_Alf Laylah wa Laylah_ (Burton's"Arabian Nights").
During the first weeks at Damascus my only work was to find a suitable
house and to settle down in it. Our predecessor in the Consulate had
lived in a large house in the city itself, and as soon as he retired he
let it to a wealthy Jew. In any case it would not have suited us, nor
would any house within the city walls; for though some of them were quite
beautiful--indeed, marble palaces gorgeously decorated and furnished
after the manner of oriental houses--yet there is always a certain sense
of imprisonment about Damascus, as the windows of the houses are all
barred and latticed, and the gates of the city are shut at sunset. This
would not have suited our wild-cat proclivities; we should have felt as
though we were confined in a cage. So after a search of many days we
took a house in the environs, about a quarter of an hour's ride from
Damascus, high up the hill. Just beyond it was the desert sand, and in
the background a saffron-hued mountain known as the Camomile Mountain;
and camomile was the scent which pervaded our village and all Damascus.
Our house was in the suburb of Salahiyyeh, and we had good air and light,
beautiful views, fresh water, quiet, and above all liberty. In five
minutes we could gallop out over the mountains, and there we pitched
our tent.
I should like to describe our house at Salahiyyeh, once more, though I
have described it before, and Frederick Leighton once drew a sketch of
it, so that it is pretty well known.
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