d of. It was the next thing to being acquainted with Noah himself.

Noah's memorable voyage will always possess a living interest for me,
henceforward.

If ever an oppressed race existed, it is this one we see fettered around
us under the inhuman tyranny of the Ottoman Empire. I wish Europe would
let Russia annihilate Turkey a little--not much, but enough to make it
difficult to find the place again without a divining-rod or a
diving-bell. The Syrians are very poor, and yet they are ground down by
a system of taxation that would drive any other nation frantic. Last
year their taxes were heavy enough, in all conscience--but this year
they have been increased by the addition of taxes that were forgiven
them in times of famine in former years. On top of this the Government
has levied a tax of one-tenth of the whole proceeds of the land. This
is only half the story. The Pacha of a Pachalic does not trouble
himself with appointing tax-collectors. He figures up what all these
taxes ought to amount to in a certain district. Then he farms the
collection out. He calls the rich men together, the highest bidder gets
the speculation, pays the Pacha on the spot, and then sells out to
smaller fry, who sell in turn to a piratical horde of still smaller fry.
These latter compel the peasant to bring his little trifle of grain to
the village, at his own cost. It must be weighed, the various taxes set
apart, and the remainder returned to the producer. But the collector
delays this duty day after day, while the producer's family are
perishing for bread; at last the poor wretch, who can not but understand
the game, says, "Take a quarter--take half--take two-thirds if you will,
and let me go!" It is a most outrageous state of things.

These people are naturally good-hearted and intelligent, and with
education and liberty, would be a happy and contented race. They often
appeal to the stranger to know if the great world will not some day come
to their relief and save them. The Sultan has been lavishing money like
water in England and Paris, but his subjects are suffering for it now.

This fashion of camping out bewilders me. We have boot-jacks and a
bath-tub, now, and yet all the mysteries the pack-mules carry are not
revealed. What next?

CHAPTER XLIII.

We had a tedious ride of about five hours, in the sun, across the Valley
of Lebanon. It proved to be not quite so much of a garden as it had
seemed from the hill