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A FAR JOURNEY 
 
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A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 BY 
 
 ABRAHAM MITRIE RIHBANY 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
COPYRIGHT, I913 AND I914, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY 
 COPYRIGHT, I914, BY ABRAHAM MITRIE RIHBANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published September iqi4 
 
 Sxl^ ^\(^ 
 
 R 
 
TO MY WIFE 
 
 AND TO THE MANY AMERICAN CITIZENS WHO 
 BY THEIR WISE AND FRIENDLY COUNSEL 
 LENT ME GUIDANCE AND INSPIRATION IN 
 SEEKING MY AMERICAN HERITAGE; WHO BY 
 THEIR LOYALTY TO THE IDEAL REALITIES 
 DEEPENED MY FAITH IN GOD AND MAN 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS GRATEFULLY 
 DEDICATED 
 
PREFACE 
 
 It may not be uninteresting to the reader to 
 know how this autobiography came to be 
 written, and what the author considers to be 
 its excuse for being. In my travels in this 
 country, ever since I left New York City, in the 
 winter of 1893, and during the years of my 
 ministry in the Middle West and in Boston, I 
 was called upon on numerous occasions to tell 
 the story of my life. I told this story, in brief, 
 at many church and club meetings, before 
 schools and at hospitable firesides, never think- 
 ing that it possessed any greater merits than 
 to entertain an audience for the space of an 
 hour, or give an interested group of friends the 
 pleasure of a rather novel conversation. 
 
 In the summer of 191 2, while on a visit to 
 the famous summer resort, Manchester-by-the- 
 Sea, Massachusetts, I was entertained at a 
 beautiful and hospitable home where the gra- 
 cious members of the family requested me to 
 [ vii ] 
 
PREFACE 
 
 tell them my " interesting story." Deeming the 
 narrative worthy to be published, they brought 
 it to the attention of the editor of the Atlantic 
 Monthly. In that highly esteemed magazine, 
 under the general title, "A Far Journey,'' 
 several chapters of this autobiography ap- 
 peared, and are here reprinted (with much new 
 material added) by courtesy of the editor. 
 
 ^This narrative's excuse for being is, I believe, 
 to be found, first, in the fact that it is the story, 
 not of an individual, but of a type. There are 
 many others of the children of other lands who 
 have come to the New World as learners of the 
 modes of life and thought of a superior people; 
 who have succeeded in discovering America on 
 its ideal side, and who know and love this 
 country as that Commonwealth of free, enlight- 
 ened, and beneficent citizens. Second, this 
 story justifies its existence by being a testi- 
 mony to the unparalleled opportunities of 
 America. Here, as nowhere else on this planet, 
 the "talented foreigner" finds the ample room 
 and noble incentives necessary to reveal his 
 f viii ] 
 
PREFACE 
 
 talents and to enable him to attain the more 
 abundant intellectual, political, social, and 
 moral life. 
 
 While writing the earlier chapters of this 
 story I often seemed to myself to be portraying 
 another life than my own ; the periods of child- 
 hood and youth appeared to belong to a remote 
 order of things definitely detached from the one 
 in which I now find myself. Yet, in a large 
 sense, the impassable gulf between my Syrian 
 life and my American life is only seeming, and 
 not real. I am conscious of no loss of continuity. 
 Just as manhood fulfills rather than destroys 
 childhood, so does America's large, tumultuous 
 life tend to realize the possibilities with which 
 . b^ the ancient, mystic, dreamy Orient endowed 
 ^ me. So to Syria, my loving, untutored mother, 
 
 as to America, my virile, resourceful teacher, I 
 offer my profound and lasting gratitude. 
 
 A. M. R. 
 Boston, Massachusetts. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I. My Father's House 3 
 
 II. El-Shweir 29 
 
 III. At the Feet of my Teachers . . 57 
 
 IV. The Religion of my Fathers . . 86 
 V. A Stone-Mason 104 
 
 VI. A New Light 120 
 
 VII. The School Teacher and the Emi- 
 grant 146 
 
 VIII. In New York with Nine Cents . . 183 
 
 IX. Bookkeeper and Editor .... 208 
 
 X. Out from my Kindred .... 242 
 
 XL Lights and Shadows .... 255 
 
 XII. College and Pulpit 297 
 
 XIII. At the Temple Gate 323 
 
 Appendix 347 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Abraham Mitrie Rihbany. Photogravure 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 From a photograph in IQ14 by Louis Fabian Bachrach. 
 
 My Father and Mother 8 
 
 The Ploughman 22 
 
 Silk Worms and Cocoons 24 
 
 a. Ready to spin 
 
 b. Ready for the harvest 
 
 c. A luxuriant yield 
 
 Syrian Beauties 42 
 
 Watching from the Housetop the Coming 
 out of the Bride 54 
 
 Lazarus Miracle-play 68 
 
 The Home at Betater, the Right Half of 
 a Double House 74 
 
 Betater 82 
 
 Shoveling Snow^ off the Church Roof . . 92 
 
 The Priest sprinkling Holy Water on 
 Epiphany Day 98 
 
 Supporting a Stone Carrier . . . .112 
 
 f xiii 1 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 The High School of Suk-el-Gharb 
 A Rich Man's House .... 
 Summer Cooking out of doors . 
 The Author at 21 
 
 Taken at Zahlah. My First Photograph. 
 
 The Teskara with which I left Syria 
 
 122 
 132 
 140 
 154 
 
 172 
 
 City Hall, New York, N. Y., where First 
 Naturalization Papers were taken out 218 
 
 Kowkab America, the first Arabic News- 
 paper in the Western Hemisphere . . 236 
 
 Soldiers' Monument, Mt. Vernon, Ohio .266 
 
 Railway Station, Elyria, Ohio, where I was 
 not allowed to spend the Night . . 274 
 
 University Hall and Grey Chapel, Ohio 
 Wesleyan University 310 
 
 First Congregational Church, Morenci, 
 Michigan 318 
 
 Thabitah 336 
 
 Church of the Disciples, Boston, Massa- 
 chusetts 344 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MY father's house 
 
 When I first came into this world the Rihbany 
 clan experienced the usual rejoicing which 
 comes to a Syrian clan when a man-child is 
 born to one of its families. My kindred re- 
 joiced at my advent, not merely because I was 
 a son instead of a daughter, important as that 
 was, but because I was an asset of the clan, a 
 possible reinforcement to their fighting strength, 
 which they had to use often against another 
 powerful clan in the town, called Jirdak. In the 
 Jirdak camp, however, a correspondingly great 
 sorrow was felt. On the same night on which I 
 was born they lost by death one of their most 
 valiant fighters. To be so reduced in power at 
 the same time that the enemy was reinforced 
 with a possible fighter, seemed to the Jirdaks 
 to be a stern heavenly visitation which it was 
 
 [ 3 1 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 beyond their ability to bear. But so far as I was 
 concerned, the enemies of my people sorrowed 
 in vain. I never lifted a finger against them, 
 never had the chance. My years of strength 
 find me fighting greater battles far, far away 
 from them, but not with carnal weapons. 
 
 The usual formalities were observed on the 
 occasion of my birth. Friends, both men and 
 women, came to our house in large numbers, 
 into the very room where the day-old babe and 
 its mother lay, to extend their congratulations. 
 They brought their presents with them as did 
 the "Wise Men" of old on their historic visit 
 to Bethlehem. They sang and were exceeding 
 glad, because unto them a child was born, a son 
 was given. They were served with wine, coffee, 
 and confections. I was baptized by triple im- 
 mersion, in the name of the Father, Son, and 
 Holy Ghost, and thus adopted by the holy and 
 ancient Greek Orthodox Church as one of hep 
 children. When I was forty days old, my 
 mother, being permitted again to come into the 
 sanctuary, carried me to the door of the church, 
 
 [ 4 ] 
 
MY FATHER'S HOUSE 
 
 as is the custom, where the robed priest met her, 
 took me in his arms, as the aged Simeon took 
 the infant Jesus, and presented me at the altar 
 before the God of my fathers. In our family 
 history I took rank as the fourth of a family of 
 twelve children, five sons and seven daughters. 
 My parents were illiterate, as were their par- 
 ents before them, and the parents of their 
 parents, for generations. My father was a 
 stone-mason, a contractor and builder. He was 
 a man of simple, unaffected dignity, kind- 
 hearted, remarkably industrious, and devoted 
 to his family. He was highly respected by his 
 kindred and business associates throughout his 
 life. He always seemed to me to be the type of 
 man who would never willfully and designedly 
 **walk in the counsel of the ungodly, nor stand 
 in the way of sinners, nor sit in the seat of the 
 scornful.'' In a business way, however, he was 
 not of the truly sagacious type. Through a wily 
 and decidedly unscrupulous uncle of his, he be- 
 came involved in certain financial transactions 
 which kept him in debt and perpetual anxiety 
 
 [ 5 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 from early manhood until near his death at the 
 age of eighty. And, oh, that "debt," and the 
 ever-recurring dread "interest" at twelve per 
 cent, and the thousand things which my father 
 might have done to escape the evil designs of 
 his uncle ! How they haunted my soul from in- 
 fancy to manhood, and how I shiver and shrink 
 even now when I recall them to mind ! Every 
 bit of our property was taken away from us by 
 the "Frenchman" who held the mortgage and 
 the hated "note," after my father had struggled 
 for years, at least to reduce the debt, but was 
 prevented from doing so by the exorbitant rate 
 of interest he was forced to pay. 
 
 My mother was in some respects more richly 
 endowed by nature than my father. I grew up 
 to consider her the intellectual leader of the 
 family. She possessed an alert and resourceful 
 mind, was swift both to hear and to speak, hu- 
 morous, and generous to a fault. In our family 
 troubles we generally looked to mother for the 
 wisest counsel. Along with her intellectual en- 
 dowment, she possessed beauty of face and 
 [ 6 ] 
 
MY FATHER'S HOUSE 
 
 form, and absolute fearlessness. I never knew 
 my mother to fear any situation, or anybody. 
 Only the *'debt" oppressed her, because it was 
 foisted upon my father by others. Those who 
 knew her father always testified that she inher- 
 ited his fearless spirit. 
 
 From description, I should judge that that 
 
 r grandfather of mine was such a man as Gideon, 
 
 j or Othniel, or Samson of the ancient leaders of 
 
 t_ Israel. His mighty voice was so heartening to 
 
 his own clan in battle, and so terrifying to the 
 
 enemy, that he was known to his generation as 
 
 "Ibrahim the Tiger.'' My mother never forgot 
 
 to remind me, with "great expectations," of the 
 
 fact that I bore her father's name. She said 
 
 that his sister picked me up when I was but an 
 
 hour old, kissed my doughy, wrinkly, primitive 
 
 face, and named me Ibrahim (Abraham), but, 
 
 rather fortunately, left out "the tiger." Her 
 
 action was confirmed at my baptism. 
 
 My mother's strength of mind and great 
 
 courage did not, as is sometimes the case with 
 
 * such women, militate against her feminine 
 
 [ 7 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 qualities. She was always a woman from the 
 tip of her finger to the center of her heart, and 
 according to the fashion of her time and country 
 an excellent housekeeper. 
 
 My father's house was a typical, common, 
 Syrian house. It was one story high, and con- 
 sisted of two rooms, a living-room and a store- 
 room. It was built of roughly hewn stone, ^ and 
 had one door and two windows, which had 
 wooden shutters, without glass. The roof was 
 the Biblical earth-covered flat roof, such as the 
 one on which Peter went up to pray in ancient 
 Joppa. On every Syrian roof there is a stone 
 roller, with which the dirt is rolled down and 
 made hard enough to **shed water.'' ** Rolling 
 the roof " is a daily task for the man of the 
 house in the winter season. Failure to do this 
 causes the roof to soften and the rain to soak 
 through and **drop" into the house. The 
 "dropping" is one of the most hateful things to 
 
 ^ In the western part of Syria all the houses are 
 built of stone; in the eastern part, generally of sun- 
 dried brick. 
 
 r 8 1 
 
A. M. RIHBANY S FATHER AND MOTHER 
 
MY FATHER'S HOUSE 
 
 a Syrian household. The writer of the book of 
 Proverbs did not at all exaggerate the ugliness 
 of the situation when he said, " Continual drop- 
 ping in a very rainy day and a contentious 
 woman are alike." 
 
 The interior of that house of my early child- 
 hood appears on the negative of my memory in 
 this shape : On the right as you enter stands a 
 small structure of sun-dried brick, called mekh- 
 daah. It is about five feet high, six feet long, 
 and a foot deep. On the inner side it is divided 
 into openings of different sizes, and serves the 
 cosmopolitan purpose of a china closet, kettle 
 cupboard, a place for father's Turkish pipe {nar- 
 ghile) and tobacco, and whatever other little 
 articles it may be convenient for the moment 
 to thrust into it. The maukedah (fireplace) 
 is at the forward end of this structure. It is 
 such a fireplace as you would build at a picnic: 
 square, open at the top for the kettle to set 
 in, and at one side to admit the fuel. It is built 
 of clay mixed with straw and fine quartz. There 
 is no chimney. The smoke floats in the house 
 
 [ 9 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 with the sufferance of pubhc opinion. The ceil- 
 ing is black and shining as if it had been var- 
 nished. The earthen floor is painted frequently 
 with red mud, and rubbed with a smooth stone 
 until it shines. It is furnished with straw mats, 
 cushions, and, in the winter season, soft and 
 fluffy sheepskins. There are no chairs, no bed- 
 steads. The family sit and sleep on the floor. 
 The bed consists of a thick cushion for a mat- 
 tress, stuffed with wool or cotton, a pillow of 
 the same material, and a quilt for a cover. So 
 when Jesus said to the man he had healed, 
 "Arise, take up thy bed and walk,'' the man did 
 not have very much to carr}^ In the daytime 
 the beds are either rolled up, each one in a heap, 
 and left on the floor, next to the wall, or put into 
 a recess in the wall, constructed for the purpose. 
 By the stone pillar stands the large earthen 
 barrel of flour, on top of which is the large basin 
 in which the bread is kept. Back, by the parti- 
 tion which stands between the two rooms, are 
 two or three large, plain wooden chests which 
 form the wardrobe for the whole family. The 
 [ lo ] 
 
MY FATHERS HOUSE 
 
 opposite wall contains many openings in which 
 earthen jars, containing the family winter sup- 
 ply of dried fruits, cereals, butter, lentils, beans, 
 crushed wheat, olives, olive oil, molasses, rice, 
 and other earthly comforts, are placed. By the 
 door, on the left, there is a low wooden bench 
 which holds the fresh-water jars, in which the 
 women of the house carry the water from the 
 /fountain, as did the woman of Samaria whom 
 Jesus met at Jacob's well. There are no pictures 
 on the whitewashed walls. The only ornaments 
 are a shotgun, an ammunition belt, a short 
 sword, and a few articles of wearing apparel, 
 which hang from wooden nails. There are no 
 books of any kind, no musical instruments. The 
 other room contains the wood and charcoal, 
 tools, and so forth. 
 
 My father's house did not stand on a street, 
 because streets are unknown to Syrian towns. 
 There was no lawn around the house, no fence, 
 no garden of any kind, no flower-beds. The im- 
 mediate surroundings were our grove of mul- 
 berry trees, consisting of four large terraces, a 
 [ II 1 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 terrace of grapevines, a large fig tree which bore 
 black figs, a pomegranate tree, and an apple 
 tree. On the west side of the house we had a 
 large climbing rosebush, which lifted its flam- 
 ing top above the roof, and an alder bush, which 
 bore blossoms of delicate texture and sweet 
 fragrance. These bushes were permitted to 
 share the soil with the more useful trees, not 
 simply for aesthetic delight, but because their 
 blossoms possessed medicinal properties. At 
 least we thought so, and thoughts are things. 
 The houses of my two uncles, father's brothers, 
 stood very near our house, and had similar 
 surroundings. 
 
 Back of our house, and extending some three 
 hundred feet eastward, stood a row of majestic 
 oak trees, which did not belong to us. They 
 were perfect specimens of strength and beauty, 
 and a real delight to the senses and the soul. 
 But, strange as this may seem, the proximity 
 of those trees to our house and my uncles' 
 houses was very displeasing to our families. In 
 so poor a country as Syria has been for ages, 
 
 f 12 1 
 
MY FATHER'S HOUSE 
 
 objects of mere intellectual and aesthetic delight 
 
 savor of vain and vexatious things. The mode 
 
 of life is severely utilitarian. Only the rich and J ^ 
 
 the Europeans revel in the pleasures of gardens u^c^U ' 
 
 and other great luxuries. To the masses, the 
 
 only desirable possessions are those things which 
 
 can be converted into bread and raiment. The 
 
 owners of those oak trees were of the families 
 
 more highly favored with the things of this 
 
 world ; therefore they did not need the revenue 
 
 which the strip of land occupied by the oak 
 
 trees might yield, if put to better use. 
 
 But our family felt differently about this W 
 matter. The oaks shaded a whole terrace of f 
 our precious, silk-yielding mulberry trees, and 
 some grapevines, while their mighty roots 
 drained the soil of its substance. That was a 
 grave situation. It meant for us loss of revenue. 
 The mighty oaks assumed in the eyes of my 
 people the functions of highway robbers, of 
 enemies which never slumbered nor slept and 
 which stood at our very door. How to get rid 
 of them was one of those fam.ily perplexities 
 
 [ 13 ] 
 
 Ui 
 
 ^j^^-' 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 which filled my childish mind with disquieting 
 curiosity. My father was offered much advice, 
 gratis, as to how to kill those pernicious oaks. 
 Not being ours, they had, of course, to be killed 
 in some mysterious way. One of my uncles, 
 who was of a rather grasping disposition, felt a 
 decidedly keener antagonism toward the oaks 
 than did my father. At times he looked and 
 swore at them with great avidity. 
 
 So far as I can remember, the first means 
 which was employed to wither those giants of 
 the forest was prayer, the OrientaFs most natu- 
 ral speech. But, for some reason or other, 
 prayer failed to accomplish the desired results. 
 Then an appeal was addressed to St. John (I do 
 not recall whether it was the Baptist or the 
 Evangelist), whose convent was in full view 
 from our house, farther down on the slope of the 
 hill. He was promised three piasters (tw^elve 
 cents) and a cruse of pure olive oil to be burned 
 in the lamp which hung in front of his very 
 picture. The understanding was that the saint 
 was to show signs of death in the oaks before 
 
 [ 14 ] 
 
MY FATHER'S HOUSE 
 
 any payment was made; but St. John, for rea- 
 sons known only to himself, failed to rise to 
 the occasion and do w^hat was expected. That 
 was a severe disappointment. 
 
 However, there were other means of relief 
 yet to be tried. My father was advised to seek 
 a magician and have him "blast" the oaks by 
 his diabolical art. The formula as I heard it 
 stated was this: The magician would enchant 
 a pailful of water; breathe into it the very 
 essence of Satan himself. Then all my father 
 had to do was to step out in the night and 
 sprinkle the enchanted water at the trunks of 
 the oak trees, close to the ground, and they 
 would wither in an incredibly short time. For- 
 tunately for the trees, however, such magicians 
 passed through our town only at long and un- 
 certain intervals, and when one of them hap- 
 pened to be at hand, father was either absent 
 from home, or something else happened to 
 make the moment altogether inopportune for 
 such dangerous operations. 
 
 One of our cousins urged that an appeal be 
 
 [ 15 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 made to a person having the "evil eye/' One 
 having the evil eye was supposed to do great 
 damage by just admiring an object. A fat and 
 sweet baby, a handsome and strong man, a 
 beautiful woman, a very fruitful tree, an abun- 
 dant crop of silk cocoons, or any other good and 
 beautiful person or thing, stood in constant 
 danger of being injured or even killed by an 
 admiring evil eye. Often did my mother grab 
 and run away with me — her beautiful baby — 
 to the nearest hiding-place, when one who was 
 supposed to "strike with the eye " happened 
 to be passing anywhere near our house. Cer- 
 tainly those oak trees were things to be ad- 
 mired. Then why not secure an evil-eyed per- 
 son, and bribe him or her to cast upon those 
 trees a blasting look? However, those persons 
 who were suspected of having the evil eye, for 
 obvious reasons never would admit the fact, 
 and certainly they were not in the market for 
 hire. 
 
 The last prescription to be considered, so far 
 as I remember, for doing away with the beauti- 
 [ i6 1 
 
MY FATHER'S HOUSE 
 
 ful oaks, was the use of mercury. Father was 
 told by those who "knew," that if he would 
 take an auger and bore a hole in any tree and 
 then pour in the hole a small quantity of mer- 
 cury — "live mercury" — the tree would die. 
 Mercury, being very heavy in weight and of 
 such awful, mysterious potency, would pene- 
 trate the fibers of the tree in seeking to return 
 to the ground, course through the roots, and 
 thus destroy all their fibers. That was a simple 
 operation. But father was not the kind of a 
 man to undertake it. He might resort to some 
 impersonal agency of destruction, like prayer 
 or magic, but to do evil himself, to destroy with 
 his own hands, that he would not. He would 
 not assassinate a tree any more than he would 
 a person. So far as I know, the oak trees still 
 stand, and wave their lofty tops over the mul- 
 berry trees and the grapevines which were 
 forced away from us by my father's creditors. 
 
 It must be that the nights I was first aware 
 of in my father's house made deeper impres- 
 
 [ 17 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 sions upon my mind than the days, because 
 they offer themselves now to my pen as the 
 eadiest bits of my conscious existence, — this, 
 I suppose, because of the fear with which they 
 inspired me. I do not recall the time when, as a 
 little child, those deep shadows which the dim 
 lamplight emphasized behind the pillar in the 
 middle of the house, and other objects, did not 
 frighten me whenever I looked at them. Our 
 only source of light was a small kerosene lamp, 
 one of the very first to come to our town after 
 the subtle fluid of the Standard Oil Company 
 reached Syria, shortly before my conscious life 
 began. It was, however, a great improvement 
 on the little olive-oil lamp, the "candle" of the 
 Sermon on the Mount and the Ten Virgins — 
 an earthen saucer, with a protruding little lip 
 curled up at one point in the rim for the wick. 
 The lamp was placed on the edge of the mekh- 
 daah, just above the fireplace. The corner in its 
 immediate vicinity was reasonably well lighted, 
 but the remoter parts of the living-room were 
 veiled with ghastly yellowish darkness. 
 [ i8 1 
 
MY FATHER'S HOUSE 
 
 But the most vivid of my early memories of 
 kerosene is very grim. In filling the lamp one 
 night my sister spilled some oil on the earthen 
 floor. In order to amuse me she told me to soak 
 little bits of cloth in the oil and touch a match 
 to them and they would burn quickly. As I was 
 doing so one of the little rags fell from my hand 
 on the floor. I thought I saw where it fell and 
 reached down and grabbed something that 
 looked like it. It was a scorpion ! The fiery sting 
 pierced my flesh under the thumb nail. I rolled 
 on the floor, a ball of quivering flesh, with a 
 dart of the bitterest, fiery pain, which never 
 abated the whole night, reaching from my 
 thumb to my heart. 
 
 I feel no hesitancy in saying that when 
 Rehoboam said to the people of Israel, "My 
 father chastised you with whips but I will chas- 
 tise you with scorpions," he made a telling 
 figure, and the people of that country, which is 
 full of all manner of "creeping things," must 
 have understood him very clearly. 
 
 Our nights were not tricked into cheerfulness 
 
 [ 19 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 by any of the multitude of means which dehght 
 child-Hfe in this age and country. As a child I 
 enjoyed the love and care of devoted parents, 
 the deep, instinctive, but untutored affections 
 and protection of a richly endowed mother. 
 But notwithstanding all that, and except on 
 festive occasions, the evenings were very dreary 
 for the little ones. There were no children's 
 story-books to read, and there was no one who 
 could have read them, if any of them had fallen 
 into our hands: no pictures for the children, 
 and none to cheer the blankness of those white- 
 washed walls, which the smoke tinged with a 
 murky hue : no toys of any kind. Now and then 
 we fell spontaneously into a fit of laughter, or 
 played a game of hide-and-seek in the dark 
 corners of the room. Now and then we were 
 favored with a tale about a miracle happening 
 in the graveyard, or about ghosts, or wild 
 beasts, which made the very hairs of our heads 
 hiss with fear. Our peevishness and naughtiness 
 had no "psychological guidance.'' When 
 bribes, which were by no means of the most 
 [ 20 ] 
 
MY FATHER'S HOUSE 
 
 persuasive kind, failed, the chief remedy was, 
 " Be good or the camel will get you ! " " Listen ! 
 the hyena is coming! — Coming! right at the 
 door!!'' From the fact that men could ride on 
 his back, we always concluded that the camel 
 must possess at least the imitation of a human 
 spirit. But the hyena, so terrible and so abun- 
 dant in the surrounding woods and rocky hills, 
 never failed to bring us to terms. This is why, 
 I believe, my earliest memories of the nights 
 in my father's house claim precedence as I 
 write. 
 
 And as I reflect on those days now, I realize\ 
 most clearly how limited, how meagerly inven- 
 tive, is love without culture. How almost help- 
 less is sympathy without knowledge. Love is, j 
 indeed, "the greatest thing in the world,'' but/ 
 without knowledge, acquired knowledge, — j 
 real culture, — love is like a skilled workman ^ 
 without his tools, a mariner without his chart 
 and compass. 
 
 But the m^ore joyful memories of those plastic 
 years were stored in my mind in the spring and 
 [ 21 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 the summer seasons, when the trees poured out 
 their riches in tender leaves and blossoms. 
 In Syria the seasons do not forget to come on 
 time; the calendar and nature are in perfect 
 harmony. There are no "raw winds" and no 
 "cold showers" in April and May. Rain very 
 rarely falls between April and September. The 
 myriads of white and yellow daisies are already 
 out in full force in the latter part of April, and 
 we children rolled on the fragrant blossoms as 
 on a thick carpet. We plucked the daisies and 
 strung them by the yard for necklaces and belts. 
 When the ploughman came to plough the mul- 
 berry terraces for us, I experienced a delicious 
 sensation. When that rough peasant arrived 
 with his primitive plough on his right shoulder, 
 the yoke hanging from the left shoulder, his 
 long, hard, strong goad — the same as the one 
 with which "Shamgar, son of Anath, slew of 
 the Philistines six hundred men" — in his left 
 hand, and his two cows, or oxen, or cow and ox, 
 walking before him, my childish eyes beheld 
 a most enchanting picture. His "laborer" also 
 
 [ 22] 
 
MY FATHER'S HOUSE 
 
 came with the ploughman to break the clods 
 behind the plough. "Judah shall plough, and 
 Jacob shall break the clods." I would stand at 
 a respectful distance, because of their menacing 
 horns, and, with joyous bewilderment, watch 
 those cows, with their eyes enlarged and their 
 backs kinked, pull at the urging and goading 
 of their master, turn the soil and cause the 
 small stones and clods to roll musically over 
 the terrace walls. 
 
 In the latter part of April also the eggs or 
 "seeds" of the silkworm ^ begin to stir with life 
 in the muslin sack (their winter quarters) hang- 
 ing from the ceiling. A scaffolding of poles and 
 long, strong reeds is built along the entire wall- 
 space in the house, and clear up to the ceiling. 
 The trays which should hold the silkworms 
 are placed on the scaffolding in rows and tiers, 
 and the mousam — silkworm season — begins. 
 Mother takes the sack of eggs down, as she 
 makes the sign of the cross and implores the 
 
 ^ In the western part of Syria the silk crop is the 
 people's chief source of livelihood. 
 
 [ 23 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 divine blessing on the silk crop that is to be. 
 The sack is opened, and a few tiny, almost 
 microscopic worms are seen to quiver among 
 the dull gray eggs. A tender mulberry leaf is 
 placed in the sack, on which the little worms 
 soon gather. The leaf is lifted out with its pre- 
 cious freight and placed on a tray, where the 
 worms proceed to receive regular rations. Leaf 
 after leaf thus proceeds into and out of the 
 sack, until all the "blessed ones" are trans- 
 ferred to the trays. As they grow larger the 
 lots on the trays are divided and subdivided 
 until the whole house is filled with bright, 
 greedy, unspeakably interesting silkworms. 
 Holy water is secured from the priest, conse- 
 crated especially to protect the crop from ants 
 and mice, and sprinkled on the lower terminus 
 of every pole in the scaffolding. With such a 
 sense of security we proceed to bestow tender 
 and incessant care on the silkworms, for forty 
 days, at which time they cease to eat and begin 
 to spin their cocoons in the bundles of brush 
 especially prepared for them. 
 
 [ 24 ] 
 
.#i' 
 
 A. Ready to spin; B. Ready for Harvest; C. A Luxuriant Yield 
 SILK WORMS AND COCOONS 
 
MY FATHER'S HOUSE 
 
 Oh, how dehghtful it is to watch those 
 precious worms weave their silken envelopes. 
 Thousands of them are at work. The web is 
 fastened to a suitable nook in the brush; the 
 upper half of the worm's body sways rhyth- 
 mically and, seemingly, understandingly; the 
 thread, proceeding from the little black mouth, 
 is thrown round and round as far as the little 
 body can reach. A haze of a web is formed. 
 It is white, yellow, or yellowish brown. My 
 eyes feast on the scene for hours. The web 
 grows heavier; the weaver is barely visible, — 
 it is all hid! In a week's time the bundles of 
 brush are converted into a solid mass of 
 cocoons. One of the most luxurious of the 
 bundles is given to the patron saint of the 
 family for his gracious protection of the crop. 
 Some choice cocoons are saved for seed, and 
 the rest of the crop is sold to the spinners. 
 
 The mousam over, the housewife proceeds to 
 
 the annual whitewashing of the walls of the 
 
 house and the mending and repolishing of the 
 
 earthen floor. If she is not obliged to seek 
 
 [ 25 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 the hills herself and secure the needed tarsh — 
 chalky white earth — she buys a penny's worth 
 of the stuff from one of the men who peddle it 
 early in the season. The enterprising woman 
 dissolves the tarsh in a large basinful of water, 
 and very dexterously slaps the liquid on the 
 walls of the house with a piece of sheepskin. 
 As much of the substance in proportion as 
 adheres to the wall rebounds on the woman, 
 who, after a few hours of "slapping,'' assumes 
 the appearance of a veritable "pillar of salt." 
 
 I always looked forward to this performance 
 as to a holiday. In the absence of the motion- 
 picture show, the merry-go-round, and any 
 other juvenile entertainment, whitewashing 
 the house afforded the youngsters the stimulus 
 of a significant change in the routine of life, 
 which for the time being enhanced the cir- 
 culation of the nervous energy. It was real 
 "fun" to haul out all the furniture from the 
 house to the terrace, dispose the earthen bar- 
 rels, huge jars and clothes-chests in the shape 
 of temporary defenses around the spot where 
 [ 26 ] 
 
MY FATHER'S HOUSE 
 
 the beds were spread, and sleep for a night 
 or two out under the winking stars. My pa- 
 rental grandmother had the faculty of reserv- 
 ing most of her harrowing stories for such 
 nights, when she told them with the ease of an 
 expert, "just to entertain me." But as the com- 
 mon people of Syria believe that each person 
 has a star in heaven which holds the mysteries 
 of his destiny, I often strayed from my grand- 
 mother's stories by gazing at the luminous dome 
 above, curious to know which of the countless 
 trembling stars was mine. My choice often fell 
 upon a real bright orb. 
 
 The summer, always known to us as "the 
 time of grapes and figs," follows and I dance for 
 joy. Our own vines and fig trees — the desire 
 of a peaceful Israel — are laden with fruit. We 
 have red, white, and black grapes. Our fig 
 trees bear white, black, yellow, green, and pur- 
 ple figs. The black fig tree is nearest to the 
 house, and I practically nest in it during the 
 fig season. I love to see the delicious ripe figs 
 show their African faces among the large, rough, 
 
 [ 27 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 green leaves. I rise in the cool of the morning, 
 before the sun has lifted the dew on high, and 
 proceed to the beneficent fig tree. A " shred " of 
 bread ^ and all the fresh figs I can eat besides 
 make up my breakfast. I never knew in those 
 days what indigestion was. The grapes and 
 pomegranates afford delightful varieties. My 
 uncle has an apricot tree near the house. He 
 instructs me "not to touch it,'' but I do, both 
 for the sake of eating apricots, and to spite him. 
 Early in the autumn we store the dried fruits, 
 vegetables, and cereals in jars and earthen 
 barrels and make ready for the winter. 
 
 That was my father's house in its natural 
 setting and human atmosphere. That was the 
 feeding-place and shrine of my early childhood, 
 and these are my memories of it. 
 
 ^ Syrian loaves are generally made round and as 
 thin as thick wrapping-paper. In weight a loaf equals 
 a large-sized roll. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 EL-SHWEIR 
 
 The larger environment of my early years was 
 the town of ..El-Shweir in which my father's 
 house stood. El-Shweir falls, geographically, 
 in the province of Mount Lebanon, Syria, in 
 Asiatic Turkey. It is situated about midway 
 between Jerusalem on the south, and Antioch 
 on the north, about sixty miles to the north- 
 west of Damascus, and fifteen miles east of 
 Beyrout and the Mediterranean Sea. Ecclesi- 
 astically, El-Shweir falls within the ancient See 
 of Antioch, in the chief city of which the fol- 
 lowers of Christ were first called "Christians." 
 From the time when I first became able to 
 understand an ordinary conversation, until I 
 emigrated to America at the age of twenty-two, 
 I was always told, and therefore learned to 
 assert myself, that the town of my birth was 
 an impregnable stronghold. El-Shweir never 
 was walled or fortified. The confidence of the in- 
 [ 29 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 habitants in its impregnability springs from the 
 fact that the town is buih on the lower slopes 
 of high, rocky hills which inclose a deep, horse- 
 shoe-shaped gorge. The "military" strategists 
 of El-Shweir have always asserted, with the 
 authority of the men of their class, that 
 musketeers could shoot much more effectively 
 when aiming upward than when aiming down- 
 ward. Therefore an enemy approaching the 
 town from the commanding heights was by 
 necessity of his position at a decided disadvan- 
 tage. The much more stead}^ upward firing of 
 the defenders was sure to scatter his forces and 
 put him to flight. The reassuring tradition still 
 survives in that community that even Ibrahim 
 Pasha, the famous Egyptian conqueror, re- 
 marked more than once, during his Syrian 
 campaign in his war against Turkey, that El- 
 Shweir could not be taken by an invading 
 enemy, however strong. Whatever military 
 value this opinion may or may not have, prag- 
 matically speaking, it "worked" mightily by 
 lending the inhabitants of our town a strong 
 
 [ 30 ] 
 
EL-SCHWEIR 
 
 sense of security. And, furthermore, the fact 
 stands subHmely convincing that (I suppose 
 because no enemy has ever tried to take it) 
 El-Shweir has never been taken by an enemy. 
 The rocky hills which surround El-Shweir 
 are crowned with lofty pine trees, the lower 
 slopes are covered with grapevines and fig trees, 
 while groves of mulberry trees form the imme- 
 diate environs of the town. In its depressed 
 location the only view El-Shweir enjoys of the 
 outside world is the majestic elevation of one 
 of the two highest peaks of Western Lebanon, 
 called Sunnin, which rises about nine thousand 
 feet above sea-level. Ascending to the summits 
 of the surrounding hills, however, one beholds 
 some of the most beautiful and sublime natural 
 scenery in the world: the rugged and pictur- 
 esque slopes of Western Lebanon, terminating 
 in luxurious gardens at the sandy shores of the 
 blue and dreamy Mediterranean; the city of 
 Beyrout, with its white buildings standing on 
 the glittering shore like blocks of silver on a 
 cloth of gold ; a countless number of hills and 
 
 [ 31 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 mountains, groves of pine and olive trees, 
 winding streams, vineyards, and a multitude 
 of towns and hamlets, nestling in the bosom 
 of the hills in all directions as far as the eye 
 can see. 
 
 The inhabitants of El-Shweir, who are sup- 
 posed to count ten thousand, — and to the 
 poetic Oriental mind a supposition is always 
 more agreeable than an actual count, — are all 
 of the Christian faith, and overwhelmingly 
 Greek Orthodox. The minority consists of 
 Maronites and Greek Catholics.^ The inhab- 
 
 ^ The Greek Orthodox Church, known also as the 
 Eastern Church, includes a great portion of Christen- 
 dom, and with the exception of the Russian dominions 
 is governed by the four independent patriarchs of 
 Constantinople, Alexandria, Antioch, and Jerusalem. 
 
 The Maronite Church is an ancient national com- 
 munion of Mount Lebanon, which in the twelfth cen- 
 tury came voluntarily under the sway of the Pope of 
 Rome. It is governed by a local patriarch and a hier- 
 archy, and retains many of its ancient characteristics, 
 such as the marriage of the inferior clergy and the use 
 of the Syriac service. 
 
 The Greek Catholic Church is a branch of the Greek 
 Orthodox Church, which, as the result of a schism, 
 
 [ 32 ] 
 
EL-SCHWEIR 
 
 itants' chief source of livelihood is the stone- 
 mason trade, which is handed down from 
 father to son, not, however, according to status, 
 but from choice. The majority of the men fol- 
 low this trade, and the minority provide the 
 town with its storekeepers, blacksmiths, car- 
 penters, butchers, muleteers and loafers — the 
 leisure class. 
 
 The large majority of the houses of El-Shweir 
 were similar to our house. A few houses were 
 two stories, and one or two three stories high. 
 There were no streets. Syrian towns never 
 were built according to preconceived plans. 
 Each man built on his own piece of land, regard- 
 less of general convenience and symmetry. One 
 or two main roads ran winding through the 
 town, and crooked stony footpaths, running 
 from all directions, connected with those roads. 
 In the rainy season the roads became streams 
 
 joined the Church of Rome in the eighteenth century. 
 The chief "Western" characteristics of this church are 
 its submission to the Pope and its adoption of the 
 Gregorian Calendar. In other respects it is practically 
 the same as the Greek Orthodox Church. 
 
 [ 33 1 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 of water, mud and slush, and pedestrians picked 
 their way as best they could. 
 
 The Orient in general has never troubled 
 itself about sanitation, not even in the large 
 cities. At the present time some changes for the 
 better are gradually being introduced, but in 
 my early years the country was just as Isaiah 
 and Paul left it. Filth and refuse were thrown 
 everywhere in the roads and around the houses. 
 The "dung-hill" existed by every house. The 
 people knew nothing about germs, and the 
 germs apparently knew nothing about the 
 people. Or rather, the germs did their utmost 
 with the people generations ago, leaving only 
 those who proved germ-proof. 
 
 In recent years El-Shweir has made some 
 progress in certain directions, but when I was 
 a child it was decidedly primitive. When I 
 think of that portion of my life in comparison 
 with my present state, I seem to myself to have 
 traveled through the lights and shadows of two 
 thousand years. <1 never knew in those days 
 what a library was; never saw street lights, 
 
 [ 34 ] 
 
EL-SCHWEIR 
 
 glass windows, iron stoves, public halls, news- 
 papers, structural iron of any kind, or anything 
 that rolled on wheels. I had never heard the 
 piano but once (in the home of an American 
 missionary) before I came to America. Public 
 education, citizenship, a national flag, political 
 institutions of any description, were as un- 
 known to me as the postulated inhabitants of 
 Mars^ 
 
 The social life of the El-Shweir of my child- 
 hood was no less strangely interesting. As in 
 other parts of Syria, and as in the days of Israel 
 and Canaan, and the Jews and the Samaritans, 
 v^the various clans of the town lived on terms of 
 mutual enmity. Seldom did a year pass with- 
 out a serious fight occurring between the clan of 
 Rihbany and the clan of Jirdak. To down the 
 other clans seemed to be every clan's ideal. 
 This I was taught by example and precept from 
 my infancy. Often did I hear a cousin of mine 
 say that he would pay the toll-tax for every 
 man v/ho died in the clan of Jirdak. As clans, 
 we lived in accordance with the precept, " Eye 
 
 [ 35 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 for eye, tooth for tooth, burning for burning, 
 wound for wound," and no favor. There was 
 indeed social intercourse between the various 
 clans; there were common feasts and festivals. 
 But all these were temporary concessions which 
 our contiguous existence and the oneness of our 
 religious faith required. It is not difficult to 
 see, therefore, that under such conditions the 
 ideal man for us was the fighter. The good man, 
 the man wise in counsel, was indeed greatly 
 revered, but he needed the fighter to maintain 
 his supremacy. 
 
 Of these thoughts my young soul drank its 
 fill. Those men of strong limbs, heavy voices, 
 and fiery eyes stood for me as the heights of my 
 climbing ambition. To be like one of them was 
 a dream which seemed to me too good to be 
 realized. And those interclannish fights, which 
 I witnessed in my innocent, plastic days, thrill 
 my soul to its center, even now, when I think of 
 them. The sight of a few hundred men engaged 
 in a hand-to-hand fight, shouting, cursing, 
 swearing, and inflamed with wrath ; hundreds of 
 
 [ 36 ] 
 
EL-SCHWEIR 
 
 women shrieking, children howHng in terror; 
 stones, clubs, and clods flying in all directions, 
 blood dripping from heads and faces, was in- 
 deed bewildering, overwhelming for a little soul 
 to witness. 
 
 But what must seem strange to an American 
 is the fact that, considering the large number 
 of men engaged and the duration of the fight, 
 the injuries caused by those interclannish com- 
 bats were rather slight. Very few men ever 
 were seriously injured, and rarely, if ever, any 
 one killed. The reason of this was that those 
 men, as a rule, fought like big boys, seeking 
 simply to "humble" one another. They had 
 no great issues at stake. The causes of such 
 quarrels were most often very trivial. Two 
 women of different clans might quarrel at the 
 public fountain over the question as to whose 
 turn it was to fill her jar first, and thus precipi- 
 tate a fight. Two men, each championing the 
 cause of a mythical hero, fall into serious dis- 
 puting. "Your 'hero' was a coward," says the 
 one. "You, your hero, and all your clan are 
 
 [ 37 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 cowards/' says the other. " Say no such words 
 against my clan," retorts the angry opponent; 
 "did we not tread on your necks at the last 
 fight? Just remember that day and plaster 
 your mouth shut/' Of course nothing more is 
 needed to plunge two clans into a fight. Again 
 a similar situation might be created by two 
 boys fighting in like fashion; or at a funeral 
 when a dispute arises as to what clan has the 
 right to lift the bier first and start it on its way 
 to the sepulcher; or at the game of "tossing the 
 ball/' or "lifting the mortar" (see below), or 
 any other trivial occurrence, coming just at the 
 "right time." 
 
 Such being very often the causes of those 
 fights, the men, as a rule, sought merely to 
 "down the foe" and humiliate him by "tread- 
 ing on the necks "^ of their antagonists. Thus 
 we read in the Book of Joshua, when the 
 "five kings," of Jerusalem, Hebron, Jarmuth, 
 
 ^ This expression is meant often to signify victory, 
 even if the "treading on the neck" does not actually 
 take place. 
 
 [ 38 ] 
 
EL-SCHWEIR 
 
 Lachish, and Eglon, were brought out of the 
 cave, "that Joshua called for all the men of 
 Israel, and said unto the captains of the men 
 of war which went with him, Come near, put 
 your feet on the necks of these kings. And they 
 came near, and put their feet on the necks of 
 them." That was the most exalted symbol of 
 victory for Israel. 
 
