1858.] Homeward Bound. 13 trees around through which the limpid waters of Pharphar and Abana murmur along, give it a charming situation. The waters of these streams are so clear as to furnish a reason that a natural man of the world, like Naaman, the Syrian, should regard them better for ablution than the muddier waters of the Jordan. "Are not Abana and Pharphar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel." We traveled northward over the hills of Anti-Libanus. Out of its many valleys come brooks lined with tall poplars and narrow strips of vegetation; above all is sterile. These form a large river which dashes and rolls wildly over rocks and strews along its banks rich crops. The second day we reached Baalbeck, famous for its graceful ruins. The temple of Baal is in a tolerable state of preservation. The wall is still entire, and a number of the lofty columns which once surrounded it remain in their places. The style is of the Corinthian order. The foliage carved on the chapters and ceiling around the columns is still very perfect, and shows what progress the ancients had made in the art of sculpture. The remains of a much larger temple adjoining this are equally remarkable. Six lofty columns tower high over the other ruins, with their tops joined by a cornice. They are unsupported at the top and their bases have been chiseled and narrowed away, still they stand in spite of time and war. Several stones in the walls were from 60 to 70 feet in length, and from 8 to 10 feet high. The next morning I found one in the quarry 75 feet long and from 12 to 15 feet high. It was still a part of the solid rock chiseled down to the base. Baalbeck is situated in Colo-Syria, or the valley of the Lebanon. It is well cultivated, but a severe winter has thinned the crops. The following day we rode down through this beautiful valley, through villages marked with industry and thrift-thrift, in an eastern sense. Sometimes 100 ploughmen were busy on 20 or 30 acres of ground, while their women were making manure into cakes and spreading it on the house-tops to dry for fuel. Many streams come from Lebanon, which are skillfully employed to irrigate their lands, all of which pour into the Orontes, which also serves it the grand purpose of irrigation. The valley abounds with an universal variety of wild flowers, among which I noticed with pleasure our own dandelion. The top of Lebanon was still covered with snow which swelled the streams to unusual size. We encamped on the mountain, and the next day crossed it to Beyroot. As we rode towards the top sky-larks poured forth their morning song in their upward flight. Arrived at the summit of a hill, we got the first view of Beyroot 25 miles off, far down, embowered among trees by the sea-side. The Mediterranean looked so blue that its color imperceptibly blended with the sky, so as to make it impossible to see where the sea ended and the sky commenced. The white sails on the distant blue seemed to float skyward. A dense vapor-cloud came sweeping up the mountain-side and rolled around us like a sheet. There are no cedars in this part of Le banon. The only remaining cedars are several days farther north which the large quantity of snow renders inaccessible at present. The path across the mountain here, though a great thoroughfare between Beyroot and Damascus, is almost impassable. It looks as if the weather and wear had had their own way here for centuries. At noon we spread our rug in a khan to rest and refresh ourselves. These khans in the East correspond to our taverns. tainment of travelers. One finds them in all quarters for the enterThe one in which we now were had two apartments. While we were seated on the ground, a fire was burning on a raised hearth in the wall. The smoke worked itself out of doors as best it could, without a chimney. The low ceiling was charred like a smoke house. At length, after crossing many hills, always hoping the next to be the last, over rocks, and steps, and passes, we came to the base, and rode merrily through the shady lawns towards Beyroot. How sweet rest was that night, toil-worn by a long journey, and this last and hardest day. Not because we were tired of tent-life. I felt sad to part with this independent, primitive mode of life. We spent the last night in our tents on Lebanon. With what singular emotion we looked back over a more than two months journey. How the Lord had spread a table of countless mercies in the desert; and then, as at the close of day, we sat at the door of our tents, how we spoke of our homes on earth, and homes in heaven, and thought of Montgomery stanzas: "While in the body pent, Absent from Thee I roam, A days' march nearer home." Then how peaceful and quiet our tent-abode in Palestine and Syria. Well all this we spoke and prayed about that last night in the tent on Lebanon. And then we read and spoke over the 104th Psalm, which speaks of the vapor clouds, and brooks that run down from it and the sea and ships you see from it. But for all this I was glad to reach Beyroot. From Damascus already my heart beat lightly, because we had reached the most Eastern point of our tour, and tacked about westward. And when I heard the puff of the steamer at Beyroot it seemed as if our remaining journey was to be but short. But this charming town of Beyroot is worthy of a word. A large city dispersed among mulberry plantations on a hill rising towards the base of the Lebanon, it is not the least of green spots in Syria. We stopped at a hotel at the southern end, on the sea coast, where we heard the incessant roar of the breaker's dash. Swallows chattered cheerily over our steamer table. From the verandah the city spread out beautifully to view, and the vil lage-dotted Lebanon rose over it in the distance, with green fields smiling down from the hill-tops. This side of the mountain is as well cultivated as the mountains of Switzerland. Wherever there is an accessible spot, however small, that can be cleared of stones, it must bear its few stocks of wheat. A French steamer in the Mediterranean and a tent on the wide plains of the desert are two different things. When we came on board we found the deck peopled with 300 or 400 Mecca pilgrims, while the socalled first-class passengers were packed together, four in a room of 8 feet square. The pilgrims filled the deck with a scene more picturesque than pleasant. In day-time, when each needed but a small spot to stand or sit on, they had room enough. But when they came to recline at night, wedging themselves into all corners, trying to straighten their limbs, without room to do it, there was no little shifting, and many were the complaints and demurrings muttered for want of room. Notwith 1858.] Homeward Bound. 