X. Kurd Murboot or Tied Monkey.  A rope is tied to a peg in the ground, and one boy holds it fast.  The others tie knots in their handkerchiefs and beat him.  If he catches them without letting go his hold on the rope, they take his place.

XI.  Shooha or Hawk.  Make a swing on the limb of a tree.  A boy leans on the swing and runs around among the boys, until he catches one to take his place.

XII.  Joora.  Shooting marbles into a joora or hole in the ground.

XIII.  Khubby Mukhzinak.  “Pebble pebble.”  One boy goes around and hides a pebble in the hand of one of the circle and asks “pebble, pebble, who’s got the pebble.”  This is like “Button, button.”

Then there are other games like chequers and “Morris,” chess, and games which are used in gambling, which you will not care to hear about.

Sometimes when playing, they sing a song which I have translated: 

    I found a black crow,
    With a cake in his maw,
    I asked him to feed me,
    He cried caw, caw.

    A chicken I found
    With a loaf of bread—­
    I asked him to feed me. 
    He cried, enough said.

    And an eagle black
    With a beam on his back
    Said from Egypt I come
    And he cried clack, clack.

So you see the Arab boys are as fond of plays and songs as American boys.  They have scores of songs about gazelles, and pearls, and Sultans, and Bedawin, and Ghouls, and the “Ghuz,” and the Evil Eye, and Arab mares and Pashas.

A few days ago a Druze, named Sheikh Ali, called upon me and recited to me a strange song, which reminded me of the story of “Who killed Cock Robin,” and “The House that Jack built.”  In some of the Arab villages where fleas abound, the people go at times to the tennur or oven, (which is like a great earthen jar sunken in the ground,) to shake off the fleas into the fire.  The story which I have translated goes thus:  A brilliant bug and a noble flea once went to the oven to shake off the ignoble fleas from their garments into the fire.  But alas, alas, the noble flea lost his footing, fell into the fire and was consumed.  Then the brilliant bug began to weep and mourn, saying,

Alas!  Ah me! 
The Noble Flea! 
While he was thus weeping,
And his sad watch keeping,
A glossy raven overhead,
Flew swiftly down and gently said,
Oh my friend, oh brilliant bug,
Why are you weeping on the rug? 
The bug replied, O glossy raven,
With your head all shorn and shaven,
I am now weeping,
And sad watch keeping,
Over, Ah me! 
The Noble Flea. 
The raven he,
Wept over the flea,
And flew to a green palm tree—­
And in grief, dropped a feather,
Like snow in winter weather. 
The palm tree said my glossy raven,
Why do you look so craven,
Why did you drop a feather,
Like snow in winter weather? 
The raven said,
The flea is dead!