 But clannish life has its decidedly romantic 
 side. Provided one is able and willing to forget 
 the larger interests of civilization and the nobler 
 visions of nationalism and human brotherhood, 
 and make the rule of his social life the faulty 
 maxim, "My clan, right or wrong," I know of 
 no more delightful social state than that which 
 clannish life affords. As I write, the past rises 
 before me like a bewitching dream. I am car- 
 ried back to the time when the hearts of all my 
 kinsmen throbbed, beat for beat, with my heart ; 
 when every one of their homes was as much 
 mine as my own fireside, when we lived in life's 
 shifting lights and shadows, "all for each and 
 each for all." The fact that we dwelt among 
 
 [ 39 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 antagonistic clans served only to heighten our 
 heroism, strengthen our clannish cohesion, and 
 intensify the delightfulness of our kinship. 
 
 A clan gathering is itself a feast. When the 
 "men of counsel and the men of war" meet 
 together, not in a public hall, but at the home 
 of an ''aam'' (uncle or kinsman) for the pur- 
 pose of "reconciling" a family feud, or nego- 
 tiating a marriage, or planning how to meet 
 an impending danger, each man feels that his 
 strength is that of a hundred. The small cups 
 of Turkish coffee are passed, first to the oldest 
 and most honored man present, and then to the 
 others according to age, married men taking 
 precedence over the unmarried. They all drink, 
 and, as each one places back on the tray his 
 empty cup and its beaten-brass holder, with 
 the right hand lifted toward the forehead, he 
 says to the host, "May we always drink coffee 
 in your hospitable home [meaning, "May you 
 always be able thus to entertain") in times of 
 joy and gladness " ; and to the youth who passes 
 the coffee, "May we drink it again at your 
 
 [ 40 ] 
 
EL-SCHWEIR 
 
 wedding/' So far as its large interests are con- 
 cerned the clan is a unit. It may "withdraw'' 
 from him who refuses to abide by its decisions, 
 and thus render him a social outcast. "That 
 soul shall be cut off from his people." 
 
 The large majority of the men of El-Shweir 
 were absent from their homes from spring until 
 late autumn. As a rule they left their home 
 town right after the Easter festival, and scat- 
 tered all over Syria in pursuit of their trade as 
 stone-masons. In their travels " in the land of 
 the stranger" they forgot their clannish ani- 
 mosities and worked and lived together as 
 friends. They stored their summer wages in 
 their Damascus-made girdles, until their return 
 home. Their families in the mean time lived on 
 credit. 
 
 Late in the autumn the men returned to town 
 to spend the winter at home in complete idle- 
 ness. Upon their arrival clannish animosities 
 reasserted themselves in their hearts. Their 
 wives, who stayed at home the year round and 
 kept up their own feminine clannish fights, 
 
 [ 41 1 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 hardly allowed their returning husbands time 
 enough to put their shoes from off their feet at 
 the door, and their traveling-bags from off their 
 backs, before they told them of the many indig- 
 nities which had been heaped upon their fam- 
 ilies in their absence, not only by the women 
 and children of the other clan, but also by the 
 old men who remained in the town during the 
 summer. Thus a grave situation was immedi- 
 ately created, and the men made ready to 
 "clear for action" on short notice. 
 
 When my father came home the occasion 
 was deliciously interesting to me. Life took 
 on greater vigor and exhilaration. He brought 
 with him many goodies which were "pleasant 
 to the sight and good for food.'* The sound of 
 ; the bubbling water in his long-idle narghile, the 
 smell of the Persian tobacco smoked in it, his 
 manly voice, and the sense of added security 
 which his presence gave, were choice pleasures. 
 It was a supreme moment for me when he took 
 down the gun from the wall to clean and oil it. 
 I was always taught that the gun was made by 
 
 [ 42 ] 
 
SYRIAN BEAUTIES 
 
EL-SCHWEIR 
 
 Satan, and I should not touch it, but I never 
 knew the time when I did not take awe- 
 inspiring dehght in looking at this product of 
 Satan's genius. 
 
 The social pleasures of the people of our town 
 were very simple and unlearned. No literary 
 circles, no lectures, theaters, or receptions; no 
 dried-beef-and-creamed-potato church suppers, 
 or ice-cream socials to pay the minister's salary. 
 The social routine was very simple and most 
 favorable to the perpetuation of the juvenile 
 temper. Life did not radiate in broad, intellec- 
 tual, aesthetic, ethical, and political highways. 
 It had only a few hungers to feed and small 
 ambitions to satisfy. The inhabitants of the 
 town gathered in homogeneous groups and 
 feasted themselves on gossip and tales of adven- 
 ture. Eating and drinking in parties was fre- 
 quent. "Tossing the ball" was a favorite game 
 with the men, which, however, frequently 
 ended in a serious fight. "Lifting the mortar" 
 was another heroic feat. A wooden handle was 
 fastened in the hollow of a large stone mortar, 
 
 [ 43 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 and the strong men vied with one another in 
 lifting it with the right arm to the shoulder, or 
 the full height of the arm. Rivalry in this game, 
 also, often precipitated a fight. 
 
 The game called "Two-steps-and-a-jump'' 
 was an exciting one. A " mark" was placed at a 
 certain point. The player made a short run — 
 "to gather his strength'' — until he reached 
 the mark. Then he sprang forward with all his 
 might, two steps and a jump. Another mark 
 was placed where his feet last struck the 
 ground. Thus the men strove to out-distance 
 one another, and he whose agility placed the 
 second mark beyond the reach of all others won 
 the day. 
 
 The coming of "the bear and the monkey" 
 greatly excited the populace. The owner of the 
 animals beat upon his tambourine at a certain 
 spot in the town, to which the multitude has- 
 tened. A small sum was granted him by the 
 authorities, out of the tax-money. He made the 
 bear "dance" and the monkey perform antics. 
 He sang songs, the enchanting qualities of 
 
 [ 44 ] 
 
EL-SCHWEIR 
 
 which made the animals do certain pleasing 
 things. But the climax of the bear-and-monkey 
 entertainment was reached when some strong 
 man offered to wrestle with the bear. 
 
 The man comes forward. The bear, urged by 
 his owner, stands up on his hind feet. The wild 
 and the human beast come together. The man's 
 arms encircle the bear just under the armpits. 
 The owner must see to it that the bear does not 
 bite his antagonist. The battle is joined. The 
 bear snorts and grunts. The man does no less. 
 The crowd sways with every movement of the 
 combatants. The owner urges his bear to vic- 
 tory. The crowd, in a similar manner, stiffen 
 the resolution of the man. Such a battle cannot 
 last long. The bear grows weaker, because he 
 has danced long before the fight. The crowd 
 shouts. The man grips the ground with his feet 
 and, with a last mighty push, lands upon the 
 roaring animal! Men rush forward, extricate 
 the victor from the claws of the angry beast, 
 and proclaim him hero. The owner soothes the 
 misfortune of his vanquished pet. 
 
 [ 45 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 One of the most exciting masculine dances 
 of Syria is the debkah. It is an ancient Arab 
 dance which goes back to the early days of 
 Israel. At this dance about a dozen men, 
 nearly equal in stature, holding hands, stand 
 in a curved line. One outside the line beats the 
 tune on a timbrel. The bodies of the dancers 
 sway rhythmically, now to right and left, now 
 forward and backward, with the recurring 
 short measures of the music. At brief, regular 
 intervals the dancers stamp forcibly with the 
 right foot extended forward, with a quick, 
 vigorous ''Yah-0-Yah!" Again the bodies 
 sway, the song is repeated, the feet strike the 
 ground, and again, until the men are fatigued. 
 It was something after this fashion that the 
 ancient clans of Israel danced around their 
 rough altars, with shouts of ''Hallelujah! — 
 Praise ye Jah.'' 
 
 Playing cards was a prevalent pastime. 
 Propounding riddles, like that which Samson 
 propounded to the Philistines, was very popu- 
 lar. Ghost stories abounded. The miraculous 
 
 [ 46 ] 
 
EL-SCHWEIR 
 
 workings of saints were often and reverently 
 rehearsed ; the relative strength of the various 
 kings of Europe considered, mythical heroes 
 extolled, etc., etc. 
 
 But the chief social event of the town, the 
 summit of social joy to both old and young, was 
 the marriage feast. I always looked forward to 
 a marriage feast as do those who watch for the 
 morning. Its tumultuous joys rolled within my 
 soul like ocean waves. It was then that as a 
 child I could do absolutely as I pleased. It was 
 then that my pockets burst with plenty. Sugar- 
 plums, nuts, raisins, cakes, and other delicacies 
 fell into my hands in great profusion. The sing- 
 ing, dancing, and sword-playing thrilled every 
 nerve in me. Both in childhood and youth, 
 El-Airis (marriage feast) was to me an expres- 
 sion comprehensive of multitudinous joy. 
 
 According to the ancient customs of Syria, 
 which go back to that wedding of Cana of 
 Galilee and ages beyond it, it is not a wed- 
 ding day that is appointed, but a wedding fes- 
 tival, which extends over several days, during 
 
 [ 47 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 which time the whole town thinks of nothing 
 else. 
 
 During the preceding week, a deputation on 
 behalf of the bridegroom's family, and another 
 on behalf of the bride's, visit all the chief homes 
 of the various clans in the town and notify 
 them of the coming event. This is the equiva- 
 lent of an invitation to all the members of all 
 the families. Whosoever will may come. Only 
 unfriendly clans or families are omitted, and 
 only such refuse to come, even if invited. The 
 parable in the Gospel of St. Matthew of "a 
 certain king, which made a marriage for his 
 son, and sent forth his servants to call them 
 that were bidden to the wedding, and they 
 would not come," indicates this social peculi- 
 arity. The intention of the parable was to show 
 the persistent antagonism of the Jews of the 
 apostolic age to the Christian faith. Though 
 they were " called " again and again, they \\ ould 
 not come. To refuse an invitation to a marriage 
 feast in Syria, excepting in case of a recent sor- 
 row, is a sign of deep-seated enmity. 
 
 [ 48 ] 
 
EL-SCHWEIR 
 
 . His wedding day is the supremest day in a 
 man's life. Marriage to the Syrian Christians 
 is not only a holy sacrament, but an ideal to 
 which all other ideals stand subordinate. The 
 loveliest thing a guest can say to parents at the 
 end of a meal is, "May we eat again within this 
 house at the wedding of the dear grooms [i.e., 
 sons]." Matrim^onial expectations are affec- 
 tionately expressed to boys from early child- 
 hood. Whatever service or courtesy a boy ren- 
 ders, he is repaid for it by saying to him, "May 
 we serve at your wedding?" 
 
 The guests come to the wedding in large 
 groups, of hundreds and of fifties, representing 
 clans and houses. While yet a short distance 
 from the bridegroom's house they begin singing 
 in groups and in diverse tunes. A large com- 
 pany of the groom's clan rushes out to meet the 
 approaching throng, with singing and shouts of 
 joy. The two groups meet and merge together, 
 making not only "a joyful noise," but a deafen- 
 ing roar. They march into the house and are 
 met by those within, with similar manifesta- 
 
 [ 49 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 tions of joy. Presently all singing ceases. The 
 relatives of the bridegroom stand in a straight 
 line, with him as its center and glory, facing 
 their guests who have also fallen in line. The 
 guests, speaking all together, say, "Blessed, 
 O bridegroom, be your enterprise ; May Allah 
 bless you with many sons and a long life ; Our 
 joy this day is supreme." To which the rela- 
 tives of the bridegroom respond in similar 
 fashion : " May Allah bless your lives ; May such 
 events happen in your homes; May all your 
 sons who are needy [of marriage] be so blessed 
 and made happy. You have honored us by 
 your coming!" The two parties thus give vent 
 to their happy feelings, simultaneously causing 
 a commotion resembling an artillery duel. Only 
 an expert in the etiquette of the occasion is able 
 to comprehend the meaning of the felicitations. 
 This part of the proceedings in the marriage 
 festivities was always most thrilling to me. So 
 many strong men, dressed in their best and 
 many-colored garments, formed for me a rare 
 picture of strength and beauty. My soul ex- 
 
 [ 50 ] 
 
EL-SCHWEm 
 
 panded and contracted with the rise and fall of 
 their mighty voices. My heart beat tumultu- 
 ously as the two crowds merged together in 
 happy confusion. My supreme care was to be 
 at a safe distance from the wild tread of those 
 many strong limbs, and the fearful points of 
 those swords flashing at the head of the pro- 
 cession. 
 
 Sunday is the last and greatest day of the 
 wedding festivities. It is the day of the solemn- 
 izing of the marriage, and all the town is out. 
 If the ceremony is to take place at the house, 
 then the bride is brought to the house of the 
 bridegroom as Rebekah was brought to Isaac's 
 house, where the consecration takes place. But 
 if at the church, as is most often the case, then 
 both the bridegroom and the bride are escorted 
 there by the multitude. "The bringing of the 
 bride'' from her father's house was a most 
 interesting event to me as a child. Picked men 
 are sent to '* bring the bride," thus echoing the 
 ancient custom of strong men forcing the bride 
 away from her kindred. If the bridegroom is to 
 
 [ SI ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 be grave and reserved in his conversation, the 
 bride is expected to be absolutely silent while 
 the festivities last. She is not to open her eyes, 
 either, excepting on rare occasions. Nor is she 
 to close her eyes tightly. That would be humili- 
 ating crudeness. She has been instructed care- 
 fully to exercise her eyelids with lovely gentle- 
 ness, until they just touch fringes, with no sign 
 of effort, or stress. The "drooping eyelids" of 
 the right kind of a bride are poetized by the 
 Syrians as a superb example of bewitching 
 loveliness. 
 
 What seemed like an inscrutable mystery to 
 my little mind, on such an occasion, was the 
 behavior of the bridegroom and the bride. 
 Where did they get, all at once, such unap- 
 proachable dignity? Were they still such peo- 
 ple as we are ^ Were they still my cousins .? It 
 did not seem possible. I could hardly believe 
 my eyes when I saw them a few days after the 
 wedding conducting themselves just like other 
 people. The bridegroom's looks were no longer 
 awe-inspiring. The bride's eyes were wide open, 
 
 [ 52 ] 
 
EL-SCHWEIR 
 
 and the output of her organs of speech seemed 
 unlimited. 
 
 Shortly after the arrival of the escorting 
 party, who are immediately served with wine 
 and confections, the bride is led from her bridal 
 seat by women attendants and the closest male 
 friends of the bridegroom. The etiquette of 
 the country requires that she walk out of her 
 father's house extremely slowly. On some occa- 
 sions the walk of the bride from the innermost 
 part of the room to the door consumes about 
 half an hour. A decorated horse or mule is at 
 the door, on whose back she is lifted by the 
 strong men of the party. Another mule carries 
 the bride's bed and clothes-chest, and the pro- 
 cession moves slowly toward the sanctuar}% 
 amidst great rejoicing. A large concourse of 
 people escorts the bridegroom. 
 
 When the ceremony takes place in the night, 
 the whole affair assumes a brilliant aspect. 
 Sword-players, singers, "musicians," torch- 
 bearers, and other merrymakers surround the 
 bridegroom, and are distributed also along the 
 
 [ 53 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 procession. The housetops are filled with spec- 
 tators, largely women and children. They 
 shower on the procession rose-water, flower- 
 water, wheat (the symbol of fecundity), and 
 confections. Waves of zelagheet (songs peculiar 
 to women) float over the marching host. The 
 procession moves with flashing swords, flaring 
 lamps and torches, and an indescribable din of 
 music and song. *' Behold the bridegroom 
 Cometh ! Go ye out to meet him," and woe to 
 those "foolish virgins" who are not ready to 
 join the joyous throng! The contracting parties 
 meet at the altar, and are joined together in 
 holy marriage by a most impressive ceremony. 
 This done, the mighty host retraces its steps 
 with the happy couple to the house of the bride- 
 groom, where the chief feast of the occasion has 
 been prepared. Food is provided for an unlim- 
 ited number of guests. They come from all the 
 walks of life, from "the highways and the 
 hedges," and the house is literally filled. In 
 the summer season the feast is spread on the 
 housetop, but as most of the weddings occur 
 
 [ 54 ] 
 
EL-SCHWEIR 
 
 in the winter, the guests crowd into the house, 
 and eat and drink from an apparently unhmited 
 supply of Syrian generosity. With this feast 
 end the wedding festivities. 
 
 Such were the simple pleasures and social 
 activities amid which my earthly life began. 
 So distressingly homogeneous, so unmixed with 
 higher intellectual and ethical delights, was the 
 life of my people. 
 
 But for justice' sake it should be stated here 
 that the Syrians are as richly endowed with 
 intellectual possibilities and social instincts as 
 any people. Those of them who have had the 
 privileges of a more highly organized social life 
 and of higher education, especially in Europe 
 and America, have amply shown their capacity 
 to become highly educated and socially refined. 
 But the history of Syria has been a series 
 of misfortunes. As the battle-field of mighty 
 empires from time immemorial, Syria has 
 always been tossed from the hands of one 
 tyrannical government to those of another, and 
 deprived of all the agencies which make for 
 
 [ 55 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 enlightened nationalism. It has had no higher 
 education to rid the mind of trivialities and 
 superstitions, and lead to the higher unity of 
 ideals ; no industry to teach the value of time 
 and create a longing for peace ; no civic spirit 
 to convert life's activities into ethical and social 
 values, and lead to the love of law and order, 
 and to cleanliness and beauty of material sur- 
 roundings. There is at present a new spirit 
 stirring in that country, and it is hoped that 
 a new era may soon dawn upon that ancient 
 mother of the greatest of religions in the pos- 
 session of man, and give the nobler qualities of 
 her children a fair chance to reveal and develop 
 themselves. 
 
 Such was the home of my people when it was 
 first introduced to my consciousness; out of it 
 I have traveled by devious ways to the vastly 
 various and complex present. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 My intellectual history began in the school of 
 my uncle, my mother's first and favorite cousin, 
 Priest Michael, of the Holy and Apostolic Greek 
 Orthodox Church. I could not have been much 
 more than three years old when my mother led 
 me to sit at the feet of the priest of my people 
 and receive instruction. The "Child Mind," 
 "School Age," "Adolescence," and the many 
 other psychological zones were unknown to my 
 people. I could say "papa" and "mamma," 
 and many other words at the age of three, and 
 according to my parents' ideas I might just as 
 well be saying the letters of the alphabet. 
 
 At that time the men who could read and 
 write in El-Shweir were extremely few. Certain 
 parish priests established what might be called 
 reading circles for the purpose of fitting some of 
 the youth of the parish with suflScient knowl- 
 edge of reading to assist the priest at the mass. 
 
 [ 57 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 The course consisted of the alphabet, the Book 
 of Psalms, writing, and a short exercise in 
 mental arithmetic. 
 
 My recollections of my uncle's school are 
 dim and meager. His house consisted of two 
 rooms, one of which was the schoolroom. Be- 
 sides the door this room had one window, which 
 had wooden shutters and no glass. It was 
 opened when the weather permitted. 
 
 The pupils, who numbered about twenty-five, 
 sat on the straw mats on the floor with their 
 legs crossed under them. In compliance with 
 good manners, we took our shoes from off our 
 feet upon entering the room, just outside the 
 threshold in summer and just inside in winter. 
 In the days of Moses that was done as a sign of 
 reverence for holy places, as he did it before the 
 "burning bush"; and, as in ancient Syria every 
 family had a household god, the shoes had to 
 be removed from the feet upon entering the 
 house in deference to the family god. The habit 
 survives in the land "unto this day" as a social 
 grace. 
 
 t S8 ] 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 But in my uncle's schoolroom another enter- 
 prise went hand in hand with education. Ori- 
 ental parish priests, of whatever communion, 
 marry, as did the priests of Israel. My uncle 
 had a large family and a small income. There- 
 fore, in order to keep the wolf from the door he 
 betook himself to weaving cloth, on a hand- 
 loom which stood in the schoolroom. The 
 clerical weaver, with flowing hair, luxurious 
 beard, and ample black garb, sat on the edge of 
 the "loom-pit," dug in the floor to accommo- 
 date the treadles. He devoted his feet to the 
 treadles, his hands to the shuttle, his eyes to 
 the web, and his ears and tongue to the pu- 
 pils. At significant moments he would come 
 into living touch with his disciples through a 
 long stick which lay conveniently near his 
 hand. 
 
 The only reliable memories I have of my 
 student life in my uncle's school are first, that 
 all the pupils read aloud, at the top of their 
 voices, and thus converted the schoolroom into 
 a veritable beehive. When a mistake happened 
 
 [ 59 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 to invade the hearing of the teacher he would 
 shout the name of the transgressing pupil and 
 acquaint him forcibly with the correct pronun- 
 ciation. Second, my uncle was infinitely more 
 interesting to me as a weaver than as an edu- 
 cator. The flitting of the shuttle through the 
 web entranced me. I watched breathlessly for 
 the intervals when the sedate cloth-maker 
 tightened the fabric by turning the heavy 
 "weaver's beam" over which the finished cloth 
 was rolled, and to which the writer of First 
 Samuel likens the staff of Goliath's spear, when 
 he says, "And the staff of his spear was like a 
 weaver's beam." It always seemed to me a feat 
 of strength full of mystery when the arm of the 
 weaver emerged from his ample, loose sleeve, as 
 his hand grasped the wooden handle, and made 
 the giant beam turn with a dull, creaking sound, 
 and shift the web to the desired position. The 
 letters of the alphabet, written on a piece of 
 paper and pasted on the strip of board in my 
 hand, were nowhere to be compared with the 
 magical movements of the loom. Therefore, 
 [ 60 1 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 when my uncle was not looking at me, I was 
 looking at him. That is all. 
 
 The second year of my school life found me 
 in more auspicious circumstances. The foreign 
 mission schools were far better equipped than 
 the priests' schools. Therefore, as soon as the 
 English missionaries opened a school in our 
 part of the town, my uncle was compelled to 
 give up his vocation as an educator and devote 
 all his time to his loom and his clerical duties. 
 
 The new Angleez (English) school held out 
 for me many compelling charms. I was told 
 that there were benches in the schoolroom, a 
 table that had a drawer in it, an iron stove, 
 and a "striking'' clock! The teacher built fire 
 inside the stove, and a long pipe carried the 
 smoke out of the room. The clock "told" the 
 time. At two o'clock it struck two; at three, 
 three, and so on. The reputation of the teacher 
 was very satisfactory to the parents. He was a 
 severe disciplinarian. "He made the hairs of 
 the pupils' heads stand on end from fear." In 
 a country where the authority of both Church 
 [ 6i ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 and State inspired fear rather than confidence, 
 this quahfication won for the teacher the pro- 
 found confidence of the people. 
 
 At about the age of four I was sent to the 
 Angleez school. It was situated in one of the 
 best residences in the town. The schoolroom 
 was large and had two windows. The inventive 
 genius of the English taught the native teacher 
 in charge to put white muslin screens in the 
 windows during the winter season, as substi- 
 tutes for glass. Each boy had to bring a piece 
 of wood or charcoal every morning to feed the 
 wondrous stove. The clock — a world of mys- 
 teries beyond mysteries — told the time. The 
 drawer in the teacher's table seemed an inex- 
 haustible source of dazzling wonders. Fancy 
 pencils, glossy writing-paper, chalks, new, clean 
 little books — all from Beyrout — issued forth 
 from it and enchanted my vision. A large Bible, 
 the first I had seen, rested on the table. There 
 were benches for the older pupils to sit not oiz, 
 but at. They sat on the floor and rested their 
 books and elbows on the benches. We, the 
 f 62 1 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 little ones, had no supports for either our backs, 
 books, or elbows. In a little comer close by the 
 teacher stood an assortment of sticks — light, 
 medium, and extra heavy — which he used with 
 discrimination, according to the ages of the 
 pupils, excepting when in a fit of anger he 
 applied the wrong stick to the right boy. Girls 
 also were permitted to come to the school, but 
 only a few of them attended. 
 
 My first and second year in this school car- 
 ried me through a small primer, a book of 
 Bible stories called "The Bright Light for the 
 Little Boy," a few memory lessons in the 
 Presbyterian catechism, and introduced me to 
 the art of writing. The deepest impression 
 which my teacher made upon me in those days, 
 as a teacher and not as a disciplinarian, was 
 through his conducting of the devotional serv- 
 ice which took place at the beginning of every 
 school day. I loved to hear and see him read 
 the Scripture lesson. I felt his prayers rever- 
 ently. It was inspiring to me to hear his open- 
 ing sentence; one which he very frequently 
 [ 63 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 used was, "O Thou Lord God Almighty, who 
 art over all!" The impression made upon me 
 at those services must have been strong and 
 pleasant, because the whole scene remains with 
 me a clear and delightful memory. I really 
 longed to be like my teacher: to read the Bible 
 with such power and dignity, and to address 
 God in prayer. 
 
 That was the first touch of idealism my soul 
 ever felt — the first incentive to aspiration, the 
 first glim-pse I had of my higher self as reflected 
 in the strong man who stood before me in the 
 attitude of prayer. 
 
 The clearest and most unpleasant memory I 
 have of that teacher, as a disciplinarian, is of a 
 punishment he inflicted upon me which almost 
 proved fatal to both of us. From my present 
 point of view I consider that act to have been 
 most cruel. I do not remember the offense for 
 which my teacher decreed that I be locked up 
 in the schoolroom alone, all night — a child not 
 yet six. The pupils filed out of the room ; the 
 teacher, casting a last grim look at me, locked 
 
 [ 64 ] 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 the door and departed. Horrible silence, dis- 
 turbed only by the now oppressive ticking of 
 the clock, filled the entire building. The shad- 
 ows began to deepen. My eyes were fastened 
 upon the clock, when an ugly, hairy, black 
 spider sallied forth from some unknown crack, 
 crawled up to the clock, encircled it a few times 
 and retired behind it. I was rigid with fear. 
 I had not enough life to cry. It grew dark ; the 
 shadows of death engulfed my soul. Presently 
 I heard steps outside and the voice of my 
 mother. Wondering why I had not come home 
 when it was so late, she had gone out to seek 
 me. Having learned of my plight from the other 
 children, she went to the teacher and asked him 
 to go down to the school without a moment's 
 delay and release me. In what manner she ad- 
 dressed him I was not in a position to know. 
 He instantly obeyed, and I was given my free- 
 dom. The next day I fell ill. My father was not 
 at home. My cousins and uncles and second 
 cousins heard of what had happened. Their 
 boy was seriously ill, and the teacher was the 
 [ 65 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 cause. If the boy should die, then life for life ! 
 The teacher must die also. So was the teacher 
 told by one of my uncles who spoke in clear 
 accents. Poor teacher! Twice a day did he visit 
 me during that illness, bringing me many pres- 
 ents of things he knew I most longed to have. 
 His gifts and caresses restored me to health, 
 and, consequently, assured him of peace and 
 length of days for himself. 
 
 One of my dim but proud memories of the 
 period under consideration is that of my partici- 
 pation in a crude miracle play which was 
 enacted by the children of the Greek Orthodox 
 faith on what is known in the Greek calendar 
 as Lazarus Saturday, — the day immediately 
 preceding Palm Sunday, — in commemoration 
 of the raising of Lazarus from the dead. That 
 was our only theatrical performance, whose 
 setting was the real life of our people which 
 had undergone no appreciable change since the 
 time when this miracle was first recorded. We 
 reproduced the event, as it is reported to have 
 occurred at that ancient grave in Bethany, at 
 
 [ ^e ] 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 the door of every adherent of our faith, and 
 were rewarded by the housewife (and woe to 
 her who failed to reward us Hberally) with a 
 gift, most often of eggs, which we divided 
 among ourselves at the end of the day and kept 
 for Easter. 
 
 The story as reported by the evangelist is 
 written in vernacular poetry on a piece of paper 
 about a foot wide and five feet long. A boy 
 representing Lazarus lies down on the ground 
 and is covered up with a white shroud. Two 
 girls (sometimes boys are substituted, and other 
 changes made in the general plan of proce- 
 dure), representing Mary and Martha, and 
 dressed in mourning, sit weeping, one at the 
 head, the other at the feet of "Lazarus." Two 
 boys, holding the extended roll over the 
 "corpse," chant with the other boys the poetic 
 tale, until they reach the last line, "Lazarus, 
 Lazarus, arise and speak to me!" — when the 
 brother of Mary and Martha gets up with the 
 "grave-clothes" around him, and turns his 
 sisters' mourning into joy. For many years my 
 
 [ 67 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 sister, who took the role of Martha, insisted 
 that when I took the role of Lazarus (which 
 was very easy), I should not have known when 
 to "arise" had she not pinched my foot at the 
 psychological moment. For obvious reasons I 
 never admitted her claim. 
 
 The last event I remember of my school 
 career in El-Shweir was the coming of the 
 English missionary — the khawaja himself — 
 to inspect our school. This was a gala day. The 
 khawaja was to give prizes to deserving pupils. 
 My teacher, partly because I was a "bright 
 boy" and partly because of my recent illness, 
 which he was supposed to have caused, had 
 taught me the Beatitudes by heart, that I 
 might repeat them on that occasion and per- 
 chance get a prize. The khawaja was the first 
 man I had seen dressed in efrenjee (European 
 costume). The native dress for men was the 
 shirwal (ample bloomers), and the man in 
 pantaloons was a great curiosity. I repeated 
 the Beatitudes in the august presence of the 
 khawaja and many of the parents and the 
 f 68 1 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 school, and to my unspeakable delight received 
 a pen-knife for a prize. 
 
 About this time, when I was six years old, 
 my parents decided to move from El-Shweir to 
 a town called Betater, situated about thirty 
 miles to the south on the western slopes of 
 Mount Lebanon. My father had been in charge 
 for some years of all the building operations 
 of a Frenchman who had a large silk-spinning 
 factory in that town, and it was natural for 
 him to desire to have his family with him. 
 
 To depart from one's kindred in Syria has 
 always been a painful operation, from the time 
 of the patriarch Abraham. The thought of 
 being buried "in the land of strangeness" is to 
 a Syrian especially hard to bear. But if the 
 sepulchre of our fathers was not in Betater, our 
 church — the Greek Orthodox — was there to 
 give us spiritual kinsmen, and to give our 
 bodies burial in its consecrated ground. 
 
 On a bright spring morning, late in April, I 
 was awakened from sleep at early dawn. Com- 
 [ 69 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 ing out to the yard, I saw three mules and a 
 donkey standing on the east side of the house. 
 Two of the mules were heavily laden with our 
 clothes-chests, bedding, and other movable 
 furniture. The third mule was made ready for 
 my mother and my baby sister to ride on, and 
 the donkey was likewise fitted for my sister, 
 next older, and my brother, next younger than 
 myself, and me. 
 
 Was it possible that I was to have such a 
 long donkey-ride.^ The very earth under my 
 feet vibrated with joy. It was not at all painful 
 to leave one's kindred if by so doing one might 
 have such a ride! 
 
 Neighbors and friends stood around weeping 
 and lamenting our departure. My mother, 
 with streaming eyes, assured them that our 
 sojourn in the "strange country" would be 
 short, and that by Allah's ^ will our return to 
 our kindred was assured. Presently our neigh- 
 
 ^ Allah, the familiar designation for the Deity in 
 the Arabic language, is used by Christians as well as 
 by Mohammedans. 
 
 [ 70 ] 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 bor's wife, casting a bewildered look skyward 
 above the oak trees, crossed herself and in 
 solemn accents said, "God cast thee off, you 
 evil presence ! Off at the beginning of this mo- 
 mentous day!'' She spat in the direction of the 
 evil object; so did all those present, making 
 the sign of the cross. It was a crow! The black 
 navigator of the air was very gay on that spring 
 morning, regardless of all solemn abjuration 
 and vigorous spitting. But he was, neverthe- 
 less, a decidedly evil omen at the beginning of 
 a journey. This had been proved a thousand 
 times. Presently one of the men said, " I see 
 another!" "Kheir, kheir!'' (good, good!) ex- 
 claimed the others. The crows, when traveling 
 in pairs, brought no evil on those who saw them. 
 They neutralized each other. 
 
 During all that time, however, my eyes were 
 fixed on the donkey. His charms were enough 
 to neutralize the evil of a thousand and one 
 crows. Every movement of his ears carved a 
 line in my heart. Life certainly became worth 
 the living when my cousin turned around and 
 
 [ 71 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 said, "Abraham, come; come on the donkey^s 
 back." I do not believe I weighed more than 
 ten ounces when I was being transferred from 
 the ground to the cushioned back of the donkey. 
 I floated in the ether. Amidst sobs and tears 
 and ''Maessalamy'' (go in safety), "Allah be 
 with you," "May no evil touch you," "Send 
 back good news with the muleteer," and so 
 forth, the muleteer, after invoking the Holy 
 Name, called, '' Dah, dahT' The mules, tossing 
 their heads in the air, proceeded on their way; 
 so did my donkey, to whose back I was tied 
 with a rope to keep me from falling when he 
 went up and down hills. 
 
 Up the steep hill proceeded our little caravan, 
 reaching the crest just as the sun began to gild 
 "the high pinnacles of the earth." The two 
 muleteers and two of our cousins — strong and 
 valiant men — formed our escort. The picture 
 of my sad mother on that morning as she sat on 
 the mule's back, the right end of her mendeel 
 (long bead scarf) turned under her chin and 
 thrown over the left shoulder, my baby sister in 
 
 [ 72 ] 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 her lap, and one of my cousins walking by her 
 side, stands in my memory as the original of 
 'The Flight to Egypt." 
 
 Miles of pine trees stretched along our way. 
 Rough, rocky roads followed the slopes of the 
 hills, dipping into deep valleys and climbing 
 again to high summits. The world appeared 
 to me delightfully new and immeasurably large. 
 The deep blue haze of the distant mountains 
 seemed like the border-line of another world. 
 Now and then we met a nobleman in richly 
 embroidered attire, mounted on a lavishly 
 decorated horse, with his sword dangling at his 
 side and his footmen pacing reverently before 
 him. 
 
 Twice we halted on our way by springs of 
 water "to sustain our hearts with food.'' My 
 childish eyes never beheld a more delightful 
 sight than that of the "bread bundles" — thin 
 loaves folded together like napkins, three or 
 four in a bundle — as they were pulled by the 
 muleteer out of the saddlebag filled with the 
 delicacies which are usually provided for such 
 
 [ 73 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 occasions in Syria. One bundle contained ripe 
 olives sprinkled with pulverized thyme, an- 
 other, small cakes of cheese dipped in olive 
 oil, another, figs "cooked" in grape molasses, 
 another, boiled eggs, etc. We arrived at our 
 destination about dusk. The rope with which I 
 had been tied to the donkey's back had entered 
 into such intimate relations with my legs that 
 when I dismounted I found them utterly un- 
 available for use. I was carried into the house, 
 most deservedly. The half of a double house, 
 into which our family was ushered upon our 
 arrival at Betater, consisted of three rooms, — 
 a lower room where we lived during the winter 
 season, an upper room where we lived the rest 
 of the year, and a rear storeroom. 
 
 Betater was inhabited by Christians and 
 Druses, who were in the majority and the ruling 
 class, and some Mohammedans. The Christians 
 represented the Greek Orthodox, Greek Catho- 
 lic, and Maronite churches. As usual, they 
 lived at war with one another and united as 
 "Christians" only when attacked by the 
 
 [ 74 ] 
 
THE RIHBANY HOME AT BETATER 
 
 The right half of a double house 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 Druses. The clannish feuds also existed within 
 the various sects. We, however, were " strang- 
 ers," and, having no clan of our own in the 
 town, were immune from attacks by any and 
 all of the clans because of our weakness. "Thou 
 shalt not oppress a stranger" is a command 
 which is universally observed in Syria. How- 
 ever, we were free to side with our fellow Greek 
 Orthodox, as they were expected to defend us. 
 My father, however, would participate in no 
 fight. But in Betater we had a clan of Druse 
 Sheikhs who were the noblemen and rulers of 
 the community. The common people "be- 
 longed" to the Sheikhs. Each Sheikh was the 
 "lord protector" of a certain number of fam- 
 ilies. As in El-Shweir we had no aristocracy of 
 any kind, it was very strange to me that our 
 family should "belong" to a superior person- 
 age. 
 
 My father was known in the community 
 as the "Master" (builder). Our family was 
 designated as the "Master's family," and I was 
 addressed as "Abraham, the Master's son," 
 
 [ 75 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 just as Joshua had been known as **the son 
 of Nun.'' We were often called "Shweiriah," 
 from our birthplace, and, in accordance with 
 the ancient Syrian custom, as, "David, son of 
 Jesse, the Bethlehemite." The Sheikhs were 
 to me a new human species. Their costly gar- 
 ments of choice Oriental fabrics, their richly 
 inlaid swords and thoroughbred Arabian horses, 
 were the visions of a new world for me. 
 
 I was carefully taught the etiquette of life 
 among such dignitaries. When saluting a 
 Sheikh I was to kiss his hand and call him "My 
 Lord." I was not to engage in conversation in 
 the presence of a Sheikh without first having 
 his permission. Coming into an assembly where 
 a Sheikh was, I could not sit down until he 
 had commanded me to do so. To these and 
 other social graces I applied myself diligently. 
 
 It was among those Sheikhs that I first heard 
 men swear by their heads. Swearing by one's 
 head is an ancient Oriental custom, peculiar to 
 aristocrats and inappropriately imitated at 
 times by the common people. It always betrays 
 
 [ 1(^ ] 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 such arrogance and haughtiness as to show why 
 Jesus said, "Neither shalt thou swear by thy 
 head, because thou canst not make one hair 
 white or black." There also I first arrived at 
 the realization that the priest was holier than 
 myself; the Sheikh nobler. Why .? It was a holy 
 mystery. The priest explained it to me a few 
 times thus: The Gospel said, "Let every soul 
 be subject unto the higher powers — the powers 
 that be are ordained of God." So the priests 
 and aristocrats were those "higher powers." 
 The explanation always seemed to me to be 
 simple, authoritative, and fully satisfactory. 
 
 My memories of our first few years' residence 
 in Betater are most delightful. The inhabitants, 
 Christians and Druses, aristocrats and com- 
 moners, rivaled one another in doing us favors. 
 They were bound that the ghareeh (stranger) 
 should feel perfectly at home in their midst. 
 When the fruit and vegetable season came, 
 seeing that we had no vineyards of our own, 
 our new neighbors poured in upon us a veri- 
 table deluge of baskets of such products of 
 
 [ 77 1 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 the soil. In our first and second year in the 
 "land of strangeness" so many baskets of the 
 golden grapes of Lebanon were sent to us that 
 we made our whole year's supply of raisins, 
 wine, and vinegar. 
 
 I shall never forget that awe-inspiring mani- 
 festation of sympathy for us by the people of 
 Betater when my five-year-old brother died. 
 Because we had no relatives in the town "to 
 comfort us," and notwithstanding the fact that 
 the deceased was only a child, his funeral 
 equaled in dignity that of an influential citizen. 
 The "comforters" who came to us seemed to 
 me a multitude which no man could number. 
 Although according to custom only a few of the 
 young Sheikhs represent the noble clan at such 
 a funeral, in this case nearly the entire clan 
 attended. They came up to our house with 
 their attendants of the Druse commoners, in 
 what seemed to my childish mind an endless 
 line of white turbans, long beards, Damascus 
 gowns, and Persian cloaks. With characteristic 
 dignity and tender Oriental eff^usiveness they 
 
 [ 78 ] 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 assured my sorrowing father that his affliction 
 was theirs also; that he should not consider 
 himself a stranger in their midst, because they 
 thought of him as one of them ; and that their 
 homes and all they possessed were at his dis- 
 posal. 
 
 My first visit to the great city of Beyrout 
 was an epoch-maker. I was not yet quite nine 
 when my father yielded to my long-continued 
 pleading with him to take me to the far-famed 
 metropolis. As the common people of Syria 
 rarely could indulge in the luxury of having 
 merkuhs (mounts) in traveling, I was expected 
 to walk all the way, a distance of about fifteen 
 miles. I use the word '* miles" here in accord- 
 ance with the Western custom. In my native 
 land we measured distance by different means. 
 An object or a place was as far as a "stone's 
 throw," or the *' smoking of a cigarette," — as 
 the Syrians inhale the tobacco smoke deeply, 
 the literal expression is the ** drinking of a 
 cigarette," — or an hour's, two hours', or a 
 
 [ 79 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 day's journey, as the case might be. Of course 
 I agreed to walk to Beyrout with most solemn 
 affirmations. My father, a cousin of ours, and 
 I proceeded one day down the stony footpaths 
 on the western slopes of Mount Lebanon toward 
 the ancient city. My little legs remained firm 
 until we were about halfway on our journey 
 when my steps began to falter. The gentlemen 
 of the party threatened to leave me behind, 
 and feigned that they would continue on their 
 way without me. Their scheme, however, 
 failed of its purpose; I could not be aroused to 
 further exertion. I simply cried, howled, and 
 implored my teasers. Then, I assure you, there 
 was no leaving me behind. First, Cousin 
 Suleiman carried me on his back **a lift,'' then 
 father came second with another lift, and so on, 
 until we reached the crowded, crooked streets 
 of Beyrout; then I was ready again to walk. 
 
 But the fatigue of the journey did not pre- 
 vent my father and Cousin Suleiman from giv- 
 ing me most earnestly and solemnly detailed 
 instructions as to how I should conduct myself 
 [ 80 ] 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 while in Beyrout. I was not to gaze curiously 
 at the Mohammedans, whom I knew by their 
 white turbans. They considered us kufar 
 (infidels) and enemies of the faith; therefore 
 they were ever ready for the slightest provoca- 
 tion to beat or even kill us. In the presence of 
 a Mohammedan I was to assume a most rever- 
 ential and humble attitude. 
 
 Again, I was not to stray away from my 
 guardians, — not even a few yards, — because 
 the cursed Jews might steal me and murder me. 
 I was told that the sons of Abraham feasted on 
 the blood of Christian children. Several in- 
 stances were mentioned to me when Christian 
 children, known to my kindred, had been cap- 
 tured in the Jewish quarter in Beyrout and bled 
 to death by those enemies of Christ. My flesh 
 crept and crawled when the process of ** bleed- 
 ing'' was described to me. The Christian child 
 was led into a chamber within seven doors. He 
 was stripped naked, placed in a cradle lined 
 with sharp darning-needles and rocked vio- 
 lently until every drop of blood in him had 
 [ 8i ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 been drawn; the blood was then sealed in 
 bottles and preserved for the Jusseh (the feast 
 of the Passover). How my people secured this 
 accurate knowledge of Jewish cruelty, how they 
 unlocked the secrets of those chambers of 
 horror which existed ^* within seven doors/' 
 and from whose bourne, according to their own 
 statements, no traveler ever returned, neither 
 I nor any other Syrian Christian ever thought 
 of asking. 
 
 Amidst such apprehensions and fears I spent 
 two days in Beyrout on that first visit. The 
 city seemed endless in extent and alive with 
 mysteries. There I stood for the first time on 
 the seashore and watched the restless waters 
 with worshipful awe ; there I first learned objec- 
 tively what the word " carriage " meant, saw a 
 few kerosene street lamps, ate all the halaway 
 (a Syrian sweet dear to children) I wanted 
 to eat, and bought a little harmonica, the 
 only musical instrument that our family ever 
 possessed. 
 
