Do the Syrian people all smoke? Almost all of them. They speak of it as "drinking a pipe, drinking a cigar," and you would think that they look upon tobacco as being as necessary to them as water. Old and young men, women and even children smoke, smoke while they work or rest, while at home or journeying, and measure distances by their pipes. I was travelling, and asked a man how far it was to the next village. He said about two pipes of tobacco distant! I found it to be nearly an hour, or three miles. The Orientals spend so much time in smoking, that some one has said "the Moslems came into power with the Koran in one hand, and the sword in the other, but will go out with the Koran in one hand and the pipe in the other!"

Here we are on the sandy beach. What myriads of sea shells, and what beautiful colors they have. And here are sponges without number, but they are worthless. There on the sea are the little sloops of the sponge fishers. They are there through the whole summer and the fishers dive down into the sea where the water is from 100 to 200 feet deep, and walk around on the bottom holding their breath, and when they can bear it no longer pull the cord which is tied around the waist, and then their companions draw them up. They do not live long, as it is very hard and unnatural labor. Sometimes they are killed by sharks or other sea monsters. One of them told me that he was once on the bottom, and just about to pick up a beautiful white sponge, when he saw a great monster with huge claws and arms and enormous eyes coming towards him, and he barely escaped being devoured. At another time, the men in the boat felt a sudden jerk on the rope and pulled in, when they found only the man's head, arms and chest on it, the rest of his body having been devoured by some great fish or sea animal. The sponges grow on rocks, pebbles or shells, and some of them are of great value. It is difficult to get the best ones here, as the company who hire the divers export all the good ones to Europe.



PART V.

Word has come that there is cholera in Odessa, so that all the Russian steamers going to Beirut will be in quarantine. It will not be pleasant to spend a week in the Beirut quarantine, so we will keep our baggage animals and go down by land. It is two long days of nine hours each, and you will be weary enough. Bidding good-bye to our dear friends here and wishing them God's blessing in their difficult work among such people, away we go! Yanni and Uncle S. and some of the teachers will accompany us a little way, according to the Eastern custom, and then we dismount and kiss them all on both cheeks, and pursue our monotonous way along the coast, sometimes riding over rocky capes and promontories and then on the sand and pebbles close to the roaring surf.

See how many monasteries there are on the sides of Lebanon! Between Tripoli and Beirut there are about a hundred. The men who live in them are called monks, who make a vow never to marry, and spend their lives eating and drinking the fruits of other men's labors. They own almost all the valuable land in this range of mountains for fifty miles, and the fellaheen live as "tenants at will" on their estates. When a man is lazy or unfortunate, if he is not married, his first thought is to become a monk. They are the most corrupt and worthless vagabonds in the land, and the day must come before long, when the monasteries and convents will be abolished and their property be given back to the people to whom it justly belongs.

We are now riding along by the telegraph wires. It seems strange to see Morse's telegraph on this old Phenician coast, and it will seem stranger still when we reach Beirut, to receive a daily morning paper printed in Arabic, with telegrams from all parts of the world!

In July, a woman came to the telegraph office in Beirut, asking, "Where is the telegraph?" The Clerk, Yusef Effendi, asked her, "Whom do you want, the Director, the Operator, or the Kawass?" She said, "I want Telegraph himself, for my husband has sent me word that he is in prison in Zahleh and wants me to come with haste, and I heard that Telegraph takes people quicker than any one else. Please tell me the fare, and send me as soon as possible!" The Effendi looked at her, and took her measure, and then said, "You are too tall to go by telegraph, so you will have to go on a mule." The poor ignorant woman went away greatly disappointed.

Another old woman, whose son was drafted into the Turkish army, wished to send him a pair of new shoes, so she hung them on the telegraph wire. A way-worn foot traveller coming along soon after took down the new shoes and put them on, and hung his old ones in their place. The next day the old lady returned and finding the old shoes, said, "Mashallah, Mohammed has received his new shoes and sent back his old ones to be repaired."

The telegraph has taught all the world useful lessons, and the Syrians have learned one lesson from it which is of great value. When they write letters they use long titles, and flowery salutations, so that a whole page will be taken up with these empty formalities, leaving only a few lines at the end, or in a postscript, for the important business. But when they send a telegram and have to pay for every word, they leave out the flowery salutations and send only what is necessary.

The following is a very common way of beginning an Arabic letter:

"To the presence of the affectionate and the most distinguished, the honorable and most ingenuous Khowadja, the honored, may his continuance be prolonged!"

"After presenting the precious pearls of affection, the aromatic blossoms of love, and the increase of excessive longing, after the intimate presence of the light of your rising in prosperity, we would say that in a most blessed and propitious hour your precious letter honored us," etc.

That would cost too much to be sent by telegraph. Precious pearls and aromatic blossoms would become expensive luxuries at two cents a word. So they have to be reserved for letters, if any one has time to write them.

Here we come to the famous Dog River. You will read in books about this river and its old inscriptions. If you have not forgotten your Latin, you can read a lesson in Latin which was written here nearly two thousand years ago. There you can see the words.

Imp. Caes. M. Aurelius Antoninus Pius Felix Augustus Par. Max. Brit. Max. Germ. Maximus Pontifex Maximus Montibus Imminentibus etc. etc.

This Emperor Marcus Aurelius, must have cut this road through the rocks about the year 173 A.D. But there is another inscription higher up, with arrow-headed characters and several other tablets. They are Assyrian and Egyptian. One of the Assyrian tablets was cut by Sennacherib 2500 years ago, and one of the Egyptian by Sesostris, king of Egypt, 3100 years ago. Don't you feel very young and small in looking at such ancient monuments? All of those men brought their armies here, and found the path so bad along the high precipice overhanging the sea, that they cut a road for their horses and chariots in the solid limestone rock. Just think of standing where Sennacherib and Alexander the Great passed along with their armies!

What a steep and narrow road! We will dismount and walk over this dangerous pass. It is not pleasant to meet camels and loaded mules on such a dizzy precipice, with the high cliff above, and the roaring waves of the sea far below! It is well we dismounted. Our horses are afraid of those camels carrying long timbers balanced on their backs. Let us turn aside and wait until they pass.

Seeing these camels reminds me of what I saw here in 1857. I was coming down the coast from Tripoli and reached the top of this pass, in the narrowest part, just as a caravan of camels were coming from the opposite direction. I turned back a little, and stood close under the edge of the cliff to let the camels go by. They were loaded with huge canvas sacks of tibn, or cut straw, which hung down on both sides, making it impossible to pass them without stooping very low. Just then I heard a voice behind me, and looking around, saw a shepherd coming up the pass with his flock of sheep. He was walking ahead, and they all followed on. I called to him to go back, as the camels were coming over the pass. He said, "Ma ahlaik," or "don't trouble yourself," and on he came. When he met the camels, they were in the narrowest part, where a low stone wall runs along the edge of the precipice. He stooped down and stepped upon the narrow wall, calling all the time to his sheep, who followed close upon his heels, walking in single file. He said "tahl, tahl," "come, come," and then made a shrill whirring call, which could be heard above the roaring of the waves on the rocks below. It was wonderful to see how closely they followed the shepherd. They did not seem to notice the camels on the one side, or the abyss on the other side. Had they left the narrow track, they would either have been trodden down by the heavily laden camels, or have fallen off into the dark waters below. But they were intent on following their shepherd. They heard his voice, and that was enough. The cameleers were shouting and screaming to their camels to keep them from slipping on these smooth rocks, but the sheep paid no attention to them. They knew the shepherd's voice. They had followed him before, through rivers and thickets, among rocks and sands, and he had always led them safely. The waves were dashing and roaring on the rocks below, but they did not fear, for the shepherd was going on before. Had one of those sheep turned aside, he would have lost his footing and been destroyed and thrown the whole flock into confusion.

You know why I have told you this story. You know that Jesus is the Good Shepherd. He said, "My sheep hear my voice, and I know them and they follow me." Wherever Jesus leads it is safe for us to go. How many boys and girls there are who think they know a better path than the one Jesus calls them to follow. There are "stranger" voices calling on every side, and many a child leaves the path of the Good Shepherd, and turns aside to hear what they would say. If they were truly lambs of Jesus' fold, they would love Him, and follow Him in calm and storm, and never heed the voice of strangers.

I was once travelling from Duma to Akura, high up on the range of Lebanon. It was a hot summer's day, and at noon I stopped to rest by a fountain. The waste water of the fountain ran into a square stone birkeh or pool, and around the pool were several shepherds resting with their flocks of sheep and goats. The shepherds came and talked with me, and sat smoking for nearly an hour, when suddenly one of them arose and walked away calling to his flock to follow him. The flocks were all mixed together, but when he called, his sheep and goats began to raise their heads and start along together behind him. He kept walking along and calling, until all his flock had gone. The rest of the sheep and goats remained quietly as though nothing had happened. Then another "Rai," or shepherd, started up in another direction, calling out in a shrill voice, and his sheep followed him. They knew their shepherd's voice. Our muleteers were talking all the time, but the sheep paid no attention to them. They knew one voice, and would follow no other.

We will now hasten on to Beirut. You will wish to see the Female Seminary, and the Sabbath School and the Steam Printing Press, and many of the Beirut Schools, before we start to Abeih again.

Here is the Female Seminary. There are a hundred girls here, studying Arabic reading and writing geography, arithmetic, grammar, botany, physiology and astronomy, and a few study English, French and music. But the great study is the Bible. I am afraid that very few schools in America have as much instruction in the Bible, as the girls in this Seminary and the Sidon Seminary receive. You would be surprised to hear the girls recite correctly the names of all the patriarchs; kings and prophets of the Old Testament, with the year when they lived, and the date of all the important events of the Old and New Testament History, and the Life of Christ, and the travels of the Apostle Paul, and the prophecies about Christ in the Old Testament, and then recite the whole Westminster Assembly's Catechism in Arabic! I have given out one hundred and twenty Bibles and Hymn Books as rewards to children in the schools in Beirut, who have learned the Shorter Catechism perfectly in Arabic.

