At Sakara, where we saw eleven pyramids, including the famous step-pyramid, we negotiated with some native labourers for a camel ride. It was a couple of miles to the railroad and we arranged to travel the distance on these oriental beasts of burden. We were in the rural districts and the camels were carrying loads of dirt. My man agreed to a piastre (five cents) for the trip. When I was mounted he demanded a shilling. I paid no attention to him. He started the beast on the run in the hope of frightening me. It was simply fun. Then he urged the animal into a gallop. I didn't know a camel was capable of such a thing. I know it now. A scenic railway is as mild as a baby carriage when compared to the up and down movements of a galloping camel. There isn't much speed about it. Two-thirds of the energy of the beast is devoted to vertical motions. I hung on to the canvas bag on the camel's back with the grip of a bull-dog. My insides were nearly shaken out. The native continued to shout for a shilling and jab the camel in the belly with a sharp stick. The animal leaped and bounded about like a bronco. By a miracle I managed to hang on.

Fifteen minutes of such a shaking process was enough for me. I swung my feet over to one side and jumped from the camel's back to the ploughed ground. My ride only cost me a piastre. It was well worth it.

A man at the American Presbyterian Mission in Cairo told us that there was a crowd of American "free-lovers" in Jerusalem who frequently entertained travellers, and he thought we could get accommodations there. The free-love feature had an attractive sound to Richardson and myself and we concluded that if there was any of that sort of thing loose we would round it up. We therefore decided to go to Jerusalem at once. Our destination was the "American Colony," the name by which this group of people was known.

We scrambled out of bed, packed, paid our hotel bills, rode a mile to the station—all in thirty minutes—and left Cairo for Palestine. At Port Said we boarded the Maria Teresa of the Austrian Lloyd Company and took up our quarters in the steerage, along with a dozen French monks and others making a pilgrimage to the Holy City. There was one Austrian priest on board. He had a long brilliant red beard which looked as though it was the growth of centuries. When he saw me shaving before the common mirror in the steerage he was suddenly seized with the desire to part with the fearful brush he had on his face. He wanted to buy my razor. I, of course, wouldn't sell it. Then he asked to borrow it. I didn't very much like the idea of lending my razor to chop off the beards on strangers' faces. However, I passed over the weapon.

The priest asked me to assist him. My part of the work was trimming his beard with scissors down to the point where the razor would be of service. I refused to do more. He did the shaving himself. It took him half an hour to ruin a good razor.

It is but a night's journey to Jaffa and in the morning we were off the shore of that little town. The sea was very rough and we were unable to land. Jaffa hasn't any wharves and the captain considered it dangerous for the passengers to be taken ashore in the small native boats. We stood by all day, hoping that the sea would subside. Evening came and there was no change.

There were a number of Americans among the first-class passengers. A California judge and his wife, a Chicago gas merchant and his wife, an English clergyman and a Pentecost preacher proved the most interesting. Richardson and I paid no attention to the steerage limits. We mingled with the first-class passengers and made several lasting friendships among them.

We all wanted to be in Jerusalem and Bethlehem on Christmas Day. It was now the 22nd of December and unless we landed somewhere soon we couldn't make it. The captain decided to sail for Haifa, whence we could go to Jerusalem by land.

In the morning we arrived at Haifa. The purser presented us with a bill for two dollars for extra fare and food from Jaffa. All the passengers paid it. Richardson and I refused.

"But you have to pay it," said the purser.

"Pay nothing," I said, "we bought tickets to Jaffa and you didn't land us there."

"All the passengers have paid it."

"We don't care if they have," said Richardson.

"I insist on your paying the money," the purser added in a most dignified manner.

"No money from us. What are you going to do about it?" I said.

"Well, if you persist in refusing to pay, I must have you write a letter to the Austrian Lloyd Company stating that you declined to do so. I want something to show the officials of the company."

"Sure, we will do that."

Richardson and I framed up the following brief epistle which we gladly gave the Austrian purser. He couldn't read English and didn't know what was in it.

"To the Austrian Lloyd Company:

We are a pair of religious fanatics making our monthly pilgrimage to Jerusalem. For the first time in our many trips on your company's boats we are charged an extra fare. We bought tickets to Jaffa—not to Haifa. The purser demands two dollars more and says the high sea is the cause of it. We refuse to pay for rough weather. If the captain took it into his head to go to Siam, we suppose that your purser would render us a bill. No, the gentleman is wrong.

R.J. Richardson,

Alfred C.B. Fletcher."

All the passengers went ashore at Haifa in small boats provided by the Thomas Cook and Son tourist agency. They paid five shillings each. Richardson and I stood on the deck and bargained with the native boatmen. We got them bidding against one another. One of them finally rowed the two of us to land for one shilling.

There is no railroad from Haifa to Jerusalem and the only means of getting to the Holy City is to drive to Jaffa, a distance of about seventy miles. From Jaffa we could go by train to Jerusalem. Richardson and I had always made it a point to keep out of the hands of Thomas Cook and Son. This concern, which is in all parts of the world, is a great convenience to travellers and their rates are moderate in most cases. However, we had no time for them and they had no time for us. We could travel cheaper without their assistance. They are not interested in tramps or steerage passengers.

Haifa was one place where we were forced into the hands of Thomas Cook. It was a case of go in one of his stages to Jaffa at ten dollars each, or not go at all. It would have been a source of regret to us for many years if we had abandoned the trip. The Americans were full of enthusiasm about it. Richardson and I caught the spirit and agreed to go.

There were ten stages in the party with about thirty passengers from the Austrian Lloyd steamer, including our newly-acquired American friends. This little caravan left Haifa about noon. It wound its way around the base of Mount Carmel, on whose summit is a monastery—said to be erected over the cave in which Elijah sought shelter from Ahab. In an hour we were on the coastal plains of Palestine. There are no modern highways in the Holy Land. I don't recall seeing anything that looked like a road all the way from Haifa to Jaffa. We rode over fields, up hills and through valleys. We simply started in the right direction and went straight across the country.

That evening we came to a small Jewish village called Zamarine. This settlement was nothing more than a dozen little houses on the top of a hill. The whole party put up at the Hotel Graff. The proprietor of this place knew nothing of our coming and hadn't prepared any food for us. We were a tired lot and had to go to bed hungry, with only the promise of a good breakfast in the morning.

Every one was up at two o'clock to get an early start for the fifty-mile run into Jaffa. The good breakfast consisted of weak creamless coffee, unbuttered bread and a few sardines or small canned fish. This repast was a keen disappointment. It was an amusing sight to see the millionaire Chicago gas merchant and the California judge munching a dry piece of bread for a two A.M. breakfast. They expected more. Richardson and I took the meal as a matter of course. We had seen the time when such a menu would have been a luxury.