 In the absence of a foreign school in Betater 
 [ 82 1 
 
^^^tt.^m^imm i 
 
 
 I- 
 
 mZ < « 
 
 
 
 t 
 
 \ rn^i 
 
 
 
 ^ """<«. 
 
 I. 
 
 
 ■f-J ^ 
 
 !f 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 I resumed my studies under the Maronite 
 priest. Our own priest kept no school. But my 
 mother disHked the Maronites very much. 
 Her reason for this was that they did not bap- 
 tize in the right way; that in making the sign 
 of the cross they touched the left shoulder 
 before the right, and were the slaves of the Pope 
 of Rome who shaved all his face.' Therefore 
 when, the second year after our arrival in 
 Betater, an American mission school was opened 
 in the town, I was immediately transferred to it. 
 Both Protestants and Maronites were in 
 error, but the Protestants were better teachers. 
 In this school I stayed two years. I read a 
 
 ' The reader must remember that the Maronite 
 priests who are subject to Rome cut the hair of their 
 heads, but not their beards, but the Greek Orthodox 
 pride themselves on the fact that, after consecration, 
 their priests never shave or cut the hair of their heads, 
 thus conforming strictly to the law of the "Nazarite," 
 or as Scripture has it, "separated unto God." Thus 
 when Hannah, the mother of Samuel, asked a "man 
 child" of the Lord she vowed, saying, "Then I will 
 give him unto the Lord all the days of his life, and 
 there shall no razor come upon his head." I Sam. i, 
 II. See also Num. vi, 5. 
 
 [ 83 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 large part of the Bible, advanced in arithmetic 
 up to ''long division," had a few lessons in 
 geography, and was supposed to have become 
 efficient enough to write a letter. This, how- 
 ever, I always dreaded when called upon to do 
 it by my father. It was not the business part 
 of the letter which I dreaded, because that was 
 dictated to me; but I had to write the "preface," 
 a chapter of fulsome salaams and laudatory 
 phrases, extolling the recipient, without which 
 a letter was little short of an insult. Again, I 
 had to ascertain " the day of the month " which, 
 in the entire absence of calendars, was known 
 only to a few select minds. When the question, 
 "How much of the month is it?" was put to 
 me, my face reddened with incredible swiftness. 
 And when I was ridiculed by the men present 
 for my inexcusable ignorance, being a "school- 
 boy," my mother would come to the rescue by 
 telling those men that they themselves did not 
 know how much of the month it was, and they 
 were of much larger dimensions than I was. I 
 was often sent to the priest to ask him what day 
 [ 84 ] 
 
AT THE FEET OF MY TEACHERS 
 
 of the month it was. He usually counted on his 
 fingers from the last saint's day, according to 
 the Eastern calendar, and I ran home with the 
 information lest I should forget it on the way. 
 When I was nine years old, it happened one 
 day that my teacher punished me rather 
 severely. I grabbed my books and ran to where 
 my father was working, crying bitterly. Of 
 course I told my father that the teacher was 
 absolutely merciless. He seemed very much 
 distressed and concluded that I had had enough 
 schooling anyway, and that it was time that I 
 exchanged books for tools and began learning 
 my father's trade. It was so ordered, and, at the 
 age of nine I began my career as a stone-mason. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE RELIGION OF MY FATHERS 
 
 Let now the story of my industrial evolution 
 bide its time. The story of my earliest religious 
 faith and life should have precedence. 
 
 In the absence of anything to the contrary, 
 I have reason to assume that my first Chris- 
 tian ancestors were among the converts of Paul 
 and Barnabas in the ancient see of Antioch, and 
 that a Christian ancestry spanning nineteen 
 centuries lies behind me. Within the fold of the 
 ancient Greek Orthodox Church I first learned 
 to lisp the names of God, Christ, the Church, 
 and the Gospel. Mary, the "Mother of God," 
 and a host of saints also claimed my affectionate 
 reverence. I was taught by my parents, more 
 by exam.ple than precept, and most conscien- 
 tiously, to observe the ordinances of my church. 
 
 And here I wish to speak of the church of my 
 fathers and my childhood and youth, not accord- 
 ing to my present knowledge of it as a student 
 [ 86 ] 
 
THE RELIGION OF MY FATHERS 
 
 of church history, but as I knew it as a common 
 worshiper, and as it is known to the large major- 
 ity of its adherents all over the world.' 
 
 To go to mass and to believe that my church 
 was the one and only true church were my first 
 lessons in the faith. For private devotion I was 
 taught three prayers, the Lord's Prayer, the 
 Apostles' Creed, and ''Hail Mary." I was 
 instructed by both example and precept to 
 observe the fasts — the Great Lent, which pre- 
 cedes Easter, lasts fifty days; the Fast of the 
 Nativity, forty days ; the Fast of the Apostles, 
 generally forty days; the Fast of the Virgin, 
 fifteen days ; and every Wednesday and Friday. 
 During all these fasts the faithful are expected 
 to abstain from such foods as meat, eggs, milk, 
 cheese, and, during the Great Lent and the 
 Fast of the Virgin, fish, excepting on two occa- 
 sions. To make an honest confession, the fasts 
 were most oppressive to me. During Lent I 
 was expected to taste no food until noon. I was 
 willing to abstain from meat foods, but the 
 See Appendix. 
 
 [ 87 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 occasions when I did really fast until noon were 
 extremely rare. So long as I could obtain food, 
 by either fair or foul means, I broke the fast 
 early in the day, on the theory that devouring 
 hunger was a greater imperative than any 
 church ordinance. 
 
 No pews are allowed in the Eastern churches. 
 The people stand with folded arms during the 
 entire service. Two small groups of readers or 
 singers, one to the right, the other to the left of 
 the altar, assist the priest at the mass. When 
 at church I always stood by the reading-desk, 
 where I had a good view of the priest. At one 
 time I was accorded the honor of reading the 
 Epistle, which preceded the reading of the 
 Gospel at the mass. I could not have been 
 much more than eight years old at the time. 
 One of the good old men taught me for about 
 two weeks how to intone the Apostolic lines. 
 The Epistle was from St. Paul and began with 
 the word, "Brethren." When the solemn mo- 
 ment arrived, I was beckoned to stand before 
 the anastasis (a partition which screens the 
 
THE RELIGION OF MY FATHERS 
 
 altar from the congregation) immediately in 
 front of the Royal Gate, through which only 
 the priest is permitted to pass. My normal con- 
 sciousness lasted until I reached the appointed 
 spot and uttered the word, " Brethren." Then 
 all was darkness. I could hear a hollow, sepul- 
 chral voice issuing from somewhere. I woke up 
 again by the reader's desk. My father reached 
 down and kissed me. The singer put his hand 
 on my head and whispered, "Bright boy!" 
 That restored my soul. 
 
 An event which occurred about this time and 
 which burned itself deeply into my memory, 
 was a fight which took place in church during 
 mass. It is the custom in the Greek Church for 
 a layman to lead the congregation in the Lord's 
 Prayer and the Apostles' Creed. An elderly 
 man of a certain clan had been in the habit of 
 leading in the Lord's Prayer for years. Certain 
 men of another clan thought that old Sallume 
 had enjoyed that honor long enough and con- 
 cluded to wrest it from him. On one Sunday 
 morning, as Sallume began to repeat the Lord's 
 [ 89 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 Prayer, a man of the opposing clan began to 
 repeat the same at the reading-desk on the left. 
 
 Sallume was greatly exasperated. Addressing 
 both the Almighty and his saucy opponent, 
 Sallume's wrathful version of the Prayer 
 was thus: "Our Father'' — ("Hush up, you 
 wretch") — "Hallowed be"— ("It is my 
 heritage from my fathers, you dog") — "thy 
 name." (" I will tread on your neck " — " Curse 
 your entire clan," and so on). The other man 
 was no milder in his devotional language, and 
 they met in combat in front of the Royal Gate. 
 The men of their respective clans rushed for- 
 ward from all parts of the church, and the fight 
 became general. It was at that point of the 
 mass when the priest was repeating what are 
 called "the mystic words," and, according to 
 his holy orders, he could not look back upon 
 the congregation, even though the church were 
 deluged with blood. But soon after he was done 
 with the mystic rite, he pulled off his sacred 
 robes from him, grabbed a heavy staff,' and 
 
 ' In the absence of seats in the Greek churches, long 
 
 [ 90 ] 
 
THE RELIGION OF MY FATHERS 
 
 cleared the church. The fighting continued 
 outside the building until the Turkish soldiers 
 arrived. 
 
 The most impressive part of the Greek 
 Orthodox service (aside from the great festi- 
 vals), which I still remember with grateful 
 appreciation, was the administering of the 
 "holy korban" (sacrament of the Lord's Sup- 
 per) to a communicant during mass. The scene 
 never failed to thrill me through and through 
 with religious emotion. 
 
 The humble applicant for the adorable sacra- 
 mental elements, who has previously confessed 
 his sins to the priest, with his head bowed and 
 his arms folded on his breast, comes forward 
 and stands immediately in front of the Royal 
 Gate. He lifts his eyes slightly toward the 
 impressively silent congregation and says, 
 "Forgive me, Christians, whatever trans- 
 gressions I may have committed against you!" 
 — which petition the congregation answer in 
 
 T-shaped staves are provided for elderly men, on which 
 they lean forward during mass. 
 
 t 91 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 scarcely audible accents, "May God forgive 
 you!'' Then, as the priest appears through the 
 Royal Gate with the sacred cup, the applicant 
 turns and faces the altar, reaches for the silk 
 napkin hanging from the priest's hand, and 
 holds it under his chin, to guard against the 
 possibility of any part of the consecrated ele- 
 ments dropping onto the floor; and, as the priest 
 lifts the golden spoon out of the cup with its 
 precious contents of bread and wine, and con- 
 veys it to the lips of the penitent son of the 
 Church, the singers chant alternately and most 
 impressively the solemn words: "Accept me 
 this day as partaker of thy mystic supper, O 
 Son of God, for I will not betray thy secret to 
 thine enemies, nor give thee a kiss as Judas did, 
 but like the thief cry to thee. Remember me, 
 O Lord, when thou comest into thy kingdom." 
 Many years have elapsed since my eyes last 
 beheld such a scene; I have given up belief 
 in the dogma of transubstantiation and the 
 authority of the confessional ; nevertheless, the 
 religious feelings I experienced in my early 
 I 92 1 
 
THE RELIGION OF MY FATHERS 
 
 years on such occasions remain with me, pre- 
 cious spiritual reaHties. 
 
 The feasts and festivals of the Greek Church 
 filled my boyish heart with delight, so spectac- 
 ular and so full of mystery were they. The 
 Syrian churches do not make much of Christ- 
 mas because originally it was not an Oriental 
 holiday. New Year's, or "Good-Morning 
 Day,'' as the Syrians call it, was the day when 
 we exchanged presents and indulged in much 
 gayety. But what was of absorbing interest to 
 me as a boy, aside from the few coppers and 
 sugar-plums that I got for presents, was the 
 offering I carried to the fountain, early on New 
 Year's morning. My older sisters went with 
 their jars to carry water for the household, and 
 I went with them. We took with us a few hand- 
 fuls of wheat and cereals and cast them rever- 
 ently into the water, saying "Good-morning, 
 fountain! Bless and increase our grain!" So 
 did we ignorantly practice the modes of wor- 
 ship of our remote Oriental ancestors, who 
 poured their gifts to Astarte into the streams 
 
 [ 93 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 of Syria ages before Christianity was born. 
 And who are you, child of but yesterday, to say 
 it was all empty superstition ? 
 
 But what was all that compared to the feast 
 of Epiphany, which we celebrated in commemo- 
 ration of the baptism of Jesus in the river 
 Jordan, twelve days after Christmas? It is 
 known to the people as El-Gitas (dipping in 
 water). I was taught to believe, and most joy- 
 ously did believe, that the rivers and fountains 
 of the entire world became suddenly holy about 
 sunset on the eve of Epiphany. Wild beasts 
 left not their dens the entire night, and were all 
 rendered harmless as doves, because the Christ 
 was on his way to the Jordan. The trees 
 "knelt" before the passing Saviour, with the 
 exception of the mulberry and the fig, which 
 saucily remained standing. It was explained to 
 me in this connection that the mulberry tree 
 was too proud to kneel because it produced 
 silk, and the fig tree had a grudge against the 
 Master because he once cursed it. And how 
 I would go out on that blessed night and peer 
 
 [ 94 ] 
 
THE RELIGION OF MY FATHERS 
 
 into the darkness to see a "kneeling" tree ! But 
 I was always told that only a saint could see 
 such things. 
 
 But my failure to see a "kneeling" tree 
 always awakened my greater curiosity to know 
 whether any saint then living ever did really 
 behold such a sight. I was told that only one 
 godly man (who, unfortunately, had been dead 
 for many years) of our own clan did see a 
 "kneeling" tree, under peculiarly interesting 
 circumstances. The custom is that on the 
 blessed night of Epiphany many men go to the 
 streams of water, preferably about midnight^ 
 and "baptize" themselves with Christ. It was 
 at such a time that the devout Abu-Simaan 
 sought a creek which ran near our town to 
 secure a closer fellowship with the Saviour 
 through the commemorative act. He removed 
 his garments and instinctively placed them on 
 the dry limbs of a fallen tree close by the 
 stream, instead of on the wet ground, and 
 plunged into the water. Emerging from the 
 water he was amazed to find that both the tree 
 
 [ 95 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 and his belongings were gone. Greatly bewil- 
 dered, he looked hither and thither, until he 
 saw his clothes in the top of a lofty poplar tree, 
 some distance away. With great joy Abu- 
 Simaan quickly realized that when he threw 
 his garments over its branches the tree was 
 kneeling! That he had had the rare fortune to 
 be *' baptized" just at the most blessed moment 
 when the Christ was walking the earth in the 
 mystic shadows which veiled Him from mortal 
 eyes. The devout Abu-Simaan crossed himself 
 repeatedly, said his prayer, and then climbed 
 the tree and regained his belongings. But when- 
 ever I heard that enchanting story what forced 
 itself upon my little mind, and almost spoiled 
 the miracle for me, was the significant question, 
 **How did poor old Abu-Simaan manage, espe- 
 cially in his Adamic state, to climb to the top of 
 such a tall tree.^'' 
 
 The material feast of Epiphany was zulahiah 
 (fried cakes of the doughnut variety). I do not 
 remember that I ever was unwilling to do any 
 errand for my mother which served to further 
 
 [ 96 ] 
 
THE RELIGION OF MY FATHERS 
 
 the cause of "frying" on that sacred occasion. 
 The zulabiah must be fried in pure olive oil over 
 a fire of olive wood, whenever it could be ob- 
 tained, for the olive is the most sacred among 
 the trees. It was supreme joy to me to feed the 
 fire while my mother fried the cakes, to see the 
 bars, coils, and balls of dough swell and sizzle 
 in the hot oil, and to watch my mother take 
 them out of the frying-pan, brown and hissing, 
 and drop them into a large basin of grape 
 molasses. A choice quantity of zulabiah we 
 gave to the priest, when he came with his at- 
 tendant on Epiphany day and sprinkled holy 
 water at the door and in the four corners of 
 the house, with an olive branch tied to a small 
 cross. 
 
 "Baptizing" the sacred yeast was a delight 
 to me. At every baking the Syrian housewife 
 saves out a small lump of dough for a "leaven" 
 for the next baking. But at the last baking 
 before Epiphany no leaven is saved. A new 
 leaven, miraculously raised at this time, pro- 
 vided the yeast for the coming year. My 
 
 [ 97 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 mother would mix a small quantity of dough, 
 just in cold water, and no yeast whatever, tie it 
 up in a piece of white cloth and give it to me 
 to hang up in a tree that "knelt." For three 
 mornings I carried the yeast to the fountain, 
 immersed it three times, in the name of the 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, repeating the 
 chant of my Church: "By Thy baptism, O 
 Lord, in the river Jordan was made clear the 
 adoration of the Holy Trinity. The voice of the 
 Father witnessed to Thee, calling Thee the 
 beloved Son. And the Spirit in the form of a 
 dove also witnessed to Thee. O Thou who hast 
 appeared and enlightened the world. Thou 
 Christ-God, glory be to Thee!" 
 
 The yeast hung in the tree for three days, 
 then was taken into the house, and behold a 
 miracle ! The dough was raised without yeast ! 
 Did not my remote un-Christian ancestors so 
 manifest their devotion when their sacred trees 
 hung with votive gifts ? 
 
 The Easter festival stands greatest among 
 the festivals of the Greek church. Our priest 
 
 [ 98 ] 
 
THE PRIEST SPRINKLING HOLY WATER 
 ON EPIPHANY DAY 
 
THE RELIGION OF MY FATHERS 
 
 often said that the picture of the Virgin looked 
 very sad on Good Friday and smiled on Easter. 
 
 The Great Lent was to us a period of self- 
 denial and religious contemplation and prayer. 
 I would not say that we were always burning 
 with zeal during this long period for the things 
 of the spirit. We did, however, pray more dur- 
 ing Lent than at any other time. I repeated 
 my three prayers mentioned above, every night, 
 and knelt ' and kissed the ground (a sign of 
 humility before God) from three to six times, 
 while I repeated these words : "O God of power, 
 be thou with us; for in times of sorrow we 
 have no helper but thee; O God of power, be 
 with us." 
 
 But the somber hue of those days of self- 
 denial began to grow lighter and more cheery 
 for me when my mother commenced, about the 
 middle of the lenten season, to make my holi- 
 day clothes. I was not "fitted" for the occa- 
 sion at a department store; in those days we 
 
 Kneeling in prayer is not required by the Greek 
 Church except during Lent. 
 
 [ 99 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 never even so much as heard of such an estab- 
 Jishment. The dry-goods peddler came to our 
 house, and out of his well-stocked pack brought 
 forth fabrics of dazzling colors and designs. 
 The cloth for my holiday attire was never "cut " 
 either on a Tuesday or in the "waning of the 
 moon." Garments cut on such unauspicious 
 occasions brought evil upon their wearer. No 
 pattern was needed ; I myself was there and the 
 suit was fashioned after my own mortal frame. 
 To watch every stitch, and to try the garments 
 on at frequent intervals, provided me with a 
 protracted entertainment, with a series of sen- 
 sations which made my passage through the 
 sober days of Lent to the Easter festival not 
 only tolerable, but extremely interesting. On 
 Good Friday I flew over the hills to gather wild 
 flowers with which the cross was covered in a 
 little coffin, in commemoration of the burial of 
 Jesus. Saturday was spent in gathering roots 
 and vegetables with which we colored the mul- 
 titude of Easter eggs. On the night of that day 
 I went to bed with my holiday clothes on, in 
 
 [ 100 ] 
 
THE RELIGION OF MY FATHERS 
 
 order not to lose the precious moments of the 
 morning in dressing, after the church bell had 
 called the faithful to the sanctuary. Soon after 
 midnight, on Saturday, the church bell pealed 
 the glorious message of the Resurrection. I 
 woke with the words, "Christ is risen!" on my 
 lips. "Of a truth he is risen!" was the answer. 
 I kissed my parents' hands, and we all pro- 
 ceeded to the church to enjoy the glorious 
 Easter ritual. 
 
 The supreme moment for me during the Eas- 
 ter mass came when the "charge" was made, 
 symbolizing the victory of Christ over Satan. 
 The entire congregation, following the priest, 
 marched three times around the church, each 
 carrying a lighted taper. Then all marched out 
 of the church, only one man, who represented 
 Satan, remaining inside. He closed the church 
 door and stood close behind it, to prevent the 
 risen Lord from entering into heaven. I never 
 can think of that "multitude that kept holy- 
 day," of their many-colored garments, of the 
 ringing voice of the priest, and of the host of 
 [ loi ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 lighted tapers which converted the assembly 
 into a mass of flame, without thinking of the 
 words of Isaiah, "Ye shall have a song, as in the 
 night when a holy solemnity is kept!" 
 
 The priest who represented Christ ap- 
 proached the door with the multitude behind 
 him and in a most solemn voice chanted the 
 words of the psalmist: "Lift up your heads, O 
 ye gates, and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting 
 doors, and the King of Glory shall come in!" 
 The man inside said in a sneering tone, "Who 
 is this King of Glory?" "The Lord of Hosts," 
 said the priest, "he is the King of Glory!" 
 Thrice was the chant repeated; then the hin- 
 dering Satan, vanquished, barked like a dog, 
 and the priest forced the door open and 
 marched in with the multitude, chanting, " Let 
 God arise and let his enemaes be scattered!" 
 
 In those days my mother Church was all- 
 sufficient for me. The so-called "period of 
 storm and stress" in religion is unknown to 
 sacramental worship. I was born into my faith ; 
 and my faith was ready-made for me. The con- 
 [ 102 1 
 
THE RELIGION OF MY FATHERS 
 
 fessional, fasts, and sacraments of the Church 
 met my every need. Reasoning about rehgion 
 was never known to my forefathers, and I was 
 not supposed to go so far as to indulge in it. But 
 I did, and that early in my youth. Early in my 
 youth I felt the inward urgency to reason, not 
 only within the tenets of my faith, but about 
 and beyond them. But the atmosphere of my 
 early life was not favorable to such modes of 
 thinking. Therefore, my battling with the issues 
 of religion had to be postponed to a later time. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 A STONE-MASON 
 
 When I was taken out of school at the age of 
 nine and introduced to manual labor, my father 
 deemed it wise to have me begin my industrial 
 career under other auspices than his own. The 
 French silk-spinner, M. Fortune Portalis, of 
 whose building enterprises my father had sole 
 charge, employed a large number of boys and 
 girls in his factory, where the work was sup- 
 posed to be less arduous than that which the 
 building operations required. The great French- 
 man was known to us as "Fertoni" — an 
 Arabianized form of his given name. He was 
 a tyrant, a hero, a heartless employer, a philan- 
 thropist, a physician, a shrewd business man, 
 an infidel, and a churchman, all in one. For 
 me he was the supreme wonder of the mundane 
 order. The Turkish Government — always 
 cruel to her own subjects, but helpless in deal- 
 ing with foreigners — had no control over Fer- 
 
 [ 104 ] 
 
A STONE-MASON 
 
 toni whatever. In dealing with his employees 
 he was himself the employer, the judge, and the 
 jury; he would either bribe them with money 
 or coerce them with the whip, just as it suited 
 him. The inhabitants of the region for miles 
 around his factory, both aristocrats and com- 
 moners, contemplated him with profound awe. 
 Upon our arrival in Betater the wonders 
 which were in store for me to see were Fertoni 
 and his kirkhana (factory). The kirkhana had 
 a gable roof covered with zinc; it contained 
 wheels, water-pipes, a furnace, and a boiler — 
 things which my eyes never had seen before. 
 And what was still more enchanting than all 
 these was the fact that Fertoni's bedroom was 
 lined with pictures — wall-paper which was 
 utterly unknown to us. And, oh, how I would 
 come to the window of that bedroom, when 
 the dread Fertoni was nowhere to be seen, and 
 gaze upon those decorated walls as upon the 
 bewitching scenes of paradise! The bedstead 
 and the fringed counterpane, also, enhanced in 
 my mind the greatness of France. 
 
 [ 105 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 The first duty to which I addressed myself 
 as an industrial worker at Fertoni's kirkhana 
 was the picking up of silk' cocoons from under 
 the many-storied drying-tables, on which the 
 precious cocoons were spread and turned over 
 twice a day by m.en who were called "turners," 
 in order to dry speedily and evenly. My wage 
 was two pennies per day, and the hours of labor 
 from dawn until dusk. 
 
 I do not remember that following the " turn- 
 ers" and picking up cocoons was in itself a 
 very hard task, but when I think of the fore- 
 man who ruled over us in those days, the 
 month I spent under him as a cocoon-picker 
 rises in my mind as a harrowing memory. 
 Dawood, son of Suleiman, was perhaps the 
 meanest man Fertoni ever honored with the 
 office of a foreman. I never saw that man smile. 
 He stands before me now in the form of a man 
 of medium size, his face pale, his lips thin and 
 firm, his features rigid and ungenerous, his 
 speech harsh and profane, and very often rein- 
 forced with the cruel use of a slender, tough 
 \ io6 1 
 
A STONE-MASON 
 
 stick which never left his hand during business 
 hours. Fertoni himself was a tyrant, but his 
 tyranny had somewhat of the heroic in it, 
 which often made it an object of admiration. 
 But Dawood was an arrogant coward, and my 
 fear of him was thoroughly saturated with 
 hatred and contempt. All the men hated him, 
 but could not chastise him because back of 
 him was Fertoni, and back of Fertoni, France. 
 I bore the yoke of the petty tyrant for a month, 
 and if I were to live my life over again I should 
 implore the Almighty to blot out that month 
 from the calendar of my years. My father's 
 object in having me begin my industrial career 
 under the authority of strangers was to give 
 me a sort of discipline which he thought I 
 would not get under him. But my mother 
 thought that a month's work under the hated 
 Dawood was discipline enough for any one; 
 therefore at her urging I was taken out of the 
 silk factory at the end of the month and put to 
 work with my father as an apprentice to the 
 stone-mason trade. 
 
 [ 107 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 At that time my father was at the height of 
 his prosperity. He employed from thirty to 
 fifty men, and was sought from far and near as 
 a builder. The men under his control were 
 classified on religious lines, following the Syrian 
 custom from time immemorial. They num- 
 bered so many Druses, so many Greek Ortho- 
 dox, so many Maronites, and so forth. The 
 common laborer received five piastres (twenty 
 cents) a day, and the master mason from twelve 
 to fifteen piastres. My social environment as 
 an industrial worker afforded no strong incen- 
 tives to progress. From the days of the Pyra- 
 mids and the Hanging Gardens of Babylon to 
 this day no spark has ever disturbed the clod 
 of the laboring masses of the East. Their lot 
 gave no play to the imagination. They knew 
 no common interest, no collective action, no 
 citizenship, no political rights. Their day's 
 work began at dawn and ended at dusk. The 
 moral atmosphere I breathed among those men 
 did not really blossom with lofty ideals. Owing 
 to the complete segregation of the sexes in the 
 [ io8 ] 
 
A STONE-MASON 
 
 Orient and the absence of education, male soci- 
 ety is by no means "holy in all manner of con- 
 
 versation." 
 
 One of the never-to-be-forgotten phenomena 
 of my early years, a spectacle which the most 
 extravagantly imaginative American mind can- 
 not picture, was the coming of the locusts into 
 our part of the country. If my memory serves 
 me well, I was about twelve years old when my 
 father and all his men, together with all the 
 male population over fifteen, were impressed 
 by the governor of our district to fight the 
 devastating hosts of Oriental locusts. No one 
 who has not seen such a spectacle and the deso- 
 lation those winged creatures leave behind them 
 can appreciate in the least degree the force of 
 the saying of "the Lord God of the Hebrews" 
 to Pharaoh, "If thou refuse to let my people 
 go, behold, to-morrow I will bring the locusts 
 into thy coasts." For a few weeks before they 
 deluged our district the news came with the 
 caravans that the locusts were sweeping toward 
 our region from the "land of the south." We 
 
 [ 109 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 youngsters did not know why our elders were 
 so terror-stricken when they heard of it, until 
 the scourge had come and gone. 
 
 It was a few weeks before the time of the 
 harvest when the clouds of locusts enveloped 
 our community. They hid the sun with their 
 greenish-yellow wings, covered the trees and 
 the ground, the walls and roofs of the houses, 
 and dashed in our faces like flakes of snow 
 driven by the wind. The utter hopelessness of 
 the task which confronted our people and 
 seemed to unite all classes in despair, assumed 
 in my sight a very comic aspect, and converted 
 the calamity into a holiday. It was so amusing 
 to me to see our sedate aristocrats and old men 
 and women join the youth and common labor- 
 ers in shouting, beating on tin cans, firing mus- 
 kets, setting brush on fire, striking at the cursed 
 insects with their hands, stamping them with 
 their feet, and praying God to send "a strong 
 wind'' to drive the enemy of man away. Every 
 mutekellif (payer of the toll-tax) had to fight the 
 locusts for so many days or hire a substitute. 
 [ no ] 
 
A STONE-MASON 
 
 I do not clearly remember whether it was the 
 beating on tin cans and howHng of the people 
 or the prayed-for "strong wind'' that drove the 
 merry locusts away. What I do remember is 
 that when they did go away they left the land 
 almost stripped clean of every green thing. It 
 was no vain threatening when the writer of 
 Deuteronomy warned Israel, saying, "If thou 
 wilt not hearken unto the voice of the Lord thy 
 God, to observe to do all his commandments 
 ... All thy trees and fruit of thy land shall 
 the locust consume." 
 
 Of the hardships of my environment I had 
 my full share as a boy. The entire lack of 
 machinery doubled the hardships of our work. 
 The long hours of labor and the bad sanitation 
 were a constant menace to both the soul and 
 the body. When our work took us away from 
 our home town, we generally traveled by night, 
 "to save time'' and to escape the heat of the 
 day. Sometimes we would travel all night, 
 afoot, carrying our tools and other belong- 
 ings on our backs. As the Master's son I was 
 
 [ III ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 often relieved of carrying tools by the men, 
 but it was hard enough for a tender youth to 
 undergo even the ordinary hardships of such a 
 life. 
 
 But my industrial career had a brighter side. 
 As the Master's son I enjoyed privileges which 
 seldom fall to an apprentice. I was second in 
 command over the men, after my father, and 
 for that reason they accorded me the respect 
 which my years did not really merit. The 
 master masons under my father gave me every 
 advantage to learn the trade. At the early age 
 of fourteen I was allowed to "mount the wall," 
 — to do actual building, — and, at the age of 
 sixteen, I was classed and paid wages as a 
 "master." I was very thorough, very conscien- 
 tious in my work, and was, therefore, in great 
 demand. My father was very much pleased 
 with my progress and had no doubt but that I 
 would continue the traditions of the family as a 
 stone-mason. But the mysteries of life are so 
 deep and so numerous that, even in a static 
 society such as that into which I was born, no 
 [ 112 ] 
 

 /i 
 
 SUPPORTING A STONE CARRIER 
 
A STONE-MASON 
 
 one could tell which direction the current of 
 destiny might take. 
 
 Already at the age of fourteen I had become 
 mysteriously discontented with my lot. I had 
 begun to dream, in a very vague way, to be sure, 
 of better things. I distinctly remember that 
 the thought of being a stone-mason all my life 
 oppressed me at that early age. "Am I to be 
 only a toiler all my life.^" was a question which 
 often pressed in my mind for an answer. Life 
 under such conditions seemed to me to possess 
 no permanent significance. My restlessness 
 greatly disturbed my father. To him it was 
 the result of pride and vanity, and nothing 
 else. 
 
 It was about this time, I believe, that I first 
 heard of America. The news of that remote and 
 strange country came to me simply as a bit of 
 indifferent knowledge. Some Syrians had gone 
 to America and returned with much money. 
 Money in America was of very little value. But 
 the country was so far away, so difficult of 
 access, that those who reached it must have 
 
 [ 113 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 done so by accident. The American mission- 
 aries were known to us as English. 
 
 But at the age of fourteen something of much 
 greater significance came into my Kfe. I made 
 the acquaintance of a boy of about my age who 
 was attending an American boarding-school, 
 about ten miles away from our town. Iskander 
 was the only boy of our town who had ever 
 been sent to such a school, and was therefore 
 very conspicuous in the community for his 
 dignity and "learning." 
 
 How I became acquainted with Iskander and 
 how he allowed himself to become the most 
 intimate friend of such a boy as I was, I cannot 
 tell. It was simply destiny. Iskander was a fine 
 penman. He knew much poetry, arithmetic, 
 geography, and English, many things about the 
 Bible, and many other mysteries. He knew a 
 great deal about America, and much about 
 other countries. When he came home for his 
 summer vacation of three months, we practi- 
 cally lived together. Iskander would read poe- 
 try to me and teach me words in the classical 
 
 [ 114 ] 
 
A STONE-MASON 
 
 Arabic. Our conversations covered every phase 
 of thought in which he was interested, and 
 brought me treasures of knowledge. Not in- 
 frequently we would stay up the whole night, 
 engaged in such conversations. Here certainly 
 a revolution came into my life. I loved know- 
 ledge and craved more of its higher pleasures. 
 Of a truth, as it seemed to me, I was never made 
 to be an ignorant toiler. I was an idealist. But 
 such a life as that of my friend Iskander seemed 
 far beyond me. I never could hope to become 
 so learned as he, and never had the remotest 
 idea of going to school. 
 
 My father was glad that the "learned" 
 Iskander was my friend, but he had no patience 
 with "the frills of poetry" for a stone-mason. 
 "There is no bread in the foolishness of poetry; 
 tools, tools only can feed our hunger," was one 
 of his answers to my pretentious remarks. My 
 good father was right, inasmuch as he knew 
 only of one hunger to feed. At the age of six- 
 teen I became decidedly averse to working at 
 the mason's trade. My discontent began to 
 
 [ 115 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 beget wickedness in my mind. In the absence 
 of my friend Iskander, at school, I fell into the 
 company of certain idlers who were no more nor 
 less than highway robbers. The stories of their 
 adventures greatly fascinated me, and I was 
 in great danger of taking the wrong course in 
 life. My parents were greatly alarmed at this, 
 and strained every effort to ease my difficulties 
 and lead me in the way in which I should go. 
 But the pitiable fact was that neither they nor 
 I had any definite object in view. It was dis- 
 content on my part and anxiety on their part, 
 and little or nothing else. 
 
 One day one of the wise men of the town, 
 who knew of our predicament, said to my 
 father, "Your son is the intimate friend of the 
 'schoolboy' Iskander, and I feel certain that if 
 you offered to send your son to the same school 
 which his friend attends, he would go. Try it.'' 
 My father came home, and, in a half-hearted 
 manner, made the suggestion, and, for the 
 moment, we all laughed. School? Forme? My 
 mother, who was somewhat more in sympathy 
 [ ii6 ] 
 
A STONE-MASON 
 
 with my aspirations, spoke more seriously of 
 the proposition, and I became interested in it. 
 The moment was of supreme importance. It 
 was one of those moments in which there is 
 much more of God than in the ordinary particles 
 \ of time. It was the gateway of my destiny, and, 
 most unexpectedly to my parents as to myself, 
 I faced my father and said, " I will go to school." 
 My decision brought great relief to the whole 
 family, and we all concluded that it was God's 
 will. But when some of our fellow Greek 
 Orthodox heard of it, they urged my father to 
 send me to the clerical school of our bishop and 
 have me fitted for the priesthood, instead of 
 sending me to the heretical Protestant school. 
 That suggestion, of course, proved much more 
 agreeable to my parents. A representative of 
 the bishop resided in the same town, Suk-el- 
 Gharb, in which the American school was situ- 
 ated, and, since it was necessary for us to go to 
 Suk-el-Gharb early in the summer and make 
 arrangements for my entering one of the two 
 schools, my father decided that we should inter- 
 
 [ 117 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 view the representative of the bishop ; which we 
 did. My father was very favorably impressed 
 by what he told us about the school. The 
 "holiness of the priestly office" and the spirit- 
 ual security and certainty of salvation which 
 "the Holy Church of our Fathers" insured to 
 us weighed very greatly with my father, but 
 not so greatly with me. My friend Iskander 
 was a Protestant, and I could not think that 
 he would be damned for it. Besides, he knew a 
 great deal more than our parish priest did. Of 
 course, I had no thought of becoming a Pro- 
 testant myself, but I craved more learning than 
 the clerical school of our bishop could give. 
 
 Upon leaving the representative of the bishop, 
 I decided that I would not go to the clerical 
 school. Its twenty students looked to me "as 
 tame as girls" — Syrian girls. We proceeded 
 to the home of the American missionary, dis- 
 cussed the matter with him, and, finding that 
 I would be accepted as a student if I came in 
 the autumn, I decided to enter the American 
 school. 
 
 [ ii8 ] 
 
A STONE-MASON 
 
 When it became known in Betater that I was 
 to forsake my father's trade and become a 
 "scholar," the news created a sensation among 
 all classes. It was the "talk of the town" for 
 several days. "Just think of it! Abraham, 
 the Master's son, is going to school, at the 
 advanced age of seventeen!" 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 A NEW LIGHT 
 
 It was in October, 1886, that I was admitted 
 to the American boarding-school, known to us 
 as the High School of Suk-el-Gharb, a village 
 situated on one of a lofty chain of hills over- 
 looking the Mediterranean Sea, about nine 
 miles east of the city of Beyrout. 
 
 In making preparations for this important 
 step, the first thing on the programme was an 
 order to the carpenter for a clothes-chest. This 
 was a proud possession, the first earthly object 
 besides my clothes which I could call my own. 
 The carpenter covered the chest with cheap 
 yellow paint which, whenever, however, and 
 wherever I touched it, came off on my hands 
 and clothes. It must have been a very interest- 
 ing spectacle to see a "green" boy painted 
 yellow. 
 
 As for myself, instead of the bloomer-like 
 shirwal, used among the Lebanon ians, I put on 
 [ 120 ] 
 
A NEW LIGHT 
 
 the more genteel ghimbaz (a gown which resem- 
 bles a kimono), an embroidered vest, a silk 
 sash, white stockings, and red slippers, thus 
 giving myself quite a citified appearance. A 
 muleteer, who cheered my way with quaint 
 songs, carried me, with my bed and clothes- 
 chest, to the coveted institution of learning. 
 Upon my arrival I was assigned three pine 
 boards and two saw-horses as a bedstead. That 
 was the first elevating influence of education 
 that I felt. But by force of habit as well as 
 gravitation I found myself twice on the floor in 
 my first night in that American school. 
 
 When the supper-bell rang that evening, the 
 pupils filed into the dining-room, where seats 
 were assigned to the newcomers. All remained 
 standing until the senior teacher came in and 
 said grace. That pious act was startling to me. 
 I had seen my teacher, a layman, offer prayer 
 at the opening of every school-day in my child- 
 hood, and I greatly enjoyed the little service ; 
 but that a layman should "bless the food'' was 
 altogether at variance with my religious antece- 
 
 [ 121 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 dents. Only the priest had the authority to 
 lift his consecrated hand and bestow a blessing 
 on such an occasion. Where did the teacher get 
 his authority to perform such a solemn act? 
 With such a question in mind, I could not be 
 reverent during the prayer. I did not bow my 
 head or close my eyes ; I looked at the pra3ang 
 teacher with much curiosity as I explained to 
 myself that the entire performance v^as a pecu- 
 liarity of Protestantism with which I was not 
 at all concerned. I had come to the school to 
 get knowledge, and nothing else. 
 
 It was at that supper that for the first time 
 in my life I occupied an elevated seat at the 
 table. With the exception of a small European- 
 ized minority of them, the Syrians sit on the 
 floor while eating, and serve the food on low 
 tables or large trays. But at the Suk-el-Gharb 
 school long benches were provided for us to sit 
 on, and as those *' modem conveniences" were 
 very hard and had no support for the back, 
 they did not make a compelling appeal to me 
 to forget the more restful custom of my fathers. 
 
 [ 122 ] 
 
A NEW LIGHT 
 
 The gospel of "plain living and high thinking," 
 which the Western world is just beginning to 
 discover, was well known to our school. Our 
 supper on that evening, which was a variant of 
 a well-established routine, consisted of boiled 
 potatoes, with the peelings on, ripe black olives, 
 bread and salt. With the Orientals in general, 
 dessert does not rise to the dignity of a course 
 in the plan of the regular meals ; it is as irregular 
 in its appearance at the table as a comet is in 
 the firmament. At long and irregular intervals 
 we were favored with a dish of sweets, with the 
 evident intention on the part of the school 
 authorities that we would appreciate the favor. 
 We always did. But while our food was plain 
 it w^as sufficient to keep us in good health and 
 humor, and only now and then some of us big 
 boys felt compelled to bribe the cook to meet 
 us at the back kitchen window with additional 
 and unauthorized rations. 
 
 Next morning lessons began. Owing to the 
 fact that my schooling had been so sadly inter- 
 rupted when I was put to work at the age of 
 [ 123 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 nine, I was assigned to a class of "beginners." 
 They were much younger boys than I, and 
 among them I appeared Jike a giant among 
 pygmies. I was tall, rough, and awkward, with 
 a vague hunger for knowledge. Under the cir- 
 cumstances, it was a great consolation that my 
 dear friend, Iskander, who had just been ele- 
 vated to the position of instructor, was to be 
 my teacher. 
 
 All studies, up to the senior year, were given 
 in Arabic. English was taught as a language. 
 It interested me at once. I looked upon the 
 English Primer as the gateway to untold mys- 
 teries, and when I was able to say, "Run, 
 mouse, run. The cat will catch you," I felt that 
 I had entered into the exalted circle of the 
 learned. 
 
 But the study which assumed supremacy in 
 my mind above all others during my first year 
 in school was that of the Bible. I shall never 
 forget the thrilling charm of my first Sunday- 
 School lesson. Our topic was the story of Eli- 
 jah's ascension into heaven in a chariot of fire. 
 [ 124 ] 
 
A NEW LIGHT 
 
 As a Syrian boy I had not the slightest diffi- 
 culty in beUeving in miracles. In the minds of 
 my people the miraculous element stands as 
 the very foundation of religion. Our Bible was 
 full of miracles. Our saints, even our priests, 
 worked miracles. Miracles grew under our eyes. 
 But, to me, the wonder of wonders was the fact 
 that the Bible, the great and holy book of our 
 religion, the Bible of which, as a Greek Ortho- 
 dox, I had heard so much but which I had seen 
 so seldom in the hands of the laity, was now 
 free and open, even to me, not only to read, but 
 to study, and to have explained to me, verse 
 by verse, by "learned men"! 
 
 Every school-day, for all the scholars, the 
 first lesson was the Bible. It was the Bible, 
 however, not under the microscope of the 
 "higher critics," but the Bible just as it reads. 
 The pupils read the lesson in turn, each reading 
 one or two verses, and the teacher explained the 
 text, as a profound and uncorrupted super- 
 naturalist must explain it. 
 
 The ethical distinctions, also, which beset the 
 
 [ 125 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 more highly cultivated minds in these days with 
 regard to certain portions of the Bible, were 
 unknown even to our teachers. We read the 
 scriptural stories just as they were. They had 
 grown and been recorded in our country. They 
 were the very precipitate of the moral and 
 intellectual atmosphere of our people put forth 
 in the current idioms of the land of our heritage, 
 and all bound together by a divine purpose. 
 Therefore, "What God hath joined together, 
 let no man put asunder.'' 
 
 The great mystery of the Holy of Holies, as 
 it was interpreted by our teacher, made a pro- 
 found impression upon me. The Holy of Holies 
 symbolized the unapproachable Divine Pres- 
 ence. "The holy place," where the priests 
 ministered to waiting Israel, represented the 
 world and humanity seeking the light. The 
 "veil of blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine 
 twined linen," which hung between the Holy of 
 Holies and the holy place, symbolized the bar- 
 rier which was established between God and 
 mankind when Adam fell, and which could be 
 [ 126 ] 
 
A NEW LIGHT 
 
 removed only when the promise of a Saviour 
 was fulfilled. When Jesus was crucified on 
 Calvary, and thus "paid the price of sin/' "the 
 veil of the temple was rent in twain, from the 
 top to the bottom,'' signifying the removal of 
 the barrier of original sin and the opening of 
 the way of salvation to all those who come to 
 the Father through the Son. 
 