Five years ago there was a girl in the school who was once very rude and self-willed, and very hard to control. She had a poor bed-ridden brother who had been a cripple for years, and was a great care to the family. They used to carry him out in the garden in fine weather and lay him on a seat under the trees, and sometimes his sister would come home from the school and read to him from the Bible, to which he listened with great delight. Not long after this he died, and his sister was sent for to come home to the funeral. On reaching home she found a large crowd of women assembled from all that quarter of the city, shrieking and wailing over his death, according to the Oriental custom. When A. the little girl came in, one of the women from an aristocratic Greek family was talking in a loud voice and saying that it was wrong for any person to go from the house of mourning to another house before first going home, because one going from a house of mourning would carry an evil influence with her. A. listened and then spoke out boldly before the seventy women, "How long will you hold on to these foolish superstitions? Beirut is a place of light and civilization. Where can you find any such teaching as this in the gospel? It is time for us to give up such superstitions." The old woman asked, "Where did that girl learn these things? Truly she is right. These things are superstitions, but they will not die until we old women die." It required a great deal of courage in A. to speak out so boldly, when her own brother had died, but all felt that she spoke the truth, and no one rebuked her.

Near by the house of A. is another beautiful house surrounded by gardens, and ornamented in the most expensive manner. A little girl from this family was attending the school in 1867. Her name was Fereedy. She was a boarder and the best behaved girl in the school. One day during vacation, her mother came to Rufka and said, "What have you done to my little daughter Fereedy? She came home last Saturday with her sister, and at once took the whole care of the little children, so that I had no trouble with them. And when night came she put her little sisters to bed and prayed with them all, and then in the morning she prayed with them again. I never saw such a child. She is like a little angel." The mother is of the Greek sect, and the little girl was only twelve years old.

And here is a story about another of the superstitions of the fellaheen, and what a little girl taught the people about them. This little girl named L. went with her father to spend the summer in a mountain village, where the people had a strange superstition about an oak tree. One day she went out to walk and came to the great oak tree which stood alone on the mountain side. You know that the Canaanites used to have idols under the green trees in ancient times. When L. reached the tree, she found the ground covered with dead branches which had fallen from the tree. Now, wood is very scarce and costly in Syria, and the people are very poor, so that she wondered to see the wood left to rot on the ground, and asked the people why they did not use it for fuel. They said they dared not, as the tree belonged to Moses the Prophet, and he protected the tree, and if any one took the wood, they would fall dead. She said, "Moses is in heaven, and does not live in oak trees, and if he did, he is a good man, and would not hurt me for burning up old dry sticks." So she asked them if she might have the wood? They said, "yes, if you dare to take it, for we are afraid to touch it." So she went to the tree and gathered up as much as she could carry, and took it home. The people screamed when they saw her, and told her to drop it or it would kill her, but on she went, and afterwards went back and brought the rest. She then talked with the ignorant women, and her father told them about the folly of their superstitions, and read to them in the Bible about Moses, and they listened with great attention. I have often thought I should like to go to that village, and see whether the people now leave the dead branches under Moses' oak, or use them for fuel during the heavy snow storms of winter.



PART VI.

Here we are, home again at Abeih. Here are Asaad and Khalil, and several others. I asked Khalil one day to write out for me a list of all the games the boys play in Abeih, and he brought me a list of twenty-eight different ones, and said there were many more.

I. The first is called Khatim or the Ring. A boy puts a ring on the back of his hand, tosses it and catches it on the back of his fingers. If it falls on the middle finger, he shakes it to the forefinger, and then he is Sultan, and appoints a Vizier, whom he commands to beat the other boys. Then the boys all sing,

Ding, dong, turn the wheel, Wind the purple thread: Spin the white and spin the red, Wind it on the reel: Silk and linen as well as you can, Weave a robe for the Great Sultan.

II. Killeh. Like the game of shooting marbles.

III. Owal Howa. The same as leap frog.

IV. Biz Zowaia. Cat in the corner.

V. Taia ya Taia. All the boys stand in a row, and one in front facing them, who calls out Taia ya Taia. They all then run after him and hit him. He then hops on one foot as if lame, and catches one of them, who takes his place.

VI. El Manya. Hig tig.

VII. Bil Kobbeh. A circle of boys stand with their heads bowed. Another circle stand outside, and on a given signal try to mount on the backs of the inner circle of boys. If they succeed they remain standing in this way; if not, the boy who failed must take the inside place.

VIII. Ghummaida. Blind-man's-buff.

IX. Tabeh. Base ball and drop ball.

X. Kurd Murboot or Tied Monkey. A rope is tied to a peg in the ground, and one boy holds it fast. The others tie knots in their handkerchiefs and beat him. If he catches them without letting go his hold on the rope, they take his place.

XI. Shooha or Hawk. Make a swing on the limb of a tree. A boy leans on the swing and runs around among the boys, until he catches one to take his place.

XII. Joora. Shooting marbles into a joora or hole in the ground.

XIII. Khubby Mukhzinak. "Pebble pebble." One boy goes around and hides a pebble in the hand of one of the circle and asks "pebble, pebble, who's got the pebble." This is like "Button, button."

Then there are other games like chequers and "Morris," chess, and games which are used in gambling, which you will not care to hear about.

Sometimes when playing, they sing a song which I have translated:

I found a black crow, With a cake in his maw, I asked him to feed me, He cried caw, caw.

A chicken I found With a loaf of bread— I asked him to feed me. He cried, enough said.

And an eagle black With a beam on his back Said from Egypt I come And he cried clack, clack.

So you see the Arab boys are as fond of plays and songs as American boys. They have scores of songs about gazelles, and pearls, and Sultans, and Bedawin, and Ghouls, and the "Ghuz," and the Evil Eye, and Arab mares and Pashas.

A few days ago a Druze, named Sheikh Ali, called upon me and recited to me a strange song, which reminded me of the story of "Who killed Cock Robin," and "The House that Jack built." In some of the Arab villages where fleas abound, the people go at times to the tennur or oven, (which is like a great earthen jar sunken in the ground,) to shake off the fleas into the fire. The story which I have translated goes thus: A brilliant bug and a noble flea once went to the oven to shake off the ignoble fleas from their garments into the fire. But alas, alas, the noble flea lost his footing, fell into the fire and was consumed. Then the brilliant bug began to weep and mourn, saying,

Alas! Ah me! The Noble Flea! While he was thus weeping, And his sad watch keeping, A glossy raven overhead, Flew swiftly down and gently said, Oh my friend, oh brilliant bug, Why are you weeping on the rug? The bug replied, O glossy raven, With your head all shorn and shaven, I am now weeping, And sad watch keeping, Over, Ah me! The Noble Flea. The raven he, Wept over the flea, And flew to a green palm tree— And in grief, dropped a feather, Like snow in winter weather. The palm tree said my glossy raven, Why do you look so craven, Why did you drop a feather, Like snow in winter weather? The raven said, The flea is dead! I saw the brilliant bug weeping And his sad watch keeping, Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea. Then the green Palm tree, Wept over the noble flea. Said he, The flea is dead! And all his branches shed! The Shaggy Wolf he strayed, To rest in the Palm tree's shade He saw the branches broken, Of deepest grief the token, And said, Oh Palm tree green, What sorrow have you seen? What noble one is dead, That you your branches shed? He said, O Wolf so shaggy, Living in rocks so craggy, I saw the glossy raven, Looking forlorn and craven, Dropping down a feather, Like snow in winter weather. He saw the brilliant bug weeping And his sad watch keeping, Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea! Then the Wolf in despair Shed his shaggy hair. Then the River clear and shining, Saw the wolf in sorrow pining, Asked him why in sad despair, He had shed his shaggy hair? Said the Wolf, Oh River shining, I in sorrow deep am pining, For the Palm tree I have seen, Shedding all his branches green, And he saw the glossy raven, Looking so forlorn and craven, As he dropped a downy feather, Like the snow in winter weather. He saw the brilliant bug weeping, And his sad watch keeping, Alas, Alas, Ah me, Over the Noble Flea! Sadly then the shining River, Dried its waters up forever. Then the Shepherd with his sheep Asked the River once so deep, What great grief, oh shining river, Dried your waters up forever? Said the River once so shining, I in sorrow deep am pining, Since I saw the wolf's despair, When he shed his shaggy hair, For the Palm tree he had seen, Shedding all his branches green, And he saw the glossy raven, Looking so forlorn and craven, As he dropped a downy feather, Like the snow in winter weather, He saw the brilliant bug weeping, And his sad watch keeping. Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea! Then the Shepherd in sorrow deep, Tore the horns from all his sheep, Sadly bound them on his head, Since he heard the flea was dead. Then the Shepherd's mother dear, Asked him why in desert drear, He had torn in sorrow deep, All the horns from all his sheep, Sadly bound them on his head, Just as though a friend was dead? Said he, 'tis because the River, Dried his waters up forever, Since he saw the Wolf's despair, When he shed his shaggy hair. For the Palm tree he had seen, Shedding all his branches green, For he saw the glossy raven, Looking so forlorn and craven, As he dropped a downy feather, Like the snow in winter weather. He saw the brilliant bug weeping, And his sad watch keeping, Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea! Mother sad began to cry, Thrust her needle in her eye; Could no longer see her thread, Since she heard the flea was dead. Then the Father grave and bland, Hearing this, cut off his hand; And the daughter, when she hears, In despair, cuts off her ears; And through the town deep grief is spread, Because they heard the flea was dead.

