for its whole breadth by an ottoman about eighteen inches high, whence as they approached, a tall and commanding figure arose, and greeted them with a queenly dignity, rendered winning by all the attraction that a sweet and soft voice can add to kind words.

"Your father's son is ever welcome to my roof, my Lord de Creci," said she, "and you also Mr. Mowbray, old blood is like old wine, fine, clear, rare and costly, and I may add commonly welcome; I am happy "to receive you, though I do not choose to gratify the curiosity of every tour tinker, who thinks he has trod Syrian soil in vain if he leaves one lion unseen. I knew your father too, Mr. Mowbray, he was a fine fellow, though he was against us."

Harry's eyes had now accommodated themselves to the darkness, and he was enabled to take a more satisfactory view of the hostess. She was attired as was her custom, in the male attire of the country, but the amplitude of its folds prevented its appearing offensive to the eye, and indeed it harmonised with the broad forehead, almost masculine cast of feature and expression of animated energy of her countenance, over which more than half a century had passed, and left hardly a wrinkle in the clear white skin.

"The English travellers, the chiffonniers of literature," continued she, "are the bane of my existence, they come, they stare, and they succeed, that is to say, they sell their books, the only object in life that the grovelling instincts of selfish cunning, that they call their minds, are capable of embracing; they sell their piratical patchwork in the strength of the confidence they violate, and the privacy they intrude on, they are vermin."

"I have often heard of the inconvenience your Ladyship is subjected to by wandering Europeans," said Lord de Creci; "I trust that you find the Turkish authorities more satisfactory to deal with."

"Not so much so as before," returned she; as long as I paid them well, they would have kissed the ground on which I trod, but now it is otherwise, and the Syrian Christians are little better, they are treacherous, filthy, cowardly dogs, they are the refuse of Italy, Sicily, and Greece, not aboriginal Syrians, but the scum of the Levant, which is the scum of the earth."

"I presume the Arabs are your favourites," said Lord de Creci, "the untamed sons of the desert, are at all events a pure race."

"The Arabs are better," returned she, "but they are too untamed, there is a limit to freedom, as well as there is to ocean, and they have overpassed that limit, for they are free from principle or gratitude, and the last is a deadly sin in my eyes. The Druses are really the cream of the population of Syria, temperate, hospitable, and upright; they are certainly vindictive, but I think more as a point of honour than from revengeful feelings; the avenger of blood feels himself charged with a sacred duty, which he must perform, and he performs it accordingly; I often lean to the idea that some of the blood of the crusaders lingers in the Druse villages, certain it is there is a mysterious sympathy between them and the English, they imagine that there are still many Druses in England, and whenever the time arrives for disposessing the Moslem from these glorious countries of old times,

for its whole breadth by an ottoman about eighteen inches high, whence as they approached, a tall and commanding figure arose, and greeted them with a queenly dignity, rendered winning by all the attraction that a sweet and soft voice can add to kind words.

"Your father's son is ever welcome to my roof, my Lord de Creci," said she, "and you also Mr. Mowbray, old blood is like old wine, fine, clear, rare and costly, and I may add commonly welcome; I am happy "to receive you, though I do not choose to gratify the curiosity of every tour tinker, who thinks he has trod Syrian soil in vain if he leaves one lion unseen. I knew your father too, Mr. Mowbray, he was a fine fellow, though he was against us."

Harry's eyes had now accommodated themselves to the darkness, and he was enabled to take a more satisfactory view of the hostess. She was attired as was her custom, in the male attire of the country, but the amplitude of its folds prevented its appearing offensive to the eye, and indeed it harmonised with the broad forehead, almost masculine cast of feature and expression of animated energy of her countenance, over which more than half a century had passed, and left hardly a wrinkle in the clear white skin.

"The English travellers, the chiffonniers of literature," continued she, "are the bane of my existence, they come, they stare, and they succeed, that is to say, they sell their books, the only object in life that the grovelling instincts of selfish cunning, that they call their minds, are capable of embracing; they sell their piratical patchwork in the strength of the confidence they violate, and the privacy they intrude on, they are vermin."

"I have often heard of the inconvenience your Ladyship is subjected to by wandering Europeans," said Lord de Creci; "I trust that you find the Turkish authorities more satisfactory to deal with."

"Not so much so as before," returned she; "as long as I paid them well, they would have kissed the ground on which I trod, but now it is otherwise, and the Syrian Christians are little better, they are treacherous, filthy, cowardly dogs, they are the refuse of Italy, Sicily, and Greece, not aboriginal Syrians, but the scum of the Levant, which is the scum of the earth."

"I presume the Arabs are your favourites," said Lord de Creci, "the untamed sons of the desert, are at all events a pure race."

"The Arabs are better," returned she, "but they are too untamed, there is a limit to freedom, as well as there is to ocean, and they have overpassed that limit, for they are free from principle or gratitude, and the last is a deadly sin in my eyes. The Druses are really the cream of the population of Syria, temperate, hospitable, and upright; they are certainly vindictive, but I think more as a point of honour than from revengeful feelings; the avenger of blood feels himself charged with a sacred duty, which he must perform, and he performs it accordingly; I often lean to the idea that some of the blood of the crusaders lingers in the Druse villages, certain it is there is a mysterious sympathy between them and the English, they imagine that there are still many Druses in England, and whenever the time arrives for disposessing the Moslem from these glorious countries of old times,