HUNIN-CASTLE-LATE SOWING. 327 by iron cramps, as may be seen in a few places under the modern ruins. Though we have made an early start, these farmers are in advance of us, and are actually sowing barley at this late season of the year. Will it come to perfection during the brief space that remains between this and the harvest season in this country? It is more than possible; but it depends entirely on the character of the coming spring. I have seen one winter, at least, when there was not enough rain to enable the farmers to sow their grain until the month of February, but then there followed an uncommonly cold and wet March. The mountains were covered, on the last day of that month, with a heavy fall of fresh snow, and by the end of April the fields were rejoicing in as rich a crop as ever gladdened the anxious husbandman. It may be thus this year, and it may not. Should the rains cease early, no reaper will fill his bosom with sheaves from these fields. These men are therefore sowing in hope in a very emphatic sense. There is, at least, an equal chance against them, and still they plow and sow on vigorously, with only this basis for their expectations. It was upon facts such as these the wise man founded his admonition, In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thy hand, for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good. Of course, the idea is, sow early and sow late, as opportunity offers or circumstances require. And the wise farmer, in this country, must thus act; for no human sagacity, no length of experience, will enable him to determine, in any given year, that what is sown early will prosper best. If the spring be late, wet, and cold, the early grain grows too rank, lodges, and is blasted, while the late sown yields a large harvest. This farmer tells me, in answer to my question, that they will be both alike good this year, or, as he expresses it, the late will overtake the early. This may be so, but, as Solomon says, he does not know it. These men seem about to realize the prophecy of Amos: 1 Eccl. xi. 6. Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that the plowman shall overtake the reaper. If I remember correctly, reaping will commence in the coming month. Yes, in the valley of the Jordan, which is here just below us. No doubt this late plowing and sowing suggested the terms of the prophecy, and gave an air of verisimilitude to it. So, also, the next clause in this 13th verse, "the treader of grapes shall overtake him that soweth seed," derives its significance from facts in agricultural experience. The time for the treading of grapes comes on during the dry months of autumn, and is ordinarily soon over; but this promise implies that the vintage will be prolonged into the rainy season, when alone the husbandman can begin to sow his seed. This does not generally occur until November. In the good days of the promise, however, the vintage will be abundant and long, while the rains will be early and copious, and thus the treading of grapes will run on to the time when the fall crops are sown. This is never actually the case at present, yet, in seasons remarkably favorable, an approximation is seen sufficiently near to justify the allusion. In Leviticus xxvi. 3, 5, there is the same promise: If ye walk in my statutes *** the vintage shall reach unto the sowing-time. But here the preceding parallelism is varied. Instead of "the plow shall overtake the reaper," it is "your threshing shall reach unto the vintage." The threshing comes between the reaping and the treading of grapes, and the promise, therefore, covers another portion of the farmer's year. Reaping is done in April, May, and June, and the vintage is in September and October. Hence the harvest, according to the promise, is to be so heavy that it will take three or four months to tread out the grain. And here, again, actual experience suggested the costume of the prophecy. In very abundant seasons I have often seen the threshing actually prolonged until October. Take the three promises together, and they spread over the entire year of the husbandman. The plowman will continue his work until that which was first sown is ready for the sickle; the thresh 1 Amos ix. 13. COUNTESS OF SCHLIEFFEN-WINTER TRAVELING. 329 ing follows the reaper, and extends to the vintage; and then the treading of grapes reaches to the time to sow for the next crop. And such is the happy nature of this climate, that the whole series of promises is even now realized in those favorable years in which "the Lord gives rain in due season." What a splendid day, and how warm too, for the first of March! We are favored in that respect. I was once here with the Countess of Schlieffen and her son, when the ground was frozen hard, and flying clouds kept pelting me with sleet and snow as I rode back to Hasbeiya. Eighteen hundred and forty-nine had been swept away by a perfect deluge of rain and snow, and the new year came in clear and cold. Our German friends, who had been detained in my house for a month by sickness, had left us several days before, carrying the maid-servant on a kind of bier. As it began to rain violently soon after they started, we were quite anxious about them, and our solicitude was not relieved by the contradictory accounts brought to us by the peasants. After breakfast I set off in