twenty, with a mild, submissive face, and wore the
dark-blue turban, which appears to be the badge of a native Syrian
Christian. I found myself involuntarily pitying him for belonging to a
despised sect. There is no disguising the fact that one feels much more
respect for the Mussulman rulers of the East, than for their oppressed
subjects who profess his own faith. The surest way to make a man
contemptible is to treat him contemptuously, and the Oriental Christians,
who have been despised for centuries, are, with some few exceptions,
despicable enough. Now, however, since the East has become a favorite
field of travel, and the Frank possesses an equal dignity with the Moslem,
the native Christians are beginning to hold up their heads, and the return
of self-respect will, in the course of time, make them respectable.
Mount Tabor stands a little in advance of the hill-country, with which it
is connected only by a low spur or shoulder, its base being the Plain of
Esdraelon. This is probably the reason why it has been fixed upon as the
place of the Transfiguration, as it is not mentioned by name in the New
Testament. The words are: "an high mountain apart," which some suppose to
refer to the position of the mountain, and not to the remoteness of Christ
and the three Disciples from men. The sides of the mountain are covered
with clumps of oak, hawthorn and other trees, in many places overrun with
the white honeysuckle, its fingers dropping with odor of nutmeg and
cloves. The ascent, by a steep and winding path, occupied an hour. The
summit is nearly level, and resembles some overgrown American field, or
"oak opening." The grass is more than knee-deep; the trees grow high and
strong, and there are tangled thickets and bowers of vines without end.
The eastern and highest end of the mountain is covered with the remains of
an old fortress-convent, once a place of great strength, from the
thickness of its walls. In a sort of cell formed among the ruins we found
two monk-hermits. I addressed them in all languages of which I know a
salutation, without effect, but at last made out that they were
Wallachians. They were men of thirty-five, with stupid faces, dirty
garments, beards run to waste, and fur caps. Their cell was a mere hovel,
without furniture, except a horrid caricature of the Virgin and Child, and
four books of prayers in the Bulgarian character. One of them walked about
knitting a stocking, and paid no attention to us; bu
|