CHAPTER, XXXY. 
THE MILL OF MALAHA. 
I wish it to be distinctly understood that I entertain no 
vindictive or revengeful feelings toward any body on account 
of the disappointment I experienced in the first view of the 
Mill of Malaha. To be candid, it arose partly from a cred¬ 
ulous faith in every thing that the Arabs told me, however 
wonderful, and partly from a natural disposition to invest 
every thing with the charms of romance. Notwithstanding 
the practical sense of my companions, who believed nothing 
at all that was not in print, and who were continually pro¬ 
ducing authorities on every doubtful point, I secretly swal¬ 
lowed every thing miraculous, and filled up all the obscure 
parts with glowing anticipations, that were doomed never to 
be realized. Even at the time, I often suspected that such 
things were only to be found in the Arabian Nights ; but 
somehow I could not help thinking they might turn out to 
be true, and on that hope hung an immense amount of an¬ 
ticipation. Bearing in mind, however, that my mission was 
of a practical character, I was always ready to admit the 
facts in the end, and to denounce the Arabs for their extrav¬ 
agant indulgence in hyperbole, as also to expose the fallacies 
of all travelers who make a practice of investing common¬ 
place realities with the glowing absurdities of fiction. It 
may be set down as a rule that when a writer on Oriental 
life tells you what a pleasant thing it is not to be civilized; 
when he even professes to have some savage propensities in 
his nature, and has an unconquerable desire to be a wander¬ 
ing Ishmaelite, there must be something wrong in the man. 
Either he is making a book to be read by a public that con¬ 
tinually thirsts for something strange and new, or wisher 
