beyond comparison with those whose avocations necessitate physical exertion.  All the shops are open front places, like small fruit and cigar stands in an American city, the goods being arranged on boards or shelving, sloping down to the front, or otherwise exposed to the best advantage, according to the nature of the wares; the shops have no windows, but are protected at night by wooden shutters.  The piping notes of the flute, or the sing-song voice of the troubadour or story-teller is heard behind the screened entrance of the tchai-khans, and now and then one happens across groups of angry men quarrelling violently over some trifling difference in a bargain; noise and confusion everywhere reign supreme.  Here the road is blocked up by a crowd of idlers watching a trio of lutis, or buffoons, jerking a careless and indifferent-looking baboon about with a chain to make him dance; and a little farther along is another crowd surveying some more lutis with a small brown bear.  Both the baboon and the bear look better fed than their owners, the contributions of the onlookers consisting chiefly of eatables, bestowed upon the animals for the purpose of seeing them feed.  Half a mile, or thereabouts, from the entrance, an inferior quarter of the bazaar is reached; the crowds are less dense, the noise is not near so deafening, and the character of the shops undergoes a change for the worse.  A good many of the shops are untenanted, and a good many others are occupied by artisans manufacturing the ruder articles of commerce, such as horseshoes, pack-saddles, and the trappings of camels.  Such articles as kalians, che-bouks and other pipes, geivehs, slippers and leather shoes, hats, jewelry, etc., are generally manufactured on the premises in the better portions of the bazaar, where they are sold.  Perched in among the rude cells of industry are cook-shops and tea-drinking establishments of an inferior grade; and the occupants of these places eye me curiously, and call one another’s attention to the unusual circumstance of a Ferenghi passing through their quarter.  After half a mile of this, my progress is abruptly terminated by a high mud wall, with a narrow passage leading to the right.  I am now at the southern extremity of the bazaar, and turn to retrace my footsteps.  So far I have encountered no particular disposition to insult anybody; only a little additional rudeness and simple inquisitive-ness, such as might very naturally have been expected.  But ere I have retraced my way three hundred yards, I meet a couple of rowdyish young men of the charuadar class; no sooner have I passed them than one of them wantonly delivers himself of the promised insult — a peculiar noise with the mouth; they both start off at a run as though expecting to be pursued and punished.  As I turn partially round to look, an old pomegranate vender stops his donkey, and with a broad grin of amusement motions me to give chase.  When nearing the more respectable quarter again, I stroll up one of the numerous