imagined must have been equally disagreeable to the travellers as it would have been to him. He therefore not only expelled them from the house, but, in order to protect the imam’s guests from a repetition of the same intrusion, gave peremptory orders to their Mohammedan attendant to admit no person whatever until they should have obtained their audience. Two days after their arrival they were admitted into the presence of the imam. It is probable that, having previously formed an exalted idea of the splendour of oriental princes, the reader will be liable to disappointment on the present occasion. The riches and magnificence of the califs, however, of which we find so many glowing descriptions in the Thousand and One Nights, in D’Herbelot, and many other writers, have long passed away, leaving to the successors of those religious monarchs nothing but remembrance of ancient glory, which gleams like a meteoric light about their throne and diadem. Niebuhr, arriving at Sana from the sandy deserts of the Tehama, where poverty reigns paramount over every thing, enjoyed the advantage of possessing an imagination sobered by stern realities. His fancy depicted the court of the imam in the livery of the desert. He expected little. If he was disappointed, therefore, it was not disagreeably. The imam, with a vanity pardonable enough in a prince who learns from his cradle to estimate his own greatness by the pomp and glitter which surround him, had in fact employed the two days elapsed since the arrival of his guests in active preparations for their reception; and the rules of etiquette forbidding strangers to pay or receive visits during the interval, were originally intended to conceal this circumstance, and create the belief that the holyday appearance of the court was its ordinary costume. Our travellers were conducted to the palace by the minister’s secretary, who here performed what is called the mehmandar’s office in Persia. They found the great court of the edifice thronged with horses, officers, and other Arabs of various grades; so that it required the ministry of the imam’s grand equerry to open them a way through the crowd. The hall of audience was a spacious square apartment, vaulted above, and having on its centre several fountains of water, which, gushing aloft to a considerable height, and falling again incessantly, maintained a refreshing coolness in the air. A broad divan, adorned with fine Persian carpets, occupied the extremity of the hall, and flanked the throne, which was merely covered with silken stuffs, and rich cushions. Here the imam sat cross-legged, according to the custom of the East. He received the travellers graciously, allowed them to kiss the hem of his garment, and the back and palm of his hand--an honour which is but sparingly granted to strangers. At the conclusion of this ceremony a herald cried aloud, “God save the imam!” and all the people repeated the same words. As