"You did. And what did she say? "She said that she could not then; that she didn't know me well enough; that if I pressed her then she must refuse; so, of course, I said I wouldn't press her, that she might take three months, four months, any time she liked to think about it, and that I would then ask her again." "Upon my word that was remarkably considerate of you."

Borroughdale's frown deepened. "What the devil do you mean by that?" he said fiercely. "Considerate! There was nothing in the least considerate about it!"

"It is not at all events the fashion in which a Marquis of Borroughdale is sup posed to woo."

If ever the unpretending owner of that highly sonorous title looked like a Marquis of Borroughdale it was perhaps at that moment. He got up from the chair into which he had again thrown himself, took his stick from the corner of the fireplace, and turned towards the door. Near it, however, he paused, thrust his hand into his pocket to feel for his gloves, took one out and began deliberately to put it on. All at once, he desisted from that operation; wheeled rapidly again, and dropping or rather flinging away the stick from him with a portentous clatter, he came back in two strides across the room, his hand stuck out before him like a pump-handle.

"I say, Farquart, old man, what the deuce is the meaning of all this? What -er ails you to day? What makes you so desperately cynical and bitter? I thought you'd be glad; that you'd sympa thize with me about it. I thought -erat least I hoped you would like I should marry your cousin. You told me, you know, first thing of all that you hadn't any idea in that direction yourself; if you had I should have kept out of the way. Not, I mean to say, that I should have had any chance where you were in question. Still" He stopped a moment, and then went on. "Now, however, I can't pretend to give her up to you, or any man, for, upon my soul, I love her, I

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can't possibly explain to you how much I love her. I can't even begin to imagine what it would be to me to lose her lose the hope, I mean, of winning her. I should become-I-er-literally don't know what I should become, I believe I should take to drinking! He paused again, and then, as if a new idea had suddenly struck him, "For God's sake don't tell me, Farquart, that you are in love with

her yourself all this time," he exclaimed hoarsely.

"I'm not the very least in the world in love with her," Farquart replied in a tone of considerable impatience.

Borroughdale breathed a prodigious sigh of relief.

"Then why can't you be more cordial about it?" he persisted, almost patheti cally. "Tisn't like you, Farquart. You and she are the only two friends I've ever made in the whole course of my life, and I can't afford to lose either of you. Come, speak up, man,” he added, in a tone of urgent entreaty. "What ails you today?

Farquart, to tell the truth, did not himself very clearly know what did ail him. He felt that he was behaving quite unlike himself quite unlike any fashion in which he would have proposed to behave under the circumstances. There was something ridiculous something perhaps even a little puerile in this inability to summon the desired cordiality to his lips. What he had just said had been perfectly true. He was not the very least in the world in love with Katherine Holland. He did not want to marry her, did not want, in fact, to marry any one; to do so would have been to put out the whole plan and purpose of his life. Yet none the less he experienced sharp twinges of annoyance, almost amounting to mortification, at the idea of these two being happy, and happy independently, as it were, of him. He liked them - he liked them both but he liked them as they were. From different reasons both seemed to him in a peculiar sense his own prop. erty, and he had something of the ag grieved feeling of a proprietor whose chattels are being disposed of without his sanction. He made an effort, however, to overcome these slightly unwarrantable sensations.

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"Of course, my dear Borroughdale, anything that is for your happiness gives me pleasure, that I needn't tell you," he said, with graceful, if somewhat tardy, cordial. ity. "I wish you all the success you can possibly desire. Katherine Holland is an excellent girl, and deserves all the good fortune she can possibly meet with. I was a little taken aback when you began, but I suppose that was simply due to my own stupidity; no doubt I ought to have been better prepared. Anyhow, I wish you every possible success in your wooing, and the best of good luck to you both. Can I say more?"

Borroughdale's face beamed.

"Of course you can't- of course you can't, old fellow," he exclaimed, seizing his friend's hand in his own and swinging it to and fro with a vehemence not a little painful to that less indurated member. "Of course not, and I was a fool to doubt you; but then I always was a fool, wasn't 1? Meanwhile I mustn't stay here any longer now," he went on with a sort of breathless and almost feverish eagerness, "for there are about a hundred thousand things to do between this and Tuesday. But you'll come and see me again, old man, before we go, won't you? Mind, I haven't told a single soul about this yet, not even my father. It wouldn't be fair, would it, till things are settled? Besides, I'm not really a bit too sanguine even now," he added, gripping poor Farquart's hand again in his excitement, and shaking it up and down and to and fro with a will. "Not a bit too sanguine, upon my soul," he repeated at the door, in a tone and with a look, however, which, it must be owned, threw considerable doubt upon his own

assertion.