THE NURSERY RHYMES OF THE ARABS.

Who is that singing in such a sweet plaintive voice in the room beneath our porch? It is the Sit Leila, wife of Sheikh Abbas, saying a lullaby to her little baby boy, Sheikh Fereed. We will sit on the porch in this bright moonlight, and listen while she sings:

Whoever loves you not, My little baby boy; May she be driven from her house, And never know a joy! May the "Ghuz" eat up her husband, And the mouse her oil destroy!

This is not very sweet language for a gentle lady to use to a little infant boy, but the Druze and Moslem women use this kind of imprecation in many of their nursery songs. Katrina says that many of the Greek and Maronite women sing them too. This young woman Laia, who sits here, has repeated for me not less than a hundred and twenty of these nursery rhymes, songs for weddings, funeral wails, etc. Some of the imprecations are dreadful.

They seem to think that the best way to show their love to their babies, is to hate those who do not love them.

Im Faris says she has heard this one in Hasbeiya, her birthplace:

O sleep to God, my child, my eyes, Your heart no ill shall know; Who loves you not as much as I, May God her house o'erthrow! May the mosque and the minaret, dome and all, On her wicked head in anger fall! May the Arabs rob her threshing floor, And not one kernel remain in her store.

The servant girl Nideh, who attends the Sit Leila, thinks that her turn has come, and she is singing,

We've the white and the red in our baby's cheeks, In pounds and tons to spare; But the black and the rust, And the mould and the must, For our neighbor's children are!

I hope she does not refer to us for we are her nearest neighbors. But in reality I do not suppose that they actually mean what they sing in these Ishmaelitic songs. Perhaps they do when they are angry, but they probably sing them ordinarily without thinking of their meaning at all.

Sometimes snakes come down from the ceilings of these earth-roofed houses, and terrify the people. At other times government horsemen come and drag them off to prison, as they did in Safita. These things are referred to in this next song which Nideh is singing:

If she love you not, my boy, May the Lord her life destroy! Seven mules tread her down, Drag her body through the town! Snakes that from the ceiling hang, Sting her dead with poison fang! Soldiers from Damascus city, Drag her off and shew no pity! Nor release her for a day, Though a thousand pounds she pay!

That is about enough of imprecations, and it will be pleasanter to listen to Katrina, for she will sing us some of the sweetest of the Syrian Nursery Songs.

Sleep, my moon, my baby sleep! The Pleiades bright their watches keep. The Libra shines so fair and clear, The stars are shining, hush my dear!

There is not much music in the tunes they sing to these words. The airs generally are plaintive and monotonous, and have a sad and weary sound.

Here is another:

My boy, my moon, I bid you good morrow! Who wishes you peace shall know no sorrow! Whom you salute, his earth is like heaven, His care relieved, his sin forgiven!

She says that last line is extravagant, and I think as much. The next one is a Moslem lullaby.

O Lord of the heavens, Knowing and Wise, Preserve my Ali, the light of my eyes! Lord of high heaven, Compassionate! Keep my dear boy in every state!

This one is used by the women of all the sects, but in all of the songs the name is changed to suit the name of the baby to whom the mother is singing,

Ali, your eyes are sleeping, But God's eyes never sleep: Their hours of lonely weeping None can forever keep. How sweet is the night of health, When Ali sleeps in peace! Oh may such nights continue, Nor ever, ever cease!

Among all the scores of nursery songs, I have heard only a very few addressed to girls, but some of these are beautiful. Hear Katrina sing this one:

Lulu dear the house is bright, With your forehead's sunny light; Men your father honor now When they see your lovely brow. If father comes home sad and weary, Sight of you will make him cheery.

The "fuller's soap" mentioned in Malachi 3:2, is the plant called in Arabic "Ashnan or Shenan," and the Arabs sometimes use it in the place of soap. The following is another song addressed to a baby girl:

Come Cameleer, as quick as you can, And make us soap from the green "Shenan," To bathe our Lulu dear; We'll wash her and dress her, And then we'll caress her, She'll sleep in her little sereer. (cradle)

This song is sung by the Druze women to their baby girls:

Your eye is jet black, and dark are its lashes, Between the arched brows, like a crescent it flashes; When painted with "kohl" 'tis brighter by far, Than the full-orbed moon or the morning star.

The following is supposed to be addressed by a Druze woman to her neighbor who has a daughter of marriageable age, when she is obliged to veil her face:

Hide your daughter, veil her face, Neighbor, do not tarry: For my Hanna is of age, Says he wants to marry. When I asked about his choice, Said he was not needy: But that if he ever wed, He thought he'd like Fereedy.

The next one is also Druze and purely Oriental:

Two healths, one health, Four healths more: Four sacks of sesame seed, Scattered on the floor; Pick and count them one by one. Reckon up their number; For every seed wish Hassan's health. Sweetly may he slumber!

The Druze women delight in nothing so much as to have their sons ride fine horses:

My Yusef, my cup of sherbet sweet, My broadcloth red hung over the street, When you ride the blood mare with sword and pistol, Your saddle is gold and your stirrups crystal.

Katrina says that this little song is the morning salutation to baby boys:

Good morning now to you, Little boy! Your face is like the dew, Little boy! There never was a child, so merry and so mild, So good morning once again, Little boy!

This song is sung by the Druze women to their babes:

O Sparrow of Paradise, Hush him to sleep? Your feathers are "henna." Watch him and keep! Bring sleep soft and sweet Upon your white wings! For Hassan the pet And his mother who sings!

The apples of Damascus are noted throughout Syria, though we should regard them as very poor fruit:

What's he like? If any ask us, Flowers and apples of Damascus; Apples fragrant on the tray, Roses sweet with scent of May.

Laia says that the next one is sung by the Druze women to their baby boys:

I love you, I prize you, and for you I wish, A hundred oak trees in the valley; A hundred blood mares all tied in the court, And ready for foray or sally. Mount your horse, fly away, with your scarf flowing free, The chiefs of the tribe will assemble; Damascus, Aleppo, and Ghutah beside, At the sound of your coming will tremble.

Nejmeh says that the Bedawin women who come to Safita, her native place, often sing the following song:

Come little Bedawy, sit on my lap, Pretty pearls shine in your little white cap, Rings are in your ears, Rings are in your nose, Rings upon your fingers, And "henna" on your toes.

They use the "henna" to dye their hands, feet and finger nails, when a wedding or festive occasion occurs in the family.

Katrina recalls another little song which she used to sing to Harry:

Welcome now, my baby dear, Whence did you come? Your voice is sweet, What little feet! Make yourself at home!

Nideh, the Druze girl down stairs is ready with another song. She is rocking little Sheikh Fereed in his cradle, and says:

In your cradle sleep my boy, Rest from all your labor; May El Hakim, heaven's God, Ever be your neighbor!

It makes me feel sad to hear a poor woman praying to a man. This El Hakim was a man, and a bad man too, who lived many hundred years ago, and now the Druzes regard him as their God. But what difference is there between worshipping Hakim as the Druzes do, and worshipping Mary and Joseph as the Greeks and Maronites do. Laia says the Maronites down in the lower part of this village sing the following song:

Hillu, Hillu, Hallelujah! Come my wild gazelles! He who into trouble falls On the Virgin Mother calls; To Damascus she's departing, All the mountain monks are starting. Come my priest and come my deacon, Bring the censer and the beacon, We will celebrate the Mass, In the Church of Mar Elias; Mar Elias, my neighbor dear, You must be deaf if you did not hear.

Sit Leila sings:

I love you my boy, and this is the proof, I wish that you had all the wealth of the "Shoof," Hundreds of costly silken bales, Hundreds of ships with lofty sails. Hundreds of towns to obey your word, And thousands of thousands to call you lord!

Katrina is ready to sing again:

I will sing to you, God will bring to you, All you need, my dear: He's here and there, He is everywhere, And to you He's ever near.

People say that every baby that is born into the world is thought by its mother to be better than any other ever born. The Arab women think so too, and this is the way they sing it:

One like you was never born, One like you was never brought; All the Arabs might grow old, Fighting ne'er so brave and bold, Yet with all their battles fought One like you they never caught.

Im Faris asks if we would not like to hear some of the rhymes the Arab women sing when playing with their children. Here are some of them. The first one you will think is like what you have already seen in "Mother Goose."

Blacksmith, blacksmith, shoe the mare, Shoe the colt with greatest care; Hold the shoe and drive the nail, Else your labor all will fail; Shoe a donkey for Seleem, And a colt for Ibraheem.

Sugar cane grows luxuriantly in Syria, and it was first taken from Tripoli, Syria, to Spain, and thence to the West Indies and America. But all they do with it now in Syria, is to suck it. It is cut up in pieces and sold to the people, old and young, who peel it and suck it. So the Arab women sing to their children:

Pluck it and suck it, the green sugar cane, Whatever is sweet is costly and vain; He'll cut you a joint as long as a span, And charge two piastres. Now buy if you can!

Wered says she will sing us two or three which they use in teaching the little Arab babies to "pat" their hands:

Patty cake, baby! Make him dance! May his age increase and his years advance! May his life like the rock, long years endure, Overgrown with lilies, so sweet and pure!

And now the Sit Leila is singing again one of the Druze lullabys:

Tish for two, Tish for two! A linen shirt with a border blue! With cloth that the little pedler sells, For the father of eyes like the little gazelles! Your mother will weave and spin and twine, To clothe you so nicely O little Hassein!

