s. Give yourself with a blind submission into the arms of the brown
Fate, and he will lead you to new chambers of delight. He lifts us to a
sitting posture, places himself behind us, and folds his arms around our
body, alternately tightening and relaxing his clasp, as if to test the
elasticity of the ribs. Then seizing one arm, he draws it across the
opposite shoulder, until the joint cracks like a percussion-cap. The
shoulder-blades, the elbows, the wrists, and the finger-joints are all
made to fire off their muffled volleys; and then, placing one knee between
our shoulders, and clasping both hands upon our forehead, he draws our
head back until we feel a great snap of the vertebral column. Now he
descends to the hip-joints, knees, ankles, and feet, forcing each and all
to discharge a salvo _de joie_. The slight languor left from the bath is
gone, and an airy, delicate exhilaration, befitting the winged Mercury,
takes its place.

The boy, kneeling, presents us with _finjan_ of foamy coffee, followed by
a glass of sherbet cooled with the snows of Lebanon. He presently returns
with a narghileh, which we smoke by the effortless inhalation of the
lungs. Thus we lie in perfect repose, soothed by the fragrant weed, and
idly watching the silent Orientals, who are undressing for the bath or
reposing like ourselves. Through the arched entrance, we see a picture of
the bazaars: a shadowy painting of merchants seated amid their silks and
spices, dotted here and there with golden drops and splashes of sunshine,
which have trickled through the roof. The scene paints itself upon our
eyes, yet wakes no slightest stir of thought. The brain is a becalmed sea,
without a ripple on its shores. Mind and body are drowned in delicious
rest; and we no longer remember what we are. We only know that there is an
Existence somewhere in the air, and that wherever it is, and whatever it
may be, it is happy.

More and more dim grows the picture. The colors fade and blend into each
other, and finally merge into a bed of rosy clouds, flooded with the
radiance of some unseen sun. Gentlier than "tired eyelids upon tired
eyes," sleep lies upon our senses: a half-conscious sleep, wherein we know
that we behold light and inhale fragrance. As gently, the clouds dissipate
into air, and we are born again into the world. The Bath is at an end. We
arise and put on our garments, and walk forth into the sunny streets of
Damascus. But as we go homewards, we involu