THE SYRIAN DRAGOMAN.

ANY body stationed on the roof of Demetrie's hotel, near Beirut, might have seen, with a good spy-glass, early in the morning on the 23d of November, a steamer bearing the Austrian flag, paddling its way into the harbor. The decks of that steamer were crowded with pilgrims of all nations--Turks, Arabs, Russian and Polish Jews, and Greeks; but conspicuous on the quarter-deck were two Americans, who might also have been seen with the spy-glass above mentioned--one a tall slender gentleman, with a red book in his hand; and the other rather shorter, but not too short, habited in the unpretending garb of a backwoodsman. Any body might know in a moment that the first was a Southerner, and the last no other than your friend of the present writing.

The weather for nearly two months previously, during our wanderings in the Levant, had been unusually fine; and for the past month, in Constantinople and Smyrna, we had enjoyed cloudless skies and a climate of delightful temperature. Ah! if I could only give you a description of all the fine views of bare mountains, palm trees, and mosques that we saw along the shores of Asia Minor, or the glorious sunsets among the Greek Islands! Such scenes, however, are for artists and poets, not for practical men like us, who go about the world to study the realities of life, and dissipate the mists of fancy.

Scarcely had we cast anchor in the harbor of Beirut (which, by the way, like all the harbors on the coast of Syria, is a very bad one), when we were boarded by a whole legion of hotel-keepers and guides. Books of recommendation were thrust at us by lusty fellows in petticoats, who talked English, French, Italian, and Arabic all in one breath; cards with views of splendid hotels that never have existed in Beirut and probably never will; private hints whispered in our ears by disinterested persons, and all sorts of strange things yelled at us by the boatmen, who crowded round the steamer. In five minutes I verily believe there was more talking done on that occasion, without a single movement being made toward disembarking the passengers, than one would hear during the whole process of clearing a California steamer. It is one of the peculiarities of Oriental travel that the moment a steamer drops her anchor the officers labor under the idea that the contract of transportation has been fulfilled; that there is nothing more to be done but obstruct as far as practicable all attempts at getting ashore. Even where there is no quarantine to perform, and no police or passport nuisance, they are so loth to part company with their passengers, that I have seen them turn in and go to sleep for the purpose of passing the time agreeably, leaving a man stationed at the gangway, who always says, "Excuse, senor, you can't go ashore yet." Can a person of nervous temperament, who has suffered all the horrors of confinement for two or three days, and who feels certain that the authorities on shore, who are expected every moment, will never come, in consequence of smoking the chibouck till they fall asleep, and sleeping till they are ready to smoke the chibouck again--can one, I say, be tried at the bar of public opinion and justly censured, under such circumstances, for saying dammit?

The season was late for a tour through Syria and Palestine. Already the rain was a month behind the time; it might come to-morrow or it might not; but that it would come before very long was regarded as a certainty. Travelers returning from the Nile usually cross the little desert to Gaza early in March, so as to take Palestine in the spring, or somewhat sooner, by Mount Sinai and Arabia Petraea. The season is then delightful; the country covered with verdure; and of course Palestine is seen in its most favorable aspect, before the earth has become parched by the scorching heat of summer. With us it was not a matter of choice. We had spent the time in rambling about the Levant, and had just a month or six weeks to spare, and it was Palestine now or never.

Demetrie, a fine looking Greek, who carried every thing before him by his splendid Albanian costume, pushed the babbling crowd aside, and took possession of us without opposition. His mustache was the blackest and thickest and most conspicuous I ever saw: it had killed half the Arab girls in Beirut, and well entitled the bearer to his distinguished reputation as Demetrie, the conqueror of the female sex. But Demetrie is also distinguished as a dragoman. He has been the guide of English lords and Russian counts without number; has made fortunes and spent them with a facility unknown to the cool-headed inhabitants of more temperate climes. He has gone through all the varieties of life; and now proprietor of the principal hotel beyond the walls of Beirut; and I can conscientiously say to all travelers that he is a prince of a fellow, and that his hotel is the cleanest and most commodious in Syria.

Long before our arrival at the hotel we were beset by guides, all eagerly thrusting at us their certificates of character. Brief as our experience had been in Oriental life, we were discreet enough not to compromise ourselves by accepting the services of any of these ragamuffins, who, to say the least of them, were a very shabby-looking set. Besides, we were cautioned against them by a very distinguished personage who accompanied Demetrie to the steamer, and who seemed to be the bosom friend and confidant of Demetrie. That personage inspired me with profound sentiments of admiration for his character and genius from the moment I first saw him. There was a cool air of self-reliance about him; an off-hand, dashing style of address in the man; a contempt for all rivalry and opposition; an unmistakable superiority over all the other Arabs, that took both myself and friend captive at once. We belonged to him; we were his subjects from the very beginning. Demetrie held us by force of a fine mustache; but the great unknown held us by force of character. We were at once under mesmeric influence; he could have taken us to the public bazaars and sold us without the least opposition on our part, at almost any sacrifice, such was the mysterious nature of his power. What he was, or where he lived, or what he intended doing with us, it was impossible to say; all he did, so far, was to push aside the babbling crowd of guides, and utter contemptuous exclamations when they provoked him, such as, "Dirty blackguards! Poor devils! Never mind them, gentlemen; they don't know any better! Miserable dogs! Come on, gentlemen; come on; this is the way!"

On our arrival at Demetrie's, our friend and protector took us to the best room in the establishment, where he arranged us comfortably; told us we might rely upon Demetrie for good feeding; and then, drawing forth from his sash a small black book, addressed us substantially as follows:

"Gentlemen, I am YUSEF SIMON BADRA, the dragoman for Syria. This is my book of recommendations. I have taken a thousand American gentlemen through Syria. Yes, sir; the Americans like me; I like the Americans! I hate Englishmen; I won't take an Englishman; they don't suit me; can't get along together; I know too much for 'em. But the Americans suit me; always ready; up to every thing--fun, fight, or frolic. There are other dragomans here, gentlemen. Emanuel Balthos is my friend; I won't interfere, if you wish to take him. I don't say he's afraid of robbers; I don't say he hires guards in all the bad places on that account. I speak only of myself. The robbers know me. The name of Yusef Badra is guard enough in any part of Syria. Courage is a great thing in this country; courage will carry a man through where a thousand guards daren't show their faces. The last time I was out I killed six Bedouins. I sometimes kill such fellows for fun. They know me; they know it's a habit I have, Mind. they always keep clear when they can. But you can choose for yourselves, gentlemen; there's my book ; look over .. it. Of course you'll smoke some chiboucks. Ho! there--Hassin--chiboucks!"

The chiboucks were brought; and while we smoked, and looked over Yusef's book of recommendations, that renowned personage took our spare clothes, created a tremendous sensation down below by the manner in which he caused all the domestics to brush them, and made every Arab about the premises tremble by the ferocity of his looks.

Such an idea as that of entertaining any proposition from another dragoman never entered our heads. We felt that we belonged to Yusef from the beginning; that he had a right to us, which we could not resist; that he was just the man to take us through a dangerous country. Every recommendation in the book complimented him upon his indomitable perseverance and courage. It was enough; the thing was fixed. Yusef was already our dragoman. Here you have his portrait:

Face open and intelligent, eyes round and full of fire, mustache fierce, temperament nervous--sanguine, age twenty-eight, costume rich, careless, and of medium height; manner frank, self-relying, and chivalrous; whole tone of character imposing, captivating, and Oriental.

Now I profess to be a judge of mankind. I claim some merit in knowing Yusef at a glance. I felt that we were perfectly safe in his hands; that he would fight for us; nay, wallow in blood for us, if necessary; that it would do us credit to travel with a dragoman so renowned and feared throughout Syria; that his lively energy would carry us through all difficulties; that there was nothing narrow or contracted in such a man, and he would feed us well, and provide us with good horses.

The duties of the Syrian dragoman are rather onerous, and require, perhaps, some explanation. He is interpreter of the party; he usually provides the provisions, horses, mules, tents, &c., and charges so much a day for the whole ; he speaks various languages, seldom less than five or six; is expected to know all about the country, and something more. He is responsible for the name of every village and town on the route; he is responsible for every assertion made by Robinson and other authorities, and if there be any incongruity in the name or location, it is the dragoman who is compelled to answer for it; he is responsible for every moral and physical defect in the horses and mules; for every shower of rain that interrupts the journey; for every headache and fit of indigestion suffered by any member of the party; for the amount of fleas that infest every stopping-place; for the sterile and unsatisfactory character of the scenery in certain stages of the journey; for the roughness of the roads; for the uncivilized appearance of the Arabs throughout Syria; for the bad state of repair in which the bridges are kept; for every extreme of heat and cold; and all the discomforts of the climate and country; in short the dragoman is responsible for everything, He must be a man of courage, of energy, of patience, of good temper, of intelligence, of learning, of every thing under the sun, moon, and stars. He must know all that the Howadji doesn't know, and all that the Howadji ought to know; his brains must act for himself and the Howadji, and for the muleteers, and for the horses, mules donkeys, and every living thing in the company; if they don't they are very poor brains indeed. He must be dragoman, tutor, lexicon, valet, cook, caterer, comforter, warrior--all in one; always ready for duty, night and day, never tired, never at fault in any emergency. In effect, the dragoman has a pretty busy life of it, and Yusuf is a good specimen of the best class. If he didn't know and do all these things, he was never at a loss to know and do something else equally satisfactory; and in the end we were forced to admit that his resources were unlimited. When he forgot the name of a village or important ruin, he invented a name that fully answered our purpose; when it rained he proved to us that rain was necessary in order to clear the atmosphere and make it healthy; when there were no robbers, he showed us what he would do if there were robbers; when we were dissatisfied in any way, he was more dissatisfied with the cause of our dissatisfaction than we were ourselves, which made us perfectly satisfied; he was, in all respects, a sagacious, ready-witted and obliging dragoman, highly qualified by nature for his arduous and responsible profession.

If he had any fault at all, it was an incorrigible hatred of the female sex. He never could refer to the subject, without strong expressions of contempt and disdain. He considered that all the misfortunes of life could be traced to woman; that the whole female sex consisted of devils in the disguise of angels. As this singular prejudice concerned himself and not us, we paid but little attention to it in the beginning of our journey; though as we advanced we noticed some slight discrepancy between his practice and his preaching that struck us as somewhat remarkable. He had nieces at every stopping-place, and he never passed without calling to see them. Perhaps the relationship overcame his scruples--or it might be the pride of popularity.

In making a bargain with a dragoman it is considered safest to have a written contract, signed before the consul, specifying every thing to be furnished by the dragoman, the number of horses, mules, &c., and the compensation. The usual price, including tents, provisions, horses, and every thing necessary, is one pound sterling a day for each person; but, as the season was late, we agreed with Yusuf for ninety-six piastres, or about four dollars each. Having now made the tour and acquired some experience in bargain-making, I am very sure I could travel through Syria and Palestine for about half that; not of course in the luxurious style of fashionable tourists, who go merely for pleasure, but in quite good enough style for any person who wishes to acquire knowledge of the country on the most economical terms.

I was rejoiced, soon after we were installed at Demetrie's, to hear the well-known voice of Doctor Mendoza. He was making arrangements with Emanuel Balthos to take himself and the Madam through Syria. He said it would be necess to have a fine tent, to have chairs, tables, bedsteads and other conveniences, as the Madam was indispose; that without these it would be imposs to voyage.

My excellent friends were delighted to see me, and it was a mutual gratification to find that we would in all probability often meet during our tour; in fact that we would perform the greater part of it in company. They had stopped several days in Smyrna, and were much pleased with the Hotel des deux Augustes; the Doctor had ascertained that there was an excellent hotel in Damask, and had caused Demetrie to write on to the proprietor and engage rooms, without which he said, it would be imposs to hazard the voyage. To-morrow morning they intended, if poss, to depart.

The same afternoon, it was an interesting and instructive spectacle to see the Doctor and the Madam in the front yard of Demetrie's hotel. Their tent was erected for inspection; it was of the most fanciful shape and coloring; there was a private chamber in it; and there was no end to the knickknacks for comfort and convenience. The horses were brought up; the Doctor examined the saddles and the saddle-girths, mounted and got down again, and re-mounted and got down again a dozen times, before he was satisfied that the caparisons were safe. The Madam screamed, and endeavored to faint, when she saw the beautiful little mare upon which she was to ride cut a pigeon-wing by order of Emanuel Balthos; and it was only by great persuasion that she would consent to remain tranquil, in accordance with the advice of the Doctor, who said that the Madam was a little indispose; that he (the Madam) would be better after he had voyaged a few days on horseback.