Do you hear the jackals crying as they come up out of the valley? Their cry is like the voice of the cat and dog mingled together, and Im Faris knows some of the ditties which they sing to their children about the jackals and their fondness for chickens:

You cunning rogues beware! You jackals with the long hair! You ate up the chickens of old Katrin, And ran away singing like wild Bedawin.

It is not pleasant to have so many fleas annoying us all the time, but we must not be more anxious to keep the fleas out than to get the people in, and as the fellaheen come to see us, they will be likely to flea us too. Safita is famous for fleas, so no wonder that Nejmeh knows the following song of the boys about fleas:

I caught and killed a hopping flea, His sister's children came to me: One with drum my ears did pierce, One was fluting loud and fierce, Then they danced me, made me sing, Like a monkey in a ring. Come O Deeby, come I pray, Bring the Doctor right away! Peace on your heart feel no alarm, You have not had the slightest harm.

Laia is never at a loss for something new, and I am amazed at her memory. She will give us some rhyming riddles in Arabic, and we will put them into English as best we may. The first is about the Ant:

'Tis black as night, But it is not night: Like a bird it has wings, But it never sings: It digs through the house, But it is not a mouse: It eats barley and grass, But it is not an ass.

Riddle about a gun:

A featherless bird flew over the sea, A bird without feathers, how can that be? A beautiful bird which I admire, With wooden feet and a head of fire!

Riddle on salt:

O Arab tribes, so bold and gay, What little grain have you to-day? It never on the trees is seen, Nor on the flowers and wheat so green. Its source is pure, 'tis pleasant to eat, From water it comes that is not sweet, Though from water it comes, and there's water in it, You put it in water, it dies in a minute.

The door has opened down stairs, and some of Sit Leila's friends have come to see her. The moment they saw the little baby Fereed, they all began to call out, "Ism Allah alayhee," "The name of Allah upon him." They use this expression to keep off the Evil Eye. This superstition is universal throughout Western Asia, Northern Africa, and exists also in Italy and Spain. Dr. Meshaka of Damascus says that those who believe in the Evil Eye, "think that certain people have the power of killing others by a glance of the eye. Others inflict injury by the eye. Others pick grapes by merely looking at them. This power may rest in one eye, and one man who thought he had this power, veiled one eye, out of compassion for others! The Moslem Sheikhs and others profess to cure the evil eye, and prevent its evil effects by writing mystic talismanic words on papers, which are to be worn. Others write the words on an egg, and then strike the forehead of the evil eyed with the egg."

Whenever a new house is built, the workmen hang up an egg shell or a piece of alum, or an old root, or a donkey's skull, in the front door, to keep off the evil eye. Moslem women leave their children ragged and dirty to keep people from admiring them, and thus smiting them with the evil eye. They think that blue eyes are especially dangerous.

They think that the name of God or Allah is a charm against evil, and when they repeat it, they have no idea of reverence for that Holy Name.

Here is a terrible imprecation against a woman who smites with the Evil Eye:

May her hand be thrust in her mouth, And her eyes be burned in the fire! The blessings of Mighty God, Preserve you from her ire!

Nideh sings

Upon you the name of Allah, Around you Allah's eye! May the Evil Eye be blinded, And never harm my boy!

It is ten o'clock at night, and Katrina, Laia, Wered, and Handumeh say it is time to go. Handumeh insists that we come to her wedding to-morrow. Amin will go with them to drive away the dogs, and see that no wolves, hyenas, or leopards attack them by the way.



PART VII.

The boys of Abeih are early risers. What a merry laugh they have! What new song is that they are singing now?

There has been a shower in the night and Yusef and Khalil are singing about the rain. We say in English "it rains" but the Arabs tell us what "it" refers to. They say "The world rains," "The world snows," "The world is coming down," "The world thunders and lightens." So you will be able to tell your teacher, when he asks you to parse "it rains," that "it" is a pronoun referring to "world." Hear them sing:

Rain, O world, all day and night, We will wash our clothing white. Rain, O world, your waters shed, On my dear grandmother's head.

The sun shines out now, and Khalil says the "world has got well" again, so he sings:

Shines the sun with brightest beam On the roof of Im Seleem; Now the bear will dance a reel, On the roof of Im Khaleel.

The roofs of the houses are low and flat, and on the hill-sides you can walk from the street above upon the roof of the houses below. I once lived in a house in Duma in which the cattle, donkeys, and sheep used to walk on our roof every evening as they came in from pasture. It was not very pleasant to be awakened at midnight by a cow-fight on the roof, and have the stones and dirt rattling down into our faces, but we could get no other house, and had to make the best of it. You can understand then Khalil's song:

The sun is rising all so bright Upon the Pasha's daughter: See her toss the tassels blue, As her mother taught her. Turn the oxen on the roof Of the village priest; He will kill them one and all, And give the poor a feast.

The boys seem to be in high glee. They all know Handumeh and her betrothed Shaheen Ma'ttar, so they are swinging and singing in honor of her wedding.

But the time has come for the wedding, and we will go over to Ain Kesur, about a mile away, and join in the bridal procession. As we come near the house we hear the women inside singing. They have been dressing the bride, and after she is dressed they lead her around and try to make her dance. Perhaps they will let us see how she is dressed. Her head is covered with a head-dress of pink gauze, embroidered with gold thread and purple chenille, and ornamented with pearl beads and artificial flowers, and over all a long white gauze veil trimmed with lace. Her ear-rings are gold filigree work with pendant pearls, and around her neck is a string of pure amber beads and a gold necklace. She wears a jacket of black velvet, and a gilt belt embroidered with blue, and fastened with a silver gilt filigree buckle in the form of a bow knot with pendants. On her finger is a gold ring set with sapphire, and others with turquoises and amethysts. Her dress is of brown satin, and on her arms are solid gold bracelets which cost 1400 piastres or fifty-six dollars. You know Handumeh is not a rich girl, and her betrothed is a hard working muleteer, and he has had to work very hard to get the money to buy all these things, for it is the custom for the bridegroom to pay for the bride's outfit. The people always lay out their money in jewelry because it is easily carried, and easily buried in time of civil wars and troubles in the land. Shaheen's brothers and relatives have come to take her to Abeih, but he is nowhere to be seen. It would not be proper for him to come to her house. For weeks she has not been over to Abeih, except to invite us to her wedding, and when Anna asked her on what day she was to be married, she professed not to know anything about it. They think it is not modest for a bride to care anything about the wedding, and she will try to appear unwilling to go when they are ready to start. The women are singing now:

Dance, our bride so fair, Dance and never care; Your bracelets sing, your anklets ring, Your shining beauty would dazzle a king! To Damascus your father a journey has made, And your bridegroom's name is Abu Zeid.

And now the young men outside are dancing and fencing, and they all join in singing:

Dance, my dancer, early and late, Would I had like you seven or eight; Two uncles like you, blithe and gay, To stand at my back in the judgment day!

And now the young men, relatives of the bridegroom, address the brother of the bride, as her father is not living, and they all sing:

O brother of the bride, on a charger you should ride; A Councillor of State you should be; Whene'er you lift your voice, The judgment halls rejoice, And the earth quakes with fear From Acre to Ghuzeer.

And now the warlike Druzes, who are old friends of Shaheen and his father, wish to show their good will by singing a wedding song, which they have borrowed from the old wild inhabitants of this land of Canaan:

O brother of the bride, your mare has gnawed her bridle, Run for the blacksmith, do not be idle. She has run to the grave where are buried your foes, And pawed out their hearts with her iron shoes!

But the time has come for the procession to move, and we go along slowly enough. The bride rides a mare, led by one of Shaheen's brothers, and as we pass the fountain, the people pour water under the mare's feet as a libation, and Handumeh throws down a few little copper coins to the children. The women in the company set up the zilagheet, a high piercing trill of the voice, and all goes merry as a marriage bell. When we reach the house of Shaheen, he keeps out of sight, not even offering to help his bride dismount from her horse. That would never do. He will stay among the men, and she in a separate room among the women, until the hour of the ceremony arrives.

But the women are singing again, and this time the song is really beautiful in Arabic, but I fear I have made lame work of it in the translation:

Allah, belaly, belaly, Allah, belaly, belaly, May God spare the life of your sire, Our lovely gazelle of the valley! May Allah his riches increase He has brought you so costly a dowry; The moonlight has gone from his house, The rose from his gardens so flow'ry. Run away, rude men, turn aside, Give place to our beautiful bride: From her sweet perfumes I am sighing, From the odor of musk I am dying. Come and join us fair maid, they have brought you your dress, Leave your peacocks and doves, give our bride a caress; Red silk! crimson silk! the weaver cries as he goes: But our bride's cheeks are redder blushing bright as the rose. Dark silk! black silk! hear him now as he sings: But our bride's hair is black, like the raven's dark wings; With the light of our eyes with our Handumeh sweet No maid of the Druzes can ever compete. She is worth all the wealth of the Lebanon domain, All the vineyards and olives, the silk worms and grain. And no maids of the Christians can with her compare Tho' shining with pearls and with jewels so rare.