We left Zamarine when it was still dark and in a heavy down-pour of rain. This down-pour continued all day. The plains were soaked with water. When we were not pulling through the sticky mud of the fields we were bumping over the rocks and boulders of the hillsides. It was the worst stage trip I ever took.

The Pentecost preacher rode in the stage with Richardson and myself. He prayed for the rain to cease. The harder he prayed the harder it rained. We passed the hours in religious discussions. The old fellow was the most rigid Puritan on earth. He objected to cards, dancing and the theatre. We asked a hundred questions to draw him out and amuse ourselves.

"What chance has a man who drinks?" Richardson asked the preacher.

"None; booze is the devil in liquid form."

"Won't you have a cigarette?" I said, offering him a sack of Bull Durham and papers. I insulted the old man. He refused to answer.

"What do you think of Shakespeare?" enquired Richardson.

"I haven't time to waste on him. The Bible is good enough for me."

"Do you approve of football?" I asked.

"No, athletics are the work of the devil."

"This fellow is what I call a real broad-minded man. He's a relic of the last century. I didn't know that people of his sort still existed," I said to Richardson.

"Do you ever use the word 'damn'?" Richardson asked him.

"No man with the spirit of Christ would ever use such a word. I refuse to talk to you boys any longer," he concluded, perceiving that we were making fun of him. He sat in silence the rest of the trip and pouted like a five-year-old child.

The rain continued. The wagon wheels became heavy with mud. The horses had hard work pulling the heavy coaches over the roadless fields. The front wheels of one of the wagons sank several feet in the mud and the vehicle was securely anchored. The horses were unable to pull it out. Another team was hitched on. The four horses struggled with the stage while their drivers whipped them up. One horse after another fell in the slippery mud. Not until a third team was hitched on was the wagon extricated from the mud-hole.

mount

We came to a mad rushing stream which seemed impossible to ford. One of the Bedouin drivers stripped off his clothes and waded through to sound the depth and pick a way. The water came up to his shoulders. After a half-hour's deliberation we all agreed to take the chance of crossing. Our stage was the first to go through. The horses at first refused to start. The driver finally urged them in. The water covered their backs and only their heads were above the surface. The stream came in the bed of the high wagon which bounded back and forth over the boulders on the bottom of the river like a rocking cradle. We landed safely. The second stage made the crossing. In mid-stream one of the horses of the third stage lost his footing and fell. He was completely submerged for a moment. He regained his feet and the stage landed safely on the other side. At last all the ten teams came across without mishap. The women of the party were a brave band in the way they tackled the crossing without a murmur. It was a treacherous stream and our safe passage was almost miraculous. Two Englishmen were drowned at this same place the next day.

This was an unusual way to pass Christmas Eve. We continued on over ploughed fields and rocky hills. We forded several little streams. About nine in the evening the lights of Jaffa could be seen in the distance, and we were soon on the road which led into the town and at nearly midnight we arrived. It was a tired crowd that blew into Jaffa that night and I doubt if the little Kamitz Hotel ever lodged a sounder set of sleepers.

The train from Jaffa to Jerusalem is an ancient sample of rolling stock. It winds its way through hillside orange groves and soft plains sprinkled with grazing sheep. The country about Jaffa is the only beautiful portion of Palestine that we saw. We crossed the Plain of Sharon, where the Crusaders fought; we passed Timnath, where Samson set fire to the Philistines' corn and we saw the valley of Ajalon where Joshua commanded the moon to stand still. We arrived in the Holy City at one o'clock in the afternoon of Christmas Day.

"Drive us to the American Colony," said Richardson to a cabman. We drove outside the walls of Jerusalem and in ten minutes we were at the entrance of a large two-story stone building. The door opened and before we had a chance to say a word we were greeted most cordially by a middle-aged man. He at once recognised us as Americans and invited us in.

Fifteen minutes after our arrival in Jerusalem Richardson and I sat down, with one hundred and twenty Americans, to one of the finest Christmas dinners any two human beings ever ate. There was everything served that ever graced a Christmas table. Turkey, cranberry sauce, plum pudding, mince and pumpkin pies, nuts, raisins and candy were placed before us in quantities that bewildered us. Everything was so deliciously cooked that we thought we were in America,—or Heaven. Richardson and I were so hungry that we flew to this grand feast like two men that had never seen food before. We had to put on the brakes to keep from disgracing ourselves at the first meal.

The free-love talk by the American Presbyterian missionary in Cairo was malicious gossip. This rumour probably originated from the fact that the American Colony consisted of a number of people who came to Jerusalem to be present at the second coming of Christ. They thought that this event was soon to take place and they concluded that marriage was not necessary. It was back in the eighties that a score of people from a Chicago Protestant Church, thinking that the second Advent was soon due, came to Jerusalem to be on hand for the event. As time went on the little colony expanded and their plans became more settled. The idea of the second coming was given up and they intermarried in the usual manner. They resolved to live the life of the original Christians at the seat of the foundation of Christianity. Through the years the colony grew by the birth of children and additions from the outside until it numbered at the time of our visit about one hundred and twenty people.

There is not a finer group of people in the world. They are among the most hospitable we have ever met. Every one of them, from the several babes in arms to the fine old men, was an excellent type of American manhood and womanhood. They are known far and wide in the Near East and are spoken of everywhere in the highest terms.

The entire colony lives as one community in a group of substantial stone buildings. There is a common purse, a common table and sitting room. The whole institution is thoroughly systematised and is very efficient. Each member of the household has his or her duties to perform. Some of the women look after the kitchen and dining room; others work in the bakery and a number take care of the bed rooms. There is a school to which all the children are sent for daily instruction. The men devote most of their time to a curio store conducted by the colony in the business section of Jerusalem. This is a well-known store and the best pictures of Palestine, Syria, Egypt and even India are the work of the photographers of the American Colony.

This was the home Richardson and I found and where we spent two of the most interesting and enjoyable weeks of our lives. The hospitality of some people is marvellous. The kindness of the members of the American Colony will stay in our memories forever.

Christmas afternoon Richardson and I walked to Bethlehem, a distance of six miles. It was bitterly cold and a hard wind was blowing. On leaving Jerusalem we descended into the valley of Gihon. We saw the tomb of Rachel which was erected over the place of her death and which is revered by Christians and Moslems as well as Jews.

