Returning to our camp-fires, we sat down, and conversed about the habits and customs of the Bedouins who dwell in tents. They are creatures of necessity, and their nomadic life is compulsory, as the existence of their flocks and herds depends upon the pasturage they can find. With each change of the season, they change their locality according to the wants of their flocks. Ever subject to change, their wants must be few, and their household furniture must always be at the minimum, and such as can be easily transported. Their food is simple and their raiment coarse. When free from care, they are witty, cheerful, and of gentle temper. They are the most incessant talkers in the world. Their quickness of perception enables them to appreciate a good story, and they give themselves up to immoderate laughter. When excited they gesticulate in a violent manner, and vociferate in explosive tones. They are passionate, and quick to resent an insult. Their love of money passes all knowledge; it is an insatiable greediness; a ruling passion that knows no bounds. They are generous, but theirs is a generosity inspired by the hope of an equivalent in return. They are a nation within a nation. At the head of each tribe is a sheikh whose word is law, and who administers a rude justice among his people. The most common source of litigation is stolen property; the penalty is in money or in kind, and he who gains the suit has to pay the fee. They not unfrequently test a man's innocence by compelling him to lick a red-hot iron, and if his tongue is burned there is no doubt of his guilt. One of the most ancient laws among them is the law of blood, called the Thar, which prescribes the degrees of consanguinity within which it is lawful to revenge a homicide. According to this law, any one related to the murderer within the fifth degree

is held responsible, and, although this seems like manifest injustice, yet it tends to the prevention of bloodshed among the wild tribes of the desert; and, were it not for the operation of this law, the warlike tribes would have exterminated one another centuries ago. When a murder is committed, an effort is made to prevail on the family of the victim to accept a compen sation for the blood in money or in kind; but if the "blood-money" is refused, then any relative within the fifth degree of consanguinity may be legally killed.

This law has a remarkable effect upon the manners of the Arabs. They are cautious in disclosing to a stran ger their name, or that of their father, or their dwelling. place, lest they may fall victims to the blood-revenge. They have another law which is as universal, and even more salutary. It defines the relations between the protector and the protected, and a breach of which is regarded as a lasting disgrace. If a man can touch the canvas of a tent, or throw his mace toward it, or touch

with his teeth any article belonging to another, he has a right to protection; especially if he eats a man's salt or bread, he is under his protection. A woman can protect any number of persons, or even of tents, under the oper ation of this law.

Within the encampment were many girls of a marriageable age, which naturally suggested the usages relating to marriage. While among the Arabs of the towns daughters are literally sold to their husbands, yet a Bedouin of the desert will never ask money for his daughter. He may consult her wishes, but she is at liberty to accept or reject a suitor, provided he is not her cousin. But if the damsel accepts a present from her lover, whether a jewel or a donkey, she is bound to have him.

At two o'clock the next morning we were again on the road. The clouds separated, and the moon lighted up our way over the pasture-fields of Karagoosh. We soon regained the highway, and passed a ruined village. The light was sufficient to reveal the well-cultivated fields on either side, where the wheat was growing rich and in abundance. But there was a shade of loneliness in a start so early, and all naturally wished for the morning. Hour after hour wore slowly away. At length the day dawned; the stars faded; the moon grew pale; the sun rose. It was Good-Friday in ancient Assyria. We were amidst the ruins of buried empires. On either hand were great mounds wherein are the remains of former greatness. The domes and minarets of Mosul now appeared on the west bank of the Tigris. All felt the excitement of the moment. It was the eleventh day since we left Bagdad. We had come three hundred miles. Before us flowed the river whose banks we hoped soon to reach; but the floods compelled us to make a long