s 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 bright red caps and shoes, and some of them
with white turbans. They come out on feast days and holidays to play on
this green lawn and feed the fish. The old sheikh who keeps this holy
place, has great faith in these fish. He says they are all good Moslems,
and are inhabited by the souls of Moslem saints, and there is one black
fish, the Sheikh of the saints, who does not often show himself to
spectators. There are hundreds if not thousands of fish, resembling the
dace or chubs of America. He says that during the Crimean war, many of
the older ones went off under the sea to Sevastopol and fought the
Russian infidels, and some of them came back wounded. The people think
that if any one eats these fish he will die immediately. That I _know_
to be false, for I have tried it. When the American Consul was here in
1856, his Moslem Kawasses caught several of the fish, and brought them
to Mr. Lyons' house. We had them cooked and ate them, but found them
coarse and unpalatable. That was sixteen years ago and we have not felt
the evil effects yet.

This poor woman has a sick child, and has come to get the Sheikh to read
the Koran over it and cure it. The most of the Syrian doctors are
ignorant quacks, and the people have so many superstitions that they
prefer going to saints' tombs rather than call a good physician. There
is a Medical College in Beirut now, and before long Syria will have some
skilful doctors. I knew an old Egyptian doctor in Duma named Haj
Ibrahim, who was a conceited fellow. He used to bleed for every kind of
disease. An old man eighty years of age was dying of consumption, and
the Haj opened a vein and let him bleed to death. When the man died, he
said if he had only taken a little more blood, the old man would have
recovered. I was surprised by his coming to me one day and asking for
some American newspapers. I supposed he wished them to wrap medicines in
and gave him several New York Tribunes. A few days after he invited us
to eat figs and grapes in his vineyard and we stopped at his house. He
said he was very thankful for the papers. They had been very useful. I
wondered what he meant, and asked him. He showed me a jar in the corner
in