Bethlehem is a hillside town of eight thousand people. Its houses are built of stone and mud and are huddled close together. Its cobblestoned streets are narrow and steep and are the picturesque scenes of many small markets. We went to the Church of the Nativity, the most interesting place in the village. It is a fine building, but poorly kept. It contains four rows of marble columns, some of the stones of which are said to have once formed a part of the Temple of Jerusalem. The roof is of beams of rough cedar from Lebanon. The nave is the oldest monument of Christian architecture in the world—the sole remaining portion of the grand Basilica erected by the Empress Helena in 327 A.D. In the grotto, or chapel of the Nativity, a silver star in the pavement marks the spot where Christ was born. Fifteen silver lamps are perpetually burning in this chapel.

The Church of the Nativity is under the control of the Turkish government. The edifice has been turned over to the Greek Church which has the main altar, to the Armenians and Copts who have a side altar and to the Latins—as the Roman Catholics are known—who have built an addition to the church for their several altars. This is a unique arrangement—three churches in the same building. The grotto or Nativity chapel is also divided among them. This unity in one building has a sensible sound. It is only apparent unity, however. There were several Turkish soldiers on hand and I was told that they were stationed there day and night throughout the year. They stood within a few feet of the altars with their guns over their shoulders to see that the priests of the various churches do not fight and kill one another as they have done on previous occasions. Christ came as the Prince of Peace—and His representatives stand fighting at His very birthplace!

That evening Richardson and I spent in the living room of the American Colony. These good people were having their Christmas tree celebration. There was an elaborate programme arranged which took place before the distribution of presents. The young women gave a very pretty colonial dance; the little children delivered recitations and there were a number of good vocal and instrumental selections. One of the old men read a portion of the Bible and explained to the children the significance of the Christmas festival. Then the gifts were distributed. The gathering was like a huge family. The five-year-old girl called the white-haired man of eighty "brother" and he called her "sister." It was a very joyous occasion.

Many people are disappointed in Jerusalem. They expect to find a modern city with large hotels, electric lights, telephones and every convenience. Their ideals are harshly shattered when they find themselves in an unsanitary, backward and poorly kept city. It has a population of about eighty thousand people made up of Jews, Bedouins and peasants from the countries that border on the Mediterranean. The city is thronged with lazy priests, who hang about the sacred spots. These shrines are based on tradition and many of them are so far from reason that they are ridiculous. The holy places are not kept clean, the interior decorations of the churches are tawdry and Turkish soldiers are stationed in the buildings to preserve order among the various sects of Christians. These are not attractive features.

Our Chicago gas merchant friend was one of the disappointed ones. He went to Jerusalem expecting too much. I suppose that he thought he would find streets of gold studded with jewels and every human being in it an angel or a saint. He confused the old Jerusalem with the new. He was a staunch Roman Catholic. His disappointment was so keen that his faith in Christianity was nearly shaken.

The American Colony sent one of their number with us to act as our guide in the city. We entered Saint Stephen's Gate and walked along the Via Dolorosa to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This is a large impressive building, but all the sacred association is at once killed in a person's mind by the ridiculous and petty things under its roof. When an intelligent man is shown the tomb in which Adam is buried and where his skull was discovered he can do nothing but smile. Where is evolution? To point out a spot about six inches in diameter as the centre of the earth may be appropriate information for an ignorant peasant but it is folly to tell such rubbish to an educated man. If this church was simply over the tomb of Christ that would be sufficient, but when so many varied and silly events are commemorated under the same roof an enlightened person naturally shrinks from the whole thing. He is impressed by the ignorance and superstition of the poor pilgrims who crowd in and out of the sacred places by the thousands. He thinks that all these things may be all right for them but he with his knowledge has to reject them.

Richardson and I made the rounds of the many sacred spots and shrines. But these were not of so much interest to us. The city itself, the people, their customs and daily round of life took up our attention. There are no wheeled vehicles in the walled city of Jerusalem. In fact there are none in the whole of Palestine, with the exception of a few cabs about the station in Jerusalem. All freight is carried on the backs of camels or donkeys. The narrow streets of the city, often roofed over like tunnels, are sometimes an endless chain of donkeys carrying heavy loads of grain or other provisions. These thoroughfares are so narrow that we often had to step into the cave-like shops to let a donkey pass. These tunneled streets look like large cement water pipes. At intervals of a few yards there are openings or sky lights through which the sun casts its rays and fresh air circulates.

The Kubbet-es-Sakhra, popularly known as the Mosque of Omar, is the most conspicuous building in Jerusalem. It was erected in the seventh century and is said to stand on the site of Solomon's Temple. Under the dome of the Mosque is the sacred rock upon which a thousand things have happened, if one believes all he hears about it. It contains a foot-print of Mohammed. Beneath this ordinary cobblestone, the like of which Arizona has by the thousands, the waters of the Flood are supposed to roar. Abraham attempted to sacrifice Isaac here. Numerous other things happened in, on and under this boulder—but I didn't have time to listen to them.

Richardson and I were hemmed in at Jerusalem. The sea was so rough at Jaffa that it was impossible for passengers to get to the steamers. The wind and the rain made an overland trip very disagreeable. These conditions delayed us a couple of days. We asked for our bill at the American Colony for our two-weeks' stay. They said we owed them nothing. We wouldn't hear of such a thing, and insisted on making a payment. They suggested that we make a donation, as that was the custom. Richardson gave an amount which was the equivalent of seventy-five cents each a day. It was the finest board and room we ever received for such a price.

Early one morning we set out with a pack mule and a guide to see Palestine by horseback. We were bound for Nazareth.

CHAPTER XIV

WANDERING IN THE NEAR EAST

Palestine is the most barren, desolate and forsaken country—outside of a desert—that I have ever seen. Many people, in their religious enthusiasm, work themselves into a state where they imagine that its stony hills are thickly wooded; that its arid valleys are spots of beauty and its dull plains are fertile fields. I have heard tourists indulge in a series of platitudes in praise of some dreary hillside and vale which, in America, would not be fit for even post-holes. To speak in such a way about the Holy Land may seem sacrilegious. However, I would rather write the truth and run the chance of profaning this sacred country.

With our pack-mule and guide Richardson and I slowly crawled away from Jerusalem and our horses picked their course over the dismal plains towards the north. We drew near to the little village of Sha'fat, the ancient Nob. Not a soul was stirring. The place looked like a group of deserted and decrepit tombs. Bethel, the scene of many events recorded in the Old Testament, stood before us on a hill. Every village stands on a hill, is surrounded by cactus and stones and is inhabited by a lot of poor unfortunates who have sore eyes and are filthy and ignorant. A dozen loathsome and mangy dogs usually received us with their sickly-sounding barks. The simple people congregated and shouted bakshish. We rode through the rubbish-ridden streets, along the vile-smelling alleys and out into the open again. We didn't stop.