 To me, that was Christian theology in a nut- 
 shell. Other explanations of the Bible were in- 
 deed precious, but the lesson of the Holy of 
 Holies, a concentrated world of religious know- 
 ledge, was my chief treasure. 
 
 When I returned home for the Christmas 
 vacation, I was expected to give a creditable 
 account of myself as a student. All my other 
 acquirements seemed to me too insignificant to 
 be compared with my Biblical knowledge, of 
 which, however, my only significant possessions 
 were the interpretation of the Holy of Holies 
 and the story of the ascension of Elijah. So, 
 when a goodly company of friends and relatives 
 came in to greet me, on the evening of my 
 
 [ 127 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 arrival, and asked me to **tell what I had 
 learned," the story of the Holy of Holies leaped 
 spontaneously forth from *my mind. Upon my 
 auditors it had a telling effect. It was amazing 
 to them *'what schools could do." One of my 
 cousins was so carried away by my portrayal 
 of the divine mysteries, that, throwing up his 
 hands in the air, in Oriental fashion, he ex- 
 claimed, "My cousin, by the life of God, go no 
 deeper into learning. I fear you might lose your 
 mind!" 
 
 The Protestant doctrine of the Bible and the 
 Church was also very interesting to me, but 
 somewhat disquieting. It threatened my an- 
 cient orthodox faith in the authority of the 
 Church and the mediatorial offices of the saints. 
 I was taught that the Bible, and the Bible only, 
 was of divine authority ; that church ordinances 
 were man-made, therefore faulty. Prayer to 
 the saints, I was told, was "a worship of the 
 creature in place of the Creator"; the Church 
 was the company of all believers, and not sim- 
 ply a body of priests ; fasting and other legalistic 
 [ 128 ] 
 
A NEW LIGHT 
 
 practices were vain efforts on the part of man 
 to save himself by his own endeavor, instead of 
 seeking salvation by faith in the atoning merits 
 of Christ. I felt especially predisposed to set 
 my face against Protestantism when it taught 
 me to give up adoring the Virgin Mary, the 
 "Mother of God." 
 
 The doctrine of predestination, which the 
 Protestant world is now in grave danger of 
 forgetting, greatly puzzled my youthful mind. 
 Our senior teacher was very fond of expounding 
 this doctrine, probably because its mystery 
 afforded much scope for speculation. The 
 favorite text with which the argument in favor of 
 predestination was most often clinched was 
 Romans ix, 1 5-16, " I will have mercy on whom 
 I will have mercy, and I will have compassion 
 on whom I will have compassion. So then it is 
 not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, 
 but of God that showeth mercy." And oh, how 
 I pondered these words and how I struggled to 
 discern the purpose of the Eternal in them. Was 
 I elected ? If so, then why should I strive to win 
 [ 129 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 God's favor, when I already have it? But if not 
 elected, why then make the utterly vain effort 
 to change the eternal decree of the Almighty ? 
 Though only a boy, I could not help thinking 
 that if my salvation or damnation had been de- 
 creed unalterably before the world was made, 
 my life upon the earth could have no significance 
 whatever. But consolation always came from 
 my suspicion that there must be some hidden, 
 more generous meaning in the text which I had 
 failed to discover. Notwithstanding all these 
 diflficulties, however, the inscrutable doctrine of 
 predestination proved of use to us students in 
 that when one of our number did that which in 
 the judgment of the rest he ought not to have 
 done, he was stigmatized "a non-elected soul." 
 My education was not confined to the Bible 
 and Protestant doctrines. I was instructed in 
 arithmetic, in English, in reading the classical 
 Arabic, in grammar, geography, and writing. 
 My more mature faculties led me scon out of 
 the beginners' class to higher grades, and in the 
 latter part of the year I was allowed to attend 
 
 [ 130 ] 
 
A NEW LIGHT 
 
 the class of "essayists," whose essays were 
 heard and criticized by the senior teacher every 
 Saturday morning. 
 
 The most startHng experience of my first 
 year in school was my "preaching" at the 
 meeting of the recently organized Christian 
 Endeavor Society, which comprised the entire 
 student body and all the teachers. Toward the 
 end of the year, the invitation to exercise this 
 office came to me as a great honor, but it was a 
 crushing one. At the appointed time one of the 
 teachers led the devotional exercises, and then 
 quietly introduced me as the preacher of the 
 evening. It was the first time in my life that I 
 had ever faced an audience. My "sermon," 
 which occupied four foolscap pages, had taken 
 me so long to write that I thought it would 
 take as long to read. I was disposed, therefore, 
 to read it from the pulpit with rapidity. What 
 the sermon was about I have not the slightest 
 recollection, and the manuscript is lost. What 
 I do remember of that occasion is a curious 
 psychological experience. 
 
 [ 131 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 As I looked down from the platform I seemed 
 to be peering through a powerful magnifying- 
 glass. The heads of my auditors assumed enor- 
 mous proportions; their eyes glared at me like 
 those of an angry bull, and really frightened 
 me. Nothing whatever seemed normal. It was 
 my subconscious self that read the little sermon, 
 and I "came to" in my seat in the audience, 
 mopping my face violently. Unconscious of all 
 that was going on around me, I turned to one 
 of the boys and asked, "What happened?" 
 "You preached," was his hasty answer, "for 
 about two minutes." 
 
 When I went home for my summer vacation, 
 I was received by my family and friends, not 
 only affectionately but with that regard which 
 is accorded seekers after knowledge among all 
 peoples. The fact that my attainments were 
 as yet very meager counted for naught with my 
 people. I was in the path of wisdom, and that 
 was enough. But such honors brought with 
 them great responsibilities. I was supposed 
 to be able to give an enlightened opinion on 
 [ 132 ] 
 
A NEW LIGHT 
 
 every subject under the sun, from a problem in 
 subtraction to medical questions and the poli- 
 cies of the European nations. Letter-writing 
 for others was probably the most unwelcome 
 distinction my "scholarship" brought me. At 
 that time those of the people of our town who 
 could read and write were numerous, but my 
 friend Iskander and I were the only "school- 
 men" who could yunshi (do original work in 
 letter-writing). The calls on me to perform 
 such a duty were not very frequent, because 
 letter-writing has never been nearly so common 
 in the East as in the West. The difficulty of the 
 task lay in the fact that I was supposed to 
 divine the thoughts of the sender of the mes- 
 sage, as well as to express them in just the 
 phrases he or she would like. For example, 
 Yusufs wife would come to me with a few 
 of her relatives and neighbors, and beg me to 
 write a letter for her to her husband. Yusuf 
 had been away from home for a long time ; he 
 had sent no money to his wife nor information 
 as to when he was coming home. The family 
 
 [ 133 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 had been living on credit all this time, but 
 could secure credit no longer. The Easter sea- 
 son was fast approaching, and the children 
 were in dire need of a few holiday garments, if 
 for no other purpose than to prevent the sus- 
 picion on the part of others that the little ones 
 were destitute. Of these and other matters 
 YusuPs w ife would like to have me write to her 
 husband, but her pride does not allow her to 
 tell me all that in plain terms; I am supposed 
 to be enough of a genius to know her circum- 
 stances. 
 
 I sit down on the floor, fold my legs, placing 
 the right one over the left, rest my left hand, 
 in which I hold the sheet of paper folded once 
 just below the line where the letter should 
 begin, on my elevated right knee, dip my reed 
 pen in the brass inkstand, and proceed to write, 
 from right to left. Yusufs wife and her friends 
 sit around me and, with evident admiration, 
 watch my dexterity. I write the "preface'* 
 addressing the absent Yusuf as "our father-in- 
 law's son," which is a more modest form of 
 
 [ 134 ] 
 
A NEW LIGHT 
 
 saying "our^ husband." I convey to him all 
 *' becoming respect'*; ask the Almighty Father 
 to compass him with his grace, to grant him 
 heahh and strength and bring him back to his 
 family laden with the fruits of his labors; tell 
 him that, if he condescended to ask about his 
 family, all of them are at this date in happy 
 good health, the children's faces are like the 
 full moon, they lack only the privilege of seeing 
 his face and kissing his hand again; and so 
 forth, and so forth. 
 
 **Now, Yusufs wife, what more shall I 
 write?" I ask. 
 
 With her palms open toward the sky and her 
 perplexed eyes moving rather swiftly between 
 my face and the ground, she says, — 
 
 ** Well, tell him — tell him — well, you know, 
 — God's blessing come into your heart, you 
 know, — as you might say ; what is all your 
 learning for.^" 
 
 ^ What must seem rather strange to Americans is 
 the Syrian custom of saying, as a mark of humility, 
 "we," when "I" is meant. 
 
 [ 135 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 "But," I speak again, "I don't know ex- 
 actly what you wish to write to your husband, 
 for I am not your confessor." 
 
 Here one of the neighbors claims attention 
 and says, — 
 
 "Tell him that his wife needs money, and 
 that Abu-Tanus, her chief creditor, is making 
 her life miserable ; he wants his money ; tell him 
 that, my soul, tell him just that, and a little 
 more." 
 
 Another neighbor, "No! don't write such a 
 thing to him; these people [pointing to the 
 others present] don't know anything; Yusuf 
 knows that his wife needs money and that 
 Easter is approaching, and — " 
 
 Another neighbor, "Don't howl so; if he 
 knows all that why does n't he send money to 
 his needy wife? You seem to talk like an ox. 
 Now [turning to me], you, my eyes [an endear- 
 ing term], write, write and spare not." 
 
 The contentions of the many friends of the 
 needy family bring out the exact circumstances, 
 and I proceed to finish the letter without fur- 
 
 [ 136 ] 
 
A NEW LIGHT 
 
 ther assistance. The message completed, I 
 throw some dust or sand over the page to "dry 
 the ink," fold the paper, take a tiny bit of 
 bread, wet it in my mouth, seal the missive 
 with it, and hand it to Yusuf s wife, who carries 
 it to the muleteer who is to start the next morn- 
 ing on his journey to the region where her hus- 
 band is, "before the rising of the morning 
 star." 
 
 It was a source of gratification to my parents, 
 and to the pious among our neighbors, that, 
 notwithstanding the fact that I had spent a 
 year in a Protestant school, I had not departed 
 from my Mother Church. During that summer 
 our little parish had the rare privilege of a visit 
 from the great Patriarch of Antioch, who was 
 then on a pastoral tour through his ancient see. 
 Aside from the stupendous prestige of his official 
 position, he was a personal friend of the Sultan, 
 and so, wherever he went, the governors of the 
 provinces were little m.ore than his servants. 
 The entire population of our town and the 
 neighboring villages went out to m^eet him, ^ 
 
 [ 137 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 The men of our church formed themselves into 
 an armed escort, firing salutes all the way and 
 enveloping the entire procession, Patriarch and 
 all, in clouds of smoke and dust. I was equipped 
 for the occasion with a pair of flintlock pistols 
 and a more modem double-barreled shotgun, 
 and my place in the procession was close to the 
 white horse of His Eminence. 
 
 At such times as this I felt myself to be as 
 yet a true Greek Orthodox, but when I re- 
 turned to the ordinary routine of worship in 
 our village church, I discovered that the Pro- 
 testant virus had gone deeper into my blood 
 than I had been aware of, or desired. My soul 
 was rent in twain. Sentimentally, I was still 
 Greek Orthodox; intellectually, I had leaned 
 perceptibly toward Protestantism. The pic- 
 tures of the saints on the walls of our church 
 seemed to me less rich in spiritual mystery than 
 they did before I went to school. Saint-worship 
 and many church ceremonials appeared beset 
 with question-marks. They had no warrant in 
 the Bible, and my inquiring mind chafed under 
 
 [ 138 ] 
 
A NEW LIGHT 
 
 their claims. Such issues were perpetually in 
 my mind, and I was incHned to argue them with 
 my parents or even with the priest. The priest, 
 however, who was very ignorant and quick- 
 tempered, had very Uttle to say excepting to 
 rebuke me for emulating the methods of "those 
 accursed Protestants who know nothing else 
 but to argue." 
 
 With all our differences, however, I managed 
 to retain my respect for the priest until he led 
 me, by his own arrogance, to think and act 
 differently. After my return from school, I no 
 longer observed fast-days and days of absten- 
 tion from meat. One evening, as ill-luck had it, 
 the priest called at our house and found me 
 eating meat on a forbidden day. He was violent 
 with rage. "What are you eating, you accursed 
 of God?'' he said. "You are neither sick nor 
 feeble. Why do you sin in this manner .? " Shak- 
 ing with anger, he advanced toward me and 
 lifted his foot to kick the table from before me. 
 
 In an instant I was on my feet, deeply in- 
 sulted and greatly angered. I told him to leave 
 
 [ 139 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 the house instantly, else I should drive him out 
 with a stick. 
 
 My parents were inexpressibly shocked. 
 While they regretted his indiscretion, they were 
 horrified at my conduct toward **the priest of 
 my people." 
 
 **My son, my son," exclaimed my mother, 
 after our visitor had gone, " the priest may be a 
 bad man ; still he possesses the mystery of the 
 priesthood." 
 
 "The mystery of the priesthood!" cried I. 
 "Cursed be he and his mystery! A bad man 
 cannot make a good priest. Mother, I am a 
 Protestant upon the housetop." ^ 
 
 My second year at school found me very 
 happy and successful in my studies, but my 
 lessons did not compare in significance with the 
 general, indefinable influence which my school 
 associations exerted over me. I seemed to 
 awaken and absorb revolutionary religious and 
 social forces. My individual life began to 
 
 1 A common Syrian expression for avowedly or 
 completely. 
 
 [ 140 1 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 m 
 
 ■Jn-'i 
 
 
A NEW LIGHT 
 
 acquire both retrospect and prospect. I began 
 to feel intelligently the impact of the past and 
 to have visions of the more significant future. 
 My teachers spoke encouragingly to me of my 
 swift progress — "a youth who had but very 
 recently forsaken the barren life of the stone- 
 mason and taken up the duties of the student." 
 ^ It was during the autumn of this year that 
 I joined the Protestant Church. (Happily we 
 knew no denominational designations in that 
 school, which, how^ever, was of the Presbyterian 
 persuasion.) The American missionary, the 
 Reverend Theodore Pond, who was the princi- 
 pal, examined me and received me into church 
 fellowship. This step I took upon my own 
 responsibility. I knew my parents would not 
 favor it, so I did not ask them. Protestantism 
 seemed to me more reasonable than my old form 
 of faith. It did away with many church ordi- 
 nances which had often bewildered my growing 
 mind, and it afforded me a closer communion 
 with Christ, who was the only Saviour of the 
 world. Above all things, Protestantism opened 
 
 [ 141 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 and explained the Bible to me, and laid much 
 emphasis on religion as life. When I was being 
 examined by Mr. Pond, he asked me what my 
 parents would think of the step I contemplated 
 taking. 
 
 "They would oppose it/' I answered. 
 
 ** Would you disobey your parents?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "In this case I would," said I. "The Master 
 has said, *He that loveth father or mother 
 more than me, is not worthy of me.' Therefore 
 Christ stands above earthly parents." 
 
 Mr. Pond was pleasantly surprised at the 
 quick but authoritative answer, and expressed 
 the hope that my parents might, in the not far 
 future, see the wisdom of my course. 
 
 My friend Iskander and I were the only 
 Protestants in Betater, and while we were not 
 persecuted in a mediaeval sense, we had to fight 
 many battles in defense of our faith. When we 
 came in collision with intelligence, we were no 
 mean fighters, but in the face of benighted 
 bigotry we were often helpless. At such gather- 
 
 [ 142 ] 
 
A NEW LIGHT 
 
 ings as weddings and funerals we suffered not a 
 little. We were referred to sneeringly as "the 
 Lutherans, the followers of the lustful monk 
 who ran away from the Church in order to get 
 married." We were urged to admit the truth 
 of the assertions that the Protestants who 
 refused to confess their sins to the priest went 
 up and confessed to the stone-roller on the 
 housetop. Many of our leaders, so they said, 
 held communion with Satan. Our marriage 
 service, being performed by a "lay-preacher,"^ 
 was invalid. Therefore, Protestant children 
 were bastards, and so forth. Of intelligent 
 criticism we seldom heard a word. Therefore, 
 the reviling of our theological enemies only 
 strengthened our hold on our new belief. Our 
 own families accepted our defection from the 
 faith as one would the inevitable, and parental 
 and filial love kept us generally at peace. 
 (While I was at school, I heard much about 
 
 ^ The ordination of a Protestant minister does not, 
 according to the Greek and Catholic churches, invest 
 him with the authority of apostoHc succession. 
 
 [ 143 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 America. I studied its geography, heard of its 
 great Hberator, Washington, and almost every 
 Sunday listened to Mr. Pond and other preach- 
 ers speak of the zeal of its people for missionary 
 work among the heathen of the earth. What 
 has seemed very curious to me, in the light of 
 subsequent knowledge, is the fact that America 
 was always presented to my mind as a sort of 
 hermit nation. Its people were rich and reli- 
 gious and little else. Every one of its citizens 
 told the truth, and nothing but the truth, went 
 to church every single Sunday, and lived the life 
 of non-resistance. America had neither fleets 
 nor armies and looked to England for the pro- 
 tection of American citizens in foreign lands. 
 I do not remember that the missionaries spoke 
 of America in exactly such terms, but by draw- 
 ing their illustrations always from the religious 
 side of American life, they led many of us to 
 form such views of the New World. 
 
 But more exciting tales about America came 
 to me through returning Syrian emigrants. 
 Most of them, being common laborers, knev/, 
 
 [ 144 ] 
 
A NEW LIGHT 
 
 of course, very little of the real life of America. 
 They spoke only of its wealth and how accessi- 
 ble it was, and told how they themselves secured 
 more money in America in a very few years 
 than could be earned in Syria in two genera- 
 tions. More enlightened accounts of the great 
 country beyond the seas came into Syria 
 through a small minority of a better class of 
 emigrants. From such descriptions I had a few 
 glimpses of American civilization, of a land of 
 free schools, free churches, and a multitude of 
 other organizations which worked for human 
 betterment. The fact that a few poor Syrian 
 emigrants who had gone to America had in a 
 few years attained not only wealth but learning 
 and high social positions — had become real 
 khawajas — appealed very strongly to my 
 imagination. I would go to America if some 
 turn of fortune made that possible. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE SCHOOL TEACHER AND THE EMIGRANT 
 
 At the end of my second year as a student my 
 father told me that he was no longer able to 
 keep me in school. He was getting old fast ; his 
 building enterprises grew smaller every year, 
 and of his twelve children six still remained at 
 home to care for. He had already paid twelve 
 Turkish pounds for my two years' keep in 
 school. Adding to that the loss of my wages for 
 two years, his financial burden was no light one. 
 Disappointment fell upon me with the weight 
 of a calamity. I could not blame my father, so 
 I was the more helpless in dealing with the 
 stubborn difficulty. What was to become of 
 me? Was I to be forced back to the circum- 
 stances against which I had rebelled so success- 
 fully two years before? Were all my hopes to 
 be dashed? 
 
 During that summer and autumn my father 
 met with serious business reverses, and we were 
 
 1 146 ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 actually reduced to want. The approach of the 
 winter, always dreaded by the common people 
 of Syria, was doubly dreaded by our family. 
 I had never known what real want was before, 
 and now, after I had been flattered lavishly by 
 my teachers and fellow students as "one of the 
 very promising young men," to behold our 
 family in the grip of real poverty and to think 
 of myself as the helpless victim of such circum- 
 stances, was almost unbearable. 
 
 Early in November I made a visit to my 
 beloved school in Suk-el-Gharb and called on 
 Mr. Pond. He asked me interestedly about my 
 plans and listened with sympathy to my story. 
 I told him that my chief desire was to return 
 to the school as a student, but that my father's 
 circumstances rendered this impossible. It was 
 beyond Mr. Pond's powder to extend me finan- 
 cial assistance, but he offered me the position 
 of a teacher in the primary or day school, which 
 joined the High School, suggesting that in that 
 position I could avail myself of many of the 
 privileges which the High School offered. I 
 
 [ 147 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 promptly accepted, and in a few days assumed 
 my new duties with great enthusiasm. 
 
 The salary of my new position was three 
 quarters of a Turkish pound (about three dol- 
 lars) per month and my board, which was pro- 
 vided at the High School. My bed stood in my 
 schoolroom, among the benches of my pupils, 
 and served as a comfortable seat for me during 
 recitations. I do not remember that I ever 
 received my salary at the end of the month 
 without a sense of insult. Mr. Pond lived in a 
 beautiful residence. He had a carriage, a saddle 
 horse, and three servants. Why was it that I 
 should accept a position whose salary did not 
 enable me to preserve my self-respect? Yet I 
 had accepted it of my own free will, and I only 
 was to blame for the choice. 
 < My career as a school-teacher covered three 
 years — two in Suk-el-Gharb and one in the 
 city of Zahlah, which is situated on the eastern 
 slopes of Mount Lebanon, on the main road to 
 Damascus. At that time Zahlah claimed a 
 population of about twenty thousand souls, 
 [ 148 ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 and enjoyed a commanding commercial posi- 
 tion. The city was rich, and its population con- 
 tained not a few college men, my associations 
 with whom proved very profitable. It was in 
 Zahlah that I first came in touch with the mys- 
 tery of photography. To me the process was 
 a grand revelation, and I felt greatly exalted 
 when I put on my worsted shirwal, Kashmir 
 vest and sash, held a book in my hand, and sat 
 for my picture. 
 
 My advent as a teacher in a city school, 
 while I was yet more of a stone-mason than a 
 schoolmaster, must seem to any American 
 " School Board " to have been rather a strange 
 phenomenon. However, it was not so strange 
 as it might seem. In those days and in that 
 country we had no "system" of education, no 
 ** teachers' convention,'' no "parents' commit- 
 tee," and no one thousand-and-one pedagogical 
 devices. Nor did we have a public opinion to 
 back up the nobler idea (if such an idea did 
 exist) that the method of teaching should be 
 such as to develop and maintain m.utual sym- 
 
 [ 149 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 pathy and mutual respect between teacher and 
 pupil. Each teacher was his own Froebel, with 
 Froebel's methods left ouf. The American mis- 
 sionary would map out a very elastic plan for 
 a school, and leave the teacher master of the 
 situation. Women teachers were as rare as 
 women preachers are in England, and the men 
 found tender patience in teaching school to be 
 extremely slow of results. My own method of 
 teaching was very simple; there were certain 
 lessons to be learned, and the pupils had to 
 learn them. Did I rule by love or by fear? 
 Well, it all depended on the circumstances. The 
 man who wrote, **He that spareth his rod hat- 
 eth his son," was my countryman, and I was 
 in deep sympathy with him; so also were the 
 parents who had committed their children to 
 my care. And while love was not wholly 
 ignored, I did not very often allow myself even 
 to seem to "hate" my pupils for the sake of 
 undue economy in the use of the rod. It is 
 possible that the punishment of certain pupils 
 might have been excessive and that of others 
 
 [ 150 ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 too light, but the average was just right, and 
 the response of the children to the stimulus 
 was most gratifying. No lessons I ever as- 
 signed to them proved too hard for them to 
 learn. In the mean time the purely social rela- 
 tions between teacher and pupils were always 
 very cordial. Those bright boys even brought 
 me presents; but whether those gifts were 
 marks of appreciation of my services, or bribes, 
 I cannot now tell. 
 
 But as a teacher in a Christian missionary 
 school I was supposed also to be ready and 
 willing to exercise the function of a "local 
 preacher," and, on necessity, conduct a simple 
 church service after the apostolic fashion. Only 
 twice during my three years of school-teaching 
 did I avail myself of the privilege of preaching, 
 once in Suk-el-Gharb, where I spoke again 
 before the Christian Endeavor Society to a 
 better advantage than I had done nvo years 
 before, and once in the city of Muallekah, a 
 twin sister of Zahlah. This last experience was 
 rather trying. It was on a Sunday evening 
 
 [ 151 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 when I was asked to supply the pulpit of the 
 small Protestant church in that city. With 
 another youth, who was. my assistant in the 
 Zahlah school, I proceeded to Muallekah, pre- 
 pared to conduct the full church service and 
 preach a short sermon. When the time arrived 
 for the service to begin, besides my assistant 
 there was only one worshiper in the sanctuary, 
 a woman. Nevertheless, as one commissioned 
 to proclaim the message of the Gospel on that 
 Sabbath evening, I ascended into the pulpit 
 and began the service, hoping that other wor- 
 shipers would soon come in. I gave the invoca- 
 tion and read a hymn, which for obvious reasons 
 was not sung. No other worshipers arrived. 
 I read the Scripture lesson and offered the " long 
 prayer." When I opened my eyes I found that 
 the woman, who must have felt very lonely, 
 was asleep. Certainly the time was not very 
 opportune to do great evangelistic work. I 
 dared not look at m.y assistant for fear he might 
 burst out laughing. But be it said to his eternal 
 credit that that youth continued in a most 
 
 [ 152 ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 reverential attitude until I had read another 
 hymn and pronounced the benediction. And 
 I did not blame him a particle for his laughing 
 terribly all the way home, and for telling me 
 that if I continued to preach to such huge 
 congregations, in a very few years Protestant- 
 ism would sweep Syria. 
 
 During my school-teaching period I applied 
 myself to the search after knowledge with strong 
 and sustained zeal. Owing to the scarcity of 
 books, my range of subjects was very narrow. 
 The Arabic language and literature absorbed 
 almost all my time and effort. I mastered 
 its grammar and rhetoric, read extensively 
 in its literature, and committed to memory 
 hundreds of lines of poetry, chiefly from the 
 ancient classical poets. When I became able 
 to write correct poetry, in classical Arabic, I 
 considered the prize of m^y educational call- 
 ing won. My absorption in this study led me 
 to neglect the English language entirely. It 
 ceased to have any charms for me, and grad- 
 ually became a faint and tarnished memory. 
 
 [ 153 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 In my last year in Suk-el-Gharb I touched 
 the fringe of Occidental life at two points. First, 
 I acquired a European- costume. European 
 dress was slowly becoming the attire of the new 
 "aristocracy of learning." When I first donned 
 this fashionable but strange garb, I was 
 ashamed to appear where people might look at 
 me. The lower half of my person felt quite bare 
 and my legs seemed uncomfortably long. The 
 habit of sitting on the floor often asserted itself 
 unconsciously, and occasionally endangered the 
 seams of the newly acquired costume. My 
 townspeople most uncharitably called me "the 
 man in tights." Happily for me, I only put on 
 the strange garb on special occasions, and re- 
 ' tained with it the Turkish fez as a connecting 
 link between the East and the West. 
 
 My other touch of Occidental life came from 
 dining with the other teachers one evening at 
 the home of the American missionary. Here it 
 was that I heard the piano for the first and last 
 time in Syria, and ate with the knife and fork. 
 The chief dish of the occasion consisted of a 
 
 [ 154 ] 
 
MR. RIHBANY AT 2 1 
 Taken at Zahlah. The first photograph 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 stratum of dough baked over a dissected 
 chicken. When my plate reached me heavily 
 laden with the strange composition, I was not a 
 little puzzled to know how it was to be eaten. 
 I deemed it wise to follow the example of the 
 others, but to disengage the flesh from the bones 
 of a chicken, with knife and fork, was a painful 
 experience to me. Lacking skill, I applied force, 
 when suddenly my awkward eating tools slipped, 
 and almost broke the plate. I was deeply 
 impressed with the gracious dignity of my host, 
 who appeared not to notice it, while my fellow 
 Syrian guests (I suppose because of our famili- 
 arity with one another) snickered at my dis- 
 tressing experience. 
 
 My three years of activity and intellectual 
 endeavor as a school-teacher, while they proved 
 advantageous in many ways, failed to put me 
 on the highway of true progress. My salary 
 kept me on the level of poverty, and the oppor- 
 tunities for promotion were extremely scant. 
 I began to realize that soul-expansion and a 
 useful career in the world of knowledge de- 
 
 [ iss ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 pended first and last, not on the theories of the 
 schoolroom, but on the enlightened and pro- 
 gressive genius of a nation.- I could claim no 
 nationality and no flag. The rule of the Turk, 
 especially during the reign of the ruthless 
 Abdul-Hamid, was painfully repressive. Under 
 it love of freedom and of progress was a crime 
 against the State. The hawk-eyed detectives 
 of the tyrant infested the land and haunted 
 with fear the souls of our influential, forw^ard- 
 looking citizens. To those of our people who 
 deemed obedience to authority the greatest 
 virtue, living under such conditions was on 
 the whole agreeable. But to those of us who 
 had tasted the fruits of modem knowledge and 
 been led by it to read greater meanings in 
 human life and to crave a larger and freer intel- 
 lectual and social environment, the existing 
 order seemed like an iron cage against which 
 our wings beat in vain. 
 
 I woke up intellectually only to find that in 
 my own country the European enjoyed far 
 greater political and social privileges than I did ; 
 
 [ 156 ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 that nothing was really secure in a land where 
 the ruler maintained a firm hold upon his sub- 
 jects by promoting divisions and instigating 
 massacres among them. I never saw a manu- 
 factured article bearing the stamp of a native 
 factory, nor had I known an inventive genius 
 to be met with anything but suppression. Our 
 schools were simply foreign colonies, tolerated 
 by the Sultan because of the Great Powers 
 which stood behind them. The enlightened 
 youth of the country not only lacked the oppor- 
 tunities which call forth and develop the nobler 
 human qualities, but were constantly watched 
 by the Government as possible revolutionists. 
 With a multitude of other young men I longed 
 and prayed inwardly and silently for better 
 things, or, at least, for the opportunity to 
 emigrate from a country in which life slowly but 
 surely grew to mxcan intellectual and moral 
 death. 
 
 Whither should I go? On one occasion Mr. 
 Pond suggested to me to enter the ministry in 
 my own country. He thought I was qualified 
 
 [ 157 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 by nature for the sacred office, and lacked only 
 the training, which I could have, free, in the 
 theological department of* the Syrian Protes- 
 tant College in Beyrout. 
 
 The offer did not appeal to me very strongly. 
 The preachers I had listened to in school, 
 including Mr. Pond himself, made no strong 
 impression on me. Their messages were al- 
 most wholly formal statements of doctrine, 
 whose dynamic power decreased in propor- 
 tion as they were repeated from Sunday to 
 Sunday. 
 
 My answer to Mr. Pond's proposition was 
 that I had never contemplated entering the 
 ministry, nor did I feel at the time inclined to 
 entertain such an idea. We both "hoped" that 
 in the future I might be led to take such a step. 
 My hope, however, was a mere imitation of his, 
 for the matter dropped from my mind soon 
 after I left his house. 
 
 At last I concluded to continue teaching 
 school, preferring, however, to return to 
 Zahlah, where I had worked during my second 
 
 [ 158 ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 year as teacher. Early in September, 1891, I 
 went thither to visit some friends and more 
 particularly to apply for my former position as 
 a teacher. 
 
 Upon my arrival I was told that two young 
 men, who had been close friends of mine, were 
 to leave for America the following morning. 
 The news startled me. Certainly I must go and 
 bid them good-bye. Soon after supper I called 
 at the home of one of them and found them 
 both there. We fell on one another's neck and 
 kissed in Oriental fashion. 
 
 Speaking both at once, they said, "Abraham, 
 why don't you go with us? What is there in 
 Syria for a man like you? Come, let us go to 
 America together.'* 
 
 The words of my friends, while they stirred 
 violently the depths of my soul and awakened 
 a thousand slumbering hopes, rendered me 
 speechless. 
 
 "Why don't you say yes?" they asked. 
 "Let nothing stand in your way, and let us 
 make the voyage together." 
 
 [ 159 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 *'How can I go/' I said, "with so many 
 obstacles in the way?" 
 
 "What obstacles?" queried my friends. "If 
 your chief difficulty is financial, we stand ready 
 to lend you all the money you need until you 
 reach New York. What better chance can you 
 ask for?" 
 
 The moment seemed to me of divine signi- 
 ficance. Really, what better chance could I ask 
 or hope for? At last America was within my 
 reach. Would it be anything short of madness 
 to let such a great privilege go by ? I had to act 
 on my own responsibility, but I remembered 
 that when I dropped my tools as a stone-mason 
 and went to school, I had to act on my own 
 responsibility; when I left the Church of my 
 fathers and became a Protestant, I had to fol- 
 low m.y own course. Now I was called upon to 
 make a third great decision, and to make it 
 quickly. The wiser powers within and above 
 me again asserted themselves, and I decided 
 that I would go to America. Our final plan was 
 that I was to return home at once, secure all the 
 [ i6o ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 money I could, and, within two days, join my 
 friends at Bey rout, whence we were to sail for 
 the New World. 
 
 Betater lies about halfway between Zahlah 
 and Beyrout, and about three miles to the south 
 of the carriage road which connects Beyroul 
 with Damascus. My friends and I were to 
 travel together the next day, until we reached 
 the branch road which led to my home town, 
 where I was to part from them, with the hope of 
 rejoining them at the specified time in the great 
 commercial city on the shore of the Mediter- 
 ranean. The required change in the programme 
 of my visit to Zahlah was very simple; my 
 friends had already engaged tw^o horses to carry 
 them to Beyrout, and all I needed to do was 
 to hire a similar mount for myself. It was a bit 
 amusing to our whole company when the owner 
 of the horses said that he could not find a 
 "rear* horse for me on such short notice, but 
 would give me a kedish (a pack-horse), which is 
 not considered an elegant mount by the elite 
 of the country. But the owner said it was 
 [ i6i I 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 "very light," — that is, a good traveler, — and 
 I was willing even to be carried on a rail on 
 such a happy journey. 
 
 Shortly after midnight we mounted our thor- 
 oughbreds and followed the winding carriage 
 road from the neighborhood of Zahlah up the 
 eastern slopes of Western Lebanon. On that 
 highway of Syrian trade and travel the night 
 was enchantingly alive with caravans, trains of 
 mules and donkeys, flocks of sheep and goats, 
 and groups of pedestrians. With the crashing 
 of hoofs and shuffling of feet mingled the jing- 
 ling of camel bells, braying of donkeys, bleating 
 of sheep, and quaint, romantic, many-dialect 
 human songs, to all of which we added our own 
 happy, youthful melodies. We reached the 
 summit of the mountain just as the purple 
 banners of the advancing day began to stream 
 over Eastern Lebanon, light the heights and 
 render the gloom of the valleys more majestic. 
 From that lofty summit my eyes beheld for the 
 last time a scene of unsurpassed glory. To the 
 south arose the giant, hoary head of Mount 
 [ 162 ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 Hermon, the aged sentinel of the Promised 
 Land ; to the east the storm-spHntered peaks of 
 Anti-Lebanon screened the region of Damascus 
 from our sight and extended north to the land 
 of Hamath and the Orontes. The plain of 
 Buk'a lay between the tw^o Lebanons, covered 
 with its rich, grayish-brown, post-harvest 
 mantle. To the west the eye followed the slopes 
 of Western Lebanon to the charmed land of the 
 PhcEnicians and the borders of Sidon and Tyre, 
 and rested within the vast curve of the horizon 
 over the blue deep of the Mediterranean. Like 
 the last look at a beloved face that scene 
 remains with me a vivid and entrancing mem- 
 ory. I never can repeat Harriet Beecher Stowe's 
 lines, — 
 
 " Alone with thee when purple morning breaketh, 
 When the bird waketh and the shadows flee," — 
 
 without recalling the compelling vision which 
 filled my soul on that morning on the summit of 
 my native Lebanon. 
 
 We dismounted for breakfast at the Khan of 
 Dher-el-Beider — an inn of historic fame in 
 
 [ 163 1 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 that locality. Hanging in the archway of the 
 famous inn were part of the carcass of a sheep 
 and a goatskin full of thick lehen. Do you 
 know what lehen is? It is milk soured artifi- 
 cially, — not with chemicals, however, but with 
 a yeast of its own kind. It is thickened by being 
 put in a white muslin sack, or a goatskin, and 
 thus drained of its water. This delicacy, which 
 is being slowly introduced into this country, is 
 so dear to the Syrian heart, and has been for 
 ages, that the Bible counts it as one of the 
 precious assets of the "land of promise'* by 
 saying that it flowed, not with "milk," as in 
 the English translation, but with ^'lebefi and 
 honey." 
 
 We did not ask whether the mutton before 
 us had been "inspected"; that was none of our 
 business. We simply ordered broiled meat and 
 leben for our breakfast. The innkeeper instantly 
 obeyed ; he cut off^ a chunk of meat, cut it up in 
 small squares, strung the same on slender iron 
 rods, broiled them over a charcoal fire, and 
 served the breakfast, apparently with as much 
 
 [ 164 ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 laudable pride as, on similar occasions, thrills 
 the heart of the most elegant housekeeper. 
 
 But what I recall now with no little amuse- 
 ment is the way we tried, while our horses paced 
 westward, to sketch the map of our destiny in 
 the New World. The fact that of the country in 
 which we were trying to plan our future we 
 knew very little more than the name did not 
 seem to weigh much with us. The absence of 
 concrete facts upon which to base inferences, 
 and the uncertainties of the future and an un- 
 known country are, as a rule, no real hindran- 
 ces to the flight of Oriental fancy. Now we 
 would think of ourselves as occupying positions 
 of distinction and honor, blest with riches and 
 culture and far-reaching influence. Then again, 
 suspecting that we might be assuming a little 
 too much, we would clothe ourselves with real 
 humility, and, with unanimous consent, pledge 
 ourselves to "take whatever came in our way," 
 because a haughty heart is never pleasing to 
 God. Now and then a faint flicker of wisdom 
 would intrude upon our earnest deliberations 
 
 [ 165 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 and we would say, in a chorus, "Wait until we 
 get to America.'' 
 
 It was at that point, which has been named 
 since by the authorities of the Beyrout- 
 Damascus Raihoad (which at the time of our 
 trip did not exist) "Behamdun Station," that 
 I dismounted, surrendered my modest horse 
 to my friends, who took it with them to Bey- 
 rout, and continued my journey to Betater 
 afoot, with hope and fear struggHng violently 
 in my breast. 
 
 My return home on the very next day after 
 I had started on a two-weeks visit to Zahlah 
 was a shocking surprise to my mother. "My 
 son," she exclaimed, '' kheir-in-sha-Allah (may 
 all be well by the will of Allah), what brought 
 you back so soon?" "Nothing but kheir^ 
 mother," I answered. " I am going to America." 
 A veritable shower of interrogatives — " How } " 
 "When?" "With whom?" "Why?" "With 
 what are you going to America?" — and so 
 forth — fell from my mother's lips. I told her 
 the story in as attractive a manner as possible 
 [ i66 ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 and begged her to place no obstacles in my 
 way. My father was at once sent for ; he quit 
 working and came home to counsel with us. 
 While my sudden decision was a great surprise 
 to my parents, it was not altogether unpleasant. 
 They had confidence in me because I was "a 
 learned man." They regretted deeply my hav- 
 ing to depend on others for funds, but it all 
 seemed to them Allah's will. Pushing her scarf 
 back from her forehead and lifting her eyes and 
 hands to heaven, my mother implored the all- 
 seeing, all-wise Father, whose will it was that 
 her favorite son should be torn away from her 
 arms, possibly forever, to guide and prosper 
 him, and return him safe to his father's house. 
 The problem of a teskara (passport), without 
 which I could not legally leave the country, 
 next confronted us. It was no easy matter to 
 secure this legal document, and the time at my 
 disposal was very short. I never can think of 
 the story of my teskara without at least taking 
 notice of the belief that "great events cast their 
 shadows before them." During the summer 
 [ 167 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 which had just closed I happened to be at 
 Bet-Eddin, the capital of our province, on a 
 visit to a schoolmate whose brother was influ- 
 ential in government circles. During a conver- 
 sation on the subject of emigration that official 
 asked me whether I had any intention of leav- 
 ing Syria, if the opportunity offered itself. I 
 answered that I had the intention, but doubted 
 whether such a thing could happen for a long 
 time to come. He stated very graciously that as 
 the teskara problem was no small one, he should 
 be glad to arrange matters in such a way as to 
 make it easy for me to secure the necessary 
 paper. "But," I answered, **the law requires 
 that I make my application in person and pro- 
 vide tw^o witnesses to identify me." "Yes," he 
 said, "but I will take care of all that. Let me 
 have your name, destination, description, etc., 
 and when you need the teskara^ send to me for 
 it." The offer w^as altogether too attractive for 
 me to reject it and I gladly complied with my 
 influential friend's request. My destination was 
 to be Alexandria. 
 
 [ i68 ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 So when the pressing need for a teskara did 
 come, I called one of my father's men and said 
 to him, "Elias, I will pay you double wages 
 to-morrow, if you will go to Bet-Eddin (a six 
 hours' journey on foot each way), deliver this 
 letter to Salim Effendi, and bring back the an- 
 swer and whatever other papers he will give 
 you. You will say not a word about my going 
 to America to any one else but him." I do not 
 know in what one of the small hours of the 
 night Elias started on his momentous journey. 
 What I do know is that my intense anxiety 
 about the teskara made the day seem endless. 
 Whatever I was doing, the teskara was in my 
 mind which brooded constantly over the ques- 
 tions: ''Suppose Salim Effendi should happen 
 to be absent from home, or that he should fail 
 to secure the longed-for paper without my pres- 
 ence in court in person, or that the court should 
 not be in session?" ''If the teskara failed to 
 come, should I give up going to America, or ex- 
 pose myself to the penalty of an unjust law and 
 to being disgraced by trying to leave the coun- 
 
 [ 169 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 try as a fugitive?" However, the beneficent 
 powers seem to have been in control, and all 
 my fears were drowned fathoms deep when 
 shortly after supper my faithful messenger ap- 
 peared at the door dripping with perspiration 
 and covered with dust. Knowing how anxious 
 I was to secure the teskara he had it out of his 
 pocket, and, as soon as my eyes met his, threw 
 the precious document into my hands. "Well 
 done, Elias!" I shouted; "may God increase 
 your offspring!" Elias was paid double his 
 wages (sixty cents) and given his supper, in- 
 cluding a big glass of wine, besides. 
 
 All the money which my father could give me 
 amounted to three napoleons. He wept because 
 he could find no more. It required no very long 
 time to complete m_y preparations for the voy- 
 age. My clothes were tied up into a bundle in 
 a large bandanna. My "bed for the ship" was 
 much like that of the man who was sick of the 
 palsy, consisting of a cushion, a pillow, and a 
 light quilt. With such an equipment I rejoined 
 m.y friends at Beyrout, at the appointed time. 
 
