LETTERS FROM PALESTINE

Table of Contents

[LETTER I.]
[LETTER II.]
[LETTER III.]
[LETTER IV.]
[LETTER V.]
[LETTER VI.]
[LETTER VII.]
[LETTER VIII.]
[LETTER IX.]
[LETTER X.]
[LETTER XI.]
[LETTER XII.]
[LETTER XIII.]
[LETTER XIV.]
[LETTER XV.]
[LETTER XVI.]
[LETTER XVII.]
[LETTER XVIII.]
[LETTER XIX.]
[LETTER XX.]
[LETTER XXI.]
[LETTER XXII.]
[LETTER XXIII.]

LETTERS
FROM
PALESTINE:

WRITTEN
DURING A RESIDENCE THERE IN THE YEARS
1836, 7, AND 8.

By THE REV. J. D. PAXTON.

LONDON:
CHARLES TILT, 86, FLEET STREET.
MDCCCXXXIX.

LONDON:
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS,
WHITEFRIARS.

LETTERS ON PALESTINE.

[LETTER I.]

Beyroot, June 18th, 1836.

After a stay of twenty-four hours at Cyprus, rendered pleasant by the several interviews which we had with the missionaries at that place, we sailed about three o'clock P. M. with a fine wind, and before night, the isle, and even the mountains of Cyprus, were sinking out of view in the north-western waters. In the night our winds became light. At a little past five in the morning I went on deck, hoping to see the top of Mount Lebanon, which, from our run, I thought must be within the reach of the eye; but a dull heavy fog lay on our eastern horizon, and limited our view. Just as I was finishing my breakfast, the captain put his head down the hatchway, and let me know that the mountains could be seen. I ran on deck, and could see the faint outline of the top of Mount Lebanon, peering above a long line of fog that spread like a wide circle round the horizon. The upper part of the fog was breaking into irregular masses and rolling off; at times the mountain could at some points be seen very clearly; then, again, the fog or clouds would close in upon it, and hide it from our view. The highest parts of it were partially covered with snow. It lay, however, in parts and parcels; and often in long irregular forms. This was owing, most probably, to the form of the ground on which it lay; being most abundant in hollows, and on the north sides of ridges.

Great is the power of association. From my childhood, I have been taught to read the book of God, and prize its precious truths; and I bless God, and thank my dear and beloved parents, more for this, the religious instruction they gave me, and their prayers, than for all other benefits received through them; and they have not been few. Mount Lebanon I found often, very often, referred to in that best of all books; and, from the various ways in which it is introduced, it associates itself in my mind with many parts of Scripture history; with some of its most touching incidents; with many of its most precious and consoling truths. How often in my boyhood, and even in more mature days, have I wished, like Moses, that I could see that "goodly mountain and Lebanon!" Now, indeed and in truth, I saw it rising into view, and hoped before long to land at its foot, and in due time to traverse its ridges, visit its cedars, and drink of its pure snow waters. I was born and grew to manhood among mountains, and it is natural for me to love mountain scenery. A landscape is to my eye,—I was going to say, defective,—that does not give, at least, a glimpse of a mountain.

I was often much struck with my feelings on this matter, during the ten or fifteen years I have spent in situations in which no mountains could be seen. When a journey of business or pleasure led me to the neighbourhood of mountains, they appeared to have a beauty and a charm in them, that rose paramount to all that the wide and extended plains could have.

But never did I feel such pulsations of delight from beholding a single mountain as now from looking at that "goodly mountain and Lebanon"—that Lebanon so associated with patriarchs and prophets, with the Land of Promise, with the Temple of the Lord, and with those thousand things which give such ever newness and freshness to the oracles of God.

As the day passed away, we drew nearer and nearer, but our winds were so light, that our approach was slow, and a peculiar haziness of weather much impeded our view of the changing aspect of the mountain. Beyroot came in view towards night; but, owing to the lightness of wind, and that against us, we did not reach it until about sunrise next morning.

Beyroot lies at the south side of the river Beyroot, which runs in from the mountains. The coast recedes at this place, and forms a wide, open, halfmoon-like kind of a bay. A small part of the town lying near the water appears pretty closely built; but much of the town, or very many houses, stand out over the gentle rise of the hill, with gardens connected with them. Indeed, the whole face of the plain and ridge, on which the town stands, is quite covered with trees. The trees are not large, being many of them mulberry, almond, (the pride of China I think it is called), a few olive and apricot, &c. I have seen no place in the East that struck me more pleasantly than Beyroot.

The mountains behind it rise in succession. They have a good many trees on them, but are not entirely covered. They appear to be rather confined to spots as if planted by man, and cultivated for special purposes. With the help of a glass, I can see that, while a small growth is more generally spread over the side of the mountain, there are many places where a much larger growth may be seen. But I must omit farther notice of this until I have rambled over them, and ascertained their true character.

We learned, on communicating with the shore, that there had been several cases of plague, that the quarantine was strict, and that we should have nearly two weeks' quarantine to pass, before we would be allowed to have free intercourse with the friends we hoped to find there.

In the course of the day our consul came off, and informed us that he had procured for us a house in a healthy and airy part of the suburbs, in which we must pass our quarantine. Mr. B. also, who is connected with the mission at this place, came off to see us. From him we learned that the Rev. E. B. Smith and lady had, within four or five days, left this for Smyrna, partly on account of Mrs. S.'s health, which has lately failed much; and that the other families were on the mountains, about three or four hours' ride from town.

[LETTER II.]

Beyroot, June 27th, 1836.

We had hoped to get out of quarantine to-day, or at least to-morrow, when to our discomfort we heard that they had added four days to our time, owing to information which they had received from Smyrna. There is no better way to manage such matters than patiently to wait until the time is out. But as they give me more of quarantine, I see not why I may not tell you more about it.

Through the kind agency of our consul we were not put in the Lazaretto, which is said to be a miserable place at best, and worse now as the plague is there; but had a very comfortable house assigned us, to the west of the town, on the side of the hill, nearly a quarter of a mile from the walls. The whole side of the hill where we are is cut up in plots, which form gardens planted with trees, and here and there is a dwelling-house. We had all our baggage landed and carried by the crew to our house, except a few boxes, which being wood were not infectious, and were carried by porters. Two guardians are assigned us—one of them must be always at the house, to see that no person touches us, or any of our articles; the other we may send on errands, such as to do our marketing. They are not to touch us, nor we them.

They bring us what we want, lay it down, and we take it. They bring us water, wood, jugs, pitchers, dishes, provisions, fruits: these are not infectious—but cloth, paper, &c. are. They bring us notes, papers, books; but we cannot send such articles without a special observance. For instance, if we wish to send a letter to any one, or a note not as big as your finger, with the name of any article on it which we may need, the guardian may not touch it. He takes a small box; you put it in; he takes it to the health-office, where it is smoked with sulphur, and then it may be received and read. Or, you may write on a small board, or on a slate; the guardian may touch them. While there is care to avoid touching you or anything that conveys infection, there is, in other respects, a free intercourse. We received many visits—our friends come, and sit down, a few feet from us, and remain as long as they please, conversing with us, and thus helping to while away the time. They furnish us with any books that we may need, and we at the end of our quarantine can restore them. We are allowed to walk as much as we please, taking one of our guardians with us, who sees that we touch no one or anything that conveys infection; availing ourselves of this privilege, we have rambled about a good deal, and made ourselves acquainted with the neighbourhood.

To the west and south-west, at a quarter of a mile from the town, commences what may be called the sands, which gave me a better idea of the sands of the desert than anything I have before seen. The whole surface is a bed of fine sand. It includes the highest part of the promontory, and much, if not all the south-west side of it. There is, at places, occasionally, a weed or bush, but much of the surface is very fine sand, which is moved more or less by the wind; and as the wind blows much from the south, the sand has the appearance of approaching nearer and nearer the town—at the place where it stops, and the gardens begin, the sands are a good deal higher than the gardens, ten, fifteen, or twenty feet; and the bank advances, owing to the sand that is carried forward by the wind, and rolls down towards the gardens. Some houses and fields have been covered, and others are in danger, and must soon be overwhelmed with it.

The side of the hill next the city, and west of it, is all cut up into small plots; and much labour has been expended in making these plots level. The side of the hill is thus thrown into terraces one above another, but without any order or regularity. The plots are of various sizes and shapes. A stone wall is built up at the lower side, and the earth drawn to a level. On the tops of the wall is often planted the Indian fig, or prickly pear, which abounds here. Few of these gardens have either flowers or vegetables in them—have, in fact, little else beside mulberry-trees, with a few fig, olive, apricot, pomegranate, and other fruit-trees. From the appearance of the hill side, I am disposed to think, that it was once covered more with houses than it now is—that the levelling of the ground may, in part at least, have been made to fit it for houses, which have now disappeared. There are some old cisterns, pillars, &c., which indicate this.

I have met with several things which struck me with some force, as illustrating Scripture. The roofs of the houses are flat, and a way is made to ascend to the top, which is a most pleasant place for a walk in the cool of the evening. "Samuel called Saul to the top of the house."—1 Sam. ix. 2, 6.

A number of the houses have a kind of a tent on the top, made of reeds, &c., in which they sit, and I believe sleep. "They spread Absalom a tent on the top of the house."—2 Sam. xvi. 22.

There is usually a small railing, or elevation, round the edge, to prevent any from falling over; and the law of Moses required them to make a battlement for this purpose.—Deut. xxii. 8.

While some have tents on the top of the house, others have them out under the trees; and the fig-tree and the vine, having large shady leaves, are very favourable for this. Thus they sit "under their vine and fig-tree." And where they do not use tents they are very fond of sitting out under the trees. They usually take out a straw mat or small carpet, which they spread down; sometimes on this they lay their beds, and sit on them. They have not feather beds, as we have, but a kind of wool mattress, which is easily folded up and removed. Mr. and Mrs. ——, who are of our party, are natives of this place, and hopefully pious. They often take out their mat, and spread it down under a tree, and spend much of the day there. In our walks we see many thus under the vines and fig-trees, whiling away their hours.

Almost every night we hear music and dancing at no great distance from us. The music is hardly worth the name—is a kind of beating, accompanied with some wind instrument, and serves to keep the time. The dancing, as it is called, is not much more than a slow walking, stooping, changing of position. It has none of that active and fatiguing action which dancing has in the western world. The men and women do not join together in it. It is done almost wholly by men; and often old men. The women sit by and look on. The Sabbath night appears more especially a favourite time for this amusement.

The promontory on which Beyroot stands is low at the south-east side, where it joins the main land, and on that low part, which once may have been covered with water (making the promontory an island), there is much sand. On a part of this there are many pines; a few of them are large; and a large space is covered with small ones. There is some care taken of them, and persons are not allowed to pillage them. The larger ones are trimmed up very high, and have a large, flat, bushy top, which gives them a rather singular, but pretty appearance.

The sycamore here is a different tree from that which bears the name with us. The wood is valuable, being hard and very durable. It is a low tree, with a thick body, many branches, shaped a little like the apple-tree, the leaf large. It bears a fruit which is to some extent valuable. One of the prophets said he was "a gatherer of sycamore fruit." It would seem that much of it was used, and gathering of it a business.

There are few, if any, springs here, as we should call them—but wells; at least, in all my walks I have not seen any. There is a low place a little out of the city gate, where there are three or four wells. They are walled up, with a large flat area over them, in the middle of which is a hole, large enough to let down a bucket. There is no pump, or windlass, nor even a well-sweep; but a rope. The vessel used almost constantly for bringing water, is a large jug with two handles, and a small mouth. It may hold from two to four gallons. They tie the rope to the neck or to the handles, and let it down. It fills, and they draw it up. In passing these wells, especially in the evening or morning, you find a crowd of people drawing water. Some have mules and donkeys on which they carry it—usually having four of these water-pots, two swung in a wooden frame on each side of the animal. The others carry the jar on their shoulders, or rather on the back, held over the shoulder; but one hand is raised to support it. You see no one carrying anything in his arms, as is the custom with us, but upon the head or shoulder when not too large, otherwise upon the back—even children are carried in this way—it is amusing to see the little things riding upon their parents' shoulders. There is no vessel attached to these wells; and thus we see the force of the saying of the woman, "Thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep;" and thus Rebecca came "out with her pitcher upon her shoulder." A large proportion of those whom we saw drawing water were females.

The Turks are usually a grave and silent people. They talk less than the Greeks, and indeed than almost any other people that I have been among. It was therefore rather a novelty to meet with one who was of a different cast of temperament. Both our guardians are young Turks, I should think about twenty; and very good-looking. One of them is rather of a grave cast; a genuine Turkish, but withal an unusually mild aspect. The other is as full of life and glee and innocent mischief as he can hold. The first day or two he did not show it much, except in occasionally playing off a little of his humour on his companion. He then began upon Angelo, my Maltese servant, whom I had engaged at Smyrna. The Maltese language is a dialect of the Arabic, and they could therefore converse with him. Our establishment having but two rooms, one of which being occupied by the ladies, and the other by the gentlemen, Angelo had to take up his lodgings in the porch where some of the baggage was placed. The guardians slept in the yard under the tree. They pretended that they would do all sorts of bad things to him at night, and excited his fears not a little. On finding it out I interposed, and assured them, through an interpreter, that if they did not desist from thus working on his fears, I would report them to the police. They assured me they were only in fun, and would not trouble him. Angelo had more spunk than I expected; he got a large knife to defend himself with—we took it from him. I told him to sleep in our room—he would not. I told him to sleep close to the door, which I left open; no, he would sleep at his selected place—and he did.

When we walk out, one of our guardians always walks with us, and generally the lively and talkative one chooses that office. He amuses himself and us in various ways, and usually contrives to put in a claim for a boksheesh (a present) at the close of the walk. As he does not always get it, it is amusing to observe in how many ways he contrives to let us know that it would be very acceptable. At times when he does not get it, he pretends to his companion that he has; and thus has sport with him, in refusing to let him have any part of it. They are very obliging—I have seldom seen more perfect good-humour than they manifest.

[LETTER III.]

Beyroot, July 4th, 1836.

I think I informed you that Beyroot is a walled town, and has a strong garrison. It is held under Ibrahim Pasha, and for his father or step-father Mahommed Ali of Egypt. Ibrahim spends most of his time north of this at Aleppo, Tripoli, Scanderoon, and Tarsoos. He is erecting a palace not far from Aleppo, and may possibly purpose making that his home. Beyroot is the most important port on the coast, but still its trade is small. The walls are of considerable height, appear strong, and have several strong towers connected with them. The number of troops at this place I have not been able to ascertain with certainty; there must be several thousands, possibly from 3000 to 5000.

I have been equally unable to ascertain the population of the town and suburbs; nearly one-third of the population, I should think, live without the walls, in what is called the Gardens. The houses without the walls are much more pleasant, at least in summer, than those within the town. They stand apart; have gardens and trees about them, are higher and much more cool. The town stands in a low spot, is much crowded with houses, has narrow filthy streets, and during the hot weather the heat is considerable, which causes sickness. The gates of the town are guarded, and at an early hour in the night all but one are closed. This one is kept open to a late hour.

At the quay, or public landing-place, there is an immense number of old, broken pillars. The wall fronting the bay is for thirty, possibly fifty yards, composed almost wholly of them. Most of them are more or less broken. Many of them have been connected, no doubt, with buildings of consequence, as their high finish seems to indicate; a number of them are fine Egyptian marble. They are of various sizes, but most of them of the largest kind. Broken pieces of pillars and other work in marble are to be seen in many places about the town, both without and within the walls, all indicating that, at some period, this was the seat of wealth and taste, of luxury and splendour.

Brumanah, Mount Lebanon, July 20th, 1836.

After getting out of quarantine, and spending ten or twelve days in Beyroot to see the place, I came up to this village, where the mission families are spending the summer months. It lies about three hours' ride from Beyroot, on the top of one of the ridges which runs down from the main ridge of the Lebanon towards the sea. It may be about one-third of the way to the top, and one-third of the height of Jebal Sun-neen, the highest point of Mount Lebanon. We have from Bru-ma-nah a fair view of the mountains, as they rise above us, and run far to the north-east and south-west: a long sea coast spreads out before us—the town of Beyroot—the shipping that lies off the town on the face of the smooth waters, all rise into view, and give a rich and beautiful variety to the prospect.