After the door had closed upon him, Granville Farquart sat for a long time in the fast thickening obscurity, the smile with which he had greeted poor Borroughdale's last remark fading away and being replaced by a pucker of discontent which sat oddly and, as it were, incongruously upon the classical perfection of his features. At last, when of the big window near him nothing was left but a large, light colored blur, he suddenly got up from his seat, pulled the blind down with a rapid jerk, and, crossing the room, rang the bell violently for lamps.

"Nonsense! Of course it will be set tled long and long before they return," he said aloud to himself as he did so.

In this judgment I had better perhaps, without further circumlocution, hasten to say he was amply justified by subsequent events. Before even the period of probation had quite come to an end, Bor roughdale and Katherine Holland were betrothed, and when they came back to England they were married.

Mr. Vansittart was at first not a little taken aback at this to him very unforeseen climax of his son's enthusiasm about zoology. Still Borroughdale was now settled in life; there could be no further surprises in that direction, and that consideration alone went a very long way towards reconciling him to the event. Farquart was less easily reconciled. For a long time he maintained a certain attitude of mental reserve towards the young couple, al

though he never allowed it to appear again so palpably upon the surface as on this occasion, and although after a while he permitted himself to be gradually drawn into much of his former intimacy with both of them. I have not yet heard of any of his pictures having been accepted by the Academy, and his literary magnus opus has not yet appeared, or, if it has, an ungrateful public has failed perhaps to recognize it as such. All who know him hold unquestionably, however, that some day or other so able a man will throw all his strength into one effort, and then that the world will possess a new masterpiece, and his friends' hopes will be justified. This also I may state with confidence is his own view. Although so far it cannot certainly be said that fame has surrendered herself to any of his advances, he is far from feeling that he has as yet thoroughly tried conclusions with that notoriously tricksy goddess, indeed at the very moment in which I am writing, he is said to be meditating a new, and this time probably an irresistible, assault upon her entrenchments. Lord Borroughdale's admiration for his gifted and versatile friend has never suffered even a single moment's diminution, although since his own standing in the scientific world has become well established it is tempered by a less absolute and a less crushing self-depreciation than formerly. Farquart still speaks of him to others in a tone of kindly patronage, never failing to do justice to the goodness of his heart, and the invariable excellence of his intentions. As regards Borroughdale's marriage with Katherine Holland, however, he always privately feels that he was badly used.

ÉMILY LAWLESS..

From Blackwood's Magazine.
LIFE IN A DRUSE VILLAGE.
BY LAURENCE OLIPHANT.

IN one of the loveliest valleys of Carmel, near the south-west extremity of the mountain, and distant about fifteen miles from Haifa, stands the Druse village of Dahliehor, as it is more properly called, Dahliet-el-Carmel, to distinguish it from another place of the same name, on the Ruhah, or "breezy land."

It is situated on an abrupt spur of the mountain, at the base of which two narrow glens unite into a gorge that ultimately widens into a valley winding down to the sea. The village which crowns

this eminence is composed of a congeries of dwellings, scarcely imposing-looking enough to be dignified with the name of houses, and yet much superior to the huts of which an Arab village generally consists. Indeed the traveller versed in fellaheen domestic life would be struck with an air of comfort, prosperity, and cleanliness here, foreign to native abodes generally. The low habitations which flank the narrow streets seem all to have been newly plastered with light yellow-colored mud. They are generally situated in courtyards, where the neatly dressed female occupants may be observed pursuing their various avocations. The streets themselves are kept clean, and the only eyesores are two gigantic manure heaps — one at either end of the village. These heaps are common to all Arab villages, and are generally used by the fellaheen as fuel for their ovens: the atmosphere is, in consequence, pervaded with an odor of burnt manure, the taint of which, under the influence of a lively imagination, may even be extended to the bread. From this all-penetrating perfume Dahlieh is free. The Druses who inhabit it don't bake their bread in ovens, and don't use the manure for fuel.

On a plateau at the back of the village are the extensive threshing-floors which belong to it, during the summer months filled with conical mounds of grain, which look at a distance like the huts of a golden encampment. At the opposite extremity of the little town is the Druse khalive, or church, a picturesque construction, with two rows of arches inside, and a broad verandah, trellised with vines, outside. It is separated, by a field enclosed with cactus hedges, from a grove of fig trees which crowns the edge of the spur overlooking the gorge; and on a terrace in the midst of this grove stands a white stone dwelling with a somewhat pretentious castellated roof, a generally unfinished appearance, and suggestions of landscape gardening not altogether in keeping with the native surroundings. This dwelling is mine! And at the risk of appearing egotistical, I propose to narrate how I came to build it, and the sort of life I lead in it. But I must first conclude the description of my surroundings. From the terrace, on which is a broad verandah, I look down the steep slope where there are more terraces, planted with vines, olives, pomegranates, and figtrees into the rocky gorge, which expands as it nears a copious spring a mile distant giving birth to a tiny stream, that