 [ 170 1 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 ^ Our most important task was to secure the 
 indorsement of our teskaras — by the Beyrout 
 officials. Difficuhies were often placed in the 
 way of emigrants from Turkey by the officials 
 for the purpose of extorting money from them. 
 Emigration to America was discouraged and 
 generally supposed to be prohibited. Our pass- 
 ports indicated that our destination was 
 Alexandria, which was true, but not the whole 
 truth. Moreover, our more refined speech and 
 manners seemed to remove us, in the minds of 
 the officials, from the ordinary class of emi- 
 grants. For the indorsing of our passports we 
 were required to pay half a madjidy — Turkish 
 dollar — each, and we thought our exit from 
 the unbeloved empire was rather cheap., 
 
 .Our opinion was probably suspected, for 
 shortly after we left the wharf, our boat was 
 halted and an officer demanded our teskaras. 
 The inspector appeared stern and doubtful. 
 Our own boatman advised us to "present" the 
 inspector with half a madjidy each, and avoid 
 more unpleasant things. We heeded the advice 
 
 [ 171 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 and the boat went on. When we were within a 
 few yards of our steamer another haughty in- 
 spector interrupted our progress and demanded 
 our ieskaras. Another "half a madjidy each" 
 gave us our freedom. We left our "mother 
 country" with nothing but curses for her 
 Government on our lips. ' 
 
 Our steamer tickets entitled us to passage 
 from Beyrout to Marseilles as "deck passen- 
 gers" — the equivalent of the steerage on 
 Atlantic liners. With more gayety than wisdom 
 we established our quarters high up on the fore- 
 deck. There were more sheltered places, but 
 we scorned them. 
 
 Joppa was our first stopping-place. Next 
 came Port Said, where a large contingent of 
 Russian Jews joined us. This little city seemed 
 to me a wonder. A department store, a mere 
 toy compared with the department stores of 
 America, dazzled me. Its large glass windows 
 and a real sidewalk around it quickened my 
 poetic sense. I seemed to myself to have come 
 face to face with some of the wonders of the 
 
 [ 172 ] 
 
.^ 
 
 
 f- -i*^ 
 
 ^;^#ri.'t-f^/f!*<.'t^ ' 
 
 '^^ 
 
 ♦ -"-; 7 #--»■-»♦••*<*# ' 
 
 :iiS 
 
 THE TESKARA WITH WHICH MR. RIHBANY 
 LEFT SYRIA 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 world, and my pen spared not in describing the 
 scenes before me. 
 
 Alexandria came next, and Port Said was 
 dwarfed in my imagination. I tore up the 
 description of the department store and pro- 
 ceeded to poetize the great city of Alexan- 
 der. 
 
 Shortly after we left this port for Marseilles, 
 the Mediterranean began to be unfriendly. 
 Our quarters on the foredeck, our trunks and 
 bedding, caught the copious spray from every 
 wave. Our gayety changed to grave concern, 
 and all our singing ceased. A peculiar ailment 
 also seized me just below the diaphragm. With 
 our portable beds in our arms we sought more 
 sheltered places, but found them all filled with 
 an inhospitable crowd of Jews and Gentiles. In 
 our extremity, we resorted to a malodorous 
 recess on the port side of the lower deck where 
 many trunks and bundles of clothing had been 
 thrown for shelter, and where ducks and other 
 feathery fellow creatures were kept within wire 
 screens. The ducks gave screams of terror 
 
 [ 173 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 because of our intrusion, and we did no less, be- 
 cause of their presence there. Other human 
 beings joined us in that- locaHty, and we all 
 lay piled on top of that heap of freight, across 
 one another's bodies, much like the neglected 
 wounded in a great battle. 
 
 An incident which occurred in that hole 
 (which I have called ever since "the duck 
 apartment") still lives in my memory, because 
 of its amusing and ethical aspects alike. 
 
 Lying across my legs, and barely within 
 shelter, was a very kind-hearted. God-fearing 
 man from Damascus. I was just telling him 
 not to allow another person to come in with us, 
 because we w^ere almost suffocated as it was, 
 when we heard a woman approaching us, utter- 
 ing in the Egyptian dialect terrible impreca- 
 tions against the steamship company. 
 
 I felt that a veritable terror was about to 
 visit us, and very ungallantly called to him, 
 ** By the life of Heaven, don't allow this woman 
 in here!" In a second she was upon us, and de- 
 manded accommodation. 
 
 [ 174 ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 ^' Lewajeh Allah'' ^ (for the face of God), said 
 the kind-hearted Damascene, and squeezed 
 himself a few inches to one side. In an instant 
 the wrathful Egyptian w^edged herself in, 
 squirmed round until she secured the proper 
 leverage, and then kicking mightily with both 
 feet, pushed the beneficent Damascene clear 
 out on the wave-washed deck ! 
 
 When we landed at Marseilles I could hardly 
 credit my senses. Everything Turkish had dis- 
 appeared and I was walking the streets of 
 France, the great country of which I had heard 
 so much. My friends, having studied at the 
 Syrian Protestant College, besides having a 
 fair knowledge of the English language, knew 
 some French, by the aid of which we escaped 
 on many occasions from the hands of interpret- 
 ers and ticket-brokers of our own nationality. 
 
 In Marseilles I first saw electric lights, which 
 fascinated me beyond description, and there I 
 
 By this expression the Orientals mean, for no 
 earthly reward. The good deed is cast Godward, and 
 finds compensation with Him. 
 
 [ 175 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 first marveled at a railway train. I narrowly 
 escaped being run over near the railway sta- 
 tion, when I dashed acro'ss the track, a very 
 short distance from an incoming train. A uni- 
 formed man, who, I infer, was a guard, shouted 
 at me so fiercely that I thought he was beside 
 himself. I was not fully acquainted with the 
 fact that a train would really run over a hopeful 
 and ambitious young man. It was in Marseilles 
 also that I first experienced a distinctly Occi- 
 dental sensation, when I cast off the soft Turk- 
 ish fez and put a stiff, and, incidentally, ill- 
 fitting, hat on my head. 
 
 At Marseilles we bought tickets for New 
 York. We were shipped by train (third-class) 
 to Paris, whence, after a halt of a few hours 
 during which we wandered in the neighborhood 
 of the railway station, — "just to see Paris," — 
 we were reshipped to Havre. Here we were 
 herded in a lodging-house, together with many 
 other steerage passengers, for two nights, and 
 were each of us given a table equipment of 
 tinware, consisting of a plate, two spoons differ- 
 
 [ 176 ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 ing in size, a cup, and a knife and fork. On the 
 day of sailing we were marched out to the 
 steamer in the style of well-behaved convicts, 
 carrying our labels in our hats. 
 
 The steerage of those days on a second- or 
 third-class steamer certainly fell below the 
 worst tenement house. Hundreds of men, 
 women, and children were herded together in a 
 large and filthy cave in the lower regions of the 
 steamer, under conditions which precluded 
 even the commonest decency. The food was 
 distributed to the passengers in buckets and 
 large tin pans, from which they filled their tin 
 plates and cups, and to the swift was the race. 
 
 Fortunately for us "college men," and 
 thanks to the linguistic qualifications of my 
 two friends, who won the respect of the captain, 
 or an officer who we thought was the captain, 
 we were given quarters with a few others in 
 a room which contained three tiers of three 
 berths each, and which was more or less success- 
 fully partitioned from the main steerage quar- 
 ters. We had our full share of the noise and 
 
 [ 177 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 stench of the general surroundings, but we 
 enjoyed greatly the decency of our partial 
 seclusion. 
 
 Almost all the way I suffered from that 
 peculiar sickness whose acquaintance I first 
 made between Alexandria and Marseilles. 
 Having seen much better days at home, the 
 diet of the steamer tortured my soul. The 
 lower class of Europeans did by no means 
 appeal most exquisitely to my aesthetic sense. 
 My physical weakness made the uncertainty 
 of my future and my financial difficulties 
 oppressive to me. But hope rem^ained alive, the 
 great New World, the enchanter of my soul, 
 was very near at hand, and the God of my 
 fathers was my God and helper. 
 
 On the evening of October 6, 1891, our 
 steamer cast anchor in the harbor of New 
 York, too late for us to disembark. From some 
 Italian venders who had boarded the ship we 
 bought the needful things for the evening re- 
 past. Here I ate the first real meal since we 
 had left Havre. A certain meat composite, 
 
 [ 178 ] 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 strongly spiced, proved unspeakably toothsome 
 to me. Upon inquiry I learned that it was 
 called "bologna/' which term I rooted deeply 
 in my memory as the first trophy of the New 
 World. 
 
 Refreshed and sustained by my savory sup- 
 per, and exhilarated by the thought of my 
 arrival in the great city of New York, I pro- 
 ceeded to the casting of my accounts. The out- 
 come was not all that could be desired. The 
 figures, which "do not lie," show^ed that my 
 assets were about nine cents (half a franc) and 
 my liabilities forty dollars, which I owed to my 
 friends. Under those somewhat embarrassing 
 circumstances, I was to face the inspector of 
 immigrants at Ellis Island the following morn- 
 ing. 
 
 But the significance of the exact knowledge of 
 my straitened circumstances went with me far 
 beyond the usual depression one feels under 
 similar conditions. I was told by well-informed 
 fellow passengers that on the morrow I stood 
 in danger of being deported because the immi- 
 
 [ 179 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 gration laws of America required an immigrant 
 such as I was, with no family and no position 
 awaiting him in this country, to give satisfac- 
 tory evidence that he had no less than twenty 
 dollars (the sum must have been a mere guess) 
 on his person ; otherwise he could not be admit- 
 ted into the United States. 
 
 That was decidedly unwelcome information. 
 It took away all the pleasure of my bologna 
 supper. To be deported to Turkey ! Just think 
 of it ! Had my blossoming hopes come so near 
 fruition only to be blasted? I would not ask 
 my friends for more money. They had already 
 told me that they could lend me no more with- 
 out endangering their own future. But the 
 situation being of such a peculiar nature, my 
 companions came to the rescue by offering to 
 lend me four pounds "on demand," with which 
 to meet the requirements of the law. I found 
 no reason to reject the offer. 
 
 On the following morning, armed with my 
 " short loan," I stood before the inspector, who 
 was a Syrian, with only slight tremors in my 
 [ i8o 1 
 
SCHOOL TEACHER AND EMIGRANT 
 
 knees. He asked me my age, the name of the 
 Syrian province whence I came, whether I 
 could read and write, took down my descrip- 
 tion, and then, with a smile, asked me whether 
 I was married. I came very near giving myself 
 away when, with a smile broader still than his, 
 I answered, "What should I do with a wife, 
 when I can hardly take care of myself?" 
 
 With a very encouraging laugh, he said, 
 "Married Syrian immigrants get on much 
 better in this country than the unmarried." > 
 
 I do not know now in what connection I 
 quoted two lines of poetry to the genial in- 
 spector, and, with more playfulness than wis- 
 dom, asked him whether he knew of any 
 beautiful damsel in the Syrian colony who 
 would consider the advances of a willing young 
 poet. With another hearty smile, he said, 
 "Pass on, you are all right." He did not ask 
 about money ! As we passed out of the building, 
 my merry friends said, "Abraham, your wily 
 poetry served you well this time." With a 
 mixed feeling of relief and anxiety, I returned 
 [ i8i ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 the emergency loan and held fast my half-franc. 
 We landed at Battery Place, explored the 
 dock for our trunks, which we discovered in a 
 small mountain of baggage, and proceeded to a 
 lodging-house on Washington Street, the chief 
 center of the Syrian colony in New York. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IN NEW YORK WITH NINE CENTS 
 
 It was no easy task for me on the morning of 
 that ^h of October, 18 91, to beHeve my senses 
 when I first experienced that well-nigh over- 
 whelming feeling that I was really in the great 
 city of New York. As our little party proceeded 
 on across Battery Park up toward Washington 
 Street, I felt the need of new faculties to fit my 
 new environment. A host of questions besieged 
 my mind. Was I really in New York? Was I 
 still my old self, or had some subtle, unconscious 
 transformation already taken place in me? 
 Could I utter my political and religious convic- 
 tions freely, unafraid of either soldier or priest ? 
 What were the opportunities of the great New 
 World into which I had just entered? What 
 was awaiting me in America whose life, as I 
 had been told, was so vast, so complex, and 
 so enlightened? Whatever the future had "of 
 wonder or surprise,'' it seemed that merely 
 
 [ 183 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 being in the United States was enough of a 
 blessing to call forth my profoundest gratitude. 
 Nor did I have to wait very long for tangible 
 evidence to convince me that America was the 
 land of liberty and opportunity. On that very 
 evening my eyes beheld a scene so strange and 
 so delightful that I could hardly believe it was 
 real. Sitting in the restaurant early in the even- 
 ing we heard, approaching from the direction 
 of "uptown," band-music and the heavy tread 
 of a marching multitude which filled the street 
 from curb to curb. Some one, looking out of 
 the window, shouted, " It is the laborers ! They 
 are on their way to Battery Park to hold a 
 meeting and demand their rights.'' That was 
 all that was needed for me to dash out with 
 a few others and follow the procession to the 
 near-by park. I had heard in a very fragmen- 
 tary way of the ** united laborers'' in Europe 
 and America, but, while in Syria, and as a 
 Turkish subject, it was almost beyond me to 
 conceive of workingmen in collective moral 
 and political action. The procession was dotted 
 
 I 184 ] 
 
IN NEW YORK WITH NINE CENTS 
 
 with illuminated banners inscribed with mot- 
 toes which I could not read, and the gathering 
 must have been that of some "trade union." 
 Reaching the park the crowd halted, and a 
 huge mass of eager men and a few women faced 
 the impassioned speakers. What those speakers 
 said was beyond my understanding. I was a 
 stranger to the country, the English language, 
 and the political and social activities of free 
 men. From some fellow Syrians who under- 
 stood English I learned that those workingmen 
 were protesting against certain issues Vvhich I 
 cannot now recall. I was intensely interested 
 in the conduct of the few policemen present. 
 They walked about leisurely around that hu- 
 man mass, toyed with their clubs, and seemed 
 utterly indifferent to all that was going on. 
 The orderly conduct of the meeting and the 
 rational way of protesting against wrongs, real 
 or imaginary, was to me poetry set to music. 
 How I wished I could return to Syria just for 
 a few hours and tell my oppressed countrymen 
 what I had seen in America ; just to tell them 
 
 [ 185 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 of the freedom and intelligence of the Ameri- 
 can laborer, and of his right and ability to con- 
 vert parks and street-comers into lecturing 
 platforms. 
 
 But my revelry in such delicious fancies 
 could not continue very long. The realization 
 of the fact that my assets were only nine cents 
 and my liabilities forty dollars quickly silenced 
 my muse. My two good friends, having ful- 
 filled their promise to lend me enough money 
 to defray my necessary expenses until I reached 
 New York, could do no more for me than recom- 
 mend me to Abraham,^ their townsman and 
 the proprietor of the chief restaurant and lodg- 
 ing-house in the Syrian colony. Their recom- 
 mendation was decidedly flattering, and it was 
 not their fault that the beautiful picture of 
 my character and attainments, which they put 
 
 ^ The Syrians invariably address a person by his 
 given name, prefixing the title Khawaja, or suffixing 
 Effendi, on more formal occasions. The constant use 
 of only the given names in the Bible, such as David, 
 Samuel, Paul, John, etc., shows the antiquity of the 
 custom. 
 
 [ i86 ] 
 
IN NEW YORK WITH NINE CENTS 
 
 before the proprietor, contrasted distressingly 
 with my actual financial circumstances. The 
 forty dollars that I owed those friends being 
 equally divided between them, I gave each of 
 them a note (attested by two witnesses) for 
 twenty dollars, for six months, they promising 
 to extend the time further, if it was found neces- 
 sary when the notes fell due. 
 
 When I handed the notes to my creditors, 
 and we all understood that from henceforth so 
 far as business matters were concerned each 
 one of us was to go his own way and work out 
 his own salvation, a distressing sense of loneli- 
 ness came over me. Aside from my two com- 
 panions I was not aware that I had an acquaint- 
 ance within a thousand miles. I had the name 
 of a young man whose family I had known in 
 Syria, and who was in business in New York, 
 but I would not seek him. My poverty made 
 me feel as if every Syrian in New York would 
 look upon me as a beggar and shun my acquaint- 
 ance. It was, however, by a fortunate accident 
 that I met this young man on the street the 
 
 [ 187 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 next day after I landed. Perceiving my need, 
 he offered to lend me a "little money/' I ac- 
 cepted a loan of five dollars from him, which 
 sum I vowed I would make last until I found 
 work. 
 
 But what I was most keenly aware of when I 
 first went into Abraham's restaurant with my 
 "load of cares," was hunger. My protracted 
 sickness and the lack of suitable nourishment 
 on the steamer had reduced me to a state of 
 starvation. My craving at the sight of food was 
 ferocious. For a whole week, no matter how 
 often or how much I ate, I never felt satisfied. 
 To face such a state of things on a capital of 
 half a franc was by no means conducive to 
 peaceful repose. Soon after I had been intro- 
 duced to the restaurant-keeper my hungry eyes 
 fell on a dish of maamoul — a delicious kind of 
 Syrian sweet cakes — which stood on the 
 counter before him. Asking no questions I 
 reached for one of the cakes and proceeded to 
 eat it, with my eyes fixed on the dish. " Fletch- 
 erizing" was unknown to me at the time, the 
 [ i88 ] 
 
IN NEW YORK WITH NINE CENTS 
 
 cake swiftly disappeared, accentuating rather 
 than appeasing my hunger. When I was about 
 to reach for another, discretion interrupted the 
 proceedings, and I asked, "How much are 
 they?" "Ten cents each," answered the pro- 
 prietor. I reached for my half franc and said, 
 "This is all I have." "Never mind," said he, 
 "we will let it go at that." 
 
 I turned my back on the rest of the cakes. 
 
 I spent my first night in New York at Abra- 
 ham's lodging-house, at an expense of fifteen 
 cents. Besides my sleeping accommodations I 
 enjoyed the privilege of doing my morning 
 ablutions in a dark hall on the ground floor, 
 where a faucet gave forth a generous supply of 
 cold water. A large cake of coarse yellow soap, 
 and a public towel which bore the marks of 
 extensive use, completed the appointments. 
 Compelled by the circumstances to practice 
 "plain living and high thinking," I planned 
 my first breakfast in the New World so skill- 
 fully that it cost me only five cents. It was by 
 no means satiating. 
 
 [ 189 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 Realizing my helplessness while unable to 
 speak the English language, I sought to "master 
 it" on the very first morning after my arrival 
 in New York. I gazed at the multitude of store 
 "signs" with awe. The variety in the phrasing 
 and lettering bewildered my brain. When 
 should I ever be able to read such hieroglyphics ? 
 Certainly I must be up and doing. The only 
 English book I could find in the bedroom was 
 a small copy of the Bible, which belonged to 
 one of my friends. I turned to the Book of 
 Psalms and searched for a very short one of the 
 songs of Israel, believing that a short psalm 
 must consist of simple words. By the eternal 
 fitness of things my hand was led to the One 
 Hundred and Thirty-first Psalm: "Lord, my 
 heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty; 
 neither do I exercise myself in great matters, 
 or in things too high for me. Surely I have 
 behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is 
 weaned of his mother: my soul is even as a 
 weaned child." My two companions helped 
 me to understand the more difficult of the sacred 
 
 [ 190 ] 
 
IN NEW YORK WITH NINE CENTS 
 
 words. They made me understand that the 
 word "haughty'' was pronounced hawty and 
 not hufty ; they unsealed to my understanding 
 the meanings of the words "exercise" and 
 "behaved," and, in so far as they themselves 
 knew, they taught me how to distribute the 
 emphasis over the measured lines of the Hebrew 
 singer. 
 
 But my economic circumstances did not per- 
 mit of extensive search for knowledge. To 
 remain content with paying fifteen cents a 
 night for my lodging savored of recklessness; 
 therefore I went about seeking cheaper quarters 
 in the colony. Some public-spirited country- 
 men, agreeing with me that a stricter exercise 
 of economy was absolutely necessary to my 
 welfare, informed me that another Syrian, 
 whose name was Moses, kept a sort of lodging- 
 house, "good enough for a man in my circum- 
 stances," and charged only five cents a night. 
 Certainly that was the place for me, and I 
 immediately sought the proprietor. Moses met 
 me with a cordiality which made me feel as 
 
 [ 191 I 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 though he and I had been fast friends for years. 
 He explained to me that the chief reason why- 
 he provided lodging accommodations over his 
 store at such low rates was to aid struggling 
 Syrian immigrants, such as I was, to get on 
 their feet. He explained also that he managed 
 to maintain his establishment at these incredi- 
 bly low prices by dispensing with bedsteads, 
 soap, towels, and other luxuries, and reducing 
 the lodging-house business to the absolute 
 essentials. And, since I had a bed (my steamer 
 bed), he thought I would be very comfortable 
 at his house. 
 
 I felt somewhat disquieted because of the 
 absence of soap and towels at the new lodging- 
 house, but the saving of ten cents a night was 
 very compelling. It seemed to me, also, that 
 Moses' cordiality ought to be properly valued. 
 Lodging with him appeared to me like "per- 
 sonally conducted'' travel. Therefore I has- 
 tened back to the more expensive hostelry, took 
 up my bed (tied up in a bundle), and left 
 Abraham and went to Moses. 
 
 [ 192 ] 
 
IN NEW YORK WITH NINE CENTS 
 
 The jovial proprietor of the five-cent lodging- 
 house led me up a squeaky stairway in the 
 interior of his store, to a spacious comer off the 
 first landing in which stood a bare board plat- 
 form, which he most cordially offered to me as 
 my sleeping quarters. The fact that the location 
 afforded me no privacy whatever seemed to 
 Moses to be an advantage rather than the 
 reverse, as it provided me with an abundance 
 of fresh air. I need not fear the intrusion of 
 strangers, Moses remarked, because all those 
 who went up and down the stairs were our own 
 countrymen. Nor need I be disturbed by the 
 noise which the peddlers, who came in to buy 
 goods until late in the night, made in the store 
 below, because I must be fully acquainted with 
 the noisy bargaining of the Syrians. Lastly, in 
 order to make my lot more acceptable to me, 
 the genial Moses added, as he turned to go 
 downstairs, "If you should desire to wash in 
 the morning, be sure to let me know." 
 
 Sustained by the sense of honest economy, I 
 spread my bed on the platform and, after cast- 
 
 [ 193 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 ing a comprehensive look at the dingy paper on 
 the walls and at an indescribable back yard, 
 which I could see reasonably well through a 
 small dirt-streaked window, I went out, pro- 
 mising to return after supper. 
 
 On my return in the early evening I found 
 that two other boys had secured lodging 
 accommodations on Moses' platform. It was 
 wide enough for three persons, such as we were, 
 under peaceful circumstances. But my fellow 
 lodgers fell into a serious dispute early in the 
 evening, over a charge and a counter charge of 
 stealing, which led them to intermittent fight- 
 ing until late in the night. As a fellow country- 
 man, and desiring to win the blessing promised 
 to the peacemakers and, incidentally, a little 
 much-needed repose, I made some attempts to 
 restore peace between them. The nature of the 
 belligerents, however, was such as to convince 
 me that the vigorous urging of my arbitration 
 measures would very likely cause them to unite 
 their forces and attack me. 
 
 As I lay awake under Moses' roof that night 
 
 [ 194 ] 
 
IN NEW YORK WITH NINE CENTS 
 
 I thought of all the good things I had ever 
 enjoyed in my life, of all the poetry I had 
 learned, of the pride with which my breast had 
 heaved as a *' learned man" among my kindred. 
 Now I was in the New World, which did not 
 seem to take immediate notice of my worth, 
 tucked in a dingy comer, nay, crucified between 
 two thieves ! 
 
 I awoke early the next morning with a raging 
 headache and a stiff neck, picked up my bed, 
 and returned to Abraham. Moses was very 
 kind and reasonable when I paid him my night's 
 lodging and told him that I felt compelled 
 to seek more comfortable quarters. He even 
 pledged himself to be very diligent in looking 
 out for sdbie suitable employment for me in a 
 Syrian store ; and Moses was a man of his word. 
 But for justice' sake I must not leave Moses' 
 establishment without telling the whole truth 
 about it. The reader must not allow himself to 
 imagine that the only lodging accommodations 
 that tender-hearted man had was the platform 
 mentioned above. No; Moses had tW'O real 
 
 [ I9S ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 rooms whose floors were covered with untacked 
 and rather inexpensive carpets, and which he 
 reserved as temporary shehers for immigrant 
 families, a room for a family. I mention this 
 fact not only to do justice to the five-cent lodg- 
 ing-house, but to tell the reader what type 
 of immigrants are found sometimes in such 
 places. On one occasion I called at this lodging- 
 house to see a family of five — the mother, 
 three daughters, and two sons, with one of 
 whom I was very well acquainted. It was a 
 family which had seen better days in the Old 
 World. Both the sons were college men; the 
 mother and the daughters were also partially 
 educated. The father had been a successful 
 business man until certain calamities came upon 
 him and swept away all that he had. His death 
 shortly followed, and left his family destitute. 
 At last the fatherless household managed in 
 some way to reach the New World, with nothing 
 but hope with which to make a new start in life. 
 I felt not only sad but actually guilty when I 
 intruded upon the privacy of such misfortune. 
 [ 196 ] 
 
IN NEW YORK WITH NINE CENTS 
 
 The downcast face of the mother, as she sat on 
 that crumpled carpet in Moses' lodging-house, 
 and the sad, appealing glances of her eyes, which 
 seemed to say, "You should have known us 
 in our better days," still haunt my conscience. 
 Nevertheless such observations, together with 
 my own trying experiences in those days, have 
 taught me to contemplate the dwellers of tene- 
 ment houses with a greater measure of respect 
 than I could otherwise do. Not a few of the 
 noble possibilities of future America lie hidden 
 in those dark, musty, shabby dwellings, await- 
 ing the call of this country's wondrous oppor- 
 tunities to resurrect them to the newness and 
 glory of a free and useful life. 
 
 The Syrian colony in New York consisted in 
 those days of a few store- and restaurant- 
 keepers, a multitude of peddlers of "jewelry 
 and notions," and a few silk merchants who, 
 although they peddled their wares, bore the 
 more dignified designation of "silk-sellers." 
 For lack of better pursuits, college men often 
 took up silk-selling as a means of livelihood, 
 
 . [ 197 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 which occupation, however, required capital 
 and often letters of introduction to the well-to- 
 do American families. My inquiries for some- 
 thing to do precipitated usually the following 
 questions from the older colonists, who seemed 
 to me to be steeped in wisdom : — 
 
 **Do you have money so that you can at 
 least buy an interest in a store, or deal in silk?" 
 
 "No, I have no money at all." 
 
 "Do you have letters of recommendation 
 from missionaries in Syria to persons in this 
 country?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Can you speak the English language?" 
 
 "Not so that I can be understood." 
 
 "How old are you?" 
 
 "Twenty-two." 
 
 "Twenty-two! Too old to master the Eng- 
 lish language. The only thing you could do, 
 and which thousands of Syrians are doing, 
 would be to peddle 'jewelry and notions.'" 
 
 Call it pride, vanity, or whatever you please, 
 whenever I thought of peddling "jewelry and 
 
 [ 198 ] 
 
IN NEW YORK WITH NINE CENTS 
 
 notions/' death lost its terror for me. The mere 
 sight of those crude, greasy peddlers nauseated 
 me. Come what might, I would not carry the 
 keshah (a colloquial Arabic name for the 
 peddler's pack). 
 
 The period of painful suspense, which seemed 
 to me to cover a whole year, lasted in reality 
 only twelve days, at the end of which I found 
 employment. During those twelve days, when 
 not searching for work, I spent my time explor- 
 ing New York, which overshadowed my soul 
 like a vast mystery. I made my first appear- 
 ance on Broadway on a Monday morning. I 
 shall never forget the almost overwhelming 
 impression which that great thoroughfare made 
 upon my mind. The amazingly wide sidewalks 
 were solid streams of humanity. Compared 
 with the leisurely, swaying gait of Orientals, 
 every one in that vast multitude seemed to be 
 running. How limpid and how quiet that 
 human mass appeared! No disputes and no 
 demonstrative bargainings at the doors of those 
 great stores! No shouting, "Ho! your back! 
 
 [ 199 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 your side!" as in Beyrout. Almost complete 
 silence prevailed, and the stupendous concourse 
 of men and women moved as swiftly and grace- 
 fully as a perfectly adjusted and well-oiled 
 machine. 
 
 I soon realized that while I was in, I w^as not 
 of, New York. I was afraid to do anything, 
 even to walk freely, for fear of jarring the har- 
 mony of the surroundings. The memories of 
 the Turkish soldiery which haunted my soul 
 made me fear every uniformed man I saw. I 
 felt instinctively constrained to stand at atten- 
 tion whenever I passed a policeman. Men 
 wearing silk hats inspired me with reverence. 
 The close resemblance of this type of hat to the 
 headgear of the Greek priests made me con- 
 clude that the wearers of the towering head- 
 dress were all preachers, and confirmed in my 
 mind what I had heard in Syria about the 
 profound and universal religiousness of the 
 American people. 
 
 Like a newly bom babe, I needed to be com- 
 pletely adjusted to the new environment. In 
 
 [ 200 ] 
 
IN NEW YORK WITH NINE CENTS 
 
 fact, it was neither to my interest, nor to that 
 of New York, for me to act freely in pubHc 
 before I was properly trained. I remember 
 very clearly when I went out to post my first 
 letter in the great metropolis. I was directed 
 by wise counselors to deposit the letter in a red 
 iron box fastened to a post on the sidewalk. 
 Reaching the first box of that description, I took 
 hold of a shining handle and gave it a sharp 
 turn. It was the fire alarm. An alert police- 
 man, motioning to me vigorously with his club 
 to stop turning the shining handle, ran to me, 
 and, leading me to a letter-box, pointed out 
 with some earnestness the difference between 
 the fire-alarm box and the receptacle for mis- 
 sives. 
 
 Another strange situation confronted me 
 when I visited the office of a New York busi- 
 ness man, on the third day after my arrival in 
 the city. One of my companions on the voyage 
 had a letter of introduction to this man from 
 a friend in Egypt, and we deemed it necessary 
 that the three of us should visit the New Yorker 
 
 f 201 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 and present the message to him in a body. 
 Upon coming into the office building a boy 
 admitted us into a Httle room — all made of 
 iron — and closed the door. Seeing no open 
 door anywhere in that room I suspected some 
 foul play. What ! have I come to the great New 
 World to have a mere boy play such a trick on 
 me? As I was about to seize the little culprit 
 and demand the release of the whole party, the 
 entire room, floor and all, began to ascend. 
 Then I remembered that in Suk-el-Gharb, 
 Syria, a few years before, one of the mission- 
 aries, while delivering an illustrated lecture 
 before our school, had shown us the picture of 
 a New York building, and told us that the 
 Americans have such means of vertical trans- 
 portation. 
 
 Additional impressions of New York which 
 puzzled my unacclimated brain in those days 
 I find in the fragments of a correspondence I 
 had with a friend in Syria, and which was in 
 part as follows : — 
 
 "New York is three cities on top of one 
 
 [ 202 ] 
 
IN NEW YORK WITH NINE CENTS 
 
 another. The one city is in the air — in the 
 elevated railway trains, which roar overhead 
 like thunder, and in the amazingly lofty build- 
 ings, the windows of whose upper stories look 
 to one on the ground only a little bigger than 
 human eyes. I cannot think of those living so 
 far away from the ground as being human 
 beings; they seem to me more like the ji7i7iee. 
 The second city is on the ground where huge 
 armies of men and women live and move and 
 work. The third is underground, where I find 
 stores, dwellings, machine shops, and railroad 
 trains. The inside of the earth here is alive with 
 human beings; I hope they will go upward 
 when they die. There are so many big police- 
 men who don't seem to be doing anything. The 
 women walk on the streets freely, dressed like 
 queens. They wear very thin veils, for the pur- 
 pose, I believe, of showing rather than hiding 
 their beauty, for they look magical. But they 
 don't speak to anybody. The other day, while 
 in the great garden called Central Park with a 
 Syrian friend, we needed to know where the 
 [ 203 1 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 animals were (the Zoological Garden), and, 
 seeing a lady sitting on a bench, we thought 
 we would ask her to direct us. After our more 
 sociable Oriental custom I ventured to greet 
 her, with a * Good-morning/ She neither an- 
 swered nor even looked at me. I was struck 
 with dumbness. But my wiser companion 
 asked her where the animals were without say- 
 ing * Good-morning,' and she immediately 
 pointed us in the right direction. They have 
 strange ways here. And you never saw such 
 drinking of intoxicants as there is in this city. 
 We Oriental wine-drinkers do not know what 
 real efrenj ^ drunkenness is. I have seen even 
 drunken women raving in the streets, but I am 
 told they are not real Americans, not of those 
 who wear the magical veils. I am trying to 
 know more of this strange, great world and will 
 write more about it." 
 
 During my days of enforced and painful 
 idleness in New York, Battery Park was my 
 chief resort. I would spend hours on those 
 
 ^ The Orientals call all Western peoples effrenj, 
 [ 204 ] 
 
IN NEW YORK WITH NINE CENTS 
 
 benches, either writing poetry, generally of a 
 dolorous kind, or studying the many and varied 
 ships which plied the deep before me, or pictur- 
 ing to myself the greater distress which I 
 thought awaited me when my five dollars was 
 all spent. But Battery Park stands in my 
 memory associated with much holier thoughts 
 than these, for it was there that a spiritual 
 vision came to me unique in my experience. It 
 is, I believe, chiefly because of that vision that 
 throughout my ministry I have preached with 
 unshaken faith and unreserved devotion the 
 precept that "man's extremity is God's oppor- 
 tunity." 
 
 Feeling deeply depressed and disheartened, 
 late one afternoon, I strolled down to the 
 famous park. The sea and sky were very beauti- 
 ful, but I seemed to have no share in their 
 beauty ; I appeared to myself to be a fugitive in 
 an unfriendly world. I sat on a bench and cast 
 a vacant look on the world before me. I felt very 
 lonely, and longed, as a babe, for my mother. 
 But as the sun began to fade away from the 
 [ 205 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 sky, I began, as by a miracle, to feel an inward 
 supply of power and courage. The beauty of 
 the sea and sky seemed to -have been made for 
 me ; I was owner of all that I saw. I seemed to 
 myself for the moment to look upon the world 
 through the mystic eyes of my Oriental ances- 
 tors, and see it, so far as a youth could, as the 
 garment of God. Surely the Father was with 
 me. "Why art thou cast down, my soul, and 
 why art thou disquieted in me.? Hope thou in 
 God.'' I remember with perfect clearness that 
 I said audibly, "The God who created me and 
 these wonders before me will never forsake me," 
 and arose and walked like a strong man. 
 
 Now you have the privilege of explaining 
 this experience as "an uprush of reserve energy 
 from the subconscious realm," or as "nervous 
 reaction," or whatever else you please. What / 
 know is that the abiding worth of an experience 
 ranks higher in the world of real life than that 
 of any philosophy about it. From that day to 
 this, notwithstanding the fact that I have often 
 stumbled and fallen, doubt in God's providence 
 f 206 ] 
 
IN NEW YORK WITH NINE CENTS 
 
 has never secured a hold upon my mind, nor do 
 I remember that I have ever failed to trust that 
 He is mine and I am His. In my extremity in 
 a lonely world, without Bible, preacher, priest, 
 or sacrament, I came into living, first-hand con- 
 tact with the Eternal Reality. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 My very recent friend, Moses, did not forget 
 his promise to be on the lookout for a position 
 for me in some Syrian store, for on my tenth 
 day in New York he sought and found me in 
 Battery Park, and, with a generous smile, told 
 m^e of a merchant who needed a katih, — book- 
 keeper, — and Moses thought I was the man 
 for the place. Realizing that I had never had 
 any experience in bookkeeping, he instructed 
 me not to be overconscientious in confessing 
 my ignorance, for he was certain that I could 
 do all the bookkeeping that the merchant 
 needed. The customers of the store were ped- 
 dlers of "jewelry and notions," who did business 
 on very simple lines, and almost all the trans- 
 actions were carried on in the Arabic language. 
 If at long intervals some orders came to us in 
 El-Angleezy (English) Moses promised to come 
 and help me fill them in the proper manner. 
 [ 208 ] 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 In company with my beneficent friend I pro- 
 ceeded to No. 5 Carlisle Street, the store of 
 Khawaja Maron, where the position of katib 
 awaited me. Moses introduced me to the pro- 
 prietor as "one of the most efficient bookkeep- 
 ers he ever knew/' and departed. Maron told 
 me that the salary of the position I was seeking 
 was twenty dollars per month and that I would 
 be expected to perform the usual duties of a 
 katib, I accepted the offer with gladness of 
 heart, promising to be at my **desk'' at seven 
 o'clock the following morning. 
 
 Recalling the time when as a school-teacher 
 in Syria my salary was three dollars a month 
 and my board, twenty dollars seemed to me a 
 species of ** frenzied financiering." I had always 
 known the position of katib to be most condu- 
 cive to dignity and elegance, and an excellent 
 opportunity for advancement in the commer- 
 cial world; therefore I had every reason to 
 imagine that my new position at 5 Carlisle 
 Street was the gateway to riches and honor. 
 
 Before seven the next morning I w^as at the 
 [ 209 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 store. The proprietor, who slept in a room in 
 the rear end of the building, was just out of bed 
 and about half-dressed. -He greeted me very 
 pleasantly, although his appearance just then, 
 and the fact that he slept at the store, cooled 
 my ardor considerably. After lighting a cigar- 
 ette, he handed me twelve cents, explaining 
 that my first duties in the morning were "to go 
 down to the corner," buy a scuttleful of coal 
 for ten cents, a bundle of kindling-wood for two 
 cents, carry the ashes out and deposit them 
 carefully In the barrel on the sidewalk, build a 
 fire in the stove, sweep the store and the side- 
 walk, see that the boxes of goods on the shelves 
 were in proper order, and then take up my 
 clerical duties. It was not so much the quantity 
 as the quality of the programme that pierced 
 my heart with many sorrows. Was this what it 
 meant to be a katib ? Was this what I had come 
 to America for? Whatever it was, necessit}^ 
 was laid upon me to humble m.y pride and 
 accept the situation. Did I not consent to the 
 spirit of the One Hundred and Thirty-first 
 
 [ 2IO ] 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 Psalm, my first scriptural lesson in America, 
 when I repeated reverently, "Lord, my heart is 
 not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty''? The seem- 
 ingly menial tasks of my new office came, per- 
 haps, to test the sincerity of my prayer. 
 
 I applied myself to my duties as katib most 
 conscientiously. My broom searched the remot- 
 est and darkest comers of the store, and, as it 
 seemed to me, made the sidewalk in front of it 
 the envy of our neighbors. The boxes of ** jew- 
 elry and notions" stood on our shelves in as 
 straight lines as any courses of stone I ever laid 
 as a stone-mason. Even Khawaja Maron 
 noticed the orderliness and cleanliness of the 
 surroundings and pronounced them "excep- 
 tionally good,'' and I was really proud to have 
 it knov/n by every one who came into our store 
 that it was I who put the establishment in such 
 order. 
 
 Our store, however, was put to other uses 
 not strictly commercial, which the social hab- 
 its of our Syrian customers demanded. On 
 rainy days it fell to me to entertain groups 
 
 [ 211 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 of peddlers who sat around the stove, smoked 
 cigarettes of **Navy Tobacco/' and indulged 
 themselves in their simple but boisterous 
 pleasures. At times they would buy a wash- 
 pitcherful of beer and drink to one another's 
 health out of one common glass. They would 
 offer the "learned katib'' a foaming glass of the 
 beverage, which was invariably refused. 
 
 But at those informal social gatherings 
 around Maron's stove more significant events 
 occurred. At times my guests, the peddlers, 
 would ascend to the consideration of rather 
 weighty subjects. From the prosaic counting of 
 the combs, pipes, razors, necklaces, and other 
 commodities which each of them had sold on a 
 certain day, they would rise to the poetizing of 
 the prowess of their Syrian feudal lords and the 
 miracles of their saints. " Khawaja Ibrahim," 
 Dhieb would ask me, "which is the greatest 
 nation in the world .^'' 
 
 "I have always thought," I would answer, 
 "that England was the greatest nation, but 
 they say here that America is the greatest." 
 
 [ 212 1 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 "Of course you will say that," said Tannus. 
 "because you are 'Brustant' [Protestant]. 
 France is the greatest nation. The French pro- 
 tected us from being massacred in i860, and 
 what have your England and America done.^ 
 May Allah save the fiery French ! They terror- 
 ized the hearts of the Mohammedans and the 
 Druses when the army of Napoleon came into 
 Syria." Here Maron, just to please me, would 
 speak with some gravity from behind the 
 counter, "You, TannGs, must not be so rude as 
 to contradict the katih; he is a learned man, 
 while you are but an untaught commoner." 
 That was always enough to vanquish my oppo- 
 nent, and keep the integrity of my "learning" 
 unimpaired. 
 
 j Certainly American customs did not escape 
 serious consideration by my friends the ped- 
 dlers. Almost all of them being illiterate, and 
 having no access whatever to real American 
 life, their discussions of it, as I now recall them, 
 were most interesting exhibitions of human 
 psychology. The universal rule that the un- 
 [ 213 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 trained mind makes the most sweeping deduc- 
 tions from the shghtest contact with facts 
 received around Maron's stove most emphatic 
 confirmation. Some of those simple-minded 
 peddlers of "jewelry and notions" had suc- 
 ceeded in observing that domestic and social 
 life in America was not so homogeneous as in 
 Syria, that in this country the individual was 
 much freer and much more sharply defined. 
 Consequently nothing remained to prevent the 
 conclusion that the Americans lived a life of 
 completely detached individualism. Members 
 of the same household lived a life of mutual 
 exclusiveness. "Hear, and I will tell you,'' said 
 Abdu, especially to new arrivals from Syria; 
 " in this country the husband and wife live each 
 one alone. He has his room and she has hers, 
 and, if anything, the man has to mind. They 
 say that he has to knock at her door like a 
 stranger, and she does n't have to let him inside 
 if it does n't suit her. He has to say ' Shkooz 
 me,' which means, 'Forgive me'!" 
 
 " But how can they live that way and raise 
 [ 214 ] 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 children?" Anton would inquire. ''Ya Allah 
 [O God], what customs! Give me Syria and its 
 submissive women. Where are you ^. — let me 
 tell you, our country knows something. Woman 
 must be kept in obedience or she would lead 
 man to all sorts of trouble as Eve led Adam in 
 Eden. I say, give me Syria, the mother of man- 
 kind!" Then some genius in the crowd would 
 do human nature no little credit by remarking, 
 with a vigorous waving of the hand, "Get out 
 of here! Your words are empty. No matter 
 how they live, the Americans look clean and 
 well-fed, and we are dirty and hungry; shorten 
 your speech until you know what you are talk- 
 ing about." 
 
 On one occasion Maron offered the store to 
 one of his customers for the celebration of a 
 genuine Syrian wedding. The offer was accepted 
 and our commercial establishment resounded 
 with joy. Other than Syrian dwellers of the 
 neighborhood flocked to doors and windows 
 and feasted their souls on things which their 
 eyes had never before seen nor their ears heard. 
 [ 215 ] 
 
 / 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 We seated the bridegroom (the bride was in 
 another building) in the place of honor — be- 
 hind the counter. Beer and arak flowed like 
 water. The men sang aataba and the women 
 zelaghet, and we all partook of a bounteous feast 
 which was spread on benches, cases, and chairs, 
 while the straight rows of boxes of "Fine 
 Combs," "Collar Buttons," "Baby Rattles," 
 and so forth, looked down upon us from the 
 shelves with Occidental serenity. 
 
