This is the mountainous district lying east and south of Tyre, probably the “Galilee of the Gentiles;” bounded on the north by the river KasimÎyeh, the ancient Leontes; on the west by the plain of Tyre; on the east by the plain of Hhooleh and of the Upper Jordan; on the south by hills around Safed: the district is very little known to Europeans, and was much less so in 1848.

In that year I entered it from the North, after traversing the Sidon country, crossing the pleasant river with its rose-coloured border of oleander and wild holly-oak at a ford wider than the average breadth of the Jordan.

There we found abundance of noble trees, and some cottages near them, the vines belonging to which climbed up those trees to a surprising height; and the thickness of the vines exceeded any that I had any where or at any time seen.

In front was the village of Boorj, and we mounted into a high table-land commanding prospects of indescribable grandeur, which comprised parts of both Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon, the extreme heights of Sannin and Hermon being visible at once.

The day was one of hot shirocco, and there were fires of lime-kilns visible in several directions, this season (late in autumn) being that appropriated to such employment, after all the harvests are gathered in.

There were innumerable villages appearing in every direction. We passed AbÂsiyeh on our right; Dar Meemas and Izereiriyeh distant on the left; Tura on the right; Dar Kanoon we almost entered; Bidias near us on the left; Dair Thecla on our right; Bursheen on the right; Durtghayer on the left; Arzoon further on the left; then we rested under some olive trees, with Dar esh Shems on the right; Mezra’a on the left; Dar Zibneh with a castle on our right.

In the distance appeared the mighty old castle of Shukeef (Belfort of the Crusaders) upon an eminence, with Jebel esh Shaikh, or Hermon, rising majestically behind it.

As we descended into a deep glen between verdant hills, the partridges were clucking in multitudes, and so unaccustomed to intrusion, that sometimes they came running up towards us; magpies were flying about, and we were told that the glen abounds in wild beasts, which there seemed no reason to doubt. For hours we wound round and round within this cool and refreshing labyrinth of arbutus, bellota or evergreen oak, aspen, clematis, broom, and what looked like the sloe, besides other and unknown vegetation. The bellota was often respectable-sized timber in girth, though of no considerable height; sometimes our path was overshadowed by their branches stretching across, and we had to stoop beneath them. On the sides of the hills were many fires of the charcoal burners.

As evening came on, we could see our lofty green prison walls tipped with the setting sun.

At length the glen seemed to be terminated by a fine round hill, crowned with a village standing across the passage. The appearance improved as we drew nearer; inhabitants were not few; large flocks and herds were winding by several ways towards it. The people named it Khirbet Sellim, (Sellim in ruin) but how could all this cheerful scene belong to a ruin?

The sun set and we had another hour of the lovely glen to thread by starlight. At last we emerged by a gently inclined plain, which gradually became rougher, and we mounted the steep hill on which Tibneen is built. There we determined to halt for the night, as our cattle were unable to hold on to Bint el Jebail.

We pitched on the threshing floor between the village and the castle.

This castle is the citadel of all the BelÂd BeshÂrah, from the Leontes to Safed, and Ahhmad Bek, its owner, is called by his people “the Shaikh of Shaikhs;” by the Turkish government he is recognised as Kaimakam of the province.

The people were of ill behaviour, and talked about quarantine, but the population of the district are at all times a churlish race, being of the Sheah or ’Ali sect of Moslems; they curse and loathe our Mohammedans, and oppress the sparse families of Christians within their reach. They are called the MutÂwaleh.

At first they refused to let us have anything, till the governor, on ascertaining who we were, sent us down some lemonade; still we got but few articles of food, and our horses were left without water.

My kawwÂs Salim was then taken ill from the effect of having slept the preceding night with his head uncovered, and with reluctance our own people put up the small tent that travelled with us, on purpose for them; they always prefer sleeping in open air, only covering the head well with the cloak.

This was Saturday night, and we had not an agreeable prospect for a Sabbath rest on the morrow.

The wind was strong all night on that lofty situation, but there was no dew.

In the morning, the people would not supply us with milk, even for the horses, and so it was impossible to stay there; we marched on towards Bint el Jebail, about three hours’ distant, a considerable place, which often contests with Tibneen for supremacy in the local government, and where the governor is a distant relative of him at Tibneen.

From the tents, before starting, we could see the following villages in a curved line from S.E. to N:—

Haddata or Haita ez-Zoot.
Bait U’oon.
Berasheet.
Hhooleh.
Shakrah.

And they told us of El Yehudiyeh on the N.W. behind the castle. The Mediterranean in sight [I became better acquainted with Tibneen, and on better relations with the people in after years.]

Passed on through a pretty country, like all the BelÂd BeshÂrah, with numerous villages in sight; excellent beaten roads, and plenty of them; with everywhere the magnificent objects in view of Mount Hermon, and part of the Lebanon, but not always the Mediterranean.

Rested at half-way of our short journey under a large evergreen oak on the summit of a rising ground, with a refreshing breeze blowing; thence descended to a plain where there were about a dozen wells, and people drawing water for large herds of neat cattle. Here our horses got drink.

Arrived at Bint el Jebail, a nice-looking place, with a commanding house for the governor, (Hhusain SulimÂn,) but the people were at first even more inhospitable than those at Tibneen, for they drove away our man Khaleel from the village fountain, and covered up their mouths and noses, in fear of cholera.

On application to the Bek, we got permission to draw water for ourselves, and he allowed us eggs and bread, with barley for the horses, and it was with difficulty they accepted any money in return.

