Bringing wood and water. 
Suddenly the Bedawin
Carried me away;
Clothed me in the Aba robe
And here they make me stay. 
Sleep, baby sleep! a sleep so sweet and mild,
Sleep, my Arab boy, my little Bedawin child!
Aside Ye sellers of grapes hear what I say. 
I had dressed in satin rich and gay. 
They took my costly robes away,
And dressed me in Aba coarse and grey. 
I had lived on viands costly and rare,
And now raw camel’s flesh is my fare. 
Sleep, baby sleep! a sleep so sweet and mild,
Sleep, my Arab boy, my little Bedawin child!
Aside Oh seller of grapes, I beg you hear,
Go tell my mother and father dear,
That you have seen me here to-day. 
Just by the Church my parents live,
The Bedawin stole me on Thursday eve. 
Let the people come and their sister save,
Let them come with warriors bold and brave,
Lest I die of grief and go to my grave.

The grape-sellers then go home, and the warriors come and rescue her, and take her home.

We will stop here a moment and make a pencil sketch of this Arab camp, but we must be very careful not to let them see us writing.  They have a great fear of the art of writing, a superstitious idea that a person who writes or sketches in their camp, is writing some charm or incantation to bring mischief upon them.  I once heard of a missionary who went to an Arab village to spend the night.  The people were all Maronites, and grossly ignorant.  He pitched his tent and sat down to rest.  Presently a crowd of rough young men came in and began to insult him.  They demanded bakhshish, and handled his bedding and cooking utensils in a very brutal manner, and asked him if he had any weapons.  He bethought himself of one weapon and began to use it.  He took out a pencil and paper, and began to make a sketch of the ringleader.  He looked him steadily in the eye, and then wrote rapidly with his pencil.  The man began to tremble and slowly retreated and finally shouted to his companions, and off they all went.  Shortly after, they sent a man to beg Mr. L. not to cut off their heads!  Their priests teach them that the Protestants have the power of working magic, and that they draw a man’s portrait and take it with them, and if the man does anything to displease them, they cut off the head of the picture and the man’s head drops off!  Mr. L. sent them word that they had better be very careful how they behaved.  They did not molest him again.

Here we are near Tripoli, at the Convent of the Sacred Fish.  What a beautiful spot!  This large high building with its snow-white dome, and the great sycamore tree standing by this circular pool of crystal water, make a beautiful scene.  What a crowd of Moslem boys!  They have come all the way from Tripoli, about two miles, to feed the Sacred Fish.  They are a gay looking company, with their red, green, blue, yellow, white and purple clothes, and their