On the following day we bade this excellent couple adieu and saw them proceed on their winding way toward Baalbek. Here I may as well mention that we met them frequently during our tour, and sometimes traveled for days together; the greatest cordiality and friendship always existed on both sides; and it was only owing to the difference in our mode of traveling that we did not permanently join the two parties.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE HISTORY OF MY HORSE SALADIN.

IF there was any one thing in which I was resolved to be particular it was in the matter of horses. Our journey was to be a long one, and experience had taught me that much of the pleasure of traveling on horseback depends upon the qualities of the horse. For some reason unknown to me, and which I have never been able to discover even to this day, a sort of fatality has always attended my dealings in horseflesh. I had bought, hired, and borrowed the very finest-looking animals that could be found any where, and never failed to find out before long that they were blind, spavined, foundered, or troubled with some defect which invariably caused them to stumble and throw me over their heads. Not content with the entertaining spectacle thus afforded to public eyes, the very friends of my heart turned against me in the hour of misfortune, and said it was all my own fault; that any body of common sense could have foreseen the result; that the most honest men in the world, whose word would pass in bank for any amount, could not help lying when it came to horses; that a man's own father was not to be trusted in a transaction of this kind, or even a man's own mother, without looking into the horse's mouth and examining his hoofs. On this account I was resolved to study well the points of the animal that was to bear me through Syria.

Yusef had already given me some slight idea of the kind of horse I was to have. It was an animal of the purest Arabian blood, descended in a direct line from the famous steed of the desert Ashrik; its great-grand-dam was the beautiful Boo-boo-la, for whose death the renowned Arab chieftain Ballala, then a boy, grieved constantly until he was eighty-nine years of age, when, no longer able to endure life under so melancholy an affliction, he got married to a woman of bad temper, and was tormented to death in his hundred and twentieth year, and the last words he uttered were, doghera! doghera! straight ahead! All of Yusef Badra's horses, were his own, bought with his own money, not broken down hacks like what other dragomans hired for their Howadji; though, praised be Allah, he (Yusef ) was above professional jealousy. There was only one horse in Syria that could at all compare with this animal, and that was his own, Syed Sulemin; a horse that must be known even in America, for Syed had leaped a wall twenty feet high, and was trained to walk a hundred and fifty miles a day, and kill the most desperate robbers by catching them up in his tenth and tossing them over his head. I had not heard of this horse, but thought it best, by a slight nod, to let Yusef suppose that his story was not altogether unfamiliar to me. Being determined to examine in detail all the points of the animal destined for myself, I directed Yusef to bring them both up saddled and bridled, so that we might ride out and try their respective qualities before starting on our journey. This proposition seemed to confuse him a little, but he brightened up in a moment and went off, promising to have them at the door in half an hour.

Two hours elapsed; during which time I waited with great impatience to see the famous descendant of the beautiful Boo-boo-la. I looked up toward the road, and at length saw a dust, and then saw a perfect rabble of Arabs, and then Yusef, mounted on a tall, slab-sided, crooked old horse, and then--could it be?--yes!--a living animal, lean and hollow, very old, saddled with an ancient saddle, bridled with the remnants of an ancient bridle, and led by a dozen ragged Arabs. At a distance it looked a little like a horse; when it came closer it, looked more like the ghost of a mule; and closer still, it bore some resemblance to the skeleton of a small camel; and when I descended to the yard, it looked a little like a horse again.

"Tell me," said I, the indignant blood mounting to my cheeks, "tell me, Yusef, is that a horse?"

" A horse!" retorted he, smiling, as I took it, at the untutored simplicity of an American; "a horse, O General! it is nothing else but a horse; and such an animal, too, as, I'll venture to say, the richest pasha in Beirut can't match this very moment."

"Tahib!" Good-said one of the Arabs, patting him on the neck, and looking sideways at me in a confidential way.

"Tahib!" said another, and "tahib!" another, and " tahib" every Arab in the crowd, as if each one of them had ridden the horse five hundred miles, and knew all his merits by personal experience.

That there were points of some kind about him was not to be disputed. His back must have been broken at different periods of his life, in at least three places; for there were three distinct pyramids on it, like miniature pyramids of Gizeh; one just in front of the saddle, where his shoulder-blade ran up to a cone; another just back of the saddle; and the third, a kind of spur of the range, over his hips, where there was a sudden breaking off from the original line of the backbone, and a precipitous descent to his tail. The joints of his hips and the joints of his legs were also prominent, especially those of his forelegs, which he seemed to be always trying to straighten out, but never could, in consequence of the sinews being too short by several inches. His skin hung upon this remarkable piece of frame-work as if it had been purposely put there to dry in the sun, so as to be ready for leather at any moment after the extinction of the vital functions within. But, to judge from the eye (there was only one), there seemed to be no prospect of a suspension of vitality, for it burned with great brilliancy, showing that a horse, like a singed cat, may be a good deal better than he looks.

"A great horse that," said Yusef, patting him on the neck kindly; "no humbug about him, General. Fifty miles a day he'll travel fast asleep. He's a genuine Syrian."

"And do you tell me," said I sternly, "that this is the great. grandson of the beautiful Boo-boo-la? That I, a General in the Bob-tail Militia and representative in foreign parts of the glorious City of Magnificent Distances, am to make a public exhibition of myself throughout Syria mounted upon that miserable beast?"

`Nay, as for that," replied the fellow, rather crestfallen, "far be it from me, the faithfullest of dragomans, to palm off a bad horse on a Howadji of rank. The very best in Beirut are at my command. Only say the word, and you shall have black, white, or gray, heavy or light, tall or short; but this much I know, you'll not find such an animal as that any where in Syria. Ho, Saladin! (slapping him on the neck,) who's this, old boy? Yusef, eh? Ha, ha! see how he knows me! Who killed the six Bedouins single-handed, when we were out last, eh, Saladin? Ha, ha! you know it was Yusef, you cunning rascal, only you don't like to tell. A remarkable animal, you perceive; but, as I said before, perhaps your Excellency had better try another.

"No," said I, "no, Yusef ; this horse will do very well. He's a little ugly, to be sure; a little broken-backed, and

perhaps a little blind, lame; and spavined; but he has some extraordinary points of character. At all events, it will do no harm to try him. Come, away we go!" Saying which I undertook to vault into the saddle, but the girth being loose, it turned over and let me down on the other side. This little mishap was soon remedied, and we went off in a smart walk up the lane leading from Demetrie's toward the sand-hills. In a short time we were well out of the labyrinth of hedges formed by the prickly-pears, and were going along very quietly and pleasantly, when all of a sudden, without the slightest warning, Yusef, who had a heavy stick in his hand, held it up in the air like a lance, and darted off furiously, shouting as he went, "Badra, Badra!" Had an entire nest of hornets simultaneously lit upon my horse Saladin, and stung him to the quick, he could not have shown more decided symptoms of sudden and violent insanity. His tail stood straight up, each particular hair of his mane started into life, his very ears seemed to be torturing themselves out of his head, while he snorted and pawed the earth as if perfectly convulsed with fury. The next instant he made a bound, which brought my weight upon the bridle; and this brought Saladin upon his hind legs, and upon his hind legs he began to dance about in a circle; and then plunged forward again in the most extraordinary manner. The whole proceeding was so very unexpected that I would willingly have been sitting a short distance off; a mere spectator ; it would have been so funny to see somebody else mounted upon Saladin. Both my feet came out of the stirrups in spite of every effort to keep them there; and the bit, being contrived in some ingenious manner, tortured the horse's mouth to such a degree every time I pulled the bridle, that he became perfectly frantic, and I had to let go at last and seize hold of his mane with both hands. This seemed to afford him immediate relief, for he bounded off at an amazing rate. My hat flew off at the same time, and the wind fairly whistled through my hair. I was so busy trying to hold on that I had no time to think how very singular the whole thing was; if there was any thought at all it was only as to the probable issue of the adventure. Away we dashed, through chapperals of prickly pear, over ditches and dikes, out upon the rolling sand plain! I looked, and beheld a cloud of dust approaching. The next moment a voice shouted "Badra, Badra!" the battle-cry of our dragoman, and then Yusef himself, whirling his stick over his head, passed like a shot. "Badra, Badra!" sounded again in the distance. Saladin wheeled and darted madly after him; while I, clutching the saddle with one hand, just saved my balance in time, "Badra, Badra!" shrieked Yusef, whirling again, and blinded by the fury of battle. "Come on, come on! A thousand of you at a time! Die, villains, die!" Again he dashed furiously by, covered in a cloud of dust, and again he returned to the charge; and again, driven to the last extremity by the terrific manner in which Saladin wheeled around and followed every charge, I seized hold of the bridle and tried all my might to stop him, but this time he not only danced about on his hind legs, but made broadside charges to the left for a hundred yards on a stretch, and then turned to the right and made broadside charges again for another hundred yards, and then reared up and attempted to turn a back somerset. All this time there was not the slightest doubt in my mind that sooner or later I should be thrown violently on the ground and have my neck and several of my limbs broken. In vain I called to Yusef; in vain I threatened to discharge him on the spot; sometimes he was half a mile off, and sometimes he passed in a cloud of dust like a whirlwind, but I might just as well have shouted to the great King of Day to stand still as to Badra, the Destroyer of Robbers. By this time, finding it impossible to hold Saladin by the bridle, I seized him by the tail with one hand, and by the mane with the other, and away he darted faster than ever. "Badra, Badra!" screamed a voice behind; it was Yusef in full chase! Away we flew, up hill and down hill, over banks of sand, down into fearful hollows, and up again on the other side ; and still the battle-cry of Yusef resounded behind, "Badra, Badra forever!"

On we dashed till the pine grove loomed up ahead; on, and still on, till we were close up and the grove stood like a wall of trees before us. "Thank Heaven," said I, "we'll stop now! Hold, Yusef, hold!" "Badra, Badra" cried the frantic horseman, dashing by and plunging in among the trees: "Badra, forever!" Saladin plunged after him, flying around the trees and through the narrow passes in such a manner that, if I feared before that my neck would be broken, I felt an absolute certainty now that my brains would be knocked out and both my eyes run through by some projecting limb. In the horror of the thought, I yelled to Yusef for God's sake to stop, that it was perfect folly to be running about in this way like a pair of madmen; but by this time he had scoured out on the plain again, and was now engaged in going through the exercise of the Djereed with a party of country Arabs, scattering their horses hither and thither, and flourishing his stick at their heads every time he came within reach. They seemed to regard it as an excellent joke, and took it in very good part; but for me there was no joke about the business, and I resolved as soon as a chance occurred to discharge Yusef on the spot. Saladin, becoming now a little tamed by his frolic, slackened his pace, so that I got my feet back into the stirrups, and obtained some control over him There was a Syrian café and smoke-house not far off, and thither I directed my course. A dozen boys ran out from the grove, and seized him by the bridle, and at the same time Yusef coming up, both horses were resigned to their charge, and we dismounted. "Hallo, sir!" said I "come this way!" for to tell the truth I was exceedingly enraged and meant to discharge him on the spot.

"Bless me! what's become of your hat?" cried Yusef, greatly surprised; " I thought your excellency had put it in your pocket, to keep it from blowing away!"

"The devil you did! Send after it, if you please; it must be a mile back on that sand hill."

A boy was immediately dispatched in search of the hat. Meantime, while I was preparing words sufficiently strong to express my displeasure, Yusef declared that he had never seen an American ride better than I did, only the horse was not used to being managed in the American fashion.

" Eh! Perhaps you allude to the way I let go the reins, and seized him by the mane?"

"To that most certainly I do refer," replied Yusef; "he doesn't understand it; none of the horses in Syria understand it."

"No," said I, "very few horses do. None but the best riders in America dare to undertake such a thing as that. Did you see how I let my feet come out of the stirrups, and rode without depending at all upon the saddle?"

"Most truly I did; and exceedingly marvelous it was to me that you were not thrown. Any but a very practiced rider would have been flung upon the ground in an instant. But wherefore, 0 General, do you ride in that dangerous way?"

"Because it lifts the horse from the ground and makes him go faster. Besides, when you don't pull the bridle, of course you don't hurt his mouth or stop his headway."

