We meet a great many Arabs going into the city that we have just left. Several miles back I stopped one of these sons of the desert for a conversation. I think we talked about an hour and thirteen minutes, more or less, and would, no doubt, have talked longer, but neither one of us understood a word the other said. Occasionally there was a lag in the conversation. While I was gathering this valuable information from the stranger, the other part of the caravan slacked never a pace. And now, looking aloft, I see high on the mountain-side a white city—a city of tents. This reminds me of Balaam who was traveling in this same country not far from here, and, seeing a sight just like this, he exclaimed: “How goodly are thy tabernacles, O Jacob and thy tents, O Israel!” The road, gleaming in the sunshine, looks at one time like a clothes-line hanging on the mountain-side; again it resembles a winding serpent crawling zigzag up the mountain as though it wants to swallow the tents. Climbing the hill, we pass a number of dilapidated villages on the right and left of the road. Just as the sun goes down to cool his hot face in the Mediterranean, we reach the tents pitched on Mt. Lebanon! At last the city is before us. Dismounting, and going into our new apartments, we can hardly believe we are in tents. The walls and ceiling look like white marble newly painted and beautifully frescoed. The rock floor is spread with rich Persian carpets and mats. Here are rocking-chairs, tables, bedsteads, washstands—every thing! “What style!” I say to the party. While we are rejoicing, in steps an Arab and says: “Solimat neharicsiade emborak.” Joy departs at these words. With a look of surprise and a feeling of regret I say, “Sir?” He responds, “Solimat neharicsiade emborak.” Rising to my feet I say, “Repeat that remark, please.” Gesticulating wildly, the Arab repeats with great emphasis, “_Solimat neharicsiade emborak!_” I thought he said my horse was loose. But after a while, however, the Arab, by means of signs, gives me to understand that nothing serious has occurred; that he came in only to let me know supper is ready. I feel relieved and delighted. After a long ride over a rough country, we all have good appetites, and the announcement of supper is therefore joyful news. The evening meal being over, the pilgrims draw their chairs close together and sit for an hour or more talking about friends at home, about the past history and present condition of this country, and about Him whose footsteps have hallowed its soil. The prospect of traveling through this country thrills us all. Substituting the word Hill, for Grail, I can appropriate the language of Tennyson: “Never yet has the sky appeared so blue, nor earth so green, For all my blood dances in me, and I know That I shall light upon the Holy Grail.”