weapons. The legs of the tables and chairs are guns and revolvers.

As I looked at the chairs I could not help wondering whether ambassadors were invited to sit in them, after they had been loaded to their muzzles, or whether they were reserved for subjects whom the exSultan suspected of treachery. Near them were several of Abdul Hamid’s favorite walking sticks containing revol-vers, a cane with an electric light let into the knob, his inkstand, the mother-of-pearl revolver which was found in his pocket, and the handkerchief which fell from his hand when he was taken prisoner by the Young Turks, who have since brought their country to ruin.

In a series of galleries

In a series of galleries, under arches and ceilings of yellow and white, stands, sits, reclines, and squats, in Eastern fashion, a strange population of puppets, dressed in the costumes of the bygone cen-turies during which Turkey has ruled in Europe. Those fearful ex-Christians, the Janissaries, who were scourges of Christianity, look very mild now as they stand fatuously together, no longer either Christian or Mussulman but fatally Madame Tussaud.

Once they tucked up their coats to fight for the “Father” who had ravished them away from their fathers in blood. Now, even the wicked man, who flees when no one pursueth, could scarcely fear them. Near them the chief eunuch, a plump and piteous gentleman, reclines absurdly upon his divan, holding his large black pipe, and obsequiously at-tended by a bearded dwarf in red, and by a thin aidedecamp in green.

The Sheikhul Islam bends beneath the coiled dignity of his monstrous turban; a really lifelike old man, with a curved gray beard and a green and white turban, reads the Koran per-petually; and soldiers with faces made of some sub-stance that looks like plaster return blankly the gaze of the many real soldiers who visit this curious show.

[bookingonlineflights]

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds is the old Byzantine Church of Saint Irene, now painted an ugly pink, and used by the Turks as an armory and museum. It contains many spoils taken by the Turks in battle, which are carefully arranged upon tables and walls. Nothing is disdained, nothing is considered too paltry for exhibition. I saw there flags riddled with bullets; but I saw also odd boots taken from Italian soldiers in Tripoli; caps, belts, water bottles, blood-stained tunics and cloaks, saddles, weapons, and buttons. Among relics from Yildiz Kiosk was a set of furniture which once belonged to Abdul Hamid, and which he is said to have set much store by. It shows a very distinctive, indeed a somewhat original taste, being made of red plush and weapons. The legs of the tables and chairs are guns and revolvers.

As I looked at the chairs I could not help wondering whether ambassadors were invited to sit in them, after they had been loaded to their muzzles, or whether they were reserved for subjects whom the exSultan suspected of treachery. Near them were several of Abdul Hamid’s favorite walking sticks containing revol-vers, a cane with an electric light let into the knob, his inkstand, the mother-of-pearl revolver which was found in his pocket, and the handkerchief which fell from his hand when he was taken prisoner by the Young Turks, who have since brought their country to ruin.

In a series of galleries

In a series of galleries, under arches and ceilings of yellow and white, stands, sits, reclines, and squats, in Eastern fashion, a strange population of puppets, dressed in the costumes of the bygone cen-turies during which Turkey has ruled in Europe. Those fearful ex-Christians, the Janissaries, who were scourges of Christianity, look very mild now as they stand fatuously together, no longer either Christian or Mussulman but fatally Madame Tussaud.

Once they tucked up their coats to fight for the “Father” who had ravished them away from their fathers in blood. Now, even the wicked man, who flees when no one pursueth, could scarcely fear them. Near them the chief eunuch, a plump and piteous gentleman, reclines absurdly upon his divan, holding his large black pipe, and obsequiously at-tended by a bearded dwarf in red, and by a thin aidedecamp in green.

The Sheikhul Islam bends beneath the coiled dignity of his monstrous turban; a really lifelike old man, with a curved gray beard and a green and white turban, reads the Koran per-petually; and soldiers with faces made of some sub-stance that looks like plaster return blankly the gaze of the many real soldiers who visit this curious show.

