We visited the other day the houses of some of the richest Jews and Christians.  Old Abou-Ibrahim, the Jewish servant of the hotel, accompanied and introduced us.  It is customary for travellers to make these visits, and the families, far from being annoyed, are flattered by it.  The exteriors of the houses are mean; but after threading a narrow passage, we emerged into a court, rivalling in profusion of ornament and rich contrast of colors one’s early idea of the Palace of Aladdin.  The floors and fountains are all of marble mosaic; the arches of the liwan glitter with gold, and the walls bewilder the eye with the intricacy of their adornments.  In the first house, we were received by the family in a room of precious marbles, with niches in the walls, resembling grottoes of silver stalactites.  The cushions of the divan were of the richest silk, and a chandelier of Bohemian crystal hung from the ceiling.  Silver narghilehs were brought to us, and coffee was served in heavy silver zerfs.  The lady of the house was a rather corpulent lady of about thirty-five, and wore a semi-European robe of embroidered silk and lace, with full trowsers gathered at the ankles, and yellow slippers.  Her black hair was braided, and fastened at the end with golden ornaments, and the light scarf twisted around her head blazed with diamonds.  The lids of her large eyes were stained with kohl, and her eyebrows were plucked out and shaved away so as to leave only a thin, arched line, as if drawn with a pencil, above each eye.  Her daughter, a girl of fifteen, who bore the genuine Hebrew name of Rachel, had even bigger and blacker eyes than her mother; but her forehead was low, her mouth large, and the expression of her face exceedingly stupid.  The father of the family was a middle-aged man, with a well-bred air, and talked with an Oriental politeness which was very refreshing.  An English lady, who was of our party, said to him, through me, that if she possessed such a house she should be willing to remain in Damascus.  “Why does she leave, then?” he immediately answered:  “this is her house, and everything that is in it.”  Speaking of visiting Jerusalem, he asked me whether it was not a more beautiful city than Damascus.  “It is not more beautiful,” I said, “but it is more holy,” an expression which the whole company received with great satisfaction.

The second house we visited was even larger and richer than the first, but had an air of neglect and decay.  The slabs of rich marble were loose and broken, about the edges of the fountains; the rich painting of the wood-work was beginning to fade; and the balustrades leading to the upper chambers were broken off in places.  We were ushered into a room, the walls and ceilings of which were composed entirely of gilded arabesque frame-work, set with small mirrors.  When new, it must have had a gorgeous effect; but the gold is now tarnished, and the glasses dim.  The mistress of the house was seated on the cushions, dividing her