reverend greybeards, with bald heads. I
need not say, they are all of the same hopeful
nationality —all Greeks.

Women there are, of course, none but the
dainty dames of Pera. The men dance
together their uncouth national dances to a
rude and inharmonious music. It is the
same dance that may have been danced by
the companions of Leonidas and Miltiades,
or in the ancient Chorus —the dance we
see pictured on old vases and in the silent
chambers of Pompeii. Some ten or twelve
men, of ages between twenty and fifty-five,
take each other by the hand and form
themselves into a semicircle. They then begin to
stomp their feet slowly, and to excite themselves,
until the measured stamp becomes a
frantic jump, the song a howl. They are
headed by a dancing master who twirls a
handkerchief, and directs their movements.
One by one as the dancers retire from sheer
exhaustion, their places are filled up by
others, and sometimes we see some sunburnt
old fellow look as bashful as a maiden
when asked to join the party; but he always
ends by giving his consent and will come
scuffling along, blushing and smirking until
he warms to the fun, after which he jumps
away as lustily as the rest. I could have
wished the dancers had not been so dirty
and down at heel as they are; and I
could have dispensed with the presence
of a fat old lady in a great coat with her
head bound up for the face-ache, who comes
to inspect the proceedings; but, in spite of
these drawbacks, the scene is curious and
interesting.

Let us leave the dancers and look elsewhere;
perhaps we shall find that the amusements
of holiday makers are very much alike
all over the world. We have nearly tumbled
over a thimble-rig table! Gambling games
of all kinds are going on as briskly among
the tombs as at Ascot Heath after the winning
of the Emperor's Cup. There is popgun
shooting for lollipops of a dirtier and greasier
kind than our own, if possible; there is
throwing of sticks at a mark with an
ingenious hole for the catching of the prize, to
save the proprietor of the sticks from any
disagreeable consequences of a correct aim.
There are shows in canvas tents, inconceivably
dirty, and music as discordant as at Fairlop
fair. Everywhere there is the same eager,
noisy, picturesque crowd, and life and death
are jostling each other indeed. See, there is
a breekless urchin seated on the sculptured
turban, placed perhaps above some Moslem
hero. He is stuffing himself with a filthy
composition of rice and olives, while he yells
to his companions who are charging at him
down a little hill.

Let us go away and join the beauty and
fashion of Pera. We shall have some difficulty
in making our way through the dust,
the men on stilts, the music, the booths, the
sellers of yaourt, pancakes, rice kabobs (fried
nuts, olives, and onions chopped up together,
an unsavoury mess); but we shall find the
beauty and fashion quite time enough, I dare
say. We shall find them among paper cigars,
tents, jugglers and tale-tellers; but there
they are. God is great! There is the
bumptious diplomatist's lady, too proud to
speak to the Pera belle and the young official
nervously reining in a horse rather too
much for him, as a wild Perote dashes by,
thwacking the sides of his sorry hack till
they sound again.

There will be parties, too, in the evening,
made up of the New Cut and the Travellers'
Club. They will not mix very well together;
and there will be all sorts of silver fork
squabbles in consequence. Already four
persons have asked me if my companion is
entitled to put the word honourable before
his name, and evidently look upon him with
much less respect after my answer in the
negative. Ye gods, society's squabbles at
Pera!

A DEFENCE OF FLEAS

One of the peculiarities which strikes me
most among the inhabitants of Turkey is
their love of fleas. I am obliged to use the
word inhabitants, because all are not Turks
who live in Turkey; and all are alike in this
respect, whether Osmanli, Armenian, Bulgarian,
Wallack, Moldavian, Greek, or Jew.
They pounce upon them with a cry of delight
wherever they find them, and fondle them
before putting them to death. They show as
much art and address in their capture as a
keen sportsman may evince in trying to get a
shot at a flock of wild ducks. The fleas are not
ungrateful for being thus held in honour, and
have effected a very considerable settlement
in the country. They are, in point of fact,
one of the nationalities of Turkey; the
only one which has nothing to ask of the
government; which has no wrongs to redress
or injured interests to bluster about. Most
of the houses being of wood, they find
warm commodious quarters—quarters which
are utterly inaccessible to the broom of the
houseman. I use the word houseman because
there is no such thing as a housemaid in
Turkey.

These little animals are so prompt and
ferocious in their assaults, and have, moreover,
such a keen appreciation of the delicacy
of any fresh arrival from a distant country,
that they keep a stranger in a perpetual
state of liveliness and motion: which is,
doubtless, extremely beneficial to his health,
especially if he be slothful.

No idea of dirt or disgrace seems to attach
to a houseful of fleas—these pugnacious
little animals being looked upon as recognised
proprietors in the country, and as having
as much right there as any one else. Any
attempt, therefore, to exterminate them
from a bed or a sofa would be laughed to