very much if any part of the world can surpass some portions of Syria for climate or for beauty of scenery of every description. Those who are fond of romantic and wild scenery, have only to travel over the Lattakia mountains to gratify their tastes and inclinations. The quiet woodbine, the pleasant myrtle-shade, the jessamine and the rose, the murmuring stream and the lovely cot; these are to be met with all over Lebanon and North Syria—nature, in all her variety, collected, together—hills, valleys, rivers, fountains—gardens, ocean—snow and sunshine; all these may be included in one prospect surveyed from any of the many eminences in the immediate neighbourhood of Beyrout. As for cloudless skies, all Syria possesses this charm, and it has none of the drawbacks that Italy must lament—no Popish thraldom—no revolutionary crisis always on the eve of exploding, and always stained with innocent blood. The land, it is true, is the land of the Moslem; but the present enlightened Sultan has made it a land of perfect liberty to the stranger; and more than this, a land in which he enjoys privileges that he cannot hope for in his own native country.
Beyrout is the spot for many reasons best adapted for missionary purposes; and I have long wished for the day when I may be enabled to lay before intelligent men a certain means of promoting the interests, both spiritual and temporal, of their Eastern brethren with little pains-taking or trouble to themselves, but with incalculable advantages to those whom they would benefit. Of this, however, more anon, in a chapter devoted expressly to the subject.
A great advantage derivable to Europeans settling at Beyrout is the immediate proximity of the Lebanon range of mountains; for, though reputed an excellent
climate, Beyrout is subject to great heats during the summer season, and it not unfrequently occurs that reckless strangers unnecessarily expose themselves to the fierce rays of the sun with nothing but a flimsy hat to protect their heads. The result is brain-fever and sometimes death. The latter is very unfairly attributed to the climate. One might as well say the same of London, where several instances of coup de soleil have occurred during a late year; but as some constitutions cannot stand heat, however well sheltered indoors, these have only to pitch their tents, or to repair to a neighbouring village during the summer, a pleasant half-hour or hour’s ride from Beyrout. Here they may choose their own temperature, and not only this, but also gratify their own peculiar fancy with regard to scenery; and those who love field-sports will find endless amusement and occupation amongst the hares and partridges with which the neighbourhood is literally overrun.
But the real fact of the case is, that the climate of Beyrout is extremely healthy; in proof of which I quote the general health of the natives and of those Europeans who have resided there long enough to adapt themselves to the customs of the country, who eat but little meat during the hot months, eschew spirits and inebriating liquors, avoid violent exercise or exposure to draughts and the intense heat of the mid-day sun; rise early, use frequent ablutions, take gentle horse exercise, and only use fresh and ripe fruit, and vegetables which are generally of the best. Even fish is considered by the natives as tantamount to poison during the months of July and August; and surely nature is bountiful enough in the supply of an endless variety of delicious fruits and vegetables to enable one to subsist without much heavy
and unwholesome meat. Of the benefits arising from this diet and regimen, the robust natives of the villages give ample proof; their every-day meals consist principally of bread, fruit, vegetables, rice or burghal, and cold water; with a little cup of coffee and a pipe of mild tobacco after meals to promote digestion.
CHAPTER V.
EXCURSION TO CYPRUS.
Quitting my kind friends the Americans in 1839, I was appointed by the Government to accompany a distinguished European, travelling on a diplomatic mission through the East. He was an affable, kind man; and though I have often since made the tour of the places we then visited, I never so much enjoyed a journey as in his pleasant and instructive company. Our plan of route was to first visit Cyprus and Asia Minor, then the northern towns and villages of Syria, and so travel southwards as far as the limits of Syria and Palestine. All things being prepared, we set sail from Beyrout late one evening in a small felucca, which, nevertheless, in fine weather, sailed remarkably well; and, upon the whole, we were pretty comfortable on board, the entire use of the boat, to the exclusion of other passengers, having been contracted for.
The land breeze blew freshly all night, and at daylight next morning, when I staggered up, holding fast by the cords of the mast, there was not a vestige of Beyrout to be seen; indeed, my inexperienced eyes could discern nothing but sea and clouds, though the Arab raīs (captain) positively affirmed, that what I mistook for clouds was the high land of Cyprus, looming right a-head. This was the first time in my life that I had ever found myself so far out at sea. At first the
novelty of the sight, the lovely, cool, blue colour of the waves—the azure sky, tinged with a hundred brilliant hues, all harbingers of the rising sun—the fish sportively bounding into the air—the sea-gulls—the white sails of vessels in the distance; all these were a source of amusement and speculation for the mind; but when the sun rose, and its heat soon drove me to take shelter under the lee of the large mainsail—when I had nothing to do but to watch the little boat dipping and plunging into the water—when the smell of tar, pitch, tobacco-smoke, and fried onions, assailed my nostrils; then I was fairly and dreadfully sea-sick.