"We were off at the hour named, and soon were climbing the eastern slope of the Lebanon. Up and up we went, the air growing colder as we ascended, and calling into use all the overcoats and wraps we could muster. From the zigzags of the road we looked down on the plain we had left: at times it seemed as though we could toss a pebble into the Litany, which was reduced to a winding thread in the green carpet of Buka. The mountain grew more and more desolate with every mile of our ascent, and when we stopped to change horses at the station we walked a long way in advance in an effort to get warm.
"We had said good-bye to Ali and his horses at Shtora, and our only guide now was the Arab driver, whose knowledge of French was confined to a few words. We tried in vain to learn the names of the places we were passing. We especially wanted to know if we were near the famous grove of the cedars of Lebanon, but our efforts were unrewarded.
THE CEDARS OF LEBANON.
"At the first station where we changed horses the manager, a Frenchman, said the cedars were several miles to the north, over a rough and difficult road which was inaccessible to carriages. He said the grove was less than half a mile square, and contained about four hundred trees of all sizes. Most of the trees are young, and not more than a dozen are of any great antiquity. The largest is about forty feet in circumference, and it is supposed to be the oldest; and there are thirty or forty which are each from three to five feet in diameter.
"This is the grove from which the timber for Solomon's Temple is supposed to have been taken. There were formerly many cedar groves in Syria, but the most of them have been cut down, or have disappeared from climatic causes. No care is taken of the few cedars that remain; visitors cut and hack them as much as they please. The Arabs take the branches for fuel, and the goats nibble the young shoots so that no new trees can grow. In a hundred years, or perhaps less, the famous cedars of Lebanon will have ceased to exist.
"Now we are on the summit of Lebanon, five thousand six hundred feet above the level of the Mediterranean! The sea is far below us, its dark-blue surface filling the western horizon, and between us and the water is the slope of Lebanon and the belt of coast. The driver gathers his reins, turns down the brake a little—just enough to steady the carriage, but not sufficient to impede the progress of the horses. Away they go at a rapid trot, and occasionally at a gallop. The ride was tedious as we slowly ascended the other side of Lebanon, and this exhilarating speed is an admirable contrast.