This churchyard was
their school-room. And what were their books? The grave-stones that lay
flat upon the ground. Four priests were teaching the boys. These priests
wore black turbans; while Turkish Imams wear white turbans. One of these
Armenian priests led the traveller to an upper room, telling him he had
something very wonderful to show him. What could it be? The priest went
to a nacho in the wall and took out of it a bundle; then untied a silk
handkerchief, and then another, and then another; till he had untied
twenty-five silk handkerchiefs. What was the precious thing so carefully
wrapped up? It was a New Testament.
It is a precious book indeed: but it ought to be read, and not wrapped
up. The priest praised it, saying, "This is a wonderful book; it has
often been laid upon sick persons, and has cured them." Then a poor old
man, bent and tottering, pressed forward to kiss the book, and to rub his
heavy head. This was worshipping the _book_, instead of Him who wrote it.
An Armenian village looks like a number of molehills: for the dwellings
are holes dug in the ground with low stone walls round the holes; the
roof is made of branches of trees and heaps of earth. There are generally
two rooms in the hole--one for the family, and one for the cattle.
A traveller arrived one evening at such a village; and he was pleased to
see fruit-trees overshadowing the hovels, and women, without veils,
spinning cotton under their shadow.
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