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the duties of locomotives, although at a somewhat slower rate. The peculiar feature about this mighty host of camels is that they are led on by a little, sleepy donkey. This gives

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origin to one of our sayings, that when a mighty intellect follows the counsel of an insignificant one, they say, “the camel is following the donkey.” Here and there we met large droves of horses, buffaloes, sheep* and oxen, on the great sweeps

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grass. Yonder from the high wooded hills a host of donkeys with loads of wood on their backs and with loud jingling bells suspended from their necks, braying, kicking and jumping, are marching to their respective homes. Each donkey knows the house to which he belongs, and needs no direction in finding the place. These little creatures are collected from various houses every morning by a donkey-man, and are returned in the evening with a burden of wood for the use of the household. Atour approach to the cottage, all the dogs in the village are thoroughly roused by our knocking. Our host is an ideal of a Turkish patriarch, with a venerable beard on his brown, weatherbeaten countenance, sweeping down his chest. By common consent he bears the title, Codja-Pashi or “headman,” of the village. Like his fellow villagers, he is simple-minded, good-hearted, honest, but unprogressive, an unambitious and ignorant old man. He cannot read or write. He knows no other literature and history but that of his own immediate ancestors, and passionately cherishes the legends and traditions of his fathers.

He never strives to keep up appearances. He wears a pair of balloon-like trousers, of very voluminous folds. His abba, or coat, is a long furred cloak of sheepskin, with the woolly side turned in, in which he is constantly enveloped summer and winter. His head is wrapped with a huge turban as large as a pumpkin. Like all neighboring peasants, his life is simple and his wants few. Many generations have wrought but little or no change in his modes and manners. He scorns all modern improvements, and watches them with much suspicion and prejudice. His bigotry and ignorance render him an easy victim to superstition, so any western farming machinery or advanced movement of any sort that might be beyond his comprehension, he pronounces "devilish” and has nothing to do with.

*The sheep here, unlike those in America, have broad heavy tails of pure fat, from three to six inches in diameter and about thirteen or fifteen inches in length. In fact, the tail is one-half as heavy as the body of the sheep. The fat of the tail is fried and used as lard in culinary operations.

Rev. Dr. Cyrus Hamlin, ex-president of Robert college, says the Turks ascribe mechanical invention to Satan, the stoned devil,” against whom they pray five times a day. “I have myself,” he says, “for some supposed mechanical ability, been seriously introduced by one Ottoman to another as 'the most Satanic man in the empire.'” Our Turk admits no innovation, as he never pretends or attempts any scheme which was not thought of and followed by his father; thus life flows on in the old channels. He is the head of a great family, grouped together on the mountain-side, by the sweeps of high, green meadows, and lives with his flocks and children-so many of them! An ample roof shelters nearly three-score members of the family, four generations under a single paternal roof, without knowledge or care for the world outside their little village. The glories of great cities, the pashas, and the pomp of royal dignitaries, are to them like a distant tradition. Yet they are comfortable, happy and contented in their little round of duties and pleasures, and are blessed with an easy-going temperament. The young man rises up with the sun in the morning, and

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with his flocks wanders over green mountains and hills, and shady groves and still waters, singing joyfully his native ballads through the woods, or playing his sweet-toned flute; returning home late, as the waning moon feebly lights up the exquisite landscapes. He joins the family dance by the blaze of their nocturnal fires, while the old women weave in cotton and yarn, or are occupied in manufacturing various articles for domestic use.

The house is built in a picturesque locality, by the old Codja-Bashi himself, who is the architect, the carpenter, as well as the government agent of the village. Logs are brought down from the near forest. The bricks are made with the intermixture of mud and straw, and are moulded in various sizes and shapes, then put in open fields to dry. Thus in a few days they become quite solid enough for building a substantial house for our old Turk. The earth which is dug out is banked against the sides of the house. The rear of the structure is entirely embedded in the hillside. Light enters through the oiled paper windows in the flat roof, or, when windows are discarded altogether, the occupants are content with what light penetrates down the low chimney, which is not higher than the roof-indeed, a peculiar home for a peculiar people. In the summer the stork builds her nest and raises her brood on the broad-topped chimney, quite undisturbed. In the darkness of night, the humble abode is illuminated by a feeble, flickering jet or olive oil wick. A brazier of charcoal-made fire is placed in the centre of the room, glowing almost as unextinguishable as the vestal virgins. It serves a double purpose, as a heater and over which the food is cooked. There are no tables, no books, no ornamental decorations nor chairs, but here and there are spread divans and minders, or cushions, with

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