It was with a party of Europeans, mostly English correspondents, that I went to see the first Selamlik here. In the party there was W. B. Harris of the _Times_, and Wm. Maxwell of the _Mail_, as well as Allan Maclean, the brother of the Kaid. We had as an escort two soldiers from the British Consulate, without whom we could not have moved. The soldiers led the way shouting ‘Balak! balak!’ as we rode through the narrow crowded streets. But in all the throng no other Europeans were to be seen, until some way out we met at a cross-road and mingled for a moment with the delegation of French officials and correspondents, bound also for the great show. Passing the _Bab-el-Had_, the Gate of Heads (fortunately not decorated at this time), the road led through grassy fields to a height from which is visible the whole palace enclosure. We could see, over the high white walls, the two lines of stacked muskets sweeping away in a long, opening arc from the narrow gate beside the mosque to the numerous doors of the low white-washed palace. Behind the guns the soldiers sat, generally in groups on the grass, only a few having life enough to play at any game. Considerably in the background were groups of women, garbed consistently in white, and heavily veiled. Our soldiers, always glad to spur a horse, climbed through a break in the cactus that lined the road and led a hard canter down the slight, grassy slope, straight for one of the smaller gates. Two sentries seated on either side, perceiving us, rose nervously, retired and swung the doors in our faces, the rusty bars grating into place as we drew up. Our soldiers shouted, but got no answer, and we rode round to the _Bab_ by the mosque, which could not be closed. As we drew up here a sentinel with arbitrary power let in two negro boys, clad each in a ragged shirt, riding together on a single dwarfed donkey not tall enough to keep their long, black, dangling legs out of the dust. But we could not pass--no; there was no use arguing, we could not pass. Slaves went in and beggars; the man was anxious, and shoved them in--but no; we, we were not French! While our soldiers argued, the Frenchmen came up and passed in; then the guard, seeing we looked much like them, changed his mind and permitted us, too, to enter. [Illustration: CHAINED NECK TO NECK--RECRUITS FOR THE SULTAN’S ARMY.] [Illustration: ABDUL AZIZ ENTERING HIS PALACE.] For some distance we passed between the lines of stacked guns, attracting the curious gaze of everybody, especially the women, who rose and came nearer the soldiers. One youth, a mulatto, got up and took a gun from a stack, and pretending to shove a cartridge into it, aimed directly at my head. The incident was, as one of the Englishmen suggested, somewhat boring. Within a hundred yards of the palace we got behind the line and took up our stand. We had not long to wait. Shortly after the sun began to decline a twanging blast from a brassy cornet brought the field to its feet.