Along the road-side we saw occasional olive trees, two thousand years old,—if one was to believe what was said about them and if their appearance indicated anything. Sometimes a number of women and children would be gathering the fruit. In the plains a flock of sheep would be grazing. What they found to eat—unless it was the cobble stones—was a puzzle to me. We would pass a man on a donkey with his wife strutting along a few paces behind on foot. Or again we would be startled by actually seeing a live tree on the hillside.

Our destination for the first night was Nablus, the ancient Shechem and at one time the capital of Palestine. We came to Jacob's well, one of the most venerated spots in the Holy Land, and in a few minutes were in the town, an enterprising community of Jews, Moslems and a handful of Christians. Richardson, with grim inversion, described the place as the town where the dogs throw stones at you and the boys bite you in the leg. We were met at the city's gates by the usual reception committee of barking and snapping dogs and a score of Moslem youngsters who greeted the vile Christians by pelting us with rocks. To be the recipient of a cloud of precious stones from the skilful arms of youths who daily indulge in such a pastime was anything but comfortable. One lad planted a huge board with all his might across the tail of my horse. This sudden and violent stroke, together with the hailstorm of boulders, put a streak of life into an animal which had been practically dead ever since I had made his acquaintance.

We rode up to a French monastery, conducted by the Latin Church, and there we put up for the night. Richardson and I sat at the long dining table with a dozen monks and ate a simple but good meal and drank our share of wine. It was almost impossible to incite these old fellows to speech and our dinner was as silent as a religious retreat. Our bedroom was as well furnished and as comfortable as in an American home.

We made an early start in the morning. We soon came to Samaria, which is now nothing but a small unsanitary village surrounded by a cactus hedge and half in ruins. We reached the summit of a hill and, before us, stretched the Plain of Esdraelon, and the mountains of Tabor and Carmel stood in the distance like huge monuments. There was nothing beautiful about the scene.

Riding along quietly we were startled by the sudden appearance over a hill of two Bedouins on horseback. These men, with their head-dress of white cloth and a double coil of goat's hair, their hard faces and guns over their shoulders, were a treacherous-looking pair. They stared at us, exchanged a few words with our guide and passed on. Many a Christian has been robbed and killed by Bedouins in the vicinity of the River Jordan. Our guide must have told them that we were poor men, for we were never disturbed.

Our stopping place for the second night was a small settlement called Jenin. We obtained accommodations in a tiny hotel. On leaving we had a row with the proprietor who demanded more money than he had agreed upon the evening before. We refused to pay and he followed us for a mile out of the town, wrangling with us over the matter.

We spent the morning crawling across the Plain of Esdraelon and, about noon, began ascending the hill to Nazareth. It was a long winding climb over a road which had never seen a grader. Nazareth is situated on a sort of plateau. It is a town of about ten thousand people and has several substantial school buildings and hospitals erected by various churches. Here are found many places venerated for their Biblical associations. The Church of the Annunciation is supposed to be erected on the site of Mary's house and the scene of the annunciation. In the Moslem quarter of the town the Latin Church has possession of the "Workshop of Joseph" and the "Table of Christ" upon which he dined with his disciples before and after the resurrection. The Mount of Precipitation, where the people sought to cast Christ down, is plainly visible from Nazareth and on its summit is a Latin church.

We left Nazareth at four o'clock in the morning. We recrossed the Plain of Esdraelon and arrived at Afuleh where we missed our train—the only one that day—for Damascus. Turkish trains run on peculiar schedules. This train is supposed to leave Haifa for Damascus each day at sun rise. Occasionally the conductor—or some one—decides to start an hour or more earlier. This is done without any notice to the public. Such was evidently the case on the morning we tried to catch the train, for we arrived on time at Afuleh only to find that we were too late.

We dismissed our guide, who returned to Jerusalem with the two horses and pack-mule. It looked as though we were doomed to spend a day and a night at Afuleh, a station and a native shop—and nothing more. A Syrian lace merchant and a young New York Jew, a commercial traveller, were also left behind. We telegraphed the director of the railroad and obtained his permission to go by freight train to Damascus. We declined this route, however, when the freight conductor consigned us to an open car exposed to a steady down-pour of rain.

nazareth

We spent the day walking the ties in front of the station and went to Haifa for the night on the train from Damascus late in the afternoon. We had landed in Haifa when we first arrived in Palestine, and our second coming completed a small circuit. The next day we took the train that leaves at sun rise for Damascus. The only thing a Turkish train has in the way of accommodation is plenty of time. It hasn't a single convenience I can think of. I actually saw one train stop to allow two ducks to cross the track. One conductor threatened to beat me up because I made fun of his little engine and cars by running backwards beside his train and winning the race into the station.

The Sea of Galilee is a glassy, stagnant-looking body of water, and when we saw it was as calm as a plate of soup. It was so peaceful that one could hardly realise that it was capable of the storms described in the Bible. I was told that these storms take place on it to-day. Tiberias, the most vermin-ridden settlement in the world, stands on its shores. The River Jordan, which looks like a Southern California "wash" in winter, has its source in the sea. Richardson and I walked down to the banks of this mad-rushing little stream and filled a bottle with a sample of its water. This fluid looks and tastes like that of any water company in America. I have done nothing but give portions of my sample away ever since.

Beyond the Jordan the railroad crosses a vast plain which produces nothing but rocks. I don't think I ever saw so many boulders before. I didn't see a suggestion of vegetation or a sign of life in the entire distance from the Jordan to Damascus. We travelled across this weary expanse of nothing with a Greek priest, who spoke English, and a female missionary of the Church of England who had spent many years of her life converting natives in a village east of the Jordan.

Damascus is the oldest city in the world. It is the city in which Saint Paul became a Christian. It is larger than Pittsburgh, having over half a million inhabitants. It is famous for its picturesque markets and bazaars, which are the focal point for all the products of the interior of Syria.

Richardson and I took in the sights of this city without a guide, as was our custom. The Reverend Mr. Hanamar, of the English Church, told us how to get about most profitably. He is an authority on the Holy Land and Syria and had the task of revising Thomas Cook and Son's Handbook on Palestine and Syria. We walked the length of the "Street Called Straight." If it were not for the fact that every one who sees this street makes the same remark, I would here state that it is not straight. However, it is an interesting thoroughfare. With its wooden roof, its hundreds of picturesque shops and its hordes of humanity it is unique among the streets of the world.

The Great Mosque, which at one time was a Christian Church, is said to contain the head of Saint John the Baptist. I understand that a half dozen churches throughout Europe also claim this distinction. At any rate, it is interesting to note—and strange to think—that the Moslems have allowed the following inscription on the walls of the Great Mosque to remain: "Thy Kingdom, O Christ, is a kingdom of all ages, and Thy dominion lasts throughout all generations."