The house is now crowded full, the men being all in one room with Shaheen, and the women in the other room, and the court with the bride Handumeh. One of Shaheen's brothers comes around with a kumkum, and sprinkles orange flower water in all our faces, and Khalil asks us if we wish the ceremony to take place now? We tell him that he must ask the bride and groom. So Abu Shaheen comes into the court with the old priest Eklemandus, as Shaheen's family belong to the Greek Catholic sect. Handumeh is really a Protestant, and Shaheen has nothing to do with the priests, but the "old folks" had their way about it. A white curtain hangs across the court, and the bride stands on one side, with her bridesmaid, and all the women and girls, and on the other side is the priest with Shaheen, and all of the men and boys. Then candles were distributed, and lighted, and the old priest adjusted his robes and began to read the marriage service. An assistant stood by his side looking over his shoulder, and responding Amen in a loud and long drawn voice. At length the priest called out to him, "A little shorter there on those Amens. We don't want long Amens at a wedding!" This set the whole crowd laughing, and on he went reading passages of Scripture, prayers and advice to the bride and bridegroom in the most hasty and trifling manner, intoning it through his nose, so that no one could understand what he was saying. While he was reading from the gospel about the marriage at Cana of Galilee, a small boy, holding a lighted candle, came very near burning off the old man's beard, and he called out to him, "Put out your candle! You have tormented my life out of me with that candle." This raised another laugh, and on he read. Then he took two rings, and drawing aside the curtain, placed one on the bride's head, and the other on the bridegroom's head, pronouncing them man and wife, and then gave them each a sip of wine and the ceremony was concluded, all the men kissing Shaheen, and the women Handumeh. Refreshments were then served to the guests from the village, and a dinner to those from other villages. In the evening there assembled a great company in Shaheen's house, and the hour was given up to story telling. Saleh, whose brother married Shaheen's sister, will begin with the Story of the Goats and the Ghoul.

Once there was a Nanny Goat, strong and powerful, with long and strong horns, and once upon a time she brought forth twin kids, fair and beautiful. One was named Sunaisil, and the other Rabab. Now the Nanny Goat went out every morning to the pasture, leaving her twin kids in the cave. She shut the door carefully, and they locked it on the inside through fear of the Ghoul, for her neighbor in the next house was a Ghoul who swallowed little children alive. Then at evening when she came home, she would stand outside the door, and sing to her twin kids this little song:

Hearken now Sunaisil, Come Rabab my dear: Open to your mother, Never, never fear. She has sweet milk in her udder. Tufts of grass upon her horn; She'll give you both your supper, And breakfast in the morn.

The little twin kids would know her voice, open the door in gladness, and eat a hearty supper, and after hearing a nice story from the Anziyeh, (for so their mother was called), drop off to sweet sleep.

Now all things went on well for some time, until one day the Ghoul neighbor being very hungry for a supper of twin kids, came to the door of the cave and tried to push it open. But it was too strong for her, so she went away in perplexity. At length she thought she would sing to them the very song, which the Nanny Goat sang to them every evening on her return, so she sang it:

Hearken now Sunaisil, Come Rabab, my dear, etc., etc.

and when they heard this song, they opened the door with gladness to eat their supper, when suddenly the Ghoul sprang upon them with her huge mouth open, and swallowed them both down at once. She then shut the door and fastened it as it was before, and went on her way. At evening the Nanny Goat came home with milk and grass for her twin kids' supper, and knocked at the door and sang:

Hearken now Sunaisil, Come Rabab my dear, etc., etc.,

as usual, but no one opened the door. Then she knocked and sang again, and at length she gave up all hope of their opening the door, and butted against the door with her horns and broke it open. She then entered the cave but there were no twin kids there. All was still. Then she knew that the Ghoul had eaten them. So she hastened to the house of the Ghoul, and went upon the top of the house, and began to stamp and pound upon the roof. The Ghoul, hearing the stamping upon the roof, called out, whosoever stamps on my roof, may Allah stamp on his roof! The Nanny Goat replied, I am on your roof; I, whose children you have eaten. Come out now, and we will fight it out by butting our heads together. Very well, said the Ghoul, only wait a little until I can make me a pair of horns like you. So the goat waited, and away went the Ghoul to make her horns. She made two horns of dough and dried them in the sun until they were hard, and then came to "butt" with the goat. At the first shock, when the goat butted her with her horns, the horns of dough broke all to pieces; then the goat butted her again in her bowels and broke her in twain, and out jumped Sunaisil and Rabab, frisking and leaping and calling out "ya imme," oh, my mother, Oh, my mother! The Ghoul being dead they had no more fear, and lived long and happy lives with their mother the Anaziyeh.

* * * * *

Did you notice how the little boys listened to Saleh's story of the Goats and the Ghoul? This story is told by the mothers to their little children, all over Syria, in the tents of the Bedawin and in the houses of the citizens. One of the women, named Noor, (i.e. Light), a sister of the bridegroom, says she will tell the children the story of the Hamam, the Butta, the Wez, and the Hamar, that is, of the Dove, the Duck, the Goose, and the Donkey, if all will sit still on the floor. So all the little boys and girls curl their feet under them and fold their arms, and Noor begins:

Once the Dove, the Duck, the Goose, and the Donkey joined company and agreed to live together. Then they took counsel about their means of living, and said, how long shall we continue in such distress for our necessary food? Come let us plough a piece of ground, and plant each one such seeds as are suited to his taste. So they ploughed a piece of ground and sowed the seed. The Goose planted rice, the Duck planted wheat, the Dove planted pulse, and the Donkey planted barley, and they stationed the Donkey on guard to watch the growing crop. Now when the seeds began to grow and flourish, and the Donkey looked upon it green and bright and waving in the wind, he arose and ate it all, and then went and threw himself into a ditch near by. Then came the Dove, the Goose, and the Duck to survey the growing crop, and lo and behold, it was all eaten up, and the ground was red and barren. Then said they, where is the Donkey whom we set on guard over our crop? They searched near and far, and at length they found him standing in the ditch, and they asked him where are the crops we so carefully planted and set you to watch? Then said the Donkey, the Bedawin came with their flocks of sheep and pastured them on our crops, and when I tried to resist, they threw me into this ditch. Then they replied, it is false, you have eaten it yourself. He said, I did not. They said, yes, you did, for you are sleek and fat, and the contest waxed hot between them, until at length they all agreed to make each one swear an oath "by the life of the Lake," which was near at hand, and whoever swore the oath, and sprang into the Lake without falling, should be declared innocent. So the Dove went down first and said:

Ham, Ham, Ham, I am the Dove Hamam, Ham, Ham, Ham, My food is the plain Kotan, (pulse), Ham, Ham, Ham, If I ate the growing crop, May I suddenly throw it up! May Allah tumble me into the Lake, And none any news of me ever take!

Then the Dove leaped into the Lake, and flew to the limb of a tree on the shore, and was proved innocent.

Then the Duck went down and said:

But But, But, I am the Butta Duck, But, But, But, My food is wheat and muck; But, But, But, If I ate the growing crop, May I suddenly throw it up! May Allah tumble me into the Lake, And none any news of me ever take!

So the Duck leaped into the Lake, and then flew to the limb of a tree on the shore and was proved innocent.

Then the Goose went down and said:

Wez, Wez, Wez, I am the Goose and the Wez, Wez, Wez, Wez, I eat Egyptian riz, (rice), Wez, Wez, Wez, If I ate the growing crop, May I suddenly throw it up! May Allah tumble me into the Lake, And none any news of me ever take!

So the Goose leaped into the Lake and then flew to the limb of a tree on the shore and was proved innocent.

Then the Donkey went down and said:

Hak, Hak, Hak, I am the Donkey Jack, Hak, Hak, Hak, I barley eat by the sack: Hak, Hak, Hak, If I ate the growing crop, May I suddenly throw it up! May Allah tumble me into the Lake, And none any news of me ever take!

Then the Donkey leaped boldly into the Lake, and down he fell, and his feet stuck fast in the mud and mire. Then his three companions, seeing him proved guilty of the crime, flew away and left him to his fate. Then the Donkey began to "bray" for mercy, and called at the top of his voice:

Whoever will help me out of this plight, May eat my tail at a single bite! The Bear heard the braying, And without long delaying, He answered by saying: Long eared Donkey will you pay, Every word of what you say? If I save you by my might, Will you stand still while I bite? The lying Ass lay still, And answered, "Yes, I will." The Bear then gave a fearful roar, And dragged the Donkey to the shore, And said, I saved you from your plight, Now stand still, Donkey, while I bite! He said: Wait Bruin till I rest, And "smell the air" from East to West, And then I'll run with all my might, And turn my tail for you to bite! Then Bruin took him at his word Away he went swift as a bird, And called out, now Bruin, I will rest, I'll smell the air from East to West, I'm running now with all my might, I've "turned my tail" for you to bite! The Bear resolved in grief and pain, He'd never help an Ass again.

Abu Habeeb, who is just about to enter the college, has a story which all the Arabs know, and love to hear. It is called:

The Lion and Ibn Adam, that is, the Lion and Man, the son of Adam.

