Beyroot, August 26th, 1836.

I have just returned from a tour to Damascus, Baalbec, and the far-famed Cedars of Lebanon, and will attempt a brief account of these places, and my adventures by the way.

I had the company of Mr. B——, Angelo to cook for us, and a muleteer, who took care of our mules, and who ought to have been our guide, but who, on trial, was found not to know the way himself—a state of things not uncommon in this country—and did it not extend to higher matters than to find the road from one place to another, it would not be so bad; but from all I see and hear, it is most dolefully the case in the great matter of finding the way to everlasting life. Guides there are many in religion, but few, if any, understand the way of salvation through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. It is, indeed, astonishing how far the great mass of those who in these regions call themselves Christians, have sunk in darkness and ignorance respecting the most plain and leading principles of the word of God. The priests are "blind leaders of the blind."

As we set out for Damascus, from Bru-ma-nah on the mountain, we did not follow the usual road to Damascus from Beyroot, but took a more direct route. We made for the lower part of Mount Lebanon, between the Sun-neen and Jebal Knee-se. I had before passed over part of this, on my tour to the Sun-neen, some account of which I have already given you. Part of our way, however, before reaching the top, was new, but did not differ much from what I had before seen. We passed a considerable village, where the Jesuits are said to have a school. It is in a lovely, romantic spot, and near a most tremendous precipice.

The descent from the top to the plain is much greater than I supposed, when on the top. It took us above two hours to reach Zahle, which stands on the lower part of the mountain, and at some distance above the level of the plain. The side of the Lebanon next the plain is not quite as rough and rocky as the other; in other respects it does not essentially differ. The cultivation may possibly extend farther up—the rock more disintegrated, and the strata not as distinctly marked,—the general course of the ridge was more regular and uniform. The road, as we approached Zahle, was better than any I have seen on the mountains—it passed through a considerable extent of vineyards, and labour had been expended upon it—it was very passable, a rare thing in these parts.

A little above Zahle, and in and near it, a number of fine springs arose, and their effect on the vegetation was most striking; while the whole face of the mountain presented a most dry and parched aspect, with only here and there a bush to be seen, the heads of the little hollows about Zahle—a small district near the town, and a narrow slip along the waters, widening as it approached the plain, were rich in verdure, and abounded with the Lombardy poplar, the willow, the white walnut, and a variety of fruit-trees. You could trace most clearly where there was water by the vegetation which there covered the ground. Yea, you could point out most distinctly where the water was carried along the hill sides, in trenches, by the verdure which covered the whole district below, while all above was almost destitute of vegetation. The rising of water above and near the town, being very considerable, and being carried along the hill sides, and extensively used in irrigation, a larger district about this town was covered with trees, and bore more marks of productiveness than any I have seen in these quarters. A little below the town were some mills on this water-course, and many lovely gardens lay on all sides. The town Zahle contains from eight hundred to one thousand houses. They are crowded together, with narrow, crooked streets; and, like all other towns in this land, it has no claim to cleanliness. Judging from what I saw, the houses are universally built of unburned brick, made with a good deal of short straw mixed with them, no doubt to prevent them from breaking to pieces. The houses are of one story, have flat roofs, where people are often seen walking or lounging, and on which various things are deposited.

It being about sundown when we entered the town, we made some inquiries for lodging. There are usually in the towns, and occasionally on the roads, houses built for the accommodation of travellers, called khans. They have rooms, but are entirely unfurnished, and the traveller is expected to provide for himself. They are beginning to keep, at some of them, the more necessary articles of food for man and beast, which the traveller may obtain at a reasonable price. Having, in some of my former tours, been greatly annoyed with fleas, and knowing these khans are the very head-quarters of such gentry, we were rather on the watch, and made inquiry before alighting, whether they had any fleas in their establishment? They assured us that they had "a plenty! plenty!" We declined stopping, and passed on amidst the laugh of the bystanders. It began, however, to grow dark about the time we got out of the town, and after passing down the stream, among the gardens, for some time, and not finding a place that offered a good encampment, we were constrained to put up at a house on the road side, and sleep in a kind of open court. We found, to our discomfort, that we had not much mended the matter. We were most grievously beset with fleas, which were as greedy as if it was the first Frank blood they had tasted, and feared it might be the last.

We found in the morning that we were in the immediate neighbourhood of a considerable body of the pasha's troops. Their parade-ground was over against us; arranged along one side I counted thirty-six cannon drawn up, and as we passed, we saw a considerable number of artillery-men, five or six in a company, manoeuvring, each under the direction of an individual. Several of these groups had a little carriage, not more than a foot long, a perfect toy, with a string to it, and were drawing it about and manoeuvring it in place of the cannon. It was laughable to see five or eight great awkward fellows pulling about a little toy, like a waggon, which a baby could have thrown about at pleasure. This is the Egyptian version of European tactics.