once watered the gardens of a now deserted village, where a solitary date-palm, and a magnificent grove of figs, pomegran ates, and some olive-trees attest its former beauty and luxuriance, which I am not without hope may some day soon be restored to it. Beyond this, I look from my verandah over the hills swelling gently back, where the grain fields, which have now been reaped, appear like brown isl ands in a sea of the dark-green copse that clothes the mountain-sides. In the distance, beyond the mouth of the valley, which narrows again and enters the plain through a wild, precipitous gorge, is distinctly visible the old crusading ruin of Athlit, its huge fragment of masonry standing on a projecting promontory over the sea to a height of one hundred and twenty feet, and with a length of one hundred feet, forming a striking feature in the landscape, with an elevation of thirteen hundred feet above the ocean, from which we are distant six miles. We thus command a splendid sea view, with a foreground of precipitous mountain, of smiling cultivated valley, and of rolling wooded hills, all charmingly blended. Both sides of the spur on which Dahlieh is situated are terraced with gardens, as well as the steep slopes of the hillsides opposite, and present an appearance of rich cultivation not common in this part of Palestine. The hills at the back form a sort of amphitheatre, rising in one place to a height of eighteen hundred and ten feet above the sea: this is the loftiest summit in Carmel.

A year ago, when in search of a retreat from the summer heats of Haifa, I instinctively sought the highest village in the mountain, which is Esfia, also containing a Druse population, but with an admixture of Christians of the Melchite or Greek Catholic persuasion. Here I was presented with the alternative of hir ing a native house or forming a camp. The objections to the native house seemed almost insuperable. They may be summed up in two words - smells and fleas. The whole place reeked with the odor of burned manure; while the effort of perpetual scratching produced too great a sense of weariness and fatigue to be endured for many consecutive days and nights. On the other hand, while the nights were deliciously cool under canvas, the days were oppressively hot with no better pro. tection than it afforded against noonday rays. I therefore determined to combine my resources. First I hired the only stone vault there was in the village a cham

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ber of about thirty feet square. The walls and roof of massive blocks of limestone, which had formed part of some ancient edifice, for Esfia is built on the ruins of an ancient site, secured me midday coolness; and for the few hot hours, we determined to put up with the odors and the insects - - waging, nevertheless, incessant war against the latter with powder and other appliances. Then I hired from a Bedouin encampment in the neighborhood their largest tent, and procured from Haifa a number of rafters and mats. The Bedouin tent I stretched on the rafters, which were supported by uprights, so as to form a roof; the walls I made of mats, which were each six feet square, and could be bought for a shilling apiece. This gave me a room thirty-two feet long, seven feet high, and twelve broad, which I sub divided into apartments; besides which, I had an ordinary fourteen-roped canvas tent, and put up a kitchen and shelter for the horses with brushwood. I also strewed as many branches on the roof as the Bedouin tent would bear—thus gaining additional protection against the sun. By these means I obtained accommodation, such as it was, for our whole party, which generally numbered six, and on the occasion of visitors eight, and sometimes even ten, including several ladies; but not, of course, without some unfortunates being condemned to sleep in the vault, to which on any hot days we all repaired for our siestas. On these occasions it often used to represent the mixed appearance of an artist's studio, a schoolroom, and a dormitory, as we pursued our varied avocations of sketching, studying Arabic, writing, and snoring. As soon as it got cool enough in the afternoon, we made exploratory expeditions on horseback, sometimes taking with us our afternoon tea. In the course of these I visited, within easy riding distance of my camp, no fewer than twenty sites of ancient towns and villages -six of which I had the interest and pleasure of discovering, and at all of which the massive remains bore testimony to the vast and highly civilized population which must have at a former period inhabited this historical mountain. Putting it at a very low estimate, Carmel, which has a circumference of thirty five miles, contained probably a population of at least fifty thousand souls, who must have made of this enchanting highland region a perfect paradise. Indeed, from the nature of the frequent references to it in Holy Writ, it is clear that in Biblical days the "excellency" of Carmel, or, as its name

literally signifies, "God's vineyard," was synonymous with everything beautiful; and any one who should spend months, as I have, exploring its infinite variety of wild and hidden valleys, will not fail to understand why this should be so. If in imagination we build up its now ruined terraces and cover them with vines; if we clothe its hillsides with pendulous for. ests of heavy timber, and fancy its level plateaus and fertile valleys waving with grain; if we crown almost every eminence with stately towns, where now we find fragments of columns, carved capitals, immense rock-cut cisterns, huge stone olive-mills, and wine-presses hewn from the solid rock, - we may begin to realize the nature of the architecture and of the industries of its once teeming population. Now, with the exception of two small villages whose united population does not amount to a thousand souls, all is silent, desolate, and waste: one rides for hours without meeting a soul, following the cat tle-tracks which lead through the thick brushwood - now under lofty beetling crags perforated with caves, now across high breezy plateaus, now along smiling open valleys, now into gloomy gorges, until we almost despair of exhausting the novelty and variety of the scenery.

