in the sea, the superb slave he burned to possess, still dreams in the sun. We look from the tent door and see her sleeping, and the remembrance of this last, momentary interest which disturbed the slumber, reminds us that it will one day be broken. So fair is the prize, that, knowing all others desire her as ardently, no single hand feels strong enough to grasp it, and the conflict of many ambitions secures her peace.

Yet it is clear that nerve and skill could do what they have done, and so spare is the population, so imbecile the government, and so rich the soil, that a few thousand determined men could march unresisted through Syria, and possess the fair and fertile land.

III.

Advancing.

THIS last throb of life, in the history of Syria, invades but for a musing moment the abiding interest of the land. Yet as MacWhirter lumbers sluggishly along you cannot escape the mood of reverie through which the various forms of its fate will pass.

The landscape is still of the same open, basin-like character, and our course lies toward the hills of Judea, which seem this morning, like the misty Jura seen from Lake Leman. The nearer country swells and moves in vivid lines of green, and the fresh young leaves of the fig, upon the heavy limbs, are touched by the sun into golden flakes. The fences are hedges of prickly pear. The houses are of clay or stone, where it can be found, clean-looking for such, and warmer than the Egyptian houses. Scant garden plots of vegetables dot the fields, and presently, over olive groves, we see the domed tombs of Ramleh.

Here we strike the main road from Jaffa, on the coast, to Jerusalem. It was a high-road of the Crusaders in old times, and of Christian pilgrims now. The sun

has seen fairer sights upon it than the Howadji are like to see, but they recall one of its legends as they pass.

According to the "Saga of Sigurd, the Crusader," King of Norway, when that fair-haired young monarch reached Jaffa, on a pilgrimage, in 1110, King Baldwin of Jerusalem, apparently doubted whether, if there were such a region as Norway, its king could be a king genuinely royal. True, therefore, to the Free Masonry of Royalty, he ordered costly draperies to be spread along the road, from the shore to the mountains, saying that if Sigurd rode over them he was doubtless used to such luxury at home, and would thereby approve himself a king. But if he avoided them, he, in turn, must be avoided as a shabby and suspicious potentate.

The ship came to shore and King Sigurd debarking, mounted his horse and rode carelessly over the gorgeous cloths as if his road all over the earth were so carpeted. And the good King Baldwin, charmed by the easy grace which certified his guest's habituation to regal luxury, received him "particularly well."

More delightful than this, and in the true Arabian strain, is the story of Sigurd's entry into Constantinople, where he surpassed by his fabulous splendors all the extravagance of oriental genius.

"Fabulous splendors of course they were," hummed the inexorable Pacha, as, turning our backs upon Ramleh, and following in Sigurd's footsteps, I asked him if he did not suppose that, if Baldwin, King of Jerusalem, heard of our coming, he would carpet the rest of the way,

and send us picked Arabians whereon to caracole over the carpet to his palace.

I have no doubt that the crispness of his answer arose from the sudden contrast in his mind, of a carpeted road and an Arabian, with the stony path over which he was jogging, upon jerking old El Shiraz. For, although a very estimable animal, he did one morning tumble over sideways, just as the Pacha was gurgling him down.

On which occasion, also, MacWhirter, seeing like Golden Sleeve's Pomegranate at another time, that he had fallen too far behind, relentlessly set forward on his soulshaking trot, while I was sitting upon him sideways, surveying Syria through blue goggles, and holding the blue cotton umbrella over my head. The violent motion caused me instantly to slide, as the unhappy Golden Sleeve slid, not backward, indeed, but sideways, down MacWhirter's flanks. Clutching the stakes before and behind, I instantly sacrificed the blue umbrella, which was planted by the wind, like a huge mushroom, in the desert.

Struggling, in alarm, to throw my right leg over the saddle and so balance myself, I expostulated with MacWhirter, and with spasmodic energy pulled the halter until I drew his head quite round, and saw his cold devilish eyes fronting my alarmed face. He enjoyed my apprehension too much, and I pulled his head back again, while I dangled at his side, conscious that if I slipped off he might betake himself into the desert, leaving me to foot it on to the caravan, from which I could not be perceived, and which advanced through the sand about as rapidly as I could walk. But I finally threw

my leg to the other side and clung to him until he overtook the caravan and relaxed his speed and my suffering.

Then it was that the Pacha, seeing me at the mercy of MacWhirter, naturally wished to show to the sun which had seen Sigurd's horsemanship, a little artistic camel management, and imperiously gurgled El Shiraz down. Bending, and rocking, and groaning, he began to kneel, but in the very act, he fell sideways, and the Pacha's leg escaped an ignominious doom only by a sudden spring.

The chagrin of that moment was in his mind, I am sure, when he said curtly-"Fabulous splendors of course they are."

The sun burned over the fertile valley. Donkeys, camels and horses passed us upon the road, along whose sides active ploughing was going on. Of each traveller we met, we inquired if he came from El Khuds, Jerusalem,—and more anxiously, if he had seen the venerablebearded Armenian, who was to join the Jaffa road before arriving. Some said yes, and some said no, and some, with sublime disdain passed silently. The men of one of the latter kind, a grave and white-bearded old Turk, whose only emotion seemed to be incredulous surprise that he should be supposed to know any thing, reminded me of Koeppen's pleasant story.

Koeppen was pursuing his archæological investigations at Constantinople, and with nervous energy and earnestness was one day speculating upon the cannon ball which is built into the city walls, near one of