search of them. The Hasbany was not fordable, and I rode to the bridge, where I had an opportunity to see the Upper Jordan rushing full and headlong over its rocky bed. The country was flooded with water, and yet the farmers were already out plowing and sowing on the mountain declivities. The truth is, that the long, pointed share of the native plow will root through mud and water without hesitation or encumbrance, and for such soil and climate this miniature machinery is just the article wanted. Moreover, their tiny teams could manage no other. I saw a man plowing with two donkeys, very small and poor. They looked sour and displeased, as though the yoke was degrading to their asinine sensibilities. In three hours I reached Kûleîyeh, on the top of yon ridge that forms the western boundary of Ijon. There I found the countess and party in sad confusion. Their history, after leaving Hasbeiya, was briefly this: the men hired to carry the sick girl set down the bier in the mud, and ran away. The rain came on in torrents, and the count had to summon, in the name of the government, the entire population of Kûleîyeh to their assistance. They finally reached the village about dark. Here they had been detained ever since by the storm, and in quarters as filthy and uncomfortable as even this wild country can furnish. Not being able to procure porters, the dragoman had left, two days before, for Safed, to hire carriers from that place. This morning, however, twelve men had offered to take the girl to Hunîn for 300 piastres, and the count had already set off with them, leaving his mother and Mr. Z, their traveling chaplain, to come on as best they could. It was now after 12 o'clock, and but little progress had been made in preparation. They were surrounded by a rude mob, screaming, scolding, and quarreling in the wildest uproar. The countess begged me to take the direction of matters, as she could not talk a word with the people, nor comprehend the reason of this hubbub and delay. After a sufficient amount of rebuke and threatening, the refractory muleteers loaded their animals, and we set off—a party of about forty, horses, mules, and donkeys, besides certain beasts so lank and filthy that it was not easy to decide to what particular family they belonged. I had made no arrangements to stay out over night, but could not leave the countess in such doubtful circumstances; so away we went, scattering all about the country in search of practicable paths, but in a general direction southward, along the ridge that divides the Litany from Ijon. Passing by Khureîbeh, on the brow of that hill north of us, we came along between Deir Mimas and Kefr Keely on the west, and that large Druse village, El Matulleh, on the east. At the end of two hours we stopped to rest at this Neb'a en Nihah. Our party had taken different roads, and but few had followed our track. From this we toiled up to Hunîn, along the wild path which we have this morning descended. Just before reaching the castle we overtook Count William and his party, who had been all day in making this distance of nine miles. Hunîn, as you know, is inhabited by Metāwelies, an BEDAWIN TOLL-NIGHT AT HUNIN. 331 inhospitable and villainous set. But the firman of the sultan, and the stringent orders of the pasha, were not to be resisted. The sheikh gave up his own room to the countess and her sick girl, while a poor widow vacated her habitation-about twelve feet square-for us gentlemen. These preliminaries settled, the loads began to come in, and by dark all had arrived except the cook and two or three companions of his. Having waited until after nightfall for our missing cook and party, we then roused the whole village to go in pursuit, when they were soon found and brought in safely. Both they and Mr. Z had been stopped by Arabs, and compelled to pay Bedawîn toll before they were allowed to pass. It was now very cold, and utterly dark. The wind howled along the mountain-tops, and tore to tatters the ponderous clouds, which pelted us with rain and snow whenever we ventured out of our retreats. With immense noise and confusion, we got the luggage stowed in the room of the countess, and our forty animals crammed into a large vault of the old castle, and fed, amid uproar, kicking, and fighting, in absolute darkness. By ten o'clock the cook had prepared some sort of dinner, and we spent an hour in talking over the adventures of the day and night. Then we lay down in our clothes and muddy boots, cold, wet, and without beds, and tried to sleep; but with dogs barking outside, cocks crowing overhead, fleas tickling, and other joint occupants of our twelve-foot room crawling over us, our sleep was none of the sweetest. Morning came, however, at last. Our friends set off for Safed, and I returned to Hasbeiya. It is not easy to exaggerate the hardships and even dangers which such parties encounter at this season of the year. Tents can not be used, and they are therefore at the mercy of these lawless peasants. The amount of money which the countess spent could not have been less than fifty dollars a day, and yet the discomforts of her situation were enough to drive any ordinary person to despair. Houses not fit to put pigs in; every door-yard full of mire and filth; the joint contributions of sheep, goats, cows, donkeys, mules, horses, camels, men, |