Perhaps it was the effect of the costume, which gave them a strange and alien appearance, but it seemed to me, at first, as if every Jew in Cracow had exactly the same features, the same manner of walking, and the same expression of countenance. As I watched the different figures in the crowded streets more closely, however, I discovered that beneath the peculiar dress and manner many different types of human beings were concealed. There were the pale-browed students, who moved through the crowd with a hurried and abstracted air; there were slender and elegant aristocrats, who, while still wearing the uniform of their race, dressed with a scrupulous correctness and looked at you with an expression which seemed a curious mingling of the humility of the Jew and the scorn of the Pharisee. There was the commonplace plodding Jew, following humbly in the common ruts of barter and trade and the daily and weekly routine which his religion prescribed. There was the outcast beggar, dirty and wretched, doddering aimlessly along the dirty street or sitting in some doorway, staring disconsolately into the street. There was, also, the dirty, gluttonous, ignorant, and brutal type, on whom neither suffering nor fanaticism seemed to have made any impression, and who, in his Jewish dress and manners, looked like a caricature of his more high-bred neighbour. I visited the ancient synagogue while I was in Cracow, which they say was built for the Jews by that same Polish king, Kazimierz, who first invited them to take refuge in his country. I saw there the ancient Roll of the Laws and ancient Prayer Book which were brought from Spain when the Jews were expelled from that country. Nearby the synagogue is the ancient Jewish market. A narrow street leads into an open square in the centre of which is a circular building. Before one of the entrances of this building a man, with the pale brow and delicate features which seem to be a mark of superiority among the people of the Ghetto, was publicly slaughtering geese. The square in which this building stood was surrounded on all sides by rows of little market booths, in front of which groups of men and women were dickering and trading for various small wares. A crowd of women stood about the building in the centre of the square and watched the pale-browed man, who did not seem to relish the job, as he rapidly and dexterously performed the ceremony of cutting the throats of the geese. These were handed to him by a good-natured looking woman, wearing an apron and high boots, red with blood. After the geese were killed they were hung over a pit to drain, while fresh victims were brought from the baskets and crates standing about in the open square. A foul smell from the open pit in which the geese were allowed to bleed filled the square. This did not add to the dignity of the proceedings, but it served to impress them upon my memory.