Send away these priests.  Tell my brother Antonius to come here, I want to ask his forgiveness.”  Yanni came.  Ishoc said to him, “Brother, your kindness and patience have broken me down.  You are right and I am wrong.  I am going to die.  Will you forgive me?” “Yes, and may God forgive and bless you too.”  “Then bring your Bible and read to me.  Read about some great sinner who was saved.”  Yanni read about the dying thief on the cross.  “Read it again!  Ah, that is my case!  I am the chief of sinners.”  Every day he kept Yanni reading and praying with him.  He loved to talk about Jesus and at length died trusting in the Saviour!  The uncle Michaiel, was also taken ill, and on his death-bed would have neither priest nor pictures, and declared to all the people that he trusted only in the Saviour whom Yanni had loved and served so well.  After that Im Antonius was softened and now she loves to hear Yanni read the Bible and pray.

The servant is coming with sherbet and sweetmeats and Arabic coffee in little cups as large as an egg-shell.  Did you notice how the marble floors shine!  They are scrubbed and polished, and kept clean by the industrious women whom you see so gorgeously dressed now.  These good ladies belong to the Akabir, or aristocracy of Tripoli, but they work most faithfully in their housekeeping duties.  But alas, they can neither read nor write!  And there is hardly a woman in this whole city of 16,000 people that can read or write!  I once attended a company of invited guests at one of the wealthy houses in Tripoli, and there were thirty Tripolitan ladies in the large room, dressed in the most elegant style.  I think you never saw such magnificence.  They were dressed in silks and satins and velvets, embroidered with gold thread and pearls, and their arms and necks were loaded with gold bracelets and necklaces set with precious stones, and on their heads were wreaths of gold and silver work sparkling with diamonds, and fragrant with fresh orange blossoms and jessamine.  Many of them were beautiful.  But not one of them could read.  The little boys and girls too are dressed in the same rich style among the wealthier classes, and they are now beginning to learn.  Many of the little girls who were taught in Sadi’s school here thirteen years ago, are now heads of families, and know how to read the gospel.

Ibrahim comes in to say that we must hurry off if we would reach Halba to sleep to-night.  So we bid Yanni’s family good-bye.  We tell them “Be Khaterkum.”  “By your pleasure,” and they say “Ma es Salameh,” “with peace.”—­Then they say “God smooth your way,” and we answer, “Peace to your lives.”  Saieed the muleteer now says “Dih, Ooah,” to his mules, and away we ride over the stony pavements and under the dark arches of the city, towards the East.  We cross the bridge over the River Kadisha, go through the wheat and barley market, and out of the gate Tibbaneh, among the Moslems, Maronites, Bedawin, Nusairiyeh, Gypsies, and Greeks, who are buying and selling among the Hamath and Hums caravans.