Our train from Damascus to Beirut travelled at the rate of six miles an hour. A man can nearly beat this walking. But out of justice to this train I should say that in a distance of eighty miles we had to rise three thousand feet to the ridge of the Lebanon Mountains. From the summit of these mountains a beautiful picture was suddenly spread before us. Directly beneath us was Beirut—its houses crowded in among the jungle of trees—and stretching out beyond to the horizon was the expanse of the blue and white-capped Mediterranean. Bobbing up and down on the waves was a small steamer flying the Stars and Stripes. It was the first American flag Richardson and I had seen since we left Manila. We decided to investigate it on our arrival in Beirut.

We were the guests of Professor and Mrs. Brown, who were connected with the Syrian Protestant College, one of the leading institutions of learning in the Near East. Beirut is a great educational centre, having forty schools for boys and twenty-five for girls.

The Syrian lace merchant, whom we met at Afuleh while waiting for our train, entertained us at dinner. After the meal we drank several cups of muddy-looking Turkish coffee with its inch of sediment in the bottom of the cup, and smoked a narghile, or hubble-bubble pipe. From our Syrian friend we learned that the little steamer with the American flag was the Virginia of the Archipelago-American Steamship Company. This concern was incorporated under the laws of the United States and carried the Stars and Stripes, although its capital and management were largely Greek. This arrangement was to serve as a means of protection against Turkey.

Richardson and I concluded that here was our chance for a free ride. We would go to the steamship company's office, announce that we were Americans, act important and demand passage to Constantinople.

"When does the Virginia leave for Constantinople?" I asked a man in the company's office after introducing Richardson and myself.

"In a few days, as soon as her cargo is loaded. She doesn't run on any schedule," was his reply.

"Mr. Richardson and I are studying conditions in Syria for an American newspaper syndicate and we want to get passage on your boat to Constantinople. We are paying special attention to the commerce and shipping of this section of the world and we wish to make a favourable report. We noticed that your steamer flies the American flag." There had been considerable criticism of the policy of permitting foreign concerns such as the Archipelago-American Steamship Company to fly American colours on their ships. The officials of this company were aware of this and when we gave the newspaper talk they imagined that we might make it a point to use their company as an example in our write-ups.

"But the Virginia is only a freight boat. She hasn't any accommodations for passengers. But——"

"We can put up with the crew," interrupted Richardson. "In fact we would rather travel in that way. We can get the sailor's point of view."

"Can you drop in again this afternoon? I will see what I can do," the man concluded after a moment's reflection.

"Rich, if we don't land that boat to Constantinople I will walk there," I said, as we sauntered along the waterfront from the steamship office.

Two nights later we were nicely settled in a stateroom on the Virginia adjoining the captain's. It was one of the most comfortable cabins we had been in. Across the way was a young Greek governess, a friend of the skipper's. She was also getting a free ride to Constantinople.

The scheduled time for the regular passenger steamers from Beirut to Constantinople is three days. The little Virginia see-sawed up and down the coast of Asia Minor, discharging and taking on freight, for two weeks. Richardson and I didn't care if it took six months for the journey or if she went to South America for a cargo.

We anchored off the shore of Tripoli but were unable to land on account of the city's being under quarantine for cholera. The little steamer continued on to Alexandretta. Richardson and I went ashore here and wandered in and out among the markets. It is a town of thirty thousand people and possesses nothing of extraordinary interest. The Virginia received orders to go to Bayas, a small port to the north, for several thousand boxes of oranges to be brought to Alexandretta.

Morning found us off the coast of Bayas. During the day a number of Greeks with their wives and daughters came on board. They were orange growers of Syria. Their presence meant jam for breakfast, a delicacy we didn't otherwise get. Richardson nearly disgraced America by the amount he ate. The steamer returned to Alexandretta that evening and discharged her cargo of fruit.

Mersina, a city of about fifty thousand people, was the next place on our itinerary. The night's trip proved a rough one. A strong wind stirred up a very heavy sea. The little boat was tossed about as though it had no weight. The waves broke over the ship and water mysteriously came in our cabin in spite of the fact that the portholes were securely closed. It was one of the wettest nights of my life. It seemed as though some one was emptying a tub of water in our room every minute. Everything was literally swimming in water. It was foot deep in our stateroom in the morning. Richardson and I waded out of the cabin as wet as two oysters and dressed in the saloon.

port

The night had been a wet one and a long one to us. But to the poor Greek governess in the adjoining stateroom it was one of continual distress. The gruesome and appalling shrieks and groans which emanated from this unfortunate creature indicated that she was in the last stages of sea-sickness. I have seen thousands of people suffering with this ailment but I never heard one perform as this young Greek did. All night she gasped for breath, coughed and choked. She gave vent to the most heart-rending whoops which penetrated to all parts of the ship. We thought the poor girl would strangle to death.

During the following night the steamer put into Rhodes. Much to our regret we were off before morning and there was no opportunity to land. A short stop was made at Khios, a small town on an island of the same name off the coast of Asia Minor.

We steamed into the beautiful bay of Smyrna with the city clinging snugly to a hundred hills clothed in a garment of evergreen. Every section of the world seems to have its Paris, and Smyrna has this distinction for the Near East. There are many French people among its half million inhabitants and the city is gay with cafés, theatres and places of amusement. We only had a short time to go about while the steamer discharged a small consignment of freight.

Two hundred Turks were driven up the gangway to go as deck passengers to Dedeagatch, a little seaport in Southern Bulgaria. It was a motley crowd of human freight that huddled in bunches on the forward deck. The men with red fezzes or soiled turbans and unkempt straggly beards were an unattractive lot. The women with their black dresses covering shapeless figures and with their veiled faces didn't look like human beings. They had the appearance of walking pyramids.

As Richardson and I wandered about the deck to look them over, the women would turn their faces or quickly veil themselves. It was immodest to expose this part of their anatomy to a man and especially to a foreigner. What a strange thing custom is! The women of America go clothed to the limit except in the ballroom, on the stage or in the water. The women of Japan are indifferent as to when or where they disrobe. The women of Turkey hide their faces on the approach of man. I was told that when Milady of Turkey is caught unaware in the bath she makes haste to cover only her face. Some of the faces I chanced to see look better behind their black curtains. It might be wise to introduce such facial disguises in America. I know instances where they would serve a laudable purpose.

Life on the Virginia was getting monotonous. The food had taken a slump from its fairly good beginning. We had little to do and time began to drag. We had read all the books on board. The steamer didn't remain at the various ports long enough for us to acquaint ourselves with the towns and cities—still less with the commerce and shipping interests of the country. We looked forward to Constantinople and some diversity.

