of the great Temple of Baal. This is perhaps the most beautiful part of the ruins; at a little distance to the north-west is an exquisite small temple in almost perfect preservation, and a few steps from the tent-doors, in the opposite direction, rises a graceful arch enriched with beautifully elaborated sculpture.

As soon as they are rested our friends set forth to explore the great Temple of Baal, the sun-god. There rises before them a huge wall seventy feet high, enclosing a square court of which the side is seven hundred and forty feet long. Part of the wall, having fallen into ruins, has been rebuilt from the ancient materials; but the whole of the north side, with its beautiful pilasters, remains perfect. As the visitors enter the court they stand still in astonishment at the extraordinary sight which meets their eyes; for here, crowded within those four high walls, is the native village of Tadmor. It was natural enough for the Arabs to build their mud-huts within these ready-made fortifications, but the impression produced by such a village in such a place is indescribably strange. The temple, so to speak, is eaten out at the core, and little but the shell remains. But here and there a fluted Corinthian column or group of columns, with entablature still perfect, rises in stately grace far over the wretched huts, the rich, creamy color of the limestone and the beautiful mouldings of the capitals contrasting with the clear blue of the cloudless sky. The best view of the whole is to be obtained from the roof of the naos, which, once beautiful and adorned with sculpture, is now all battered and defaced, and has been metamorphosed into a squalid little mosque. To describe the view from that roof were indeed a hopeless task. High into the clear blue air and the golden sunshine rise the stately columns; crowded and jumbled and heaped together below, untouched by the gladdening sunbeams, unfreshened by the pure, free air, lies all the squalor and wretchedness of an Arab mud-hut village.

Four more delightful days are spent at Palmyra, in wandering about among the graceful ruins, and in growing familiar with what were once the stateliest buildings of that lordly city. After much searching among the widely scattered chaos, they at length discover what is thought to be the doorway of an ancient Jewish synagogue, and there on the lintel and doorpost, according to that ancient command, are inscribed in Hebrew some words from the Law. The sister and So

phia are appealed to for an interpretation thereof, but two words are all that they can decipher.

The ruins of Palmyra swarm with ancient inscriptions, both in Palmyrene (i.e., Aramaic) and in Greek uncials. The Greek inscriptions are the terror of Sophia and Sebaste, who are expected by the rest to decipher them for the general benefit. It is a pathetic sight to see the miserable Sebaste held in position, by moral coercion, before one of them, and given to understand by her inexorable elders that there is no escape for her till she has read it.

The only water to be obtained at Palmyra smells and tastes strongly of sulphur, but one gets used to little details of this kind; and one of the most delectable things in the place is a copious subterranean spring of clear water which is really warm, but which, when the thermometer announces over 90° Fahr. in the shade, seems by contrast deliciously cool. The entrance to the cave has been anciently closed with a roughly built dome, only a narrow space being left as an entrance. The first time the travellers visit this cave, they arrive almost simultaneously with a little procession of Arabesses from the village. A little girl dances in front with very graceful movements, and next comes a tall negress who beats a tambourine with great vigor, and from time to time utters the quavering shriek which, among Arab folk, is an expression of joy. She is the nurse of the two girls who follow, escorted by several others. These two are native brides, and the object of the procession is to bring them on this their wedding day to bathe at the spring. The English ladies beg to be admitted to see this ceremony, and the favor is granted, but not before they have, by request, removed their hats and kefiyehs, that the Arabesses may behold their long hair, and be thereby assured of their femininity.

It is indeed a delightful place for bathing. At a little distance from the entrance the bottom suddenly shelves down, and you find yourself quite out of your depth, and can strike out into the deepening twilight, and swim on and on into the darkness till nothing remains of the glaring sunshine without but a doubtful gleam of daylight far away; and still you may swim on and on, and still the deep stream lengthens out into the gloom and seems to have no end, even as doth this present paper. Ah, good reader, would that thy

patience were inexhaustible! Then would I further tell of break-neck descents into subterranean tombs, and the discovery therein of many ancient sculptures on huge slabs of stone, and many ancient skeletons crumbling into dust at the slightest touch; of the ascent to the medieval castle which (built, saith tradition, by a Druse prince and refugee) stands on the summit of the highest and boldest of the neighboring hills; of the going down into the deep moat thereof; of the final clambering progress up the face of the rock from which the castle towers aloft, and of the marvellous view from the topmost turret. But, alas! even that memorable gallop over the desert to the eastward salt lakes must go uncelebrated and undescribed.

