to Grand Cairo, only one source of physical solace. If you pay a visit
in the East, a pipe is brought to you with the same regularity that a
servant in England places you a seat. The procession of the pipe, in
great houses, is striking: slaves in showy dresses advancing in order,
with the lighted chibouques to their mouths waving them to and fro;
others bearing vases of many-coloured sherbets, and surrounding a
superior domestic, who carries the strong and burning coffee in small
cups of porcelain supported in frames of silver fillagree, all placed
upon a gorgeous waiter covered with a mantle of white satin, stiff and
shining with golden embroidery.

In public audiences all this is an affair of form. "The honour of the
pipe" proves the consideration awarded to you. You touch it with your
lips, return it, sip a half-filled cup of coffee, rise, and retire. The
next day a swarm of household functionaries call upon you for their
fees. But in private visits, the luxury of the pipe is more appreciated.
A host prides himself upon the number and beauty of his chibouques, the
size and clearness of the amber mouth-piece, rich and spotless as a ripe
Syrian lemon, the rare flavour of his tobaccos, the frequency of his
coffee offerings, and the delicate dexterity with which the rose water
is blended with the fruity sherbets. In summer, too, the chibouque of
cherry-wood, brought from the Balkan, is exchanged for the lighter
jessamine tube of Damascus or Aleppo, covered with fawn-coloured silk
and fringed with silver.

The hills of Laodicea celebrated by Strabo for their wines, now
produce, under the name of Latakia, the choicest tobacco in the world.
Unfortunately this delicious product will not bear a voyage, and loses
its flavour even in the markets of Alexandria. Latakia may be compared
to Chateau Margaux; Gibel, the product of a neighbouring range of