The retreat of the Jewish party was succeeded by the arrival of a group of ballet dancers, consisting of about a score of youths from fourteen to twenty years of age, dressed in a rich costume of satin, fringed and ribbed with gold, varying in colour, according to the fancy of the wearer. They all wore their own long hair, curled in ringlets, and floating about their shoulders; and their appearance was so extremely disagreeable, notwithstanding the splendour of their costume, that I was surprised to learn that they all belonged to the Sultan, or to different wealthy Pashas, who take so much delight in seeing them dance as to keep several constantly in their pay. As I had been assured that the whole of the exhibition remained precisely similar to the scenic amusements of the ancient Romans, I contemplated it with more patience than I should otherwise have been able to exert: for I soon discovered that the dancing was quite upon a par with the dramatic portion of the entertainment. If that upon which I now looked were indeed the germ whence sprang the most graceful and the most elegant of all the movements of which the human form is susceptible—if this were indeed the birth of the Ballet—then is it a fair child that may truly blush for its parentage: for the exhibition was coarse, monotonous, and wearisome, nor did it possess one redeeming attribute. An unceasing circuit of the enclosure—a wreathing of arms and handkerchiefs—an affected inclination of the head first to the one side, and then to the other—a beating of feet upon the earth, and a succession of prostrations before the Pashas, appeared to be the extent of talent of which the dancers were capable; and the only variation that I was able to discover was an increase of speed, which rendered the heavy movements of the exhibitors only the more conspicuous. The very appearance, moreover, of this party of petticoated and long-haired youths was revolting to my English ideas: and, despite the acclamations with which they were liberally greeted, I felt glad when they made their parting obeisance, and gave place to the second series of performers. A Turk, fèzed and coated, next entered upon the scene—a sort of Oriental Jacques, melancholy and gentlemanlike, who told a tale of blighted love, and consequent sadness; at whose termination he was accosted by the buffoon, who in his turn delivered a panegyric on the loveliness of the veiled beauties of Stamboul, which however failed in its effect upon the slighted suitor; who, with sundry contortions, and wringings of the hands, professed his inability ever to love again.