We only remained at Dedeagatch a sufficient time to dump the human cargo of Turks, and then set out for Constantinople. We sailed through the Hellespont, passed the small town of Dardanelles, steamed across the Sea of Marmora and entered the Bosporus.

CHAPTER XV

GREECE AND ROME FROM A THIRD-CLASS COACH

Two weeks of the Greek freighter were enough, and Richardson and I rejoiced to see the picturesque sky-line of Constantinople come into view. We made short work of getting ashore as soon as the anchor was dropped and in a few minutes were on a local steamer going up the Bosporus on our way to Roberts College, the famous American institution of the Near East, where we were to be the guests of friends of Richardson's. Here we received a real welcome and once more began living the civilised life—as true Americans can when given a chance.

It had now been many months since we had left Manila and a job; and our exchequers, in spite of the economical methods of travel we had pursued, were being slowly depleted. However, as near as can be recalled, we had about two hundred and fifty dollars each and, although this sum is a mere joke when compared with the distance we were from home, still a man is not broke until he is broke. We concluded that if it was possible we would get jobs in Constantinople and at least break even financially during our stay there.

Looking for work in Europe is a very different thing from such a quest in the Orient. Indeed, we soon found that as a whole travel in Europe was far different and in many ways less interesting than in the Far East. Europe is the beaten path where the inhabitants of each country are organised and lie in wait to separate the American tourist from his coin. The paths are all cut and dried and everything is carried on along the lines of the personally-conducted sight-seeing tours. Jobs are scarce, and the few obtainable pay very small wages. The thrifty native can do the work as well as, and oftentimes better than, the transient American. The conventional character of European travel strips this pastime of two-thirds of its charm. Experiences, which one is daily encountering in the more or less primitive countries of the Orient, are not to be found in Europe. Civilisation, with its comforts and conveniences, eliminates the possibilities of adventure and the traveller, whether rich or poor, usually deteriorates into a bored and bleary-eyed sight-seeing machine.

After a couple of days' rest we set out to find jobs. We invaded Stamboul, Galata, Pera and Scutari, the three sections of Constantinople, and called on the American Consul, several large foreign mercantile houses, and a number of educational institutions. In nearly every instance we were dismissed with a laugh. Roberts College came to our rescue. Richardson received a position, if it could be elevated to such dignity by the appellation, which consisted of doing electric wiring in one of the college buildings at two dollars a day. Out of this he was to board and room himself. The best I could do was to become assistant instructor in physical culture in the gymnasium at thirty-five dollars a month and from this princely sum I was to pay for my board and clothe and shelter myself—in addition to providing for the many and sundry wants of an American in a strange land.

Richardson decided to accept and I to reject the respective posts. I concluded that I would rather starve moving than while stationary. We agreed to separate—Richardson to remain in Constantinople for a couple of months and I to continue on alone,—to meet later in London. Before our separation we made a systematic and tourist-like conquest of beautiful Constantinople. We went up the Bosporus and travelled in circles on the Black Sea. We explained the interesting but backward city itself. We made our way among the quaint bazaars and finally came to the Mosque of San Sophia. Here I took leave of Richardson and we planned to meet in London in a few months to cross the Atlantic to America together.

I did not have any itinerary. My plan was simply to go through Europe. I decided to go from Constantinople to Greece. The first-class fare to Athens was eighty francs. At this rate my supply of coin would not last long. I knew I could beat that. I visited several steamship offices along the waterfront in search of cheap passage.

Accompanied by a Greek, as an interpreter, I entered a dingy little office.

"When does the next boat leave for Piræus?" I inquired of a moon-faced man in uniform behind a counter.

"To-morrow morning at nine o'clock," was the reply by way of the interpreter.

"What is the fare?" I asked.

"Thirty francs," was the response.

"That's too much," I said, starting to walk away.

"What will you give?" asked the steamship company official.

"Five francs," I uttered, smothering a smile at the smallness of the amount.

"All right," agreed the officer—and I bought my ticket at once. I was so astonished that I could hardly dig up the money fast enough. As I left the little office I concluded that my luck had not left me on setting foot in Europe. I shipped my suit case direct to England, deciding to travel with only a small hand bag.

As my boat did not leave until morning, I now had the evening in which to stir up some excitement. I wandered along the streets of Constantinople ready to welcome any one or anything that came my way. Presently a sign "American Bar" greeted my eyes and in I immediately went, thinking that there the English or American language would be spoken and I might find a companion of some sort. I found that French was the only means of communication. Shortly, however, a man entered the place who knew a little English.

"Where can I find a bit of excitement this evening?" I asked.

"There is nothing going on to-night except at the Paris Café," replied the man.

"What takes place there?"

"Music, theatre, pretty women and plenty to eat and drink."

"Where is this café and how do I get there?" I asked, determined to investigate the establishment.

"The proprietor will be here in a moment and you can go with him."

In a few minutes a sleek-looking Frenchman arrived and was introduced, and in a second I was off with him in a closed carriage for the Paris Café. We rode on for an hour. It was nine o'clock in the evening. The Frenchman didn't speak a word of English. I began to think that I was up against a knockdown and drag-out game. I decided to stick, however, and see what this Paris Café was. We rode on. Finally, the carriage came to a stop and we alighted in front of a small house, brightly illuminated, from which was emanating the maudlin laughter of male and female voices. There was not another house to be seen. We might have been in the midst of an American prairie from the appearance of the darkened landscape. My French companion and I entered the house. I reluctantly paid the equivalent of one dollar admittance. On entering, the Frenchman was lost in the crowd and I was left to find my own way. An inebriated gathering of French life greeted my vision. I seated myself at a table in one end of the large room, ordered a drink and in a careless manner took in what was about me. A dozen or more tables with six or eight people at each occupied half of the hall, a highly-polished floor for dancing took up the other half and at one end was a stage on which a succession of scantily-clad French women of tender age executed a series of sensuous dances while the maudlin crowd cheered and applauded.

I sat at my table unnoticed for fully an hour. At last, an ill-shapen feminine individual advanced and, in broken English supplemented with portions of French, asked me to join her crowd in an adjacent room in some refreshments. I accepted. I considered that I was not a fool and could take care of myself, and decided that I would investigate the place to the limit. I joined this select party of eight. Liquid began to flow freely and all were very solicitous that I should drink my fill. Being suspicious of the whole proceeding I decided to drink nothing. I had fears of being drugged, robbed and thrown out in an alley to spend the night. My fears were well founded. The gang became more and more intoxicated. They reached the point where they evidently thought that I was ripe to pluck, and two of them ventured to separate me from my money. It would have been a fruitless effort, if it had been allowed to proceed to its consummation, for I had left all my coin, with the exception of a small amount, in my hand bag at the steamship office. My assailants plunged towards me like huge tigers. They were so drunk that they were helpless. I handled them like a pair of twin punching bags and left the room and the Paris Café with one man stretched out so flat that he looked like an inlaid design on the floor, while his co-partner was so completely pasted against the side of the room as to be hardly distinguishable from a figure on the wall paper. After this clean-up I calmly walked out of the joint, ordered a hack, drove to town, put up at a little Greek hotel and had a good night's sleep.