Yusef assented to this, with many exclamations of surprise at the various customs that prevail in different parts of the world; maintaining, however, that the Syrian horses not being used to it, perhaps it would be better for me in view of our journey to learn the Syrian way of guiding and controlling horses; which I agreed to do forthwith. We then sat down and had some coffee and chiboucks; and while I smoked Yusef enlightened me on all the points of Syrian horsemanship; how I was to raise my arms when I wanted the horse to go on, and hold them up when I wanted him to run, and let them down when I wanted him to stop; how I was to lean a little to the right or the left, and by the slightest motion of the bridle guide him either way; how I was to lean back or forward in certain cases, and never to trot at all, as that was a most unnatural and barbarous gait, unbecoming both to horse and rider. Upon these and a great many other points he descanted learnedly, till the boy arrived with my hat; when, paying all actual expenses for coffee and chiboucks, we distributed a small amount of backshish among the boys who had attended our horses, and mounted once more. This time under the instruction of Yusef, I soon learned how to manage Saladin, and the ride back to Beirut was both pleasant and entertaining.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE ARAB STORY-TELLER.

THIS is, among his countrymen, a most important character. Every body who has traveled through Egypt or Syria, will bear witness that the accompanying pencil-sketch is a faithful representation of the class. The old gentleman whose name is attached to it lives in the neighborhood of Beirut. He is called Ben-Hozain, the King of Talkers. The handwrit ing is his own; and you will admit that the name looks as much like Ben-Hozain as it does like Benjamin Huggins, of which I think it must be a corruption. Ben is conspicuous chiefly for the length of his mustache. His tongue is long, but his mustache is a good deal longer; in fact, it is such a mustache as any Arab in Syria, however distinguished, might be proud to swear by. It is to be regretted that people should swear at all; but if they will swear, it is better they should be profane on the subject of beards or mustaches, than on matters of higher import. By profession and inclination Ben-Hozain is a story-teller. I do not mean to say that he is given to willful lying, or to any malicious misrepresentation of facts ; but the business of his life is to entertain the public of Beirut with traditional romances of the country. Where people read but little, they make up in some measure for the deficiency by talking and listening a good deal. This is especially the case with the Orientals. In the absence of a general circulation of newspapers, of printed histories of wars, philosophical essays on man, and books of travel, they must have professional story-tellers, or romancers; that is to say, men whose regular business it is to deal in tradition or fiction. Throughout the whole East there is not a more important personage than the story-teller, or one who wields a greater influence upon the public mind. He is a walking newspaper, a living history, a breathing essay, a personified book of travels, which evolves its stores of knowledge on self-acting principles. As such, being considered a responsible agent, he is entitled to the confidence of the community, and generally enjoys it to the fullest extent. The more marvelous his stories are, the greater credit they obtain; the more rabid his political satires, the greater his circulation; the more incomprehensible his theories and illustrations of human life, the profounder his philosophy. He is always a popular character, and is indispensable at every smoking-house. The grandest Pashas listen to him with profound attention; the morals which he points and the tales which he adorns find their way even into the sacred precincts of the Harem. In the highest circles and in the lowest his traditions and anecdotes are swallowed with avidity. Men who have listened for years to the same stories and the same jokes, continue, to listen for years again with undiminished delight, and always applaud at the same points and laugh at the same strokes of wit. No child of ten years, in our cold clime of common sense, could devour his first fairy-tale or ghost-story with half the delight that an Arab grandfather devours the oft-told romances of the old story-teller.

The way I happened to take Ben-Hozain's portrait was this: One-afternoon I rode out with our dragoman to the pine grove; where the towns-people go to smoke the narguilla and display their feats of horsemanship, and where I had already displayed some feats of horsemanship myself. It was shady and pleasant under the trees, and I dismounted and amused myself taking a view of a Syrian coffee-house, near which were seated a number of Turks, Greeks, and Arabs, in all their picturesque varieties of costume. An old man sat in the midst of the group, chanting at the highest pitch of his voice the famous romance of the White Princess and the Grand Vizier. Sometimes in the excitement of the love, parts he screamed, and sometimes pretended to faint; and when he was depicting the more tragic parts, where there was murder and suicide, he howled like a hyena, and counterfeited all the agonies of death in a most thrilling manner. When he got over the principal difficulties, he moderated down into a species of billing and cooing, winking and ogling, that reminded me forcibly of representations that I had seen of the passions in the Astor Place Opera House. I could not but think that nature had intended Ben-Hozain to grace the boards, of that establishment, and delight an appreciating audience of the Upper Ten, his delineation of the passions was so exquisitely extravagant. Struck with the picturesque raggedness of his costume, and the length of his grizzled mustache, I began to sketch him. Gradually the listeners dropped off one by one, and gathered around me to look into the mysteries of the art. All kinds of queer remarks were made, of which Yusef gave me a running interpretation. "That's Ben-Hozain," said one; "don't you see how the Howadji puts down his nose?" "And his eyes!" adds another. "And his mustache!" cries

a third. "Tahib!" Good. "Adjaib!" Wonderful. "What a sublime genius the Howadji has!" "Tell Ben-Hozain,"

said I, "to come a little closer, and you shall see him on this paper just as he lives and breathes!" "Adjaib!" Wonderful. "This way, Hozain; the Howadji wants you!" But Hozain had no notion of being interrupted in his story. He went on even louder than before on the subject of the White Princess. "By Allah!" cried the Arabs," he shall come! Hozain must be done on paper." With which two stout fellows ran over to where he sat, seized him on each side by the mustache, and hauled him up before me. He was the most comical and good-humored old gentleman imaginable; his face was covered with wrinkles and the stubbles of a white beard, and he seemed quite delighted at affording merriment to the crowd. Here you have him just as he sat, with his mustache in full; his eyes twinkling with fun, and a tradition in every wrinkle of his mouth. So pleased was he with his appearance on paper that he put his name to the sketch. The Arabs were all in ecstasies, and begged me to take them one and all; but, there being about thirty of them, I had to decline, on the plea of having important business to attend to that evening.

As I was going away, the old story-teller looked wistfully at me. "Well," said I, "what do you want now, my friend?"

"For what? I'm going to put you in a book, Isn't that backshish enough?"

" But I'll never see the book. I'd rather have the backshish now."

"That's strange, Hozain. Have you no pride in the honor of the thing? Think of the fame it will give you! Ben Hozain will be known in the remotest corners of America."

"Ah, Grand Seignor, Sultan of the United States, Ben Hozain is already the victim of fame. For more than forty years have I told stories for the public good; Sultans have praised me, Pashas have applauded my romances, beautiful ladies have wept over my love passages, yet here I am, as you see, with scarce a rag on my back. When I'm dead, I don't know that they'll take the trouble to bury me."

"Well, Hozain, I'm sorry to hear so bad an account of your people. In America we take a great deal of trouble about our benefactors after they die. We often spend more money in feasting over their graves and celebrating their virtues than would have made them comfortable during life. Your patrons must be very ungrateful, and as a mark of my contempt for such ingratitude, I shall give you the backshish you require. How much will it take to make you happy?"

"Only two piasters, O sublime Howadji! On that amount of money, Ben-Hozain can be the happiest man upon earth, for he can drink the Coffee of Delight and smoke the Pipe of Content for a week!"

"Very well, take this piece of silver, five piasters (twenty-two cents). And remember (said I, proudly,) that in America we never neglect men who live by their talents. We subscribe to their newspapers, read their books, profit by their labors, and when they are dead pay them--a great deal of respect."

THE CEDARS OF LEBANON.

IT was our good fortune to become acquainted during our brief sojourn in Beirut, with a young English gentleman, chief officer of an Oriental Steamer, who having a couple of months to spare, agreed to join us in our tour through Syria. His good-humor and intelligence rendered him an invaluable acquisition to our party.

Leaving Beirut in the latter part of November, we passed, not far beyond the suburbs, the spot pointed out as the scene of the remarkable battle between St. George and the dragon, and soon after crossed the pass of Xerxes. The road lay along the sea beach, which extends to the rocky point, five or six miles from the town, called the Roman Pass. On the rocks to the right of the road are some Latin inscriptions carved in tablets, and in some places the remains of basso-relievos. Farther on a few miles we descended into the beautiful little valley of El Kelb, or Dog River, where stand the remains of a bridge built by the Romans. Silk is manufactured to some extent in this country, and our road frequently lay through flourishing plantations of mulberry. The ground is cultivated in a rude manner most of the way along the shores of Syria, and we passed through many small fields of sugar-cane, irrigated by water from the mountain streams, which is conducted in narrow walled ditches through the fields. Covered as the whole face of the country is with stones, yet the tilled parts are apparently fertile and yield abundant crops. On the slopes of Mount Lebanon are many small villages, similar to those met with throughout Syria. The houses are but one story high, built of stone, with flat mud roofs, and at a distance have the appearance of mud boxes put out on the hills to dry. The village of Zuk, which we passed at a distance,

is prettily situated, but is like all other Syrian villages, a wretched abode of men, women, and vermin. We met on the road several of those strange beings the Druses, a religious sect wearing a costume peculiar to themselves. The head dress of the women points upward like an immense horn, about two feet long; the men wore an indescribable dress of ragged robes, picturesque at first sight, but not to be too closely scrutinized. The Druses inhabit the country chiefly around Mount Lebanon and the neighborhood, and sprung originally from the Kamiathians, one of the Mohammedan sects. We met also during the afternoon several Pashas and their retinues of servants, coming from Damascus and Tripoli, and occasionally traveling merchants with their caravans of merchandise, bound to Beirut from Aleppo and other interior towns. About four miles beyond the valley of El Kelb, we came to another beautiful little valley, sheltered by high mountains, running down to the sea-shore, where there is a small harbor, which our guide informed us was occupied by the British forces after the storming of Beirut in 1841. Here is situated the village of Juna; and the mountain sides are dotted with small houses and terraced with stone walls to a considerable height, the most unpromising patches of tillable ground being thus made available. Yusef soon had our tent up in the midst of a young orchard of mulberry trees; and it was not long before we had on our table a good supper of chicken, rice preserves, and coffee; for, in justice to our dragoman, I must not omit to mention that he fed us in excellent style, and gave us so many luxuries in the way of tables, bedsteads, chairs, napkins, and different courses of plate, that the poor mules were quite laden down, and we were obliged to protest against this effeminate style of living, especially as we soon found it to be at the expense of time, an important object with us at this season. Contrasted with the sort of traveling to which I had been accustomed in California, it was ridiculously civilized, and made me feel much less independent than when I coursed through the plains of the Ojitas and San Jose with nothing but my mule and saddle-bags, and slept under the trees. Coffee and chiboucks finished the evening. The clouds had been threatening for some time, and, before we were comfortably in bed, they began to pour down upon us such a torrent of rain that we soon found the tent but, a poor protection, and the wind blew in gusts so sudden and violent that we momentarily expected to be covered up in a ruin of canvas. At last we had to make a retreat to a khan down on the beach, where we were fortunate enough to get a tolerable room. The khans, or houses for the accommodation of travelers throughout Syria, are usually large stone buildings, without furniture, and filthy to an extreme. Of course Frank travelers only resort to them when the weather does not permit of living in tents; and many prefer suffering from cold and rain to encountering the vermin with which the khans are infested. It is always best, however, when the season is at all unfavorable, to sleep in houses; for whatever maybe the inconveniences of living among mules, asses, fleas, and smoking Arabs, they are not so great as those of sickness in a foreign land, where no assistance can be had. Many a traveler has laid his bones in Syria in consequence of wet nights and sunshiny days. We here took the precaution, as in all future cases, to have the first layer of fleas swept out, leaving the partially dormant layer below; and thus we commenced our first night of Syrian travel. For hours I lay musing over the many scenes I had passed through during the last few years, but the fitful moaning of the wind, mingled with the measured break of the surf upon the beach, at length lulled me to sleep, and I slept well by their familiar music. It rained hard most of the night. Toward morning the wind had moderated, yet several small vessels in the port hove up their anchors and stood out to sea as if they expected worse weather. This was not a cheering prospect for our contemplated tour. We had, in starting from the khan, the first trial of patience to which, in common with all who travel in the East, we were doomed to be frequently subjected--I mean the loss of time. The Arabs, Turks, and indeed all the Oriental races; are singularly independent of time; in fact, with the exception of its use in estimating distances, they appear to have no knowledge of its value whatever. We were to have started at six, but it was nine before we got rightly under way.