Nearly one-half of the village is composed of Greeks, and the other half about equally divided between the Druses and Maronites. They all speak the Arabic, which is indeed the vernacular language of this region. The people appear friendly, and but for the influence of the priests would, no doubt, give more proof of their friendship. The missionaries have opened a school among them, which promises to do good. The females wear what is called the tantoor on their heads. It is very like those tin horns which are often used by hunters to call their dogs; stage-drivers at times use them. The tantoor is a foot long; the largest part is fixed to the forehead, and by means of a small piece of wood, or some such thing, which passes over the head, and is fastened to the hair, the whole is made to stand upon the head like a horn. It usually leans forward, and reminds one of the figure of the unicorn. The horn is of silver, and has at times various ornamental devices engraved on it. The chief use of it seems to be to sustain the veil, which is universally worn by the women here. It is thrown over the horn, and hangs down over the shoulders. When men are present, they draw the veil with one hand close over the mouth, so as to cover the lower part of the face, leaving but one eye exposed. While they are thus careful to cover the face, they often, I might say usually, leave the breast most shamefully exposed. Indeed, they seem to have pride in exposing that part of the body.

Sometime before I got out of quarantine, there was a death in the Emeer family of this village; and, as is the custom, the people are not allowed to wash their clothes for forty days—as they are not much given to cleanliness at any time, this was an order grievously out of place. About the time I came up the people were most fearfully dirty. The days of restriction are, however, past, and it is thought the people have been using water. It is a rare evil for people to get habituated to—a disregard of cleanliness—for it is hard to correct the evil.

Most, if not all, of the houses here are of one story—a few, indeed, that stand on the hill-side, have a small room under the elevated side of the main floor. The floors are uniformly, as far as I have seen, made of clay, as also is the roof. They wet it and make it into a kind of mortar, and have a heavy stone roller with which to make it smooth. For the roof, pieces of timber are laid across, mostly a few strong beams, then across them smaller pieces of boards, and flat stones; and on these the earth is laid, in a wet state, and the roller made to pass over it, until with that and their feet they make it hard and smooth. All the roofs are flat, having some little channels to collect the water, and a low place at one side to let it off. There is a way of ascending to the top, which, in large houses, is a fine place for walking and taking the air. These roofs do very well in dry weather, but in the rainy season the water, it is said, comes through, and gives much annoyance to the inmates. The sides are usually made of stone, very coarsely put together; very little mortar is used—often none. They plaster the inside with clay, such as they use for making the floors; and give it a slight coat of whitewash. It is, to be sure, done in poor style; still the houses do pretty well for a summer residence. Generally they have but one room, but occasionally they have two or three.

These flat roofs and their earthen materials illustrate what was meant by the grass upon the house-tops—grass does often spring up in the wet season, but the heat of the sun withers it and it comes to nought.

"Shall men give into your bosom?"—The usual dress here, is a long robe, not much unlike a woman's gown. It is fastened about the waist with a girdle. This is a long, large piece, often as large, and even much larger than a sheet, but of a fine texture; usually of the shawl kind. They wrap this round them four or five times, forming a band from four inches to a foot wide, as the taste of each may be,—then give such a fastening to the end as each may choose. It is odd, and to us laughable to see them putting them on. I have seen them fasten the end of their long girdle to a door, post, or table—adjust its folds—regulate its width—put one end to their body, and turn round and round until they have wrapped it all to their liking. Yea, I have seen them do it on the road. On my visit to Nice, not long after I left that plain, I passed a man on the road who from some cause wished to adjust his girdle. Possibly it was a preparation before he entered that city of ancient name. He had stopped, taken off his girdle, adjusted its width, arranged its folds, fastened one end of it to a bush, drew it out to its full length, applied the other end to his side, and holding it, turned round and round carefully, attending to its width and the adjustment of its folds. I felt strongly disposed to laugh, and had there been any one to join me in it, I doubt not should have laughed heartily, the danger of offending the gravity of the Turk to the contrary notwithstanding. But there is no fun in laughing alone; and my old Greek guide looked as grave as if he saw nothing amusing, in seeing a man winding himself in a shawl. But to the point I meant to illustrate. The part of the dress above the girdle having an opening, is used for stowing away all sorts of things; handkerchiefs, when they have any; bread, fruit, &c., nothing comes amiss; they put it into the bosom. As the receptacle goes all round the body, it is equal to three or four of those large pockets our great-grandmothers used to wear.

[LETTER IV.]

Bru-ma-nah, July 23d, 1836.

I have just returned from a tour of four days among the mountains. The ladies rode on donkeys, which are not much larger than the largest kind of sheep; they have great strength and a pleasant gait. They are also sure-footed, which in such rough roads is no small recommendation. I hired a mule, the owner of which, as is usual in such cases, went along to take care of his animal. The other two gentlemen had their own horses. It is not here as in Europe, where you can find taverns and beds. There are no such things here. We, of course, had to take all things needful for eating and sleeping. We carried two tents—one for the ladies, the other for the gentlemen; our bedding, provisions, utensils for cooking, a pot, a pan, plates, knives, forks, spoons, coffee, tea-cups, sugar, salt, towels, &c. We required, of course, two or three mules to carry these, and a servant to take care of them and cook for us. Although our plan was to take no more than was really necessary, we made quite a cavalcade.

You have, no doubt, heard that coal has lately been found in the mountains near Beyroot. The chief mine that is worked lies near a village called Corneil, about three or four hours' ride from Brumanah, and up near the main ridge of the mountain. Our first object was to visit those mines which lay south-east of Brumanah. We passed up the ridge on which Brumanah stands, but gradually wound along its south-east side, until we reached the bottom of the ravine which separates it from the ridge which lies to the south. Much of the higher part of the ridge on which Brumanah stands is of the sandstone formation; it is, however, singularly mixed with patches of limestone. We found the ravine a most rugged and rocky one, and almost wholly of limestone. We saw many loose masses of green stone at the bottom, which must have been brought from some distance, as there was no appearance of that rock in sight.

In crossing the next ridge, we passed a village, in the midst of a well-cultivated spot. There were more trees, and vines, and garden herbs, than I had seen at any of the villages that I had passed. The prince of this village has a pretty good-looking palace, of considerable size. We passed close by it, and as the people within assembled to see the party of Franks, it gave us an opportunity to see them. After ascending about half way up this ridge, we again passed into the sandstone formation, which occupies the top, except some small locations of limestone, which appears in some strange way to have got out of its proper place. But of this hereafter. We passed over this ridge, and at the foot, near the lower part of the sandstone formation, we found the coal mines. Mr. Brattle, the English superintendant, received us most kindly, and took us through and showed us the mine. He has made four or five openings, and finds ample stores of coal. It is from three to four feet thick—dips a little into the mountain—has several considerable falls in the strata, which will require more labour in working it. There is another mine south of the next ridge, which is also now worked. The coal is not, however, as good as at the one we visited. None of the coal yet found is as good as the English coal, but most probably a further search may discover coal of a better quality.

It is about ten or fifteen years since this coal was first discovered. Several men were sent to examine it, but were not skilful, and did not report favourably. There was an attempt to work it a few years since, but no good resulted. At length Mr. Brattle, who is acquainted with the business, was induced to come out, and under his direction they are becoming more and more important. He labours under great disadvantages, from the absence of most of those aids and facilities which are so needful in carrying on such work. He has proved, or is proving, however, that they are valuable. This coal is carried on mules and donkeys to Beyroot, over a most villanous road. Were a good road made, and proper coal wagons used, it would greatly facilitate the matter. But that day is not yet come. There is no such thing as a wheeled conveyance here, at least I have seen none, nor the track of one of any description.

There is a great irregularity in the sandstone strata near and above the coal, it is thrown about in all sorts of ways. But I shall have occasion to notice this repeatedly in my tour. After spending several hours at the mine, Mr. Brattle took us to his house at Corneil (the old palace, the best house in the village), and entertained and lodged us with great kindness and hospitality. From the terrace of the palace, which looks towards Beyroot, we had one of the most splendid views I have ever seen. We saw the sun set in the ocean behind Cyprus; could distinctly see the island in the full blaze of the setting sun. It lies so far to the west, that it is only in peculiar states of the air it can be seen. Corneil stands on a rocky knoll on the top of a ridge. At this place the limestone is thrown up, while both above and below on the ridge the sandstone prevails. It is surrounded with vines, mulberry, fig and other kinds of trees. But they stop here. This is the highest point on this part of the mountain where trees are seen. Almost immediately after leaving Corneil we saw no more trees, not even bushes, except occasionally a very low evergreen, which appeared to be a kind of thorn. It grows in bunches, spreads over the ground, but seldom rises above from six inches to a foot. Occasionally we saw some heather and fern in wet places, and more frequently furze and thistle; a few low flowers appeared, and some other mountain plants that were new to me. The whole face of the mountain was bare rocks, rocks, rocks. The ridge on which Corneil stands leads up to a very high point of the mountain called, if I recollect right, Jebal Knee-se. There are now, it is said, the remains of a church and monastery on the top. It was a place of some interest as an ecclesiastical establishment. It really must have looked like literally getting up, if not to at least towards heaven, to live upon the top of a mountain which is supposed to be from nine to ten thousand feet above the level of the sea. It was, no doubt, a monastic establishment. Why it was deserted I know not. I felt a wish to visit it, but the labour would have been considerable, and as another point which lies several hours' ride north-east is still higher, and is the one that is usually ascended, and as we thought the ascent of one would be quite enough for our invalids, we passed round the foot of the high peak of Jebal Knee-se, and made for the top of the ridge, at a low place between Jebal Knee-se and Jebal Sun-neen.

The upper part of Jebal Knee-se is regularly stratified limestone, and horizontal. It has many shells in it; we stopped and collected some fine specimens of four or five different kinds. About the middle of the day, we reached the top of the ridge of Lebanon, at the low place between the two points before named. This place is above the limits of trees and cultivation. The mountain is barren even of bushes. There are, however, some of the smaller plants which I mentioned a few lines above.

We had from this place a fine view of the Bokar, or plain of Celo-Syria, which lies between Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon. It is a long and narrow plain—narrow compared with its length. It may be from fifteen to twenty miles wide, but must be several hundred miles long. It looked like a dead level. We could see many villages in it, and groves of trees, and the green fields. It was a lovely sight. We pitched our tents on the top, and made our dinner, enjoying the delightful view which lay around us on all sides. The cultivation on the side next the plain ascended much higher up the mountain than it did on the north-western side. There were fields of grain but a short distance below us, so near indeed that one of our muleteers took down his mule, and let it feed on the grain, and even brought up a bundle of green wheat which he procured there.

The place on which we pitched our tents was the upper part of the sandstone formation. There was a good deal of sandstone, breccia or puddingstone, but near us on all sides the limestone formation was seen. After the heat of the day was a little over, we set out north-east along the top of the Mount for the Sun-neen, the high point which is usually ascended, and on which the most snow is found. There is a little flat, or nearly flat, space along the top, on which we found a footpath, much beaten. All over these high places the sheep and goats and cattle are driven for the sake of pasture. We saw more flocks on these upper parts of the mountain than we did on the lower parts.

Not far from our encampment, we passed a place near the upper part of the sandstone formation, where strata of a peculiar character cropt out. It split easily into lamina as fine as paper; was peculiarly elastic. You might roll it up in rolls, and it would, when let loose, spring back to its former state. It burnt freely. You might almost make torches of it. It was, no doubt, bituminous shale. In some places it had more of these properties than others. The strata was of considerable thickness, as we could see on the sides of the hollow on which we found it. It lay on the north-west side, a little below the top of the ridge. Most likely, as the strata was horizontal, it cropt out also on the south-east side next the plain of Celo-Syria.

Two or three hours brought us to the foot of Jebal Sun-neen, and up near the foot of the snows. Here we selected a good spot, and again pitched our tents; intending to employ the next day in our ascent to the top and return to the same place. We found it much colder than it was in the lower parts of the mountain. We really needed fire; but it was with difficulty that wood enough could be procured to make our tea, much more to make a fire to warm half-a-dozen people in the open air. We had, however, expected this, and brought clothing accordingly, so that we did not suffer much.

In the morning, we began the ascent; we rode nearly an hour, and took a donkey still farther for the benefit of the ladies; but then left all our animals, and betook ourselves in good earnest to the matter of ascending the Mount. On the side which we ascended, between where we encamped and the top, are two or three offsets, then the mountain falls off and leaves a kind of level. These general levels have small ridges and round hills on them, and many deep valleys and sink-holes, or holes of that peculiar kind which abound in districts where a horizontal limestone stratum lies on the surface. In these deep sink-hole places, and in the valleys, and on the sides of the ridges, the snow was accumulated in great quantities, but it did not cover the whole surface of the mountain, as I had supposed it might. But a small part of the mountain had snow on it. It lay in patches, and possibly not over one-twentieth part was covered with it. I saw no ice—all was snow. From the action of the sun and wind, it was just hard enough to walk on with safety. The foot would sink in it one, two, or three inches—seldom more. I walked on it in my shoes without inconvenience.

We were three hours in reaching the top—we proceeded slowly, and stopped frequently to allow the ladies rest. We found the summit much like the offset, which I have just described. There was what may be called a general level, of a mile or two across, with many rises in it, and full of deep holes of various shapes, some nearly round, others long and narrow. These were full of snow. It was usually much melted at one side, and the largest masses were, as a general thing, found lying on the west or south-west side of the hollow. What appeared most singular, was the fact, that for the most part, the outsides of this great cone appeared the highest—around it were the highest knolls, while the inner parts were lower, and its holes and sinks more deep. The rain and snow water does not seem to flow over and down the outside of the cone, but sinks in it, and finds its way out as it can.

The whole upper part of the Mount, from where we pitched our tents, which was near the sandstone formation, is limestone with its varieties. It lies horizontally, and is stratified with unusual regularity. This can be seen with great distinctness on the west side of the Mount, where the deep hollow, in which a branch of the river Beyroot heads, terminates against the cone, and makes a regular, steep, sloping descent of, I should think, from four to six thousand feet. Near the top, on the west side, I saw a small spot of fine white marble—much of the rock, indeed, approximates to marble. High up, at the north-east corner, we found some limestone breccia, and saw, also, in various places, much arragonite, which is a peculiar and rare variety of crystallised limestone.

But what gave us most interest were the shells which we found at many places as we ascended, and also on the top itself. We found some very fine specimens of them—four or more varieties. I procured several, nearly as large as a common conch shell; all of them were petrified. At various places on the side, and also on the summit, we saw rocks that appeared little else than a mass of shells. As to when and how they got there, I have at present but little to say. Of one thing, however, I am fully satisfied, that they do not contradict the Mosaic account. It is possible that they may, with other facts which are collecting, prove, finally, that in some points we have put a wrong construction on the Mosaic account. Thus it was when the newly received system of astronomy was first brought forward. It was assailed with more zeal than knowledge, by a certain class of religionists, who insisted that it was at variance with the Bible, which said the sun rose and set; whereas, this new system made the sun stand still and the earth turn round,—and not only the anathemas of the church, but the fire and fagot were called into requisition, to maintain the good old received opinion, that the earth stood still for the quiet of man, and the sun, moon, and stars, which had nothing else to do, went round and round to give him light. It was, however, found out at last, that the truth in astronomy was not at war with truth in revelation—that the earth might turn round, and move at the same time in its orbit, without infringing, in the least, against the truths of the Bible. Thus, I doubt not, it will be found with the geological fossils, which are now accumulating, and some of them are truly singular. They will be found to coincide with revelation.

I do fear, indeed, that some weak heads will be injured by these facts, and that some minds wishing to find occasion against religion, will eagerly seize these facts, and take it for granted that they are inconsistent with the Bible account, and will throw off all regard for that most precious book. Such persons ought to recollect that geology is a science that is yet in its infancy. That on some of the most important questions that bear on its relation to the Mosaic account, there is not only a want of agreement among geologists, but much contrariety of opinion. Farther, this eastern world, where the main examination ought to be made, has been but little examined; and still, the Bible will admit of any explanation, in agreement with these facts, on the same principles on which explanations in common life are daily received.

