looked when they walked forth from their graves amid the storms and

thunders and earthquakes that burst upon Calvary that awful night of the

Crucifixion. A street in Constantinople is a picture which one ought to

see once--not oftener.

And then there was the goose-rancher--a fellow who drove a hundred geese

before him about the city, and tried to sell them. He had a pole ten

feet long, with a crook in the end of it, and occasionally a goose would

branch out from the flock and make a lively break around the corner, with

wings half lifted and neck stretched to its utmost. Did the

goose-merchant get excited? No. He took his pole and reached after

that goose with unspeakable sang froid--took a hitch round his neck, and

"yanked" him back to his place in the flock without an effort. He

steered his geese with that stick as easily as another man would steer a

yawl. A few hours afterward we saw him sitting on a stone at a corner,

in the midst of the turmoil, sound asleep in the sun, with his geese

squatting around him, or dodging out of the way of asses and men. We

came by again, within the hour, and he was taking account of stock, to

see whether any of his flock had strayed or been stolen. The way he did

it was unique. He put the end of his stick within six or eight inches of

a stone wall, and made the geese march in single file between it and the

wall. He counted them as they went by. There was no dodging that

arrangement.

If you want dwarfs--I mean just a few dwarfs for a curiosity--go to

Genoa. If you wish to buy them by the gross, for retail, go to Milan.

408

The Innocents Abroad