15 standing this throng they found room to perform their devotions. It is remarkable how scrupulous these Moslems are in saying their prayers. They allow no place nor circumstances to interfere with their religion. I have seen the banker spread his coat on his counter when the hour of prayer arrived, and kneel on it and say his prayers; and the sailor would kneel on the prow of his ship and do the same; and the shepherd at even-tide would let his flock wander mid-way home, spread his tunic on the bank of a brook and pray; and at Damascus I have seen them coming out of the bath and performing their devotions before attending to their toilette. This is only confined to the more zealous class. There are many professed Moslems whom one never sees praying outside of the Mosque. Our steamer passed along the coast of Palestine. On our second day we passed in sight of Mount Carmel, and stopped at several houses at Joppa, the Joppa of the Bible. The sea is usually turbulent along here. The boats that came out to us skipped over the billows half-on-ends. The town spreads over a hill, which brings it into clear view from the sea. Around it opens a vast plain, limited by a chain of distant mountains. This harbor of Joppa is almost constantly in a state of uproar. The sea is often so high along here that steamers cannot land their passengers for this port. The "mighty tempest" which overtook Jonah here could make terrible havoc with a sea that is rough enough in its calmest mood. While our ship lay at anchor my imagination saw this fugitive prophet take his departure here. In this harbor he met a ship going to Tarshish, perhaps the Tarsus of Saul. Paid his fare just as people do now when they procure their passage before they start. The harbor was rough and he became sleepy, which a person always does after the first attack of sea sickness, when the bile is stirred up. I have seen scores of passengers fallen asleep on their seats, and some even standing, an hour or two after the boat started. Even our Saviour fell asleep on the Sea of Galilee during a storm. Why? Would it be saying too much that his human body suffered in a measure these unpleasant sensations? It would show that he was really a man. On the sea-side, somewhere along the edge of the water right before us, was the house of Simon the tanner, where Peter lodged when he saw the vision. Two days more brought us to Alexandria, in whose harbor we tarried three days. Three months before, we passed through here. Then the city seemed odd and filthy. Now it looks as familiar as London or New York. It seemed strange to see carriages and other vehicles again. Since we had left Cairo, in Egypt, we had seen no vehicle of any sort, except a single old cart at Jerusalem. We tarried a day at Malta, sailed along the coasts of Sicily, Sardinia and Corsica, and are now on our last day to Marseilles. At Alexandria the debarking of our Moslem pilgrims left us more deck-room, enough to perform all the sullen, ill-humored antics which the sea inspired. Strange deck-scenes we had during those squally days. There we roasted and groaned out our long disgustful days in a sort of a marine limbo. A torpid, pouting, half-cross, half-waking, half-dreaming state, filled with visions of the goodlier things of a better land. Well, a man ought to make life's voyage over some rough seas. The calm will taste the sweeter afterwards. Homeward-bound! Yes, home ward still these wild waves ripple us. We are approaching France, then another ocean is to be crossed, and Columbia's shores will invite us home. "I've wander'd on thro' many a clime where flowers of beauty grow, I cannot tell you, reader, where, precisely, this letter was written. Somewhere from Alexandria to Marseilles-not at any one place. For, on this shifting scene of steamboat life, where one is screwed over the water, whether he sleeps or wakes, eats or writes, it is not easy to give to his date "a local habitation and a name." To make certain I will then give you the Mediterranean as my present habitat, which is large and broad enough to date a letter from, ended this 23rd day of May, 1857. THE GOLDEN YEAR. BY ALFRED TENNYSON. We sleep and wake and sleep, but all things move; The dark earth follows, wheeled in her ellipse; Ah! though the times when some new thought can bud Yet seas that daily gain upon the shore Have ebb and flow conditioning their march, And slow and sure comes up the golden year. When wealth no more shall rest in mounded heaps, In many streams, to fatten lower lands, And light shall spread, and man be liker man, Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens? Fly, happy, happy sails, and bear the Press; But we grow old. Ah! when shall all men's good "There! a woman's work is never done," said Mrs. James; "I thought for once, I was through; but just look at that lamp, now! it will not burn, and I must go and spend half an hour over it." "Don't you wish you had never been married?" said Mr. James, with a good natured laugh. "Yes"-rose to her lips, but was checked by a glance at the group upon the floor, where her husband was stretched out, and two little urchins with sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks, were climbing and tumbling over him, as if they found in this play the very essence of fun. She did say, "I should like the good, without the evil, if I could have it." "You have no evils to endure," replied her husband. That is just all you gentlemen know about it. What would you think, if you could not get an uninterrupted half hour to yourself, from morning till night? I believe you would give up trying to do anything." "There is no need of that; all you want, is system. If you arranged your work systematically, you would find that you could command your time." Well," was the reply, "all I wish is that you could just follow me around for one day, and see what I have to do. If you could reduce it all to system, I think you would show yourself a genius." Mr. When the lamp was trimmed, the conversation was resumed. James had employed the "half-hour," in meditating on this subject. "Wife," said he, as she came in, "I have a plan to propose to you, and I wish you to promise me beforehand, that you will accede to it. It is to be an experiment, I acknowledge, but I wish it to have a fair trial. Now, to please me, will you promise?" Mrs. James hesitated. She felt almost sure that his plan would be quite impracticable, for what does a man know of a woman's work? yet she promised. 'Now I wish you," said he, "to set apart two hours of every day for your own private use. Make a point of going to your room and locking yourself in; and also make up your mind to let the work which is not done, go undone, if it must. Spend this time on just those things which will be most profitable to yourself. I shall bind you to your promise for one month-then, if it has proved a failure, we will devise something else." "When shall I begin?" "To-morrow." The morrow came. Mrs. James had chosen the two hours before dinner as being on the whole, the most convenient and the least liable to interruption. They dined at one o'clock. She wished to finish her morning work, get dressed for the day and enter her room at eleven. Hearty as were her efforts to accomplish this, the hour of eleven |