The view from the top of Sun-neen was most splendid. We had a most extensive view of the Bokar, as the Celo-Syria plain is now called. The great range of the Anti-Lebanon stretched along the farther side, running parallel to that of the Lebanon. Parts of the former had snow on them, and especially a high point that lay a good deal to the south. On the general range of the Anti-Lebanon, there was less snow; and I should think it a good deal lower than the Lebanon. It has the same naked and rough appearance, and I am told is even more rough, more destitute of forests, and less occupied with villages. To the south, we could see as far as Mount Hermon and the mountains about the sea of Tiberias. To the north, the plain ran out till it met the horizon. The whole plain of Celo-Syria appeared to be a dead level. The mountains rise from it as if they rose out of a sea. In this it reminded me of the plain of Ephesus, which stretches up almost to Smyrna. Baalbec can be seen from Sun-neen, but the state of the air was not favourable to a distant view on the plain. North of the point of Sun-neen, on which we stood, the main ridge of the Lebanon sinks a good deal, as it does on the south. Beyond this low place, at a considerable distance, I should think a day's travel, say fifteen or twenty miles, it throws up another high point, or mass of mountains. On this last point, which may be about as high as the Sun-neen, grow the famous cedars so much spoken of. Our plan was to have extended our tour so as to visit them and Baalbec, which stands nearly opposite them, on the other side of the plain, but some engagements and matters of duty did not allow all the company to proceed thus far.

Our descent from the top was much more easy and expeditious than our ascent, owing in part to an experiment we made with complete success. On the south side of the point a hollow ran up almost to the top; on the west side of this hollow was a large field of snow, which extended from near the top to the foot of what I have called the cone, or down to the second general level. We made a trial of how we could descend on the snow, and found that, by keeping near the edge, and walking with care, sticking the heel with a little force in it, we could get along with much more ease and expedition than we could over the rough and exceedingly rocky ground. Our descent to our horses was soon accomplished; and just as the sun went down under the western wave, we arrived at our tents, a little tired it is true, but greatly gratified in having reached the top of that "goodly mountain and Lebanon," perhaps the most interesting mountain in the world.

While we were on the Mount, the day, as it shone on us, was perfectly clear; the general state of the air, when we were shaded with an umbrella, or under the shade of a rock, was pleasant. The direct force of the sun was, however, warm. We were above the clouds, and had a most interesting view of their forming far, far below us, and especially on the sea. Soon after mid-day they began to form on the far distant horizon over the sea, and continued to increase until a large part of it was covered; and about the time we reached the foot of the cone, where we had left our horses, the clouds exhibited a most brilliant spectacle. A small strip of the sea, near the foot of the mountain, had no clouds on it. It lay smooth, like a frozen lake. The remainder, in all directions as for as the eye could reach, was covered with immense masses of clouds, which appeared to us like hills of cotton or wool upon the waters. It reminded me of some of those great plains of the valley of the Mississippi, covered with its immense forests, as seen from some high point of the Alleghany or Cumberland range, after the fall of a heavy snow. The clouds appeared about as high above the water as the western groves rise above the plain—the irregularity of hill and dale, and the fleecy whiteness of the clouds, as we looked upon the upper part, which was strongly illuminated by the sun, corresponded well with groves loaded with the new-fallen snow in all its virgin purity.

To make the scene still more interesting, a wind set in from the sea, and drove the masses of clouds against the mountains. We saw the plains covered and again laid bare, as masses of clouds, like the irregular columns of an army, passed over it—drove against the mountains—rose higher and higher up its sides—and at last swept over us and by us in huge piles. It was not one large dense cloud, but a multitude of clouds of various sizes, and at different heights. The sun pouring its flood of light upon these masses, so various in height and density and rapidity of motion, presented the most brilliant and perpetually varying spectacle that I have ever seen. We had all the variety of tints and colouring that light and shade can make, and that ever-changing aspect which is presented by the kaleidoscope. There was, however, no rain; for while we often have clouds on these mountains, there has no rain fallen since I reached Beyroot, which is now more than six weeks.

We spent the night at the foot of the snows, where the former night was passed; and having packed our minerals, shells, and flowers, which we had collected, set off for Bru-ma-nah. We took a more direct road than the one by which we came, as we wished to see as much of the mountain as possible. We passed along a great ridge that ran from our tents, at the foot of the cone, with various irregularities, on to Bru-ma-nah. We found it much as the ridge on which the coal-pits of Corneil are situate. The upper part of it much of the way is of the sandstone formation. On the higher part of this is a stratum of very fine puddingstone. Almost everywhere, in this sandstone formation, we find petrified wood, much iron ore, iron stone, and at many places slate, and all the indications of coal. There can be no doubt that coal exists extensively in this formation; and, from the tour which we made, I should think that from one-sixth to one-fourth of this ridge was of the sandstone formation. It lies about midway up the mountain; has, generally considered, a horizontal position; but is at many places most singularly thrown out of its place. At the heads of hollows, and at the points of ridges, and often in other places, the limestone seems forced up, but retains its horizontal position: at other places, the sandstone is suddenly cut off, and begins again at a great distance above or below;—but my paper is full.

[LETTER V.]

Bru-ma-nah, Aug. 2, 1836.

Last Saturday, I went down to Beyroot, mainly to spend the Sabbath with the small number of Franks that usually meet at the American consul's for worship. I had been on the mountains about three weeks, and found the general temperature pleasant. The thermometer seldom rose to 75° Fahr. The direct action of the sun was, it is true, considerable, but I seldom, except when travelling, went out during the greatest heat of the day. I found the heat greater at Beyroot; from five to eight, and at times ten or more degrees. Still the thermometer does not give the whole difference. There is a closeness—an oppressive something in the air in the town that makes it more trying than the same degrees of heat would produce on the mountains. There is also a very manifest difference in the heat, and oppressive character of the air, in the town, and in what is called the Gardens—the numerous dwellings that lie without the walls, and are scattered for several miles round the city, mentioned in a former letter.

I have repeatedly witnessed since I came to the mountains an appearance in the setting sun which I never before saw, nor have I ever seen it noticed in books. In this dry season of the year we have but few clouds, and the sun usually clear; but in setting, it very often assumes strange and singular appearances. They begin about the time the lower part of the sun touches the line of the horizon. The lower part, at times, appears to flatten up; the upper, to flatten down; and at times, the sides flatten in—so that the disk of the sun forms nearly a square; it seldom, however, took this form. More frequently about the time that one-half of the disk is sunk below the horizon, a portion of the upper part of the remainder appears to separate from the body of the sun, and often assumes the form of an inverted cone, or rather that of a common washbowl, set on the sun, and at times separated from it by a black mark, of, say an inch in diameter. This crown-like appearance, at times, is distinctly visible after the disk of the sun has disappeared; at other times the body of the sun appeared to be surrounded with a groove and a band, giving it the appearance of the capital of a pillar. I have seen it again and again, as it sank under the line of the horizon, flatten down, and spread out horizontally, until in truth it did not look wider than a large walking staff, while it appeared nearly a yard in length—the length of the strip of luminous matter appeared really longer than the usual apparent width of the disk before it began to take the new form. But the most singular fact of all remains to be told. We have several times seen, for it is the most rare appearance, the sun appear distinctly under the horizon, after the luminous aspect was wholly gone. It appeared as a dark mass, nearly of the shape of the sun, but much larger. It seemed under the water, and gradually to sink deeper and deeper. This sinking of it below the line of the horizon causes it to appear to approach nearer the spectator. I saw it on one occasion most distinctly, when the distance of its upper edge appeared a full yard below the line of the horizon. It then gradually became fainter and fainter, until it disappeared. I am not sure that I am philosopher enough to account for these strange appearances. They do not appear every night; and seldom for two nights together are the forms the same. The general cause, I suppose, is the peculiar state of the body of air through which the rays of light from the setting sun reach us on the mountain. We are in a high, pure, and elastic atmosphere. At the foot of the mountain, and the plains on to Beyroot, over which the rays pass, the earth must be greatly heated, and sends up a heated and rarefied body of air—then, farther on, is the ocean, which must keep the stratum of air over it cooler. To this I may add, that we see the sun set over Cyprus. This island lies at the very edge of our horizon, as seen from Bru-ma-nah; so distant that it is only at times that we can distinctly see it. Now Cyprus is an island of considerable size, and not having much growth is greatly heated by the action of the sun. This may, by the rarefied volume of air which it presents to the rays of the sun, tend still farther to vary their course. Thus passing two or three warm and rare, and as many cold and dense strata, may be the cause of all the variety of phenomena above described. I leave it however for others to solve the problem.

It will soon be two months since I reached Beyroot, and few things have struck me more than the uniformity of the weather. There has not been a drop of rain. There has been scarcely any weather that we should call cloudy. True, some clouds do at times collect over the sea, and at times they rest on the mountain, but they are clouds without rain. They very seldom spread over the face of the heavens, so as to withhold the light of the sun; they are mostly confined to one part, and leave the remainder in its usual clearness. I have, again and again, been reminded of the fact, that one day is almost precisely like all the others. We have no opportunity to say "this is a fine day,"—all are fine.

We may suppose that when there is for so long a period no rain, and when the sun, almost without exception, pours on the earth its full blaze of light and heat, the air would become very dry. It is so; but not to an unpleasant degree—at least I am not sensible of any unpleasant effects from it. Plants and vegetation do, it is true, feel it—they wither and droop; and those who wish to preserve them in their freshness and beauty, must resort to the means of watering them. But, as regards comfortable feeling from the air, I have found few places that were to be preferred to Mount Lebanon.

The clearness of the air is a most striking characteristic of these regions. It is most striking, and is manifested in many things. It is seen in looking at the starry heavens. The stars are numerous, and the face of the heavens has a clearness in it, that makes the impression on the mind that we can see further into the deep and pathless abyss by which our little earth is surrounded than we can in other countries. It agrees in this with the Italian sky, but is, I think, still more clear. This clearness of the air is also manifest in looking at distant objects. They appear much nearer than they really are. I am almost perpetually struck with this in looking from Bru-ma-nah down to Beyroot, and the long line of coast which lies to the north and south. When I stand on some one of the points of the ridge that runs out towards Beyroot, as I often do, especially in my evening walks, the town appears so near, and the bay at such a short distance below me, that I can hardly get clear of the impression that I could throw a finger-stone into the bay. The ascent and descent, three or four times repeated, has, however, given the matter-of-fact proof that it takes nearly four hours of hard travel to pass the space that lies between Bru-ma-nah and Beyroot. The air, it is true, is not always equally pure and transparent; a dulness and obscurity, like that which is often observable in other countries, at times exist here. The air here is, I think, at least in the dry season, less liable to it; how the rainy seasons may affect the air in all these respects, I am not as yet prepared to say; as I have had no opportunity of making observations.

But little dew falls at this place; and from all that I saw in Beyroot, there is but little there, at least in the dry season; I have not noticed it in the form of drops on the leaves, indeed I have at this place hardly observed it in the form of dampness; a slight degree of this is observable in the evening after sunset. This is our usual hour for walking, and I have observed that our clothes were a little damp on our return. I was struck, however, with the fact, that the nights we were encamped at the foot of the cone of Jebal Sun-neen, there was an abundance of dew. Our tents were wet; and the grass and vegetation, and even dust of the roads, bore witness to it. How it happened that there was so much of it up there, and so little of it down here, I leave for the wise to decide; possibly the cause may be in the neighbourhood of the fact, that the heat here and at Beyroot is remarkably uniform. It varies but few degrees in the twenty-four hours; at our place of encampment, referred to, the variation was much greater; we had great heat by day and almost frost at night.

The more usual and valuable produce of the mountains is the silk. Much of their best ground is planted with the mulberry-tree, the leaf of which is used for feeding the worms. Not much of the silk is manufactured here; most of it is exported to Italy, France, and England.

The principal grain grown here is the barley, and a kind of bearded wheat that looks much like it. I have not, however, travelled enough to make observation to much extent. They raise some tobacco—almost every one here, as you no doubt have heard, smokes—the pipe is everywhere one of the most common things seen; they have long handles, usually made of the cherry-tree; the finer kind are nearly as long as the owner is high, and are tipped with a mouth-piece of amber. They often use a kind of pipe called the nargely, in which the smoke is drawn through water. Much of their time is spent in smoking and taking coffee.

I am told that in the plains of the Bokar' or Celo-Syria, a good deal of Indian corn is grown. I have not seen any of it on the mountains, nor did I notice it on the plains of Beyroot as I passed and repassed. The mountains do not raise bread-stuff sufficient for its own consumption; grain is brought from the plains. They appear to me, indeed, to live on very little up here; and I have often, while looking on their simple fare, thought of the poet's lines:

"Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."

Still a people may have too few wants, they may be too indifferent as to comforts and conveniences; and the absence of these excitements may lead to idleness and almost complete indifference towards all things. If it be not good for man to be alone, it is still worse for him to be idle; and he who in great kindness to man gave him the woman to be with him, in the same spirit of love gave him employment—to dress the garden and keep it. The devil, it is said, finds employment for idle people; and, even if that were not his peculiar business, the idleness of many must, I should think, put a sore temptation in the devil's way, to give them something to do. I have often heard the devil charged with tempting people, but I am inclined to think, that the temptation is not all on one side; I suspect that people often tempt the devil. Had our first mother Eve been attending to her domestic matters as she ought; or, in company with her goodman, been helping to take care of the garden, she would probably have escaped the evil into which she fell.

But to return from this digression. The people of these mountains are greatly given to idleness; it may result, in part, from the kind of culture they pursue. The silkworm can employ but little of their time, and much of the remainder is unemployed. It would be better for them were they employed more constantly. The pasha, it is true, gives many of them employment in connexion with working the coal-mines, and taking coal to Beyroot; and, while there may be hardship in the manner in which he presses them, with their mules and donkeys, into the service, I am not sure that in a more enlarged view of things it may not be to their advantage; were companies of the idlers kept at work constantly in making roads on the mountains, and keeping those made in good repair, the benefit to the whole region would be great indeed. But all improvements travel very slowly in these ends of the earth.

I have long since read of the big-tailed sheep, but do not recollect seeing any until I reached this place. The sheep is about the usual size. On the rump and around the root of the tail, there is a large mass of soft loose flesh or fat, which appears to be but loosely connected with the body, except as kept in connexion with it by the skin. It hangs loose, and shakes about like the udder of a good milch cow, and altogether has a very singular appearance. I have not often, if at all, seen flocks of sheep on these mountains. The goats are often seen in flocks with their keeper, but the sheep are usually seen singly, or but two or three together, having a string about their necks, by which they are fastened when at the house, and led and managed when out at pasture. We may see them led about in the gardens and vineyards, and out on the mountain side, where a tuft of grass is to be found; a boy or girl is usually in attendance upon each sheep. In the evening, I have often seen them bringing the sheep to the springs and pools of water, and pour the water plentifully over them, I suppose to cool them. The sheep appear to take it very kindly, seemingly accustomed to it.

The goats are much used for their milk. The cow is indeed used, and possibly its milk is considered the best, but the goat, as the more thrifty animal, is most easily kept, and suits the spare vegetation which is found on the mountains. They are seen in considerable numbers, and some of them have uncommonly long ears, which are of a speckled whitish colour, and hang down from eight to twelve inches.

The camel is much used here as a beast of burden. It is a tall, raw-boned, long-legged, and long-necked animal, but of a patient, quiet spirit. It shares with the donkey and mule the hard service which the people of these lands exact of their cattle. I have been surprised to see what masses of timber they carry down from these mountains on the backs of camels—beams for houses, shipping, and all sorts of things. I have seen a beam from fifteen to twenty feet long, and from eight to ten, twelve, or fourteen inches in diameter, laid on the back of a camel, one end projecting forward before the head of the animal, and the other reaching far behind, and somehow fastened with ropes to the huge pack-saddle which he carries. Thus loaded he is made to pass over roads, which require some fortitude for a man to ride, and pass up and down descents that are most fearful for such loads: one driver attends each, who may at the more dangerous passes take hold of the beam and aid in keeping it steady. The poor animal usually reaches his place of destination in safety with his lumber—I say usually, for at times, over-loaded or worn down with the length of the way, or missing his step, he falls, and is crushed to death by the merciless load upon his back.