 My salary of twenty dollars a month did not 
 prove so ample for my every need as I had at 
 first thought it would. Only by the strictest 
 economizing was I able to secure food and shel- 
 ter and other necessities at an outlay of only 
 fifty cents a day, which left me but five dollars 
 a month as a sinking-fund with which to pay 
 my debts and fortify myself against accidents 
 and sickness. I had only two suits of clothing, 
 one of which I reserved for Sundays. The win- 
 ter was fast approaching and I had no adequate 
 clothing for it. I envied every man I saw wear- 
 ing an overcoat. Being already forty-five dol- 
 [ 216 1 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 lars in debt, I resolved that I would borrow no 
 more under any conditions. Compared with 
 the temperature of Syria, the cold in New York 
 was as much of a revelation to me as the sky- 
 scrapers. How to keep warm out of doors was 
 a question which I could not safely evade. By 
 the advice of a well-disposed acquaintance I 
 bought a coarse, heavy shirt which, I was told, 
 was made of camel's hair, and therefore very 
 warm. I was glad to renew my acquaintance 
 with the camel, even though in such a round- 
 about way, as well as to bear some resemblance 
 to John the Baptist ; but the coarseness of the 
 shirt militated strongly against all my ideas of 
 refinement. It was, however, my chief means 
 of defense against the rigor of my first winter in 
 America, my memories of whose blasts remain 
 keen and clear. 
 
 Notwithstanding my humble position as 
 katiby I was not long in New York before I 
 began to dream dreams and see visions. How 
 to acquire the priceless privilege of being an 
 American citizen, was the first and foremost 
 [ 217 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 question in my mind. I was told that I did not 
 need to be in such a hurry about this matter, 
 but I thought differently, ^nd on November i8, 
 1 89 1, not quite six weeks after I landed at EUis 
 Island, I appeared in the Court of Common 
 Pleas of the County of New York, accompanied 
 by an interpreter, and asked to be ''admitted 
 into American citizenship." My heart never 
 thrilled with holier emotion than when I as- 
 sented to the oath of allegiance, " that it is bona 
 fide my intention to become a citizen of the 
 United States and to renounce forever all 
 allegiance and fidelity to any foreign Prince, 
 Potentate, State or Sovereignty, and particu- 
 larly to the Sultan of Turkey of whom I am a 
 subject." I felt such an inward sense of relief 
 and exaltation that my countryman, the inter- 
 preter, appeared to me to be an alien. It seemed 
 I to me at the moment, although of course not so 
 clearly as it does now, that by that act I had 
 forever broken the shackles which had bound 
 me and my forefathers for ages to the chariots 
 of tyrants, and had become a citizen of a coun- 
 [ 218 1 
 
\4 2 
 O S 
 
 ^ I 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 try whose chief function was to make free, 
 enhghtened, useful men. 
 /I soon also made the acquaintance of the 
 few college men in the Syrian colony, foremost 
 among whom stood Khawaja Najib Arbeely, 
 the Syrian inspector of immigrants at Ellis 
 Island, who examined me upon my arrival in 
 New York. Being eager to enjoy the privileges 
 which in the Turkish Empire we never dared 
 even to talk about, I proposed the organizing 
 of a society whose purpose should be the mutual 
 benefit of its own members and the advance- 
 ment of the various interests of the Syrians in 
 general. The suggestion met with favor among 
 the leaders of thought in the colony, and the 
 ** Syrian Scientific and Ethical Society" was 
 organized. Mr. Arbeely was elected president 
 and, to my amazement and notwithstanding 
 my shirt of camel's hair, I was elected vice- 
 president. It is never an easy task to bind a 
 large number of Syrians together in any enter- 
 prise. The oppression under which they have 
 lived for ages has well-nigh crushed all public 
 [ 219 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 spirit and initiative out of them. The lifters 
 being the very few, any attempt among them 
 at collective action of any sort is beset with 
 grave difficulties. But our proudly titled society 
 flourished for a time beyond our most extrava- 
 gant expectations. My deep interest in it, and 
 in what I thought was to be its future, made me 
 eager to serve it in almost any capacity. The 
 subjects of our debates and discussions were 
 large and various. History, philosophy, the 
 good and evil of immigration, the greatness of 
 the United States of America, the superiority 
 of the Syrian to the Irish population of Wash- 
 ington Street, — these and many other subjects 
 called forth the impassioned eloquence of the 
 orators among us, who spoke with perfect confi- 
 dence and freedom, and often regardless of the 
 facts. 
 
 It was very interesting and gratifying to me 
 to observe that at the meetings of the society 
 discussions of American life occupied a much 
 higher level of thought than at Maron's store. 
 The response of the enlightened minority 
 
 [ 220 ] 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 among the New York Syrians to the challenge 
 of American civilization, while by no means 
 revolutionary, was encouraging. Now and then 
 gleams of a new light shot through the speeches 
 of those who had touched with intelligent sym- 
 pathy the borders of America's higher life, and 
 exerted on me an awakening influence. On one 
 occasion a speaker undertook to portray the 
 superior aspects of American civilization. He 
 began in an eloquent manner to describe the 
 extent and the material achievements of the 
 country as they were known to him. He called 
 our attention, first to the "wonders of New 
 York,'' such as the Brooklyn Bridge, the sky- 
 scrapers, the department stores, the news- 
 papers, etc. Then he gave a vivid picture of 
 the vast railroad, telegraph, and postal sys- 
 tems. From that he proceeded to speak in 
 poetic terms of the schools and the churches 
 and kindred interests, until he cam^e to his 
 climax whose thrilling effect I still remember 
 with grateful appreciation. "Sirs," said the 
 orator, "do we fully appreciate the fact, we 
 
 [ 221 ] 
 
 J 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 who have come from the land of oppression and 
 petty aristocracies, that in this country the 
 humblest man is called *mister/ and the highest 
 title is that of * gentleman'?'' 
 
 I was expected to make an "oration" at any 
 time and on any subject. Being one of the very 
 few in the society who could speak the classical 
 Arabic in extemporaneous address, I was looked 
 upon by many of my fellow members as a " real 
 orator," and credited with such a wealth of 
 knowledge as would have dwarfed the resources 
 of a Herbert Spencer. My most impassioned 
 appeals in those ** orations " were for the stronger 
 cohesion of the Syrian population in the great 
 city in which we lived, and the endeavor on the 
 part of our people to adopt the noble principles 
 of American civilization, of which, however, I 
 knew nothing at the time. 
 
 The headquarters of our society were estab- 
 lished at Abraham's restaurant. He and his 
 partner Abu-Khalil permitted us to hold our 
 meetings at their eating-place on condition 
 that, after every regular session, on Wednesday 
 
 [ 222 ] 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 evening, those of the members who were really 
 interested in the welfare of the society should 
 purchase at least one plate each of a spread of 
 Syrian sweets, such as wheat starch cooked with 
 grape molasses, rice cooked in milk and sugar, 
 and other dainties, which Abu-Khalil served 
 with incredible promptness after it had been 
 **moved and seconded to adjourn/' Abu- 
 Khalil's anxiety to "do business" during the 
 sessions greatly interfered at times with the 
 proceedings. His customers came in at all hours, 
 until late in the evening, and they had, of course, 
 to be served. \ While our orators were toiling 
 to round out their telling periods, Abu-Khalil 
 would sit behind the counter smoking his 
 narghile. Utterly unmindful of the significance, 
 at least to the speaker, of an approaching cli- 
 max, he would interrupt at the most critical 
 moment by shouting orders into the kitchen. 
 I particularly recall one meeting of the society 
 at which Abu-KhaliFs interruption was per- 
 fectly shocking. The subject of the principal 
 speaker was "The Glory of Ancient Syria," and 
 [ 223 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 his purpose was to prove that that country, 
 which is now oppressed and unproductive, had 
 given the world many of hs most precious pos^ 
 sessions. **Our Phoenician ancestors," declared 
 the speaker, "invented the alphabet, manufac- 
 tured glass, carried on a vast commerce with 
 Egypt, and planted colonies on the western 
 shores of the Mediterranean. Our Arabian an- 
 cestors invented algebra, developed the sci- 
 ence of medicine and chemistry, and excelled 
 the world in poetry. On the looms of our Sidon 
 and Tyre were woven the purples of the Roman 
 Caesars, and it was in our country that the 
 crowning glory of all human possessions '' — 
 Abu-Khalil into the kitchen, "One dish of 
 stuffed squash for Khawaja Abdu-AUah, and 
 one grape molasses for Khaw^aja Toufeek." — 
 The speaker, "the Bible, the Word of God, was 
 revealed!" That seemed to the rank and file of 
 our members, not only an annoying interrup- 
 tion, but downright sacrilege. Abu-Khalil, 
 however, was not an impious man, and no one 
 could justly suspect that he did not say his 
 [ 224 ] 
 
^'^^. - a 
 
 't o 
 
 BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 prayers daily before going to bed. His disturb- 
 ing conduct during some of our meetings was 
 simply the result of mental specialization in 
 business during waking hours. When we, the 
 officers of the society, came to remonstrate with 
 him upon the matter, he gave us a very sim- 
 ple, direct, and manly answer. He said, "You 
 ulama [learned men] are after science and phil- 
 osophy, but my business is to sell matbukhat 
 [cooked goods]." God and Mammon could not 
 be served together. "The Syrian Scientific and 
 Ethical Society" was driven out of Abraham's - o c-^^ 
 restaurant, and, after some wandering and vain v, e ^'a 
 searching for a suitable shelter, perished. 
 
 While the untimely death of our society was 
 a severe disappointment to me as one deeply 
 interested in the welfare of the Syrian colony, 
 individually I had every reason to be grateful 
 for the results of my activities in it during 
 its brief existence. I won the confidence and 
 respect of my countrymen, which seemed to 
 raise the level of m.y life and make me forget 
 for the tim.e being that I was a poor youth 
 
 [ 22s 1 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 clothed in garments of cameFs hair. After 
 hearing my first "oration" at one of the meet- 
 ings, my employer, Maron, was so favorably 
 impressed that on the next morning he informed 
 me that he had added five dollars to my salary, 
 declaring with childlike sincerity that he had 
 never imagined that his katib was so *' learned." 
 His breast heaved with pride when many of our 
 countrymen besought me to write letters for 
 them to their feudal lords in Syria, "in my 
 profound classical Arabic." A month later he 
 added another five dollars to my salary, pro- 
 mising, also, to give me a share in the business 
 if I would agree to stay with him permanently. 
 Friend Maron further concluded that I was too 
 good to sweep the store, which duty he assigned 
 to a peddler who lodged in the back room in the 
 building. 
 [_A11 that was, indeed, glory and honor, and 
 some money for me. But after having spent 
 three months with Maron I discovered unmis- 
 takably that I was not made for a commercial 
 career. I never could remicmber the prices of 
 [ 226 1 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 things from one day to another, while it was no 
 effort at all for me to commit to memory a score 
 of lines of poetry by reading them only two or 
 three times. To listen to those peddlers talk 
 with gushing enthusiasm and satisfaction about 
 how much money they had made on their trips, 
 was really painful to me. Being in business for 
 the sole purpose of making money appealed to 
 me very faintly, even in my poverty. The ideal 
 side of life gripped mightily at the strings of my 
 heart. There was no idealism in the selling of 
 hair-brushes, pipes, cuff-buttons, and the like, 
 therefore I did not deem it the proper occupa- 
 tion for me. 
 
 While in such a frame of mind I was most 
 naturally eager to accept another position 
 which was offered to me early in the spring, and 
 which seemed to me to combine both the com- 
 mercial and the ideal aspects of life. About that 
 time Mr. Arbeely, the president of our Scien- 
 tific and Ethical Society, began the publication 
 of "Kowkab America" (the "Star of America''), 
 the first Arabic nev/spaper ever published in the 
 [ 227 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 Western hemisphere, and offered me the posi- 
 tion of Hterary editor. He stated that my 
 utterances in classical Arabic at the meetings of 
 the society, and the pubUc spirit which per- 
 meated them, convinced him that I was the 
 man for such a position, and he hoped I might 
 accept it. 
 
 With difficuhy I restrained myself from 
 shouting for joy. Was it possible that I was to 
 occupy the commanding position of an editor, 
 to become the fashioner of public opinion, so 
 soon after my arrival in America? Certainly 
 the supreme opportunity of my life had come ; 
 the open road to the realization of my hopes 
 and ideals was now before me. My salary was 
 to be the same at the start as that which I had 
 been getting as katih, with the promise of a sub- 
 stantial increase in the not very far future. I 
 was to be provided with comfortable lodging 
 accommodations in the office building on Pearl 
 Street, and to have exclusive quarters, all my 
 own, as the editor, from whom much was 
 expected. Desirable as a larger income was, it 
 f 228 ] 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 appeared to me to be only a minor matter. The 
 dreaming idealist in me had the upper hand of 
 the prudent and practical commercialist. 
 
 The office of editor offered imperishable re- 
 wards. It meant intellectual expansion, moral 
 and social victories, leadership of public opin- 
 ion, and, in this case, perhaps the inauguration 
 of a political movement in free America, which 
 might at least mitigate the tyranny of the "un- ^ 
 speakable Turk " in our mother country. Last, 
 but not least, was it not very probable that by 
 virtue of my position as editor I would in due 
 time be admitted to the circle of editors of the 
 great New York dailies, and thus come in close 
 touch with the highest and best in the life of 
 America ? 
 
 "Dreams are true while they last, and do we) 
 not live in dreams?" Woe to that youth who 
 does not dream on a large scale. My expecta- 
 tions were not only laudable but commendable. 
 I accepted Mr. Arbeely's offer the very day 
 after it was made, promising to take up my 
 duties in about two weeks. 
 [ 229 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 My exalted opinion of the office of editor and 
 its social requirements made me shed my 
 camel's-hair shirt and buy a real white stiff- 
 bosomed American shirt, a turn-down collar, 
 and a four-in-hand necktie, ready tied. That 
 was as far as I could go in acquiring suitable 
 wearing apparel for my new office, and it really 
 seemed to me a big step forward in my social 
 evolution. During my career as katib I had 
 shared a bed with another man in a Syrian 
 lodging-house, at an expense of fifteen cents a 
 night for both of us. Our room was possessed 
 of a peculiar type of odor, which neither my bed- 
 fellow nor I knew how to modify. When I ac- 
 cepted the new position it did not seem to me 
 that that room was the most suitable lodging 
 for the editor of the first Arabic newspaper ever 
 published in the Western hemisphere, even for 
 the two weeks, at the end of which I was to en- 
 joy the comforts of a more desirable environ- 
 ment. I dissolved partnership with my bedfel- 
 low immediately and in a businesslike manner, 
 leaving to him all the bedding I had brought 
 [ 230 ] 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 with me from Syria, which had increased rather 
 than decreased by use. 
 
 Our newspaper office force consisted of Najib 
 Arbeely, the proprietor, a Damascene; Habib 
 Patrekian, the pubHsher, an Armenian ; Yusuf 
 Hajj, the compositor, a Beyroutine; and my- 
 self. Our joumaHstic enterprise began most 
 auspiciously. Its advent was celebrated at 
 headquarters by a large company of Syrians and 
 a few Americans, largely reporters. The rooms, 
 which the artful proprietor decorated with rich 
 Oriental draperies, were packed with happy 
 guests, and eloquence flowed no less copiously 
 than beer and arak. The New York papers gave 
 generous accounts of our undertaking, and the 
 warm congratulations of educators, poets, and 
 prelates poured upon us from all over Syria. 
 
 I was decidedly proud when, upon my arrival 
 at the office to assume my editorial duties, I 
 read on the door of a small room, "The Edi- 
 tor's Room. No Admittance." That was a jus- 
 tifiable and stimulating exclusiveness, which 
 seemed to me to mark the beginning of a splen- 
 [ 231 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 did career. Soon after my arrival at the office, 
 the pubhsher presented me with a pack of 
 gilded visiting-cards bearing the proud designa- 
 tion of my office, in both the Arabic and the 
 English, as follows — 
 
 
 
 (y^4^d€l/K^, 
 
 Arabic Editor 
 
 of 
 
 ''Kowliah America,** 
 
 
 My further acquaintance with the headquar- 
 ters, however, tended to weaken my confidence, 
 that I was connected with a great enterprise.; 
 Our offices occupied a small apartment, ap- 
 parently intended originally for light house- 
 keeping. It consisted of three rooms and a 
 "kitchenette.'' The proprietor and the publisher 
 slept in the main office, in folding beds which 
 were disguised in the daytime to appear as 
 something else. The compositor slept among his 
 [ 232 ] 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 type-cases, Mr. Arbeely's brother in the kitchen- 
 ette, and I in my "editor's room." Before many 
 weeks the compositor rebelled against sleeping 
 in the "t^^pe-room," where the smell of ben- 
 zine, oil, and paper threatened his health. By 
 the direction of the proprietor he moved his 
 bed into my room "temporarily." Soon after, 
 the brother of the "boss" discovered that it was 
 utterly impossible for him to secure sufficient 
 rest in the kitchenette, which was the wash- 
 room for all the office force, and wondered 
 whether he could not be accommodated "for 
 the present" in the editor's room. It was de- 
 cided by his brother that he could. The three 
 cots which beset my desk behind and before, 
 with their complements of clothing and shoes, 
 were hardly conducive to lofty flights of liter- 
 ary genius. But that was not all. The proprie- 
 tor's other brother, who was a physician, would 
 often bring his "special patients" into my room 
 for examination, and request me to "kindly go 
 into the other room for a few minutes." 
 
 It soon developed also that my duties as 
 [ 233 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 editor had been intended by the proprietor to 
 be as multifarious as were my duties as katib, 
 I was required to keep the accounts, to look 
 after the list of subscribers, attend to a large part 
 of the business correspondence, solicit adver- 
 tisements, do the work of a reporter, and even 
 help fold the papers and prepare them for the 
 mail, besides editing every item which went 
 into the paper. 
 
 In these rather distressing circumstances a 
 philosophical turn of mind came to my rescue. 
 I tried to read the gospel of my destiny in the 
 light of the years, and not the days and months, 
 and to look upon the present difficulties as 
 merely transient. Our enterprise was in its in- 
 fancy, and as a healthy infant its potentiali- 
 ties were great. The path of success and glory 
 most often traverses swamps and deserts, and 
 those who have the vision of ultimate triumph 
 must learn to endure hardships as true soldiers. 
 I thought of what the proprietor had often told 
 me of the poverty and hard struggles of some 
 great American editors at the beginning of their 
 [ 234 ] 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 careers, and often quoted to myself the great 
 saying of Mohammed, "Heaven is under the 
 shadow of swords!" Furthermore, by being 
 obHged to translate the general news from the 
 American newspapers, under the supervision 
 of the proprietor and by the constant aid of the 
 dictionary, I was acquiring a vtry serviceable 
 English vocabulary. 
 
 With such means of consolation in mind I ad- 
 dressed myself to my task, for a whole year, 
 with unreserved devotion and with the deter- 
 mination of a man who was bound to succeed. 
 No Horace Greeley ever wrote editorials with 
 a clearer sense of his own infallibility than I did 
 in the "Kowkab." My objective was no less 
 than to be the disinterested reformer of my 
 people, to whom I directed a series of editorials, 
 brimful of fatherly advice. 
 
 I counted it a great honor also when I was 
 sent to interview Dr. Charles Briggs, professor 
 at Union Theological Seminary, when he was 
 being tried for heresy by the New York Pres- 
 bytery. By the aid of an interpreter I ventured 
 [ 235 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 to ask Dr. Briggs whether he still believed in 
 Christ. The Professor smiled quizzically and 
 answered me with a quotation from the First 
 Epistle of John : ' '* And the blood of Jesus Christ 
 his Son cleanseth us from all sin/" The inter- 
 view was "satisfactory," but I still entertain 
 the suspicion that Dr. Briggs, inwardly, treated 
 my pretentious visit to him as a joke. 
 
 In the autumn of 1892, when Mr. Cleveland 
 was elected President for the second time, I 
 first made the acquaintance of American poli- 
 tics. The fact that that acquaintance was very 
 slight did not prevent me, as an editor and a 
 youth, from making broad claims to knowledge 
 of statecraft. But how I first became a Republi- 
 can remains to me a blank mystery. In so far 
 as I can remember I simply woke up to the un- 
 accountable fact that I was an adherent of the 
 "Grand Old Party." And I do not believe that I 
 am the only Republican who is at a loss to know 
 the incentive which first led him to wear the 
 insignia of his party. Suffice it to say, that I 
 am a Republican still, but with ample discre- 
 [ 236 ] 
 
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 KOWKAB AMERICA 
 The first Arabic newspaper in the Western Hemisphere 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 tionary power. On the night of the election 
 mentioned above I joined an immense crowd 
 of New Yorkers who assembled in front of the 
 buildings of the great daily papers "to watch 
 the returns/' Here again I was happily amazed 
 at the orderliness of the stupendous gathering of 
 people, which seemed to me a glorious vindica- 
 tion of liberty. The comical expressions, the 
 good-natured jeers and shouts of triumph, and 
 the dignified acceptance of defeat were to me 
 a feast of reason. 
 
 Hanging from the uppermost story of the 
 home of one of the newspapers were two lad- 
 ders of equal length, the rounds of each of which 
 represented the exact number of States then 
 in the Union. Immediately beneath the one 
 ladder stood an image of Mr. Harrison, and be- 
 neath the other an image of Mr. Cleveland. 
 For every State vote won by either candidate 
 his image was removed one round higher. With 
 great apprehension I watched the upward prog- 
 ress of the Cleveland image, and when it ap- 
 proached the top of the ladder I concluded that 
 [ 237 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 the country was doomed. What the issues of the 
 campaign were I had no clear idea ; I had only 
 learned from Republican- sources that great 
 national calamities were sure to follow a Demo- 
 cratic victory, and I believed the prophecy. 
 When the returns of the election showed a 
 Cleveland victory, I thought to myself that the 
 American people must have committed some 
 grievous sin for which that victory was the 
 punishment. 
 
 But on the next day after the election an 
 American young man, who happened to come 
 into my office, undertook to explain to me that 
 the cause of Harrison's defeat was not so myste- 
 rious as I had thought. However, my visitor's 
 ideas were expressed in such profound and fault- 
 less English that I could understand but very 
 little of what he said. At short intervals he 
 would say, "Yes, sir, Harrison was beaten be- 
 cause he is in the hands of the monopolists, who 
 grab the people's money and put it in their own 
 pockets." The frequent reiteration of this sen- 
 tence enabled me to apprehend in a general way 
 [ 238 ] 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 what it meant, but I had not the sKghtest know- 
 ledge either of the form or substance of the word 
 "monopoHsts." However, I knew at the time 
 that there was a city in America called Minne- 
 apolis, and, therefore, concluded that the 
 Minneapolists were the highway robbers my 
 visitor was talking about. I have long ago made 
 a sincere and, I believe, sufficient inward apol- 
 ogy to the citizens of the great city of the North- 
 west. 
 
 Unintelligent and superficial though it was, 
 my interest in the political campaign of 1892 
 had an enlarging effect upon me. It was my 
 first great incentive to ask questions about and 
 to idealize the possibilities of American citizen- 
 ship. Again I was moved with stronger convic- 
 tion than ever to renew my appeals in the 
 "Kowkab" to my fellow Syrians to drink the 
 nobler spirit and adopt the customs of free 
 America. 
 
 Contrary, however, to my most confident 
 expectations, the proprietor looked upon my 
 policy with disfavor. He contended that my 
 [ 239 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 bugle-calls to the Syrians to follow the path of 
 American civilization were bound to arouse the 
 suspicion of the Turkish authorities. The " Kow- 
 kab/' he said, was meant to be loyal to the Sul- 
 tan, if for no other reason, because the majority 
 of its subscribers were residents of Turkey. If 
 Abdul Hamid should for any reason stop the 
 circulation of the paper in his empire our whole 
 enterprise must cease to be. The publisher also 
 protested against any show of antagonism to 
 Turkey in our columns, chiefly because his 
 brother held office in one of the Turkish prov- 
 inces, and he had written to our office that the 
 least manifestation of disloyalty on our part 
 might cost him not only his office, but his lib- 
 erty as a citizen. That was a severe disappoint- 
 ment to me. The hand of the Turk was still 
 heavy upon me, even on Pearl Street, New 
 York. 
 
 Apparently the course of my destiny lay in 
 
 another direction than that of journalism. The 
 
 "Kowkab" did not make the forward strides 
 
 I had expected it would. My task as editor 
 
 [ 240 ] 
 
BOOKKEEPER AND EDITOR 
 
 grew harder at the end of the year and less digni- 
 fied, rather than the reverse. Serious differences 
 occurred between the proprietor and the pub- 
 Hsher, which led them one evening to a fist fight. 
 Discord ruled our oflSce, and I concluded to seek 
 new pastures outside New York. By exercising 
 strict economy I had succeeded in paying my 
 debts and buying an overcoat (at a fire-sale) 
 and a new suit of clothes. Othemise I was 
 penniless. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 OUT FROM MY KINDRED 
 
 It should be borne in mind, however, that my 
 decision to depart from New York ahogether 
 was only in a small part the result of my dissat- 
 isfaction with my lot as editor. The real cause 
 lay much deeper. The Syrian colony in New 
 York seemed to me to be simply Syria on a 
 smaller scale. During my stay of nearly eight- 
 een months in it I did not have occasion to 
 speak ten sentences in English. We ate the 
 same dishes, spoke the same language, told the 
 same stories, indulged in the same pleasures, 
 and were torn by the same feuds, as those that 
 had filled our lives on the Eastern shores of the 
 Mediterranean. I seemed to be almost as far 
 from the real life of America as if I had been liv- 
 ing in Beyrout or Tripoli. The only glimpses I 
 had of the higher life of this country came to me 
 through the very few enlightened Syrians who 
 mingled extensively with the better class of 
 
 [ 242 ] 
 
OUT FROM MY KINDRED 
 
 Americans, and who only occasionally visited 
 our colony. 
 
 The sum total of my year-and-a-half s ex- 
 perience in New York convinced me that it was 
 most difficult, if not impossible, for a foreigner 
 to become really Americanized while living in a 
 colony of his own kinsmen. Just as the birth of 
 a new species can never take place without a 
 radical break with the parent stock, so the 
 thorough transformation of a foreigner into 
 an American can never be accomplished with- 
 out the complete departure, inwardly and 
 outwardly, of that individual from his kin- 
 dred. 
 
 The Syrian colony in New York rendered me 
 all the service it could by providing me with a 
 home for about eighteen months among those 
 whose language was my language and whose 
 habits were my habits. Its Oriental atmosphere 
 with its slight Occidental tinge protected me 
 from the dangers of an abrupt transition. Had 
 I been thrust into American society upon my 
 arrival in this country, penniless and without 
 [ 243 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 serviceable knowledge of the English language, 
 the change in environment might have proved 
 too violent for me to endure with any comfort. 
 To me the colony was a habitat so much like 
 the one I had left behind me in Syria that its 
 home atmosphere enabled me to maintain a 
 firm hold on life in the face of the many diffi- 
 culties which confronted me in those days, and 
 just different enough to awaken my curiosity to 
 know more about the surrounding American 
 influences. 
 
 < The "gregarious habits" of foreigners in this 
 country are deplored by those who have the 
 welfare of both the foreigner and America at 
 heart. It is evident to such well-wishers that 
 the congregating of aliens together, especially 
 in the large cities, tends to encourage in them 
 the naturally strong desire to cling to their 
 inherited modes of thought and life, and to make 
 the task of Americanizing them doubly difficult. 
 This inference is substantially correct. Never- 
 theless the fact remains that, but for these "gre- 
 garious habits," a multitude of the less aggres- 
 [ 244 ] 
 
OUT FROM MY KINDRED 
 
 sive foreigners, by being scattered prematurely 
 among an alien population, would very likely 
 lose their bearings, suffer disheartening lone- 
 liness and dejection, and become public charges. 
 The law of the "survival of the fittest'' rules 
 in those "foreign colonies" in American cities, 
 just as it does everywhere else. The multitude 
 of "commoners" furnish the conditions neces- 
 sary to produce the small minority of eager, ag- 
 gressive idealists, whose restless spirits soon 
 break through the barriers of inherited customs 
 and respond with avidity to the challenges of 
 a higher civilization. To such the word America 
 soon takes the form of Opportunity, and is 
 understood in terms of incentive and room for 
 soul expansion. The loose composition of a pop- 
 ulation of many and mutually exclusive nation- 
 alities, the grotesque manners, and the multi- 
 tude of saloons and other haunts of vice and 
 crime in the "lower regions" of American cities, 
 where the foreign colonies are generally located, 
 soon tend to awaken in the mind of that for- 
 eigner, who finds himself yearning for a better 
 
 [ 245 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 order of things, the significant question, Where 
 is America ? 
 
 I often asked myself, in those days, where 
 and how do the real Americans live ? Who are 
 the people who foster and maintain that Ameri- 
 can civilization of which I hear so much, but 
 which I have not yet known? I have seen a 
 multitude of Irish, Italians, Poles, Russians, 
 Chinese, and other human elements which make 
 up the community in which I am living, but 
 where are the Americans ? It seemed to me that 
 in a cosmopolitan city like New York it was 
 well-nigh impossible for a poor foreigner like me 
 to come into helpful contact with its real Ameri- 
 can families. Therefore I would leave the great 
 city and seek the smaller centers of population, 
 where men came in friendly touch with one 
 another, daily. It had been made clear to me 
 that a purely commercial career could not sat- 
 isfy me, that I had a deep longing for something 
 more in the life of America than the mere loaves 
 and fishes, therefore that something would I seek. 
 
 But, as has been already stated, at the end 
 [ 246 ] 
 
OUT FROM MY KINDRED 
 
 of my year-and-a-half's labors in New York, I 
 found myself almost penniless. I had not enough 
 money to carry me two hundred miles from that 
 city. Whatever my theory of the "loaves and 
 fishes" may have been, the fact was that I 
 sorely needed them. 
 
 It so happened that the most intimate friend 
 I had in America at the time was a young man, 
 a graduate of the Syrian Protestant College in 
 Beyrout, who was engaged by the Presbyterian 
 churches of Pittsburg as a missionary among 
 the Syrians in that city. Amin sent me a most 
 urgent invitation and money enough to come 
 to him. He thought his salary would keep us 
 both, until we had matured our plans for the 
 future. We were "to live and die together!'^ 
 Fortune smiled also from another direction. 
 < Several Syrian silk-merchants in New York, 
 learning that I was about to leave the colony 
 and that I was in straitened financial circum- 
 stances, offered to give me all the silk goods I 
 might want to sell in my travels, " to keep me 
 alive until I found a more congenial occupa- 
 
 [ 247 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 tion/* — for which goods I was to pay at my 
 convenience. The selling of silk, or anything 
 else, was really hateful to me, but urgent ne- 
 cessity compelled me to carry with me a small 
 quantity of the fabrics. The Syrian missionar}^ 
 in New York introduced me to the noted Pres- 
 byterian divine. Dr. David Gregg, of Brooklyn, 
 who gave me a letter of recommendation. In 
 compliance with wise advice I went also to Dr. 
 Henry van Dyke, then pastor of the Brick Pres- 
 byterian Church, and requested his indorse- 
 ment of Dr. Gregg's letter. Dr. van Dyke 
 met me very cordially, but felt some hesitancy 
 about giving a recommendation to one who was 
 an entire stranger to him. But I said to him, in 
 my broken English, not to be afraid because 
 " / was very good maUy^ at which I saw him turn 
 his face from me and smile. Reaching to the 
 bookcase behind him he took out a book of a 
 very strange character and asked me whether 
 I could read that. I said "No. This must be 
 Babylon writing.'' Shaking with laughter, he 
 said, " It is shorthand." He wrote on my letter, 
 [ 248 ] 
 
OUT FROM MY KINDRED 
 
 "I join in Dr. Gregg's wish for Mr. Rihbany's 
 success/* and so forth, and dismissed me with 
 a "God bless you.'' 
 
 Armed with those weighty documents, on 
 the strength of which a man of stronger com- 
 mercial instincts than I possessed might have 
 done much business, I started out of New 
 York. Upon my arrival at the Pennsylvania 
 Railroad station to take my first railway trip in 
 America, the luxurious coaches seemed forbid- 
 den to me. Recalling to mind the rough and 
 dingy "third-class" car in which I was shipped 
 from Marseilles to Havre, I thought certainly 
 the plush-seated, mahogany-finished coaches 
 which stood before me were not for penniless 
 foreigners such as I was. Failing to find the 
 humble conveyance I was looking for, I asked 
 a uniformed man, "Which the train to Pitts- 
 burg.^" Pointing to the train which I had in- 
 spected three times, he said, "This." Still 
 afraid of getting into the wrong car, I gazed at 
 the man, who, perceiving my perplexed condi- 
 tion, took me by the arm to the door of one of 
 [ 249 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 those costly coaches and said, "Get in here." 
 I immediately obeyed, and the moving palace 
 carried me to Pittsburg, .where my friend Amin 
 and I were to seek as our fortune the best things 
 in the life of America. 
 
 In Pittsburg, where I sojourned for about 
 two months, Amin and I, like our countrymen 
 of the primitive church in Jerusalem, "had all 
 things common." We abrogated the law of pri- 
 vate property between us altogether. Whether 
 of books, clothing, money, or even letters, there 
 was no "This is mine" and "This is thine"; 
 all that we possessed was ours. Oriental senti- 
 mentalism and brotherly feelings reached their 
 height with us when we vowed that "so long as 
 we both shall live, we will have a common 
 purse and share to the utmost each other's joys 
 and sorrows." In our sharing the one bed and 
 eating our meals at a restaurant on one " twent}^- 
 one-meal ticket " there was nothing particularly 
 interesting to the public. But when we wore 
 one another's clothes, being different in size, we 
 attracted some attention. 
 
 f 2^0 1 
 
OUT FROM MY KINDRED 
 
 Our plan for the future was that we would 
 enter college together at the earliest possible 
 date. Amin, as I have already said, was a grad- 
 uate of the Syrian Protestant College of Bey- 
 rout, Syria, but he was wise enough to suppose 
 that there were "more things in heaven and 
 earth" than he had yet learned, and that a 
 course of study in the higher branches of knowl- 
 edge in one of the leading universities of this 
 country would not, in his case, be superfluous. 
 To secure funds for this worthy purpose we 
 decided to travel in these States, and, wher- 
 ever possible, lecture before churches and so- 
 cieties on the Holy Land, sell goods, seek finan- 
 cial aid by whatever other honorable means, 
 and, as soon as our financial circumstances 
 warranted, apply for admission at that great 
 university which happened at the time to be 
 nearest to us. My friend, who had a very fair 
 knowledge of the English language, was to be 
 the senior member of the firm. He was to ad- 
 dress the large assemblies on Sundays and other 
 occasions, and I, who had never spoken English 
 
 [ 2SI ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 in public, was to screw my courage to the stick- 
 ing-point and address small groups, in parlors 
 and at prayer-meetings. Qur choice of a vocation 
 was to be made while in college, with the assist- 
 ance of our professors. 
 
 But our fine plan was ere long destined to 
 fail, and our fraternal vow to be broken. We 
 started out on our "lecturing" tour in the sum- 
 mer, when the activities of the churches are at 
 their lowest ebb. We encountered the absorb- 
 ing excitement of the World's Fair, which was 
 in progress at Chicago, and plunged into the 
 memorable financial panic of 1893. The public 
 mind was not in tune for lectures on the Holy 
 Land, or any other land, and there was very 
 little money available in the hands of the public 
 to invest in Oriental silks. And what I felt was 
 the severest trial to me was that my beloved 
 friend, Amin, proved decidedly " infirm of pur- 
 pose." Tlie least difficulty discouraged him. 
 He was a complete failure as a public speaker, 
 and whenever he could dispose of a piece of 
 silk, he sold it at cost and spent the money in 
 [ 252 ] 
 
OUT FROM MY KINDRED 
 
 defraying his expenses. Late that summer, ut- 
 terly crushed by the many difficulties which 
 beset our way, he left me, for aye, and joined 
 some members of his family who were at the 
 World's Fair. 
 
 I was left alone battling against a sea of trou- 
 ble. However, I made a resolution which never/ 
 was broken, namely, that, while I longed pas-/ 
 sionately for that unaffected, juvenile warmtli 
 of Syrian friendship, I would enter into no ne\v 
 partnership of any sort with any one of my 
 countrymen. I thought I could hear the same 
 voice which said to my namesake, Abraham, 
 "Get thee out of thy country, and from thy 
 kindred, and from thy father's house, into the 
 land that I will show thee." I renewed my 
 resolution to do my utmost to secure a college 
 education, or in some other way relate myself 
 to the higher life of America. 
 
 Shortly after the departure of my friend 
 Amin, my career as a "silk-seller," which had 
 by no means been an ideal success, came to an 
 end. I certainly lacked to a very large extent 
 
 [ 253 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 the sagacity of the merchant. I did not believe 
 in letting the customer "look out for herself"; 
 I deemed it my duty to guard her interests 
 with scrupulous care. I would point out to the 
 prospective purchaser all the flaws in a piece of 
 silk, in advance, believing that the excellencies 
 were too obvious to be detailed. Whenever I was 
 asked whether the goods were all handmade, I 
 would answer that while I was morally certain 
 that they were, "I could not swear to it," be- 
 cause I had never seen the process with my own 
 eyes. Such conduct was not due to the fact that 
 my honesty never was accustomed to failing, 
 but to my theory that the business I was in was 
 mean enough without lying about it. Conse- 
 quently, the high prices of the goods, coupled 
 with my uncalled-for conscientiousness, were 
 by no means conducive to winning the confi- 
 dence of would-be purchasers and to doing a 
 "rushing business." I returned the goods to 
 the merchant who had been my source of supply 
 in silks during my business career, and decided 
 to pursue my life's ideal as a " lecturer." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 My Struggles with the English language (which 
 have not yet ceased) were at times very hard. 
 It is not at all difficult for me to realize the ago- 
 nizing inward struggles of a person who has lost 
 the power of speech. When I was first com- 
 pelled to set aside my mother-tongue and use 
 English exclusively as my medium of expres- 
 sion, the sphere of my life seemed to shrink to 
 a very small disk. My pretentious purpose of 
 suddenly becoming a lecturer on Oriental cus- 
 toms, in a language in which practically I had 
 never conversed, might have seemed to any one 
 who knew me like an act of faith in the miracu- 
 lous gift of tongues. My youthful desire was 
 not only to inform but to move my hearers. 
 Consequently, my groping before an audience 
 for suitable diction within the narrow limits of 
 my uncertain vocabulary was often pitiable. 
 The exceptions in English grammar seemed 
 
 [ 2SS ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 to be more than the rules. The difference be- 
 tNveen the conventional and the actual sounds 
 of such words as "victuals'' and "colonel" 
 seemed to me to be perfectly scandalous. The 
 letter c is certainly a superfluity in the English 
 language; it is never anything else but either 
 k or s. In my native language, the Arabic, the 
 accent is always put as near the end of the word 
 as possible; in the English, as near the begin- 
 ning as possible. Therefore, in using my adopted 
 tongue, I was tossed between the two extremes 
 and very often " split the difference " by taking 
 a middle course. The sounds of the letters, v^ 
 p, and the hard g, are not represented in the 
 Arabic. They are symbolized in transliteration 
 by the equivalents of /, b, and k. On numer- 
 ous occasions, therefore, and especially when I 
 waxed eloquent, my tongue would mix these 
 sounds hopelessly, to the amused surprise of 
 my hearers. I would say "coal" when I meant 
 "goal," "pig man" for "big man," "buy" for 
 "pie," "ferry" for "very," and vice versa. For 
 some time I had, of course, to think in Arabic 
 [ 256 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 and try to translate my thoughts literally into 
 English, which practice caused me many trou- 
 bles, especially in the use of the connectives. 
 On one occasion, when an American gentleman 
 told me that he was a Presbyterian, and I, re- 
 joicing to claim fellowship with him, sought to 
 say what should have been, "We are brethren 
 in Christ,'' I said. "We are brothers, by Jesus." 
 My Presbyterian friend put his finger on his lip 
 in pious fashion, and, with elevated brows and 
 a most sympathetic smile, said, "That is swear- 
 ing!" 
 
 But in my early struggles with English, I 
 derived much negative consolation from the 
 mistakes Americans made in pronouncing my 
 name. None of them could pronounce it cor- 
 rectly — Rih-ba'-ny — without my assistance. 
 I have been called Rib'-beny, Richbany, Ri- 
 bary, Labomy, Rabonie,and many other names. 
 An enterprising Sunday School superintendent 
 in the Presbyterian Church at Mansfield, Ohio, 
 introduced me to his school by saying, "Now 
 we have the pleasure of listening to Mr. Reho- 
 [ 257 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 boam!" The prefixing of "Mr." to the name 
 of the scion of King Solomon seemed to me 
 to annihilate time and space, and showed me 
 plainly how the past might be brought forward 
 and made to serve the present. 
 
 But my struggles with the technicalities of 
 language were not the only pains of my second 
 birth into the new environment. The social re- 
 adjustments were even more difficult to effect. 
 Coming into the house in Syria, a guest removes 
 his shoes from his feet at the door, but keeps his 
 fez or turban on. It was no easy matter, there- 
 fore, for me, on going into an American home, 
 to realize instantly which extremity to uncover. 
 
 The poetic Oriental mind extends hospitality 
 in a very warm and dramatic manner. The 
 would-be guest, although able and willing to 
 accept an invitation to dinner, expects to be 
 urged repeatedly by the would-be host, to have 
 all his feigned objections overruled, to be even 
 pulled bodily into the house before he gives his 
 consent. By following such tactics in this coun- 
 try, I lost many a precious privilege. The brev- 
 [ 258 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 ity of the American invitation distressed me 
 greatly. Whenever I was told, "We should be 
 much pleased to have you come in and have 
 dinner with us, if you can," I would answer, 
 *'No, thank you ; I cannot possibly come," when 
 I had it in mind all the time that I would gladly 
 accept if they would only urge me. But they 
 would let me go ! They would take me at my 
 word (as they should not do, I thought, in such 
 matters), to my great disappointment. It was 
 not very long, however, before I became on this 
 point thoroughly Americanized. However, eat- 
 ing butter on bread, dessert with every meal, and 
 sitting in rocking-chairs seemed to me to be 
 riotous luxuries. It took me about three years 
 to become accustomed to these seeming super- 
 fluities. It would require six now to make me 
 give them up. 
 
 The prominence of woman in domestic and 
 social affairs seemed to me, when I first came in 
 close touch with American society, a strange 
 and unnatural phenomenon. While in Syria, 
 contrary to the view which generally prevails 
 [ 259 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 in this country, the woman is not considered a 
 slave by the man, yet in all important domestic 
 and social matters she is -looked upon as only 
 his silent partner. The American woman is by 
 no means silent ; she finds it neither convenient 
 nor necessary to assume such an attitude. 
 
 The first opportunity I had of making close 
 observation of the social position of the Ameri- 
 can wom^an was at the home of a Methodist 
 minister where I proved sensible and fortunate 
 enough to accept "without controversy'* an 
 invitation to dinner. His wife presided at the 
 table with so much grace and dignity that my 
 astonishment at the supreme authority she 
 exercised on the occasion was deeply tinged with 
 respect. How harmonious the husband and wife 
 seemed ! What mutual regard ! What delicacy 
 of behavior toward each other! But I could not 
 avoid asking, subjectively, "Is all this really 
 genuine t Does this man treat his wife in this 
 manner always, or only when they have com- 
 pany t Why, my host seems to be in the hands 
 of his wife like the clay in the hands of the pot- 
 [ 260 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 ter! Why should a woman be given so much 
 latitude ? " and so forth. 
 
