The palace, as such, can scarcely be said to exist any longer, for it has been turned into a barrack for the army of occupation.

English soldiers, indeed, meet us at every turn, smoking their pipes in the idleness of the evening.

One of them who does not smoke is trying to carve his name with a knife on one of the layers of marble at the base of the sanctuary.
At the end of this esplanade there is a kind of balcony from which one may see the whole of the town, and an unlimited extent of verdant plains and yellow desert.

It is a favourite view of the tourists of the agencies, and we meet again our friends of the mosque, who have preceded us hither--the gentlemen with the loud voices, the bellowing guide and the cackling lady.

Some soldiers are standing there too, smoking their pipes contemplatively.