Who has not heard of the scorpion? and yet who has seen one? It was not until after I reached Beyroot that I saw one, and that occurred in a way that took me a good deal by surprise. One evening during our quarantine, the scorpion happening to be mentioned as a reptile that abounded, I expressed a wish to see one. This was reported to our guardians. The next morning, soon after I was out of bed, I was called to the porch, and to my no small surprise, mixed with some apprehension of danger, I saw one of the guardians having a handful of them,—literally a handful of scorpions. He may have had from six to ten of them. They were all small. They are a short reptile—these were about the size of a common locust; the body short and flat, with a tail rather longer than the body. The sting is in the tip of the tail. They strike forward with the tail. They appear rather a slow, dull animal, and do not appear eager to strike or do mischief. When held in the hand, they cannot strike, and the pressure of the hand appears to produce a dull, heavy disposition. The guardian handled them as he pleased—he took hold of the lower part of the tail, with a quick motion, and then held them close in his hand, piled one on the other. They have a way of taking them, I am told, by putting a stick to them that is covered with bees-wax. The scorpion strikes his tail in it, it sticks fast, and he is taken. Their sting produces pain, it is said, but is not often, if ever, fatal. It is but seldom that persons are stung by them.

And who has not heard of the chameleon, that wonderful animal that one traveller declared was blue, and another that it was black, and its owner asserted that it was green, but which, when produced, was of a different colour from any of those mentioned! The chameleon is not the only thing which has been made more marvellous by report than nature made it. It is a lizard, of a size rather larger than those little four-legged, long-tailed animals, that in the spring and summer are seen about old fences and trees, nearly the colour of the moccason snake. The chameleon is, in its usual colour, not unlike the above-mentioned lizard, rather lighter—more like the rattlesnake as to colour. It is a perfectly harmless reptile, may be handled at pleasure. It is rather slow in its motions, and when you touch it, it will swell and blow at a great rate, but does nothing else. As its passions are excited by handling, its colour is in a slight degree changeable, and it may be still more so when seen in different kinds of light. The change, however, has been much magnified; and were it not that "as changeable as a chameleon" has become a proverb, and every one expects something, hundreds of people might see and handle it, and not observe any change in its colour. They are often found about houses, and are said to be fond of flies—what their art of catching them may be, I know not; their motions appear too slow to make a living in that way.

I had heard, long before coming to Asia, fearful accounts of the annoyance I must expect from fleas, bed-bugs, and other similar sorts of gentry; I have as yet only come in contact with the fleas, and an occasional musquito. But really the number and pertinacity of the fleas will well make amends for the absence of the other tribes of annoying insects. I know not to what it may be owing, but the flea does seem to multiply in a way that is astonishing. They abound almost everywhere, and it appears to be a matter of impossibility to get wholly out of their reach. The evil may be increased by the earthen floor, and the peculiar character of their houses, and, above all, the unclean habits of the people; and as all the Frank families have native servants, and are visited a good deal by the natives, it is not easy for those families to keep their houses free from the annoyance. I have heard, indeed, a very significant saying, that the king of the fleas resides at Beyroot, and his pasha at Jaffa. I suppose it signifies those are the favourite places with these light-footed gentry.

The fruit season is now coming on, and we have some fine varieties of fruit brought to market. The district of country a little on this side of Jaffa, is the place most famed for the water-melon. There are but few grown on these parts of the mountain. I have seen but few vines, and these bore a small and inferior kind. But the quantities that come from the vicinity of Jaffa are very great; vessels arrive at Beyroot almost daily with them. They are sold for a mere trifle. They are carried all through these mountains, and are a very fine fruit of the kind.

I have never seen the plum any where to be compared with those here. They grow, however, near Damascus. That place is famed for fruit of various kinds, and great quantities of it are brought to Beyroot, and other towns on the coast. At this time of the year, when the fruit is ripe, it is a considerable business to carry fruit and supply the market. The plum to which I refer is nearly as large as a hen's egg, and has a fine rich pulp. It is of a deep red colour, and does credit to the land where it grows.

The apricot abounds at Damascus; and they are brought in large parcels for the supply of this market. It is a fine fruit. I have not seen many growing on this part of the mountain, nor have I seen the apple or the peach growing in very large quantities. The best used here are brought from Damascus. I have not seen any apples to be compared with our best; the apple season, however, is not yet come.

The grape grows well, and there are some fine vineyards. The grape that abounds most, as far as I have observed, is a large white grape. The single grape is often nearly as large as a partridge's egg. The branches contain a noble collection of these grapes, and more than once the large size of the bunch has made me think of the cluster which the spies took from Eshcol, as a sample of the fruit of the land. Some wine is made on these mountains, and of a very good kind, as is said, for I have not so far forgotten my temperance habits as to use, unless very occasionally, and under peculiar circumstances, the wines of any of the countries through which I pass. The wines, I am told, are peculiarly free from alcohol, and have, if any, but a very small portion of the intoxicating principle. They are not so strong as the well-made cider of the middle States.

These mountaineers have a peculiar way of baking bread. They dig a hole in the ground, about the size of a large bottle—put a thick coat of plaster around the side and on the bottom, and then let it dry. It is very much in the shape of a large pot, a little bulging in the middle. A fire is made in the bottom of it, of small branches, and kept up until the sides are well heated; the flames are then suffered to go down, leaving the mass of coals in the bottom. They have the dough ready, and take a piece of it, about as large as a biscuit, and laying it on a board, press it out as large as a common-sized plate, and nearly as thin as the blade of a thick knife. They place it on a round pillow or cushion, (it is so thin it cannot be handled otherwise,) and strike it against the inside of this potlike place. It sticks, and in about one minute is baked. It is then taken off, and another put on. There are, usually, several women engaged at it at the same time, and they put them on with great quickness. You may see three or four of these wafer-like cakes sticking round the tan-moor, as it is called, at the same time, and changed for others every minute. They soon bake bread for a meal.

[LETTER VI.]

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, manœuvring, 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 manœuvring 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.

[LETTER VII.]

Beyroot, Sept. 5th, 1836.

We left Damascus by the same road by which we had entered it, and continued on the same way as far as Zebdane. Having already made some remarks on the characteristic features of this district, I will say no more about it.

From Zebdane, we kept up the valley, which ran a north-east direction. It becomes narrow very soon after leaving that place, the ridges from the mountains on both sides close in and often almost meet, leaving but a small portion of level ground. Passing the sources of the streams, the quantity of water diminishes fast. The trees almost cease except at occasional spots, where care has been taken to plant them. The ground for about an hour's travel is rough; the plain then opens again to a considerable extent, and is more or less cultivated. There are a few houses; but this part is but poorly supplied with water, and without that the regions must be barren and desolate.

We soon found ourselves passing over the highest part of the plain, and beginning to descend. In short, we found that this little plain was at the separating point of the head waters of the Bareda which flows to Damascus, and those of the El-Kanne, which flows into the Bokar through the Anti-Lebanon east of Zahle. We soon came to the head branches of this last stream, which is formed of a set of most noble springs, rising in the middle of the plain. There is quite a cluster of them rising near each other, and throwing off enough water to turn a mill; fine, pure, cool water. As is usual, it is carried in channels through different parts of the plain. There is a little cluster of trees, and the whole district over which the water can be thrown is cultivated, and rich in verdure. A small village stands just below, and we found some females at the spring engaged in washing. For a small present they allowed us the use of their fire to prepare our food; and again a good deal of interest was excited to see the Franks eat.

The mountains continued very bare of trees, and shrubbery of every kind. In the few places where water rose, there were a few trees, all else was a barren, sunburnt surface. After passing the village, which was poor in its appearance, the plain became more barren and rough, and the cultivated district more and more narrow. At the end of half an hour it terminated at a rough, narrow pass, nearly due west, and directly through the Anti-Lebanon. We followed the waters through this pass. The sides were steep and high, and the rock thrown about in wild confusion. The dip of the rock was very variable at different places. Along the stream were a few trees, and we saw several large flocks of sheep and goats, under the care of shepherds and their dogs.

After following the pass for an hour and a half, it bore to the south-west; we left it, crossed a pretty high ridge to the north-west, and entered the Bokar. On reaching the top, the plain opened to view, and we had been led to expect that we should find Baalbec at the point where we entered the plain. But no Baalbec was to be seen. We found, to our no little discomfort, that we had about two hours' ride northward, along a dry plain, under a burning sun, before we could reach this far-famed ruin.

We passed several most extensive threshing-floors. Their threshing instruments and mode of cleaning the grain, were the same as has been already described. I might add, that in bringing their grain to the floor, and in carrying away the straw, they use mules and donkeys, and at times the camel. I saw, in no instance, the use of a wheel-carriage. The only wheeled-carriages that I have seen in Syria were those for cannon at Zahle, and ten or fifteen carts which I saw at one time passing a street in Damascus. These carts were of a coarse, strong kind, belonging to the Pasha, and were then employed in carrying materials for the castle which he was repairing.

Our road lay over the ridges, at the foot of the mountains, along the eastern side of the plain. The soil over which we passed was thin. There was much rock on the surface, and in many places there were wide-spread masses of a very coarse puddingstone, that appeared to have once formed a huge bed of water-worn rock, bowlders, and pebbles, and owing to some cementing matter which had come over it, had become a solid rock. As we approached Baalbec this rock discontinued, and gave place to a very thick stratum of massy limestone of a peculiar kind, which is mainly used in the walls of Baalbec.

Baalbec stands near the foot of the Anti-Lebanon, a little above the general level of the plain. The ridges of the mountain lower down gradually, and spreading out, form a general level, which merges insensibly into that of the plain. It is on this elevated level that the ruins stand; about a mile from them, on the side of a hill, is the quarry that has furnished the stone for these stupendous buildings. A little to the east arises the finest set of springs that I have seen in Syria. They boil up over a considerable surface, and send off a stream of water sufficient to set in operation various kinds of machinery, if applied to that purpose.

The ground on which the ruins stand is nearly a dead level; a large district has been surrounded by walls, traces of them remain. The space covered by the ruins of the temple, or set of temples, and possibly theatre and other buildings, is about nine hundred feet long, and six hundred broad. The area is not, however, a regular parallelogram, there are off-sets at some of the towers—towers having apparently been added when the place was fortified, and converted into a fort. A foundation or platform of great thickness, I should say not less than ten feet, seems to have been laid over this large space, and upon this foundation the temples have been reared.

The stones in this foundation and wall, as in the walls still higher, are many of them of a most enormous size; at the west and south-west corner especially, they are almost incredibly large. Where all were so large, we did not think it worth while to measure very many. In one row, and that one at some distance from the ground, are three stones which we measured, and made them about seventy feet long each, and about fifteen feet wide. The thickness we could not certainly tell, but we inferred it to be about fourteen feet. These stones are much of the same shape and appearance, they are precisely like one which lies nearly cut out in the quarry, which we were, from its position, enabled to measure accurately. It was seventy feet six inches long, fourteen feet two inches thick, and seventeen feet nine inches wide at one end, and thirteen feet eight inches at the other. We were at once struck with its perfect likeness to the three stones in the wall; all of them were wider at one end than the other. I suppose that these four large stones, the three in the wall and the one in the quarry, were originally intended, either for obelisks, pillars, images, or some such thing; that their being now in the wall, is owing to a subsequent arrangement, when the place was converted into a fortress, and those stupendous outside walls put up, which now fill us with wonder.

Under these three immense stones are seven others, which almost equal those above them in width; their thickness also, judging from what is seen at the corner of the building, does not much fall short of a due proportion. In truth, they are upon a most gigantic scale. This row extends along the south-west side nearly one hundred yards, forming a most solid foundation, ten or twelve feet high, which, however, on this side, is not built upon out to the edge, the wall going up about twenty feet inward. The above-mentioned are the largest stones I saw in these ruins; but many others are enormous, and, as a general thing, they are very large. As a sample, I measured one of a large row of stones at the south-east corner of the most perfect building now standing, (it was a corner stone, which enabled me to ascertain the thickness,) and found it to be twenty-eight feet long, six feet six inches wide, and four feet six inches thick. I was not at all certain that I might not, on measuring, have found many still larger.

The most perfect temple, now standing, is on the south-east side of the above wide foundation. It is one hundred and fifty-seven feet long, seventy-eight wide, and the walls now may be sixty-six feet high. We inferred its height from the length of one of the fallen pillars, with a row of which it was, and still is in part, surrounded. The pillar is forty-nine feet eight inches; the capital, six feet two inches; the entablature and the pediment may be ten; making—say sixty-six feet. These pillars formed a portico all round it—a covered way; the pillars being connected with the temple by enormously large stones resting one end on the pillars, and the other on the walls. The lower faces of these stones were most richly wrought with various devices. The pillars are six feet four inches in diameter at the bottom, and five feet eight inches at the top; most of them are in three pieces. The door of the temple is at the east; the pillars there are fluted; the porch before the door was wider than at the sides—a noble arch was sprung over it, and in the centre, and on the lower face of what is called the keystone, (a stone of most gigantic size,) was carved a majestic wide-spread eagle. This stone has sunk out of its place, and threatens to fall from the arch. A modern wall has been put up, about ten feet east of the door, and at the end of the walls, no doubt for the purpose of defence.

In the inside of the building, and half sunk in the walls, are fluted pillars, and at the corners they are so cut as to appear double, the piece being one. At about fifteen or twenty feet from the west end, two noble fluted pillars have stood at some distance from the sides, evidently making part of a separation of a more sacred apartment. They are fallen, but enough remains to show that the sanctum sanctorum stood there. There is no roof on this building, and from the fact that there are no windows in it, and other reasons, it may be doubted whether it ever had one: on this, however, I hesitate to give an opinion.

The south-east row of pillars belonging to this temple range with the wall that rose from the deep wide moat, by which the whole mass of buildings was surrounded. Opposite this temple, on the north-west side of the foundation, are the remains of a still larger temple, or building of some kind. But a small part of it remains; along the north-west wall is a row of pillars, or rather parts of pillars, the spaces between which have been filled up with large stones, forming thus a solid wall. Opposite this, and nearly half way to the temple, on the other side of the foundation, stands a row of pillars, now reduced to seven or eight, the remainder having fallen. They are about the size of those described—possibly they are larger. The foundation on which they stand must be eight or ten feet higher than that of the temple above described. These pillars have the capitals on, and are connected by their richly-carved and magnificent masses of entablature. How they have survived those convulsions which have prostrated their companions, I know not. The ruins which lie about, the broken rows of pillars and walls, show that this edifice has been of great extent. Its sides, I am inclined to think, have not been solid walls, but composed of these rows of columns, and most probably the whole building has been open to the heavens.

There is near the temple I have first described, and but a few yards from its north-east end, a large building with very high and strong walls. It projects out a good deal into the ditch, and has some loop-holes. It is, as the arabesque work about the door shows, an Arabic or Mohammedan building. It is badly lighted; it was used as a granary or magazine for the troops stationed here, and we were thus prevented from examining it.

Around the outside of the whole of the above wide foundation, and on the outer edge of it, a wall of most enormous stones is run up to a very great height; much of it, it is true, is fallen, but it was originally from forty to fifty feet high. At the corners were towers, and in various places loop-holes; at the east end a most stupendous archway ran far in, having its floor nearly on a level with the ground without. Possibly there were two of them originally, but one was partly closed, leaving a small entrance. Such great changes have been made on these ruins, by the fitting them up for a fort, that it is not easy to know what their original plan and uses were. The whole is surrounded by a deep wide ditch, which could be filled with water; it is now much filled up with rubbish.

A wall has originally extended from the south-east, and possibly also from the north-east, across the narrow plain which lies between the ruins and the hill to the east. This wall, much of which remains, has been of great strength. On the side of the hill is a very large pediment, and about it lie many pieces of a stupendous column which once stood upon it. No mortar or cement was used in the construction of these works. The rock has been cut so smooth, and fitted so exactly, that it is impossible to insert the blade of a penknife between them.