In the morning I boarded the Greek steamer ΙΣΜΗΝΗ. My bunk consisted of nothing more than a niche in the side of the ship—similar bunks being occupied by a score of Greeks—and my food was a supply of tinned goods I had purchased in Constantinople. The next day at sunrise we were off the shore of the Dardanelles, and here we spent most of the morning waiting for the sea to subside in order to land a herd of cattle and a small flock of unhealthy-looking sheep. The sea continued to rage and it was not long before our common sleeping compartment presented a most distressing scene, with a Greek chorus which so affected me that I nearly joined the regurgitating throng myself.

market

Early the third day the Greek ship arrived at Piræus, the port of Athens, and without stopping I betook myself by electric car to the capital. I went directly to the "American School of Classical Studies" where I presented a letter of introduction to Dr. Clyde Phaar. This gentleman—for he surely was one—conducted me about the city of Athens and I spent two most interesting days visiting the Acropolis, the Olympieion, the Theatre of Dionysis and many other ancient structures.

On leaving Dr. Phaar I returned to my old level and picked up a couple of Greek peasants who led me to their various haunts. One evening, after a seven-cent meal (consisting of stewed liver, kidney and other entrails) in the most unsanitary restaurant I ever saw, I left Athens for Patras, laden with many introductory letters from my Athenian friends to Grecian fruit vendors and candy fabricants in New York City.

After travelling all day, with an hour's delay at Corinth, due to a defective engine—which time I utilised by sight-seeing—I arrived at Patras in the evening. I was besieged by an army of hotel men as I was leaving the station and nearly landed in jail, instead of an hotel, for beating up an especially persistent hawker. However, I managed to find an hotel and I spread myself to the extent of eating a first-class dinner, the first food for the day. With this meal safely placed away I strolled up the street. I was ambling aimlessly along; my thoughts had drifted to America, when I was attracted by a Greek of about thirty years, who called to me from across the street, addressing me as "Charlie." As there was nothing on the calendar, I responded to my new name and crossed over to see what the native wanted.

"Where are you going, Charlie?" he asked.

"No place," answered Charlie.

"Come along with me then," said the Greek in good English.

"Where are you going?" I enquired, preferring to know something of my destination.

"To call on some of my relatives and friends." My boat for Brindisi did not leave until midnight and I had plenty of time to learn something.

We strolled along a winding road lined on each side with little native houses. Our first call was on the Greek's aged aunt, a peasant woman, whose husband had been killed, a few days before, in a duel with a neighbour. The house in which this simple and grief-stricken woman lived was a low thatch-roofed adobe structure with the earth for its floors. It was a near-to-nature residence and I was impressed by its almost spotless cleanliness and neatness. We remained in this little home for nearly an hour while the poor woman poured out her troubles to her nephew, who later informed me that he had assumed the responsibility of her support since her husband's death. We next called on the Greek's older sister. This Grecian peasant home was also an interesting place and was as immaculate as its predecessor. With this second visit completed, my companion evidently had performed all his obligations and he now felt at liberty to call on some of his girls. Our last visit was at the home of a travelling butcher, who saunters about the town pushing a one-wheeled vehicle, resembling a wheelbarrow, laden with carcasses of cows and sheep, from which he hacks off a chunk whenever he finds a customer. The walls of this modest mud house were literally plastered with calendars, newspaper pictures and display advertisements. It was inhabited by a most interesting set of human beings. There was the mother with her three youngest huddling around her skirt like little chicks around the proud old hen; there were twin girls of about twelve years, who spent their energies giggling at the idiosyncrasies of the American guest and there were two young women of some twenty-one summers. There was also a boy of about sixteen and from the accounts of his mother he must have been the tough lad of the neighbourhood.

The two young ladies, whose names were Miss Vaseleki Caetina and Miss Caraperpara Caetina, were bright, healthy creatures in spite of the fact that they worked fourteen hours a day, one in a stocking factory and the other as a dressmaker.

My visit was considered a great distinction and my presence was soon noised about the neighbourhood and an endless file of proud mothers came to exhibit their offsprings to me as I handed out compliments and passed comments on them by means of my Greek companion. The Misses Caetina became so infatuated with the sample American, in spite of my travel-worn and trampish appearance, that they insisted on their mother's inviting me to dinner. What they would have done to a regular American one can only surmise. I was enjoying the affair to the limit of my capacity and if I had been invited to a suicide I would have accepted.

The meal was served in the most informal way in what might be termed the parlour. Informal is hardly the word. Jam came straight from the jar to the eater's mouth. One spoon did service for the entire gathering, each one using it in turn without any cleansing process intervening. Still having some ideas of hygiene in spite of my unsanitary experiences, I considered myself fortunate in being the guest and, therefore, getting the first fling at the much-worked spoon. Greek wine was poured out in lavish quantities and, not being acquainted with the inebriating efficiency of this liquid, I partook of it cautiously. Strips of dried meat, squares of bread and walnuts completed the repast.

The evening was an entertaining one and I took my leave while the young Grecian maidens danced with joy as I wrote down their names and promised I would drop them post cards from Italy. This promise I fulfilled.

I now turned my thoughts towards Italy. A much-travelled man once advised me that if I had but six months in which to tour Europe to spend four of them in Italy. Although I do not agree with his ratio, I do thoroughly believe that four months is much too short a time to even get a start in this wonderful land, rich in everything that interests an intelligent human being. But lack of funds haunted me with the necessity for speed and, much as I regretted it, I had to keep moving on.

A sea trip of two nights and one day brought me to Brindisi. I took the first train to Naples where I arrived after a delightful route through green fields, prosperous farms and orchards and a country radiant with the bloom of youth, for it was the early spring-time. I put up at a small rooming house with eating arrangements connected, which I discovered near the station.

Italy proved to be a land of little adventure. The traveller has nothing to do but go sight-seeing and about the only way in which to encounter an unusual experience would be to go out in the street and deliberately insult some one. Not having any desire to do this I became a simple and ordinary tourist, and the following sample from my diary concerning my activities in Naples very clearly illustrates this:

"Saturday:—I nearly walked my crimson head off to-day. Armed with a Baedeker, I went after Naples with the persistence and energy of an American book agent. I managed to get about very satisfactorily without a guide or even the disbursing of a single tip.