Our Arab muleteers were slow, and although Yusef swore himself completely out of breath, and to the best of my knowledge entirely exhausted the vocabulary of strong expressions in Arabic, they made no effort to hurry the matter in the least. On the contrary, I was rather struck with the resigned manner in which they bore his violent reproaches and ferocious denunciations, and the cool air with which they puffed their chiboucks after the slightest exertion. On the beach, as we passed along through the village of Juna, we observed the wreck of a vessel--one of the many driven ashore on this coast every winter. In Beirut we were told that not less than eight or ten were lost in this way every winter; the coast of Syria from Tripoli to Damietta affording no secure harbor for shipping. The road beyond Juna to the next point or pass we found rocky and precipitous, much like what we had passed, only still more tiresome. It should be borne in mind that roads in Syria are not like the roads we are accustomed to at home, which, bad as they are compared with the roads through Italy, have yet some pretensions to the name; but here to dignify them by such a name is a complete perversion of the word. The bridle paths of Switzerland are magnificent highways compared with them, and in thus speaking of them I merely adopt the ordinary language of travelers. I have seen nothing, like them except in crossing the Isthmus of Panama; imagine that Isthmus extended an indefinite number of miles, and you have some idea of Syrian roads. Fortunately, the horses of this country are remarkable for their sureness of foot and powers of endurance.

Not far beyond Juna is the bed of a river called El Mahmilton, over which is the arch of an old Roman bridge, conspicuous for its massive proportions and fine architectural style. Nothing remained of the river but its bed, most of the streams throughout the country having been dried by the long and uninterrupted drought for the last eight months. In the winter, this stream is no doubt swollen to something like a river by the mountain torrents, although in speaking of rivers here, as indeed throughout Europe and the East, it is not to be supposed that what we call rivers in America are meant. Every little creek in the Old World is dignified by the name of river, and every duck-pond is called a lake.

It would be necessary to go beyond the limits of a mere journal of incidents to give an account of the country for the next three days. We stopped at Djbel, Batroum, and Tripoli, long enough to see each town pretty thoroughly, and make some sketches, and on the third day commenced our ascent of Mount Lebanon.

At Aheden, claimed by some authorities as the Garden of Eden we were obliged to take a guide, the path being altogether obliterated in some of the table-grounds by recent floods of rain. As we approached the cedars we went down into a ravine, and soon after passed along the ledge of a profound gorge, extending to the death of several hundred feet. A village, distant by Syrian measurement two hours from Aheden; lies on the left of the gorge, not far from which is a celebrated grotto, visited by many of the pilgrims as a place of peculiar interest. Our time, however, being limited, we pushed on, and in another hour entered the celebrated grove of cedars--a mere patch of green in the bare and desert hollow of the mountains. It was cold and gloomy within the shadowy inclosure, and quite deserted. Not a living thing was to be seen, and all was silent as death, save an occasional plaintive note from some lonesome bird among the branches. Entering by a ravine below, we ascended some distance among. The younger growth of trees till we reached an elevation a few hundred yards higher up, upon which stands a rude stone chapel, built by some of the Frank monks, in the midst of the ancient grove, and still used by Christian pilgrims in their annual visits of devotion. There are twelve veteran and storm-beaten trees pointed out as the original cedars of Lebanon; and the best authorities, I believe, concur in admitting these to be the veritable cedars referred to in the Scriptures. Certainly they bear every indication of extraordinary antiquity;

and there is no reason to doubt that they existed in very remote ages. From these have sprung, during the lapse of centuries, the surrounding grove, consisting of nearly four hundred trees of various degrees of antiquity, but all of the same species. The chapel was quite deserted, the priests having left some days before for the more genial climate of Tripoli. It is the custom for all the inhabitants of the vicinity to depart for the valleys below on the approach of winter, which is very severe and protracted at this elevation. Our guide pointed out the height to which the snow reached during the previous winter on some of the trees, and we judged it to be not less than twenty feet. It often covers the walls of the chapel entirely up to the roof, completely blocking up all means of ingress and exit. At such a time, of course, it would be very difficult, if not altogether impracticable, to exist in this region; but, if we are to credit the strange histories related to us by our Arabs, it has been done by the aid of miracles, and may be done again. Eleas, one of our interpreters, assured us that there was once a dark man who came over from a distant country, and who, in consequence of having committed a great sin, was resolved to expiate his offense by starving himself to death in the hollow of one of the old cedars. There he fixed his abode, and prayed in secret, and such was the efficacy of his prayers, that he subsisted for two years on nourishing waters that were sent down to him from the branches of the tree by miraculous power; and he suffered neither from heat nor from cold, but at the expiration of his voluntary penance took his departure, and returned a happy man to his own country. To render the story strictly credible, the hollow was pointed out to us, and Eleas, who was a Christian of the Greek Church, said his prayers under the shadow of the old cedar. With other strange narratives of a similar kind the simple natives entertained us, while we sat down under the wide-branching trees, spread our cloth upon the ground, and refreshed ourselves after the ride from Aheden.

As soon as we had finished our repast, we set out to make a more thorough examination of the ancient cedars, or the original twelve, in which the chief interest is centred. It required no great research to convince us of their great age, which is strikingly apparent in their gnarled and time-worn trunks. Many of the branches have become sapless, and are fast rotting away; others are broken off by the force of many tempests, or have fallen of their own accord from sheer old age; new ones have sprung out, and young shoots continue to supply the ravages worked by time; the trunks are of vast circumference; and are composed of divers parts consolidated, some of them perhaps the growth of different ages. All the old trees and many of the younger ones have large pieces cut of their trunks upon which are carved the names of visitors who from time to time have been attracted to this remote region. Among these I noticed the name of Lamartine, said to have been carved by an Arab while the great sentimentalist was going into ecstasies in his comfortable quarters below. There were several American names, but none of very recent date--only two within two years. In the register which is kept on the altar of the chapel I saw several English, French, and Oriental names. Some of the remarks were curious enough. One gentleman, who probably imagined the cedars to be yellow or pink, with crimson tops, like those in the panoramas, says he visited the Cedars of Lebanon, and was greatly disappointed. Another traveler states that he could see much larger and finer trees at home without trouble or expense. What any body expects to see except the Cedars of Lebanon, I am at a loss to conceive. One does not travel three days over bad roads to witness a raree-show, or see simply a few cedar-trees because they are cedars; but, if I understand it, the object is to see the Cedars of Lebanon mentioned in the Scriptures; and there they are without doubt. They can be seen by any body who has eyes to see. It is true they are only cedars, but they are very wonderful, as well from their great antiquity as from the Scriptural interest attached to them.

Messrs. Lansing and Burnett, American missionaries at Damascus, visited this region last summer, and carefully counted the cedars, both old and young. They also made some measurements of a very interesting character. The entire grove, according to their estimate, consists of four hundred trees; the average circumference of the original twelve is about twenty-five feet, and one was found to measure upward of thirty. The trunks of the more ancient cedars do not rise to any great height before they branch out into enormous limbs, commencing ten or fifteen feet from the ground, some perhaps twenty feet. The branches are very crooked and tortuous,--partly decayed, as before stated, and gnarled with the frosts and tempests of ages. It is said that no other specimens of the kind are found in any part of the world, except such as have been transplanted from this grove; but Messrs. Lansing and Burnett ascertained to their entire satisfaction that other cedars of the same species do exist in the mountains of Syria. The wood is white, and has a pleasant perfume; and to this odor reference is made in the Scriptures. It is not stronger, however, than the scent of the ordinary red cedar, perhaps less apparent.

From the front of the chapel there is a very fine view of the valley below, extending entirely to the sea. The reefs opposite Ras Tripoli are distinctly visible on a clear day. Computed by the time required for the ascent, the distance must be about thirty miles from the town of Tripoli. From Beirut it requires three days, at the usual rate of travel, to reach the cedars, but it is not difficult to accomplish the task in less. To Baalbek, across the valley of Bukaa, on the other aide of Mount Lebanon, is another good day's ride.

CHAPTER XXIV.

BAALBEK.

BEFORE we left that celebrated grove, we provided ourselves with a good supply of relics. At first we were loth to touch a single twig of those sacred old trees, which had braved the tempests for centuries; but our guides told us that thousands of native pilgrims come from all parts of the country every year, and carry away whole loads of seeds and branches, without the least compunctions of conscience; in fact, that the pruning did them good. With such a precedent, made more certain by the aid of a little backshish, we followed the example of other pilgrims, and got the Arabs to cut us some walking-sticks and knock down some burrs, both of which I hope to see flourishing in Washington one of these days.

From the Cedars up to the summit of Mount Lebanon, by the way of the pass that leads into the valley of Bukaa, is nearly two hours of' very laborious climbing. It was not long before sunset when we reached the highest part of the ridge. Our horses were pretty well tired down, and ourselves rather the worse of the wear, having walked most of the way from Aheden. The altitude of this part of the mountain we supposed to be about six thousand feet. As yet there was no snow visible on any part of it. The air was sharp and clear, but not unpleasantly cold. Tired as we were, after our hard day's journey, we could not but stop a while to enjoy the view. It was really one of those splendid sights which even a traveler, whose life is spent among the beauties of nature, is privileged to enjoy but once or twice in the course of existence. On the one hand the valley of Aheden, through which we had been ascending for nearly two days, stretched down till it appeared to mingle with the mists of the ocean at the shores of Tripoli; on the other the magnificent plain of Bukaa, bounded in the distance by the mountains of Anti-Lebanon,, at the base of which, sparkling in the rays of the setting sun, were distinctly visible the minaret of the mosque and the ruins of Baalbek; while far down in the valley of Bukaa, to the right as we faced the plain, gleamed the bright waters of the Litany, and across the deep gorges at our feet were cast the shadows of the lofty peaks of Lebanon--a vast and impressive scene, within a single sweep of the eye, sterile, waste, and desolate, but sublime in its weird simplicity. It brought to mind, with the vividness of reality, those grand pictures of primeval scenery drawn in the sacred writings; and the lapse of ages seemed now but the lapse of years, passed in a dream. It was like returning after an absence to some long known haunt of youth; for the words of the sacred book, the first impressed upon the memory, were here a sublime reality.

As we descended toward the plain of Bukua, driving our horses before us, my self-willed old charger, Saladin, took a notion not to be driven down, so he walked up on all possible occasions. In vain I hurled missiles at his head; in vain I begged him not to be foolish; in vain I tried to make him understand that he was only doubling the distance, as he would eventually be compelled to turn back again; it was all to no purpose. Up again to the top of Mount Lebanon he would go, after the most persevering resistance, half way down; and at last he ran away full, speed over rocks that seemed quite inaccessible. I had long suspected Saladin of a sentimental turn of mind, and was now convinced that he only wanted to enjoy another view of the sunset; but it was too late, the sun had disappeared and it was fast getting dark. So I darted after, him, and the chase became quite exciting. Never skipped a goat. with more agility than that slab-sided old horse. It was fully half an hour before I could catch him, and it was then so dark that I found myself lost. Neither muleteers nor guides were to be seen. 1 shouted till I could shout no longer, but there was no answer. At last, after tumbling, sliding, and jumping down precipices, till it seemed as if I had reached the sloping-off place of the world, I heard the voices of my friends below. It was evident we must spend the night here, for Baalbek was still six hours distant. The guides and muleteers were nowhere to be seen, and we consoled ourselves with the notion that they had run off with our baggage. After wandering about in the dark for some time we came to the ruins of a village, without a living soul about it. In the hollow a little below the ruins we encamped for the night, our missing Arabs having at length made their appearance. There is a cave here, said to have been not more than a few years since the abode of a large band of those mountain robbers who infest the country. Of late, however, they have not found their business profitable, and they only commit occasional depredations. Our dragoman said he could put to flight any gang of robbers in Syria single-handed, such was the terror in which he was held, He certainly carried pistols and knives enough about his person to kill a good many; but it was not at all dangerous to be shot at by Yusef, for I saw him shoot a good many times and never knew him to hit any thing. The cave was a very nice place for robbers, pleasantly situated, with large trees in front, and a fine spring of water within a hundred yards. At present it is a place of resort for goats and benighted travelers. We lit a fire near the entrance, erected

our tent. under some fine old chestnut trees, and slept soundly all night in spite of the cold, which was very keen. Next morning there was snow visible on the tops of the mountains.

