Kinship, religious association, party traditions and proximity, these four influences are important in the order named in helping to form society. Among the people whom we are considering the fact of kinship is the first determining cause of social relations. In fact it is so important that the farther we get away from a city the more does it tend to become the sole basis of friendly association. In the villages kinship overshadows all other considerations. In the desert there is practically no other bond in which is the possibility of society. The law of hospitality is really an invention of necessity, the guest becoming by a fiction a temporary kinsman.^[168]

As men come to live more closely together they are compelled to heed other considerations than blood relationship, and so in the village, while kinship dominates everything, yet there must be some regard to other claims. One might live in a village a long time without realizing the fact, but a little inquiry would elicit it, that any happy social group of people is almost certain to be a group of kindred. The village will have as many distinct sections, or, as we should say, wards, as there are tribes. One does not discover much that is comparable to society existing between members of different divisions of the village.

Religious association counts for something, however, in making society for the villager, though this is less the case than in the cities. The celebration of feasts, pilgrimages and ecstasies gives the Moslem not only society but a deal of entertainment. The Christian population finds an important social center in the church, and in the festivals and celebrations of the church much of its pleasantest entertainment.

Party traditions, such as those which have divided the villages of Palestine into Yemen and ?ays, have besides their divisive effect a social significance in an interest which is engendered between the villagers the country over belonging to the same party. As the old enmities die out this broader social spirit may persist and even offer a basis for wider interests.

Proximity might seem at first thought to offer only added occasion for hostility between those whose family or religious differences keep them apart, and so, no doubt, it often does have this effect. But it was noticeable that, when a squabble arose between Christians living in el-BÎreh and others in RÂm AllÂh, the BÎreh Moslems threw themselves into the question in favor of the BÎreh Christians, and the united BÎreh populace came over in a rage to take vengeance on the RÂm AllÂh people. It was not that BÎreh Moslems welcomed an opportunity to fight Christians even to the extent of assisting other Christians, but it was a pure case of neighborliness with the nearer neighbor. Ordinarily RÂm AllÂh and el-BÎreh are neighborly enough, both being of the ?ays faction.

The diversions of the Syrian peasant are extremely simple. Doubtless conversation is the chief social delight. Pictures, books and formal entertainment are out of the question. It takes most of the time to earn the sustenance of the family. The idea of spending money for pure amusement is scarcely to be dreamed of by a sane person. Young men often take pleasure in the possession of a silk head scarf or a black, thin overgarment, articles of dress which are not strictly necessary, and yet sufficiently useful luxuries. The children play merrily if they are healthy. The old men sit about and talk in the shops and market. Visiting in each other’s houses is almost unknown unless the persons be near of kin. The men see each other in the market. The women see each other at the springs and at the ovens. News goes about with extraordinary rapidity from lip to lip. The entertainment of visitors and guests is a matter of honor. Conversation is lively and the little points of etiquette much regarded. Among the well-to-do the visitor is served with preserves, fruit, lemonade and, lastly, coffee. Before the serving of the coffee the visitors are hardly at liberty to withdraw. If an early departure be imperative the coffee will be hurried and served early. It is said that among the BedawÎn a full cup of coffee is a sign of enmity. So the cups are not quite filled to the brim. The coffee-cup (finjÂn) is a tiny affair, usually without handle or saucer. Sugar is not commonly added, milk never. When sugar is used it is ordinarily cooked with the coffee.

It is customary to make calls of courtesy upon the occasion of any gala day or feast day of special significance. For instance, the leading men in a village may call on the government representative, say the mudÎr, on the occasion of the Sultan’s birthday. Or Moslems may call upon the church officials in honor of the great church days. The natives honor foreigners by calls if they learn that some day of great significance to the foreigner’s home country is at hand. It is customary to call upon a neighbor who has returned from a journey immediately and felicitate him and hear of his experiences. Upon entering a house for a call, if it be among their own neighbors, little formality is indulged. The burden of that is on the host, who should greet the comers with “FÛt” (enter), or “Fo??el” (welcome). Among the more pretentious visitors the preliminaries of calls are smoothed through the medium of servants. The passing over the threshold may be made the occasion of the expression of much hospitality and courtesy. The seat of honor is the one farthest from the door, but modesty dictates that one should sit down in the humblest place, that nearest the door, until expostulation and entreaty prevail on one to take the place of honor. The first questions are concerning the health of the host and his family. In a Moslem’s house it is not customary to ask concerning the man’s wife. The conversation may be made sprightly by the keenness of the interest shown in these objects of inquiry, or it may be disagreeably dull on account of the perfunctory manner in which they are mentioned. A matter of business, if there be such, is kept back until other subjects of conversation fail. The introduction and carrying on of a conversation may be a very graceful and interesting thing, but if either party be boorish,^[169] and the purpose be to demand some advantage, as when official business brings together those of different religious beliefs, the meeting can be a very strained and uncomfortable affair. Such an occasion would be the meeting of a proud city Moslem with a Christian peasant, or even with a Moslem peasant. But between village peasants themselves, though of different faiths, there is more real courtesy than elsewhere. Not many of the people like trouble and hard feeling. Most of them like the atmosphere of good-will and at least the externals of good fellowship and generous treatment.

