It never comes out of my mouth but it fetches an old snag along with it.

And then the lockjaw closes down and nips off a couple of the last syllables--but they taste good.
Coming through the Dardanelles, we saw camel trains on shore with the glasses, but we were never close to one till we got to Smyrna.

These camels are very much larger than the scrawny specimens one sees in the menagerie.

They stride along these streets, in single file, a dozen in a train, with heavy loads on their backs, and a fancy-looking negro in Turkish costume, or an Arab, preceding them on a little donkey and completely overshadowed and rendered insignificant by the huge beasts.
To see a camel train laden with the spices of Arabia and the rare fabrics of Persia come marching through the narrow alleys of the bazaar, among porters with their burdens, money-changers, lamp-merchants, Al-naschars in the glassware business, portly cross-legged Turks smoking the famous narghili; and the crowds drifting to and fro in the fanciful costumes of the East, is a genuine revelation of the Orient.

The picture lacks nothing.