of the
Lebanon hills. That is what worried Khalid. And he excuses himself,
saying, "I am waygone from the day's wayfaring." The instrument of
torture is stopped, therefore, and he is shown into a room where a
mattress is spread for him on the floor.

"In the morning," he continues, "mine host accompanies me through the
populous village, which is noted for its industries. Of all the
Lebanon towns, this is, indeed, the busiest; its looms, its potteries,
and its bell foundries, are never idle. And the people cultivate
little of the silk worm; they are mostly artisans. American cotton
they spin, and dye, and weave into substantial cloth; Belgian iron
they melt and cast into bells; and from their native soil they dig the
clay which they mould into earthenware. The tintinnabulations of the
loom can be heard in other parts of the Lebanons; but no where else
can the vintner buy a dolium for his vine, or the housewife, a pipkin
for her oil, or the priest, a bell for his church. The sound of these
foundries' anvils, translated into a wild, thrilling, far-reaching
music, can be heard in every belfry and bell-cote of Syria.

"We descend to the potteries below, not on the carriage road which
serpentines through the village, and which is its only street, but
sheer down a steep path, between the noise of the loom and spinning
wheel and the stench of the dyeing establishments. And here is the
real potter and his clay, not the symbol thereof. And here is the
pottery which is illustrated in the Bible. For in the world to-day, if
we except the unglazed tinajas of the Pueblo Indians, nothing, above
ground at least, can be more ancient and primitive. Such a pitcher, I
muse, did Rebekah carry to the well; with such a Jar on her shoulder
did Hagar wander in the wilderness; and in such vessels did the widow,
by Elijah's miracle, multiply her jug of oil.

"The one silk-reeling factory of the village, I did not care to visit;
for truly I can not tolerate the smell of asphyxiated larvas and
boiling cocoons. 'But the proprietor,' quoth mine host, 'is very
honourable, and of a fine wit.' As honourable as a sweater can be, I
thought. No, no; these manufacturers are all of a piece. I know
personally one of them, who is a Scrooge, and of the vilest. I watched
him one day buying cocoons from the peasants. He does not trust any of
his employees at the scales; they do not know how to press their hand
over the weights in the pan. Ay, that little press