from the Koran, or invocations to his patron
Ali; horsemen galloping to and fro; footmen
discharging their firearms—musicians; and
women shouting their peculiar cry;—these
were the accompaniments that surrounded
the Preacher and the Frank as they
journeyed through the villages and settlements.

Christians are scattered about among the
devil-worshipping congregations, in perfect
harmony with each other, as fellow-sufferers
for the cause of religion. The Christian
bishops do not live in a very bishoplike style.
One old man and his two priests were found
in a low, damp, dirty room, with its one solitary
window plastered up with oiled paper; a
carpet, in shreds and rags, lay on the rotten
floor for the bed; sandy bread, coarse and
hard, sour curds, mangy meat, and beans,
were the jubilee diet—and not too much even
then!—and an old woman, like the hag of a
fairy tale, was the complement of the prelatic
establishment. Here was primitive poverty
with a vengeance, if not primitive purity—
the social simplicity, if not the religious
subtlety, of the early Christians. Yet, with
all its poverty, our Armenian establishment
may not be unfavourably contrasted with the
splendour of more civilised episcopates, where,
perhaps, the glare of the world has
sometimes put out the light of the Gospel.

One day the party came upon a group of
girls, and an old Kurd, baking bread at the
entrance of a village. The travellers were
hungry, and thought they might break their
fast tolerably well here, and better than with
the fiery raki, the glass of spirits everywhere
presented. "Have you any bread?" they
asked. "No, by the Prophet!"—"Any
buttermilk?" "No, by my faith!"—"Any fruit?"
"No, by Allah!"—the trees were laden
down with fruit of the most delicious
kind. The old man then took up the
queries. "Whence do you come?" "From
afar.''—''What is your business?" "What
God commands."—"Whither are you going?"
"As God wills." With which answer the
Kurd was perfectly satisfied; and so gave
them a bowl of curds, a basket filled up
with the finest fruit, and fresh baked
bread.

At one of the villages a good story was told.
The Pasha went to Baasheikhah. On the
morning after his arrival the Pasha angrily
complained that the braying of the donkeys
in the village had disturbed his night's rest.
The donkeys were incontinently banished.
The next morning the Pasha complained yet
more angrily of the crowing of cocks. The
cocks were slaughtered by the troops. Some
hope now of a good night's rest. But the
third morning the Pasha swore many a round
oath against the infant population of
Baasheikhah; and to prevent their cries from
again piercing the pashalic ears, the children
and their mothers were locked up in cellars.
But the fourth morning was dedicated to the
sparrows. The sparrows had chirped and
kept the Pasha awake; so the sparrows were
shut and the Pasha was soothed. The fifth
morning was terrible. Death to the flies!
for they had buzzed about the Pasha's nose.
Then the Kiayah, who, as chief of the village,
had carried out the governor's commands,
touching the beasts, birds, and babies, now
threw himself at the Pasha's feet. "Your
highness," he said, "has seen that all the
animals here—praise be to God!—obey our
lord the sultan; the infidel flies alone are
rebellious. I am a man of low degree and small
power, and can do nothing against them; it
now behoves a great vizir like your highness
to enforce the commands of our lord and
master." The Pasha relished the joke,
forgave the flies, and left the village. Which
was just what all the inhabitants of Baashiekhah
wished.

The Yezidi religion is not so dreadful in
substance as it is in title. Their Melek
Taous—the Brazen Peacock is the symbol
of the Evil Principle, which the
Yezidis seek rather to propitiate than honour
with a special worship. King peacock is
the rude image of a bird on the top of a brass
or copper stand, somewhat like a candlestick.
It is rather more like a Hindoo or Persian idol
than a cock or peacock; but it serves as an
emblem as well as anything else. They say
that the Melek Taous has never fallen into
the hands of the Mussulmans, and that it is
protected by a special providence, which has
preserved it to its votaries in spite of all the
dangers to which it has been exposed. If
this glory of his faith were to depart, the
poor Yezid would feel himself in worse plight
than if obliged to wear a blue shirt, or to
eat a Turkish mess. The symbolic presence
of Satan withdrawn, what further hope could
there be of his protection and goodwill?—and
his protection and goodwill are grave matters
to the Yezidis. They believe that the Devil
was, and is still, the chief of the angels; but
that he is now suffering punishment for his
rebellion to the Eternal will. Yet he will be
restored to his former honours in the end,
and then he will reward, as now he has power
to torment. He must therefore be conciliated,
they say, that hereafter he may remember
those who paid him honour, and did not turn
their faces away from him in the day of his
disgrace. There is something touching in
this, and of kindness to the fallen; almost
equal in simplicity to the Scottish preacher's
prayer for the "puir de'il," when he prayed
—"but, gude Lord, dinna let him fa' in!"
when held over the bottomless pit for an
eternity of punishment.

The Kurds have been sad enemies to the
peaceful devil-worshippers. The Kurds are
rich; their tents are large and luxurious,
divided into many compartments by means
of cane or reeds prettily worked, bound
together with different coloured threads, and
covered with gay carpets. The Kurdish