There was near this place, which was on the edge of the plain, a most noble threshing-floor. It was a large space of several acres, and there may have been from a dozen to twenty floors, without any partition between them. On some of them people were employed in threshing grain, others separating the straw and chaff from the wheat; on others lay great piles of grain, some clean, and others mixed with the chaff and straw. They separate the wheat by throwing it up and letting the wind blow the chaff away. Of course they must wait for a wind. I saw no instrument to make wind. The threshing instrument is a board, about three feet in width, and six or eight feet in length; at the fore end it is turned up, a little like a sleigh. The board is about three inches in thickness. On the under side many holes are cut in it, from an inch and a half to two inches, and in these are fastened pieces of stone, flint, or iron; these project nearly an inch from the face of the board and serve as teeth, to tear the heads of the grain in pieces. Oxen are fastened to the front of these boards, and driven round the floor, drawing this instrument after them. The driver of the oxen usually sits or stands on the instrument. This is the common threshing-machine in these countries. I see it everywhere—and I have seen no other. It would seem that it is the same instrument that was used in the days of the prophet, who speaks of a "new threshing instrument having teeth." The oxen are usually without muzzles, and often, as they pass round, take up a few straws and feed on them. "Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn." I do not recollect of ever seeing the horse used on the floor—the oxen very often.

As we passed the threshing floor, in and around which were many cattle, I could not but notice a fact of which I had often heard and read, but had not before seen—the collecting the manure that fell from the cattle and preparing it for fuel. A female was employed in collecting it with her hands, working it into balls, and sticking it in flat cakes against the walls of the houses to dry—when dry, it was collected in piles and laid on the house-tops, or made in little stacks in the yard. When well dried it burns very well, and will make a fire sufficient to boil coffee. On some occasions, during our tour, we were glad to get it, and found it did very well. This throws light on a passage in Jeremiah, where he is directed to prepare his food with fire made of human excrement—the prophet entreated, and was allowed to take cows' dung. This is a common kind of fuel in many parts of this country. The prophet was only directed to do as his people generally did.

Our course took us directly across the celebrated plain of Celo-Syria. It is nearly a dead level—we were about two hours and a half in crossing it, which, at three miles an hour, the usual rate of travelling on mules, will make it about eight miles wide. This is less than I stated in a former letter. I mentioned then what a gentleman who had crossed it gave as its supposed width. I now give what I found it to be. It may, however, vary in width at different places, and no doubt does. There are very few trees on the plain. Near the villages, and there are usually several in sight, some trees may be seen, and at a few of the villages are considerable groves of them. As regards the great body of the plain, not a tree or a bush is to be seen—not a fence—not a hedge—not a house, except at the few villages.

On the plain, where we crossed, there was a little water. The stream which flowed in from Zahle is parted and carried into the plain, and used in irrigation; and it would seem nearly if not wholly exhausted in this way. Near the farther side of the plain, we passed several channels that contained water, but the amount was not great. The water had but a slow, dull current, and the ground being soft, we had a little difficulty in crossing, as we feared swamping. There appears to be a stream of water entering the plain from the Anti-Lebanon, a few miles north-east of Zahle; for on that side of the plain we found most water; and when we entered the plain on our return from Damascus, which was half a day's journey to the north-east, we saw scarcely any water, except this stream passing in—south-west. The channel shows that more water flows in at times, but it is never more than a small stream—never deserves the name of a river.

Much of the plain appeared to have been cultivated with small grain. It was now gathered about the threshing-floors, several of which were seen in different directions. I saw also several lots of Indian corn, and a field that looked almost precisely like what with us is called broom-corn. It is, I believe, the millet, here called durah. The corn was a most diminutive kind, and the same is the case with all the corn I have seen in the East. It was beginning to tassel and silk, and yet its general height was not above four feet; with us such a field of corn would not be thought worth anything. It was, I believe, of the usual size and promise.

We passed several fields of the castor-oil plant, and were informed, on inquiry, that they extract the oil from it. It did not seem to grow as well as I have seen it in other countries.

We saw several encampments of Bedouins on the plain. Their tents are said to be made of goats' hair. They are black—"black as the tents of Kedar," thought I. There were many flocks of sheep and goats about their tents. The Bedouins look almost as black as their tents. They are a dirty-looking set. We spoke to several of them, and tried to get a drink of milk. They, however, were so indifferent and slow, and showed so little inclination to serve us, that we passed on. I noticed before one of their tents, a huge skin, suspended on forks. It either had been taken off the animal nearly whole, or had been sewed up. It was full of milk, which they were shaking, and thus churning it, making butter, or something of that sort. I did not much envy the eaters of it—but every man to his liking.

The whole plain lay open; and as far as we could see, without any landmarks to point out the special property-rights, which particular persons may have to parts of it. There are no fences, nor hedges, nor even ditches, for the purpose of designating property. There are, it is true, channels cut in different directions through the plain for the purpose of irrigation; but only for that purpose. The flocks that wander over the plain, are under the care of keepers; whose business it is not to allow them to commit trespass on spots under cultivation; except there, the flocks go pretty much where they please, and eat whatever they can find; and really they appear to have a poor chance to find much; the above spots excepted.

