The sound of bells is never heard in Turkey, their necessity is superseded in the following manner: a circular gallery is built round the turrets of the mosques, where Turkish boys are stationed, who in a loud voice summon the Mahometans three times a day to prayers; at sunrise, at noon, and at sunset. They do not employ watchmen, as their maxim is, “each for himself, and God for us all.”
La Mélancolie.
De ta tige détachée,
Pauvre feuille desséchée,
Où vas-tu?—Je n’en sais rien:
L’orage a brisé le chêne
Qui seul était mon soutien.
De son inconstante haleine,
Le zéphir, ou l’aquilon,