As soon as he had a little reposed himself from his
fatigue, he took a walk into the streets; but he had not gone far,
before "a malignant and a turbaned Turk" had his choler roused by the
careless and assured air with which this infidel strutted about in the
metropolis of true believers. In this temper he lost no time in doing to
our traveller the honors of the place. The Turk crossed over the way,
and with perfect good-will gave him two or three lusty kicks on the seat
of honor. To resent or to return the compliment in Turkey was quite out
of the question. Our traveller, since he could not otherwise acknowledge
this kind of favor, received it with the best grace in the world: he
made one of his most ceremonious bows, and begged the kicking Mussulman
"to accept his perfect assurances of high consideration." Our countryman
was too wise to imitate Othello in the use of the dagger. He thought it
better, as better it was, to assuage his bruised dignity with half a
yard square of balmy diplomatic diachylon. In the disasters of their
friends, people are seldom wanting in a laudable patience. When they
are such as do not threaten to end fatally, they become even matter of
pleasantry. The English fellow-travellers of our sufferer, finding him a
little out of spirits, entreated him not to take so slight a business so
very seriously. They told him it was the custom of the country; that
every country had its customs; that the Turkish manners were a little
rough, but that in the main the Turks were a good-natured people; that
what would have been a deadly affront anywhere else was only a little
freedom there: in short, they told him to think no more of the matter,
and to try his fortune in another promenade.
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