The Dancing Dervishes at Constantinople are a remarkable instance of the lengths to which superstition and credulity will proceed. The saltatory ceremony which they perform at their religious services is thus admirably described by Mr. Albert Smith in his "Month at Constantinople:"—
"I have said it was Friday; and so, on my return, I had an opportunity of seeing the Dancing Dervishes at Pera. They exhibit—for it is rather a sight than a solemnity—on this day, as well as on Tuesday, in every week. Their convent is facing the scrap of burying-ground on the road from Galata to Pera, and any one may witness their antics. Having put off our shoes, we entered an octagonal building, with galleries running round it, and standing places under them, surrounding the railed enclosure in which the Dervishes were to dance, or rather spin. One division of this part of the building was put aside for Christians, the others were filled with common people and children. When I arrived, one old Dervish, in a green dress, was sitting at one point of the room, and twenty-four in white, were opposite to him. A flute and drum played some very dreary music in the gallery. At a given signal they all fell flat on their faces, with a noise and precision that would have done honour to a party of pantomimists; and then they all rose and walked slowly round, with their arms folded across their breasts, following the old green Dervish, who marched at their head, and bowing twice very gravely to the place where he had been sitting, and to the spot opposite to it. They performed this round two or three times. Then the old man sat down, and the others, pulling off their cloaks, appeared in a species of long petticoat, and one after the other began to spin. They commenced revolving precisely as though they were waltzing by themselves; first keeping their hands crossed on their breast, and then extending them, the palm of the right hand and the back of the left being upwards. At last they all got into play, and as they went round and round, they put me in mind of the grand party we have seen on the top of an organ, where a cavalier seul revolves by himself, and bows as he faces the spectators.
"They went on for a long time without stopping—a quarter of an hour, perhaps, or twenty minutes. There was something inexpressibly sly and offensive in the appearance of these men, and the desire one felt to hit them hard in the face became uncomfortably dominant. At the end of their revolutions they made another obeisance to the old man, and all this time the players in the orchestra howled forth a kind of hymn. This ceremony was repeated three or four times, and then they all sat down again and put their cloaks on, whilst another Dervish, who had walked round and round amongst the dancers, whilst they were spinning, sang a solo. During this time their faces were all close to the ground. This done, they rose and marched before the old green Dervish once more, kissing his hand as they passed, and the service concluded, occupying altogether about three-quarters of an hour."
EXTRAORDINARY MALADY.
Digne, the principal town in the department of the Basses Alpes in France might be passed by the traveller without exciting one observation, its walks and its warm mineral waters being the only objects worthy of notice. Its inhabitants do not now exceed 3,500; but, in the year 1629, 10,000 industrious citizens followed their numerous avocations within its precincts. At that period, however, an extraordinary plague broke out, in the month of June, which lasted till October, committing the most awful ravages, so that in that short space of time the wretched inhabitants were reduced to the number of 1,500, among whom six only had escaped this very singular malady, the effects of which are thus described by a French writer:—"This malady strangely affected the invalids; some fancied they could fly; others, climb from one object to another like squirrels; some sunk into a profound lethargy, even for so long a time as six days; and one young woman who had been hastily interred in a vineyard, rose three days afterwards, for the grave-diggers were content just to cover the bodies. During these four months the town was covered with a thick fog: the heat was suffocating, accompanied by frequent and dreadful storms; and in order to complete the horrors of such a situation, the parliament forbade any of the inhabitants to quit the city, or the small territory belonging to it. Guards placed upon the Bléonne fired upon those who attempted to escape. The magistrates abandoned their functions; the clocks no longer sounded the hours; the neighbouring springs dried up, so that the mills could not work; and famine began to add its fearful horrors to the miseries which already desolated the city, now become a living sepulchre, for the dead bodies lay in the streets unburied, and the few remaining persons who still paraded the streets appeared more like the spectres of those departed than living beings. Many persons not only prepared but put on the habiliments of death, and quietly awaited the approach of the king of terrors. A new edict condemned the pestilential city to the flames; but this inhuman decree was countermanded, after the destruction of one country house, with all its inhabitants. The disease having somewhat abated in the surrounding villages, humanity at length dictated the necessity of making some efforts to save the remaining few, who had escaped the contagion, from the no less frightful evil of famine. The scene that presented itself was appalling; several little children, whose parents were dead, were found sucking goats; in short, the desolation was so great that, although two centuries have passed away since this fatal scourge devastated the country, Digne has never recovered its effects."
QUACKERY IN THE OLDEN TIME.
In the reign of Henry VIII. many of the medical practitioners were mere horse-farriers. A distinguished patient, the great Lord Burghley, secretary of state to Queen Elizabeth, was addressed by one Audelay, on a certain occasion, in this wise, "Be of goode comfort, and plucke up a lustie, merrie hearte, and then shall you overcome all diseases: and because it pleased my good Lord Admiral lately to praise my physicke, I have written to you such medicines as I wrote unto him, which I have in my boke of my wyffe's hand, proved upon herselfe and mee both: and if I can get anything that may do you any goode, you may be well assured it shall be a joye unto me to get it for you." "A good medicine for weakness or consumption:—Take a pig of nine days olde, and slaye him, and quarter him, and put him in a skillat, with a handfull of spearment, and a handfull of red fennell, a handfull of liverwort, half a handfull of red neap, a handfull of clarge, and nine dates, cleaned, picked, pared, and a handful of great raisins, and picke out the stones, and a quarter of an ounce of mace, and two stickes of goode cinnamon, bruised in a mortar, and distill it with a soft fire, and put it in a glass, and set it in the sun nine days, and drinke nine spoonfulls of it at once when you list!" "A compost:—item—take a porpin, otherwise called an English hedgehog, and quarter him in pieces, and put the said beast in a still, with these ingredients: item—a quart of redde wyne, a pinte of rose-water, a quarter of a pound of sugar—cinnamon and two great raisins." "If thore be any manner of disease that you be aggrieved withal, I pray you send me some knowledge thereof, and I doubt not but to send you an approved remedie. Written in haste at Greenwiche, ye 9 of May, 1553, by your trewe heartie friend, John of Audelay."
A POISON WEAPON.