Once there was a Lion who had a son, and he always charged him, saying, my son, beware of Ibn Adam. But at length the old Lion died, and the young lion resolved that he would search through the world and see that wonderful animal called Ibn Adam, of whom his father had so often warned him. So out he went from his cave, and walked to and fro in the wilderness. At length he saw a huge animal coming towards him, with long crooked legs and neck, and running at the top of his speed. It was a Camel. But when the Lion saw his enormous size and rapid pace, he said, surely, this must be Ibn Adam himself. So he ran towards him and roared a fearful roar. Stop where you are! The Camel stopped, trembling with fear of the Lion. Said the Lion, are you Ibn Adam? No, said the Camel, I am a Camel fleeing from Ibn Adam. Said the Lion, and what did Ibn Adam do to you that you should flee from him? The Camel said, he loaded me with heavy burdens, and beat me cruelly, and when I found a fit chance, I fled from him to this wilderness. Said the Lion, is Ibn Adam stronger than you are? Yes indeed, many times stronger. Then the Lion was filled with terror, lest he too should fall into the hands of Ibn Adam, and he left the Camel to go his way in peace. After a little while, an Ox passed by, and the Lion said, this must be Ibn Adam. But he found that he too was fleeing from the yoke and the goad of Ibn Adam. Then he met a Horse running fleet as the wind, and he said, this swift animal must be the famous Ibn Adam, but the Horse too was running away from the halter, the bridle the spur or the harness of the terrible Ibn Adam. Then he met a mule, a donkey, a buffalo and an elephant, and all were running in terror of Ibn Adam. The Lion thought what terrible monster must he be to have struck terror into all these monstrous animals! And on he went trembling, until hunger drove him to a forest to seek for prey to eat. While he was searching through the forest, lo and behold, a Carpenter was at work cutting wood. The Lion wondered at his curious form, and said, who knows but this may be Ibn Adam? So he came near and asked him saying, Are you Ibn Adam? He replied, I am. Then the Lion roared a fearful roar, and said, prepare for battle with the Lion, the king of beasts! Then Ibn Adam said: What do you want of me? Said the Lion, I want to devour you. Very well, said the Carpenter, wait until I can get my claws ready. I will go and take this wood yonder, and then I will return and fight you. If you kill me, eat me, and if I conquer you I will let you go, for we the sons of Adam do not eat the flesh of wild beasts, nor do we kill them, but we let them go. The Lion was deceived by those artful words, for he had seen the Camel and his companions running away, and he thought within himself, now, if Ibn Adam did really eat the flesh of beasts, he would not have let the Camel and the Horse, the Buffalo and the Mule escape into the desert. So he said to the Carpenter very well, I will wait for you to take the wood, and return with your claws. Not so, said the Carpenter, I am afraid that you will not wait for me. You are a stranger, and I do not trust your word. I fear you will run away before I return. Said the Lion, it is impossible that the Lion should run away from any one. Said the Carpenter, I cannot admit what you say, unless you will grant me one thing. And what is that, said the Lion. The Carpenter said, I have here a little rope. Come let me tie you to this tree until I return, and then I shall know where to find you. The Lion agreed to this plan, and the Carpenter bound him with ropes to the tree until he and the tree were one compact bundle. Then the Carpenter went away to his shop, and brought his glue pot, and filling it with glue and pitch boiled it over the fire. Then he returned and besmeared the Lion with the boiling mixture from his head to the end of his tail, and applied a torch until he was all in a flame from head to tail, and in this plight the Carpenter left him. Then the Lion roared in agony until the whole forest echoed the savage roar, and all the animals and wild beasts came running together to see what had happened. And when they saw him in this sad plight, they rushed to him and loosed his bonds, and he sprang to the river and extinguished the flames, but came out singed and scarred, with neither hair nor mane. Now when all the beasts saw this pitiable sight, they made a covenant together to kill Ibn Adam. So they watched and waited day and night, until at length they found him in the forest. As soon as he saw them, he ran to a lofty tree, and climbed to its very top, taking only his adze with him, and there awaited his fate. The whole company of beasts now gathered around the foot of the tree, and tried in vain to climb it, and after they walked around and around, at length they agreed that one should stand at the foot of the tree, and another on his back, and so on, until the upper one should reach Ibn Adam, and throw him down to the ground. Now the Lion whose back was burned and blistered, from his great fear of man demanded that he should stand at the bottom of the tree. To this all agreed. Then the Camel mounted upon the Lion's back, the Horse upon the Camel, the Buffalo upon the Horse, the Bear upon the Buffalo, the Wolf upon the bear, and the Donkey upon the Wolf, and so on in order, until the topmost animal was almost within reach of the Carpenter, Ibn Adam. Now, when he saw the animals coming nearer and nearer, and almost ready to seize him, he shouted at the top of his voice. Bring the glue pot of boiling pitch to the Lion! Hasten! Hasten! Now when the Lion heard of the boiling pitch, he was terrified beyond measure and leaped one side with all his might and fled. Down came the pile of beasts, tumbling in confusion, the one upon the other, and all lay groaning bruised and bleeding, some with broken legs, some with broken ribs, and some with broken heads. But as soon as the clamor of their first agony was over, they all called out to the Lion, why did you leap out and bring all this misery upon us! The Lion replied:

The story's point he never knew, Who never felt the burning glue!

Monsoor, who has just been to Damascus, says that if he can have another pipe, and a cup of Arab coffee, he will tell the story of the famous Jew Rufaiel of Damascus. So he begins:

The story of Rufaiel, the rich Jew of Damascus, and the Moslem Dervish.

Once there lived in Damascus a rich Jew named Rufaiel. He had great wealth in marble palaces and rich silk robes, and well stored bazaars, and his wife and daughters were clad in velvets and satins, in gold and precious stones. He had also great wit and cunning, and often helped his fellow Jews out of their troubles. Now the Pasha of Damascus was a Mohammedan, who had a superstitious fear of the holy Moslem Dervishes, and they could persuade him to tax and oppress the Jews in the most cruel manner. In those days there came to Damascus a holy Dervish who had long, uncombed black hair, and although he was a vile and wicked man, he made the people believe that he was a holy saint, and could perform wonderful miracles. The Pasha held him in great reverence, and invited him often to dinner, and when he came in, he would stoop and kiss the Dervish's feet! And what was most wonderful of all, the Dervish left Damascus every Thursday night after bidding the Pasha farewell, and journeyed to Mecca and returned in the morning and told the Pasha all the Mecca news and what he had seen and heard. This he did every week, though all wise men laughed at him, and said he only went out of the City Gate and slept in the gardens of Damascus!

Now the Dervish was a great enemy of the Jews. He hated them, cursed them, spat upon them, and called them infidel dogs, and he persuaded the Pasha to increase their taxes fourfold. Their sufferings now became very great. They had to sell their houses and furniture to pay the heavy taxes, and many were beaten and thrust into prison. So the leading Jews in their distress came to Rufaiel, and begged him to go to the Pasha and obtain relief for them and their families. He said he would think about the matter. So after they had gone, he called the chief jeweller and pipe maker of the city, and ordered them to make a long pipe of exquisite workmanship, with a stem of rosewood carved and inlaid with pearls, a bowl of pure gold set with diamonds, and a mouth-piece of gold and amber. Then he went one day to call on the Pasha, and made him a present of this elegant pipe, the like of which had never been seen in Damascus. The Pasha was greatly pleased and ordered all in his presence to retire that he might enjoy the society of Rufaiel, the munificent Jew. Then Rufaiel turned to the Pasha and said, "may your Excellency live forever! I have brought you this pipe as a faint token of my high esteem and affection, but I am filled with deepest sorrow that it is not perfect." "Not perfect?" said the Pasha. "In what respect could it be more perfect than what it is?" Said Rufaiel, "you will notice that between the amber and the gold of the mouth-piece a little ring is wanting. This ring was the very gem and excellence of the pipe. It was cut from the Black Stone of the Kaaba in Mecca, and has miraculous properties. But when the pipe was brought from Mecca, the ring was left with Mustafa, the jeweller, who is ready to send it by the first fit opportunity." "Alas," said the Pasha, "but how can we send for it now? The Pilgrim caravan has gone, and there will be none again for a year." "Oh," said Rufaiel, "this is easily arranged. To-day is Thursday, and to-night the holy Dervish will go to Mecca and return to-morrow morning. Your Excellency need only command him to bring the black ring, and before this time to-morrow the pipe will be complete in its beauty and excellency." "El Hamdu Lillah! Praise to Allah! It shall be done!" So when Rufaiel had gone, the Pasha summoned the Dervish, and told him of this wonderful pipe which had come to him from Mecca, and that it only needed the black ring to make it absolutely perfect, and that he was hereby commanded on pain of death to bring the ring from Mecca before Friday at the hour of noon prayer. The Dervish bowed most obeisantly and retired black in the face with rage and despair. But it occurred to him at once that none in Damascus but Rufaiel could have purchased such a pipe. So he left the City Gate, called the Bab Allah, or Gate of God, at sunset, bidding his friends farewell, and walked away in the gardens until night came on. Then, at the sixth hour of the night he returned by another gate, and crept along to the door of the mansion of Rufaiel. The door was opened, and Rufaiel received him with great politeness. The Dervish fell on the floor and kissed his feet and begged for his life. Said he, "give me that black ring which belongs to the Pasha's pipe, and we will be friends forever! Ask what you will and it shall be done to you. Only give me this ring." Said Rufaiel, "you have ruined my people with oppression, and now do you ask a favor?" "Yes," said the Dervish, "and you shall have any favor you ask." So Rufaiel thought to himself a moment, and then said, "I ask one thing. Do you obtain from the Pasha an order on all the tax collectors of Damascus, that when any Jew shall say, I am one of the Seventy, the collector shall pass him by, and no tax ever be demanded of him." "Done," said the Dervish, and embracing Rufaiel, he bade him good-night. Then in the morning he hastened in at Bab Allah, and presented the ring to the Pasha, who was so delighted that he granted his request, and orders were given that no tax should ever be collected from any Jew who should say "I am one of the Seventy." Then Rufaiel assembled all the Jews of Damascus, and bade them say to the tax-gatherers whenever they came, "I am one of the Seventy." So the Jews had rest from taxation, all the days of Rufaiel.

Saleh Bu Nusr, one of the best men in Mount Lebanon, and the father of Khalil, who brought us the list of Arab boys' games, has already told us the story of the Goats and the Ghoul, and he says that the savory odor of the egg plant being cooked for the wedding guests, reminds him of the story of the Badinjan or Egg Plant.

