There were Turkish regulars in their queer conical khaki helmets, and wild-looking levies who had no kin with Europe.

There were squads of Germans in flat forage-caps, staring vacantly at novel sights, and quick to salute any officer on the side-walk.

Turks in closed carriages passed, and Turks on good Arab horses, and Turks who looked as if they had come out of the Ark.

But it was the rabble that caught the eye--very wild, pinched, miserable rabble.

I never in my life saw such swarms of beggars, and you walked down that street to the accompaniment of entreaties for alms in all the tongues of the Tower of Babel.
Blenkiron and I behaved as if we were interested tourists.