that only in _kabrit_ (sulphur) is the phylactery which
destroys the phylloxera.

"And what do you do when you are not working in your vineyard or
praying?"

"I have always somewhat to do, always. For to be idle is to open the
door for Iblis. I might walk up and down this corridor, counting the
slabs therein, and consider my time well spent." Saying which he rises
and points to the sky. The purple fringes of the clouds are gone to
sable; the lilac tints on the mountains are waxing grey; and the
sombre twilight with his torch--the evening star had risen--is
following in the wake of day; 'tis the hour of prayer.

But before we leave him to his devotion, we ask to be permitted to see
his cell. Ah, that is against the monastic rules. We insist. And with
a h'm, h'm, and a shake of the head, he rubs his hands caressingly and
opens the door. Yes, the Reader shall peep into this eight by six
cell, which is littered all around with rubbish, sacred and profane.
In the corner is a broken stove with a broken pipe attached,--broken
to let some of the smoke into the room, we are told. "For smoke,"
quoth the Hermit, quoting the Doctor, "destroys the microbes--and
keeps the room warm after the fire goes out."

In the corner opposite the stove is a little altar with the
conventional icons and gewgaws and a number of prayer books lying
pell-mell around. Nearby is an old pair of shoes, in which are stuck a
few candles and St. Anthony's Book of Contemplations. In the corner
behind the door is a large cage, a pantry, suspended middleway between
the floor and ceiling, containing a few earthen pots, an oil lamp, and
a jar, covered with a cloth. Between the pantry and the altar, on a
hair-mat spread on the floor, sleeps his Reverence. And his bed is not
so hard as you might suppose, Reader; for, to serve your curiosity, we
have been rude enough to lift up a corner of the cloth, and we found
underneath a substantial mattress! On the bed is his book of accounts,
which, being opened, when we entered, he hastened to close.

"You keep accounts, too, Reverence?"

"Indeed, so. That is a duty devolved on every one with mortal
memory."

Let it not be supposed, however, that he has charge of the crops. In
his journal he keeps the accounts of his masses? And here be evil
sufficient for the day.

This, then, is the inventory of Abd'ul-Messiah's cell. And we do
not think we have omitted much of importance. Yes; in the fourth
corner, which we hav