If we combine the tendencies of the sportsman and the archæologist, these rides offer other inducements besides their mere scenic attractions. At one moment you stumble unexpectedly upon a carved stone, upon which you see, or fancy you see, an inscription; you put down your gun to examine it, and up gets a covey of partridges within ten yards of you; you mark them down, and lo, they have led you to an extensive area of ruin, hitherto unknown and unsuspected by Palestine explorers. For the rest of that day you don't think anything more about partridges, but linger so long over your new discovery, that you lose your way in the dark for you naturally despise guides, and altogether dispense with them

- and on your arrival find your household, or rather "camphold," consumed with an anxiety which is principally compounded of disgust for having been kept so long waiting for dinner; or else you give yourself up to a day in the tombs. This is a more lively occupation than it sounds. You provide yourself with a candle and matches, and go to certain ruins, in the neighboring rocks of which you have "marked down" tombs. How torn and hot and dusty you get by the time you have examined a dozen of these

bling about on all fours or à plat ventre, tearing away the brushwood which conceals their arched entrances, and counting and measuring their kokim and their loculi, and making plans thereof, and sketches of such ornamentation as may exist! I have become blasé in regard to tombs: as I have scrambled into certainly at least a hundred, my mortuary appetite is satisfied. I am only tempted now by one that never seems to have been opened. That, I confess, is irresistible.

There is another animal the habitat of which in Palestine has been deemed doubtful. About ten miles from Dahlieh the Crocodile River flows into the sea, and it has always been said to derive its name from the presence of that reptile in its waters. The other day a man brought me a piece of crocodile-skin about a foot square, as a present, which he had himself cut from the belly of the animal, which he had assisted in killing only a week previously in this stream. In regard to other feræ naturæ, I have several times found the quills of porcupines; young hyenas have been brought to me for sale; gluttons are said to exist, and one or two species of wildcat. In some of the thickly wooded bottoms there are wild boar, and a friend of mine killed one recently in the marsh near Athlit. In the course of the year I saw altogether two deer and five gazelle at different times, but never when I happened to have a gun. Venison is, however, a luxury in which we are occasionally able to indulge, and I took a handsome pair of horns from the head of a buck recently brought to me. But summer shooting on foot is hot work for the sportsman; and if one rides, the rocky and precipitous nature of the country often involves a wild scramble for the horses, more especially as the paths we generally follow are those made by goats. My horse has a habit, when he is going down a perfectly smooth piece of limestone rock, at an angle of 45°, which overhangs a precipice, of stopping to scratch his ear with his hind foot, which interferes for the moment with my respiration, and of which I have in vain tried to break him.

Hitherto I have never found anything more interesting than bones, or more valuable than broken pottery jars. There is an odor about a tomb that has never been opened, when you are the first to roll away the great circular stone that has closed it for the last two thousand years, which, I suppose, would kill you if you inhaled too much of it, and is certainly the most sickening smell I know. But how encourag ing it is! There is a flavor of hope and anticipation in it that compensates you for feeling inclined to faint. Some of these stones are fancifully engraved sometimes with a seven-branched candlestick on each side of the door, sometimes with a sort of cinquefoil or rosette. Moreover, on the stones in the ruins, one comes across some on which are devices indicating various historical periods down to the Crusades, — the Christian warriors having evidently discovered the charms of Carmel, and having their outposts and summer retreats up here, while they were keeping watch and ward in the strong fortress of Athlit, the Castellum Peregrinorum, which was one of the landing-places of the pilgrims to the Holy Land. So we find occasionally their shields and bosses and crosses on these old stones. But it is not without a certain kind of risk that we rummage about for these records of the past; for, as a general rule, they are so overgrown with brushwood, that we have to push our way without being able often to see where we are going, or knowing what kind of creatures we may have to encounter apart from the snakes and scorpions which abound the former, I believe, rarely venomous, the latter sometimes as large as moderate-sized crabs. I have in some of these caves come across traces of more formidable animals. On the soft soil at the bottom of a large natural cavern which I was one day exploring, I came upon the recent footprints of a leopard and lest there should be any doubt as to the existence of these animals on the mountain—which, I observe, some

In the course of these scrambles I have three or four times come upon curious square erections, which I have not observed mentioned in any work upon Palestine. The largest of these was fourteen feet high by twelve square, and formed of slabs of stone averaging three feet by two, by one in thickness, laid upon each other without cement, but evidently hewn so that the construction should be symmet rical. I thought at first there might be a chamber inside; but on examining one of the smaller ones, I found it to be perfectly