80 BIRD-HUNTING 



their faces entirely covered with semi-transparent 

 veils, hideously striped with grotesque daubs of 

 black and yellow ; and rough, shaggy ponies loaded 

 with firewood, — all jostle one another in the narrow 

 street, and collect in crowds round the open shops, 

 where the various artisans ply their handicraft, 

 squatting cross-legged on the floor. 



Here there is a blind minstrel surrounded by a 

 listening crowd as he plays on the guzla, or one- 

 stringed guitar, and sings ballads about the brave 

 deeds of his countrymen against the hated Turk. It 

 is a melancholious and monotonous instrument, some- 

 what akin to the African tom-tom, but the subject 

 of his verses fills with enthusiasm the hearts of his 

 hearers, and the coins collect in his cap placed beside 

 him on the ground. 



Farther on a group of women squat cross-legged 

 on the ground, with various goods for sale placed in 

 front of them. They are Mohammedans, and are 

 carefully muffled up to the eyes in flowing white 

 draperies. At my approach, intent on photograph- 

 ing the picturesque and curious group, they bend 

 forwards until their heads almost touch the ground, 

 so that I shall see as little as possible ; women 

 standing outside the shops looking for bargains 

 take refuge in the dark interiors as soon as they see 

 me ; while the Turkish ladies, on seeing a stranger 

 approach, sidle along with their faces turned towards 