Yusef having threatened to whip all the Arabs again (for he had already whipped them two or three times), got them to work at an early hour, and, by the force of much talk and desperate flourishing of the stick, they were all ready with their mules as soon as we had finished breakfast. Pushing on rapidly for Baalbek, we were soon made sensible of the deceptive nature of distances from a very high point of view. On the preceding evening, from the summit of Mount Lebanon, the plain of Bukaa, reaching to the ruins of Baalbek, appeared to commence at the place of our encampment, and to continue with an almost unbroken surface to the base of the Anti-Lebanon range; but now it seemed as if we were scarcely more than half way down. The road from the ruined village is through a very rocky and broken region, studded over with patches of scrub-oak bushes, and altogether uncultivated. The only signs of habitation we saw were a few miserable huts rudely built of loose stones, the back part be ing against a hill or mound of earth, and the front barely high enough to admit of a doorway. These wretched hovels are inhabited by a swarthy and half-savage race of Arabs, who live on the flesh and milk of goats, many flocks of which we saw browsing among the rocks. In fact, goats, sheep, dogs, men, women, and children seem to live together upon terms of perfect equality. They were the most uncivilized people we had yet seen, and we had seen a good many on the road from Tripoli.

It was evident that but few travelers in our style of costume had been in the habit of passing, from the apparent astonishment which our appearance created. Some women at one of the huts laughed so immoderately that we were induced to ask them, through our dragoman, what was the occasion of their mirth. Why; said they, we never saw people before with saucepans on their heads for turbans. Do the Christians all wear saucepans? The shape of our trowsers also afforded much merriment. "Don't you burst when you sit down?" they asked, and this sally of wit was so irresistible that we could hear their shouts of laughter long after we had passed. Following for several hours down the course of a small stream, we at length reach in good earnest the plain of Bukaa. This magnificent valley stretches on the left, as we faced Baalbek, as far as we could see; on the right it seemed to merge into a sea of bright water studded with islands, the reflection of which appeared in its surface as distinctly as if it was in reality a sea or lake, reminding me forcibly of the Salinas plains in California. In fact there was much in the general character of this part of Syria to bring up reminiscences of California. The two great ranges of mountains, Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon, skirting the plain; the vast extent of the view on all sides; the genial sky and bracing atmosphere; the long lines of mules, with their packs, winding over the distant hill-sides; the trails diverging in all directions; the parched and stern character of the scenery, were not unlike an autumn view in the Valley of San Jose or San Juan, and still more like the Valley of Salinas. But here the resemblance ceases. There is nothing in Syria to remind one of the indomitable energy, the life, vigor, and spirit of progress so strikingly apparent in California. Whatever the plain of Bukaa may have been in the days of the splendor of Heliopolis, it is now a barren waste; dotted over with ruined villages, and of a most melancholy aspect. Portions of it are still cultivated in a rude manner; and we were told it was susceptible of being made to produce good wheat. It is almost entirely destitute of wood and water, and the villages stand out nakedly in the full blaze of an eastern sun. Far in the distance we saw a single column, a tall solitary object on the broad waste, standing like some lonely sentinel to remind the traveler that this land was not always thus desolate. There is a tradition among the Arabs that this column was carried thither after the destruction of Baalbek, on the shoulders of a woman, who placed it where it now stands to commemorate the death of her lover, who was slain on the spot. Her back must have been strong, as well as her love, for on a nearer inspection we found the column to be nearly if not quite as high as Pompey's Pillar. Though of ancient material, so far as we could judge, the blocks of stone had evidently been put together in their present position at a more recent date. It stands on an immense

pedestal, loosely built, and many of the stones appear to have been thrown out of place by some convulsion of nature. The 1ower block forming the base is broken nearly to the middle, the gap having the appearance of being purposely made to destroy the column by a fall. It is miraculous how it has so long resisted the force of the winds, which sometimes blow with great violence on this plain.

In about an hour more we reached a miserable village, in sight of the ruins of Baalbek, where we stopped to lunch. This was the worst specimen of a Syrian village we had yet seen. There was a pond of green water close by from which the stench was insufferable; and as to the huts, they were literally goat-houses, filthy and poverty-stricken to a degree that can not be conceived; many of them being mere holes cut in the mud-banks partially walled up. The inhabitants corresponded well with the village, being a ragged, unwashed, squalid set of vagabonds, as lazy as Arabs can be, but, like all the Orientals, of handsome features and picturesque and dignified in their rags. Every man, with his turban and chibouck and fine beard, was a living picture. Of the women I can not say so much. They were coarse and ugly enough, and so covered up in dirty rags that the effect was more in distance than proximity. The Sheik was a dignified old man, who sat in front of his hovel smoking with the quiet air of a Pasha or Sultan. And here, let, me observe, that I have seldom seen an Arab or Turk of any rank above the mere dregs of society who was not a model of good manners; never evincing any thing like awkwardness in the presence of his superiors, or self-sufficiency over his inferiors. The Sheiks of the villages dress quite as plainly as the best of the ordinary classes and can only be distinguished by the deference shown to them by the people generally. In their administration of justice they seem to be actuated by a desire to economize their power by settling all difficulties amicably, and on the principles of common sense. Law is here divested of its tautology; for it is merely an accepted standard of right and wrong recognized by the mass of the community traditionally; and the Sheik who acts with undue severity, or who is governed by inequitable or selfish motives, soon loses all power, and his mandates are disregarded. These village governments are in fact petty republics, though nominally founded and conducted on the principle of hereditary despotisms. This has reference, however, only to their municipal economy; they are all under the sway of the Pashas who govern the large cities in virtue of the powers given them from the Sublime Porte. Strictly as the women were watched, they could not restrain their curiosity, but crowded around us the moment we entered the village. Their sovereign lords now and then sharply reproved them, and added force to the reproof, when it was too often disregarded, by a sharp slap on the side of the head. As usual our dragoman went to the best looking hut, where he procured us a tolerably clean mat, and spread it near the door on a sort of mud seat. Here we were surrounded by all the idlers in the village. Our manner of eating excited the most undisguised astonishment, especially the use of knives and forks, which from the chatter of tongues we imagined to be the subject of much interesting speculation. Every mouthful was watched from its incipient carving to the cutting upon the plate, the trip on the fork to the mouth, its disappearance and mastication there, and final passage down the throat, and presumed lodgment in the stomach. The salting and peppering, the nice turning over with the fork, seemed to be regarded as a miracle of dexterity. Ill suppressed Mashallas were heard whenever two pieces could be pinned together and made to disappear at the same time. Yusef was greatly mortified at this annoyance, and told us it was not the Arab fashion, but that these poor devils were no better than Kelb, or dogs, and had never seen Christians eat before. He took particular pains to assure us that respectable Arabs, whom he claimed as his countrymen, had as much delicacy about looking at people while eating as any Europeans.

Before reaching the village, we had an indistinct view of the columns of the grand. Temple of the Sun; but it was not until we had approached to within a few miles that the whole magnificent pile of ruins and columns loomed up in distinct outline against the slopes of Anti-Lebanon.

It was a soft pleasant evening as we entered the outer walls, and drew up our horses before the castle. Like the Acropolis at Athens, all else seemed nothing compared with the glorious Temple of the Sun. How grandly it towers amid the desolation of ruins! rising in all its majesty from the mighty monuments that lie mouldering around it, with its yet magnificent columns standing out in bold relief against the mountains; its massive walls unshaken by the tempests of ages, its magic ornaments still the perfection of beauty. Looking upward through the mass of ruins, the rugged out line of the mountains was bathed in the rays of the setting sun, and the whole heavens glowed with soft colors. Far across the broad wastes of the valley of Bukaa were miniature islands and solitary trees, reflected in its surface, and long trains of camels passing on their weary way, and the hoary peaks of Mount Lebanon towering high above all.

While Yusef went into the village to search for quarters, we rode around the ruins, more and more confounded with the vast extent and elaborate architectural finish of this magnificent pile. All the associations of the place contribute to inspire the mind with glowing conceptions of the ancient splendor of Baalbek; when those walls of massive stone were perfect; when those broken columns, prostrate now--save a few that stand to show how great the wreck has been--had each a place; when those massive cornices, so exquisite in their finish, those friezes and capitals, wrought with such masterly skill, formed a perfect whole; when the glorious Temple of the Sun stood untouched by the scathing hand of time or the ravages of war, and Baalbek was the glory and the pride of Assyria--such were the associations that filled the mind as we gazed upon this mighty wreck of matter.

Of the origin of Baalbek I believe very little is known. It has been the current belief among the Arabs for many generations that the Temple of the Sun and all the surrounding edifices were built by genii; and in proof of this they point to the immense stones high up in the walls, and ask what human power could have placed them there? The Jews say it was built by Solomon; and it is thought by some that the castle was an impregnable fortress, which Solomon called the Tower of Lebanon. The Greeks believe it to be Nicomedia, where Santa Barbara suffered martyrdom. Pierre Belon, a French traveler, who visited Baalbek in 1548, considered it to be the ancient Cesarea Philippi, where St. Paul makes mention of having been. Some believe it to be the ancient Palmyra; which, however, is now well known to be four days distant. The most reliable authorities agree in the opinion that Baalbek is the ancient Heliopolis,

I was not disappointed in the ruins of Baalbek, and this is saying a good deal. There is very little to be seen in the old world that does not produce disappointment; for I believe any traveler who is willing to confess the truth will admit that reading about places of this kind at home and seeing them with the naked eye are altogether different things. The ruins of Baalbek are among the few sights one sees in the East that will bear the test of scrutiny; the more they are studied the greater is the admiration they excite; and if one can not go into the sentimentalities of Lamartine, he will see enough at least to afford both pleasure and wonder.

Modern Baalbek is totally unworthy the name it bears. I had imagined it to be something like Beirut, or in any event not inferior to Tripoli; but the fact is, it is a miserable village, not much better than the meanest collection of hovels we had seen on the road. A few scattered and ruinous stone huts, with flat mud roofs, the walls broken, and the stones scattered in piles through the narrow and filthy lanes, two or three dilapidated mosques, and a Greek convent, constitute nearly all that exists of Baalbek, exclusive of the ancient temples. Travelers, in consequence of the difficulty of procuring accommodation in any of the Mohammedan houses, are generally compelled to camp outside, or seek for quarters in the Greek convent, which is about as tempting as a comfortable pig-sty. The hill-sides are covered with the ruins of the ancient walls, and the whole town is so dilapidated that it is difficult to distinguish the houses from the general wreck. Many portions of the ancient ruins are built in among the hovels, forming a curious melange of the sublime and the ridiculous. In the midst of mud-roofed huts may be seen standing out in solitary relief the remains of a beautiful Corinthian column; and over some miserable doorway the choicest specimen of a cornice, supported by blocks of rough stone. Some of the inhabitants, loth to destroy the work of the genii, have built their huts around the standing columns, scattered here and there, so that in projecting through the roof they form a very pretty ornament. Old arches and gateways are so patched up and remodeled that little else save the material remains to show their origin. The principal mosque is evidently all, or nearly all, rebuilt from the ruins of some ancient edifice, portions of it being so put together as to destroy all the harmony of the different parts. I believe this is the work of the Turks; it looks very much as if it was done by people who were ignorant of the difference between a column and a cornice.

From an elevation a little beyond the chief ruins there is a fine view of the Castle of Baalbek and the Temple of the Sun. These are the principal objects of interest. I made a sketch of them, which is now before me; but I can not undertake to describe them. It is a mighty mass of ruins of walls, of columns, and towers--a picture of desolation made more desolate by all that survives the ravages of time. The castle, or palace, is a long rambling edifice, composed of immense walls and mouldering towers; parts of it have probably been rebuilt by the Saracens, and some recent patching in white seems to have been done by the Turks, who evidently have a great taste for putting columns where cornices belong, and patching up dark old walls composed of immense blocks with little pieces of white stone about a foot square. The enormous size of some of the blocks of stone in the main walls of the palace is one of the chief objects of interest. Three of these, in the wall at the rear of the grand temple, measure sixty feet each and form together a surface of a hundred and eighty feet in length and fifty-four in width, all of solid stone. Considering the distance these have been carried from the quarry, and the height to which they have been elevated in the wall, it would seem that the people of those days must have had some very powerful mechanical means of overcoming the difficulty.