The Anti-Lebanon lies on the south-east side of this plain; and is very much such a mountain as Lebanon. It is, perhaps, as a general thing, not quite so high. Still, to the south of us it attains to a great elevation, and its upper part in that direction has much snow upon it. These two mountains, the Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon, are nearly of the same appearance; and are nearly parallel to each other, having between them the plain, nearly level, of an average width of from six to ten miles, in the part that I have seen. Our road, which was but a path for mules and donkeys, led us directly up the mountain, winding and crossing a hollow, that ran up to the top. The ascent was steep and fatiguing, and took us about three hours. There were a few thin bushes, and as we got up into the mountain we found a good many oak-trees—a few of them of the size of a small apple-tree, but most of them were only six or eight feet high. As we approached the top, these were discontinued; and over the whole of the upper part of the mountain, there was almost a total want of vegetation. A few stunted thistles and bunches of furze were almost the only vegetable growth to be seen.

On the top of the Anti-Lebanon, where we crossed, there was a general level of four or five miles. Possibly this may not be a fair sample of the width of the mountain, as we may have passed over an unusually wide place. As far, however, as we could see, there appeared to be a wider flat on the top than any I had seen on the Lebanon. The rock, as far as I observed, was wholly limestone. It is all of the secondary formation, and appears to be of a softer kind than that which composes the great mass of the Lebanon. It is much more affected by the action of the weather, and is greatly broken into fine pieces: this is the case on the top; we often passed over beds of fine broken stone almost like gravel. The stratum, from the yielding character of the rock, was not so clearly to be traced as on the Lebanon. At some places, however, it could be seen; and the general position of the stratum approached the horizontal. There were, however, many deviations from it: I noticed several small locations which had the dip to a very considerable degree. This was especially the case in some small elevations, or secondary hills, next the plain.

We had a pretty long, and part of the way a rough, descent to the narrow and beautiful valley of the Bareda. The rock, as we descended, retained much of the character which it had on the top. There was, in places, much rock on the surface; tremendous precipices; piles of rock heaped on each other, as if mountains of earth had been washed away and all the rock left.

In the plain, at the point where we reached it, is the town of Zebdane. It is near the head of the plain, and is well watered by the upper springs of the river Bareda, or Bariade, as it is at times spelled on maps. The town has several hundred houses, mostly inhabited by Mohammedans. The waters are here taken out of the bed of the river, and spread over the plain. There is quite a grove of trees in and near the village. The houses are not so crowded together as we often find them in other villages; many of them have gardens, which are filled with trees—the mulberry, poplar, willow, hickory, apple, plum, and other fruit-trees. Much of the town is, indeed, well furnished with shade; and is a most lovely spot, in the midst of a dry, parched land.

After six hours' exposure to the burning sun, the cool shades of Zebdane, its flowing waters and rich gardens had powerful inducements to stop us. In truth, we needed both rest and refreshment. We had set out early from Zahle, that we might cross the plain, and ascend the mountain before the heat of the day set in, intending to breakfast on or near the top of Anti-Lebanon; but when we reached the summit we found no water, and our muleteers had neglected to fill our leathern bags. There was no alternative but to go on. The burning sun on the top, added to the fatigue, made us all suffer for water; but none was found until we were close to Zebdane. When about to begin our descent, however, we met several muleteers with mules loaded with fruit, which they were carrying probably to Beyroot or Tripoli: in the fruit season, much fruit is brought from Damascus to Beyroot, Tripoli, and other places on the coast. Supposing that the mules had fruit in their packs, I was casting in my mind how we could induce them to let us have some, especially for quenching our thirst, when the foremost muleteer, while yet eight or ten yards from me, put his hand into his bosom, took out a handful of apples, and, with a kind salutation, handed them to me. I know not that the apples were better than usual, but I know that I have seldom eaten apples with a finer relish; they were most refreshing. Feeling much in need of our breakfast and rest, we passed through a part of Zebdane, hoping that we could find a cool and comfortable place for both these purposes. We wished, in short, to get into some one of the gardens, and under its trees loaded with fruit, and near the cool streams of water we saw flowing through them, take our rest; but no one invited us in; and to one or two applications we received a refusal. We stopped under a large tree in the street, and were about spreading our carpet, when a very good-looking female came out of a garden near us, and very kindly invited us in.