I had heard that there were large columns of Egyptian granite among these ruins. I saw some fragments of small columns of that kind, but the large columns were all of the rock which abounds in the quarry near. There is, in an old mosque not far from these ruins, a number of columns of Egyptian granite, but none of them of a very large kind. Still they were large enough to start the inquiry how they could have been brought from Egypt to this place—how could masses of rock, three feet in diameter and ten or fifteen feet long, be brought over Mount Lebanon, which is so steep and high that it is a great labour for man unloaded to pass? That it is the true Egyptian granite, all who know that rock will at once admit—no such rock is found in Syria.

Within the wall, and among the rubbish, is a small village. The houses are indifferent, and the population must be small. The Christians live in one quarter, and the Mohammedans in another.

Rather to our surprise, on reaching Baalbec, we saw to the east of the ruins a number of tents, and other appearances of an encampment. We learned in due time that there was stationed here a body of four or five hundred Egyptian troopers, and that they had made this their head-quarters for several years past. They lodged in tents separated a little from each other, so as to give room for fastening their horses. The tents were pitched in rows and the horses arranged with some regularity. All had a very pretty appearance.

I was interested in the contrivance for feeding their horses. Wood is not to be had here; and it would be labour for a Turk to make a trough for his horse out of stone. They have found a softer material. They take earth, and making it into mortar, form a pile of about three feet in diameter, and nearly the same in height—the sides are then raised, leaving a place within like a mortar, in which the horse's food is placed. There are rows of these horse-troughs, as they may be called, all through the encampment, and the horses regularly fastened to them. As we walked round the ruins one morning to get an entire view, we passed near a tent, before which, under the shade of a tree, sat several Turkish officers. From their dress, and some badges of honour which one or two of them had on their breasts, we took them for persons of some distinction. They kindly called us to come to the tent. They had two very good chairs, which they made us occupy, seating themselves à-la-turque. They entered freely into conversation, and made us take a cup of coffee, after which we pursued our walk.

We had intended to take up our quarters among the ruins, but finding so many soldiers near, we did not deem it prudent. We therefore applied to the Latin convent, but on pretence of being full they did not admit us. An offer was made us of a room in a house near the convent, but on examination it was so close, dark, and filthy, that we preferred taking up our lodgings on the top of the house. There we spread our carpets and spent two nights; we found it a very pleasant place. It was cool and pleasant, and no dew fell worth mentioning. The only inconvenience we experienced was, in dressing we were exposed to the gaze of all those who felt a wish to see how the Franks put on their clothes, shave their beards, and do those other things that are usually done in one's chamber.

Our route from Baalbec was to the far-famed cedars. They grow on the Lebanon, and on the side next the sea. Our road was directly across the plain, as the cedars are nearly opposite Baalbec. It took us about two hours and a half to cross the plain. This, at the usual mode of counting, would make it nearly eight miles wide. We found scarcely any water in the plain; there was indeed a small dry channel, and not far from it a slight trace of water, which was led along so as to water some districts; the quantity was small, and must soon have been exhausted. The noble body of water which came from the set of springs near Baalbec was separated near those ruins: one part was carried to one side, and the remainder to the other; a considerable district through which they flowed was rich with verdure. A pretty line of trees marked for a mile or two the tract of the plain through which the water passed, but at the end of a few miles they appeared to be exhausted. As the trees and richness of verdure ceased, the plain below assumed its dry and parched aspect. In these sunny plains the exhaustion of water must be very great; and I now the less marvel to find lakes which have no outlets, and rivers which are lost in the sand. They become exhausted.

When we had nearly reached the foot of the Lebanon, we saw a large solitary pillar standing in the plain. We saw no ruins near it. We were told by a peasant that it was just like the pillars in Baalbec, but what it was doing there alone he was unable to tell.

The ascent of Mount Lebanon was a most toilsome matter. We had to cross over one of the highest points of the mountain. There is another way which is more easy, but farther; we preferred crossing the highest place, as we might not cross here again, and wished to see the mountain in all its majesty. The first ridge which we ascended had more natural growth on it than any district I have seen in this country. It was pretty well covered with shrubs and low trees—most of them oak. The tops of most of the large ones had been cut off, I suppose for fuel. They appear to pursue a plan here, much followed in some parts of France, Savoy, and Italy, of cutting off the tops of the trees for fuel; and when the branches which shoot out have grown to the thickness of a man's arm, they are again cut off for the same purpose, and the same course still followed.

The rock on this ridge was wholly limestone. As we approached the top of it, and near the foot of the main ridge, the rock was very soft and much broken from the action of the air upon it. This continued to be the character of the rock over most of the main ridge. In some parts it was broken very fine and formed beds of loose rock; in which our mules sunk as if it were a bed of sand. A little up the side of the main ridge rose a beautiful spring of clear water, which served to produce verdure over a small district below. There were a few trees and shrubs scattered over the ridge almost to its summit; but in these upper parts they were few and small, and far between. I saw a few stunted cedars among them. As we approached the top, we passed through several large banks of snow. The face of the mountain was not generally covered with it, but it lay in large masses or spots where, from some cause, the wind had thrown much of it together. Streams of water flowed from them. When on the top we had satisfactory evidence that we were on one of the highest points of Lebanon. The ridge was narrow at this part of the mountain; there was no snow on the very summit, nor was there much on the north-west side—much less than on the south-east, and much less on either than on the Sun-neen, when I was there five weeks ago. The entire upper region was destitute of vegetation, not a bush to be seen, and but a small sample even of the thistle, which of all other plants appears the most tenacious of spreading itself everywhere.

From this eminence we had a most extensive view to the west—the long, irregular slope of the mountain to the sea—the narrow plain along the coast—and the wide-spread Mediterranean, till where the heavens appeared to come down and fence in the waters. But the object which among the first was sought for, was the cedars—the far-famed cedars of Lebanon! where could they be?

The Lebanon, at this place, makes on the side next the sea a considerable bend, having the concave part next the sea. We stood opposite the deep and wide hollow that comes up from Tripoli, and down which flows a stream, the head springs of which rose far below our feet. The mountain, both to our right and left, threw out high and long ridges towards the sea. We had a steep descent before us of, I should think, at least two thousand feet; on the sides of which not a bush was to be seen. Then, there was a small level in which several springs of water took their rise; and from the lower side of this level another deep and rough hollow opened, with stupendous precipices on its sides. Below this, and along the sides, we saw trees and a considerable village. Near the middle of the little plain, at the foot of the steep descent below us, we saw a clump of trees, but they looked too few or too small for the cedars. They resembled a small orchard of evergreens. We found, however, on reaching the plain, that they were the cedars we sought. They stand in irregular groups, spread over several little stony knolls, and may possibly cover eight or ten acres of ground. They are not what with us is called the cedar, but a variety of the pine. It is a resinous tree bearing a cone. The wood is of a white pine-like appearance. We spread our carpets, and spent the night under one of the father-trees of this grove.

It is not easy to decide how many old trees there are; eight or ten have a more venerable appearance than the remainder; still others approach them so nearly in size and marks of age, that it is difficult to say why one should be called old and the other young. I once thought of counting the grove, but from the irregularity of the ground, and the situation of the trees, this was no easy matter—especially for a man who had crossed the Lebanon the same day. I counted, however, a small section, and am disposed to think that there may be from 300 to 500 trees that are more than a foot in diameter—possibly 150 that may be above two feet—and about 50 or 60 that may be from three to four feet in diameter. A few we measured; the largest was 39 feet in circumference—one 32—one 29—one 28, and one 23: these may serve as a sample. Most of the large ones forked near the ground, and were rather assemblages of trees from the same root than a single tree. Those of the third size had some of them fine, straight bodies, and ran up to a considerable height. We procured some specimens of the wood, and a sample of the cones, and then bid adieu to this much-talked-of grove.

It is pretty certain that this grove did not furnish wood for Solomon. It lies opposite Tripoli, which is two days north of Beyroot, and Beyroot is north of Tyre and Sidon. It lies up far from the sea, and has a piece of country between it and the sea, as rough as can well be found anywhere. The grove does not appear to be diminishing, but rather increasing. I saw no stumps of fallen trees, and young ones are springing up. There is a kind of religious reverence for these trees among the neighbouring villagers. They have a singular appearance standing alone in the midst of a small plain on which no other trees grow, with no other trees above them, nor for a considerable space below. Another singular fact is, that there is no water running among them. There is a stream on the side of the plain, but it comes not near them. The ground appears enriched with the leaves that fall from them, and looks precisely as the soil usually does in a pine grove.

Leaving the cedars, we passed down the valley; a most rough and steep descent. We passed a village well watered, surrounded with mulberry, poplar, willow and fruit trees of various kinds. The state of cultivation on both sides of the valley, for some distance down, was much better than I have usually seen in these mountains. Several villages were in sight.

I noticed that the females here had a new kind of horn. It was only about six inches long, but much larger than those worn at Beyroot and Bru-ma-nah. It was like the crown of a very small hat, with the front part a little enlarged like the mouth of a bowl. It is fastened on the top of the head, but a little back, and has much ornament upon it. In our descent we passed a sandstone formation; there were no pines upon it, as upon those formations near Bru-ma-nah. Near the mouth of this hollow, the rock becomes very irregular, and has the dip much more near the top. This is especially the case with the secondary ridges and the irregular hills which rise between the main ridge and the sea. There is a plain of some extent between Tripoli, which stands on the sea-shore, and the foot of the mountain, interspersed with vineyards, fields, villages, and fine groves of olive. There is much rock on the surface; their mode is to throw the rock out of the fields and vineyards into the road, to the great annoyance of the traveller.

We passed a very high rock in the middle of the plain which had a wide, high, flat face to the south—in that face I counted the mouths of nearly thirty tombs. Most of them were from ten to twelve feet high. There was a house on the top, said to be a convent.

We also passed an old city, which must once have been a place of great strength. The walls are nearly perfect and very strong. There are but few people in the city. It stands there almost alone. Most of the houses within are gone, and cultivated spots occupy their place. It is said to be the city of Gebal, Ez. xxvii. 9, now called Jebail. The plain along the coast is rough—has a few villages—several small rivers enter. On the banks of one, Nahr El-Kelb, or Dog river, which has a good bridge over it, we saw some figures cut on the face of the rock. They are very ancient, and it is said that the Persian arrow-head may be seen. I did not stop to examine them. They are too much defaced to be deciphered correctly.

[LETTER VIII.]

Beyroot, September 12, 1836.

We have had a very pleasant visit at this place from the American squadron, consisting of the Constitution, the United States, and the John Adams, under the command of Commodore Elliott. The general regret was, that its stay was so short—less than one week. It is seldom that vessels of war, except those of Mohammed Ali, visit this place. The English, although they keep a large force in the Mediterranean, have not sent one ship of war to this coast for several years, and the last one sent was of a very small size. The Delaware, under Commodore Patterson, was here two years ago, and made a very good impression of American character and power. At that time the stay was longer, and I was told by a gentleman of the place, who had the best opportunity of knowing, that he supposed about forty thousand persons visited the ship during Commodore Patterson's visit. A very large number visited the vessels during the few days that they remained here under Commodore Elliott.

I was on board the Constitution on the Sabbath, and present at public worship. Several from Beyroot attended, and it was pleasing to see full attendance of officers and men, and the perfect quiet and respectful attention which the crew exhibited. The youngest child of the American consul had not been baptized, and he expressed a wish to have it baptized on board the Constitution, and by the chaplain of that vessel. This was done at his request, and the child named Washington; and thus, as was pleasantly remarked to him, he has now a good constitutional child. In the afternoon, the Commodore and some of his officers attended worship on shore at the consul's, where service is regularly performed, usually by one of the American missionaries, or some other preacher of the gospel who may be present.

The commanders and officers deserve great credit for the readiness they manifest to satisfy the natural but almost troublesome curiosity of the many who go off to see the vessels. It is really no little trouble to be employed from morning to night, and that from day to day, in receiving company after company—it may be having three or four companies on board at the same time—taking them through the ship, and showing and explaining to them whatever excites their notice. It is not to be wondered at, that in the public vessels of most of the European powers, this privilege is allowed but to a few. The American commanders have, very wisely, I think, adopted the plan of indulging and gratifying the curiosity of the people, although at the expense of trouble to themselves. The American flag is not much known as yet in these seas; the nation is not much known.

Of the few Americans scattered around these shores, a considerable portion are the missionaries and their helpers, who are labouring to dispel the darkness that rests on these countries; to impart correct knowledge of religion and morals; to break the chains which gross superstition has here laid on the human mind, and to promote all kinds of useful knowledge and improvement. Most of these missionaries are regularly educated men, and all of them of good repute as to morals and religion. From the peculiar state of superstition and bigotry in these countries—from a watchful jealousy of a corrupt and dominant priesthood, it must be expected that a jealousy will be felt towards missionaries, and efforts made to counteract their labours to do good. The occasional visits of the American squadron to those quarters where these benevolent men are labouring, the pleasant and profitable intercourse which the officers may have with the missionaries, and those among whom they labour, has a most kindly influence. So far as I have had an opportunity of learning, and my opportunities have extended to most of the mission stations, the visits of these public vessels have been most grateful to the missionaries. The commandants, and many of the officers, have manifested so much good will to missionaries as individuals, and such interest in the success of their efforts to improve the moral and religious condition of these countries, as encouraged them in their work, and is not without its good effect on those among whom they are labouring.

[LETTER IX.]

Beyroot, September 20, 1836.

Yesterday, Ibrahim Pasha reached this place in an Egyptian frigate from Tripoli, on his way to the south. He landed about the middle of the day, under a salute from the forts, and was escorted by a body of troops to a large house outside the walls, and near the sands. In the afternoon, the American consul, who was about to call on the Pasha, as is usual with the consuls on such occasions, was so kind as to call and take me with him. We found a company of soldiers before the door, and a number of officers and dignitaries of various kinds, in waiting. We were asked into a carpeted room, with a divan, that is, a low seat covered with cushions, on all sides. The Pasha was seated in one corner; several consuls with their suites were in the act of leaving when we entered. He returned our salutations with an inclination of the head, and a slight motion of his hand to his breast, and pointed us to seats on the divan a few feet from him—the consul on his right and myself on his left.

The Pasha is a short man, but heavily built, and I should judge from his appearance that he has considerable muscular force. He has a coarse, homely, round face, but none of its features can be called striking. His skin is rather rough and coarse, and looks as if it would bear washing more frequently than it receives it, and would not be the worse if some soap were at times added to the water. This was the case also with his hands, which looked as if they had never known a glove. They were fleshy—the fingers short but thick, and indicated a powerful grasp. He wore the Turkish dress, which, as you know, consists of a long robe open in front, and also at the sides from the knees down, showing the large loose trousers worn under them. His outside garment was of a flesh-coloured silk; the second, which showed itself at the breast, was striped silk. His girdle was a variegated Cashmere shawl, forming a bandage round him of a foot in width. This shawl was not of the finest kind. He had a plain red fez on his head, with no other ornament upon it than the usual blue tassel. He wore plain stockings and a pair of red slippers. In truth, his whole dress was far inferior to that of a number of persons who came in and paid their respects to him while we were there. Most of them, however, wore the large Turkish cloak; he was without any. Take him all in all, the man and the dress, and I think that at least one half of those who came in while we were there, were his equals, if not his superiors. He conversed freely, laughed a good deal, and several times very heartily. I could not understand enough of the conversation to know what things had the power of pleasing and amusing him. At times, I thought a sour and severe expression gathered on his countenance. He spoke with interest of the American squadron, and the politeness of Commodore Elliott in showing him everything about his vessel. He was evidently struck with the style and equipment of our vessels. He mentioned with much satisfaction some small present the commodore made him. The visiters were announced by an officer in waiting, and approached him usually one at a time. When they were Turks, and possibly the case was the same with all but Franks, they kneeled on one or both knees, making the Turkish salutation, and kissed his hand, which he held out to them; then rose, repeating the application of the hand to the forehead and breast, and retired to the part of the room or divan to which he pointed them. The more respectable persons were invited to be seated.