[banskoholiday]

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds is the old Byzantine Church of Saint Irene, now painted an ugly pink, and used by the Turks as an armory and museum. It contains many spoils taken by the Turks in battle, which are carefully arranged upon tables and walls. Nothing is disdained, nothing is considered too paltry for exhibition. I saw there flags riddled with bullets; but I saw also odd boots taken from Italian soldiers in Tripoli; caps, belts, water bottles, blood-stained tunics and cloaks, saddles, weapons, and buttons. Among relics from Yildiz Kiosk was a set of furniture which once belonged to Abdul Hamid, and which he is said to have set much store by. It shows a very distinctive, indeed a somewhat original taste, being made of red plush and weapons. The legs of the tables and chairs are guns and revolvers.

As I looked at the chairs I could not help wondering whether ambassadors were invited to sit in them, after they had been loaded to their muzzles, or whether they were reserved for subjects whom the exSultan suspected of treachery. Near them were several of Abdul Hamid’s favorite walking sticks containing revol-vers, a cane with an electric light let into the knob, his inkstand, the mother-of-pearl revolver which was found in his pocket, and the handkerchief which fell from his hand when he was taken prisoner by the Young Turks, who have since brought their country to ruin.

In a series of galleries

In a series of galleries, under arches and ceilings of yellow and white, stands, sits, reclines, and squats, in Eastern fashion, a strange population of puppets, dressed in the costumes of the bygone cen-turies during which Turkey has ruled in Europe. Those fearful ex-Christians, the Janissaries, who were scourges of Christianity, look very mild now as they stand fatuously together, no longer either Christian or Mussulman but fatally Madame Tussaud.

Once they tucked up their coats to fight for the “Father” who had ravished them away from their fathers in blood. Now, even the wicked man, who flees when no one pursueth, could scarcely fear them. Near them the chief eunuch, a plump and piteous gentleman, reclines absurdly upon his divan, holding his large black pipe, and obsequiously at-tended by a bearded dwarf in red, and by a thin aidedecamp in green.

The Sheikhul Islam bends beneath the coiled dignity of his monstrous turban; a really lifelike old man, with a curved gray beard and a green and white turban, reads the Koran per-petually; and soldiers with faces made of some sub-stance that looks like plaster return blankly the gaze of the many real soldiers who visit this curious show.

[mystictour]

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds

Close to Santa Sophia in the Seraglio grounds is the old Byzantine Church of Saint Irene, now painted an ugly pink, and used by the Turks as an armory and museum. It contains many spoils taken by the Turks in battle, which are carefully arranged upon tables and walls. Nothing is disdained, nothing is considered too paltry for exhibition. I saw there flags riddled with bullets; but I saw also odd boots taken from Italian soldiers in Tripoli; caps, belts, water bottles, blood-stained tunics and cloaks, saddles, weapons, and buttons. Among relics from Yildiz Kiosk was a set of furniture which once belonged to Abdul Hamid, and which he is said to have set much store by. It shows a very distinctive, indeed a somewhat original taste, being made of red plush and weapons. The legs of the tables and chairs are guns and revolvers.

As I looked at the chairs I could not help wondering whether ambassadors were invited to sit in them, after they had been loaded to their muzzles, or whether they were reserved for subjects whom the exSultan suspected of treachery. Near them were several of Abdul Hamid’s favorite walking sticks containing revol-vers, a cane with an electric light let into the knob, his inkstand, the mother-of-pearl revolver which was found in his pocket, and the handkerchief which fell from his hand when he was taken prisoner by the Young Turks, who have since brought their country to ruin.

In a series of galleries

In a series of galleries, under arches and ceilings of yellow and white, stands, sits, reclines, and squats, in Eastern fashion, a strange population of puppets, dressed in the costumes of the bygone cen-turies during which Turkey has ruled in Europe. Those fearful ex-Christians, the Janissaries, who were scourges of Christianity, look very mild now as they stand fatuously together, no longer either Christian or Mussulman but fatally Madame Tussaud.

Once they tucked up their coats to fight for the “Father” who had ravished them away from their fathers in blood. Now, even the wicked man, who flees when no one pursueth, could scarcely fear them. Near them the chief eunuch, a plump and piteous gentleman, reclines absurdly upon his divan, holding his large black pipe, and obsequiously at-tended by a bearded dwarf in red, and by a thin aidedecamp in green.

The Sheikhul Islam bends beneath the coiled dignity of his monstrous turban; a really lifelike old man, with a curved gray beard and a green and white turban, reads the Koran per-petually; and soldiers with faces made of some sub-stance that looks like plaster return blankly the gaze of the many real soldiers who visit this curious show.