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 to be found nowhere else. The chatter of the market people, the shouting of the camel drivers, the tinkling of bells, mingle with the long cry of the naked Santon, as he wanders, holding his tin pan for alms, and praising unceasingly "the Eternal God." The scene is most remarkable in the morning, before the glare of the sun, beating down on the stone city, has driven its inhabitants into the shadow. The foreground is composed of a tawny group of camels, lying down, donkeys bringing in vegetables or carrying out rubbish, and women in blue and red dresses slashed with yellow, their dark faces and long eyes (tinged with blue) shrouded in white veils, which are fringed perhaps with black or red. Soldiers in black and Softas in spotless robes are haggling about their change, or praying in public undisturbed by the din. Horsemen ride by in red boots with red saddles, and spears 15 feet long. The Greek Patriarch walks past on a visit, preceded by his mace-bearers and attended by his secretary. Up the narrow street comes the hearse of a famous Moslem, followed by a long procession of women, in white "izars," which envelop the whole figure, swelling out like balloons, and leaving only the black mask of the face-veil visible; their voices are raised in the high-pitched tremulous ululation which is alike their cry for the dead and their note of joy for the living. Next, perhaps, follows a regiment of sturdy infantry marching back to the Castle, with a colonel on a prancing grey—men who have shown their mettle since then, and fat, unwieldy officers, who have perhaps broken down under the strain of campaigning. Their bugles blow a monotonous tune, to which the drums keep time, and the men tread, not in step, but in good cadence to the music. If it be Easter the native crowd is mingled with the hosts of Armenian and Russian pilgrims, the first ruddy and stalwart, their women handsome and dark-eyed, the men fierce and dark; the Russians, yet stronger in