One of his objects in coming to Beyroot is, to visit the coal-mines in this vicinity. He referred to this object, saying with a laugh that he was going to Corneil to turn coal-merchant. He has for some time been trying to make the coal-mines of advantage to his close-run treasury; but he is a poor manager, and until he adopts a better plan he is not likely to make a fortune at the coal-trade. He has the mines worked mainly by mountaineers pressed into the service, who are, at the end of a few weeks or months, changed for others; and thus, as soon as they learn how to work, they are changed for those again who must be taught. Ibrahim Pasha is, however, a man of some force of character, and has a mind more fit, it is said, for the department of a soldier than that of a statesman. He has for many years led the armies of his father Mohammed Ali, and, in many contested fields, he has won laurels which do not fall on the head of every general. The regions of Upper Egypt, the plains of Arabia, the land of Palestine, the interior of Asia Minor, not to mention Greece and the Isles, have felt the desolation caused by his troops. It is said, however, that the father is the man who plans—that without him as the head, the son will make but a poor business of it; and those who thus consider the matter, infer, that when the father dies, the wide domain which now submits to his sway will fall in pieces, and become the prey of those who may have the power and skill to come in for the spoil. I know not how much ground for these opinions may exist—but one thing we know, that power acquired and perpetuated by crime, usually terminates in the ruin of those who have wielded it.

With respect to his private character, I have not learned much; but part of what I have learned is not much to his credit. It is generally admitted that he is a very intemperate man, and often under the influence of strong drink. The Turks, indeed, are, many of them, fond of ardent spirits, and the law of Mohammed to the contrary, will, notwithstanding, take strong drink when they can get it. When among the ruins of Baalbec, a soldier came, and for some time hung about us. We could not tell what the man wanted, at length he asked for spirits. We had none, and told him so, asking him if he was not ashamed to violate his religion in drinking what it forbids? Oh, he said, he could not read,—he did not know what might be in the Koran. I have at other times seen them drink, and do it with a great apparent relish. From all I see, I am inclined to the opinion that Mohammedanism is fast losing its hold on thousands of its followers, all through these regions, and the same holds good with that corrupt system of Christianity which prevails here. There are an increasing number who are having their eyes opened to see the grossness of its superstition—who see and understand more and more the tricks of the priesthood; and most of them, having no idea of pure, Bible, Protestant Christianity, are likely to plunge into scepticism and downright infidelity. There is need of a tenfold increase of active effort, to spread abroad among these communities the pure word of truth—the knowledge of Christ—the healing, purifying doctrines of the Gospel.

I have heard of several tricks of Ibrahim Pasha's, which show something of the man. It is an object constantly kept in view with him, to increase his army. This is done in great part by seizing persons, mostly young men and boys, and making soldiers of them. This is confined to the Mohammedans. A report got out, however, that he intended to take a number of the Ansairi for soldiers. They occupy a district of the mountains north of Tripoli, and onward to Aleppo. The Ansairi took the alarm, and fled to their fastnesses and strong places in the mountains. His troops, that were in fact sent out as a press-gang to take them, returned with very few—it was a failure. Then did the wily Ibrahim set his trap, and use these few for the bait. He inquired who they were, and being answered that they were Ansairi, he ordered them to be freed, saying that he did not want such—he wanted none for his armies but good Mohammedans. The Ansairi are a mongrel sort of Turks, who have a strange medley of religious notions and practices, which are but partially known, and not, as yet, satisfactorily classed—neither Christians, Mohammedans, nor Pagans, but a little of all. The liberated Ansairi were greatly pleased at their escape, reported it to their brethren, who came down from their mountains, and were taken in great numbers. The person who related the fact saw nearly a thousand of them marched into Aleppo in chains, to be drilled and trained for soldiers.

The most important religious sects in this region are the Greeks, Maronites, Druses, and Mohammedans. The Greeks are divided into the Greek and the Catholic Greek. The Greeks differ from the Catholic or Roman church in several things. One of the chief points of difference is about the procession of the Holy Spirit, which they hold to be from the Son only, and not from the Father and Son, as held by the Roman church, and in which the Protestant churches are mostly agreed with the latter. The Greek church allows the free use of the Scriptures; rejects images in worship; but are madly set on the use of pictures. They reject the authority of the Pope.

The Pope and his missionaries have long made most strenuous efforts to bring the Greek church to an agreement with him and a subjection to his authority. They have for centuries employed missionaries and agents of all sorts to accomplish this. Nor have these efforts been wholly without effect. Throughout the East, where the Greek church exists, there are a portion who have been prevailed on to admit the authority of the Pope, and more or less modify their Greek notions to a nearer conformity to the popish standard. These are called Greek Catholics. They are pretty numerous in many places, and have a good deal of influence all through these regions.

The Maronites take their name from an individual who somehow contrived to be the head of a party, and to leave it his name as an inheritance. They differ, I am told, but very little from the Roman Catholics; hardly as much as the distinctive character of their name would seem to indicate.

It is not yet fully decided what the Druses are. Some assert that they are worshippers of the calf. They have a secret which is imparted only to a part of their people. This part is what may be called the enlightened—the initiated—the knowing—and they, like the freemasons among us, are most careful not to divulge the secret. They form a large part of the population of Mount Lebanon. They appear to be a quiet and well-disposed people, but it is not easy to find out what are their real religious principles and belief. They are charged by some with modifying, or pretending to modify, their opinions to suit those with whom they may be. With a Mohammedan they are Mohammedans, and with a Christian they are almost, if not altogether Christian. But in this they may plead the example of many who have gone before them, and modelled their creed to suit the circumstances of the times.

The Mohammedans are the followers of Mohammed, who lived in the early part of the seventh century, and introduced a new religion. His system borrows some things from Judaism, and some from Christianity, but in many important matters differs from both. Nor is it Paganism, having a most decided aversion to idolatry. It would take more time than I can at present spare, to give a full account of it. It may suffice to say, that Mohammed acknowledged the truth of the Jewish religion—all the Jewish prophets he received as prophets of the Lord.—He admitted that Jesus Christ was a great prophet, yea, the greatest prophet that up to his time had come into the world, and that the religion he taught was the true religion. But he pretended that he himself was sent as the last and greatest of all prophets, and authorized to make such changes in the religion of the Jews and Christians as to justify its being called a new religion—and that his system as set forth in the Koran is now, since he came, the only true religion. He made circumcision a rite in his system. They give much honour to the saints of the Old Testament, the church and the apostles. Their worship is plain. They are wholly opposed to the use of images or pictures. Their chief day of worship is Friday. They pray much, have long fasts, allow a plurality of wives; but in practice this is not as common as many have supposed, and is confined to a comparatively small number.

One of those things that immediately strikes the notice of a traveller in these regions, is the number of monasteries and religious houses, and the peculiarity of their situation. There may be eight or ten counted from Beyroot; and how many may be within the range of twenty or thirty miles, I cannot well conjecture. From the number I passed in going to the top of Lebanon, and returning from the Cedars by Tripoli, I must suppose them to be from one to two hundred. A friend of mine counted sixteen from a place near Nahr-El-Kelb; and a native assured me that from the top of a mountain near Nahr-El-Kelb, nearly one hundred could be seen. The number of houses for men is much greater than those for women. There must of course be a considerable number of monks, but it has occurred to me that the actual number is not as great as the number of houses would seem to indicate; many houses have but a scanty number of inmates. To the inquiry, which I have often made, whether the monastery system is not losing its hold on the public mind? it has generally been answered, that no very perceptible change could be noticed. I am still, however, of the opinion, that the system is not as favourably received as it was in times past; and I shall be greatly disappointed if it does not, and that before long, appear that the system is wearing out. General developments have been made, which show that these houses are seats of corruption and abomination, and that the best interests of the church and of society would be promoted by the system's coming to an end.

Beyroot has been the main seat of the Palestine mission. This has been the usual residence of the missionaries, and here and in the vicinity most of their labours have been expended. Good, no doubt, has been accomplished. It has been, however, a hard soil to cultivate. There are peculiar difficulties to be met with in the character, habits, and especially the ignorance and deep-rooted religious prejudices of the people. The Arabic language, which is the one almost universally spoken here, is a language difficult to acquire so as to use it freely in preaching. Of course, some time must be lost before a missionary can so master the language as to do much in clerical addresses to the people. A part of their efforts have been directed to schools, and in this place have made some progress. They had a number of schools, and were through them operating well on the minds of the people. About three months ago, at the same time that the movement was made against the missionaries in Greece, Smyrna, and the adjacent parts, a similar movement was made here, and the effect has been, the suspension of most of the common schools. I have no doubt that is a part of a wide-spread plan to counteract and break up, or render unavailing, if possible, all missionary operations in and around the Mediterranean. I hope it will fail, and I doubt not but that it will. It may, however, make the missionary work more difficult, and, for a time, less productive of its desired fruit. I have no doubt the hand of the Roman Catholics is in the matter—for in all places and at all times they have greatly withstood missionary efforts.

There is a mission press at this place. It has laboured under great difficulties for the want of many things to make complete their Arabic fonte, and from the impossibility of procuring them here, and the delay in getting them from America or Europe. The distribution of books is one of the ways of operating. Something has been done and is still doing; but the watchful adversary is now opposing this mode of working. Much suspicion is excited against their books, and from time to time we hear of some being burned. In a late tour we had some books with us, but found that in most of the villages the people had been warned against receiving them. All these things are to be expected. It is not to be supposed that the enemy will quietly see the light of the gospel poured upon his dark empire of ignorance and superstition. I should not wonder at an effort being made to add more severe measures than burning books and withdrawing children from school. Indeed, there was an effort made about three months since, to drive the mission families from the mountains, where they had gone to spend the sickly season, and were about opening schools for the summer. The prince of the village, at the instigation, as he admitted, of the Catholic priest, forbade his people to have any intercourse with them, to buy or to sell to them, and threatened to burn down the houses in which the missionaries might reside. The American consul laid the case before the Emeer Busheer, the head prince of the mountains, and claimed for them, as respectable, well-conducted American citizens, who had for health gone to the mountains for a few months, the right of protection usually enjoyed. The Emeer sent an officer and inquired into the case—reversed the orders of the local prince, and assured them of his protection. It was a lesson which I hope the local authorities will not soon forget. The prince who made the attempt to oppress and oppose them had not long before become a Catholic. The Emeer Busheer who protected them is not a Catholic; he was until recently considered a Moslem, but now professes to be a Maronite Christian. Thus the Lord can raise protectors and helpers from whom he pleases—make of stones children to Abraham.

A few nights since we had our attention called to a very pretty spectacle. As it began to grow dark, we observed bonfires lighted in the neighbourhood, and other tokens of festivity. We went to the terrace on the top of the house, which commanded a most extensive view of Mount Lebanon, a view of nearly thirty miles. Along the whole range we could see the bonfires glaring. They looked, on the dark side of the mountain, like stars on the face of the deep blue vault of heaven. I made several attempts to count them; but it was much like counting the stars, which, when a boy, I often attempted to do, but almost always abandoned, before I reached a hundred, from a strange feeling of the difficulty of continuing the enumeration, when the objects lay thus without order. These bonfires were of all sizes, and were often marked by fitful blazes of light, as new fuel was thrown on them. Others would glimmer and expire, while new ones would burst forth, and soon attain to the first magnitude, and then die away, or be subjects of those fitful flashes that indicated the addition of fresh fuel.

On inquiry I learned that this was the feast of the Cross, and that these illuminations and bonfires were in commemoration of the finding of the true cross by the Empress Helena. It is said that on her way to Jerusalem she gave orders that preparation should be made that, in case she was successful in finding the cross, the event might be made known by bonfires, and thus the intelligence be communicated to Constantinople. Much of the religion of these people consists in such things. Their fasts—their attending mass—their worshipping and kissing the pictures—keeping the holy days—and counting their beads, constitute the principal part of their religion. As to the pure service of the heart—faith that worketh by love—regeneration by the Spirit—a new moral nature, effected through the word of truth under the agencies of the Holy Spirit, with most if not all the other elements of real genuine piety, they are almost wholly ignorant. It is, indeed, astonishing that a people, who have the book of God in their hands, should so long remain in utter darkness and ignorance of that spirituality which beams forth from all parts of it. This whole region is yet in the dark ages. Let any one who wishes to form a correct idea of the state of things here, read a well-written account of the middle ages—the preliminary dissertation to Robertson's History of Charles the Fifth, and Hallam on the Middle Ages—and he will have before him the leading features of the state of the church and society now found here. The agreement will not, it is true, hold good in all points, but in the main there is a strong family likeness. May the Lord soon raise up reformers!—and may the truth soon go forth as the light, and his revelation as a lamp that burneth! The reformation in Europe was preceded by many things which betokened the coming of day; and there are many things now which bespeak the approach of a time of light, life, and salvation, for these regions that have long lain waste. The last ten years have witnessed great changes, and we hope the next ten will record still greater.

You have often heard of the Sherock, or Siroc, as it is often spelled. The weather had become much cooler, but this strong south wind has brought it back to its greatest summer heat. It does not usually blow more than two or three days at a time; but we have had it now for four or five days, and it still continues. Many persons complain much of it—"feel it in every nerve." It does not affect me, except as it makes the air warm and oppressive.

Last night, for some unknown cause, connected probably with the Sherock, (which is made to bear the blame of all sorts of evils, and ought in fairness get credit for some good,) we had the most heavy dew at Beyroot that I have seen in Syria. This is the more remarkable, as the dews have usually been very light. It fell copiously soon after sunset, and this morning the earth looked as if a little shower of rain had fallen. There was also this morning, for the first time since I came to Beyroot, a dense fog—one of the most dense I ever saw—this also is to be ascribed to the Sherock, I suppose.

Yesterday I visited the ruins of Dair-El-Kollah, which lie near a village called Bate-Meiry, about three hours' ride from Beyroot. They are of the same style of building as those of Baalbec, but on a much smaller scale. It has most likely been an old temple. The stones are enormous, but not equal to the largest at Baalbec. Most of the wall has been thrown down, but one or two of the lower rows lie in their places. The stone is put together without cement, and the face, like those of Baalbec, made so smooth, that you could not put a knife in the crack. The pillars before the building were large, but not equal to those of Baalbec. They were composed of three pieces; the lower one, about twelve feet long, alone remains standing. The rock is a coarse marble, and I saw a few fragments of granite. These ruins are on the top of the secondary ridge, about half way to the top of Mount Lebanon; a church now stands on part of them.

[LETTER X.]

Jaffa, Sept. 30th, 1836.

I have at length set out to make a tour through Palestine, or at least a part of it, and will send you some brief notices of what may particularly engage my attention. The great heat which we felt in this country, particularly on the plains, induced me to defer my tour thus long, as I judged it not well to run unnecessary hazard in my eagerness to see the chosen land, and to visit the places referred to in the Holy Scriptures. The great heats of summer are now past, showers of rain have already fallen, and the driving up of clouds at one time from the north, and at another from the south, betoken the approach of those copious showers, which the earth, parched by a whole summer's sun, so much requires, and which man and beast need to refresh their exhausted system.

We went on board a small vessel on the 28th, but the wind was so light that we were only off the sands, and still in sight of Beyroot the next morning. During the next day we had very little wind, and made but slow progress. Towards night, however, a wind sprang up, and we passed Sidon, but at too great a distance to have a good view of it. I hope to obtain this on my return, as my plan is to return by land, for the purpose of seeing as much as I can of the country.

The mountains appear to retain nearly the same height and appearance as those near Beyroot. They seemed, however, to fall back from the sea and leave a wider plain along the coast, and to the south they appeared to decrease in height. Night came on, and shut out the land from our observation. With the night, a fine wind arose, and began to pass rapidly to the south. About midnight we passed Soor, the ancient Tyre: we were thus unable to see it. It would have been pleasant to have seen it from the sea, and to have been able to make some observations on the plains and mountains, by which it is surrounded on the land side. We passed Acre too early, and at too great a distance to see it distinctly. It has a wide plain to the east, and a little to the south-east the great plain of Esdralon extends from the Mediterranean to the sea of Tiberias. Having a most favourable wind, we passed on at a great rate, and just as the sun rose we passed the north end of Mount Carmel. It is a mountain, or hill as we should call it, a straight and regular ridge, eight or ten miles long, running north and south; on the top and side next us, almost wholly destitute of trees, and without cultivation. It has very little rock on the surface except near the north end—much less than Lebanon, and appears favourable for cultivation.

