The interior arrangements of the Turkish apartments and their furniture, are very peculiar, and quite unlike those of European or American drawing rooms, being entirely adapted to the habits and tastes of the Orientals. There is never any doubt or hesitation as to the place suitable to be occupied by any one who may happen to enter a room; nor is it possible to mistake the different ranks of its occupants.

Generally there is a sofa on three sides of the room, sufficiently ample to accommodate the ladies in their style of sitting, which is not cross-legged as is usually represented in pictures, but with the limbs folded under their persons and carefully concealed by the drapery of their long robes; for to show these parts of the person while sitting, is considered a great breach of etiquette. Hence no Osmanli lady is ever to be seen perched on the very edge of the sofa, but leaving her slippers on the floor, she steps upon the couch and gracefully bending her knees, sits reclining against the cushions behind her.

On the floor, at the foot of the sofa, are placed mattresses, furnished with cushions, and these are called erkean mindery or seats of homage, where humbler visitors or members of the family are allowed to place themselves. The angles or corners of the sofa, are regarded as the seats of honor, and the places on either side, rank in regular succession down to the seat of homage; but the most honorable person in the company may, at her or his option, occupy any part of the couch, when the rest place themselves on each side according to their own rank. The servants are always present, and stand in a row at the lower end of the room, their arms humbly folded on their girdles, attentive to the slightest nod of their superiors.

There are several windows on each of the three sides of the room, so as to permit a full view of the surrounding scenery, while they are seated; for the Osmanlis are very fond of sunlight and the beauties of nature. The windows of the harem are all furnished with close lattices, permitting those within to see without being seen.

The more modernized salons, have only a sofa on one side, European couches, chairs, tables, and mirrors, being substituted for the other sofas. They also endeavor to imitate the Europeans in the style of the window draperies, which are often of the most brilliant hues.

There is one peculiarity in the Oriental houses. You may wander from one end to the other and not see a single bed-room or any of its appurtenances—which has induced many persons to report them as sleeping on the sofas, and never dressing or undressing. It would, however, seem more natural to suppose, that the Osmanlis never had any but day dreams.

The fact is, that the beds are all packed away in large closets during the day-time, and spread upon the floor at night. In the houses of the wealthy, the mattresses and coverlets are made of the richest materials, and the sheets of beautiful silk gauze, manufactured in Broossa. The whole appearance of the bed, so brilliant in hue, and rich in ornament, is very different from the style of a European couch.

Every house has an infinite number and variety of extra beds and bedding, to be spread on the floors of any of the apartments, for the accommodation of visitors—hospitality being one of the most religious precepts and observances of the Orientals.

In the sultan’s palace, however, and in the families of the wealthy, especially of those pashas who have resided in Europe, bedsteads have been introduced.

Upon rising, the person claps her hands, as the apartments are never furnished with bell ropes, and immediately the attendants appear—one holding the basin, another the ewer, and a third presenting the towel, richly embroidered at the ends.

The usual method of warming the houses, is by the mangal and tandur. The mangal is generally made of brass highly polished, somewhat in the form of an hour-glass, about a foot and a half high, and two, or two and a half in diameter; and contains a large pan of ignited charcoal.

The tandur consists of a wooden frame about the height and size of a table, lined with tin, under which a pan of fire is placed, and the whole is covered with a thickly wadded quilt. This is surrounded by sofas, and they sit with their legs and feet under the covering.

More cozy than any capacious arm-chair, or softly yielding fauteuil, is this same tandur. The genial warmth excites a wonderful sympathy in its occupants. They warm to each other, and to the world in general, and never neglect to take cognizance of their neighbor’s affairs and doings. From the palace of the sultan to the cottage of the crone, they benignantly travel, bestowing on each and all a blessing, or when necessary, even a cursing. The ups and downs of pashas, probable and accomplished—whispers of the sultan’s favorites, or of the efendi’s coquettish ladies—the style of AdilÉ Sultan’s feradjÉ, or the grand vezir’s fess, are each and all passed in review, until you wonder how ever a set of miserable imprisoned women should be such arrant gossips. Ah! one cannot believe the fair sex so unjust to themselves, even in Turkey, as to neglect the observation of those interesting little items of public or retired life, which become great and weighty affairs, when discussed by ruby lips, and in the cadence of sweet-toned voices.

They possess a most lady-like love of chit-chat, and so little do they covet repose for their delicate jaws, that should conversation lag, they keep them in motion by the use of mastic, which is always in readiness, preserved in little jewelled boxes.

It is only of late years, that those hot, repelling machines called stoves, have been introduced; but they have by no means superseded the social and old-fashioned tandur, whose warmth, and luxurious cushions, often beguile its occupants to slumber, during which the fire is overturned, and thus occur many of the conflagrations so frequent in Turkey.

There are two occasions when the still air resounds with the echoes of human voices. The chant of the Muezzin from the minarÉ, slowly and musically vibrating through the atmosphere, enticing all to linger at the casement or in the thoroughfare to catch its melodious accents; and the terrible cry of yangun var! Fire! Fire! accompanied by the reverberations of the watchman’s club striking upon the pavement.

A thrill of horror pervades every heart, for there are no bounds to the devouring element.

There are two towers, one at the SeraskÉr’s in the city itself, and the other on the Galata hill, which command an extensive isometrical view of the whole metropolis and its suburbs.

Here guards are stationed, who descry the first indications of fire, and immediately give, from the top of the towers, the requisite signal, by hoisting, in the day-time, an immense globe, painted red, and at night by producing a bright and steady light—these signals remain until the fire is extinguished.

At Candilly, on the Asiatic shore of the Bosphorus, and half way up the stream, there are a battery and a flag-staff stationed on the mountain top called Kenan-tepessy; as soon as the signals are seen, the fire globe ascends the flag-staff, and the battery discharges a certain number of guns, according to the locality of the conflagration.

From the towers, detailed officers, NeÖbetgees, are dispatched to the different ministers, and guard houses, where the engines are kept, who create a tremendous sensation, as they rush wildly about, brandishing their batons of office, and with a protracted yell, warning every one to clear the way. The different Bekgees or district watchmen, now take up the cry—striking their iron-shod clubs on the pavement and repeating with all the power of their lungs yangun-var! Stambolda! or there is fire at Stamboul.

The firemen assemble at their respective quarters, and shouldering their engines, rush to the scene. These firemen receive no pay, but are exempt from taxes and allowed certain other privileges—yet they always manage to extort certain compensations for their services, from the victims of the devastating element. The engines are small and portable, on account of the narrowness and steepness of the streets, nor is there any connexion-hose attached to them, the water being supplied with buckets; yet it is astonishing how much they effect even with such inadequate means.

The inflammable materials of which the houses are constructed, the narrow streets, winding up the hillside like foot-paths, the irregular and projecting dwellings, from which the people could shake hands with their opposite neighbors, if it were only the fashion in Turkey, contribute to make a most desirable promenade for the Fire-King when he sallies forth.

The flames leap from house to house; the burning cinders fly in all directions, and the fire kindles at many and distant points; so that in less than half an hour, a large district is often wrapt in flames.

The general panic is so intense, that the whole community is roused; the pashas desert their couches, and even the sultan himself sometimes repairs to the scene, to animate, by his presence, the efforts of the desperate firemen.