school, and our beautiful Church, with its clock tower, and you can hear the clock strike six.  Then next to the Church is the Female Seminary with its 100 pupils, and the Steam Printing Press, where are printed so many books and Scriptures every year in the Arabic language.  Those tall cypress trees are in the Mission Cemetery where Pliny Fisk, and Eli Smith, and Mr. Whiting, and a good many little children are buried.  Near by are the houses of Dr. Bliss and Dr. Lewis and our house, and you can see mosques and minarets and domes and red-tiled roofs, and beautiful arched corridors and green trees in every direction.  Do you see the beautiful purple tints on the Lebanon Mountains as the sun goes down?  Is it not worth a long journey to see that lofty peak gilded and tinted with purple and pink and yellow as the sun sinks into the sea?

What a noise these boatmen make!  I doubt whether you have ever heard such a screaming before.

Now you can imagine yourself going to sleep in the state-room of this great steamer, and away we go.  The anchor comes up clank, clank, as the great chain cable is wound up by the donkey engine, and now we move off silently and smoothly.  In about five hours we have made the fifty miles, and down goes the anchor again in Tripoli harbor.  At sunrise the Tripoli boatmen come around the steamer.  We are two miles off from the shore and a rough north wind is blowing.  Let us hurry up and get ashore before the wind increases to a gale, as these North winds are very fierce on the Syrian coast.  Here comes Mustafa, an old boatman, and begs us to take his feluca.  We look over the side of the steamer and see that his boat is large and clean and agree to take it for twelve piastres or fifty cents for all of us and our baggage.  Then the other boatmen rush up and scream and curse and try to get us to take their boats, but we say nothing and push through them and climb down the steps to the boat.  The white caps are rolling and the boat dances finely.  Mustafa puts up a large three-cornered sail, Ali sits at the rudder, and with a stroke or two of the oars we turn around into the wind and away we dash towards the shore.  The Meena (port) is before us, that white row of houses on the point; and back among the gardens is the city of Tripoli.  In less than half an hour we reach the shore, but the surf is so high that we cannot go near the pier, so they make for the sand beach, and before we reach it, the boat strikes on a little bar and we stop.  Out jump the boatmen, and porters come running half naked from the shore and each shouts to us to ride ashore on his shoulders.  They can carry you and Harry with ease, but I am always careful how I sit on the shoulders of these rough fellows.  There is Ibrahim on the shore with our animals, and two mules for the baggage.  We shall take beds and bedsteads and cooking apparatus and provisions and a tent.  Ibrahim has bought bread and potatoes and rice and semin (Arab butter) and smead (farina) and candles, and a little sugar and salt, and other necessaries.  We will accept Aunt Annie’s invitation to breakfast, and then everything will be ready for a start.