We took an Arab boy of the village with us as a guide, and made a thorough exploration of the ruins. I have an imperfect recollection of long subterranean passages, arched over with tremendous stones, very dark, and full of niches and queer places at the sides, with broken busts of old kings, and ruined ornaments, and dim flashes of light through the openings, and a very strong smell of goats; and this is all that I can tell you of the palace. It was, no doubt, a wonderful place once, and is yet; but it is hard to get all the bearings of it in a day or two. There are hundreds of intricate passages to explore above and below, grand old chambers to see, stairs of solid marble, inscriptions in Roman, marble tombs of old kings or emperors, grand old columns, cornices, and friezes; and I don't know how many other things, to crowd the brain with and confuse the memory.

The broken columns on the outside are scattered about in melancholy profusion. Some of the best have been taken away to ornament the mosque of Sultan Soliman in Constantinople; but there is still enough to astonish the beholder. The Doric and the Corinthian orders of architecture are apparent throughout the ruins; the pure and elegant taste of the Greeks prevailing in some parts, and the profuse magnificence of the Romans in others; but always with such an admirable disposition of the parts as to preserve the tone of harmony, and still afford a pleasing variety.

The entrance into the Temple of the Sun is one of the grandest things imaginable. It is almost incredible the

amount of labor bestowed upon this single part; the curious carving, the basso-relievos, the intricacy and ingenuity of design, and the wonderful delicacy of finish. Over head is an immense block of stone displaced by some convulsion of nature, and it hangs by a few inches on each side; forming a remarkable feature in the ruin. The carving is minute and beautiful; the eagle and the Cupids are universally admired. Chief of all, however, is the frontispiece, consisting of an immense number of figures in basso-relievo, representing the mysteries and sacrifices of Paganism. There is a mass of men and animals, in most Paganistic confusion, very well executed and very strangely designed. Within the walls of the sacred temple are niches where stood in former times statuary, and some beautiful specimens of friezes and other decorations. In order to get on top we were obliged to creep into a little hole near the grand entrance, and ascend by a circular stairway. From the top of the Temple of the Sun we had an imposing view of the ruins that lie in confused masses around. It is in every respect a scene of utter and hopeless desolation. I could not but think with a melancholy interest of the difference between what I now saw, and what stood there in centuries past, when those ruined walls encircled the pride of Assyria; when those parched and arid plains were covered with gardens, and irrigated by fountains and flowing streams; and the heroes, whose deeds have given a romance to Oriental history, moved in triumph there, amid the swell of music and the homage of the multitude. Now what was it? a desert wilderness--a city of crumbling walls, of battered and time-worn castles, and broken columns--a ruin amid ruins. Camels were browsing lazily on the stunted bushes near the ruins, and groups of Arabs sat smoking on the broken columns; goats ran bleating in and out of the palace-chambers, and the startled crows flew from their nests as we approached. It was ruin every where; the spirit of desolation hung over all, and the proud City of the Sun lay dead in the

YUSEF DANCES THE RAAS.

WHILE we were looking at the ruins, Yusef came back from the village, which is a little way off on the slope of the hill, with news that he had found a lodging place for us at the house of his niece. By this time we began to have a suspicion of Yusef'’s nieces, he had so many all over Syria. At Batroun he had nieces, at Tripoli and Aheden he had-nieces, and now here was another at Baalbek, and the strangest part of it was that they were all very pretty. However, as we had no prejudice against beauty, we followed our dragoman up into the village, where we found his niece and her husband living in a stone hut, rather a more decent sort of hovel than most of those in the neighborhood. It was, in truth, a very respectable little stone box covered over with mud, with a place for fire in one corner, and a great many little pockets in the walls all round, where there were stowed onions, tobacco, and sundry small notions for pleasure and sustenance. The host was an Arab of the country, a very good sort of fellow, who seemed to have but two objects in life to accomplish--one to see that his wife kept her face covered, and the other to keep the roof of his house from leaking; I hardly know which troubled him the most. The wife was a pretty buxom young woman, with fine black eyes and a beautiful mouth, which she took every opportunity to display, in spite of the vigilance of our host, who was constantly on the watch, when he was not on the top of the house. He kept a round stone--a piece of an old pillar found among the ruins--which he was almost continually rolling over the top of the house, sometimes he would roll it for an hour, and then come down and look after his wife and smoke his chibouck; but the pre-sentiment was evidently uppermost in his mind that it would rain some time or other, and to work he would go again, hopping all over the roof with one foot while he kept the stone in motion with the other. The poor fellow was actually a victim of conjugal felicity.

In traveling through Syria, as in other parts of the world, I always carried my flute with me to relieve the lonely hours at night and excite a social feeling among the natives. I had fluted my way, after the fashion of Goldsmith, through many a difficulty; and now I was resolved to see what the magic of music would do in removing the prejudices of the Arabs. As soon as it was dark we had a good fire lit in the comer, and, pulling off our shoes, as custom required, we spread our mats close by, and sat down cosily to enjoy the cheerful blaze, my friends (the Southerner and the English Captain) smoking their chiboucks, while I brought forth my knapsack and commenced putting the pieces of my flute together. The Arabs, who had begun to crowd in, were greatly interested in the strange instrument that I was getting under way; and Yusef, who was rather proud of his superior civilization, sat by enjoying their remarks and giving us a running interpretation. Some thought it was a sort of pistol, with a large touch hole; but this notion was ridiculed by the more knowing ones, who said it was plain enough to see that it was a new-fashioned pipe, and that they would soon see me put the bowl to it, and begin to smoke. At last I got all the pieces adjusted, and, commanding silence by a mysterious motion of the hand, commenced playing that classical air of "Old Zip Coon," which I dare say never was heard before among the ruins of Baalbek. There was the most, breathless attention on all sides, interrupted only by suppressed exclamations of tahib! tahib! (good! good!) whenever I blew a very shrill or false note and soon the women and children from the neighboring houses began to crowd in, and there was gradually a large circle formed around the room, the audience squatting down in rows, till there was scarcely space enough left to breathe. I blew away with all my might, for not only was I excited by the success of my experiment, but rather inspired by the music I was making, which I assure you was not bad. The familiar airs of home. made me sentimental, and I merged into the doleful air of "Give me back my heart again; oh! give it back again!" which was a miserable failure; not a damsel seemed disposed to listen to it. They commenced, in the very middle of the most pathetic strain, to call for the first tune so I had to return to "Old Zip Coon." When I had concluded, there was no end to the tahibs: Mr. Coon was a decided hit. In order to vary the entertainment, silence was commanded again, and Yusef was desired to explain that there would be a song; that it was a song of an old black gentleman who lived in America, who was a Pasha among the blacks; that he was called Uncle Ned because he was so venerable, and, being very old, the hair all fell out of his head, and there was no hair at all in the place where the hair ought to grow; that he hadn't any eyes to see with, and, consequently, was as blind as a post, or a stone wall, or any thing else that is supposed to be deficient in eyes; that neither had he teeth to eat bread with, and he had to let the bread alone and eat something else; that his fingers were as long as canes in the brake, which was about an average of sixteen feet; and, eventually, that one day when he was out in the field, a horrible monster called Grim Death came along and caught him by the heel and carried him away, and he was never hoard of any more except in this song, which was written in commemoration of all these facts. Thereupon, having excited the most profound interest in the history of Uncle Ned, I launched forth into the song, keeping as near the tune as possible, and going through all the motions descriptive of the baldness of his head, the absence of his teeth and the length of his fingers. At length, when I arrived at the final catastrophe, where Grim Death seizes the old gentleman by the heel, I made a sudden motion at the heel of our worthy host, who was sitting near by, completely upsetting him with fright, and causing a laugh from the audience that seemed as if it would never come to an end. It was the best hit of the evening, and completely removed all constraint.

The women had gradually uncovered their faces, and the men were in such a good humor that they paid no attention to it; and we were all as jovial as possible--showing that people all over the world are pretty much the same by nature, and that there are few races so barbarous as not to be moved by music and a spirit of sociability. I never found it to fail any where; and never knew an instance of any advance being made in a hearty, off-hand way, where it was not returned even more cordially from the fact, perhaps, that it is so rarely done by travelers. But my triumph was of short duration. Yusef became inspired by the bright eyes of the Arab damsels, and soon carried away all my laurels. Standing forth in the centre of the room, ha addressed the audience in the most impressive manner--stating that with their permission he would perform the celebrated dance of his country, called the "Raas" for which it was necessary that he should have a space cleared in the middle of the floor. This proposition was greeted by a general murmur of approbation. A space was soon cleared, the audience crowding back on top of each other against the walls, but all in the most perfect good-humor. Yusef now began to unwind himse1f. He was in his choicest Arab costume, and fairly dazzled with armor. His sash was almost interminable. Francesco, the boy, pulled for five minutes, unwinding him all the time, as a spool of cotton on end might be unwound; and when the armor was all taken off and the sash at an end; Yusef called for his sword, and stood forth ready for the dance. Never was there such a sensation among the damsels of Baalbek. He was the very cut of an Arab beau, whose attractions and accomplishments were not to be resisted by vain and foolish woman. Poising his sword in the air, he called for music, and the music struck up--your humble servant being the musician. Whiz! went the sword through the air, cutting and slashing in all directions; up cuts and down thrusts within an inch of the retreating noses of the audience, who were now tumbled over in regular heaps. The women could scarce suppress their screams; the men cried Tahib! Tahib! and Yusef cut away in a perfect frenzy, till the first part of the performance, commencing with the sword exercise, was concluded. He then began in good earnest the dance of the Raas; gradually at first, with a tremulous motion of one side and a convulsive quivering of the other that seemed quite miraculous. I really began to think the fellow would go to pieces. His right leg kept running all round in a circle, while his right shoulder and arm danced a jig; the whole of his left side kept rising and falling convulsively, and his back worked as if every joint had a distinct and independent movement. Tahib! Tahib! shouted the audience, and round and round ran the independent leg faster than ever; and the left side worked, and the right side danced, and the back wriggled into the most convulsive motions, and Yusef looked just as much like one of the figures in a show, worked by wires, as any thing I ever saw, only a good deal more wiry. Some of the motions in this part of the dance were so ludicrous that the music had to stop suddenly for want of breath; but the dance went on to the clapping of hands kept up by the Arabs. The concluding part of the performance consisted of dancing, fighting, and love-making all together. The djeered is thrown, the sword whirled over the head, hundreds of foes slain, skulls split open, and terrible wounds received in the heroic attempt to carry away the daughter of a Grand Sultan, who seems to be surrounded by difficulties. At last Yusef is mortally wounded, and he begins to die by throwing his head back and getting very weak in the knees. Every bit of his body is convulsed with dying tortures; shoulders, breast, elbows, legs, and all are writhing horribly; by degrees he drops on one knee, and then on the other; and his arms fall loosely, and his head tumbles over on his breast, and he is about to roll over perfectly dead, when he catches a glimpse of his lady-love. With a wild yell he springs to his feet again, seizes his sword, and lays about him so desperately that the audience begins to think it is no joke at all. It really seemed as if Yusef had entirely lost his senses; the perspiration streamed down his face; he snorted like a horse, and his eyes had something horribly wild and insane about them. I expected each moment to see him cut somebody through the skull--knowing it to be a common piece of entertainment in these outlandish countries. But it was only a dying effort, this fit of desperation; down he fell on his knees before his lady-love, gasped out the madness of his love with his last breath, and died like a true lover with his head in her lap. The sensation was tremendous. Hands were clapped, tahibs shouted from all quarters, and the clatter of astonishment, admiration, and sympathy from the Arab damsels was perfectly overwhelming. Never did I feel so cut down in all my life; old Zip Coon was completely forgotten in the torrent of admiration drawn forth by the performances of Yusef. I quietly put the flute in my knapsack, and came to the conclusion that all triumphs are fleeting, and that the Raas dance is the greatest dance that ever was invented.

Such were the demonstrations of satisfaction on the part of every female in the room, and the undisguised delight with which they returned Yusef's sidelong smiles, that there was not a male member of the audience who was not fired with jealousy and mistrust. Low murmurs began to arise between man and wife; smothered rebukes were given by friends and relatives; and fair faces began reluctantly to disappear, but not without parting glances at the Adonis of Arabs. That there was not a female heart in the crowd unscathed by his graces of person and flashing silks, as well as by the heroic courage which he had displayed in the affair of the Princess, was perfectly apparent. Even the husband of Yusef’s niece, who was well acquainted with the relationship existing between his wife and that distinguished adventurer, did not seem altogether satisfied that their consanguinity would prove a barrier to all danger; indeed, he looked at both parties with extreme suspicion; but perceiving that there was no indication of any immediate danger (for they were discreet enough not to notice each other) he hastily left the house, climbed up on the roof, and relieved his mind in some degree by rolling the broken pillar over it furiously for the space of half an hour.

