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no appreciation of the work of the past. No effort is made in the same line; there are no new creations, & the old is allowed to go to ruin. The mildew of decay & the dust of decadent years are over towers, temples, palaces & tombs alike. The weeds grow thick over tessallated walks; shrubs push their way into the crevices between the marbles. There is no sense of order, cleanliness, repair or preservation. - The cities & villages, in dirt & dust in decay & dilapidation are in complete harmony with the towers & temples. The buildings are uniformly low & of but one storey & w almost flat tiled roofs. In the country & in the city quite generally, the dwellings are inclosed w a high wall; the enclosure is called a compound. It must be a hereditary instinct that prompts them to thus enclose their houses. An instinct born of ancient tribal wars, of Tartar invasions, & of Mongolian forays. The instinct of danger, of the protection from mud, stone or sun-baked brick walls seem to be universal. - The streets are irregular in boundaries & on the surface. There is no grade, no sidewalks. The streets have hills valleys holes & ruts. They are full of children, dogs, hogs, & piles of rubbish. Old women sit in groups about the doorways leading into the compound. They smoke long pipes & may be presumed to be gossiping about their neighbors. I often wonder what they talk about. It can't be about the fashions because there has been no change in the fashions for more than a thous. years. It can't be about church sociables, tea or bridge parties or dances. It cannot be about the romance of courtships or the ups & downs of affairs of love. Be-