In another part of the bazar, the silks of Aleppo and Damascus, the cottons of Manchester, and vails of Constantinople and Switzerland, were exposed for sale, the shopkeepers, gravely smoking, reclined at their ease among the gay wares. The barbers' shops and the coffee-houses were much larger and more frequented than any of the others. I met no women in the bazars, men and boys do all the marketing in the towns of the Holy Land.
We descended a narrow, ruinous street of stairs, to the English Consulate, which was at that time close to the sea side. We were kindly welcomed, and led across a court to a square and vaulted stone chamber, with a deep raised recess in a rudely-built casemented balcony, looking on to the sea. A cozily-cushioned divan and a Turkey carpet made this a most pleasant retreat; and there, freed from the restraints of quarantine, I soon felt quite at home with Mrs. Kayat, a native of Syria, who, with Eastern hospitality, said, "This house is yours; order all things as you will."
Her young sister, Furrah, spoke English pretty well—thanks to the American mission-school of Beirût. She wore a white muslin dress, open to the waist, and exposing a thin net shirt, which did not conceal her neck and bosom, and through the semi-transparent skirt her full Turkish trowsers of blue silk could be seen. Their mother was dressed in a black velvet jacket, seamed with silver, and a soft, white silk skirt.
A number of gentlemen were in the body of the room, a step below us. They, as well as the ladies, were smoking narghilés. Strong coffee, without milk, and in tiny cups without handles, held in silver filigree stands exactly of the size and shape of common egg-cups, were handed round. After taking a cup, it is customary to incline the head slightly, raising the hand to the forehead, and thus to salute the host or hostess, who, in return, does the same to the guests.
An Arab breakfast was prepared, and a large party as-