"In the morning early, after carefully studying the Baedeker map, I went to the Villa Nazionale, a public garden next the sea, with many trees and marble statues. The 'fashionable' world flit to and fro in their automobiles on the broad Via Caracciolo along the water, while the scum and tramps, like myself, get out of their way in the best manner we can or are run down and trampled into eternity. In the Villa Nazionale is the famous Aquarium, which I will visit to-morrow—as on Sundays the admission is one franc instead of two.

"From this park I went to the English church, a fine large building, with a tasteful interior, quite in contrast to the churches of the Papal obedience which I have seen. I wandered through busy, noisy streets,—the inhabitants of Naples are the noisiest people I think I ever heard—and came to the large church of San Francesco di Paola—a modern edifice—having been constructed in 1817-31. In the interior are superb marble columns, modern statues and pictures and a high altar inlaid with jasper. It impressed me more favourably than other churches of Naples because time had not filled it with a lot of gaudy fixtures.

"Passing the Plazzo Real and the Theatre of San Carlo, I went in the Galleria Umberto Primo, a beautiful arcade containing many high-class shops. I walked by the Municipio, a large square structure used for city offices, as its name suggests, and came into the Via Roma or Toledo, the main street of Naples. Jostling along this thoroughfare for awhile, I turned off on a side street and spent some little time in the Jesuit church of Gesu Nuovo. Near-by I visited the Church of Santa Chiara, built in the fourteenth century and richly but tastelessly decorated. It contains numerous altars and many paintings, and the ceiling is a solid mass of gilding. Referring to the map in Baedeker I directed my course to the Church of San Domenico Maggiore, erected in 1289 and restored several times. My guide book states that some of the great families (great because of inherited wealth, I suppose!) of Naples have their chapels here.

"I next found my way in some mysterious manner through the narrow foul-smelling alleys of the slums to the Cathedral of San Gennaro. This church is in the French-Gothic style and is not especially attractive. It contains a shrine called the Chapel of Saint Januarius. In the tabernacle of the chief altar of this chapel there are two vessels containing the blood of Saint Januarius, Bishop of Benevento, who suffered martyrdom in the fourth century. The liquefaction of the blood, which, according to the legend, took place for the first time when the body was brought to Naples, occurs three times a year on several successive days. On the occasion of this liquefaction thousands of the faithful make pilgrimages to this shrine for prayers and offerings, for by means of this liquefying a forecast can be made of the prosperity of the land.

"From the Cathedral I went to the Castel Capuano, once the residence of the Hohenstaufen, later of the Angevin kings and, since 1540, the seat of the law-courts. Close by is the Porta Capuano, one of the finest existing Renaissance gateways.

"In the afternoon I walked along the Via Tossa, a winding street which ascends the hill behind Naples and which passes many beautiful buildings and from which good views of the city and bay of Naples may be had. I took a cable car lift and went up to and around the Castel Sant' Elmo, fortified with huge walls and now used as a military prison. Near this castle I visited the Church of San Martino. This church seems to be deserted so far as religious purposes are concerned, and has been turned into a money-making institution. In the Tesoro, a room beyond a sacristy, is a "DESCENT FROM THE CROSS" by Ribera and on the ceiling "JUDITH" by Luca Giordana—who is said to have painted it in forty-eight hours, when in his seventy-second year. This sounds like a California fish story.

"Adjoining the church is the museum, which contains many sculptures, paintings and ecclesiastical vestments. From the Belvedere, a spacious balcony, is an excellent view of the city and of Vesuvius beyond.

"Sunday:—I spent two hours this morning (admission free on Sundays) in the Museo Nationale. It contains a fine collection of marble and bronze sculptures, most of them from Herculaneum and a few from Pompeii—the bronze exhibition consisting mostly of household utensils and affording an admirable insight into the domestic life of antiquity. The museum also contains a gallery with many beautiful and masterful pictures and also an unrivalled collection of vases.

"Later in the day I visited the Aquarium, which was very interesting, although not so large as the one in Honolulu. The sea life it contains is of a different species, being from other waters, but there are not so many varieties as in Hawaii.

"The shops, streets, and tenement sections of Naples are unique. Noise, congestion and colour are their most predominant features. Every man who is not a priest is engaged in ravenously devouring a greasy string of macaroni, while the women are shouting inhuman shrieks in the effort to sell a bottle of red wine."

The feeling of loneliness, which seizes us all at one time or another, is probably more acute, when—travelling alone—one enters a large city in a foreign land where he doesn't understand the language and doesn't know a single soul. Especially is this the case when the traveller is making his way on a sum which is so small that rigid economy has to be practised every minute of the day.

Never was I more impressed with this feeling of loneliness than when I arrived in Rome at midnight. It is a simple thing for the opulent traveller to alight from his first-class train and take a carriage to the leading hotel, but it is a very different matter for the lone and coin-depleted tramp to find board and lodging commensurate with his meagre funds and, especially so, during the middle of the night. The greatness of Rome, its magnificent history and its position in the world to-day made me feel as insignificant as when one gazes into the heavens on a moonless night and beholds the stars. I swung off a third-class coach, made my way through the crowds in the station, elbowed the hotel hawkers aside and reached a street corner, where I stood for a moment's reflection. I might as well have been in a jungle so far as knowing where to go next. I finally set out in search of an hotel, and for two hours I hunted in vain. I inquired for a room at every establishment over the door of which was printed the word "portier." My hotel in Naples had displayed this sign and I concluded that all places with such a label were hotels. Working under this delusion I canvassed every building which bore the inscription. No one would take me in and I couldn't make any one understand me. I began to wonder if there was something about my appearance which made me an outcast and caused the portiers to regard me with suspicion. Some of the supposed hotel-keepers laughed at me, others nearly threw me out, while still others seemed to regard me with pity. I became discouraged. It was now two o'clock in the morning. Was I to pace streets all night, luggage in hand, in search of a place to sleep? Tired and disgusted I decided to retire in the first vacant lot I came to, if Rome had such things. Presently I came across a large open space which appeared in the darkness to be some sort of an ancient excavation or ruin. This was good enough, I thought, and I scrambled down the decomposed steps and in a few minutes was sound asleep in a secluded corner of this deserted square.

temple

Later in the day I found a modest little hotel whose proprietor spoke English quite fluently. He explained to me that the reason I was unable to get a room on the preceding night was that I probably did not inquire at a single hotel. He informed me that many buildings in Rome had a porter or caretaker and usually had the sign "portier" over the door. I had been trying, in the early hours of the morning, to force myself into wholesale houses, department stores, private homes and what not. In each instance I had, unknowingly, applied to the watchman whose duty it was to keep off all intruders and burglars. It is a wonder that I wasn't shot down.