The Mule That Fell To His Lot On This Journey Every Now
And Then, Forgetting That His Rider Was A Saint, And Remembering
That He Was A Tailor, Took A Quiet Roll Upon The Ground, And
Stretched His Limbs Calmly And Lazily, Like A Good Man Awaiting A
Sermon.
Dthemetri never got seriously hurt, but the subversion and
dislocation of his bundles made him for the moment a sad spectacle
of ruin, and when he regained his legs, his wrath with the mule
became very amusing.
He always addressed the beast in language
which implied that he, as a Christian and saint, had been
personally insulted and oppressed by a Mahometan mule. Dthemetri,
however, on the whole, proved to be a most able and capital
servant. I suspected him of now and then leading me out of my way
in order that he might have the opportunity of visiting the shrine
of a saint, and on one occasion, as you will see by-and-by, he was
induced by religious motives to commit a gross breach of duty; but
putting these pious faults out of the question (and they were
faults of the right side), he was always faithful and true to me.
I left Saide (the Sidon of ancient times) on my right, and about an
hour, I think, before sunset began to ascend one of the many low
hills of Lebanon. On the summit before me was a broad, grey mass
of irregular building, which from its position, as well as from the
gloomy blankness of its walls, gave the idea of a neglected
fortress.
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