The Bek also invited me to visit him in his house, but stipulating not to shake hands.

On coming near the Serai, (governor’s house,) the ladies of the Hhareem were looking out of the lattices upon the cavalcade. A crowd of servants were at the door to receive us, in attendance on one of his sons, who had a large hunting-hawk upon his wrist; silver bells upon her legs.

We were shown into a large baronial-looking hall, and chairs were placed for us upon the divan.

The great man sat in the right-hand corner, upon a panther skin, one of the prey of the country, his brother at his right hand, and his sons ranged on his left. He wore a robe of the true Moslem apple-green, with a Cashmere shawl round his waist, and another on his turban. His countenance and deportment were truly aristocratic; he and all his family were handsome, with intelligent expression of countenance.

The son who had been outside came in, and put his hawk upon her perch, then took his place. They gave us sherbet, coffee, and abundant compliments: we talked of hawking in England, and English ladies riding to the sport. London, and the Queen on the throne were discussed; also Jerusalem, where the Bek had never been. On the whole the reception was satisfactory. Pity that the people were afraid of cholera; they did not exhibit the virtue of resignation to Divine predestination any more than our Sooni-Moslems of the south had done.

Our tents were in a sunny situation, but still we had in them a rest for Sunday afternoon.

At sunset the Bek sent me a present of grapes, those that were purple were of large size.

Starlight night, but no dew; jackals were howling in troops, sometimes very close to us. An armed nominal quarantine was placed over us during the night—ridiculous enough after a pretty free intercourse of the people all day.

The morning very cool. A poor Maronite priest from ’Ain Nebel came to me in his black robes and dark blue turban, and, leaning on his staff, gave a lamentable account of persecutions suffered by the four or five Christian villages about there, and imploring English help on their behalf. Alas! nothing could be done for him, only the case of the servant of the governor of Tibneen shooting a poor Christian, while on compulsory work at the lime-kilns, got inquiry made into it at Bayroot. On asking his name, and writing it down, the miserable man said to the secretary, “Tell the consul that I have already written his name on my heart.”

Hitherto our journey had been entirely novel—there is no record published of any traveller passing through that country, from the Leontes, its northern boundary, before that date. Going forwards, we passed through pretty green lanes along the sides of hills. From the crest of a hill, whence the view was very extensive, we had Yaroon on the right, and beyond it the ruined convent of St George. I afterwards learned that the church there exhibits proof of great size and magnificence.

By the roadside was a huge undecorated sarcophagus, in excellent preservation, standing on a raised platform of masonry; single and alone in a wide expanse, no village or remnant of human works near it. The masonry in front had been wilfully damaged, enough to make the sarcophagus lean, but not to fall, and the ponderous cover was removed from its place—total length, eight feet by five, and four in height, the hollow cut out from the body left the thickness of a foot all round it. No inscription gives any record of the doubtless important personage for whom it was prepared, and no embellishments even provide a clue to the period to which it belongs. It stands well-preserved, great in its simplicity and position.

Villages of FÂrah and Salchah on our left.

Thence we descended into a glen of blazing white stone, without any verdure, in which were a diversity of paths, and a petty runlet of water issuing from the ground, but soon showing only stagnant green pools and mud, with frogs in abundance, then evaporated altogether. Near this, Salim was taken with vomiting and purging, and was hardly able to remain on his horse; the dragoman also fainting and giddy, and the rest frightened with the terrors of expected cholera. Our guide wanted to desert us and return home.

The muleteers and luggage had taken another road, but after a time we met again. Moving on, the ground became a gradual rise, and a stream coming down it toward us, became clearer as we ascended, and fruit-trees were rather numerous.

Under some fig-trees the kawwÂs laid himself down, and we stayed there three hours with him; water was poured over his head to obviate fever, and I administered some pills.

During the interval I found some sculptured stones with Hebrew inscriptions, which I have elsewhere described, and took pains to decipher the words, but without much result. They were lying in a ploughed field by the roadside. We were now entering on classic ground of the Talmudists, and upon a precipice above us, upon wide table-ground, was the village of Jish, the Giscala of Josephus.

When evening brought coolness, we proceeded towards Safed.

A peasant passing us was carrying home his plough upon his shoulder, except the iron share, which his little daughter, of two or three years old, carried on her head.

Some of our horses were so stung by flies that the blood flowed to the stones under their feet as they went along.

There were traces of ancient pavement along the road, and cavern holes in chalk-rock sides. Then traversing a few miles of dark volcanic stone we neared a crater in the ground, whose gloomy aspect was fully in keeping with the destruction which such a phenomenon bespeaks as having occurred—silent as the death it produced, and void of all pleasurable features, of wild flowers, or even the thorns of nature.

The whole vicinity bore traces of the earthquakes that have often occurred there, especially that of 1837.

After this a glorious prospect burst upon us of Safed, “set upon a hill,” and the gloomy hill of Jarmuk beside it. Tabor also in view far in advance, throwing a vast shadow of late afternoon-time over other hills, and glimpses of the lake Tiberias.

Encamped on our former site among the great old olive-trees north of the town. Some Jewesses gleaning olives from the ground were frightened away. Visitors were out at once to welcome us in English, Arabic, and Judisch, (Jewish-German.) We were surrounded by fair and rosy complexions of Jews, the effect of the pure bracing air of the mountain.

My sick people took to their beds, and only after a week’s care (medical such as we could get) were able to continue the journey, one remaining behind to recover strength. The complaint, however, had not been cholera, it was rather what is denominated “Syrian fever.”