Perhaps my readers will not think it loss of time to accompany us on a morning visit to the camp and market, to the village gardens and wells; such visits we often paid, not without interest and pleasure.

Warm though Raseem is, its mornings, at least at this time of year (the latter part of September), were delightful. In a pure and mistless sky, the sun rises over the measureless plain, while the early breeze is yet cool and invigorating, a privilege enjoyed almost invariably in Arabia, but wanting too often in Egypt in the west, and India in the east. At this hour we would often thread the streets by which we had first entered the town, and go betimes to the Persian camp, where all was already alive and stirring. Here are arranged on the sand, baskets full of eggs and dates, flanked by piles of bread and little round cakes of white butter; bundles of fire-wood are heaped up close by, and pails of goat's or camel's milk abound; and amid all these sit rows of countrywomen, haggling with tall Persians, who in broken Arabic try to beat down the prices, and generally end by paying only double what they ought. The swaggering, broad-faced, Bagdad camel-drivers, and ill-looking, sallow youths stand idle everywhere, insulting those whom they dare, and cringing to their betters like slaves. Persian gentlemen, too, with grand hooked noses, high caps, and quaintly-cut dresses of gay patterns, saunter about, discussing their grievances, or quarrelling with each other, to pass the time, for, unlike an Arab, a Persian shows at once whatever ill-humour he may feel, and has no shame in giving it utterance before whomever may be present; nor does he, with the Arab, consider patience to be and essential point of politeness and dignity. Not a few of the townsmen are here, chatting or bartering; and Bedouins, switch in hand. If you ask any chance individual among these latter what has brought him hither, you may be sure beforehand that the word "camel," in one or other of its forms of detail, will find place in the answer. Criers are going up and down the camp with articles of Persian apparel, cooking pots, and ornaments of various descriptions in their hands, or carrying them off for higher bidding to the town.

Having made our morning household purchases at the fair, and the sun being now an hour or more above the horizon, we think it time to visit the market-place of the town, which would hardly be open sooner. We re-enter the city gate, and pass on our way by our house door, where we leave our bundle of eatables, and regain the high street of Berezdah. Before long we reach a high arch across the road; this gate divides the market from the rest of the quarter. We enter. First of all we see a long range of butchers' shops on either side, thickly hung with flesh of sheep and camel, and very dirtily kept. Were not the air pure and the climate healthy, the plague would assuredly be endemic here; but in Arabia no special harm seems to follow. We hasten on, and next pass a series of cloth and linen warehouses, stocked partly with home-manufacture, but more imported; Bagdad cloaks and head-gear, for instance; Syrian shawls and Egyptian slippers. Here markets follow the law general throughout the East, that all shops or stores of the same description should be clustered together; a system whose advantages on the whole outweigh its inconveniences, at least for small towns like these, in the large cities and capitals of Europe, greater extent of locality requires evidently a different method of arrangement: it might be awkward for the inhabitants of Hyde Park were no hatters to be found nearer than the Tower. But what is Berezdah compared even with a second-rate European city? However, in a crowd, it yields to none: the streets at this time of the day are thronged to choking, and, to make matters worse, a huge splay-footed camel every now and then, heaving from side to side like a lubber-rowed boat, with a long beam on his back, menacing the heads of those in the way, or with two enormous loads of fire-wood, each as large as himself, sweeping the road before him of men, women, and children, while the driver, high perched on the hump, regards such trifles with supreme indifference, so long as he brushes his path open. Sometimes there is a whole string of these beasts, the head-rope of each tied to the crupper of his precursor—very uncomfortable passengers when met with at a narrow turning.

Through such obstacles we have found or made our way, and are now amid leather and shoemakers' shops, then among copper and iron-smiths, till at last we emerge on the central town-square, not a bad one either, nor very irregular, considering that it is in Raseem. About half one side is taken up by the great mosque, an edifice nearly two centuries old, judging by its style and appearance, but it bears on no part of it either date or inscription. A crack running up one side of the tower bears witness to an earthquake said to have occurred here about thirty years since.

Another side of the square is formed by an open gallery. In its shade groups of citizens are seated discussing news or business. The central space is occupied by camels and by bales of various goods, among which the coffee of Yemen, henna, and saffron, bear a large part.

From this square several diverging streets run out, each containing a market-place for this or that ware, and all ending in portals dividing them from the ordinary habitations. The vegetable and fruit market is very extensive, and kept almost exclusively by women; so are also the shops for grocery and spices.

Rock-salt of remarkable purity and whiteness, from Western Raseem, is a common article of sale, and enormous flakes of it, often beautifully crystallized, lay piled up at the shop doors. Sometimes a Persian stood by, trying his skill at purchase or exchange; but these pilgrims were in general shy of entering the town, where, truly, they were not in the best repute. Well-dressed, grave-looking townsmen abound, their yellow wand of lotus-wood in their hands, and their kerchiefs loosely thrown over their heads.

The whole town has an aspect of old but declining prosperity. There are few new houses, but many falling into ruin. The faces, too, of most we meet are serious, and their voices in an undertone. Silk dresses are prohibited by the dominant faction, and tobacco can only be smoked within doors, and by stealth.

Enough of the town: the streets are narrow, hot, and dusty; the day, too, advances; but the gardens are yet cool. So we dash at a venture through a labyrinth of byways and crossways till we find ourselves in the wide street that runs immediately along but inside the walls.

Here is a side gate, but half ruined, with great folding doors, and no one to open them. The wall of one of the flanking towers has, however, been broken in, and from thence we hope to find outlet on the gardens outside. We clamber in, and after mounting a heap of rubbish, once the foot of a winding staircase, have before us a window looking right on the gardens. Fortunately we are not the first to try this short cut, and the truant boys of the town have sufficiently enlarged the aperture and piled up stones on the ground outside to render the passage tolerably easy; we follow the indication, and in another minute stand in the open air without the walls. The breeze is fresh, and will continue so till noon. Before us are high palm-trees and dark shadows; the ground is velvet-green with the autumn crop of maize and vetches, and intersected by a labyrinth of watercourses, some dry, others flowing, for the wells are at work.

These wells are much the same throughout Arabia; their only diversity is in size and depth, but their hydraulic machinery is everywhere alike. Over the well's month is fixed a crossbeam, supported high in air on pillars of wood or stone on either side, and on this beam are from three to six small wheels, over which pass the ropes of as many large leather buckets, each containing nearly twice the ordinary English measure. These are let down into the depth, and then drawn up again by camels or asses, who pace slowly backwards or forwards on an inclined plane leading from the edge of the well itself to a pit prolonged for some distance. When the buckets rise to the verge, they tilt over and pour out their contents by a broad channel into a reservoir hard by, from which part the watercourses that irrigate the garden. The supply thus obtained is necessarily discontinuous, and much inferior to what a little more skill in mechanism affords in Egypt and Syria; while the awkward shaping and not unfrequently the ragged condition of the buckets themselves causes half the liquid to fall back into the well before it reaches the brim. The creaking, singing noise of the wheels, the rush of water as the buckets attain their turning-point, the unceasing splash of their overflow dripping back into the source, all are a message of life and moisture very welcome in this dry and stilly region, and may be heard far off amid the sandhills, a first intimation to the sun-scorched traveller of his approach to a cooler resting-place.

W.G. PALGRAVE.

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