 When, later in the evening, upon retiring, 
 the lady said to her husband, "Good-night, 
 dear,'* and kissed him in my presence, the act 
 seemed to me distressingly unseemly. It is no 
 longer distressing to me. 
 
 It should not be counted against an Oriental 
 that he is unable in a very short period of time 
 to invest such phases of conduct with high ideal- 
 ism. If his instincts are normal, intimate asso- 
 ciations with the better class of Americans can- 
 not fail to change his sentiments and clarify his 
 Vision. Not many years will be required to re- 
 veal to him the elevating beauty of a woman's 
 being the queen of her home, with her husband 
 as a knight-errant by her side ; to teach him that 
 America, as the heir to the noblest traditions 
 of northwestern Europe, has discovered that 
 which neither the Oriental peoples, ancient 
 Egypt, Greece, nor Rome succeeded in discover- 
 ing, namely, that true civilization can arise only 
 from a mutual regard of the equal rights, and, 
 [ 261 1 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 within the family circle, the mutual love of 
 man, woman, and child. 
 
 All such discipline, hoWever, was not to be 
 compared with the economic difficulties which 
 beset my way, put my optimism to the severest 
 test, and seriously threatened my stoutest reso- 
 lutions. In my travels westward, the expres- 
 sions, "These are very hard times,'' "The sum- 
 mer is a dull season for the churches," "Not 
 many people care for lectures this time of 
 year," tortured my hearing everywhere. It was 
 so difficult for me to secure money enough to 
 keep soul and body together. In Oil City, 
 Pennsylvania, I longed for the first time for the 
 "flesh-pots of Egypt" and wished that I had 
 never left Syria. In my search for a cheap lodg- 
 ing-place, I was directed by a police officer to 
 an old house which seemed to me the symbol 
 of desolation. An elderly lady, who appeared 
 very economical in smiling, "showed me into 
 my room" and disappeared. As my weary arm 
 dropped the valise inside the door, every sus- 
 taining power in me seemed to give way. Sobs 
 f 262 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 and tears poured forth simultaneously with, 
 "Why did I ever leave Syria?" "Why did I 
 not stay in New York ? " "Is this what America 
 has for me?'' and other questions with which 
 I besieged the deaf ears of a lonely world. The 
 fact that my hostess served no meals afforded 
 me an excellent excuse to ask her to direct me 
 to a "real" boarding-house. She did so, and I 
 transferred my headquarters to a more cheery 
 dwelling, where the landlady smiled graciously 
 and generously, and the presence of fellow 
 guests helped to lighten my burdens. 
 
 The veiling of the future from mortal eyes 
 is, I believe, a divine provision whose purpose 
 seems to be to tap the springs of heroism in 
 human nature and to equip the soul with the 
 wings of hope. Nevertheless, this blessed mys- 
 tery has its drawbacks. Prolonged uncertainty 
 of the future in those days of loneliness and 
 poverty threatened to sink the goal of life be- 
 low the horizon and make of me a wanderer in 
 a strange land. The alternation of life between 
 the tw^o extremes, feast and famine, is never 
 [ 263 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 conducive to connected planning and constancy 
 of endeavor. 
 
 At Columbus, Ohio, I spent a whole week in 
 strenuous but utterly fruitless endeavor to 
 secure opportunities to earn some money. Hav- 
 ing had to pay in advance for my week's keep at 
 a very frugal boarding-house, I had only ten 
 cents left, which I put in the "collection plate," 
 at a Salvation Army meeting. To be penniless 
 was not entirely new to me, but as the week 
 drew to a close, the question where I was going 
 to secure money enough with which to leave 
 Columbus became terribly oppressive. There 
 was one more venture for me to make. I had 
 the name of a Methodist minister, the Rev. 
 John C. Jackson, pastor of the Third Avenue 
 Methodist Episcopal Church, whom I had not 
 yet seen during my sojourn in the capital of Ohio. 
 My courageous plan was to call on this clergy- 
 man and request him either to give me the 
 chance to lecture in his church for a small finan- 
 cial compensation or to lend me money enough 
 to enable me to leave Columbus. The distance 
 [ 264 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 from my boarding-house to his residence meas- 
 ured, if I may trust my memory, twenty-four 
 blocks, which I walked in v/hat seemed to me 
 the hottest day in the calendar of the years. 
 
 My general appearance when I arrived at the 
 parsonage was not exactly what I should call 
 a clear title to confidence and the securing of 
 credit. Nevertheless, I made my application 
 with a creditable show of firmness, placing in 
 the hands of the clergyman, who was just re- 
 covering from a long illness, my letters of re- 
 commendation. He disposed of my request to 
 lecture in his church by saying, "There is no 
 possible chance for the present.'' When I ap- 
 plied for a loan of five dollars, his pale face 
 lighted up with a short-lived smile as he asked, 
 **Do you expect you will get it?" "Y-e-s," I 
 answ^ered, "and to return it, also." "When 
 would you return it?" he asked again. Falling 
 back upon the Biblical language of my kins- 
 men, I said, "If God prolong my life and 
 prosper me, I will pay you." Assuming the 
 attitude of perplexed charity, Mr. Jackson said, 
 [ 265 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 "I do not know whether you are the man to 
 whom these letters pertain, nor, if you are the 
 man, how you secured them in the first place ; 
 but I am going to try you. Here is five dollars." 
 "Certainly God has not left this world,'' I said 
 inwardly, as I received the money from the 
 good man's hand. It was only a week thence 
 when God did prosper me just enough so that 
 I was able to return to Mr. Jackson his money 
 and I received a letter from him (which I still 
 treasure) thanking me for my "promptness" 
 and wishing me all kinds of success. 
 
 The next point I touched at after leaving 
 Columbus was Mount Vernon, Ohio, where I 
 was much cheered, chiefly by the kindness of 
 the Presbyterian minister and his gracious wife. 
 And it was at Mount Vernon that I learned my 
 first memory lesson in patriotism. Soon after 
 my arrival in that town I strayed into the pub- 
 lic square where stands a fine soldiers' monu- 
 ment. It seems to me that my attention had 
 never been strongly challenged by a similar 
 object in this country before I reached that 
 f 266 1 
 
SOLDIERS MONUMENT, MOUNT VERNON, OHIO 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 small Ohio city. Certainly I must have seen 
 soldiers' monuments in other towns, but was 
 not ready to respond to their appeal. Here, as 
 soon as my eyes beheld the significant memo- 
 rial, I forgot for the moment my weariness and 
 poverty and yielded myself to the mighty chal- 
 lenge of the thought that I was in a country 
 where men died willingly and intelligently for 
 their flag and all it symbolized, and that what 
 the flag did symbolize were ideals worth dying 
 for. I was chained to the spot until I had com- 
 mitted to memory the inscription chiseled on 
 one side of the granite base, and which read — 
 
 OUR COUNTRY 
 
 By that dread name we wave the sword on high, 
 And swear for her to live — for her to die. 
 
 These vital w^ords have clung to my memory, 
 in the exact form quoted above, for over 
 twenty years. When I thought of including 
 them in this story, fearing that my recollection 
 of them might be incorrect, I wrote to the com- 
 mander of the Grand Army post of Mount 
 [ 267 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 Vernon, requesting him to send me an exact 
 copy of the inscription, and upon comparing it 
 with my memory picture I found that I was 
 only sHghtly incorrect in that I had in the first 
 Hne the word "In" in place of*' By," and the 
 word " lift " in place of " wave." 
 
 Perhaps the choicest of the events of my 
 Wildemess-of-Sinai discipline since I had left 
 New York, occurred at Elyria, Ohio. I reached 
 that town late in the evening with a very small 
 sum of money in my purse — something less 
 than two dollars. The severe economic strug- 
 gles of the immediate past had taught me to be 
 abnormally cautious in spending money. Fail- 
 ing to secure accommodation at either of two 
 cheap boarding-houses in the town, I ventured 
 into a hotel with very noticeable timidity. As 
 soon, however, as the clerk told me that my 
 lodging there would cost me seventy-five cents, 
 I departed. I had the name of a prominent 
 minister in the town on whom I thought I would 
 call first, and, if he promised me the oppor- 
 tunity to lecture in his church, I might feel free 
 f 268 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 to indulge in the luxury of lodging at a hotel. 
 
 My experience with that divine was not 
 pleasant enough to permit of the mention of 
 his name and denomination. When I stated 
 my case to him, he assumed a decidedly com- 
 bative attitude. I was so weary that I should 
 have been most grateful for a few minutes' rest 
 in one of the many upholstered chairs which 
 graced the living-room, but the elderly gentle- 
 man stood in the door and kept me standing 
 in the hall, while he quizzed me as follows: — 
 
 "Did you say that your purpose in lecturing 
 in the churches is to secure funds to go to col- 
 lege?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I doubt it. I have seen many fellows 
 such as you. What college do you expect to 
 enter .^" 
 
 "I do not yet know, but it will be some good 
 college." 
 
 "You don't even know what college you ex- 
 pect to enter ? I can say one thing for all of you 
 * traveling students.' You are very cunning." 
 [ 269 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 " But I can show good letters of recommen- 
 dation from ." 
 
 ** It would do no good. Keep your letters to 
 yourself. I have seen many such documents." 
 
 "Now, Dr. W., all I ask for is that you give 
 me the chance to prove to you that I am an 
 honest man, for I feel badly hurt by your 
 words." 
 
 "Do not trouble yourself about that. At 
 any rate, I am sorry I can do nothing for you. 
 Good-night, sir!" 
 
 The unexpected assault upon my integrity 
 and veracity intensified the darkness of the 
 night into which I plunged again, wounded to 
 the heart. It was distressing enough to be 
 homeless, weary, and in want; but to be ac- 
 cused of being a swindler seemed to over- 
 shadow all other trials. But hope triumphed 
 over despair and pointed me to the best which 
 was yet to be. I returned to the railway station 
 with the intention of spending the night there. 
 But the ticket agent thought differently. His 
 "orders" required him to lock the doors of the 
 [ 270 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 station at a certain hour in the night, leaving 
 no transient lodgers inside. I moved from the 
 station to the park and stretched my weary- 
 mortal coil on one of the benches. The air was 
 balmy, and I had as good a pillow (the iron arm 
 of the bench) as my countryman of old, Jacob, 
 had at Peniel. There I would spend the night 
 under the beneficent heavens, meditating while 
 awake upon the time when I should close the 
 doors of some great university behind me, de- 
 parting not thence until I had become a full- 
 fledged scholar. 
 
 At about midnight, the sequel of the balmy 
 air which enabled me to sleep in the park com- 
 fortably without extra covering arrived. The 
 heavens wept over me large generous tears 
 which drove me to a pretentious hotel near by, 
 where the '* night clerk" met me in a stern, busi- 
 nesslike manner and most cruelly charged me 
 fifty cents for half a night's lodging in the 
 cheapest room he had. 
 
 In my Arabic diary of that period, under 
 date of December 29, 1893, 1 find the following 
 [ 271 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 entry which shows what impressions that event- 
 ful year left on me, and indicates also my turn 
 of mind and hope for the* future: — 
 
 "I shall always remember the events of 1893 
 as distressing and full of bitter pain. At times 
 I really longed for death and loved it. Many 
 were my difficulties and trials, and I had no 
 home where to rest and no real friends to whom 
 to unburden my heart. But God has mysteri- 
 ous purposes beyond our power to know. He 
 has sustained me and led me safely through all 
 my difficulties. It is good that I have been 
 taught by my distresses to better appreciate 
 the comforts of life. Now there is light on my 
 pathway, and I see myself moving steadily 
 toward better things. My hope that the Most 
 High is leading me to that which He knows is 
 best for me and pleasing to Him grows stronger 
 from day to day, and I shall yet reach my goal, 
 by his help, and preach to the world his pure 
 and undefiled religion." 
 
 Yes, life's smiles are, on the whole, much 
 more numerous than its frowns, and, notwith- 
 [ 272 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 standing all its afflictions, this world is keyed 
 to goodness. My first appearance before an 
 American audience occurred at New Brighton, 
 Pennsylvania, where, if I remember correctly, 
 a minister of the United Presbyterian Church 
 permitted me to speak on the Holy Land at his 
 prayer-meeting. As the meeting (which was 
 not of the ordinary drowsy type) progressed, 
 my whole soul said, "Lord, it is good to be 
 here." The minister, who was past middle age 
 and wore a most benignant countenance, con- 
 ducted the service with such simple dignity and 
 sweetness of spirit that the whole scene was 
 transformed into a benediction. His lesson was 
 from Acts xii, the story of Peter's miraculous 
 release from prison. I shall never forget the 
 sweet, informing, and persuasive modulations 
 of that preacher's voice as he sought to show 
 that although the band of Christians who were 
 gathered together at the house of Mary, the 
 mother of John, were praying for the release of 
 the imprisoned apostle, yet when they were 
 told by the damsel, Rhoda, that Peter stood at 
 [ 273 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 the door, they were afraid to open and receive 
 the answer to their prayer. "They prayed God 
 to bring Peter to them;" said the preacher. 
 "God did bring the apostle to the door, but 
 those praying Christians were afraid to open 
 and say, * Come in ! ' " 
 
 I have never been able to ascertain the initial 
 cause of my decision to enter the ministry, nor 
 to point to the exact time when I was "called" 
 to it. What I am certain of, however, is that 
 the influences of such occasions as the one men- 
 tioned above did more than any others I know 
 to lead me to the pulpit. It was the virile and 
 irresistible leaven of the characters of those 
 Christians of the various denominations, who 
 did not so much profess correct creeds as reflect 
 the life of the Master in their own lives, which 
 led me in a mysterious way to add to my de- 
 cision to enter college the decision to make my 
 life-work the holy ministry of religion. 
 
 When I stood up to address the meeting, the 
 cordial, sympathetic attitude of the audience 
 soon calmed the violent beating of m.y heart 
 [ 274 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 and stopped the knocking of my knees together, 
 but it had no appreciable effect on my gramjnar 
 and diction. The nouns and the verbs often 
 stood at cross-purposes in my remarks, and the 
 adjectives and adverbs interchanged positions, 
 regardless of consequences. My impromptu 
 literal translation of Arabic into English greatly 
 puzzled the minds of my hearers, and, at times, 
 it was difficult even for me to know fully what 
 I was saying or wanted to say. Notwdthstand- 
 ing all that, however, I managed in closing to 
 shift from Syria to America and eulogize George 
 Washington. The minister asked for a contri- 
 bution for me to help me go to college. As my 
 engagement to speak had not been made known 
 to my hearers before they came to the meeting, 
 many of them were unprepared to give; the 
 contribution was therefore small, but the meet- 
 ing was rich in good things, and I went away 
 in a happy and optimistic frame of mind. 
 
 If any one had told me on that evening in 
 New Brighton that less than three years later 
 I was to become the regular minister of an 
 
 [ 275 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 American congregation and a "stump speaker" 
 in favor of the "gold standard," I should have 
 considered him a very flighty day-dreamer. 
 But America, the mother of modem wonders, 
 began to reveal itself to me and in me. I soon 
 became possessed by the consciousness that the 
 whole country was a vast university which 
 offered a thousand incentives to progress; that 
 I had the privilege of being bom again in a land 
 which more than any other on our planet estab- 
 lishes the truth of the New Testament promise, 
 "Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye 
 shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto 
 you." 
 / The Oriental, as a mle, lives his life in a gen- 
 eral way, allowing a large portion of its area 
 to remain rather chaotic. The American lives 
 his life in detail, with order as its basic princi- 
 ple. I was very curious to know, after leaving 
 New York and Pittsburg, how the smaller 
 towns of America would impress me. Were 
 they as insignificant and as wanting in enter- 
 prise and culture compared with those large 
 [ 276 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 cities, as the Syrian towns compared with Bey- 
 rout and Damascus ? I was rapturously amazed 
 to find every small city and town to be New 
 York on a smaller scale. Each town had its 
 ''Main Street" and "Washington Street" and 
 many other streets. Each town had its town 
 hall, post-office, banks, newspapers, schools, 
 and churches. And, oh, the home libraries, the 
 musical instruments, the pictures on the walls, 
 the "striking" clocks, and, above all, that 
 idealism which makes the American woman, 
 after doing her housework, "dress up for the 
 afternoon," dash a little powder on her nose, 
 and turn to her books or her piano. Certainly, 
 such a nation is not "sunk deep in crass ma- 
 terialism." 
 
 I was told while in Syria that in America 
 money could be picked up everywhere. That 
 was not true. But I found that infinitely bet- 
 ter things than money — knowledge, freedom, 
 self-reliance, order, cleanliness, sovereign hu- 
 man rights, self-government, and all that these 
 great accomplishments imply — can be picked 
 
 [ '^ll ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 up everywhere in America by whosoever ear- 
 nestly seeks them. And those among Americans 
 who are exerting the largest influence toward 
 the solution of the "immigration problem" are, 
 in my opinion, not those who are writing books 
 on "good citizenship," but those who stand 
 before the foreigner as the embodiment of these 
 great ideals. 
 
 The occasions on which I was made to feel 
 that I was a foreigner — an alien — were so 
 rare that they are not worth mentioning. My 
 purpose in life, and the large warm heart of 
 America which opens wide to every person who 
 aspires to be a good and useful citizen, made me 
 forget that there was an " immigration problem " 
 within the borders of this great Commonwealth. 
 When I think of the thousand noble impulses 
 which were poured into my soul in my early 
 years in this country by good men and women 
 in all the walks of life ; when I think of the many 
 homes in which I was received with my uncomely 
 appearance and with my crude manners, where 
 women who were visions of elegance served me 
 [ 278 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 as an honored guest, of the many counsels of 
 men of affairs which fed my strength and 
 taught me the lasting value of personal achieve- 
 ments, and that America is the land of, not only 
 great privileges, but great responsibilities, I 
 feel like saying (and I do say whenever I have 
 the opportunity) to every foreigner, "When 
 you really know what America is, when you are 
 willing to share in its sorrows, as well as its joys, 
 then you will cease to be a whining malcontent, 
 will take your harp down from the willows, and 
 will not call such a country *a strange land.'" 
 
 Of all the means of improvement other than 
 personal associations w ith good men and women, 
 the churches and the public schools gripped 
 most strongly at the strings of my heart. Upon 
 coming into town, the sight of the church spires 
 rising above the houses and the trees as wit- 
 nesses to man's desire for God, always gave me 
 inward delight. True, religion in America lacks 
 to a certain extent the depth of Oriental mysti- 
 cism; yet it is much more closely related than 
 in the Orient to the vital issues of "the life which 
 [ 279 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 now is." Often would I go and stand on the 
 opposite side of the street from a pubUc-school 
 building at the hour of dismissal (and this pas- 
 sion still remains with me) just for the purpose 
 of feasting my eyes on seeing the pupils pour 
 out in squads, so clean and so orderly, and seem- 
 ingly animated by all that is noblest in the life 
 of this great nation. My soul would revel in the 
 thought that no distinctions were made in those 
 temples of learning between Jew and Gentile, 
 Protestant and Catholic, the churched and the 
 unchurched; all enjoyed the equality of privi- 
 lege, shared equally in the intellectual and moral 
 feast, and drank freely the spirit of the noblest 
 patriotism. 
 
 My progress in the English language was as 
 surprising to me as it was delightful. When I 
 first met Edward Everett Hale in Boston, in 
 1903, the first thing he said to me when I 
 slipped my hand into his ponderous palm was, 
 ''How in the world have you managed to speak 
 English so well?" 
 
 *'I do not know," was my answer, 
 f 280 1 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 I really did not. It is wonderful what even 
 a few months can do to equip with Hnguistic 
 facihties a person who Hstens with his ears and 
 his understanding alike. The vocabulary of 
 every succeeding day shames that of the day 
 before. My being entirely cut off from using 
 the Arabic language was my greatest aid in 
 acquiring English. My vocabulary, which has 
 become varied and flexible enough for my pur- 
 poses, was not acquired from a forced study of 
 the classics. It poured into me from the lips of 
 living men in all the walks of life. I listened 
 with eager sympathy to the words of preach- 
 ers, merchants, artisans, farmers, hack-drivers, 
 housewives, and others who spoke as they felt 
 in dealing with the various issues of life. 
 
 I owe a great debt to the live language of the 
 English Bible. On occasions, I would open my 
 Arabic Bible at church and follow the Scripture 
 lesson as read by the minister, and thus learn 
 what the English words meant. On other occa- 
 sions, I would open my English Bible and learn 
 how the words were pronounced. Thus the Eng- 
 [ 281 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 Ilsh has come to me saturated and mellowed 
 with feeling. The phrases of the English Bible 
 are elemental human sentiments made tangible. 
 
 It was in Chillicothe, Ohio, that I had my first 
 glimpse into American history. The "hard 
 times'' did not prevent me from buying **A 
 Brief History of the United States/' the con- 
 tents of which I virtually devoured. My in- 
 structors were my fellow guests at a comfortable 
 and respectable boarding-house. I would retire 
 into my room, ponder the annals of this mod- 
 em ''chosen people" until I reached a passage 
 whose words proved too big for my mind to 
 grasp (which was often the case), when I would 
 go out and demand light on the subject from the 
 first guest I happened to meet. A physician's 
 wife and the genial gray-haired proprietor of 
 the boarding-house manifested deep interest 
 in me and were ever ready to aid my strenuous 
 endeavor to become *'an enlightened American 
 citizen." 
 
 The proprietor, who, I believe, had fought in 
 [ 282 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 the Civil War, would relate to me events of that 
 great conflict in such a droll manner that my 
 study of history under his supervision was a 
 supreme delight. 
 
 "Yes," he would say, "we did hang Jeff 
 Davis on a sour-apple tree, or we would have 
 done it but for our respectability. We whipped 
 those fellows down there pretty soundly. We 
 spanked them so hard that I am certain they 
 never will do it again." 
 
 But the genial proprietor enlightened me on 
 other subjects than that of the Civil War. He 
 gave me my first real lesson in English on table- 
 manners. One day he asked me, "How do you 
 like our grub?" "What is your grub, sir.?" I 
 asked. With a mischievous smile which scarcely 
 agitated his weeping-willow mustache and thick 
 beard, he said, "It is the things we eat, you 
 know. And — and — it is part of good manners 
 to show — in — in — some way that we like 
 the grub, just to please our host." That was to 
 me a most welcome bit of information. I had 
 been greatly at a loss to know how to express 
 [ 283 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 in the English language my appreciation of a 
 good dinner. Certainly now I had no longer an 
 excuse to omit such a cultured formality. It 
 was only a short time thereafter that I hap- 
 pened to dine with a Lutheran minister whose 
 gracious wife served for the occasion a bounteous 
 and elegantly appointed dinner. I could hardly 
 wait for the proper moment to express my great 
 appreciation of the repast. When the moment 
 came, I turned to my hostess with cheerful 
 dignity and said, "Mrs. F., I have greatly en- 
 joyed your grub.'' But when her husband 
 laughed so that he fell from his chair, I suspected 
 that my instruction in table-manners at Chilli- 
 cothe was somewhat defective. 
 
 It was in the little town of Elmore, Ohio, in 
 the early autumn of 1893, that I felt for the first 
 time that I could hold the attention of an Amer- 
 ican audience. There I was permitted to ad- 
 dress a union meeting of the churches in the 
 Presbyterian Church on a Sunday evening. The 
 little building was crowded to the doors. My 
 subject was "Turkey and America Contrasted." 
 [ 284 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 I do not know what did it, but my auditors were 
 so deeply moved that they interrupted m.e twice 
 with loud and prolonged applause, regardless of 
 the fact that the service was essentially religious, 
 the time Sunday, and the place a Presbyterian 
 Church. At the close of the meeting, the minis- 
 ter of the church with a cordial handshake re- 
 inforced my ambition with the generous pro- 
 phecy, "My brother, whatever else you might, 
 or might not, become, you are going to make a 
 very effective public speaker. Keep right on." 
 
 Well, I am still keeping on. 
 
 It was in that little town also that I first 
 heard "America" sung. The line "Land where 
 my fathers died " stuck in my throat. I envied 
 every person in that audience who could sing 
 it truthfully. For years afterward, whenever 
 I tried to sing those words, I seemed to myself 
 to be an intruder. At last a new light broke upon 
 my understanding. At last I was led to realize 
 that the fathers of my new and higher self did 
 live and die in America. I was bom in Syria as 
 a child, but I was bom in America as a man. 
 [ 285 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 All those who fought for the freedom I enjoy, 
 for the civic ideals I cherish, for the simple but 
 lofty virtues of the typical American home 
 which I love, were my fathers! Therefore, I could 
 sing the words "Land where my fathers died " 
 with as much truth and justice as the words, 
 "Land of the pilgrim's pride/' 
 
 From Elmore I proceeded to Wauseon, Ohio, 
 a town which numbered then about three thou- 
 sand inhabitants, and where a new chapter was 
 opened in my life's history. Upon my arrival 
 in this town, I called on the Congregational 
 minister, and, finding him willing to open his 
 church for me to lecture, requested him to di- 
 rect me to some "Christian boarding-house." 
 The friendly divine conducted me to a private 
 house where lived two widowed sisters who had 
 room and time enough to care for a few of the 
 "good class " of boarders. I was not long in that 
 modest home before I discovered that the two 
 ladies were lovers of good books and profoundly 
 religious. Through the kinship of our spirits, 
 and upon hearing my story and learning of my 
 [ 286 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 life's purpose, they became deeply interested in 
 me. They said they seemed to perceive that I 
 had "a bright and useful future" before me and 
 they wished to share in its realization. 
 
 The two good sisters, Mrs. Susan Baldwin 
 and Mrs. Rosa Kolb, were not rich in this 
 world's goods. But they had a home, and, so 
 long as I had none, I was most cordially in- 
 vited to share that home with them as a younger 
 brother. There I might return from my travels 
 and find sympathetic friends ready to aid me, 
 by their counsel and other friendly services, to 
 conquer my difficulties and get nearer to my 
 life's goal. In my wanderings up to that time, 
 I had not lacked words of encouragement and 
 inspiration which seemed to pour out from the 
 heart of a nation whose spirit is friendliness and 
 whose genius is progress. Notwithstanding all 
 that, however, my being tossed about by every 
 wind of difficulty while I had nowhere to lay 
 my head, had begun to tell on me. Down be- 
 neath my conscious resolution a counter-current 
 had set in. A keen yearning for friends and a 
 [ 287 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 fixed abode (which is strongest in the Oriental 
 nature) would at intervals flood my soul with 
 sadness. No doubt that friendly, though hum- 
 ble, home in Bethany furthered mightily the 
 trium.ph of the Gospel. 
 
 The gracious, friendly offer of the two sisters 
 came to me as a most timely reinforcement. 
 When I think how my strength and courage 
 were renewed and my cup of inspiration was 
 refilled by their manifold and never-failing 
 services to me, I realize most clearly that we do 
 not need to be rich in order to be helpful, nor 
 known to fame in order to be inspiring. I cannot 
 contemplate what success I have achieved or 
 might achieve in life without feeling that but 
 for the influence of those two good women the 
 story of my life might have been entirely differ- 
 ent from what it is. 
 
 It was in the Congregational Church of Wau- 
 seon that I preached my first real sermon in 
 America. After the manner of all youthful 
 preachers, I chose a subject which might have 
 staggered the powers of a Beecher or a Phillips 
 [ 288 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 Brooks. My bold purpose was, first, to prove 
 the existence of God ; second, to show how the 
 soul was related to Him; third, to persuade my 
 hearers to believe that an irreligious person was 
 only an animal, and had no eternal life in him. 
 I had constructed my premises, drawn my 
 conclusions, and planned my final assault in 
 Arabic, and trusted the reproduction of all 
 this formidable array of ideas, in English, to 
 the "inspiration of the pulpit.'' I trust that my 
 hearers still believed in God, notwithstanding 
 all my toilsome, painful, and unintelligible ef- 
 forts to prove his existence. The effect of the 
 *' sermon" was indicated to me at the close of 
 the service by a remark which I overheard a 
 lady make to another. " Poor fellow," said the 
 charitable woman, "in all probability he had 
 an idea, but certainly not the language to ex- 
 press it." 
 
 Nor did I fare better four years later when I 
 
 preached again in that same church, after I had 
 
 been the regular pastor of a church for more 
 
 than a year, and had been told that I did 
 
 [ 289 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 preach acceptable sermons. On this occasion, 
 while walking home with a friend after the serv- 
 ice, he turned to me, and^^with a mischievous 
 smile, said, "Do you remember, when about 
 four years ago you preached here, that it was 
 said you probably had an idea, but not the 
 words to express it?" "Yes," I answered, ex- 
 pecting a veritable psalm of praise for my later 
 achievement. "Well," he said, "this morning 
 it was just the reverse! " 
 
 It was while at my newly found home in 
 Wauseon that I first became deeply interested 
 in the history of the Civil War, and began to 
 see clearly what this country, which we new- 
 comers found ready for us with all its unparal- 
 leled privileges, cost in blood and treasure to 
 preserve its unity and guard its institutions. 
 My soul was fired with admiration for the de- 
 votion, heroism, and endurance of the Ameri- 
 can volunteer soldier, of both the North and 
 the South. And, oh, the story of Abraham Lin- 
 coln ! How it opened every vein of sympathy 
 in my nature and awakened in me deep, almost 
 [ 290 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 religious reverence for the memory of that 
 "rich and various man." As I read and re-read 
 the records of his journey from a log cabin to 
 the White House, Lincoln seemed to me to 
 be the noblest human example this side the 
 Crucifixion, and the supreme vindication of 
 democracy. 
 
 And now to say that my enthusiasm for the 
 martyr president has been sobered down and 
 relieved of its high coloring, does by no means 
 indicate a reversal of my youthful estimate of 
 his worth. No; Abraham Lincoln remains to 
 me as one of the great world-builders and 
 saviors of humanity. But my present opinion 
 is that, if humanity is not to be pronounced 
 a failure, no one individual can be so good above 
 all other individuals, nor of sufficiently inclu- 
 sive greatness as to be called the noblest human 
 example and the supreme vindication of democ- 
 racy. I find the vindication of democracy not 
 only in the career of Lincoln, but also in the 
 million men who left their occupations and re- 
 sponded to his call to arms to defend a national 
 [ 291 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 ideal; I find it in the fortitude and sacrificing 
 love of the countless American mothers, wives, 
 and sisters, who bade their men go forth and 
 give their fullest measure of devotion to the 
 homes and altars of their country. I find the 
 supreme vindication of democracy in this na- 
 tion's survival of the shocks of the greatest civil 
 war in history ; in that great historic triumph of 
 reason over the passions in a reunited North 
 and South; in America's millions of happy 
 homes ; in its multitudes of schools and libra- 
 ries, which are "free to all," and in the fact 
 that its power of cohesion is neither that of 
 standing armies, nor yet of superimposed laws, 
 but the intelligence of its citizens and m^utual 
 good will among them. I find the vindication 
 of democracy in the marvelous assimilative 
 powers of America through which hosts of 
 aliens are enfranchised in peace and freedom, 
 intellectually, politically, and socially; in the 
 fact that one may travel through the whole 
 vast territory called the United States, the 
 home of a hundred million souls, without en- 
 [ 292 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 coimtering a custom-house, a "frontier guard," 
 or a constabulary squad ; in the American citi- 
 zen's love for fair play and his deep conviction 
 that right only makes might. 
 
 In the State of Indiana I first came into close 
 touch with the well-known religious "revivals," 
 and formed a clear idea of what Protestantism 
 calls "conversion." I was deeply impressed by 
 the zeal with which the Christians labored to 
 bring "sinners" to Christ, and the fact that 
 during a revival the religious idea loomed 
 highest in the community. But I must say it 
 was not long before I developed a decided dis- 
 like to the methods of professional "Evangel- 
 ists," whose message contained infinitely more 
 fear of hell-fire than love for the Christ-life, and 
 to whom the clearest evidence of the religious 
 interest in a community was the size of the col- 
 lection. 
 
 One of my first experiences (and it was rather 
 grim) at a revival took place in the town of 
 Kokomo, Indiana. The meetings were being 
 [ 293 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 held in a Methodist church, but I am not cer- 
 tain whether it was the regular Methodists or 
 some other branch. Toward the close of the 
 meeting, which I attended, tearful sentiments 
 converted the service into a veritable Babel. 
 Presently a woman who, as I was told later 
 "got the power,*' sprang up from her seat and, 
 shouting, "Glory to Jesus!" dashed about, em- 
 bracing whosoever came in her way. I re- 
 mained reasonably collected until I saw her 
 heading for me with open arms. Just think of 
 a Syrian youth with all his psychological ante- 
 cedents with regard to woman, in such a situa- 
 tion! I instantly decided that I would not be 
 embraced, even though the motive of my pur- 
 suer was purely spiritual. I slipped precipi- 
 tately behind a large pillar; the lady, seemingly 
 not particular whom she embraced, bestowed 
 her affections on more courageous worshipers, 
 while I effected my escape. I never returned 
 to those meetings. 
 
 In contrast with the above experience, I will 
 relate another I had in Columbia City of the 
 [ 294 ] 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 same State. Through the kindness of its min- 
 ister, I was permitted to mount the pulpit of 
 the Presbyterian Church on a Sunday morn- 
 ing and give a talk on Syria. I spied in the audi- 
 ence a gentleman of a penetrating but kindly 
 eye who seemed to listen with rapt attention. 
 The next morning the minister of the church 
 told me that a gentleman who had heard me 
 the day before wished to see me at his office ; 
 that he was a lawyer and a "fine gentleman" 
 by the name of Marshall. The minister went 
 with me to the law office, introduced me to the 
 gentleman, whom I recognized as the good 
 listener I had seen at the church, and departed, 
 leaving us alone. Mr. Marshall asked me a few 
 questions about my birthplace and my plans 
 for the future, and I answered that my plans 
 were to become a good American citizen, and, 
 if possible, a preacher. He smiled in a very 
 genial manner, and, reaching into his pocket, 
 handed me a five-dollar bill as his contribution 
 which he was not prepared to give at the Sun- 
 day service, saying, " I am sure you will make 
 [ 295 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 good use of it/' The years passed, and, while 
 I often thought of that good Mr. Marshall, I 
 lost connection with him until 191 2, when Mr. 
 Thomas R. Marshall was nominated for Vice- 
 President of the United States and later elected. 
 The appearance of his picture in the news- 
 papers, and the fact that he practiced law in 
 Columbia City in 1893, brought me again in 
 touch with my benefactor. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 COLLEGE AND PULPIT 
 
 But I have still more — much more — to say 
 about Indiana. Late in the winter of 1894, I 
 happened to be in the small town of Butler in 
 the Hoosier State, where I delivered two ad- 
 dresses. One of my hearers, the principal of the 
 schools, became deeply interested in me "at 
 first sight" and made me an offer right then 
 and there which made me wildly interested in 
 him. Mr. K.'s entrancing story was this. An 
 anonymous philanthropist had placed at his 
 disposal one million dollars as an endowment 
 for a small college. The high purpose of the 
 donor was not only to equip such a college with 
 every modern educational facility, and thus 
 make it rival the great universities, but that 
 no promising young man who sought to enter 
 this institution, especially' if his goal were the 
 ministry, should be turned out for lack of funds. 
 What seemed obvious to Mr. K., and even I 
 [ 297 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 could see it, was that my case came most snugly 
 within the purpose of the donor. I was "prom- 
 ising/' I lacked funds, my goal was the min- 
 istry. Therefore, all my fretting and worrying 
 about securing a college education should 
 now cease. Furthermore, being a stranger in a 
 strange land, I was to enjoy the personal atten- 
 tion and friendship of Mr. K., who, according 
 to the terms of the endowment, was to be the 
 president of the college. I was to be provided 
 with everything I needed as a student, in re- 
 turn for which favors I was to deliver a cer- 
 tain number of lectures (dates to be made by 
 the president) every year in various parts of 
 the state and thus advertise the college. The 
 prospective president further informed me that 
 he was about to secure control of a small col- 
 lege at North Manchester, Indiana, of which 
 he expected to take actual possession in the fol- 
 lowing September and transform it so as to fit 
 the plans of the hidden millionaire. 
 
 While Mr. K. was unfolding his proposition, 
 streaks of lightning ran up and down my spine. 
 
COLLEGE AND PULPIT 
 
 I felt as if I were in a dream of sanctifying 
 beauty, and was afraid to move even a muscle 
 for fear of waking up and losing the vision. At 
 last, college! All my pain and sorrow, hunger 
 and fatigue, were about to be transfigured into 
 glorious victories; my prayers v/ere to be an- 
 swered and my highest hopes fulfilled. Could 
 it be true.^ College? And on such terms! A 
 million dollars back of me and the president 
 of the college my personal friend. It was diffi- 
 cult for me not to believe that in some way I 
 was a millionaire myself. Somehow I managed 
 to break the enthralling spell of the occasion 
 enough to thank Mr. K. with genuine Oriental 
 effusiveness for his surpassing kindness, and to 
 promise most solemnly to be at North Man- 
 chester College on the 4th day of the following 
 September. 
 
 From the time I met Mr. K., in the latter 
 part of February, 1894, until September of the 
 same year, when I was to enter college as an 
 especially favored student, my whole life was 
 a state of intense expectancy. The future so 
 [ 299 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 beamed with joy that, Hke a child on Christ- 
 mas Eve, I often wished I might have fallen 
 asleep at the end of our conversation and awak- 
 ened in the classroom at the college. 
 
 In the mean time, my friend Mr. K. was lead- 
 ing to a successful conclusion negotiations to 
 secure control of the small college at North 
 Manchester, Indiana. Finally, the college, 
 which had been struggling painfully for years 
 to maintain its existence, was placed in his 
 hands, and he proceeded with characteristic 
 Western enterprise to mature the plans stipu- 
 lated in the endowment contract. 
 
 On the 4th day of September, 1894, my pil- 
 grim staff rested in North Manchester. There 
 I found Mr. K. bearing the prerogatives of his 
 office as college president with the simple dig- 
 nity of a Lincoln. The citizens were happy that 
 a new and virile educational era was dawning 
 upon their town. A corps of efficient professors 
 took charge of the various departments, and 
 a happy student body, numbering about two 
 hundred, sought the pabulum of knowledge at 
 
 [ 300 ] 
 
COLLEGE AND PULPIT 
 
 the richly endowed institution. Those of us 
 who were to receive special financial aid were 
 known as the millionaire students, which des- 
 ignation we bore with becoming dignity. But 
 there were other especially favored students. 
 One of Mr. K.'s schemes, which seemed to him 
 to mark an advance in the history of education, 
 was that every student who secured five other 
 pay students should be given a free scholarship, 
 a privilege of which a few enterprising students 
 availed themselves. Literary societies, political 
 clubs, and prayer circles were soon organized, 
 and all signs inspired the hope that ere long our 
 college would merit the title of the "Harvard 
 of the Middle West." 
 
 The theological department, in which I was 
 especially interested, was under the sole con- 
 trol of an elderly preacher who succeeded emi- 
 nently in convincing his pupils that he knew 
 Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. He was a devout 
 man, brimful of friendliness and fatherly coun- 
 sel. Perhaps his most serious defect was his 
 strong tendency to doze during recitations. 
 
 [ 301 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 On one occasion, in order to awaken him in a 
 polite manner, we sang a hymn. He woke and 
 was so pleased with our melody that he dis- 
 coursed to us for about half an hour on the 
 power of music over a congregation. 
 
 My life in North Manchester was most 
 happy. American friendliness and hospitality 
 never seemed to me to be more free and abun- 
 dant than in that little city. The demand for 
 me as a lecturer and preacher was always more 
 than I could supply. On one occasion I was 
 highly honored by being asked to represent the 
 college at a patriotic celebration and make an 
 address on George Washington. I took for my 
 text the story of the hatchet, and proved con- 
 clusively that the Father of his Country was 
 a very honest man, concluding with the ad- 
 monition that, in order to be worthy of such a 
 father, as American citizens we should all be 
 honest. 
 
 The entire population of the college, as well 
 as the town, had implicit faith in the "anony- 
 mous millionaire" until the beginning of the 
 [ 302 ] 
 
COLLEGE AND PULPIT 
 
 second term, when the treasurer of the college, 
 having spent all the tuition money he had re- 
 ceived at the beginning of the school year, be- 
 came suddenly insolvent. He was in frequent 
 consultation with the president, when attitudes 
 spoke louder than words. The countenances of 
 our poor professors began to betray a porten- 
 tous situation, and the student body was seized 
 with a secret fear such as is felt upon the first 
 intimations of an earthquake. At last the 
 treasurer became more communicative and in- 
 formed the faculty that the college was in 
 "financial straits." "What? With a million 
 dollars back of it?" When appealed to for 
 funds, the president stated rather cheerfully 
 that ultimately all was safe. The reason, he said, 
 that the "millionaire" had not yet turned over 
 to the college treasurer the first installment of 
 the endowment fund was due to the fact that 
 the citizens of the town had not as yet met the 
 terms of their agreement by beginning the erec- 
 tion of a certain building for the college. The 
 citizens protested that they had never entered 
 
 [ 303 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 into such an agreement, but that they were 
 willing to aid the college in every possible way, 
 provided that a committee chosen from among 
 their most highly respected citizens be per- 
 mitted to meet the "donor'' himself and ascer- 
 tain his wishes with regard to what was expected 
 of them. But the president contended that to 
 reveal even the name of his wealthy friend would 
 be base treachery on his part, adding emphati- 
 cally that he would rather resign than commit 
 such a deed. 
 
 **Some one had blundered," and thus what 
 seemed, at least to Mr. K. and to me, one of the 
 most significant educational enterprises of the 
 nineteenth century, was pmctically killed in its 
 infancy, just because a millionaire philanthro- 
 pist insisted on interpreting literally the scrip- 
 tural injunction, "When thou doest thine alms, 
 let not thy left hand know what thy right hand 
 doeth, that thine alms may be in secret." Just 
 because of such a technicality, we, millionaire 
 students, were suddenly reduced to pauperism. 
 
 The real secret of the "millionaire philan- 
 
 [ 304 ] 
 
COLLEGE AND PULPIT 
 
 thropist" scheme in connection with North 
 Manchester College will probably remain for- 
 ever the exclusive possession of Mr. K.'s soul. 
 Others' judgments of his case were various. 
 Some thought he was an innocent self-deceived 
 visionary ; others concluded that he was a delib- 
 erate deceiver ; others thought that he had been 
 made sport of by a sharper, who pretended to 
 be a millionaire. But what seemed most prob- 
 able to many was that Mr. K. had thought that 
 his plan of giving a free scholarship to every 
 student who secured five other pay students 
 would insure for the college a sufficiently large 
 patronage to carry it through, and that he had 
 invented the millionaire myth as an incentive 
 to the trustees to place the struggling college 
 in his hands, on the theory that the end justi- 
 fied the means. 
 
 Whatever the original design of Mr. K. was, 
 I thanked him for his many kindnesses to me 
 and faced again my college problem^, saying to 
 myself, "Wait on the Lord ; be of good courage." 
 
