Then Joshua began his terrible raid, and from Jericho clear to this Baal-Gad, he swept the land like the Genius of Destruction.  He slaughtered the people, laid waste their soil, and razed their cities to the ground.  He wasted thirty-one kings also.  One may call it that, though really it can hardly be called wasting them, because there were always plenty of kings in those days, and to spare.  At any rate, he destroyed thirty-one kings, and divided up their realms among his Israelites.  He divided up this valley stretched out here before us, and so it was once Jewish territory.  The Jews have long since disappeared from it, however.

Back yonder, an hour’s journey from here, we passed through an Arab village of stone dry-goods boxes (they look like that,) where Noah’s tomb lies under lock and key. [Noah built the ark.] Over these old hills and valleys the ark that contained all that was left of a vanished world once floated.

I make no apology for detailing the above information.  It will be news to some of my readers, at any rate.

Noah’s tomb is built of stone, and is covered with a long stone building.  Bucksheesh let us in.  The building had to be long, because the grave of the honored old navigator is two hundred and ten feet long itself!  It is only about four feet high, though.  He must have cast a shadow like a lightning-rod.  The proof that this is the genuine spot where Noah was buried can only be doubted by uncommonly incredulous people.  The evidence is pretty straight.  Shem, the son of Noah, was present at the burial, and showed the place to his descendants, who transmitted the knowledge to their descendants, and the lineal descendants of these introduced themselves to us to-day.  It was pleasant to make the acquaintance of members of so respectable a family.  It was a thing to be proud of.  It was the next thing to being acquainted with Noah himself.

Noah’s memorable voyage will always possess a living interest for me, henceforward.

If ever an oppressed race existed, it is this one we see fettered around us under the inhuman tyranny of the Ottoman Empire.  I wish Europe would let Russia annihilate Turkey a little—­not much, but enough to make it difficult to find the place again without a divining-rod or a diving-bell.  The Syrians are very poor, and yet they are ground down by a system of taxation that would drive any other nation frantic.  Last year their taxes were heavy enough, in all conscience—­but this year they have been increased by the addition of taxes that were forgiven them in times of famine in former years.  On top of this the Government has levied a tax of one-tenth of the whole proceeds of the land.  This is only half the story.  The Pacha of a Pachalic does not trouble himself with appointing tax-collectors.  He figures up what all these taxes ought to amount to in a certain district.  Then he farms the collection out.  He calls the rich men together, the highest bidder