It was a large city, as large as Edinburgh to my eyes; there were plenty of fine houses, but little neatness; the streets were full of impurities; handsome equipages rolled along, but the greater part of the population were in rags; beggars abounded; there was no lack of merriment, however; boisterous shouts of laughter were heard on every side.

It appeared a city of contradictions.
After a few days' rest we marched from this place in two divisions.

My father commanded the second, I walked by his side.
Our route lay up the country; the country at first offered no very remarkable feature, it was pretty, but tame.

On the second day, however, its appearance had altered, it had become more wild; a range of distant mountains bounded the horizon.

We passed through several villages, as I suppose I may term them, of low huts, the walls formed of rough stones without mortar, the roof of flags laid over wattles and wicker-work; they seemed to be inhabited solely by women and children; the latter were naked, the former, in general, blear-eyed beldames, who sat beside the doors on low stools, spinning.