A stream of water ran through her garden; near it was a small fire, and preparations for washing. She had been washing clothes. A young female, whom I took to be her daughter, and a little boy, her son, were with her. Although her clothes were rather soiled, they were of a texture that indicated wealth: both she and her daughter wore rich ornaments. The daughter had a clasp of silver on each arm, of an inch and a half in width; and two of gold, about three quarters of an inch wide; with rich ear-rings, &c. Their manners had the ease and frankness of well-bred persons who have been much in company. They pointed out to us a good place to spread our carpets, gathered us some fruit, and sat down near us, and conversed pleasantly and cheerfully. They spoke of our clothes in a complimentary manner; said they would be very pretty, were it not that our pantaloons were too tight. This last was a hit at me mainly, as my companion, Mr. B., had on the Persian pantaloons, which are of most ample dimensions. It was said with great good-humour, and even a little apparent blushing, by the good ladies. Mr. B., who acted as interpreter, enjoyed the laugh at my expense not a little. I felt half inclined to retaliate on them—that even tight pantaloons were more modest than absolutely naked breasts. But Mr. B. was not inclined to interpret it for me, and, on second thought, I let it pass. Fashion is an odd thing! My pantaloons were of the ordinary size—what, indeed, many would call large; yet they were not thought modest by these good, oriental ladies, as showing too plainly the shape of the lower parts of the body; while they themselves had their breasts almost wholly exposed! Such is the fashion of the ladies here. Indeed, I have often been not a little provoked at the exposure which females here make of the upper parts of their bodies: they cover their faces, and expose their breasts. But thus it is in the East, or in this part of it; and fashion has its influence here as well as in the western world. If there be no disputing about taste, there may be some little about fashion.

When our breakfast was ready, we had quite a company of people to see us eat. We gave them but a poor sample of Frank manners, as from necessity we had to eat À-la-turque, at least in part. They were much interested with the looks of our loaf of white sugar, and we had various applications for small pieces. But as it was a fast with them—that is among the Greeks, and our visiters were mostly of that church—they did not eat the sugar we gave them, but laid it away until the fast should be over. The same took place with some sweet-bread we gave them. They would not let the little boy I mentioned eat what I gave him, but took it from him to keep until the season of fasting was over. I doubt whether he will ever get all of it.

The valley in which Zebdane is situate may be on an average from three quarters to a mile wide; there are several other villages in it; and it extends five or six miles in length. Its general direction is from north-east to south-west, nearly parallel to the plain of the Bokar. The parts of this plain that are irrigated by the waters of the Bareda, and the several springs that rise along the foot of the mountains, appear productive, and are covered with vegetation, and a space for a mile below the town is covered with gardens and trees of various kinds. The remainder has rather a sterile and naked appearance. The mountain that lies south-east, has especially the most utterly barren aspect of any district that I have ever seen. Above the little green spots, that along its foot mark the places where water rises, there is hardly a trace of vegetation to be seen, all a naked, sun-burnt surface, desolation could hardly be more desolate.

The gardens about Zebdane are almost universally inclosed with well-made hedges. The thorn is much used for this purpose. They are plaited together in such a way as to make a most ample defence. They have gates, which have also a kind of fastening, and are thus made very secure. They are the best hedges I have seen in the East. A similar protection, I observed, was in some degree extended to the fields of Indian corn, the castor oil plant, and other spots under cultivation.

We had a fine sample of irrigation here. The corn fields are from time to time covered with water. It is let in upon a field, and runs until the ground is well saturated, then turned off to another field, which, in its turn, gives place to another; and thus the water is transferred from field to field, and garden to garden, to the no small benefit of the trees, and vegetation of all kinds. Nothing can thrive in these lands without being from time to time thus watered. The righteous man is well compared to a "tree planted by the rivers of waters." It is eastern imagery, to the life. About 4 P. M. we left the garden, and took leave of the good lady who had received us with so much kindness. We made her a small present, which she very thankfully received, and intimated that at our return we might enjoy again the accommodation of her garden.

A little more than an hour brought us to the end of the plain, where the Bareda turns short to the east, and passes by a narrow and deep defile, through the mountain. The road follows the stream. The whole mountain, as seen on both sides of the pass, is of a peculiar character. The stratum of the rock is very irregular; at places it has the dip, but with much irregularity. The rock is limestone, of a very soft, yielding kind, and breaks to pieces readily from the action of the atmosphere. Much of it is a very coarse kind of breccia—appears to have been broken into small pieces, and again combined with a soft cement. Some of the pieces seem to have been subjected to the action of water, while in a separate state. But a great deal of the mountain has all the appearance of an immense mass of marl, and much of it is in a very soft state, so as to be easily reduced to a fine white dust. In some places the road is worn or cut ten, fifteen, or perhaps twenty feet, down through this marl-like rock.

There are at some parts of the pass considerable precipices of rock on one or both sides, and on the face of some of these rocks and at a considerable height from the ground we saw the entrances of tombs. It must have been difficult to cut such holes in the face of the rock at such a height. Near the end of the pass we crossed a good arched stone bridge, and soon found the valley beginning to open. The character of the rock continued the same, and the whole face of the country was peculiarly barren, except a narrow strip along the river. The waters of the river, even in the mountains, were taken out of its bed, wherever it could be done, and made to water a little space on both sides, which space was more or less covered with trees. We saw indeed in two places, channels cut across the face of the rock above the road, which I am of opinion was for the purpose of carrying the water thus high, that on clearing the pass, it might be used for watering a wide space of country on the eastern side. If this was the case, the neglect of modern times has let go to ruin what may formerly have given fertility to a wide district east of the mountain, now almost utterly barren. Many things have fallen back greatly in this country. As the valley opened below the pass, the water was taken out, and made to keep nearly a horizontal course, along both sides of the channel, and used to water all the district between it and the former bed, and on this district were fields, corn, vines, fruit-trees, poplars, willows, and grass for the flocks of sheep and goats, and other domestic animals.