Alas, I wish I could conscientiously say that there was no danger; I wish Yusef had never stopped there; I would blot out that night in tears more copious than were shed by the great poet who wept when he found Baalbek in ruins; but a stern sense of duty compels me to proceed; it shall never be said that I have smiled at human weakness, or attempted to shield the culpable from just and merited reproach.

The guests having at a late hour retired to their respective homes, Yusef spread our mattresses on the floor, and fixed us comfortably for the night. His own mattress he left for future consideration. The husband of Yusef's niece carefully noted the manner in which we were arranged, and apparently satisfied that all was right so far, he looked into every little pigeon-hole in the walls to make assurance doubly sure, and then looked at the door between our room and that in which himself and wife slept. There was a large wooden bolt attached to it, which he carefully fastened, and then pulled back and fastened again, so that he might be sure there was no deception about its being fast; and then bidding us all good-night, he reluctantly departed through the front door--came back again in five minutes for a drink of water, looked at the door that was bolted, at the tall Southerner, the English Captain and myself, then at Yusef--departed once more, and before we were asleep, slyly peeped in again to be quite certain that there was nothing wrong, closed the front door softly, and retired to the adjoining room, where he talked seriously to his wife--probably about the leak in his house--for more than an hour. By the time he had concluded, every body was apparently asleep. There were two, however, who were very far from being asleep. One was myself; I could not help thinking that the inner door, although bolted on the right side for us, in case of an invasion from that quarter, was bolted on the wrong side for the husband of Yusef's niece, in case of an invasion from our side, which I regarded as much more to be apprehended. The other member of our party referred to as not being asleep, was Yusef himself. He had pulled his mattress up within a few feet of the bolted door, after every body was quiet, covered himself up carefully in the blankets, and commenced snoring immediately; which was precisely what kept me awake--not the snoring but the suspicions aroused by it. Yusef never snored when he was asleep. I knew him too well for that; he was always as wide awake when he snored as he ever was in his life. Consequently I kept a very small corner of my weather eye open; it was impossible to close it while the snoring continued. A dim light from the dying embers in the fire, enabled me to perceive, in the course of time, that Yusef was getting restless; the snoring gradually stopped; the blankets began to drop off, and he sat up on his mattress and looked cautiously around. Satisfied that all was right, he crept to the door, fumbled at the bolt for some minutes, and eventually drew it back, without. making any more noise than a mouse would have made under the same circumstances. The difficulty was to got the door open; it was hung on wooden hinges, which, perhaps, had not been greased for some time. Yusef breathed hard a few moments, gathered fresh courage, and commenced pulling cautiously at the door. It opened a little way; another pull; it opened a little more; another yet--it creaked--it creaked dreadfully! Quick as lightning Yusef pushed it back, bolted it, covered himself up in his blankets, and commenced snoring again; but there was evidently a commotion in the other room. The voice of a man shouted something fiercely--it was in Arabic--but doubtless it was--Who's there! Under some circumstances it is difficult to answer such a question; under the present circumstances Yusef considered it impossible; he only snored the louder, and heard the less. There is no doubt that the owner of the voice labored under the impression that some of us intended to rob him, for I heard him, both in my sleep and in my waking hours throughout the remainder of the night stumbling uneasily about the room. In the morning, Yusef, who had snored to the best of my belief without stopping from the moment he had so suddenly covered himself up in the blankets, set to work and beat the muleteers; but not with his accustomed alacrity. His mind was depressed, and he looked so little refreshed by balmy slumber that I was induced to ask him what was the matter. He evinced some little confusion at first; but quickly rallying, stated that he had suffered from a bad dream; that he dreamt he saw a lion; and the lion was going to attack us; that he was unarmed at the time, but inspired by his courage, which never forsook him in any emergency, he crept toward the lion in the hope of getting him by the mane and choking him; that just as he was about to put the lion to death, some invisible spirits pulled him back, and so they tormented him every time he got near to his foe, throughout the entire night.

It was certainly an extraordinary dream. Possibly Yusef really dreamt it. I hope so; many stranger dreams than that have been dreamt; but I have never been able to rid my mind of the impression that the lion was very pretty, and not at all ferocious.

A SOCIAL CHAT WITH YUSEF.

WITHOUT exactly claiming to have control over the morale of our dragoman, I nevertheless considered it my duty to point out to Yusef the evils of those stringent measures adopted by the Arabs in their matrimonial relations, and to show him how much better it would be to abandon those absurd customs at once. When the conversation ran on congenial subjects, such as love and war, his sagacity and enthusiasm were very remarkable; and I was often surprised at the quickness of his perception, and the readiness with which he met all my arguments.

"It seems to me, Yusef," said I, after we had finished breakfast, "that you Arabs are the most barbarous people on the face of the earth. Why, even the Hottentots give their women some liberty. You, however, not only cover their faces, but keep them in a state of abject slavery. How can you ever expect to be a virtuous people when your wives are nothing but slaves!"

Yusef (with spirit).--."They are not such slaves as your excellency thinks. We shut them up and keep them at home when strangers are about--especially gentlemen like your excellency who perform on the flute; and sing songs of an inspiring and captivating nature; but, as a general thing, we treat them kindly. They exercise power enough over us now, and if they had greater liberty they would exercise a good deal more.

General.--"Of course they would, and why not? It is the very perfection of civilization when unlimited power is given to woman. In America we never think of shutting our women up and keeping guard over them. They would soon mutiny against that. Though they are free as air, many of them consider that they are barbarously limited in power, even now. It is nothing uncommon for them to hold conventions, for the purpose of denouncing the male sex, and asserting their right to seats in our National Legislature. Some of them even aspire to the Presidency. For all I know, there may be a female candidate nominated for that high office at

this very moment."

YUSEF.—"Don't you whip 'em, sir? Don't you lock 'em up, and give 'em the bastinado?" `

GENERAL (indignantly).--"The bastinado, forsooth! I'd like to see such a thing as that tried in our country. Why, we have ladies who would cowhide a man if they knew he entertained such a thought; and we have newspaper editors who compliment ladies for distinguishing themselves in that way. No, Yusef; we never use the bastinado. On the contrary, there are persons of the male sex, or who assume to be of that sex, ever ready to join these spunky ladies in their conventions, and act entirely under their dictation. That such men will eventually aspire to petticoats is not at all improbable."

YUSEF (highly excited).—"I'd shoot 'em; by Allah, sir, I'd gut 'em! Miserable dogs! I'd--no matter!--proceed, sir--proceed!" - .

GENERAL.—"Tell me, Yusef, in the name of common sense, which you know is the grand object of my crusade in this benighted region, what do the Arab women cover their faces for? Fain would I probe to the bottom all these strange customs, and learn the reason thereof."

YUSEF.—"Now, verily, O General, hast thou asked me a question that it is difficult to answer. It is the custom of the country, and, to the best of my belief, has been the custom for many centuries past."

GENERAL—"But the custom is absurd, and ought to be abandoned at once. Don't you think so?"

YUSEF.—"Again, that question is a poser. I have never considered it in the light of an absurd custom, having been used to these things from infancy. To me, it seems exceedingly strange that the women of America don't cover their faces."

GENERAL (somewhat nettled).--"Why so, pray? They're not ashamed of their faces: why should they cover them?"

YUSEF.—"Pardon me! I only meant that to my uneducated and untraveled eyes, it looks a little indiscreet. Beauty, 0 General, is a rare and precious jewel: it doesn't do to show it too often."

GENERAL.—"But what use is it if it be hidden under a mask, and never seen at all except by the lady's husband? Every husband admires the beauty of his wife when other people admire it. If other people don't admire it, what incitement is there for admiration on his part ? He must get accustomed to it, in a month or two, just as the shepherd who lives on the mountain-top gets accustomed to the beauty of the scenery. To cover a woman's face up, is what we call hiding a light under a bushel."

YUSEF—"Thus we regard as the philosophy of the thing: Every pretty woman is vain of her charms. It is the weakness of the sex. If we don't keep a sharp look-out, she'll cast them forth as snares to entrap mankind. That's woman’s nature; when she's admired. Now, we hold that a wife has no right to cast snares upon any body but her husband." (I quite agreed with Yusef in this; and involuntarily thought of his strange dream concerning the lion.) "Hence, not being restrained by reason, because of her vanity, she must be restrained by masks, and sometimes by bolts and bars."

GENERAL.—"True, very true, Yusef. I must confess that there is some foundation for your argument. There are extreme cases when bolts may be necessary.

YUSEF—"It stands to reason, sir ; it arises from the love of flattery, which is the great weakness of woman. Have you no customs in your country, sir, equally strange and incomprehensible at first sight?."

GENERAL.—"No, Yusef; thank heaven, we are clear of all such absurdities as this. Our most fashionable ladies not only keep their faces uncovered in public, but frequently appear in ball-rooms and opera-houses, with scarcely more than a piece of gauze above the waist."

GENERAL.--"By no means. Those who desire to be distinguished in the world of fashion, never feel ashamed of any thing that is fashionable. They take great pride and pleasure in making the exhibition. It shows a consciousness of purity; because, if they were not certain that they could resist the effects of this display, of course they would not make it on any account."

YUSEF (with flashing eyes).—"I'd like to live there! Above all things, I'd like that--in another people. Most wonderful are the diversities of custom. An Arab woman would be disgraced were she to adopt such a fashion."

GENERAL.--"Of course; that results from the benighted condition of the female sex in your country. Your people are behind the times, Yusef. As civilization progresses, we cast aside all these barbarous prejudices. We approximate toward first principles. There was a time, even in our country, when a lady could not display her charms in public; but of late years we have become fashionable tourists. We go to Europe every summer, and import the latest improvements in fashion and morals. No female now is considered worthy to mingle in the most stylish society, until she is up to the Parisian standard. We dance by Paris--dress by Paris--eat by Paris--drink by Paris--and I rather think the most fashionable of us will soon sleep by Paris."

YUSEF.--"Inshalla! where is all this to stop--especially in the matter of dress?"

GENERAL (a little confused).—"Where is it to stop? Oh, that I can't tell you. Perhaps it won't stop at all till we reach that primitive state of simplicity from which we originally fell. The Parisians are an extremely natural people, in some respects--not at all restrained in social life."

YUSEF (with a sigh).--"It must be a Paradise upon earth. But, then, I am told, that no man is entitled to more than one wife, by law. Can he send her home, or sell her, as we do, when he sees another more beautiful?"

GENERAL (smiling).--"No, Yusef; he can't sell her, but he can get a divorce. If he be rich, he can buy it without much trouble; and if he be poor, he can get drunk and maltreat her, and then swear she is not a good and true wife; so that the law, which is very sagacious in these matters, perceiving that there are faults on both sides, and that the parties can never live happily together, grants a divorce."

YUSEF.—"A most admirable law! But, yet, it seems to me, it would be better to have several wives. Woman is an evil at best indeed, I may say, the root of all evil. Now, your excellency knows that by mixing two or more poisons together, a very harmless beverage may be produced. We consider that if a man be afflicted with a quarrelsome wife, who poisons his happiness, the best thing he can do is to get some more poison, and mix the two together; if two poisons won't answer, he should mix an additional number in the same way. The remedy is certain to effect a cure. When a woman has two or three fellow-wives to quarrel with, she can't spare much time to quarrel with her husband. Let a man act discreetly, and profess to love one a little better than another whom he originally professed to love best, and there will soon be a very lively state of hostility between the ladies of his household. While they are fighting, he can take it easy, and smoke the pipe of peace. That, sir, is the philosophy of combining evils: curing a wound by making another; the true principle of counter-irritation."

Somehow, it was useless to argue with Yusef. He always got the better of me; and this naturally excited my indignation. I, therefore, decided the matter by telling him it was useless to talk such nonsense to me; that the Arabs were a very wicked and ignorant race at beat, and he was the more to blame for entertaining such monstrous doctrines, as he had enjoyed the advantages of intercourse with a more enlightened people.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE GREEK BISHOP.

