Three English boats went down river to-day and one came up.  The Kevenbrincks went up last night.  I dined with them, she is very lively and pleasant.  I nearly died of laughing to-day when little Achmet came for his lesson.  He pronounced that he was sick of love for her.  He played at cards with her yesterday afternoon and it seems lost his heart (he is twelve and quite a boyish boy, though a very clever one) and he said he was wishing to play a game for a kiss as the stake.  He had put on a turban to-day, on the strength of his passion, to look like a man, and had neglected his dress otherwise because ’when young men are sick of love they always do so.’  The fact is the Baroness was kind and amiable and tried to amuse him as she would have done to a white boy, hence Achmet’s susceptible heart was ‘on fire for her.’  He also asked me if I had any medicine to make him white, I suppose to look lovely in her eyes.  He little knows how very pretty he is with his brown face—­as he sits cross-legged on the carpet at my feet in his white turban and blue shirt reading aloud—­he was quite a picture.  I have grown very fond of the little fellow, he is so eager to learn and to improve and so remarkably clever.

My little Achmet, who is donkey-boy and general little slave, the smallest slenderest quietest little creature, has implored me to take him with me to England.  I wish Rainie could see him, she would be so ‘arprized’ at his dark brown little face, so fein, and with eyes like a dormouse.  He is a true little Arab—­can run all day in the heat, sleeps on the stones and eats anything—­quick, gentle and noiseless and fiercely jealous.  If I speak to any other boy he rushes at him and drives him away, and while black Khayr was in the house, he suffered martyrdom and the kitchen was a scene of incessant wrangle about the coffee.  Khayr would bring me my coffee and Achmet resented the usurpation of his functions—­of course quite hopelessly, as Khayr was a great stout black of eighteen and poor little Achmet not bigger than Rainie.  I am really tempted to adopt the vigilant active little creature.

March 15.—­Sheykh Yussuf returned from a visit to Salamieh last night.  He tells me the darweesh Achmet et-Tayib is not dead, he believes that he is a mad fanatic and a communist.  He wants to divide all property equally and to kill all the Ulema and destroy all theological teaching by learned men and to preach a sort of revelation or interpretation of the Koran of his own.  ‘He would break up your pretty clock,’ said Yussuf, ‘and give every man a broken wheel out of it, and so with all things.’