ignorance of semi-barbarism, and the light of vital piety almost extinguished upon their altars, and my heart bled for their condition. But Hope pointed her radiant wand to brighter scenes, when all these glens, and rocks, and vales, shall echo and re-echo to the glad praises of our God, and, like a morning star, these Nestorians shall arise to usher in a glorious and resplendent day. But ere that bright period shall arrive, there is a mighty work to be done,—a conflict with the powers of darkness before the shout of victory. Let us arm this brave hand to the contest.
"Onward to the work! and onward I sped my course down the steep declivity of the mountain, now cautiously climbing over the rocks which obstructed our course, now resting my weary limbs under the inviting shade of a wild pear tree, and anon, mounted on my hardy mule, winding along our narrow zig-zag pathway, over the mountain spurs, and down, far down to the banks of the rolling, noisy, dashing Zab. Here lay one of the large populous villages of the independent Nestorians, which extended amid fertile gardens for more than a mile in length."[1]
This was the village of Leezan, which we reached at 4 p.m., the road thereto, so graphically described by Dr. Grant, having been rendered still more toilsome and dangerous by the rain, which descended in torrents during the day. We were hospitably welcomed by Kash' Audishu, one of the priests who had lived with us for some months at Mosul after the massacre of 1843, and by many of the villagers who had known us under similar circumstances, and now eagerly pressed forward to testify their gratitude. Each had his little tale to relate, as to how he had fared since the general return of the refugees to their homes, and these for the most part were tales of sorrow. The Nestorians are only just beginning to recover from the effects of the Coordish invasion, and the drawback of poverty is increased by the conduct of the tax-gatherers and other Turkish officials, who traverse the country in every direction. The kharâj, or humiliation tax, payable by all Christians in the empire, is now levied from the mountaineers with the greatest severity, and the higher rates are often imposed upon those who have absolutely
- ↑ The Nestorians, or the Lost Tribes, pp. 53—56.