 My few months of college life in North Man- 
 
 [ 305 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 Chester were not unfmitful of good things. My 
 close contact with individuals and families in a 
 typical American town deepened my insight into 
 the life of a country my love for which had al- 
 ready become a ruling passion. Within the col- 
 lege I enjoyed the excellent opportunity of 
 observing the various moods of American youth, 
 from the political, social, and religious points of 
 view. The few regular lessons I had were not 
 without their guiding influence toward system- 
 atic thinking; my vocabulary was greatly en- 
 riched and my self-confidence as a public 
 speaker much strengthened. And not the least 
 of the results of my brief career as a "million- 
 aire student " was the following smile of Fortune. 
 During my last week in the ill-starred col- 
 lege, I met a Methodist minister of Des Moines, 
 Iowa, the Reverend W. A. Wiseman, whose 
 three children were among our students. Mr. 
 Wiseman said to me in a very gracious, compli- 
 mentary manner that, two days before, he had 
 heard me give a lecture on the Orient, with some 
 observations on American life, which not only 
 [ 306 ] 
 
COLLEGE AND PULPIT 
 
 deeply interested him, but convinced him that 
 I had a message which the general public needed 
 to hear. Furthermore, he said that he was in deep 
 sympathy with my purpose to secure a college 
 education and enter the ministry. Therefore, 
 if the offer met my approval, he would like to be 
 my ''advance agent'' and plan for me a regular 
 "lecture tour" in the Farther West, which 
 would bring me more money than any lecturing 
 for a "collection" could. His final proposition 
 was that he would give me two hundred dollars 
 and pay all my expenses for twenty-four con- 
 secutive dates. He explained that since I was 
 not known to fame, he could not ask a higher 
 price for a lecture than twenty or twenty-five 
 dollars, and that, by the time he had paid all 
 my expenses, the cost of advertising and other 
 incidentals, his share of the proceeds would be 
 much smaller than mine. 
 
 Of course, two hundred dollars had not the 
 hypnotic charm of a million, but it was the big- 
 gest sum of real money I had ever fancied my 
 lecturing would bring me in one month. I did 
 
 [ 307 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 not allow Mr. Wiseman to leave my room before 
 
 I closed the contract with him. 
 
 My lecturing tour began in the city of Des 
 Moines, most auspiciously. A large and appre- 
 ciative audience gave me a most cordial re- 
 ception. The "Iowa State Register" published, 
 the following day, this report (in all probability 
 written by Mr. Wiseman): "Mr. A. M. Rih- 
 bany, a native of the Holy Land, lectured at 
 Grace M. E. Church last night to a large and 
 delighted audience. He is a speaker of great 
 ability and keeps his audience in fine humor 
 from beginning to end. No lecture given in 
 Grace Church ever gave such universal satis- 
 faction." That was all that was necessary for 
 us to "sweep" the State of Iowa and a con- 
 siderable portion of Illinois Prosperity and 
 joy attended our course, at the end of which I 
 found in my possession, for the first time, tw^o 
 hundred dollars in real "greenbacks." Cer- 
 tainly now not all the Fates could prevent me 
 from securing a college education. 
 
 I I Early in September, 1895, 1 matriculated at 
 
 [ 308 ] 
 
COLLEGE AND PULPIT 
 
 the Ohio Wesleyan University. My fear that I 
 might not be able to complete the regular course 
 led me to elect a special course. I chose my 
 studies as a boy picks apples out of a basket — 
 taking the biggest. All but one of the branches 
 I elected came in the Junior and Senior years. 
 To the protest of the president that such studies 
 were too advanced for me, I answered most 
 conceitedly that I should be very willing to take 
 less advanced studies if I failed to measure up to 
 the other students in those higher classes. I was 
 permitted to follow the course I had chosen. 
 The compassion of my professors, coupled 
 with some effort on my part, prevented me from 
 being transferred to the lower classes. 
 
 The Ohio Wesleyan University of that period 
 was suffering from that affliction which was, 
 and to a large extent still is, common to denom- 
 inational institutions. As a rule, its professors 
 were chosen not so much with reference to their 
 qualifications as instructors and educators, as 
 to their doctrinal "soundness." Consequently 
 the university was heavily over-preachered. 
 
 [ 309 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 The surplus of doctrinal soundness could not 
 be used to make up the deficit occurring on the 
 educational side. But the. branches in which I 
 was deeply interested — psychology, ethics, 
 history, and English literature — were taught 
 by two professors who were considered the most 
 modem and efficient in the entire institution, 
 and the pioneers of a new era of ampler educa- 
 tional facilities and greater usefulness, which 
 the university now enjoys. They had "a vital 
 touch to them," and their methods stimu- 
 lated thought and encouraged independent re- 
 search. 
 
 At the end of my second term in college, I 
 became agaii. ** financially embarrassed." In 
 view of the fact that among the eight hundred 
 students there were many "local preachers" 
 who were endeavoring to make their way 
 through college by preaching in the churches for 
 miles around, my opportunities for lecturing 
 and preaching were greatly limited. Was it not, 
 therefore, the part of wisdom for me to leave 
 college for a time and reenter the lecture field 
 
 [ 310 ] 
 
Ma^ 
 
COLLEGE AND PULPIT 
 
 with my friend Mr. Wiseman, secure the neces- 
 sary funds, and return to the university the 
 following September? So it seemed to me and 
 to my good professors, who, while regretting 
 the emergency which made such a course neces- 
 sary, earnestly hoped for my return to them in 
 the autumn. 
 
 And here I wish to quote a generous message 
 which came to me from my professor in history 
 (whom I have not seen since I left college) at 
 the conclusion of my series of articles in the 
 "Atlantic Monthly'': — 
 
 Delaware, Ohio, 
 
 March 26, 1914. 
 Dear Sir and Brother, — Your articles in 
 the "Atlantic Monthly" have been much en- 
 joyed in our home. The name had a familiar 
 sound to me, yet I did not trace its familiarity 
 until in the last "Atlantic" I read that you 
 were in the Ohio Wesleyan University in 1895. 
 This led me to look up the class-rolls of that 
 term, the fall, and there I found your name in 
 the list of a goodly class which was at work upon 
 [ 311 1 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 the Middle Ages. I also noticed that your grade 
 was one of the best in the class. 
 
 What a fine thing it is for you, a stranger, to 
 give such lessons of grateful appreciation of the 
 free air of America to many of our young 
 people who, I fear, do not know to what they 
 have been bom. Let me thank you for what 
 you have said to them in so bright and attrac- 
 tive a fashion, not alloyed with pessimism, but 
 radiant with real faith in God and man. May 
 you have great good for your portion. The Ohio 
 Wesleyan University is trying to do her best 
 for this generation. 
 
 With best wishes and appreciation, 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 R. T. Stevenson. 
 
 When, about the middle of March, 1896, I 
 left the Ohio Wesleyan University for the little 
 town of Morenci, Michigan, where my friends 
 had moved from Wauseon, Ohio, and where I 
 was destined to live for several years, I little 
 dreamed that I should never see a college again 
 [ 312 ] 
 
COLLEGE AND PULPIT 
 
 as a student. In April and May I "toured the 
 West" again as a lecturer, and again in August. 
 Shortly after my return to Morenci, the Meth- 
 odist minister called on me on a Friday evening 
 and requested me to preach in his stead at a 
 union meeting of all the churches of the town, 
 to be held in the Congregational Church on the 
 following Sunday evening. The time for prep- 
 aration was short, but the request was urgent 
 and I consented to serve. In my brief diary of 
 that year, written in Arabic, I find the following 
 entry, literally translated: "Saturday, Septem- 
 ber 5 — Spent the greater part of this day in 
 preparing myself for a sermon which I will 
 preach in the Congregational Church here at a 
 general (union) meeting." 
 
 On the following Sunday evening a large au- 
 dience taxed the capacity of the Congregational 
 Church. My text was from Luke xii, 48: "To 
 whomsoever much is given, of him shall much 
 be required." The cordial eagerness of my au- 
 ditors was inspiring, and I spoke from the 
 depth of my souL 
 
 [ 313 I 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 At the close of the service many of my hearers 
 were most generous with their appreciative 
 remarks ; as typical Americans they believed in 
 encouraging a beginner, in "helping a fellow 
 along/' But my sermon on that evening brought 
 to me other significant and utterly unexpected 
 results. During the following week the senior 
 deacon of the Congregational Church came to 
 me with the following, to me most astonishing, 
 proposition. **Our people," he said, "were so 
 pleased with your sermon last Sunday night 
 that they have directed me to ask you if you 
 would not take charge of our pulpit for the 
 coming winter and become our regular pastor." 
 For the moment I could not believe that the 
 good man was really serious in what he said. 
 "I to become your regular pastor.?" was my 
 astonished question to him. "Yes, if you will," 
 he replied with a very genial smile. 
 
 To my objection on the ground that my Eng- 
 lish was as yet barbarous, and utterly unfit for 
 devotional services ; that I had not had a college 
 or theological education, and had not the slight- 
 
 [ 314 ] 
 
COLLEGE AND PULPIT 
 
 est knowledge of pastoral duties, he replied to 
 the effect that colleges did not really make 
 preachers ; that although I did at times split the 
 infinitive and use an adjective where an adverb 
 should have been used, all such matters were 
 of small importance. "There is something 
 vital in your utterances," he added, "and it is 
 that something which we are after. Your em- 
 phasizing the wrong word or syllable now and 
 then gives your message a pleasant flavor. As 
 to pastoral duties, you will learn them as 
 you go.'' 
 
 Notwithstanding the fact that the gracious 
 words of the deacon greatly expanded my youth- 
 ful vanity, I did not feel vain enough to accept 
 the offer. I consented, however, to supply the 
 pulpit of the Congregational Church for a few 
 Sundays before going West on another lecturing 
 tour. So I did. But upon my return from the 
 West, those good Congregationalists renewed 
 their offer to me with greater insistence and 
 cordiality, and again I consented only to supply 
 their pulpit for a season. 
 
 [ 31S ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 But, on this occasion, I urged another objec- 
 tion to my becoming the regular pastor of a 
 church. About that time the entire country was 
 on fire with poUtical excitement. The campaign 
 of 1896, one of the most agitating, most spec- 
 tacular campaigns in the history of America, 
 was upon us, and, as a true patriot, fired with 
 the zeal of a new convert, I decided to remain 
 free from the limitations of a ministerial posi- 
 tion in order that I might "serve my country 
 politically." I would first do my utmost to 
 save the nation from the '* disgrace and ulti- 
 mate ruin of cheap money." Bimetallism, 
 **sixteen-to-one," the double standard, and 
 other heresies, seemed to me to be like small- 
 pox, cancer, and diphtheria, which must be 
 stamped out at whatever cost. I would preach 
 on Sundays to the best of my ability under the 
 circumstances, but on all other days I would 
 place myself on the altar of the "Gold Stand- 
 ard," the savior of the commercial integrity of 
 the nation. 
 
 I devoted myself unreservedly to the study of 
 [ 316 ] 
 
COLLEGE AND PULPIT 
 
 the monetary question. You might not think 
 that my sources — campaign documents — 
 were the most reHable, but they were the only 
 means at hand, and the time was short. Besides, 
 they had been pubHshed by RepubHcans whose 
 learning and veracity I had no reason to sus- 
 pect — chiefly because the RepubHcan party 
 had "saved the Union" in 1861-65, long before 
 I was bom./ 
 
 I did make several speeches which met with 
 the heartiest approval of my fellow citizens — 
 the Republicans. One of them, an influential 
 leader in local politics, said to me one day, 
 "You can't convince me that you had never 
 studied the monetary problem before this cam- 
 paign. You must have studied it in Europe or 
 somewhere else. I have learned more from you 
 on the present issue than from those ' big guns' 
 that the State Central Committee sends to us. 
 You ought to head for the Legislature instead 
 of the pulpit. Do let us start the 'boom' for 
 the next state campaign." 
 
 The suggested "boom" had no attraction for 
 
 [ 317 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 me. Mygoalwas the pulpit. But I was decidedly 
 proud of what I did in that great campaign. No 
 king, I believe, ever felt^more exalted with his 
 crown and scepter than I did whenever I said 
 *'My country!" Just think of me, the child of 
 ages of oppression, now having a great country 
 to serve, to defend, nay, to save from impend- 
 ing ruin! It was undefiled glory to address **my 
 fellow citizens," even to carry a torch — a 
 lighted one — and join the procession under the 
 Stars and Stripes. 
 
 The country having been "saved" at the 
 election, I turned my undivided attention again 
 to the ministry. The Congregationalists of 
 Morenci were still waiting for me with the at- 
 tractive offer to become their pastor; my rela- 
 tions with them had been growing more plea- 
 sant as time passed, and, after much hesitation 
 and with some misgivings as to my fitness for 
 the position, I accepted the "call" and post- 
 poned indefinitely the matter of my return to 
 college. 
 
 It may not be uninteresting to the reader to 
 
 [ 318 ] 
 
COLLEGE AND PULPIT 
 
 know that I did not come into the office of a 
 pastor alone. The romance of "love at first 
 sight" had already occurred; Cupid's arrows, 
 which no barriers of race or language can 
 check, had already pierced two hearts, the one 
 Semitic, the other Aryan, and made them bleed 
 for one another. The sacred union, which the 
 Church blesses and the State makes legal, fol- 
 lowed, and brought to my side an American 
 wife from Ohio to share with me the trials and 
 triumphs of the ministry. And it may interest 
 the reader to know also that notwithstanding 
 the fact that, in reporting this marriage, the 
 editor of the "Ohio State Journal" used the 
 heading, "An Ohio School Teacher Has Poor 
 Taste," I have already forgiven him, for he 
 knew not what he did — he never saw me. 
 
 Now before undertaking to write concerning 
 the Gospel which I felt commissioned to preach 
 when I assumed the office of a Christian minis- 
 ter, I wish to mention an event which bears a 
 very close relation to my political activities. 
 WTien war between this country and Spain 
 
 [ 319 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 seemed inevitable, I decided that if the circum- 
 stances required I would enlist, not as a chap- 
 lain, but as a private soldier. Consequently I 
 wrote to my father with regard to the matter, 
 begging not only his opinion but his consent. 
 Having in mind the warlike spirit of the Rih- 
 bany clan, I was not very greatly astonished 
 when I received the following letter : — 
 
 Betater, Lebanon, Syria. 
 To our Beloved and Honored Son, may God pro- 
 tect him: — 
 We send you our intense love and parental 
 blessings from the depth of our hearts which 
 are deeply wounded for your absence, for you 
 are the possessor of our hearts in life and in 
 death. We ask daily the mighty God to bless 
 you and keep you and multiply the fruits of the 
 labor of your hands. Your letter is received and 
 we thank God that you and your honorable 
 wife are safe and well. We learn from your let- 
 ter that there is war between your government 
 and that of Spain and that you intend to enlist 
 if needed. This news causes us intense anxiety 
 [ 320 ] 
 
COLLEGE AND PULPIT 
 
 and life seems worthless without you. Never- 
 theless, O dear son, such being the case, we com- 
 mit you to God, hoping that His mighty arm 
 may protect you. First we ask that God may 
 bring peace on earth; and second we beseech 
 you, O our son, not to shrink from entering the 
 army to fight for your government. We know 
 that you are brave, and bravery is character- 
 istic of your clan and ancestors. As long as you 
 are an American citizen, you must fight for your 
 exalted government, and not only you, but if 
 your brothers can help fight your enemies we 
 would gladly send them over to America. Amer- 
 ica has done much for you, and you ought to 
 pay her back by fighting her enemies as an honor- 
 able man. We hope to see your luminous, smil- 
 ing face again, but let us say, under the cir- 
 cumstances, " God's will be done." Your mother 
 sends a thousand kisses to you and your wife. 
 The Reverend Father, our priest Michael, sends 
 also his rich blessing. 
 May God prolong your days. 
 
 Your Father. 
 [ 321 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 Here I had not only my father's consent, but 
 his mandate, to enhst. But Spain was consider- 
 ate enough to give up the fight before I deemed 
 it necessary to don the "blue." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 AT THE TEMPLE GATE 
 
 When I first came into the pulpit as a regular 
 minister, I was granted a salary of six hundred 
 dollars a year and a "donation" — that is, the 
 proceeds of an annual church supper at which 
 the guests were supposed to pay more than the 
 repast was worth. The success of the donation 
 depended largely on the weather. I was simply 
 a layman in earnest. The conventional phrase- 
 ology of the pulpit was well-nigh unknown to 
 me. I prayed at the sacred desk as simply as in 
 my secret chamber, and preached in an unaf- 
 fected conversational tone. 
 
 As has been already indicated, I had had no 
 college education, no familiarity with authori- 
 tative systems of theology, and no extensive 
 memories of creeds and catechisms. I was su- 
 premely conscious of one great fact, namel}^, 
 that by my sincere and reverential consent to 
 serve in the office of a Christian minister, I was 
 
 [ 323 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 ordained to preach the Gospel of Christ in the 
 simphcity of the New Testament and not neces- 
 sarily as it has been restated by any group of 
 theologians. This attitude toward the minis- 
 terial office was the cumulative result of all 
 my religious past. 
 
 Having departed from the Greek Church in 
 my youth, I carried away with me from that 
 fold not doctrines, but religious feelings. My 
 Mother Church exerted upon me unconscious, 
 mystic, indefinable spiritual influences. In the 
 almost entire absence of preaching in that church 
 doctrines are only implied in the ritual, not di- 
 rectly taught to the laity. As a Greek Orthodox, 
 I simply took it for granted that the tenets of 
 the faith of my church were absolutely correct. 
 
 Wlien I first came in contact with Protes- 
 tantism in the American mission school at Suk- 
 el-Gharb, that faith appealed to me as a more 
 stimulating, more enlightened, and more en- 
 lightening form of the Christian religion than 
 the one into which I was born. It was the in- 
 tellectual and ethical phases of Protestantism 
 
 [ 324 ] 
 
AT THE TEMPLE GATE 
 
 which drew me away from the less reflective 
 faith of my fathers. True, here I was taught 
 doctrine, but always with the understanding 
 that Protestantism was the Christianity of the 
 open Bible, the individual conscience and pri- 
 vate interpretation. Consequently, in that 
 early period of my religious history, whenever 
 I glanced over the scroll of my destiny, and in 
 so far as I was able to do so, I thought of my- 
 self as a jree man in Christ. 
 
 When I left my father's house in far-oflF 
 Lebanon and came to the New World to struggle 
 and to suffer, it was not the learned polemics and 
 authoritative creeds of theologians which kept 
 my heart from breaking. It was God, the com- 
 passionate Father, and Christ, the triumphant 
 fellow-sufferer, who said to me, " Fear not, be 
 not dismayed." It was He who loves us more 
 than a mother loves her babe who walked with 
 me the rough road of hunger and nakedness and 
 loneliness, and was with me in the musty dark- 
 ness of the tenement houses of New York, as a 
 strengthening and consoling presence. 
 
 [ 325 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 In my travels in this country before I en- 
 tered the pulpit I studied Christianity not in 
 catechisms but in the faces and characters and 
 helpful deeds of living men and women of all 
 creeds and no creed. I never knew the exact 
 doctrinal positions of such persons. What I 
 was aware of was that by their reverential and 
 friendly attitude toward God and man, by the 
 sanctity of their lives and their readiness to aid 
 every good endeavor, such men and women ad- 
 dressed themselves to my inmost soul as fresh 
 revelations of the divine spirit and as inspiring 
 examples of the Christ-life. 
 
 Now, do you suppose that when I came into 
 the pulpit to break the bread of life to my con- 
 gregation, I was going to close my eyes to all 
 these open visions of the spiritual life, my Prot- 
 estant freedom and the simplicity of the New 
 Testament, and turn to dusty and musty theo- 
 logical documents to find my faith, my God, and 
 f my Christ ? To do so seemed to me to be like 
 '\ forsaking my newly acquired freedom as an 
 American citizen and returning to the bondage 
 [ 326 ] 
 
AT THE TEMPLE GATE 
 
 of Turkish rule. No ; as God revealed himself 
 to Isaiah and Paul, so He reveals himself to me 
 and to every soul that seeks Him. The Council 
 of Nicsea, or any other council, had no more 
 right to make an authoritative and infallible 
 creed for the succeeding generations than it had 
 the right to make an infallible bill of fare for 
 every age and race. 
 
 With such ideas and convictions as my back- 
 ground, I preached to my people with the ut- 
 most directness and sincerity of which I was 
 capable. My hearers often told me that I did 
 not preach "after the usual manner," to which 
 I answered that I did not know what the "usual 
 manner" was. We loved one another. Our 
 church prospered to the extent that we had to 
 build an addition to our auditorium in order to 
 accommodate our growing congregations and 
 church activities. 
 
 During my ministry of nearly three years at 
 Morenci, as I had no public library at hand and 
 as I had but few books of my own, my reading 
 was of necessity miscellaneous. My theolog- 
 
 [ 327 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 ical library consisted of two commentaries on 
 the Bible: the one (written in the seventeenth 
 century) given to me by, a friend; the other 
 (written in the eighteenth century) I bought 
 from an enterprising publisher at a "slaughter 
 sale of epoch-making books." Both of these 
 commentaries are treasure-houses of precon- 
 ceived ideas regarding God's attitude toward 
 man and the universe. But during those years 
 three books of quite different type fell into my 
 hands. The first was "The Apostolic Age," by 
 Professor A. C. McGiffert, concerning which, 
 when I had read it, I concluded that its author 
 believed in making use of his mental faculties 
 and his reason even when writing "sacred his- 
 tory." The other two were "The Theology of 
 Civilization," and "The Religion of a Gentle- 
 man," both by the Reverend Charles F. Dole, 
 D.D., of Boston. These books convinced me not 
 only that their author was a truly civilized man, 
 but that he had succeeded in sounding the 
 spiritual depths of human interrelations. 
 But my real book of theology was the New 
 [ 328 ] 
 
AT THE TEMPLE GATE 
 
 Testament. I read it with the freedom with 
 which the Master read the Old Testament in his 
 day — as the freeman of the Spirit and not the 
 bondman of the letter. I read it in my study, on 
 trains, and in railway stations, with all my 
 spiritual facuhies alert, not so much to know 
 what every single text meant as to discover the 
 controlling purpose of the whole book. 
 
 It is indeed most difficult, if not impossible, 
 to analyze the religious consciousness chronolog- 
 ically. But the fixing of dates and the defining 
 of eras is not necessary here, because I am not 
 writing a diary of events but trying to make a 1 a 
 confession of faith. What I feel certain of is that 
 no person can read the records of the spiritual 
 life, as they are inscribed in the souls of well- 
 meaning, kindly disposed men and women, and 
 the New Testament, with reverent freedom, 
 — taking into consideration the mentality and 
 the social habits of the times and country in 
 which it was written, — without feeling up- 
 borne by a spiritual tide high above all creeds 
 and dogmas. It was such a state of mind of 
 
 [ 329 ] 
 
 ,1^ 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 which I became intensely conscious during my 
 second year in the pulpit. The words of the 
 Master, "Love the Lord thy God with all thy 
 heart, and thy neighbor as thyself," and, "On 
 these two commandments hang all the law and 
 the prophets," held undisputed sway over all 
 my thoughts and words. For me Christianity 
 shook itself free from all divisive dogmas and 
 appeared as the religion of brotherly love, of 
 trust and salvation, and not of fear and damna- 
 tion. All good men of whatever creed or na- 
 tionality seemed to me to be friends and dis- 
 ciples of Christ. In this frame of mind I could 
 not, of course, be an efficient helper at those 
 "revivals" at which professional "evangel- 
 ists" consigned to hell the majority of man- 
 kind. A revival alw^ays seemed to me more like 
 a tragedy, poorly acted, than a profound spirit- 
 ual experience. Whenever the evangelist would 
 compress the message and mission of Christ so 
 as to fit the narrow dimensions of his own par- 
 ticular view of Protestantism, and urge his 
 hearers (and by implication the world at large) 
 
AT THE TEMPLE GATE 
 
 to believe or perish, my whole soul would say 
 no. He who has taught us to forgive " seventy 
 times seven," and to love our enemies, will not 
 torture his enemies forever. 
 
 As all thoughts gravitate toward expression, 
 and in view of the fact that I never intended 
 to believe one thing and preach another, as 
 time passed, my pulpit utterances became in- 
 creasingly infected with liberalism. In propor- 
 tion as the spiritual Christ prevailed with me 
 over the dogmatic Christ, I felt the limitations 
 of my theological environment and the suspi- 
 cions of the conservatives in the community. 
 My conception of my newly acquired freedom 
 as priceless made me decidedly inhospitable 
 to arbitrary restraints. When on one occasion 
 one of my deacons advised me to keep my 
 "broad views" to myself and preach the "ac- 
 cepted doctrines," I answered rather abruptly 
 that I and my forefathers for centuries had 
 suffered enough political and religious repres- 
 sion ; that I had not learned my " broad views " 
 at any heretical school. My teachers were Con- 
 
 [ 331 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 gregational Protestantism and Americanism, 
 both of which urged me to "stand fast in the 
 freedom wherewith Christ hath made us free." 
 
 Shortly after the close of the Spanish-Ameri- 
 can War, at the urgent invitation of my parents, 
 who longed to *' behold my face again before 
 death parted us," and to "revive their hearts 
 by beholding the Lady, my beloved American 
 wife," I visited Syria. The people of Betater, 
 both aristocrats and commoners, gave us a 
 royal welcome. All the clans of the town called 
 on us in fifties and hundreds. Invitations to 
 feasts were more than we could accept. For 
 the time being, the aristocrats admitted me 
 into their ranks with cheerful generosity as 
 "a man who had progressed much in the land 
 of efrenjy 
 
 How did the old home appear to me after an 
 absence of seven years? Well, from the pre- 
 tentious buildings of Beyrout to the ordinary 
 dwellings of Betater, everything seemed to me 
 amazingly small. The scale of my vision had 
 been so enlarged in giant America that upon 
 [ 332 ] 
 
AT THE TEMPLE GATE 
 
 my arrival in Betater the place seemed to me 
 for all the world like a kindergarten. And what 
 was even more astonishing to me was my un- 
 conscious departure from many of the customs 
 of my people. The friendliness of the Syrians 
 is very inquisitive. It has very little regard for 
 what Americans call "private matters." On 
 the very evening of our arrival, old friends 
 assailed me with a multitude of questions which 
 could be answered only by the laying bare of 
 both my outer and inner worlds. One day an 
 acquaintance, whom I had forgotten altogether, 
 arrived at our home. He said to me that he had 
 journeyed two hours for the purpose of seeing 
 my ''blessed face," and to inquire particularly 
 as to how much money I had — in all — and 
 how I managed to get an American wife. Of 
 course I was asked by many how old my Ameri- 
 can wife was, and whether the "clear color in 
 her face was natural'' It required all the Yan 
 kee shrewdness I had acquired in America to 
 evade such questions without giving offense. 
 But while on that memorable trip I saw again 
 
 [ 333 ] 
 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 Thabitah ("th" as in "three"), my first love, 
 and the charmer of my childhood. Thabitah 
 was the daughter of the owner of the double 
 house into which our family was ushered on 
 our arrival in Betater in 1875. 
 
 Her parents occupied one half of the house, 
 and we the other half. Thabitah was bom 
 when I was about eight years old, and, after 
 the custom of the country, I was made to be- 
 lieve by my parents and her parents that her 
 "star" and my "star" were in "harmony"; 
 therefore we were destined to marry one an- 
 other. Real "matches" are made occasionally 
 in Syria after this manner, but in the present 
 case I was simply the victim of a joke. But 
 being innocent of the frolicsome designs of our 
 parents, I became deeply enamored of the 
 black-eyed infant. No knight-errant was ever 
 more ready to do the bidding of his lady than 
 I was to do the errands which her mother asked 
 me to do, and she was very free and generous in 
 her demands. One day my mother missed m^e 
 and went about searching for her lost boy. 
 
 [ 334 ] 
 
AT THE TEMPLE GATE 
 
 After a long search in the neighborhood I was 
 found fast sleep under Thabitah's old-fashioned 
 cradle. 
 
 When I saw Thabitah again on my last visit 
 to Syria she was on her way from the public 
 oven (bakery). Her graceful figure swayed 
 under about eighty loaves of bread, which she 
 carried on a tray on her head. "Thabitah," 
 said I, "our stars did not prove in harmony. 
 You have married another man, and I have 
 been joined in wedlock to an American lady. 
 But for old love's sake permit me to take your 
 picture, just as you are, with this American 
 camera." With a genial smile, Thabitah stood 
 in front of the awfully mysterious machine, 
 and thus enabled me to secure her image and 
 carry it away to the strange country beyond 
 the seas. 
 
 At the invitation of our old parish priest we 
 attended mass in the church of my earlier years. 
 Contrary to the rules, two chairs were placed 
 for us near the reader's desk, where I used to 
 stand during mass before I left the Church of 
 
 [ 335 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 my fathers. There I gazed again at the old Miz- 
 peh, — altar of sacrifice, — the robed priest, 
 the pictures of saints, the candlesticks, and the 
 worshiping congregation. The priest sent us 
 two pieces of the korban — consecrated bread 
 — with which distinguished members of the 
 congregation are favored during mass, and 
 which is the symbolic remnant of the sacred 
 feast which was eaten at religious gatherings in 
 bygone days. That sense of reverence which I 
 have never failed to experience in a house of 
 worship of whatever faith, invested the hour 
 with solemnity. Nevertheless, what I had be- 
 come in the New World could not be easily 
 reconciled to what I had been in the Old World. 
 The service awakened in me old feelings and 
 sentiments, but they were such feelings and 
 sentiments as one experiences while turning 
 over the pages of an old picture-book with 
 which one had been familiar in childhood. 
 
 As I looked at the worshipers before me gaz- 
 ing reverently at those material objects, made 
 sacred to them by long associations, I said to 
 
 [ 336 ] 
 
THABITAH 
 
AT THE TEMPLE GATE 
 
 myself, Suppose that all these objects were 
 taken away from these persons, would they 
 still know what their religion was ? To the re- 
 mote ancestors of these men, Jesus spoke in 
 simple, fluid, living parables. Those parables 
 have become hardened into material objects in 
 the ancient ecclesiastical communions, and into 
 rigid creeds at the hands of more modem theo- 
 logians. Christ recognized neither of these 
 forms. There is no greater warrant in his Gos- 
 pel for an inflexible creed than for this lavish 
 spectacle. Let those who find religious inspira- 
 tion in such forms have them. For my part, 
 I prefer that Christianity which was preached 
 on the Mount, by the seaside, at Jacob's Well, 
 and in the upper room on Mount Zion — the 
 Christianity of the open air and the open mJnd. 
 The governmental, religious, and social In^ 
 stitutions of the land of my birth seemed to me* 
 to be in distressing harmony with one another, 
 and turned my gaze with a profounder sense of 
 appreciation toward forward-looking America, 
 the land of light, liberty, and active hopefulness, 
 
 [ 337 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 I felt, as never before, that as an American citi- 
 zen my religion must be as free, as progressive, 
 and as hopeful as the genius of my adopted 
 country. 
 
 While on that voyage and during a short 
 stay in Naples and in England, whenever I 
 found myself in the company of an enlightened 
 person, whether preacher or layman, I took the 
 opportunity to discuss with that person the 
 "present state of the religious world." Of the 
 clerical orders, I conversed with Catholics, 
 Anglicans, Congregationalists, and Unitarians. 
 Wliat was pleasantly surprising to me in all 
 such conversations w^as the fact that almost 
 every person with whom I discussed the mo- 
 mentous question of religion impressed me 
 with the idea that discontent with many of the 
 old statements of religion, and a desire for new 
 and more enlightened ones, was very strong 
 among many men in all communions. By all 
 this I was much encouraged and confirmed in 
 my belief that in my limited sphere I was facing 
 the light of a new and happier day. 
 [ 338 ] 
 
AT THE TEMPLE GATE 
 
 But when, upon returning to America, I 
 made my views more fully known in my Michi- 
 gan parish, I was met with more determxined op- 
 position. As usually happens in such cases, a 
 very lively local theological controversy of a 
 few months' duration, which in all probability 
 would not have assumed such significance in a 
 larger center of population, agitated and en- 
 tertained the community. Of the many amus- 
 ing incidents which occurred during that con- 
 troversy, the following are samples. 
 
 After hearing one of my liberal sermons, an 
 elderly gentleman of impenetrable conserva- 
 tism, was asked what he thought of the dis- 
 course. "Well, sir,'' was his prompt and de- 
 cisive answer, "it is the surest way to hell that 
 I know of." 
 
 A good Methodist, an old man of saintly 
 purity, called on me one day to express his re- 
 grets at my departure from "sound doctrine." 
 At my invitation, the good man dined with us. 
 In the course of our conversation, he assured 
 me that I was in danger of eternal damnation 
 
 [ 339 1 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 because, in the sight of God, I was no better 
 than a drunlcard. "But," I asked, "Brother 
 G., if the matter were left to you, would you 
 throw me into such a lake of fire and brim- 
 stone as you believe hell to be?" "Of course 
 not. I wouldn't do it." "Don't you think, 
 Brother G., that God is as sensible and as good 
 as you are?" With no little perplexity Mr. G. 
 said, "He must be much better than I am. He 
 is — well — God works in mysterious ways !" 
 
 Fourteen years have elapsed since I fought 
 the decisive battle of my religious freedom and 
 followed definitely the open road of the religion 
 of the spirit. Of these years, after leaving Mo- 
 renci and previous to my settlement in Boston, 
 I spent tw^o years in Mount Pleasant, Michi- 
 gan, and nine of joyous ministerial activities 
 in the youthful and progressive city of Toledo, 
 Ohio. During these years, having been de- 
 prived of a regular college course, I have fol- 
 lowed the path of my destiny in the world, not 
 as a learned, but as a learning, man. I have al- 
 
 [ 340 ] 
 
AT THE TEMPLE GATE 
 
 ways sought to conserve the truths of the past. 
 I have Hstened eagerly to the voices of scien- 
 tists, philosophers, sociologists, and theologians. 
 So far as my time and ability have permitted, 
 I have acquainted myself with "Evolution,'* 
 the "New Psychology," the "Higher Criti- 
 cism," "Social Religion," and other fields of 
 modem research. My contact with such men 
 and systems of thought has been to me like the 
 contact of the "men of Athens" with Paul on 
 Mars hill: they all say to me, "The God whom 
 you ignorantly worship. Him declare we unto 
 you. 
 
 Every step forward confirms me in my belief 
 that God's judgments are those of a loving 
 Father, that Christ's mission is to awaken all 
 men to their divine sonship, that religion is 
 life, and salvation spiritual self-fulfillment. And 
 I find it neither possible nor just to think of 
 myself as the pupil and beneficiary of any one 
 church or denomination to the exclusion of all 
 others. I am the grateful child of the whole 
 Church of Christ, regardless of sect and creed. 
 
 [ 341 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 But I am particularly indebted to those com- 
 munions whose activities have influenced my 
 life in a more direct way. ' 
 
 To my Mother Church, the Greek Orthodox, 
 I am indebted for the earliest spiritual inspira- 
 tion which flowed into my life in the name of 
 Christ. Notwithstanding the pagan traits which 
 still cling to her, that ancient church fixed my 
 eyes in childhood and youth upon the cross of 
 Christ as symbol of the souFs victory over sin 
 and death. 
 
 To the missionary zeal of the great Presby- 
 terian denomination, and to its firmness in the 
 Christian faith as it is known to its members, 
 I am indebted for my first lessons in the relig- 
 ion of an open Bible, and of individual convic- 
 tion. It was in that Presbyterian school on the 
 western slopes of my native Lebanon that I 
 first learned to think of Christianity as a per- 
 sonal and not a corporate religion. 
 
 To the Methodist Episcopal Church of 
 America I owe the profoundest sense of spirit- 
 ual fervor. In my lonely days of poverty and 
 
 [ 342 ] 
 
AT THE TEMPLE GATE 
 
 struggle, when America was yet a strange land 
 to me, the brotherly spirit and friendly touch 
 of Methodism did more than any other one 
 church influence to renew my strength and 
 steady my faltering steps. And I trust that no 
 modem revolutions, either in science or theo- 
 logy, will ever lead that communion to lose its 
 noble and apostolic spirit of friendliness. 
 
 To the Congregational Church, both Trini- 
 tarian and Unitarian, I owe the largest meas- 
 ure of theological freedom and the highest level 
 of spiritual thought I have yet attained. And 
 I believe it is fitting, at the close of this story 
 of my religious evolution and in connection 
 with the preceding paragraph, for me to add 
 the following. 
 
 About seventy-two years ago, when the 
 Trinitarian-Unitarian controversy was going 
 on among the Congregational churches of New 
 England, the noted scholar, patriot, and 
 preacher, the Reverend James Freeman Clarke, 
 D.D., organized a church in the city of Boston. 
 In order to save that church from the theologi- 
 
 [ 343 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 cal contentions of the period, he would have 
 for it no doctrinal conditions of membership, 
 but founded it on the simpk basis of spiritual 
 discipleship to Jesus Christ, with the sole ob- 
 ject of cooperation in the study and practice of 
 Christianity; and called it "The Church of the 
 Disciples/' Although the members of this 
 Church have come from among the "liberals," 
 its pulpit has never given itself to acrimonious 
 controversial preaching. The deep spiritual 
 insight of its founder led him to realize that the 
 controversy between "liberals" and "ortho- 
 dox" dealt largely with the non-essentials of 
 Christianity, and that the essentials were com- 
 mon to both factions. Time has proved his 
 wisdom. It is now my privilege to serve this 
 free church whose altar bears this inscription: 
 " In the freedom of the Truth, and in the spirit 
 of Jesus Christ, we unite for the worship of 
 God and the service of man." It was indeed 
 most gratifying to me that at the service of my , 
 installation as minister of this church both 
 wings of Congregationalism were represented.] 
 
 [ 344 ] 
 
AT THE TEMPLE GATE 
 
 Now, do you wish to know what riches I have 
 gathered in the New World? I will tell you. 
 These are my riches, which neither moth nor 
 rust can corrupt. I have traveled from the 
 primitive social life of a Syrian village to a 
 great city which embodies the noblest tradi- 
 tions of the most enlightened country in the 
 world. I have come from the bondage of Turk- 
 ish rule to the priceless heritage of American / 
 citizenship. Though one of the least of her 
 loyal citizens, I am rich in the sense that I am 
 helping in my small v^ay to solve America's 
 great problems and to realize her wondrous 
 possibilities. In this great country I have been 
 taught to believe in and to labor for an en- 
 lightened and cooperative individualism, uni- 
 versal peace, free churches, and free schools. I 
 have journeyed from the religion of "authority 
 for truth" to the religion of "truth for au- 
 thority" — a religion which teaches me the 
 fatherhood of God, the brotherhood of man 
 and the friendliness of the universe, and makes 
 me heir to all the prayers, songs, and sermons 
 
 [ 345 ] 
 
A FAR JOURNEY 
 
 of the ages, I am privileged to occupy the 
 office of a minister of religion — the holiest 
 vocation in the possession' of man. I enjoy the 
 blessings of a happy home, and daily bread 
 comes to me and mine as regularly as it came 
 to Elijah when he was being fed by the ravens. 
 In all these things I am unspeakably rich; my 
 dividends are large and constant and the source 
 of my blessings seems inexhaustible. Last but 
 not least of my spiritual companions is my 
 "Aim of Life/' which I rejoice to hear the chil- 
 dren and young people in my Sunday School 
 repeat together at their meetings : — 
 
 Our aim is to conquer 
 Ignorance by Knowledge, 
 Sin by Righteousness, 
 Discord by Harmony, 
 Hatred by Love. ,. 
 
 THE END 
 
APPENDIX 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 In compliance with the many requests which 
 came to me while this autobiography was being 
 pubKshed in the ''Atlantic Monthly," I will 
 state the essential agreements and differences 
 between the Greek and Roman, or the Eastern 
 and Western, Churches, in the language of a 
 noted church historian : ^ — 
 
 "Both Churches own the Nicene Creed 
 (with the exception of the Filioque), and all 
 the doctrinal decrees of the seven oecumenical 
 synods from a.d. 325 to 787, including the wor- 
 ship of images. They agree, moreover, in most 
 of the post-oecumenical or mediaeval doctrines, 
 namely: the authority of ecclesiastical tradi- 
 tion as a joint rule of faith with the holy Scrip- 
 tures; the worship^ of the Virgin Mary, of the 
 
 1 With slight abbreviation, from Philip Schaff's-^w- 
 iory of the Christian Church, vol. iv, pp. 306-08. 
 
 2 Both the Greek and Roman communions assert 
 that they do not worship, but adore the Virgin Mary 
 and the saints. 
 
 [ 349 ] 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 saints, their pictures (not statues), and relics; 
 justification by faith and good works, as joint 
 conditions ; the merits of good works, especially 
 voluntary celibacy and poverty; the seven 
 sacraments or mysteries (with minor differ- 
 ences as to confirmation, and extreme unction 
 or chrisma); baptismal regeneration and the 
 necessity of water-baptism for salvation ; tran- 
 substantiation and the consequent adoration 
 of the sacramental elements ; the sacrifice of the 
 mass for the living and the dead, and prayers 
 for the dead ; priestly absolution by divine au- 
 thority; three orders of the ministry, and the 
 necessity of an episcopal hierarchy up to the 
 patriarchal dignity; and a vast number of re- 
 ligious rites and ceremonies. 
 
 "In the doctrine of purgatory, the Greek 
 Church is less explicit, yet agrees with the 
 Roman in assuming a middle state of purifica- 
 tion. The dogma of transubstantiation, too, 
 is not so clearly formulated in the Greek Creed 
 as in the Roman. The Greek Church has never 
 prohibited the popular use of the Holy Scrip- 
 
 [ 350 ] 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 tures, but her traditions are as strong a barrier 
 against the exercise of private judgment as 
 those of Rome. 
 
 *' The dissensus of the two Churches covers 
 the following points : — 
 
 "i. The procession of the Holy Spirit: the 
 East teaching the single procession from the 
 Father only; the West (since Augustine), the 
 double procession from the Father and the Son 
 (Filioque), 
 
 "2. The universal authority and infallibility 
 of the Pope, which is asserted by the Roman, 
 is denied by the Greek Church. The former is 
 a papal monarchy; the latter a patriarchal 
 oligarchy. 
 
 "3. The immaculate conception of the Vir- 
 gin Mary, proclaimed as a dogma by the Pope 
 in 1854; disowned by the East. 
 
 "4. The marriage of the lower clergy, al- 
 lowed by the Eastern, forbidden by the Roman 
 Church (yet conceded by the Pope to the 
 United Greeks). 
 
 "5. The withdrawal of the cup from the 
 
 [ 351 ] 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 laity. In the Greek Church the laymen re- 
 ceive the consecrated bread dipped in the wine 
 and administered with' a golden spoon. 
 
 "6. A number of minor ceremonies peculiar 
 to the Eastern Church, such as trine immersion 
 in baptism, the use of leavened bread in the 
 Eucharist, infant-communion, the repetition of 
 the holy unction in sickness." 
 
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 U . S . A 
 
DUE DATE 
 
 AUG2 919i 
 
 GIX FEB 15 1993 
 
 
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