The sound of the trumpet is now heard behind you.  Tilting feats are about to be performed:  the coursers snort and are put in motion:  their hides are bathed in sweat beneath their ponderous housings; and the blood, which flows freely from the pricks of their riders’ spurs, shews you with what earnestness the whole affair is conducted.  There, the ring is thrice carried off at the point of the lance.  Feats of horsemanship follow in a covered building, to the right; and the juggler, conjurer, or magician, displays his dexterous feats, or exercises his potent spells ... in a little amphitheatre of trees, at a distance beyond.  Here and there rise more stately edifices, as theatres ... from the doors of which a throng of heated spectators is pouring out, after having indulged their grief or joy at the Mary Stuart of Schiller, or the——­of——..  In other directions, booths, stalls, and tables are fixed; where the hungry eat, the thirsty drink, and the merry-hearted indulge in potent libations.  The waiters are in a constant state of locomotion.  Rhenish wine sparkles here; confectionary glitters there; and fruit looks bright and tempting in a third place.  No guest turns round to eye the company; because he is intent upon the luxuries which invite his immediate attention—­or he is in close conversation with an intimate friend, or a beloved female.  They talk and laugh,—­and the present seems to be the happiest moment of their lives.

All is gaiety and good humour.  You return again to the foot-promenade, and look sharply about you, as you move onward, to catch the spark of beauty, or admire the costume of taste, or confess the power of expression.  It is an Albanian female who walks yonder ... wondering, and asking questions, at every thing she sees.  The proud Jewess, supported by her husband and father, moves in another direction.  She is covered with brocade and flaunting ribbands; but she is abstracted from every thing around her ... because her eyes are cast downwards upon her stomacher, or sideways to obtain a glimse of what may be called her spangled epaulettes.  Her eye is large and dark:  her nose is aquiline:  her complexion is of an olive brown:  her stature is majestic, her dress is gorgeous, her gait is measured—­and her demeanour is grave and composed.  “She must be very rich,” you say—­as she passes on.  “She is prodigiously rich,” replies the friend, to whom you put the question:—­for seven virgins, with nosegays of choicest flowers, held up her bridal train; and the like number of youths, with silver-hilted swords, and robes of ermine and satin, graced the same bridal ceremony.  Her father thinks he can never do enough for her; and her husband, that he can never love her sufficiently.