Invitations to a hospitable meal or feast are often sent out shortly before the actual hour, if not just at the very time.^[170] It is commonly the case that a courteous host seeks to dissuade the guest from bringing the call or visit to a close.^[171] The departing guest usually says something like “A khÂ?rak,” “By your leave,” to which the host answers, “Ma' SalÂmeh,” “[Go] with peace.”^[172] The first speaker responds to this with “'Ala selmÂk,” or “Selimt.”

^[173]Greetings in the market-place and on the road are formal but graceful. The common greeting of “SalÂm 'alaykum,”^[174] “Peace be on you,” is replied to by “'Alaykum es-salÂm,” “May the peace be on you.” In strictness this is the salutation of Moslems, though it is commonly used indiscriminately. Now and then one may hear of a bigoted Moslem who would not return this salutation to a Christian, but would mumble out “Peace be on the faithful ones,” in which class he would include, of course, none but his coreligionists.^[175] More characteristic are the rustic salutations, “Mar?abÂ,” “Welcome”; “MÎyet mar?abÂ,” “A hundred welcomes”; “Kayf ?Âlak,” “How are you?”; “?umdillÂh,” “Praise God”; “AllÂh yofathak,” “May God preserve you”; “?umdillÂh salÂmeh,” “Praise God, you are well,” or, “I see you well”; “SalÂmtak,” “Your peace.” The peasant’s early good morning salutation is “?ubÂ?kum b’l-khayr,” to which the response is, “Y ?ubÂ? el-khayr.” When the day is well on the pleasant greeting is, “NahÂrak sa'Îd,” “May your day be happy,” to which the gracious reply is, “NahÂrak umbÂrak,” “May your day be blessed.” The evening salutation is, “MesÂÎkum b’l-khayr,” answered by, “Y mes el-khayr.” At night it is, “Layltak sa'Îdeh.”

An evasive answer to one asking a question as to another’s destination in traveling is to reply, “A(la) bÂb AllÂh,” “To the gate of God.”

In addressing foreigners the peasants use the term khawÂjah for a man and sitt for a woman. In speaking to a superior of their own race they employ the term sayyid, lord, or sir, or effendy. Among themselves they use the word shaykh for an elderly, a learned or a holy man. To their equals in age and station the peasant’s titles of address are numerous. “YÂ shaykh” to such is used in expostulation or derision. “'Ammy,” “My uncle”; “?abÎby,” “My dear”; “Mu'allim,” “Master” or “Teacher,” or the first name of the one addressed are used in conversation. If the talkers are uncertain of each other’s name they may say, “HayÛ, shu ismak?” “Eh, there, what’s your name?” though this is rather contemptuous. In rough conversation the speakers may grace each other with such address as “YÂ bÂrid,” literally, “Thou cold one,” meaning foolish one; “Shu ente,” “Who are you anyway?”; “MajnÛn, ente?”, “Are you mad?”; “Ana ?amÂr?”, “Am I a donkey?” i. e., “Do you take me for a donkey?” or, sarcastically, “ShÂ?rak,” “You are clever.” To boys, “YÂ ?uby,” or “YÂ weled,” and to girls or any unmarried woman, “YÂ bint,” are the simple forms of address. “'Amty,” “My aunt,” is often used to middle-aged or elderly matrons. A father will often call his child by the relation which he himself sustains to the child, “YÂ aba,” literally, “O father!” A maternal aunt has been heard to call her niece or her nephew by the relationship which she holds to either, viz., “YÂ khÂlty,” meaning literally, “My maternal aunt.”

A very graceful salute is executed with the right hand touching lightly first one’s breast, then the lips and then the forehead. The one saluted answers by the same set of gestures. In Damascus I once saw a group of citizens who had gathered in a tiny room for conversation executing simultaneously a similar salute, except that they first swept the right hand downward towards the ground in lieu of the touch on the breast. This variation is more elegant or more humble than the former way, according to circumstances.^[176] I once saw a villager presenting a paper to be read to one of the official class. The peasant made a sweeping motion toward the ground with the hand holding the document.

