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and the conversation was easy and agreeable; they were Syrian Christians, and spoke the lingua-franca tongue. She assured us she had made one or two of the sweet dishes with her own hands. The experience of this evening made me resolve, wherever I went in future, to seek the dwelling of the natives, whether poor or rich, rather than the walls of the khan, or, on some occasions, even of the monastery. In Jerusalem I had good reason to applaud this decision, being lodged in the house of a native near the gate of Bethlehem; my apartments opened on the battlements of the strong and ancient wall, at a short distance from the tower of David: they served my repasts every day on a little table about a foot and half high; fresh cream and honey, bread and coffee, for breakfast; the wine of Jerusalem, which Chateaubriand pronounced to be exquisite, at dinner, and in the evening the family assembled, and sung some native air to the sound of the guitar. From this calm retreat, that had quite a feeling of home about it, I was seduced by the Franciscan monks of St. Salvador, to enter their monastery, where a small and wretched cell, paved with stone, was my abode; a chair and table, a miserable flock-bed, my accommodations; a chill air also, for the light dimly struggled through a low and grated window. At sunset the gate of the monastery was always shut, and the captive in his dungeon did not look forth with more desire on the mountain and stream, than did the traveller, as he paced the gloomy passages and halls, look on the ruinous and memorable places of the city, where it was so sweet to wander in the freshness of the evening. We entered one of the coffee-houses in Sidon, that was filled with well-dressed Turks, lounging on the soft benches: many of them sat at the open windows that looked on the sea, which fell on the beach with a lulling sound. Having no tobacco, my next neighbour, a goodlooking Turk, instantly offered me his little silken bag, to fill my pipe with its contents; for every respectable Turk carries his bag about him, as inseparably as an Englishman does his watch. In this manner is a great part of the day beguiled by this indolent and apathetic people—sipping coffee eternally—uttering grave and pithy sentences— stroking their beards—taking off their turbans, and smoothing their bald heads. To relieve this monotony, a story-teller often breaks in, stands suddenly in the middle of the room, and begins his tale with wild gesticulation, and a rapid flow of words. The Turk listens intensely, and then breaks forth into loud peals of laughter, shaking his heavy sides and wide garments with infinite glee, feeling all the luxury of the contrast. The cottages and gardens without the walls exhibit a more animated and more interesting scene, of quiet industry and prosperity, for here each Syrian peasant rejoiced in the fruits of his own labour, and sat under the shadow of his own vine and fig-tree. These Syrians were comely in their persons, and neat in their attire; the graceful cap and tassel, with the tunic, set off their light and slender forms. Many of the young women wore several rows of gold coins braided into their hair, and falling on each side the face as low as the bosom; and the hair of others was braided behind, and fell down the back in long tresses; they wore sandals on their feet .
In the approach to Sidon from Beirout, the town looks to less advantage than in the route from Tyre, save that the ancient mole, the high ridge of rocks opposite, and the shipping, are finely visible. The mole was broken by Facardine, whereby he