e hoof in the country and making
such fabulous profits on their false Holy-Land gewgaws, they return to
their cellar happy and content.

"In three years," writes our Scribe, "Khalid and I acquired what I
still consider a handsome fortune. Each of us had a bank account, and
a check book which we seldom used.... In spite of which, we continued
to shoulder the peddling box and tramp along.... And Khalid would say
to me, 'A peddler is superior to a merchant; we travel and earn money;
our compatriots the merchants rust in their cellars and lose it.' To
be sure, peddling in the good old days was most attractive. For the
exercise, the gain, the experience--these are rich acquirements."

And both Shakib and Khalid, we apprehend, have been hitherto most
moderate in their habits. The fact that they seldom use their check
books, testifies to this. They have now a peddleress, Im-Hanna by
name, who occupies their cellar in their absence, and keeps what
little they have in order. And when they return every Saturday night
from their peddling trip, they find the old woman as ready to serve
them as a mother. She cooks _mojadderah_ for them, and sews the
bed-linen on the quilts as is done in the mother country.

"The linen," says Shakib, "was always as white as a dove's wing, when
Im-Hanna was with us."

And in the Khedivial Library Manuscript we find this curious note upon
that popular Syrian dish of lentils and olive oil.

"_Mojadderah_," writes Khalid, "has a marvellous effect upon my humour
and nerves. There are certain dishes, I confess, which give me the
blues. Of these, fried eggplants and cabbage boiled with corn-beef on
the American system of boiling, that is to say, cooking, I abominate
the most. But _mojadderah_ has such a soothing effect on the nerves;
it conduces to cheerfulness, especially when the raw onion or the leek
is taken with it. After a good round pewter platter of this delicious
dish and a dozen leeks, I feel as if I could do the work of all
mankind. And I am then in such a beatific state of mind that I would
share with all mankind my sack of lentils and my pipkin of olive oil.
I wonder not at Esau's extravagance, when he saw a steaming mess of
it. For what is a birthright in comparison?"

That Shakib also shared this beatific mood, the following quaint
picture of their Saturday nights in the cellar, will show.

"A bank account," he writes, "a good round dish of _mojadderah_, the
lute for Khalid, Al-Mutana