In meeting, the native seizes the hand of his superior and endeavors to bring the back of the hand to his lips and forehead. The other, however, generally succeeds in withdrawing his hand before more than a touch of hands has been accomplished. On meeting, especially after a separation, the custom has obtained among women friends of kissing each other first on the right cheek and then on the left. Men salute each other in the same way in some localities. Strangers enter into amiable conversation with each other without the necessity of introductions.

The guest-house of the tribe makes a place of rendezvous for men, where congenial companions may be met in a social way. Song and story are much enjoyed by the men. Those who have a knack for story-telling, or who can sing to their own accompaniment on the rabÂb, a kind of fiddle, or on the 'Ûd, a kind of lute, are assured an appreciative audience. The social and kindly amenities may be seen here at the guest-house after a funeral. The nearest of kin to the deceased among the men is constrained by his men friends to accompany them to the guest-house where, by preparing food and supplying a stream of conversation, they try to divert his mind from his grief. They may seek to entertain him thus for several days. I accompanied one such group of mourners and sympathizers to the guest-house where we sat cross-legged upon the floor. A man and his wife who lived in the same house and kept the guest-room in order prepared coffee. Green coffee berries were roasted in a long-handled iron ladle over the coals in a clay brazier. The roasted berries were put into a wooden mortar and pounded with a long wooden pestle. When they were quite fine the odor was very pleasant. The coffee was then put into a tin pot having a long handle and allowed to cook over the brazier until it swelled up in the pot several times, when it was served in handleless cups, of which there were but two in the company. They handed me the first cup, but I passed it on, refusing to drink before the old men had partaken. The cup that I used was washed after my predecessor had drunk from it, but I noticed that for the others the cups were refilled without washing. It was most delicious coffee. Some of the men had previously refreshed themselves with cigarettes. The talk had been general and lively and an air of comfort and good-will had filled the place. I admired those good-hearted men and their simple and sensible way, as with the fumes of coffee and the interest of their talk they beguiled their friend and themselves for several hours. The female friends of a woman in grief assemble at the house where she lives with the object of comforting her. So with all the great events of life, birth, marriage, death, a feast, a return from a journey, the friends, who are usually related, distantly at any rate, gather together for the pleasure of conversation and discussion, to drink coffee and, as they say in the native idiom, to “drink tobacco,” for they always describe smoking as drinking.

Often in a conversation where there seems to be a likelihood of ill feeling, as, for instance, in business matters, the one who is leading the conversation will pronounce the opening salutations and addresses all over again. So in the middle of a conversation that does not appear to be “getting anywhere,” he may break in suddenly with “Good morning, sir; how are you?” This repeated several times during a long talk has the effect of a fresh start with the erasure of what has passed. Sometimes a man who is being pressed, as he thinks, unduly, will break out into vituperation, pass his hand over his brow in sign of weariness and the unreason of his opponents, even weep a little with vexation. Meanwhile all the other talkers about him observe him soberly and silence may rest on them for some minutes before the subject is resumed. All these things make little difference with the results of the business in hand, however. He who has the advantage holds it unmoved, though he may be as diplomatic as possible in forcing the conclusion. Any exhibition of passion or impatience usually betrays the weaker side in the discussion. Such conversations may be continued at odd times through days.

When there are visitors at the guest-house who are to be fed, the people take one of the huge dishes known as the minsaf, fill it with food, generally rice and mutton, and several help to carry it to the guest-chamber, supporting it in a large piece of sacking, which they hold by the four corners.

One of the gala times to which the neighbors look forward is what might be called a roofing-bee. When a house which is in the course of building has been finished except the roof, the master mason in charge becomes practically the head of an open-air festival, for besides his usual helpers the whole neighborhood turns out to assist. The women bring stone and mortar, the men stand in line to pass it, and amid shouting, singing and the firing of guns the work goes on merrily to completion, when the mason is supposed to receive as a present a new robe and the merrymakers are feasted on rice.

Among the rich, women as well as men smoke the nÂrjÎleh, which is supplied with tumbÂk, a Persian variety of tobacco.