I should not have estimated Carmel to be more than eight hundred or one thousand feet high. It is, however, usually said to be much higher. This ridge is separated from the branches of the Lebanon by a part of the plain of Esdralon. Indeed, Lebanon has come down from the great loftiness which it has near Sidon, and has spread itself over the country in small ridges. Carmel lies more west than the Lebanon range. At its north end it forms an abrupt termination in a bold promontory. On the top of this promontory, and near the end, is a monastery belonging to the Latins. There are a few monks there, how many I did not learn. It has an imposing appearance, but I could see no other human habitation near it. There is a plain of varied width between Carmel and the shore. It is almost wholly destitute of trees, hardly a bush to be seen unless of a very small size. The plain varies in width from one to two miles. Much of it, especially near the shore, was covered with sand. I saw no human being, or human habitation on it, except a few old ruins. A few miles south of the monastery there were considerable ruins on a sandy point that projects into the sea. It has, probably, been a fort.

At the distance of eight or nine miles from the promontory, the ridge called Carmel suddenly sinks down, and gives place to a wide-spread plain. Near the south end of the mountain, they point out on the shore the site of the famous city Cesarea, which is often mentioned in the New Testament—the place where Paul was detained a prisoner many years, and made his admirable defence before Agrippa and Festus. It was once a place of considerable importance, rose suddenly to much celebrity, and almost as suddenly declined, and for a long period has been in a state of utter desolation. I saw a few pillars standing, and some other remains of departed greatness. The plain which begins at the southern end of Carmel, is the celebrated plain of Sharon.

We reached Jaffa about the middle of the afternoon, having had a most expeditious sail from Sidon. The wind had served us a good turn, in bringing us so soon to Jaffa, but we now experienced another consequence not so pleasant; it still blew hard, and made the sea so rough that we could not land. The harbour of Jaffa is not good, or rather there is no harbour worth the name. We had to anchor some miles out at sea, where there was a tremendous swell; there was no help, we had to bear it as we could. We landed the next morning, and were most kindly received by the American consul. He did all in his power to render us comfortable.

Jaffa stands on a sandy point, which projects a little distance into the sea. The ground at the point is more elevated than farther back. It is a walled town, with a double wall and fosse in some places, all, however, much out of repair. We saw but a few cannon on the part of the wall which we examined, and those small and in bad order. We passed a number of soldiers in our walks about the town, and found a strong guard at the gate. Most of the houses have a very old appearance, few of them are good; the streets are narrow, crooked, and filthy, as in almost all the Turkish towns I have visited. The houses are much crowded together, and cover a very small space, considering their number. This is the case with most of the Turkish towns in the East, especially their walled towns on the coast. We visited the Latin and Greek convents, and were kindly received, and had coffee and sweetmeats handed us. The bazaars and shops appeared exceedingly poor, and to be scantily supplied with articles of merchandise.

Jaffa is a place of interest, chiefly, as being the sea-port nearest Jerusalem, and the landing-place of a large number of pilgrims that annually resort, by thousands, to visit the holy places in and about Jerusalem. It has also, in the noble plain of Sharon, a most admirable back country. But what avails a country, however good, if there be not people to cultivate it, and if the government be so unwise and oppressive as to hold out no inducement for industry among the people?

While looking at the city, we went without the walls as far as the grave-yard. I had noticed on the shore, and in the street, great quantities of a small but beautiful sea-shell, and at the grave-yard I found them very abundant, and put to a singular use. They were laid on the graves in great numbers, often forming quite a little mound on the top of the grave, and in many cases, a newly-formed stone, which is found at certain places on the shore, and which is in great part made up of these shells, was set up at the head and foot of the graves. It had a tasteful and pretty appearance.

The place was pointed out to us at a distance, where Bonaparte is said to have shot several thousand prisoners. He has been much blamed for it, and probably not without some cause. If, however, his own account, as I have seen it given, be true, that they had before been his prisoners, and had been set at large on parole, under engagement not again to take up arms against him; that they had broken parole and were again captured while fighting against him; if this were the case, he is, according to the laws of war, less to blame than many have supposed. Not that I would justify him, but bad as he was, his opponents did not give him credit for the good he did, and made the most of his bad actions. Had he lived until the present time, on the throne of France, the state of Europe would probably have been twenty if not forty years in advance of what it now is, in knowledge and arts, in civil and religious liberty. Those who have succeeded to the now divided power, which his powerful arm wielded, have laboured and still labour to hold the people back—to repress the spirit of enterprise and improvement, and especially repress and root out the spirit of freedom.

[LETTER XI.]

October 5th, 1836.

We left Jaffa in the afternoon for Rumla, which lies about half way from Jaffa to the commencement of the hill country, on the road to Jerusalem—leaving the gate of Jaffa, (and I may add, there is only one gate on the land side,) we took a north-east direction. The point of land on which Jaffa stands, a kind of sandy knoll, is higher than the country back of it. We of course made a small descent, and for a considerable distance passed through gardens, enclosed lots and fields, many of them well filled with trees, as fig, orange, lemon, pomegranate, palm. The Indian fig was much used for forming enclosures, and generally planted on a ridge of sand. It makes a very good fence, as the prickles with which it abounds prevent man or beast from coming much in contact with it. Some of these gardens had wells and water-wheels, many of which were at work, mostly with oxen, raising water for the benefit of the trees and vegetables. There is much sand on the district that borders the coast, and in many places directly on the coast the sand has fairly taken possession—nothing is seen but fields of white sand.

At the distance of half a mile from the shore, the ground is very little higher, I should think, than the surface of the water; and a number of things indicate that this low district was once a marsh, or at least much subjected to water. And now, in the rainy season, much water would collect on it were it not for its loose and sandy character, through which the water easily runs. The abundance of water, found at a very little distance below the surface, may arise from the fact that it is but little below the level of the sea; and the sandy character of the district allows the water to percolate freely, and thus supply what is taken up by man and vegetables.

It may be nine or ten miles from Jaffa to Rumla. The road is good; it is over a plain, and except a little waving of the surface, forming slight elevations and depressions, such as we often find on the sea-coasts, and on the flat districts which border large rivers, one would say it was level. These elevations suggest the idea that the water may have once covered this plain; and in retiring gradually from it, left those graceful elevations and depressions which give a beautiful variety to its surface. But a small part, after passing the gardens, was cultivated. From time to time we passed portions that had been sown with grain—none of it, after leaving the gardens, was enclosed—all lay open. We passed several places where there were a few trees; they formed, however, but little green spots on the face of this wide-spread and noble plain. The greater part was destitute of verdure; the burning heats of summer having burned up the grass; the crops, except an occasional cotton field, being all gathered in. I think I saw no Indian corn, although I had seen it on the Bokar, but of a very diminutive kind. The cotton fields were few and small, and held out the promise of but a light crop.

The plain is highly fertile, and if under proper cultivation would yield largely. The soil is rich, deep, and very free from rock, at least sufficiently so for all purposes of cultivation. We do not, indeed, often meet with a finer district of land; but it is thinly inhabited.

Rumla is a town of considerable size, and has some pretty good houses. It stands on a slight elevation, and commands a fine view of the plain out of which it rises. It is surrounded with gardens, many of which are protected by hedges of the Indian fig. There are some olive groves about the town; other fruit-trees, and the palm, are also to be seen. Around the present town are ruins, walls, cisterns, and other indications that the town was once spread over a much larger space than it now covers. It is supposed to be the ancient Arimathea mentioned in the New Testament, John xix. 38.

The ancient Lydda lies within a short distance of Rumla, not above three or four miles; but I had not time to visit it, as my company were urgent to proceed. It is, I am told, a poor village, and has nothing to give it interest, unless it be the fact that is mentioned of it in Acts, ix. 32, 38.

I ought to have mentioned respecting Rumla, that there is near the town a very remarkable tower, old, and of a singular structure, with some large apartments under ground connected with it. At what time it was built, by whom, and for what purpose, is not now known: probably, however, as a place of defence, and when built, the town extended to, if not beyond it. The history of many things in these regions is lost—irrecoverably lost—until that great day shall come when the whole history of man shall pass in review, and all shall be judged according to their works.

The American squadron left Jaffa only the day before we reached that place. The commodore and a party of officers visited Jerusalem. A large party spent a night at Rumla with the American consular agent, and had made him a present of a large and beautiful flag, with a notice of its presentation written on its border. If what was told me at Jaffa be true, that some of the officers, on their return from Jerusalem, rode from Jerusalem to Jaffa in five or six hours, it was a matter-of-fact proof that the distance is less than the old books of travel have stated. Ten hours was named at Jaffa as the usual time—that would make thirty miles, at the usual mode of counting three miles to the hour: this is probably the real distance.

We spent a Sabbath at Rumla; but as there was no Protestant worship, and I could not have received much if any benefit from attending a service in an unknown tongue, I remained in my room all day, and found, although thus alone, that the Sabbath of the Lord is a most wise and gracious appointment of Heaven for the benefit of man. He needs times which may call his thoughts from worldly things, and consecrate them more especially to God, and the things that relate to the welfare of the soul. I have, therefore, whenever I could, in travelling, rested on the Sabbath day, and found it good so to do. In almost every step I take in this country I find myself on ground referred to in Scripture; and it is with no little interest I walk over places where the events recorded in God's word took place. But even in those scenes I find it good to observe the Sabbath of the Lord. I do not even go out to look at these places on the Sabbath: the other six days may suffice for that. The Lord's day is better spent as a day of rest and devotion.

We left Rumla on Monday morning for Jerusalem. Our course was still a little south of east. The general character and condition of the plain was much as the part of it already described, with the difference that there was much less sand. Indeed there was little, if any, to be seen—the soil was a fine, rich, black mould. The state of cultivation was rather better, but still only a small part was under the care of man. The country began more regularly to rise as we approached the hill country. The rise was however very gradual. Irregular and rounded hills became more numerous, but none of them were steep. A road could pass over them in any direction; they were rather pleasant swells than hills. More stones and pebbles were mixed up with the soil, but not in quantities that would impede cultivation. In truth, this part of the plain, that is from Rumla to the hills, forms one of the richest and most lovely districts that I have seen. We were above three hours in going from Rumla to the hills, which would make the distance from Jaffa about eighteen or twenty miles. The road however does not cross the plain at right angles, but declined considerably to the south.

We passed no village worth naming. We did, indeed, pass a few huts at one or two places, but too few to deserve notice. We passed several places that appeared to have once been occupied, and saw several villages at a distance, but they appeared small. In short, the plain—the noble and celebrated plain of Sharon, appears to be almost deserted; and while it has a fertility and extent, were it occupied and properly cultivated, sufficient to sustain a nation, it is now roamed over by a few flocks—has small patches of it cultivated, and here and there a small, poor village to sustain. With regard to trees, &c. the eastern part of the plain was on a par with the western. It was only on little spots, and at a great distance from each other, that a few olive and other trees were to be seen. They were mostly confined to the immediate vicinity of the villages, or where villages have once stood.

While passing over the plain of Sharon, it would have been out of all propriety not to have thought of the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley. I did think of them, and was on the watch for them; and so eager was I to get one, that could I have met with any sort of a flower that would in any fair way have admitted the name, I would most willingly have reported it, but not one could I find. I consoled myself, however, with the thought, that I only shared the disappointment which other travellers had experienced. For what traveller in these regions has not sought the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valley? And what one has been able to assure and satisfy the public that he has found them?

As we approached the hills, the face of the plain became more uneven; the points of the ridges ran out irregularly, and more rocks began to appear on the surface. The line of hills is however more regular than is usual, and the transition from the plain to the hills is more gradual than is usually found on the borders of large plains. We passed over a low, rocky point of a ridge, and saw some ruins; and at one place the large hewn stones and broken pillars indicated buildings of some consequence. The hills are not continuous ridges, but knobs, not very high, nor very steep; the top rounded over. Many of them are separated from each other almost to the base; but a greater number join at one or more sides, at various heights from their bases. Taking the hollows, and the passages between the hills, (and in some places there are little level spots,) as the level of the country, I should say that the general level, as we pass east, rises; and the height of the hills above this general level, continues about the same for a great part of the way from the commencement of the hills to near Jerusalem. This district is well called the "hill country of Judea." Nothing could better express it. They are usually in books called mountains; but their size, that is their height above the general level of the country, hardly entitles them to that appellation. They are rather hills than mountains.

As we rode among the hills, we began to see a few small shrubs and bushes of oak. Most of them, however, were small; few as high as a man on horseback. There were also, at some places in the hollows, where, during the rains, water flows, some bushes, thistles, and other kinds of vegetation, but small of size and few in number. As we passed farther in among the hills, the vegetation increased, both as to size and quantity; it however never amounted to much. We saw, from time to time, some orchards of olives, and a few scattering trees; as we approached the higher part of the hilly district, we saw some hills that were to some extent covered with the olives. Still but a small, a very small part of the country was thus made to minister to the wants and comfort of man. As we advanced, the rock became more abundant; it was all limestone, mixed in some places with veins of flint; usually horizontal, and often projecting out on the sides of the hills, and much stratified; and the various strata being of different degrees of firmness, causing them to have a singular appearance. The soft stratum had in many places disintegrated, and formed a stratum of earth, which entirely concealed the rock; while the hard stratum formed a kind of wall, and in many places, from its regularity in thickness and direction round the side of the hill, it had much the appearance of having been the work of man. In some places again, where a hard stratum lay directly over a soft one, the crumbling away of the soft one formed a kind of natural cave under the hard one; places could be seen where a man might find shelter from the rain under rocks thus hollowed out by the wearing away of a soft rock, while its more sturdy fellow above held on to its proper size and shape. A ride of between two and three hours, from the time we entered the hill country, brought us to the higher part of the district. Our road still lay along what may be called a hollow, and on each side of us the hills rose to a considerable size.

We passed on this high district one or two villages. In one of them were some pretty good houses, and an old ruin, which, from its size and form, seemed once to have been a building of some importance. The country around this village was in a better state of cultivation; more trees, figs, and vines, than I had seen since leaving Rumla. From a part of this high ground we had a most extensive and fine view of the seabord; the deep black sea, till where it met the sky; the white sand-hills along the shore, and the wide and long plain of Sharon, extending as far as the eye could reach, to the north and south, and coming up to the hilly district, on the top of which we stood. The view was interesting, and especially so when we thought how often the pious Israelites, when going up to the house of the Lord, must have stopped at this place, and looked back on that rich and lovely part of their inheritance. The "flocks of Sharon" was a term which then expressed much; but now few flocks feed there, and those of an inferior kind of cattle.

After taking this, as I supposed, farewell-look at the plain of Sharon, the sea-bord, and wide-spread ocean behind it, we set forward, and thought we must soon reach a point from which we could see Jerusalem. We found, however, that we had to descend a hollow, wind along it for some distance, and then a long ascent to make, to gain about the same level from which we had taken our farewell-look at the vale and sea behind us. Above half an hour must have been spent in doing this. This is said to be the valley of Elah, where David slew the Philistine. The precise spot where the engagement took place is not known. We now found ourselves on ground which was nearly as high as any near us. We had passed to our right, at some considerable distance, a cluster of buildings on the top of a hill, called the tomb of the Maccabees. It looked like a fort, or place of defence, and was, as I am told, not long since, the residence of Aboo Goosh, who used to make free with the property of other people; in other words, was a notorious robber. But Ibrahim Pasha has taught such gentry a good lesson. He has nearly, if not wholly, put a stop to such practices; he has taken the matter into his own hands. What people have to spare, he himself takes, or has taken from them; and, indeed, much more than they are willing to part with; but as to every fellow who chooses taking for himself, as was the old way of doing things, why that is not now permitted. The time was, when a company could hardly have passed from Rumla to Jerusalem, as we did, without having been relieved of some of their cash, and perhaps clothes into the bargain.