We passed one or two small villages, and night began to set in. After looking in vain for the cover of a good tree, in such a situation as we wished, we spread our carpets on a little elevation about fifty yards from a small village, and made our beds for the night. A few of the villagers came to look at us; but they did not seem to have as much curiosity or politeness as our good friends at Zebdane. They were rather a shabby set.

About the time we had finished our supper and were going to bed, some cause of dissatisfaction among the villagers, or a family quarrel, took place; and for a short time there was a terrible strife of tongues. It died away in part, and I hoped was about to terminate; but was revived or continued mainly between one man and woman, as the voices indicated; and such a scold I have seldom heard. The woman appeared manifestly to have the advantage. Her tongue was like a sharp sword. It must have been used before, or it could not have been wielded with such terrible power on the present occasion. I thought of the old saying, that "the tongue is the only instrument that grows sharper and sharper by daily use." The adversary, whether neighbour, or brother, or husband, I know not, but suspect it was the latter, appeared to feel that he had a losing case. He yielded, lowered his tone, let her do two-thirds, three-fourths, and, towards the last, a still larger portion of the talking. Such a storm could not last always, it gradually passed away and the voices became silent. How many such storms daily take place on earth! but not one in heaven, no, not one!

It was a Mohammedan village, and this probably a Mohammedan wife, maintaining her rights against an unkind or petulant husband. Verily, we of the western world are far from the truth in the judgments we form about the domestic manners and intercourse of the Mohammedans, and especially their mode of treating their wives. We not only take it for granted that the Mohammedans believe their women have no souls, (which is not true,) but we suppose they have no rights, no privileges, and dare hardly look at their lords, much less speak to them, under fear of losing their heads. Now, all this is wide of the mark. The Mohammedan ladies have their rights, as well as our own fair ones, and know how to stand up for them—and the female tongue is fully as powerful an instrument in the East as it is in the West. Judging from what I used to hear when a boy about the Mohammedans, I should have expected to have seen this fair one put in a sack and thrown in the river, or, as water is rather scarce here to be used for drowning scolds, I should at least have expected to have seen her head cut off, and her tongue nailed up in terror to others. But it was plain that the good lady was in no fear of such treatment; and the good people of the village, instead of coming to the relief of the man, were glad to keep out of harm's way; and the ruler of the town, if it had any, knew better than to intermeddle with other people's matters; and the man himself received a lesson which I hope may do him more good than it did me.

"On that night could not the king sleep!" And so it was with me. Whether it was owing to the train of thinking which the strife of tongues occasioned; or whether that Angelo had made my tea too strong, which he is almost sure to do, for I can't get the notion out of his head that the stronger and the richer his dishes are, so much the better; or whether other and unknown causes tended to chase sleep from my eyes, I know not; but so it was, I could not sleep. And really it was worth remaining awake to look on the face of such a sky. We lay on the summit of a little hill; not a bush or a green leaf near us. We had a fair horizon, and one of the clearest skies that I ever saw. It seemed that I could see farther than usual into the deep abyss, over which the stars are scattered in wild, irregular, but beautiful confusion. I do not wonder that astronomy began in the East, and, admitting the very strong and general tendency of mankind to idolatry, I the less wonder that, in this eastern world, with such heavens nightly spread over them, there should have been so strong a tendency to the worship of the host of heaven. It has much more show of reason than the worship of stocks and stones, the work of men's hands.

When we arose in the morning, there was a scarcely perceivable dampness on our bedding; but the dust in the road was not laid. The case was, however, different on our return. We slept out near Zebdane, and not far from a district irrigated by the waters of the Bareda. Then our bedding was wet, and we all felt chilly. The dew was most copious. This was no doubt owing to the low situation, and its vicinity to a large district over which the water had been thrown. It was also near the trees and gardens which for a mile or two cover the plain.

We had about four hours' ride from our place of lodging to Damascus. Our course was south-east, and, for the most part, we followed the course of the Bareda. This stream runs in a channel depressed below the general level of the country. The country indeed rises into hills, and small mountains, all of which, without exception, are wholly destitute of trees. Indeed, it is rare to see a bush on them under which a lamb could be shaded. There are a few stunted thistles, and furze, and an occasional tuft of grass. I have often noticed the fact, that the thistles, a small stunted thorn, and the furze, which has on it many prickles of a thorn-like character, are more uniformly to be found than any other plants. "Thorns and thistles shall it bring forth to thee." It is even so in these eastern regions. They grow where nothing else will, but some places are too bad for them.