BEFORE leaving Baalbek I went to the Greek convent to have a social chat with the patriarch, who was represented to be a very hospitable and intelligent man. It is situated down toward the lower part of the town, not far from the Temple of Santa Barbara. The entrance is through a dilapidated court-yard, which serves as a sort of caravanserai for camels and mules; and the convent is little better than the rest of the hovels around it, except that it is larger and higher. There is a church attached to it of ancient and ruinous appearance, with a few tawdry ornaments and miserable pictures in the interior. A Greek monk, who acted as our cicerone, told us that this church contained the most valuable relic of any church in Syria; that it was not commonly exhibited to strangers, but he would take the liberty of showing it to our excellencies. Having thus excited our curiosity, he proceeded, with great caution and solemnity to draw back some small black curtains that covered a hole in the wall, and by degrees revealed to us the hole, which was cased around with a black frame and covered with a pane of glass; but I candidly confess I could see nothing in it, nor could I, after the most persevering inquiries all round, ascertain that any body else had seen any thing, or that there was any thing there to be seen. It was a good deal like some of the wonderful things one is called upon to admire now and then in Italy--you go a great way to see them, and are expected to be in raptures, but for your life you can't find out what all the talk is about; there is nothing to be seen. We paid a piastre, however, for the information, and I would recommend all travelers who go to Baalbek to do likewise; they may see something, probably a bone of the ass that Baalam rode, or a reflected image of the face, with its full complement of ears.

The reception room of the convent was furnished in the Turkish fashion, with a low platform extending round the walls on three sides, upon which were spread rugs of every variety of color. There were no chairs, nor any other furniture except a few bad prints, and a good supply of chiboucks hung up around the walls. It was a great nuisance to be obliged to take off our shoes, as on all occasions, no matter how many houses we went into, how dirty they were, or how cold it was: whether there were rugs on the ground, or mats, or, what was most common, puddles of mud, our dragoman protested that if we kept on our shoes it would be a mortal offense to the inmates of the house. I was often disposed to rebel against this insane practice; but you know when one is in Rome he must be romantic; when one is in Syria he must bear with serious inconveniences, not the least of which is keeping up a good understanding with the natives by keeping the feet bare.

The bishop, a venerable man, with a beard of patriarchal length, received us with great kindness and cordiality. He said it was seldom he had the pleasure of meeting American travelers there, and regretted that we had not taken up our quarters in the convent. While we were talking, coffee and chiboucks were brought in by a domestic, and gracefully presented to us in the Oriental style. As it is characteristic of the East, I may as well tell you the manner in which one is honored on paying a visit. You enter the room, furnished, as above stated, with rugs all round, make your bow, and are politely motioned to a seat; that is, to a seat on the floor. If you can do it, you squat down as much like a tailor as possible; if you, can't, you stretch out both legs and get your back against the wall. Do let me persuade you to try it, if you want to know how odd it feels. The form of salutation depends pretty much on the relative rank of each party. Where there is not much ceremony it is merely a bow and the hand is placed over the breast; where the civility is intended to be very marked, as in the native form, the visitor makes a dive at the hem of the host's garment as if he would catch it up and kiss it; but the host, perceiving the intended honor, dives down at the same moment to prevent it, and, as if by accident catches the hand of his guest and helps him up with it part of the way; when each touches his breast, mouth, and forehead with his own hand; sometimes repeating the dive, but this is only when a man is electioneering for some office, or calls to borrow a few hundred piasters, in which case he dives down a great many times.

Supposing you to be seated now, a servant enters, bearing a tray, upon which are several cups of coffee about the size of egg-cups, and these are handed round and presented with a graceful bow to each visitor. The coffee is as thick as chocolate, and at first it may lodge in your throat, but after a while one learns to like it. Chiboucks are then brought. The stems are about six feet in length, and the bowl being placed on the ground in a little brass pan at the proper distance, the mouthpiece is whirled around dextrously by the domestic, who calculates the distance so nicely that he brings it within the sixteenth of an inch of its destination. The smoking begins, and if you have good Djebel or Latakia tobacco, it is, as my friend the English captain says, quite stunning. Conversation goes on between the whiffs, and is as lively as such conversation can be where one naturally thinks in English, communicates his ideas to his dragoman in Italian or French, has them translated into Turkish, Arabic, or Greek, and learns the result in about ten minutes from the time of starting. I often, after a good deal of difficulty, got out a joke and made my interpreter understand the full bearings of it; when he would set to work, jabbering in some horrible unknown tongue, taking so long to tell it that the whole thing would quite escape my memory, and it was only in about a quarter of an hour after, that an explosion of laughter would startle me out of my cloud of smoke; for a joke is never so stale or so trifling as not to cause a laugh in the East. As I made it a point, however never to talk French or Italian to Yusef where there was a probability of these languages being understood (by which means I passed for rather a learned man), he translated from English in the present case. The worthy patriarch felt a good deal interested in the fact, usually announced by Yusef in terms of great pomposity, that I had traveled a long way, and had been in California. The old gentleman had heard some fabulous accounts of California, and, after some exclamations of wonder at seeing before him a live person from that strange land, he delivered himself as follows: "It is a wonderful country, I know; thousands of miles off; away at the other side of London. They dig up whole mountains of gold there, and catch fish without eyes. God Almighty kills them because they are wicked; also food is scarce. The sun is very hot; there is great thirst; like wise men burrow holes in the ground the same as rats. Oh, I don't want to go to California. It is a bad country. Better stay here in Baalbek and praise God." I thought so too, and desired Yusef to tell his Reverence that it would be better for him not to go to California, if he had any notion that way; in fact, that he would do much better reclaiming benighted Arabs in Baalbek than digging for gold on the banks of the Sacramento, and would find a more fertile harvest in his own professional line.

We had further conversation on various topics, after which, with many kind wishes, the patriarch bid us good-by, and wished us a pleasant tour through Syria; expressing at the same time his regret that we had not found it convenient to come at once to the convent instead of going to a native house.

I went down again during the forenoon to the ruins, and made a sketch of the Temple of the Sun and a general view of the whole of Baalbek. Near the main ruin is a very beautiful little Temple, which I omitted to mention before, built chiefly, of marble, and very highly decorated. It reminded me a good deal of the Temple of the Winds at Athens. The form is octagonal, and there is a portico all round, supported by eight Corinthian columns, between which in the niches are the remains of pedestals upon which formerly stood statues. The Greek priests suppose this to be the tower of Santa Barbara. By some travelers it is compared to the Temple of Janus at Rome. Two little streams of water run through the town, one of which passes under this temple.

One of the most remarkable ruins in Baalbek is that of the ancient mosque, in which is seen the tomb of Saladin. I had some doubts as to this being the ruin of a mosque; but, in the absence of any better information than that of our dragoman, had to take it as such. There is a high wall, inclosing a space of some hundreds of yards square, in which are rows of vast arches, sustained by pillars, covering the entire interior. Looking through underneath it has the appearance of a perfect forest of pillars. Near the entrance is a little tomb, built of rough stone, apparently of Saracenic construction, upon one end of which is an inscription in Arabic. This is said to be the tomb of the famous Saladin, the conqueror of the Christian hosts on the fields of Hatin and of Esdraelon. I did not read the inscription; so I am unable to tell you what it means.

There are some few objects of interest in the way of ruined walls and arches, containing patches of the antique, scattered about through the town and the neighborhood, all of which we thoroughly examined; but they are so much like any other ruins that the interest depends mainly upon their being in Baalbek, where every body can not go to see them, as in Rome or Athens.

Tired of rambling about, I sat down on an eminence overlooking the, ruins, and began to think seriously and soberly of all that I had seen, and to divest myself of the first enthusiastic impressions, so as to arrive at some reasonable idea of what Baalbek must have been in the days of its glory. Sober second thought is a good deal like a written contract; it brings both parties (the imagination and the judgment) to a proper understanding, and leaves no room for visionary speculation or loose interpretation.

That Baalbek was a city abounding in fine edifices is sufficiently apparent from the magnificence of its ruins. One can not but deplore the desolation of those splendid temples, and the loss of the many works of art buried there, which must have been some of the choicest of ancient times; and while there is so much left to admire it is not improbable that, in the lapse of centuries, there may have been much destroyed equally worthy of admiration. But that Baalbek ever was a very extensive or very important city is not, I think, rendered probable by any evidence now existing. The foundations of the ancient walls, which can be clearly traced, embrace but a small area of ground, certainly not sufficient for a very large city; and its position, shut in among the mountains of Lebanon, two days distant from any seaport, and not on the usually traveled route from the interior cities of Asia Minor, indicates that it was not supported by commerce. It is also probable that the Temple of the Sun and the Palace were the most important of all the public edifices; and that the streets were narrow and badly paved, without side walks, as in all the cities of the East, and the residences of ordinary construction; because even a small city could not be embraced in so limited a space with any thing like fine streets or large houses. If the implements of agriculture were not a good deal better than any that exist in Syria at the present day (and it is said they are about the same as were used in scriptural times), the plain of Bukaa must have been more indebted to Nature than to the cultivation of man for its reputed fertility. Probably there were more trees on it, and some gardens and vineyards for the supply of the town. The inhabitants must have lived on something, and it is not likely they had much else to eat except what they produced on this plain. But there is no evidence of a luxurious style of living. If ever there were carriages, they must have traveled in the air, with mules or horses at each end, as they do now; for there is nothing to show that there were roads fit for wheeled vehicles to run on. Sometimes a piece of an old Roman road is seen along the coast, and poor enough it must have been in its best days; but I could discover nothing of the kind about Baalbek. I think the inhabitants of the glorious City of the Sun rode on donkeys. At all events, donkeys must have been convenient in climbing through the streets, unless the style of paving was a good deal better than any thing done throughout the East in modern times, of which there is no evidence in the specimens that remain.

In sober truth, the more I thought about Baalbek as it was, the more I became impressed with the idea that we are apt to magnify the grandeur of every thing ancient, and encourage false impressions by feeding the mind with the poetry of the past. There was as much reality then as there is at present; men were human and all their works were human; and the ruins of those works derive much of their effect from the lapse of time. To an imaginative mind a broken column is more beautiful covered with the mould of ages, than one of precisely the same form, new and complete. There must have been a time when those works were new, and when contemporary architects and critics held the same opinion of them, compared with something more antique, as we do now of what is done in our day, compared with what was done then. The enchantment that distance lends is lent to all these temples and relics of ancient grandeur with a most liberal hand. I saw in Jerusalem a picture of Baalbek rebuilt as it originally stood, beautifully drawn by a competent artist; and, comparing it with drawings of the ruins, I must say that Baalbek in ruins, with a little room for the imagination, is much grander and more imposing than Baalbek, complete as it existed in ages past, with nothing beyond mere reality to look to.

But it will not do to indulge in this train of thought. Strip the past of all its romance, and there is little left to write about. What reader will be satisfied with plain facts? what reader will be satisfied with the simple unadorned truth except the few that I hope to honor me with a perusal of these pages? and it is only to that rare but enlightened class that I dare to address such unpopular views.

In my rambles about the village of Baalbek I was struck with the beauty of the children, and the extreme youthfulness of some of the Arab mothers. I saw several young females, not more than twelve or fourteen years of age, with babies in their arms, evidently their own; and I was told that this is quite common throughout Syria. Many of the women are very beautiful--much more so, I think, than either the Circassian or the Turkish women. It was quite enchanting, their fine complexions, dark eyebrows, and flashing eyes; and for regularity and delicacy of features I have seldom seen them equaled, except in other parts of Syria. In Nazareth I saw some of the best formed and most beautiful women I had ever seen in any country; I believe it is noted as much for the beauty of its female population among tourists as for its historical interest; but at no place did I see what I really thought approached the perfection of beauty in so high a degree as in Bethlehem. The women of Bethlehem are absolutely bewitching. I never saw such perfect profiles, such eyes and eyebrows, and such delicate little hands and feet. Not that I mean to say that they are at all to be compared in all the higher attributes of beauty to our own fair country women, for that would be sacrilege. There is nothing in the East, or in Europe either, or any where else that I have ever visited, to compare with the ladies of Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington. Talk of Parisian beauties! Lively and vivacious they are, to be sure; but not dignified, not queenly, not gentle and modest. Talk of English beauties! Grand enough and fair, but not graceful. Italian beauties; dark, dull, and greasy. German, fat and florid; Turkish, tallowy and buttery; all well enough in their way; but,