the positive and imperative commands of the prophet, and denunciations are pronounced against those who shall dare to indulge in their use, but “champagne,” it has been averred, is not specially mentioned; the name is not to be found in the Arabic text, and therefore, say the tempted and the yielding sinners, it cannot be considered as included in the interdict. Neither is Moya Inglīs (English water) the ordinary term for Cognac brandy when a Mahomedan desires to drink it. Well do I recollect one of the earliest inquiries whispered into my ears by a Mufti, at whose house I descended when visiting the capital of the ancient kings of Syria, Hamath on the river Orontes, and who received me with wonted Oriental hospitality.
“Have you brought with you any Moya Inglīs?” and on having ascertained that it would, in good time, be forthcoming, he proposed we should withdraw to a secret chamber immediately after dinner to partake of the delicious water with becoming kief, a charming word implying the serenity of repose and tranquil felicity.
The dinner of the Aga over, conversation became more and more lively, and the colloquies ran from tongues, somewhat unbridled, upon the lovelier portion of creation. Under ordinary circumstances it is a great affront to talk to a Mahomedan of the lady portion of his household, or even to suppose or imply the existence of a female sex. You may venture upon a general and vague inquiry as to the well-being or well-doing of a family, but it would be ill-bred and impertinent to show any interest about the health of a mother, wife, or daughter, even though you may have heard rumours of sickness, or even of impending death.
But wine, and still more the Moya Inglīs, thaws the frozen reserve and opens the locked lips of conversation to the most forbidden topics, and our Aga began to talk of the beauties of his harem, and to describe to us some of the many handmaidens who looked up to him as their lord and master. We could not but express great interest in communications so eloquent; and complimented him on the possession of so many pearls of great price. At last his enthusiasm mounted to its full height, and his proud satisfaction broke out into an ejaculatory interrogation:—
“Would you like to see the damsels?”
“Above all things,” was the natural reply.
“Come along, then,—come.”
And he himself led the way to an upper apartment.
It was a large room surrounded by a cushioned divan, and female shawls and robes of silk were scattered over the carpets and rugs on the floor. There were many mirrors on the walls, and lamps hung from the ceiling, and the moment we entered the door, following closely the footsteps of the Aga, clamours and shrieks broke forth from voices more or less melodious or discordant:—
“You Giaours! you infidels! you Christian dogs! what brings you here! Begone! begone!”
The Aga laughed aloud at the reception we experienced; but “the Christian dogs” were not a little perplexed and confounded; it was easy to perceive, though every one of the women drew her veil more closely over her face and round her shoulders, that the noisiest and loudest were the eldest of the ladies; so addressing myself to one whose accents were harmonious and fascinating, I said:—
“So sweet a voice must belong to a pretty face.”
Upon which the damsel suddenly uncovered her countenance, looked penetratingly upon me with her black and brilliant eyes, and exclaiming:—
“You Giaour! You infidel!” laughed aloud, and drew the veil over her blushing cheeks. Again and again the same amusing comedy was performed by other ladies with a readiness or a backwardness which might be measured by the presence or absence of personal charms; there were several who remained veiled through the whole of our visit with the most stubborn and stolid obstinacy. The Aga said, they were the old and ugly ones of the harem. Woman is everywhere woman—proud, and well she may be proud of her attractions.
“Now then, let us withdraw,” said the Aga. We bowed to the fair community, and retired, for the visit lasted only a few minutes, amidst many voices not altogether so boisterous, or so impetuous, as at our advance, but still they cried, “Infidels! Infidels!”
I was not quite so fortunate on another occasion when I was the guest of the Pacha of Nablous, the Sechem of the Old Testament, the Sichar of the New. To me Samaria has always appeared—next to Galilee—the most interesting part of the Holy Land, for the lies and legends of the monks have less intruded themselves, or they less haunt the traveller with their contradictions and absurdities, and the whole region represents, far more than does Judæa, the unchanged characteristics of the Gospel History. Fables and groundless traditions crowd themselves into every part of Jerusalem, and even the sites of the most memorable events are subjects of doubtful disputation; but Samaria has the charm of being now what it was nineteen centuries ago; and the Samaritans, though reduced to a very small number of families, have retained the language, the religion, the prejudices of their ancestors; and they love the Jews as little as their ancestors did. To the pacha I owed a friendly introduction to the Samaritan sheikhs, one of whom was his principal scribe, and I received from them many courtesies and kindnesses. In answer to some inquiries, my host offered to show me the female apartments of the palace; but this was not after dinner; and he had not accommodated his conscience to his tastes, nor found arguments for surrendering his temperance to temptation, nor in wresting both the letter and the spirit of the Koran to a very free interpretation. A messenger was despatched to the harem, and soon after I accompanied the pacha upstairs. We heard much bustle and confusion; and as the doors were opened we saw women scampering away in all directions along the balconies, and towards the inner apartments, in obvious haste and apprehension. They were all veiled, and the mode in which their garments hung about them showed they had been unpre-