MY NATIVE HORIZON
poverty and squalor of human life. And what is one to do with one's heart? Here is a broad verdant slope, rising high to the very feet of Mt. Sanneen; it is studded with clusters of pink gable houses, with pyramids of white and bluish stone;—it is at night a brilliant spectacle—a sight for the gods. And no less beautiful is it in the day. Behold these homes, half-hidden in mulberry and poplar and surrounded with thick pine forests, rising from terrace to terrace, like the steps of an altar with its objects of decoration, its flowers and icons and wax figures. Indeed, this makes a most beautiful altar to Nature.
But the life, think on the life behind this outward show, under these trappings and decorations. Once I likened the village on the breast of that gentle and hospitable mountain to the decorations on the breast of a successful Turkish diplomat. And the diplomat protested Turkish fashion—Istagferullah effendum! Which means, in unequivocal language, Allah forgive you, if you have not flattered me—Allah forgive
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