At length Sheikh Ali heard of the fame of the new holy place in the desert, and as his own visitors began to fall off, decided to go himself and gain the merit of a visit to the tomb of that famous prophet.  When he arrived there with his rich presents of green cloth, incense and money, he bowed in silence to pray towards Mecca, when suddenly he recognized in the holy keeper of the tomb, his old servant Mohammed.  “Salam alaykoom” said Sheikh Ali.  “Alaykoom es Salam,” replied Mohammed.  When he asked him how he came here, and how he found this tomb, Mohammed replied, this “tomb is a great “sirr” or mystery, and I am forbidden to utter the secret.”  “But you must tell me,” said Sheikh Ali, “for I am a father to you.”  Mohammed refused and Ali insisted, until at length Mohammed said, “my honored Sheikh, you remember having given me a donkey.  It was a faithful donkey, and when it died I buried it.  This is the tomb of that donkey!” “Mashallah!  Mashallah!” said Sheikh Ali.  The will of Allah be done!  Then they ate and drank together, and renewed the memory of their former life, and then Sheikh Mohammed said to Sheikh Ali, “My master, as I have told you the ‘sirr’ of my prophet’s tomb, I wish to know the secret of yours.”  “Impossible,” said Ali, “for that is one of the ancient mysteries, too sacred to be mentioned by mortal lips.”  “But you must tell me, even as I have told you.”  At length the old Sheikh Ali stroked his snowy beard, adjusted his white turban, and whispered to Mohammed, “and my holy place is the tomb of that donkey’s father!” “Mashallah,” said Mohammed, “may Allah bless the beard of the holy donkeys!”

The people tell this story, which shows, that they ridicule and despise their holy places, and yet are too superstitious to give them up.  The great thing with the sheiks who keep them is the piastres they make from the visitors.

As we go up the hill to Safita, you see the tall, beautiful Burj, or Crusader’s tower, built as were many of the castles and towers whose ruins you see on the hills about here, by the French and English eight hundred years ago, to keep down the wild and rebellious people.  The Protestant Church is at the east.  These are two watch towers.  One was built for warriors who fought with sword and spear, and the other for the simple warfare of the gospel.  You may depend upon it, we shall have a welcome here.  It is nearly sunset, and the people are coming in from their fields and pastures and vineyards.  Daud and Nicola, and Michaiel, Soleyman, Ibrahim, and Yusef, Miriam, Raheel and Nejmy and crowds of others with a throng of little ragged boys and girls, come running to greet us.  “Praise God we have seen you in peace!” “Ehelan wa Sehelan,” “Welcome and Welcome!” “Be preferred!” “Honor us with your presence!” “How is your state?” “Inshullah you are all well!” “How are those you left behind?” “How are the preserved of God?” “I hope you are not wearied with the long ride, this