plexed than pleased by them. His drawing-room, which was something like a French salon, with its mirrors and marble tables, was frescoed by a native of Nazareth, who had been tutored and employed by the Franciscan monks in church mural decoration. On the panels of the doors he had painted groups of flowers, very carefully and laboriously; but they did not produce a good effect.
Our host was the great man of his community after this trip to Marseilles, and, owing to his wealth and this famous journey, was for a time reckoned as a prophet, even in his own country. But, notwithstanding the comparative grandeur of his salon, those rooms of the house occupied by the women, and the cooking-places, were as untidy and inconvenient as the poorest establishments in the town. He was dressed in a suit of fine black cloth—full Turkish trowsers and tight jacket—a shawl girdle and polished boots—a small, red, cloth tarbûsh, with a muslin kerchief over it, fastened smoothly round his forehead. He wore a gold chain, as massive as an alderman's, outside his dress, and several rings on his fingers. His wife, however, retains her Nazareth costume intact, and evidently does not approve of innovations.
The Turkish Governor of the town called while we were there. He confidentially told my brother that the people of Nazareth were so proud and daring that he could do nothing with them.
We rode out presently, in a northerly direction, to meet Mr. Finn. Our host joined us, and a large party followed, including the Governor on a chestnut charger, decked with purple trappings adorned with mother-of-pearl. After a pleasant ride, we met the Consular party. By sunset their tents were pitched, and the English flag was waving over them in a pleasant olive-grove, just outside the town.
The next day Mr. Finn invited us to accompany him to Mount Tabor. We started at noon. It was oppressively hot. Gently, and almost silently, we rode toward the east, over hills sweet with wild thyme, and dark with thorny