We passed a district where an immense quantity of stone had been quarried and removed; the refuse stone lay in piles, and the excavations showed that large quantities had been procured. The face of the high ridge, or kind of table land, over which we now passed, was almost wholly destitute of vegetation. A few thistles and an occasional small thorn-bush might be seen; but a more naked district I had not seen in the holy land. Several miles to the right, I saw a hill or hills pretty well covered with trees of some sort—olives I thought from their looks; and at a greater distance on our left I saw several patches of trees on the side of a high and long ridge, and a small village or two near them; but more immediately about me, and over the whole face of the ridge which I was passing, all was naked—all was destitute of vegetation, except a small enclosed spot. I was struck not only with the absence of vegetation, but with the enormous quantity of rough rock that almost literally covered the face of the ground. Much of it lay in irregular patches, projecting from eighteen inches to five or six feet above the little earth that could be seen. It really appeared as if the district was given up to be occupied by rocks, to the exclusion of all other matter. We soon began a slight but gradual descent, and after a little, some towers came into view. These were the parts of Jerusalem first seen. Presently we saw the top of the walls—the minarets, the domes, and the whole city.

Jerusalem stands on the east side of a high, flattish ridge, which runs nearly north and south. To the west of the city, and at some distance above, towards the top of the ridge, a small hollow begins, and running south-east, deepens rapidly, and forms the southern boundary of the city. This is the channel of the rivulet Gihon. In it are the pools, the upper and lower; but it is only in wet weather that there is water in them. The lower part is called the valley of the Son of Hinnom. The brook Kedron, or the valley in which the water would run, if there were any water,—for you must know except during the rains it is a dry channel, runs nearly north and south, and has a deep channel, with high steep banks. The valley or ravine of Gihon falls into that of the Kedron, nearly at right angles, with a high point forming the angle between them. On this point the city of Jerusalem stands. It fills, or did originally, the space that lies between these two ravines, for some distance up both of them. The ground on which the city stands has a considerable declination to the east, and is on the side of a hill, on the lower end of the ridge, when it terminates abruptly at a deep ravine, both on the south and east. The site has other inequalities. At the south-east corner, next the Gihon, was the highest point. That is the hill of Zion. Part of it is now without the walls, and used as a burying-ground. The missionaries have recently procured a small plot on Mount Zion for a burying-place, to be appropriated to Protestants who may die at Jerusalem. A little north of Mount Zion, and close on the bank of the Kedron, is Mount Moriah, or an elevation so called. On this the temple stood, and on the same site now stands the mosque of St. Omar. This elevation was formerly separated from Mount Zion by a considerable valley. It is now nearly filled up, at least that part within the walls, and much so without; still it is very perceptible without the walls, and especially at the pool of Siloam, which lies at the junction of this ravine with the valley of the Kedron. Mount Zion was once connected with Mount Moriah by a bridge or elevated causeway; but the filling up of the ground within the walls has covered it, or supplied its place.

There is a large space around the mosque of St. Omar which forms a fine promenade, but Christians are not allowed to enter it. They are not allowed to enter the mosque, or at least this is the general understanding. In many cases, however, it has been entered lately; a party of English had been all through it, under the special protection of the governor, but a few days before my arrival. There is little doubt that in a few years, unless some reaction takes place, free admission will be allowed, and many other foolish and unreasonable customs and prejudices of the Mohammedans will pass away.

Jerusalem has a high, strong wall around it, and is occupied by a large body of the Pasha's troops. There are at present but four gates open and used, several having been walled up some time since. The Jaffa gate, by which we entered; the Zion gate being east of the Jaffa, and on Mount Zion; St. Stephen's gate, which opens next the valley of Kedron and north of Mount Moriah; and the Damascus gate, which lies on the north side of the city. The highest part of the city is a little west of the Jaffa gate, at the point where the wall leaves the top of the hill near Gihon, and runs north and north-east toward the Kedron.

[LETTER XII.]

Jerusalem,1836.

One of the first objects that we visited after our arrival was the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It so happened that the day after our arrival was one of the many days, which for some reason I know not what, is called a festa, and this church was opened. This was what we desired, as it is not accessible at all times. This church is said to be built over the place where our Lord was buried; and it also includes the place where he was crucified—that is, it includes that part of Calvary on which the crosses of our Lord and the others who were crucified with him were fixed—and the garden in which Joseph's tomb was placed. It ought, therefore, to have been without the city, as our Lord was crucified and interred without the city. Heb. xiii. 12, and John xix. 41. The excuse for its being in the city is, that the city does not now occupy the same ground that it did at that time—its walls were farther west and north—and the present walls take in what the old walls, when those transactions took place, left out. It appears to me very manifest, that the places now shown as the places of crucifixion and interment, must have always been within the city. A wall so run as to leave it out, would be located in a way that no wise builder would ever think of in running a wall to defend a city situated as Jerusalem is. These places are not on a hill, but rather in a low place or hollow, and the wall in passing to the east of it would leave so much higher and better ground close to it on the west, and would so straiten the space between it and the ground occupied by the temple, and take so irregular and winding a route to enclose sufficient ground to hold the city, that I must believe that a wrong place has been fixed upon as the spot where those memorable things transpired. It is, however, a matter of trifling importance; we know they took place near Jerusalem. There is no virtue in the spot where they took place more than in any other. But the poor, blind, superstitious people believe, and are taught to believe, that there is great, yea, saving virtue obtained in visiting these places.

The church of the Holy Sepulchre is a large, and in some respects a good-looking building, especially the circular room with the large dome over the holy sepulchre, as seen from the inside, for it is surrounded with other buildings, and so connected with them without that it makes but a feeble impression. It needs to be large, as it contains a chapel for each of the Christian sects which prevail in the East, as the Greeks, Latins, Armenians, Copts, Syrians.

We entered at the north side. There is a small open space before the door, which once belonged to the church, but most of the pillars are removed. The doors of the church are large, and there is usually one or more Turks acting as door-keepers. As there are always monks and priests in the church to take care of it, attend to the lamps, perform the sacred offices, &c., there is a small opening through the door, by means of which food and other necessaries are passed to them at those times when the doors are shut. Some monks and priests, it is said, spend weeks, and it may be months, in the church, without once going out of it; they no doubt think this a most meritorious act.

Immediately on passing the door of the church, we came to a large, flat, marble stone, a little elevated from the floor, having small marble pillars at the corners, and an ornamental covering above it. This is called the "stone of unction." It is pretended that the body of our Lord was laid on it while he was anointed, or rather when he was taken from the cross, and rolled up in linen with the spices, by Joseph and Nicodemus. East of the "stone of unction," and within a few yards of it, there is an ascent of several steps, called the ascent of Calvary; and on the top, which is called Calvary, three holes were shown, said to be the holes of the three crosses, on which our Lord and the two thieves were nailed. The middle one stands rather in advance of the other two. Below this, in a cave-like place under the spot where the crosses stood, is shown the split in the rock caused by the earthquake, which took place at his death. These places are, however, so fenced about with metal plates, doors, bars of iron and wire network, that you can barely see and touch them, and that with a poor light; all arranged to prevent too close an examination—all adapted to increase the superstition and blind credulity of the people.

The Empress Helena, Constantine's mother, was the great patron of all the holy places, and built churches upon them. How she ascertained for a certainty the precise spots is not so clear; but that she selected certain spots and had churches erected on them is admitted. So great an advocate for such matters, ought of right to have some honour shown her. They have, therefore, east of Calvary, and at a few yards' distance, prepared a chapel for her. It is a low, damp place, quite under ground, and does not do her much credit. It was down in this place, however, that she found the true cross, it is said, and an odd thing is told about her identifying it. Three crosses were found, and the question was, to which one of the three was our Lord nailed, for it would have been a fatal mistake to have selected for such deep veneration, amounting nearly to worship, the one on which the thief was nailed, instead of the one on which our Lord hung. Helena was not more zealous in hunting for places and things, than fertile in expedients to identify them. A child, either sick or dead, was brought and laid on the crosses, and strange to tell! it was made well when it touched a certain one. This was ample proof that it was the true cross.

Another thing was found in this place, now set apart as the chapel of Helena. She found Adam's skull, which came out of the rent made in the rock caused by the earthquake. How she identified it, the account, as I received it, did not relate. No doubt she contrived some way to do it. Many such things are gravely told to the poor deluded pilgrims that resort here, and many believe them. And to tell all such folly and nonsense, and to fill their minds with them, is the business of the monks and priests, instead of teaching them the great leading truths of the word of God, and urging the nature and necessity of personal holiness and practical religion.

We returned from the chapel of Helena to the stone of unction. A wall is run up between this and the main body of the church, forming the place in which it lies into a kind of entry or antechamber. Passing a few steps to the west, we turned short to the north, and found ourselves in the body of the church, which is large and nearly circular, with a large dome over it, and lighted chiefly from above. In the middle of this large room stands a small building called the holy sepulchre. It may be sixteen feet by ten, and ten or twelve feet high. It is divided into two rooms. The first, which is to the east, forms a kind of entry, and is entered at the east side. In the middle of this first room is a place or seat, not unlike a little table or stool. This stands on the place where the stone lay, after the angel had rolled it from the door and sat on it. There are twelve or fifteen lamps burning in this room; and through the walls are several holes, out of which the light or holy fire comes, while the bishop plays off that lying miracle to the poor deluded pilgrims. This miracle is performed at Easter. The second room is the sepulchre. On the north side of it lies a large marble tombstone, about as high from the floor as a common tombstone would be. The remainder of the room is not much larger or wider than will allow two persons to pass each other with ease. In this room are about forty lamps, which, with those in the outer rooms, are the property of different leading sects, as the Greeks, Latins, and Armenians. For much as they hate and quarrel with each other, matters are so arranged that each shall have a chapel in the church and lamps in the holy sepulchre.

East of the holy sepulchre and separated by a slight partition, is the Greek chapel. This is the best chapel of the establishment—is neatly fitted up, and has some pretty good paintings. In the middle there is a kind of pillar, and on the top of that is marked the centre of the world. How they found out the precise spot my guide did not tell me, nor who was the happy finder. Possibly the good Helena who found so many things, for she had a wonderful talent for such matters.

To the north of the holy sepulchre lies the Latin chapel. It is richly furnished, and possesses some antiques that are among the curious, such as the sword and spurs of Godfrey of Bouillon. This chapel has also a pretty good organ, and the organist was so polite as to play us several tunes.

At the west end of the holy sepulchre, and in contact with it, is a small chapel for the Copts. It is but a few feet square, and is like a shed or tent-like place, put up against the end of the sepulchre. This chapel stands, of course, within the large circular room in the middle of which the holy sepulchre is placed. To the west, and only separated by a slight wall, is a small chapel for the Syrian Christians. It is a small dark place, seldom if ever used. Adjoining it is the tomb of Nicodemus, a little dark hole quite in keeping with his fear of the day when he came to Jesus by night; but as he afterwards came out openly in favour of his lord, he deserved a better tomb than they have allowed him.

To the south of the holy sepulchre, but raised so as to permit the entrance to pass under it, is the chapel of the Armenians. It does not equal that of the Greeks or Latins, but far exceeds the Copts and Syrians'. Thus the large and nearly circular area with a dome over it, in the middle of which the holy sepulchre is placed, is surrounded with chapels, separated from it by single walls, through which they are entered from the large area. All this mass of building is called the church of the holy sepulchre. There are a number of other places pointed out, in and about it, as places at which some of the facts recorded are said to have taken place—as where the centurion stood, who declared his belief that Jesus was the Son of God. But I have said enough about these places. My memory was so burdened with these things, it would not be strange if I should have lost some on the way, and possibly I may have misplaced some of them, not designedly however, in giving this brief detail.

There are nearly twenty convents in and about Jerusalem. The Greeks have, if I recollect aright, thirteen. Most of them are, however, very small. Their large one is directly adjoining the church of the Holy Sepulchre; and the top of the church (not the dome) may be used as a terrace for its inmates. From the top of the convent I passed over most of the top of the church, or of the chapels contained within its walls. This large monastery is able to receive and entertain many pilgrims—this is one design of those establishments. The Latins have a very large monastic establishment. It covers several acres of ground; is so constructed as to be capable of making a good defence; is a strong fort. It is a community of itself, and has within it provision for carrying on all kinds of work. It has smiths, carpenters, shoemakers, tailors, millers, bakers, chandlers, and I know not how many other artisans within it. The Armenians have a large establishment of a similar kind, which is said to be equally capacious, and in good condition. While these establishments no doubt are of use in the way of entertaining pilgrims, they are most corrupting; as it is their interest to promote superstition among the people. From their number, wealth, and influence, they are able to effect almost any object they please, and defeat any one that falls under their displeasure. They will, humanly speaking, be one of the greatest obstacles to all missionary efforts to spread the light of truth in Jerusalem, and dispel those dark and foul superstitions that have long been gathering over these, so called, holy places.

A few days after our arrival, we set out one morning to make a tour of the city. We went out at the Jaffa gate, which is situate at the south side of the southern corner, and near the edge of the valley of Gihon. Up this ravine, a mile or more, is the upper pool of the fuller's field, mentioned in 2 Kings, xviii. 17. It is made by running a strong wall across the ravine, walling the sides and covering them with a water-proof cement. There was no running water in this ravine at present, nor is there often except in the rainy season. A little east of the Jaffa gate is the lower pool. It is made in the same way as the upper pool. The wall is used as a bridge—the road passing the ravine on it. There is no water in this pool.

The valley of the Gihon becomes deeper as it passes eastward to where it meets the Kedron. Below the second pool it takes the name of the Valley of the Son of Hinnom or Tophet. It was formerly used for many unclean purposes—some of the most abhorrent kinds of idolatrous worship was once practised here—the burning of children to Moloch, Jer. vii. 31. The valley appears to have been much contracted by the great quantity of rubbish of all kinds which has been thrown into it from the city. A road from the Jaffa gate passes down the valley, dividing at the lower pool. One part passes to the south side, and winding along the top of the bank for some distance, crosses the plain southward to Bethlehem. The other winds down the valley until it reaches the bottom—then along the valley until it meets the one from the valley of Kedron, following the course of the united valleys towards the Dead Sea. On the south side of the valley of Hinnom, and near its junction with Kedron, is the potter's field. It is a small parcel of ground near the top of the bank with an old ruined house on it. There was a small level spot thirty feet below the top of the bank, at the bottom of a thick stratum of horizontal rock. Walls have been made enclosing a part of this—the face of the rock forming the south wall of the building. The roof, which is flat, is on a level with the top of the bank; and in it are a number of holes, through which they used to throw the dead bodies. It is not used now as a place of interment, and is fast going to ruin, part of the walls having fallen in. All along the south side of the valley are to be seen old tombs cut in the rock—some are of considerable size, having several rooms—some are so large as to be used by mules, donkeys, and other animals, as places of refuge from the noonday heat of the sun.

At the junction of the valley of Hinnom with that of the Kedron, which is nearly at right angles—the Hinnom running nearly east and the Kedron nearly west—there is a level space of several acres, laid out in gardens, and well set with trees. These gardens and trees continue up the valley of the Kedron, which is wider than that of the Hinnom, for some distance; this rich and beautiful-looking spot, watered by the fountain of Siloam, is called the King's Dale. These valleys have all steep, high banks. To the east of the Kedron lies Mount Olivet, which runs north and south, and is separated from the hill on which the city stands only by the deep, narrow valley of the Kedron.

Mount Olivet terminates abruptly, or rather a break is made through it nearly in a line with the valley of Hinnom, bearing a little to the south of east. At the mouth of this new valley, which lets off the water (when there is any) to the eastward, is a small pool, and adjoining it is a kind of resting or lounging-place, now much neglected—and close by is the well of Nehemiah, which is very deep, and we infer from indications about it, that formerly it was much used; but it is now almost entirely neglected. This is supposed by some to be the En-rogel in 2 Sam. xvii. 17. Down this valley there are a number of gardens, and fig and olive trees.