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The National Geographic Magazine 



man asked me to present a petition 

 (which he handed to me) to the Jews of 

 the West, so that they would fulh' under- 

 stand their wretched condition and help 

 them before they are lost in the "everlast- 

 ing darkness." The moment has arrived 

 for immediate action, not only by the 

 Jews, but by all the Christian bodies ; for, 

 when we take into consideration the very 



significant fact that the whole Christian 

 world is indebted to the Jews for their 

 religion, which is the'basis of Christian- 

 ity, and for the careful preservation of 

 the books of the Old Testament, it would 

 only be a slight recognition of the world's 

 indebtedness to the Jews if this appeal 

 from the center of China receives the 

 consideration it so richly merits. 



TIRNOVA, THE CITY OF HANGING 

 GARDENS 



By Felix J. Koch 



IT was all because of a tourist — a 

 plain, purposeless tourist, who didn't 

 care to travel long stretches at a 

 time, and who I had lured into accom- 

 panying me into Bulgaria — that I chanced 

 upon it. We were doing the sites of the 

 Turko-Russian War, just at the time 

 that Port Arthur was hanging fire, and 

 from Plevna the route laj^ toward Shipka 

 Pass. That is a pretty good trip, judged 

 by Balkan methods qf travel, and Friend 

 wanted to break it. The guide book 

 didn't promise much en route, and he 

 "found no opportunity." At last, in a 

 fine-print paragraph of Myer, the Bae- 

 decker of southeastern Europe, he "found 

 his opportunity." 



"Why can't we overnight at Tirnova?" 

 he pleaded. "Von Moltke calls it the 

 most charming spot in the world. Listen 

 to this" — and he proceeded to read a 

 page or two of descriptives : blue, oriental 

 skies, picturesque costumes, frisking 

 lambs in green meadows, etc. The days 

 were hot, the cars were dusty, the chef 

 dc la gate, or conductor, an arrant swin- 

 dler ; and, to tell the truth, all Bulgaria is 

 so picturesque one is loth" to go through 

 any faster than he must. 



I put on an air of condescension, and 

 said I was willing to try Tirnova. So 

 we bought tickets for the town. 



At half-past four we were deposited 

 by the Bulgarian State Railway's trans- 



Rumelian flyer at Tirnova. The sight 

 was not inspiring. Some meadows ; 

 some mountain "go-cabs" — such as I 

 have found at home only in the feud 

 belt of Kentucky — and a mother with 

 a baby. The baby's cap was covered with 

 spangles that were picturesque, and so 

 I snapped a picture of her. 



But this did not phase us. Over the 

 Balkans, railways purposely avoid the 

 towns. I am told the custom arose from 

 old Turkish times, when cities paid great 

 bonuses to the railway regime to be 

 avoided, in order that rascally soldiers 

 might not be dumped in their midst 

 between trains. Today, however, I am 

 inclined to believe it is the work of local 

 politicians, in order to give the cabbies 

 of their constituency a chance to make 

 a living at the expense of the stranger. 

 A pretty country road wound ofl^, and 

 down it the cabby bore us — down among 

 partly-forested palisades that stretched 

 to yellow clififs rising up from a pretty, 

 winding river. Far ahead were other 

 cliffs, and on this perched the " town — • 

 Tirnova the Beautiful — every house a 

 blaze of color ; the roofs of red terra- 

 cotta shingling ; the walls painted over in 

 washed-out pinks and browns ; the eaves 

 and cornices set in relief by heavy beams 

 that are browned to black bv age. Yel- 

 lows and blues marked other homes. We 

 stopped to take in the perspective — a sec- 