A great deal of entertainment must be afforded the natives who come in contact with foreigners, as these latter attempt, and mangle, the language. But with imperturbable and polite deference the native listeners betray no sense of our blunders, even declaring our gift in acquiring the tongue remarkable. The eager learner is fortunate indeed if the natives do not answer back in the same broken Arabic which he is perpetrating. Such an excess of accommodation hinders advance in the difficult idiom. A missionary friend told me of the amusing experiences of herself and another worker in their early attempts to force their ability at talking in Arabic. They were almost totally ignorant of the language, but they went to a garden where there was a group of women and boldly essayed to tell the story of the rich man and Lazarus. One of them knowing a word for man, zelameh, said it, and was followed by the other, who said the word for poor, fakÎr, and pointed upwards. The first then said zelameh again, when the second, who also knew the word for rich, ghany, said that and pointed downwards. That was the extent of their exposition. Some one, hearing of it, asked our friend if she thought any impression was made upon her hearers. She laughingly replied that she didn’t know, but that some one had stolen her pocket-handkerchief during the performance.

There is play for all ages. The feasts, the weddings and even the funerals are practically occasions of play for the adults. The young men often play a game similar to our duck-on-the-rock. The old men sitting in the streets about the doorways are often seen playing a game called sÎjeh or lÎwan. In the dust or on the flat surface of a stone slab forty-nine or twenty-five squares are marked off, as on a checker-board. The markers or men are, perhaps, small stones. The one suggesting the game says, “I’ll take the lÎwan” (hall), which is the central square of all, and places one of the markers in a space next to the lÎwan. Then each player in turn places a marker in a vacant square anywhere on the diagram, the central lÎwan excepted, until all but that one are filled. The first player then, he who claimed the lÎwan, moves his nearest marker into it. The player next in turn jumps the marker which the first player moved. The third player moves into the lÎwan and is jumped by the following player. Jumping must always be towards the lÎwan and is allowable whenever there is a marker in the lÎwan, one or more empty spaces between the jumper and the lÎwan and an empty space beyond the lÎwan into which to jump. The game continues until there is but one marker left on the board, and that in the lÎwan.

The more vigorous game called dÔsh is played with pitching stones. The two players try for the first turn by seeing which one can come nearest, with a throw of his stone, to some mark. Keeping the positions in which they land in this trial-toss, the first player (the one nearest the mark) throws his stone at the stone of the other, trying to drive it as many feet as possible. He continues until he fails to drive his opponent’s stone, measuring with his feet the ground over which he has driven it and adding up the score. The other then tries to drive his opponent’s stone in the same fashion. The one first driving his opponent’s stone a total distance of forty feet is the winner and is entitled to be given a ride on the back of the defeated player.

The village men greatly enjoy motion songs, with dancing, swaying, clapping of hands, etc. Many of these exercises are combined in the mil'ab^[177] at wedding celebrations. When clapping of hands is the prominent motion, the song may go by the designation ?a?jeh.^[178] When a sort of dance, which consists chiefly in stamping the foot forward, characterizes the motion, the accompanying song is designated as dabkeh.^[179] In this latter the dancer or dancers, for there may be one or several in line, hold handkerchiefs fluttering in the hands and stamp forward first with one foot and then with the other in groups of three stamps or steps with each foot, changing gracefully from one foot to the other.

There are strolling gipsies who go about entertaining by dancing and thrumming on instruments. Sometimes a man with a baboon or a bear comes to a village.

The native enjoys hunting. Gazels, partridges and wild pigeons are the chief game, but he does not despise smaller birds.^[180] He seldom has anything like modern arms, and therefore unless hunting is his business often misses the object of his aim. Still he enjoys the noise of his gun.

Quarrels are of too painful frequency among villagers. They are always costly affairs, for the officials mulct both sides, unless the trouble has been hushed up before soldiers are sent to investigate. There has been considerable improvement lately in the general order and security of the country. Even within ten or fifteen years, it is said, the roads have become more safe, outrages much less common and villagers more peaceable. Formerly the peasants went heavily armed and altercations were likely to lead to bloodshed. As I am rewriting these notes there come letters from friends in Palestine bringing news of a quarrel of serious proportions in one of the large villages. A score or more of the men have been put into the nearest city prison and great expense and continued ill-will are inevitable. A marriage had been arranged to unite young people of two different tribes. This unusual event was not allowed to proceed without very great jealousies and some disagreement as to minor terms among the relatives. The trouble culminated on the day of the wedding; and for some hours a battle raged. From housetops, windows, doors and in the alleys of the quarter of the village where the tribes lived stones were hurled and wounds inflicted.

To take revenge is known as akhadh ith-thÂr, or astad ith-thÂr. The blood-revenge is called ith-thÂr id-dam. A family or tribe feels that it has been humiliated when any of its members have been assailed by outsiders. If blood has been drawn or a fatality has ensued the disgrace must be wiped out. The accomplishment of this is expressed as nafy il-'Âr.^[181]