become a monk. They are the most corrupt and worthless vagabonds in the
land, and the day must come before long, when the monasteries and
convents will be abolished and their property be given back to the
people to whom it justly belongs.

We are now riding along by the telegraph wires. It seems strange to see
Morse's telegraph on this old Phenician coast, and it will seem stranger
still when we reach Beirût, to receive a daily morning paper printed in
Arabic, with telegrams from all parts of the world!

In July, a woman came to the telegraph office in Beirût, asking, "Where
is the telegraph?" The Clerk, Yusef Effendi, asked her, "Whom do you
want, the Director, the Operator, or the Kawass?" She said, "I want
Telegraph himself, for my husband has sent me word that he is in prison
in Zahleh and wants me to come with haste, and I heard that Telegraph
takes people quicker than any one else. Please tell me the fare, and
send me as soon as possible!" The Effendi looked at her, and took her
measure, and then said, "You are too tall to go by telegraph, so you
will have to go on a mule." The poor ignorant woman went away greatly
disappointed.

Another old woman, whose son was drafted into the Turkish army, wished
to send him a pair of new shoes, so she hung them on the telegraph wire.
A way-worn foot traveller coming along soon after took down the new
shoes and put them on, and hung his old ones in their place. The next
day the old lady returned and finding the old shoes, said, "Mashallah,
Mohammed has received his new shoes and sent back his old ones to be
repaired."

The telegraph has taught all the world useful lessons, and the Syrians