Did not the Howadjis' eyes with warm Christian sympathy contemplate this sister in the faith, marking the large, luminous eyes, the lustrous fulness of dark hair, and the fair oriental complexion of the Armenian ?

Could they fail to note the maidenly condescension to the mysteries of the Muslim toilet in the finger-nails delicately tipped with henna, or could they cynically accuse the treachery of silken sleeves that, lightly falling away, revealed gorgeous bracelets embracing rosy arms?

The desert suddenly blossomed like the rose. It was an Armenian merchant of Cairo, making the pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the holy week. He ambled towards the Commander, who, smoking his chibouque, looked graciously down upon him from the heights of Pomegranate, and after a prolonged salaam inquired into our history.

Two opulent strangers," retorted the Commander in the full glory of the Golden Sleeve ; "two great American Moguls going to gladden Jerusalem with their presence."

Täib, täib kateir," (good, very good), gravely replied the Armenian, inclining towards El Shiraz "Would it be pleasant to

and MacWhirter.

journey together ?"

"I will consult the Moguls," said the lofty Commander, and he turned to converse with us.

"Do any of them speak English?" anxiously inquired the Pacha, and the Commander repeated the inquiry to the old man.

"Ah! kooltooluk, (Oh Heavens), no,” replied the venerable beard; "but Arabic, Coptic, Syriac, a little Persian and Turkish, and madame, the mother of the beautiful daughter, imperfect Italian.”

"Well, I don't speak Italian," said the Pacha, "so they may come along."

We moved on. Presently seeing madame, the mother of the beautiful daughter, looking out of the palanquin, and remembering her accomplishments, I ventured an overture, and looking straight in the daughter's eyes, remarked to the mother:--

"Fa bello oggi, Signora," (It is a pleasant day, Madame).

"Si, non capisco, Signore," (Yes, I don't understand, sir) returned the mother very graciously.

I was rather ashamed of such a morning-call remark to an Armenian lady upon the desert, and felt rebuked by her ignorance of conventional conversation. I tried again.

"Andate a Gerusalemme anche lei?" (You are also going to Jerusalem ?)

And I suspected the Italian was more imperfect than the old man knew.

But the beautiful daughter manifested an extreme interest in the conversation, and I fear was somewhat amused at the discrepancy between the splendour of the strangers' titles and that of their robes, which were far from royal.

"Ela

So, in view of the eyes, I began again. figlia non parla Italiano?" (The daughter does not speak Italian ?)

"Si, non capisco, Signore," came graciously as ever from the maternal lips, and the caravans relapsed into silence.

By three o'clock we began to think of encamping. Travellers complain of the short day's work upon the desert, but surely if you mount MacWhirter at five o'clock in the morning, you will be ready by two or three o'clock to intermit the monotonous jerk of his gait, and stretch yourself upon the carpet over the soft sand. The camp was pitched not far from shore, for so seemed the green land to the west, and the door of our pavilion was arranged to command that of the grave Armenian.

Before sunset two great German Moguls came up, convoyed by a wretched party of Arabs, and a one-eyed Dragoman, They had an unhappy air, and stood in the way of the men who were pitching

their tents, looking longingly at the palm-trees, and dismally toward the desert, as if the East were an "experience" which they must undergo. And while they stood there in the sunset, mentally moaning that they must sup without sauerkraut, and wishing that Goethe had never written the West-Oestlicher Divan nor Rückert his Ghazelles, a gay wind blew out of the desert, tossing sand in their faces, and running with low gusty laughter to play with the palms, and to carry back into the wilderness the Muezzin's cry.

It fled, and we watched the day gloriously dying. Then suddenly fell over the world the sable folds of the great tent of night: the darkness was cool and sweet, and through myriads of points above, the gone glory of the day looked in and made the darkness gorgeous.

D

CHAPTER VII.

ROMANCE.

"O GREAT American Mogul, are you awake?" asked I of the Pacha in the early starlight of the second day.

"I am," he said.

"This is the great Syrian desert-six hundred leagues in length, three hundred in breadth, extending from Aleppo to the Arabian Sea, from Egypt to the Persian Gulf”

"O great American Mogul," interrupted the Pacha, "are you awake?"

Most certainly I am, and that strip of palm land which begins to glimmer through the dying night is Egypt, of which a Turkish Pacha said, Egypt is the most beautiful farm, but Syria is a charming country-house."

"Moreover," I continued, "Arab signifies in the