Once there was a great Emir or Prince who had a very abject and obsequious servant named Deeb (Wolf). One day Deeb brought to the Emir for his dinner a dish of stewed badinjan, which pleased the Emir so much that he complimented Deeb, and told him that it was the best dinner he had eaten for months. Deeb bowed to the earth and kissed the feet of the Emir, and said, "may God prolong the life of your excellency! Your excellency knows what is good. There is nothing like the badinjan. It is the best of vegetables. Its fruit is good, its leaf is good, its stalk is good, and its root is good. It is good roasted, stewed, boiled, fried, and even raw. It is good for old and young. Your excellency, there is nothing like the badinjan." Now the Emir was unusually hungry, and ate so bountifully of the badinjan that he was made very ill. So he sent for Deeb, and rebuked him sharply, saying, "you rascal, you Deeb, your name is Wolf, and you are rightly named. This badinjan which you praised so highly has almost killed me." "Exactly so," said Deeb, "may your excellency live forever! The badinjan is the vilest of plants. It is never eaten without injury. Its fruit is injurious, its leaf is injurious, its stalk is noxious, and its root is the vilest of all. It is not fit 'ajell shanak Allah,' for the pigs to eat, whether raw, roasted, stewed, boiled or fried. It is injurious to the young and dangerous to the old. Your excellency, there is nothing so bad as the badinjan! Never touch the badinjan!"—"Out with you, you worthless fellow, you Deeb! What do you mean by praising the badinjan when I praise it, and abusing it when it injures me?" "Ah, your excellency," said Deeb, "am I the servant of the badinjan, or the servant of your excellency? I must say what pleases you, but it makes no difference whether I please the badinjan or not."

The wedding party is now over, and the guests are departing. Each one on leaving says, "by your pleasure, good evening!" The host answers, "go in peace, you have honored us." The guests reply, "we have been honored, Allah give the newly married ones an arees," (a bridegroom). They would not dare wish that Shaheen and Handumeh might some day have a little baby girl. That would be thought an insult.

We will walk up the hill to our mountain home, passing the fountain and the great walnut trees. Here comes a horseman. It is Ali, who has been spending a month among the Bedawin Arabs. He will come up and stay with us, and tell us of his adventures. He says that the Sit Harba, the wife of the great Arab Sheikh ed Dukhy, taught him a number of the Bedawin Nursery Songs, and although he is weary with his journey, he will repeat some of them in Arabic.

They are all about camels and spears and fighting and similar subjects, and no wonder, as they see nothing else, and think of nothing else.

To-morrow is the feast day, We've no "henna" on our hands; Our camels went to bring it, From far off distant lands; We'll rise by night and listen, The camel bells will ring; And say a thousand welcomes To those who "henna" bring.

And here is a song which shows that the Bedawin have the same habit of cursing their enemies, which we noticed in the Druze lullabys:

On the rose and sweetest myrtle, May you sleep, my eyes, my boy; But may sharpest thorns and briars, All your enemies destroy!

Ali says that one of the most mournful songs he heard in the desert was the following:

I am like a wounded camel, I grind my teeth in pain; My load is great and heavy, I am tottering again. My back is torn and bleeding, My wound is past relief, And what is harder still to bear, None other knows my grief!

The next is a song which the people sung in the villages on the borders of the desert. By "the sea" they mean the Sea of Galilee:

My companions three, Were fishing by the sea; The Arabs captured one, The Koords took his brother, In one land was I, My friends were in another.

I was left to moan, In sorrow deep and sad, Like a camel all alone, Departing to Baghdad; My soul I beg you tell me whether, Once parted friends e'er met together?

The Bedawin have as low an idea of girls as the Bedawin in the cities, and are very glad when a boy is born. Sometimes when the Abeih girls are playing together, you will hear a little girl call out, "it is very small indeed. Why it is a little wee thing, as small as was the rejoicing the day I was born!" But hear what the Bedawin women sing when a boy is born:

Mashallah, a boy, a boy! May Allah's eye defend him! May she who sees and says not the Name, Be smitten with blindness and die in shame!

How would you like to live among the Bedawin, and have a dusky Arab woman, clad in coarse garments, covered with vermin and odorous of garlic and oil, to sing you to sleep on a mat on the ground?

Hasten my cameleer, where are you going? It is eventide, and the camels are lowing: My house in a bundle I bear on my back, Whenever night comes, I my bundle unpack.

The next is a song of the pastoral Arabs:

Hasten my guide and lead us away, For we have fought and lost the day; To the well we went all thirsty and worn, The well was dry! and we slept forlorn.

The Bedawin came in battle array, Attacked us all famished at break of day And took all our camels and tents away!

Death enters the Bedawin tents as well as the palaces of kings and the comfortable homes of the people in Christian lands. But what desolation it leaves behind in those dark sorrowing hearts, who know nothing of the love of Jesus and the consolations of the gospel. This is a funeral song the poor Bedawin women sing over the death of a child:

Oh hasten my camel, begone, begone, Oh haste where your loved ones stay: There weep and lament. There my "spirit" is gone, Is gone to a night without day: Oh Star of the Morning, thou Star of the day, And Star of the Evening, both hasten away, And bring me a balm for my wounded heart, For I from my child, my "spirit" must part.

Soon may the "day dawn, and the day star arise" in their dark hearts, and Jesus the "Bright and Morning Star" be their portion forever!

The next song is about the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Thousands of Greeks, Armenians and Catholics go to Jerusalem every year to visit the "Holy Places," and get a certificate of the pardon of all their sins. The Greek Patriarch performs a lying imposture called the Holy Fire every year at Greek Easter, by lighting a candle with a match inside a dark room, and declaring that it is miraculously lighted by fire which comes forth from the tomb of Christ! So the poor Greek woman sings to her child:

Oh take me on a pilgrimage, Jerusalem to see: The Tomb of Christ and Holy fire, And Hill of Calvary: And then I'll to the Convent go, Ask pardon for my sin: And say, my Lady, now forgive, And comfort me again.

The next is really beautiful, and is good enough for any mother to sing to her child. It is a morning song:

Praise to Him who brings the light, And keeps the birds in darkest night. God is merciful to all, Rise ye men and on Him call! Allah praise in every lot, He keeps you and you know it not.

And this one too, about the little worms, is curious enough:

Praise to Him who feeds the worms, In the silent vale! Provides their portion every day, Protects them in the dangerous way. No doubt they praise Him too, and pray, In the silent vale!

When our good friend Yusef, whom we saw in Safita, asked the Nusairiyeh women to repeat to him their nursery rhymes, they denied that they had any. They were afraid to recite them, lest he write them down and use them as a magic spell or charm against them. When a child is born among them, no one is allowed to take a coal or spark of fire from the house for a week, lest the child be injured. They always hang a little coin around the child's neck to keep off eruptions and diseases from its body.

You must be weary by this time, after Handumeh's wedding and the story telling and the Bedawin songs. Let us retire to rest for the night, thankful for the precious Bible, and the knowledge of Jesus Christ. You are safe indeed in the hands of God, and need not fear the Ghoul nor the Bah'oo. Good night.

Such is life. Yesterday a wedding, and to-day a funeral. Do you hear that terrific wail, those shrieks and bitter cries of anguish? Young Sheikh Milham has died. The Druze and Christian women are gathered in the house, and wailing together in the most piteous manner. It is dreadful to think what sufferings the poor women must endure. They do everything possible to excite one another. They not only call out, "Milham, my pride, my bridegroom, star of my life, you have set, my flower, you have faded," but they remind each other of all the deaths that have occurred in their various families for years, and thus open old wounds of sorrow which time had healed. Yet they have regular funeral songs, and we will listen while they sing in a mournful strain:

Milham Beg my warrior, Your spear is burnished gold; Your costly robes and trappings, Will in the street be sold. "Where is the Beg who bore me?" I hear the armor crying— Where is the lord who wore me? I hear the garments sighing.

Now Im Hassein from Ainab bursts out in a loud song, addressing the dead body, around which they are all seated on the ground:

Rise up my lord, gird on your sword, Of heavy Baalbec steel; Why leave it hanging on the nail? Let foes its temper feel! Would that the Pasha's son had died, Not our Barmakeh's son and pride!

Then Lemis answers in another song in which they all join:

Ten thousands are thronging together, The Beg has a feast to-day; We thought he had gone on a visit, But alas, he has gone to stay.

Then they all scream, and tear their hair and beat their breasts. Alas, they have no light beyond the grave. Who could expect them to do otherwise? The Apostle Paul urges the Christians "not to sorrow even as others which have no hope!" This is sorrow without hope. The grave is all dark to them. How we should thank our Saviour for having cast light on the darkness of the tomb, and given us great consolation in our sorrows! Here comes a procession of women from Kefr Metta. Hear them chanting:

I saw the mourners thronging round, I saw the beds thrown on the ground; The marble columns leaning, The wooden beams careening, My lord and Sheikh with flowing tears, I asked what was its meaning? He sadly beckoned me aside, And said, To-day my son has died!

Then an old woman, a widow, who has been reminded of the death of her husband, calls out to him:

Oh, Sheikh, have you gone to the land? Then give my salams to my boy, He has gone on a long, long journey, And took neither clothing nor toy. Ah, what will he wear on the feast days, When the people their festal enjoy?

Now one of the women addresses the corpse:

Lord of the wide domain, All praise of you is true. The women of your hareem, Are dressed in mourning blue.

Then one sings the mother's wail:

My tears are consuming my heart, How can I from him bear to part. Oh raven of death, tell me why, You betrayed me and left him to die? Oh raven of death begone! You falsely betrayed my son! Oh Milham, I beg you to tell, Why you've gone to the valley to dwell? From far, far away I have come, Who will come now to take me back home?

Then rises such a wail as you never heard before. A hundred women all screaming together and then men are coming to take it away. The women hug and kiss the corpse, and try to pull it back, while the men drive them off, and carry it out to the bier. Some of the women faint away, and a piercing shriek arises. Then you hear the mother's wail again.

