He scowled and angrily exclaimed: “Put it down! Put it down! We do not sell our holy books to the Christians.” Thereupon, as I saw he was growing angry, I dropped it, saying: “We Christians are glad to give or sell our Bibles to any one, and as for your Korans, I can buy them by the ton in New York or London.” The Moslems here are noted for their hatred of Christians, and one of the bloodiest massacres of modern times occurred in Damascus about sixty years ago. The people are little changed to-day, and they are about as ignorant as they were then. The chief books sold are religious. There are also some story books and copies of the “Arabian Nights,” either in parts or as a whole. During our trip through the bazaars we find the tastes of the Mohammedan stomach everywhere in evidence. These people like good food, and it seems to me they eat from morning till night. Pedlars carrying candy, lemonade, and cakes march through the streets crying their wares while bread men sit on the sidewalks with their stocks. The most common bread is a flat, round cake as thick as the buckwheats we have for breakfast, and a foot or more in diameter. These cakes are white or brown. They are so pliable that they can be doubled up without breaking. They are often used to pick the meats out of a stew. The Orientals do not use forks, claiming that their own hands are much cleaner. They have a saying that “everyone knows whether he has washed his own hands, but no one knows who washed the forks.” Another kind of bread is like a gigantic shoe sole without the heel, and another is a round biscuit about an inch thick. But here comes a man selling candy. Take a bite of it and your mouth will flow water like the rivers which feed this city and make fertile its plains. Damascus is noted for its sweetmeats, and its candies are shipped far and wide over the world. The sweets are sold in the bazaars, some of the merchants having large shops. There is one dear old turbaned sheik who has a cell in the candy bazaar where you can buy nuts and fruits fit for the queen of the fairies. His sugared almonds are the joy of the tourist, and his Turkish delight, a soft, sweet, transparent paste, with pistachios and other small nuts scattered through it, is a dish for the gods. Stop a moment and listen to the cries of the pedlars. Shammas will interpret them for us. Here is a man selling bread hot from the oven. He yells: “_Ya rezzak_”, or, “God, send me a customer,” and follows by showing a cake and saying, “All this for two cents.” Another coming behind cries out in Arabic: “Buy my bread and the good God will nourish you,” and a third says: “My cakes are food for the swallows and the delight of tender and delicate girls.”