The rock through this whole district is of a soft, friable nature. Much of it has that puddingstone appearance, which I mentioned as abounding in the mountain through which we had just passed. I was inclined to think it that kind of limestone called aolite. Many of the hills were so white, and washed so easily, that I doubted whether they did not belong to the chalk formation. They reminded me of the chalk cliffs of Dover, and the general appearance of the chalk formation as seen near Dover.

When near the top of the last high range of hills, near Damascus, we had, on looking back, the most striking view of a naked and barren district that I ever saw. The whole range of country, up to the top of the mountain through which we passed on leaving Zebdane, and far to the north and south, was in full view; a range of fifteen or twenty miles in diameter, perhaps much more; and, except the little green strip that at some points could be seen along the river Bareda, there appeared to be neither tree nor bush, nor any green thing. I called Mr. B——'s attention to it, and asked him if he could point out, with the exception just made, one green thing—tree or bush. He could not. As the river runs in a deep channel, and the trees along it are small, it was only at a few places that their tops could be seen. A more dry, parched, desolate landscape I never saw.

Our approach to Damascus was from the north-west. The general course of the plain on which it stands is north-east and south-west. The northern part, near Damascus, is bounded by a high, steep, and precipitous mountain; the suburbs and gardens of the city extending close to its foot. It was not until we had reached the top of this range of mountains, from which the whole region we had passed over for the last five or six hours rose to view, that we saw on the other side, along the middle of a most noble plain, a wide district covered with verdure, fields, gardens, and a forest of trees, extending eastward towards the Bahr-el-Mrdj or Sea of Meadows, as far as the eye could reach. In the midst of this, encircled with gardens for miles around, rose the old, the famous city of Damascus, with its many gilded domes glittering in the sun. The sight was most delightful and refreshing; and the more so from the absolute barrenness and desolation by which it was surrounded.

Damascus is a walled town; but on some sides the town has spread far beyond the walls, and forms extensive suburbs. The north-west side, through which we passed on entering the city, and in which most of the Franks live, is thought to contain, if I recollect aright, nearly twenty thousand people. This, however, is the most populous part. The walls have once been of great strength, and were defended on many parts, if not entirely around, by a deep foss and rows of towers. They are now much out of repair. The gates are falling to pieces, or approaching that state. The foss is much filled up at many places, and the towers have lost their beauty and strength, and possibly in great part their use—sic transit gloria mundi.

The streets are narrow, crooked, and miserably dirty. But little effort is made to remove filth and produce cleanliness. In truth, throughout this whole eastern world, the people appear to have very low ideas of neatness and cleanliness. While the city abounds with water, and a fountain of it is seen in most of the good houses, you meet with filth everywhere, and are often most grievously annoyed with the stench of dead animals in the roads and streets. Some of the streets are paved, but in a very indifferent way, and from the great accumulation of dust they are not in a comfortable condition for passing over. Some allowances, however, must be made for this abundance of dust in streets, roads, and open places, and even in the houses. It is now nearly three months since I reached Beyroot, and not one drop of rain has fallen—the sun has not, with the exception of a few hours, been so covered with clouds as to be hid from sight—most of the days it has, without ceasing, poured its burning rays upon the earth. What marvel if the earth be roasted, and except when water abounds, be converted into dust! The roads are indeed dusty to a most uncomfortable degree. So are the streets—and we need not be surprised if the dust should find its way into courts, parlours, and even bed-rooms. One of the main streets, called Straight, is shown as the one in which Paul was found by Ananias. I did not find a full agreement about its name, some saying it was so called, and others that this was its usual name. Different names, it would seem, are given to different parts of it.

Most of the houses, when seen from the street, have an old and very shabby appearance. Many of them are made up of patch-work—mud, wood, and stone. The mud, however, as the cheapest article, is most abundant. Occasionally, you may see the lower part of the building of good hewn marble,—which soon gives place to a miserable patch-work kind of half stucco and half mortar. The door-frames are very often found of hewn stone, and sometimes arched, and this may be the only stone that you see in the building.

The precise number of mosques in Damascus I did not, while with those who could have informed me, think of asking. As I left the city, however, and ascended the mountain, which gives such a fine view of it, I made an attempt to count the minarets. I made about thirty; and possibly this may be an approximation to the true number.

While under the guidance of the man who showed us the house of Ananias, and the window through which Paul made his escape, we were taken to see several other things, especially some graves, which were not far from the gate. In one of the large vaults, which was in part open, we could see the skeletons of various persons—their winding-sheets in part rotted off—the flesh all gone, and the whole exhibiting a spectacle most humbling to human nature. In health man is the most beautiful of animals, and in corruption the most loathsome. But death will lose its victory through Christ, to the believer. We were also taken to the grave of the gate-keeper, who ought to have known how Paul made his escape, but did not. While he watched the gate, Paul, it would seem, by the help of some friends, escaped by the window. The poor gate-keeper knew and of course could tell nothing about the matter. But that very ignorance, as it was with the soldiers who kept Peter, was brought in charge against him. He ought to have known, and was put to death for not knowing. The gate-keeper, however, has fared rather better than the soldiers. Posterity has sainted him—has erected a neat tomb over him—put a paling around, and a cover over it. It is considered as a sacred place, and little offerings are deposited within the paling. I saw some pieces of money that were placed on the tomb. I had often heard, that with the papists, ignorance was the mother of devotion, but here it was the cause of saintship. When will the measure of folly, under the name of religion, have come to its full?