Then one sings the call of the dead man for help:

Oh ransom me, buy me, my friends to-day, 'Tis a costly ransom you'll have to pay, Oh ransom me, father, whate'er they demand, Though they take all your money and houses and land.

And another sings his address to the grave-diggers:

Oh cease, grave-diggers, my feelings you shock, I forbade you to dig, you have dug to the rock; I bade you dig little, you have dug so deep! When his father's not here, will you lay him to sleep?

Then a poor woman who has lately buried a young daughter begins to sing:

Oh bride! on the roofs of heaven, Come now and look over the wall: Oh let your sad mother but see you, Oh let her not vainly call! Hasten, her heart is breaking, Let her your smile behold; The mother is sadly weeping, The maiden is still and cold.

The Druzes believe that millions of Druzes live in China and that China is a kind of heaven. So another woman sings:

Yullah, now my lady, happy is your state! Happy China's people, when you reached the gate! Lady, you are passing, To the palace bright, All the stars surpassing, On the brow of night!

And now the body is taken to be buried, and the women return to the house, where the wailing is kept up for days and weeks. They have many other funeral songs, of which I will give two in conclusion:

Ye Druzes, gird on your swords, A great one is dead to-day; The Arabs came down upon us, They thought us in battle array, But they wept when they found us mourning, For our leader has gone away!

The next is the lament of the mother over her dead son:

The sun is set, the tents are rolled, Happy the mother whose lambs are in fold; But one who death's dark sorrow knew, Let her go to the Nile of indigo blue, And dye her robes a mourning hue!

And now, my dear boy, our Syrian journey is ended. You have seen and heard many strange things. Whatever is good among the Arabs, try to imitate; whatever is evil, avoid. Perhaps you will write to me some day, and tell me what you think of Syria and the Syrians. Many little boys and girls will read this long letter, but it is your letter, and I have written it for your instruction and amusement.

May the good Shepherd, who gave His life for the sheep, lead you beside the still waters of life, and at last when He shall appear, may He give you a crown of glory which fadeth not away!

THE END



INDEX.

Arabs of the Jahiliyeh, 1

Arabs of Kinaneh, 2

Arabic Proverbs, 3

Araman, Michaiel, 19, 99

Asin Haddad, 101

Abu Selim, 138, 260

Abu Mishrik, 148

Aleppo, 151

Asur el Jedid, 168

American Seminary Abeih, 169

Anazy, 182

Arthington, Mr., 181, 184

Ali, 184, 359

Amount of Instruction, 57, 78, 81, 316

Abdullah Yanni, 220

Aintab, 88

Abu Asaad, 274, 276, 283

Abu Isbir, 281

Arab Camp, 295

Abdullamites, 298

Arkites, 262

Abu Hanna, 263

Asaad Mishrik, 233

Burying Alive, 1

Birth of Daughter, 28, 236

B'hamdun, 93, 121

Bliss, Mrs. Dr., 104

Booth, Wm. A., 105, 106

Bird, Rev., 47, 48, 50, 58, 115

Bistany, Mr., 126, 134, 158, 200

Bedr, Rev. Yusef, 148

Belinda, 149

Bedawin Arabs, 180

British Syrian Schools, 84

Beattie, Rev., 41

Bird, Mrs., 50

Beit Beshoor, 274

Bells, 304

Bedawin Songs, 360

Carabet Melita, 62, 65, 67, 153

Cheney, Miss, 74, 81, 97

Carruth, Miss, 104

Calhoun, Mrs., 79, 114, 197

Crawford, Mrs., 204

Church of Scotland Schools for Jewish Girls, 214

Carabet, Bishop Dionysius, 49

Convent of the Sacred Fish, 296

Camels, 245

Divorce, 14, 17, 29, 37

Druze, 20

Dodds, Dr., 39

De Forrest, Dr., 23, 33, 73, 75, 134, 298

Dales, Miss, 204

Department of Women's Work, 219

Dodge, Dr., 50

Dodge, Mrs., 50, 52, 53

Dog River, 312

El Khunsa, the poetess, 4

Education of Girls, 18, 19

Everett, Miss, 103

Early Age of Marriage, 117

Eddy, Mr., 151

El Hakem, 331, 22

Evil Eye, 336

Female Prayer-Meeting, 56, 74

Ford, Mr., 126, 151, 156

French Lazarist School, 169

Francis Effendi Merrash, 91

Fast of Ramadan, 306

Feller's Soap, 328

Funerals, 316, 364

Female Seminary, Beirut, 222, 315

Fruits, 255

Fisk, Rev. Pliny, 47

Greek School Suk el Ghurb, 169

Ghubrin Jebara, 173

Goodell, Mrs., 50

Games, 319

Greek Priests, 259

Goodell, Dr., 47, 48

Houris, 10

Hamze, 20

Hala of Abeih, 29

Hammud, 39

Hums, 140

Hassan, 198

Hicks, Miss, 206

Howe, Fisher, 76, 80

Haj Ibraham, 297

Ishoc, 149, 263

Irish-American United Presbyterian Mission in Damascus, 204

Ishmaelitic Songs, 326

Imprecations, 326

Johnson, Miss, 97

Jacombs, Miss, 98, 225

Jackson, Miss Ellen, 104

Jenan, 136, 162, 165, 191

Jenneh, 136

Jeneineh, 136

Jesuit School Ghuzir, 169

Job, 229

Khozma Ata, 33, 75

Katrina Subra, 93, 95

Koukab es Subah, 33, 126

Koran, 1, 2, 11, 126, 297

Khalil Effendi, 167

Khalil Ferah, 286

King, Dr. Jonas, 47, 48

Latakiah Boarding School, 42

Loring, Miss Sophia, 104

Luciya, Shekkur, 114

Lyde, Mr., 38, 39

Lying, 284

Lullaby, 294

Letters, 311

Lokunda, 242

Moslem Paradise for Women, 10

Moslem Idea of Women, 12, 17

Moulah Hakem, 22, 331

Massacres of 1860, 24, 95, 196, 286

Marriage Ceremony of Druzes, 25

Marie, 43

Maronites, 45

Mason, Miss, 97

Meshakah, Dr., 118

Miriam the Aleppine, 15

Modern Syrian Views, 158

Moslem Schools, 168, 253

Miss Taylor's School Moslem Girls, 213

Methak en Nissa, 21

Metheny, Dr., 40

Manger, 265

Missionary Stations, 249

Miriam, 279, 282

Monasteries, 309

Marriage, 338, 117, 143

Mohammed ed Dukhy, 182, 189, 246

Naman, King of Hira, 3

Nusairiyeh, 35

Nusairiyeh Women, 38

Nejm, 110

Naame Tabet, 201

Nowar, 286

Nursery Songs, 325

Names, 242, 244

Othman, 2

Okkal, 24

Oulad el Arab, 46

Poetesses of Arabs, 6

Position of Woman in Mohammedan World, 7

Prussian Deaconess' Institute Beirut, 206

Post, Dr., 29

Praying, 305

Parsons, Rev. Levi, 47

Qualifications for Missionaries, 53

Rakash, the Poetess, 6

Rufka, Gregory, 60, 97, 99, 102, 138, 175, 277

Resha, 110

Raheel, 120

Ruella Arabs, 184

Sa Saah, 3

Schwire, 10

Sheikh Owad, 16

Sheikh Said el Ghur, 19

Sheikh Khottar, 31

Sheikh Mohammed ed Dukhy, 182, 189, 246

Sheikh Aiub el Hashem, 288

Sitt Abla, 30

Syrian Christianity, 46

Stale of Mission in 1828, 49, —1834, 51, 53, —1841, 55, —1846, 57 —1852, 75, —1864, 101

Seclusion of Oriental Females, 52

Sada Gregory, 18, 61, 70

Superstitions, 77, 317, 318, 336

Sada Barakat, 84

Stanton, Miss, 98

Sada el Haleby, 84, 100, 115

Sara Bistany, 101, 136

Smith, Dr., 50, 127

Sarkis, Mr. Ibraham, 127

Sulleba Jerwan, 142

Sara Huntington Bistany, 157

Sitt Mariana Merrash, 162

Sitt Wustina Mesirra, 165

Schools of Syria, 169, 171

Sitt Harba, 183, 185, 359

Safita, 277, 285, 302, 334

Seven Arbitrary Pillars of the Law, 22

Suggestions to Friends of Missions, 224

Sidon Female Seminary, 225

Saad-ed-Deen, 67

Sphere and Mode of Woman's Work, 218

Syed Abdullah, 288

Swine, 306

Story of the Goats and the Ghoul, 343

Story of the Hamam, Butta, etc., 346

Story of the Lion and Ibn Adam, 350

Story of the Jew Rufaiel, 354

Story of the Badinjan, 358

Shepherds, 313

Swearing, 240

Soum el Kebir, 260

Smith, Mrs., 27, 50, 120

Syrian School-Houses, 235

Tribe of Temim, 3

Triangle of Solomon, 36

Temple, Miss, 97

Thomson, Dr., 48, 100, 123

Thomson, Miss Emilia, 104

Tod, Mrs. Alexander, 122

Thompson, Mrs. Bowen, 208

Thomson, Mrs., 50

Telegraph, 310

Tilden, 33, 54, 60

Van Dyck, 31, 107, 117, 127, 172

Value Set on Woman's Life, 196

Wahidy, 19

Women's Work, 1820 to 1872, 45

Wortabet, Salome, 49, 64

Whittlesey, Mrs. A.L., 74, 78

Watson, Mrs., 98, 204

Women's Boards of Missions, 104

THE END