Bad as the falsely so-called Christian saints may be, they are not so shameless as the living saints, which are at times seen—the Mohammedan, men who have been to Mecca, and set themselves up to be saints, are often seen here. I did not happen to see one at Damascus, but saw one in Beyroot, who passed about the streets and bazaars in a state of perfect nudity. With the most perfect shamelessness, they will pass among females, and even enter the houses and apartments of females, without so much as a fig leaf to cover their nakedness. Their supposed holiness gives them great consequence; and at times and places of peculiar sanctity, at special processions and in the mosques, they put themselves forward and take the most honoured place. Poor human nature! how low it can and will come down, where grace does not prevent.

There are, just outside the walls of Damascus, some mills, that looked better than any of the buildings of the sort I have seen in the East. They stand on the main channel of the river, and avail themselves of its waters to work their machinery. The bread of Damascus is, for the East, good.

One of our longest walks was in the after part of the day, along the river, and among the gardens and shady trees which line its borders: I could not but notice how the people were walking, sitting, or lying along the side of the stream, and how they appeared to enjoy its refreshing coolness. They were "beside the still waters." Near the eastern side of the city I was much interested in meeting with a field of hemp. It was just beginning to blossom. It was the first, and I may add, the only field of hemp I have seen in the East.

Most of the houses have balconies, or places projecting out on the front, having windows at the three sides. They serve the double purpose of giving access to the air, and enabling the people to see what is going on in the streets. These are more or less common as fixtures in houses, all through this eastern world. The greater part of them have also courts that are open to the heavens; these in several of the best houses that I have visited were paved with marble, and had noble fountains of water in the centre. Some have more than one fountain; and the house in which I lodged had one perpetually flowing in the room in which I slept. There is water enough to keep their houses and persons clean, would the people but use it.

I was struck with the great contrast between the outside of the houses and the appearance within. Without all looked old, rusty, and ready to fall to pieces; but within there was often a richness and beauty in the marble pavements, the gilded ceiling, and fanciful carvings, that was striking. To what this may be owing I know not. Possibly, in part to avoid the oppressive exactions which all through these lands is apt to follow the track of wealth, or the outward show of it.

Noticing that the roofs and upper parts of many houses were greatly injured, and sadly in need of repairs, I inquired, and learned that last winter was one of very great severity at Damascus,—that an unusual quantity of snow fell, and by its weight did great injury to the houses. Their mode of building is not adapted for durability. Their mud walls do not well stand the rainy season, however they may abide the dry. The wood they use for joists, and for supporting their flat mud roofs, is in great part the Lombardy poplar and willow, which is their most abundant growth, except perhaps the mulberry. This wood they put in, full of sap, bark and all, and of course in a few years it must rot, and fall out of its place. When it is entirely defended from the air and moisture, it may last some time, but when, as in most cases, it is almost entirely exposed to both, no marvel if the house needs repairing nearly every year; and this I am told is not uncommon.

The bazaars or streets, where the stores and shops are placed, are generally covered over, so as to exclude the sun. The streets not being more than ten or fifteen feet wide on an average, a roof is thrown across, at ten, fifteen, or twenty feet above—not a very close roof, but one that keeps out the sun, but lets the air have more or less circulation. All through these countries there is a great care to procure a shade from the scorching rays of the sun; for this purpose the streets are made narrow, and in many places are covered, so that those who pass may have shade. This narrowness of the streets, and the covering of them, does, it is true, give a closeness to them, and operates against a free circulation of the air; but this is supposed to be compensated, in part at least, by the protection they give from the direct action of the sun.

I was taken to the house, as was said, where Ananias dwelt. It is a kind of cellar,—a poor, miserable place; and I am sure that so good a man deserved a more comfortable residence. I doubt altogether whether it was his house. But I did not judge it worth while discussing the matter with the Catholic priests, who claim the ownership of it, and show it. I also went to see the window through which Paul is said to have been let down in a basket. It is over one of the gates. I had as little faith in this as the other. There is indeed, I think, strong evidence against it. I did not go out to the spot at which Paul is said to have been converted. The day was hot, the distance considerable, and nothing marked the place. There is a thousand chances to one against it being the real place.

The population of Damascus is not certainly known. From all I could learn from several resident Franks, it may be 125,000; and in the one hundred and seventy-three villages which lie round Damascus there may be an equal number. A gentleman who has paid some attention to the matter, and has been some time a resident in the country, supposes the population of all Syria to be about one million and a half. The chief data used in forming the estimate is the number of men, the heads of families, who pay the tax levied on such. They are about 25,000 in Damascus, and may form one-fifth of the population. This, at least, gives an approximation—the best we have when no census is taken. The majority of the population is Mohammedans, but the proportion I either did not get, or have forgotten it. There are a few Jews, and some of all the various sects of Christians found in these regions.

Damascus has long been considered by the Mohammedans as one of their sacred cities; and it is not many years since when their bigotry was so great that Christians had to use much caution to avoid its outbreakings. There is a great change in this respect. Christians may now go about with little danger. We rode repeatedly through the crowded bazaars, and no one appeared to take the least offence; and generally gave their salaam with indications of kindness. Still, it will sometimes show itself. It is not long since that Mr. Calman, a Jewish missionary, when engaged in selling the Scriptures, was taken up by the bigoted Mohammedans, and for a time feared that he might be put to trouble, but was released without much difficulty.

The main, if not the only river which waters the part of the plain where Damascus stands, is the Bareda. It rises near Zebdane. We followed its course, as I have before informed you, until it entered the plain. There it is divided into three parts, which are led at a distance from each other for the purpose of watering the plain. From these channels a multitude of smaller ones are led in all directions, so that every part of the plain within reach of the water may, from time to time, receive its life-giving influence. The main channel passes through or near the city, and its waters are carried by pipes to every part of it.

To the south and south-east other streams are said to enter and flow through the plain; but we did not visit those parts. They must be small streams. Indeed the Bareda is a small stream. It would with us be called a good mill stream. We would rather term it a creek than a river. It is mostly confined in a channel of eight or ten yards wide, and then may be waded without coming above the knee. Much of the water of these rivers is exhausted in irrigation. They flow east, and after rendering a noble plain very fertile and productive for twenty or thirty miles, form a lake or marsh—they have no outlet. I wished much to ride eastward through this plain and see the country about the lake, but the time of the year and other causes prevented.

It was the sickly season, and there was much sickness in Damascus. Visiting the city at such a time was not classed with a high degree of prudence and caution, while to have spent a week or so in exploring the plain, and visiting the many villages along the Bareda, would have been considered almost madness—a tempting of Providence. I therefore spent but one night and two days in Damascus, and then hurried back to the high ground on the great mountain of Lebanon—not, however, without a lingering purpose that when the heats of summer are passed, I may take Damascus in my route again, and see more of its wide-spread plains, and thickly-planted villages.

The whole country east of Damascus, on the Euphrates, is, I am told, much like what I have seen in the part already passed over. As a general thing, it is wholly destitute of trees and even bushes—and during the summer there is but little verdure; much of it is covered with sand. There are, however, spots where water is found, and at all these vegetation is produced. Where these spots are of any size there are villages, and man contrives to live. These green spots are like small islands scattered over the face of the ocean, and may be found all the way to the Euphrates, and down that stream past Bagdad to the gulf.

The ruins of Palmyra lie two or three days' travel north-east of Damascus. They have often been visited lately, and the danger is not great. Still it is too great to be lightly hazarded. A party, of whom a friend of mine was one, were robbed in an attempt to go there about five months ago. A slight skirmish took place between them and a large party of Arabs, in which they were overpowered and robbed; some were wounded, but happily none killed. Indemnification has been had from the tribe who robbed them.

An attempt is about being made to establish a regular communication between Damascus and a point on the Euphrates, beyond Palmyra; which, if successful, will throw much more light on the interior of this region, and may make it an easy thing to visit that far-famed river, and the many antiquities that abound on its banks.

Damascus is a famous rendezvous for caravans. The caravans for Mecca, Bagdad, and various other places, either pass or start from this place. Some had come in just before we were there, and others were preparing for their departure. This gave some activity to the business of the place. The shortness of my stay, for the reasons above assigned, did not allow me to see much of them. I had not time to go out to the edge of the desert, where they usually encamp, and there to see the grotesque appearance, the odd mixture, and pell-mell state of things produced by such assemblages of men of all nations, and such herding together of man and beast.

Damascus, and the region about it, is somewhat celebrated for its fruit of various kinds. The grapes were fine—the apricots good, and abundant—the plums the largest and finest I ever saw, being nearly as large as a hen's egg. I saw but few peaches, they are said to be good—the figs were fine of course—the apples indifferent. The white mulberry-tree is much cultivated in this section of the country, not for its fruit, which is but little esteemed, but for feeding the silk-worm. The silk forms a considerable branch of the Damascus trade, and the manufacture of it carried on to some extent. The black mulberry is found in considerable quantities, and is cultivated for its delicious fruit. The white walnut is with the natives a favourite tree. The nut is rich and of a pleasant taste. The tree gives a fine shade, grows well near the water, and is larger than most of the other trees. The sycamore is found here. The plane-tree is also found, but not very common—this is often called the sycamore with us. There is a very large one in Damascus near one of the gates. We measured it—thirty-six feet around. The karoob-tree is a variety of the locust. The fruit is the husks which the Prodigal Son would have eaten—a bean-like pod with a sweetish meat in it.