The last evening at Tadmor in the wilderness sinks down into night. The brilliant moonlight illumines the ruins of the ancient city as once its stately and populous youth, and rests calm and peaceful over the long line of the Grand Colonnade, more ethereally beautiful now, maybe, than when fresh and new in Hadrian's days. They are haunted, those forest-like columns, graceful arches, and scattered heaps of fragments; the semblance of a royal lady glides among them with sad but stately step. Weeping over her city's downfall, so like her own, sharing its desolate sorrow as once its pride and glory, flits here and there the mournful ghost of Zenobia, the queen of the East. It is her story which gives so pathetic an interest to these ancient ruins, far away in the lonely eastern deserts, and that haunting shadow which makes it so hard to say, as say we must Farewell to Palmyra.

XVI.

RETURN FROM PALMYRA.

DURING the stay of our friends at Tadmor, many are the suggestive remarks made by the younger members of the party relative to the attractions of Bagdad and the Euphrates, which latter is only four days' journey from their present abode. Unfortunately the elders, being swayed by certain prosaic considerations of no interest to any one, do not respond to these wistful hints; and so it comes to pass that on Monday, May 12th, our wanderers set forth on the return journey to Baalbek. They rise at about four o'clock, and when the sun is up, reluctantly turn their faces westward, feeling convinced that they will never see Palmyra again. It is sad to turn back and retrace one's

steps; it is hard to discover that the path one has been eagerly pursuing is, after all, only a by-way leading off the main road! Wherefore our friends do not start on the day's march in their usual gleeful mood, but ride soberly and silently through the desert plain. Even Hassan has so far forgotten himself as to behave for once like a reasonable being.

On this morning the travellers are accompanied by a charming little sheep (or large lamb) purchased from an Arab at Tadmor. It trots along after them in the most confiding manner, though quite at liberty to bolt into the desert and attempt an escape. In the evening there is a sharp shower of rain (an extraordinary occurrence in these regions), whereupon this small sheep walks into Irene's tent and there reposes on the carpet till the shower is over. Later on it even trots into the sitting-tent during supper; but the father, mindful of certain future repasts, sternly forbids his daughters to make a pet of it. So" Irene's little lamb " is led off by the ear to the tent of that villainous old Abu Elias, the cook, and is seen no more; or, as Sebaste more accurately expresse sit, he appears not again qua sheep.

The most exciting event of this first day's march is the discovery of three large greenish-grey eggs left on the ground at some little distance from one another, and with not the slightest pretence of a nest anywhere near. Cæsar pronounces them to be the eggs of a vulture, and great is the elation of the travellers at the discovery of such a treasure; which elation is much increased when forth from one of the eggs there begins to make itself heard a plaintive chirp, and in its shell is descried a small hole, which is gradually enlarged by a small beak pecking thereat from the inside. Very tenderly does the father carry these treasures to the tents at the White Khan, and there bestow them in a biscuit-tin filled with cotton-wool. Next morning at breakfast the supposed vultureling is found to be subdued and silent, whereupon great anxiety prevails as to his health, and an appeal is made to the sister, who, being a trained nurse, is able to doctor anything, from a camel to an Arab baby. She forthwith gives the patient a warm bath in her teacup, and her efforts are regarded by a grateful little speech (all on one note, and that a squeaky one) through the window of his abode. Moreover, a second egg now begins to show signs of vital activity. It, too, has a voice of its own, and on its surface also a chink can presently be discerned. This

On the Wednesday evening our friends find themselves once more at Karyatên, where Hur Ibrahim kindly welcomes them. The ladies seize this opportunity of returning the call of the sheikh's family, and seeing their friends at home. The sheikh's house is a very extensive one, and the visitors are entertained in a large room furnished with divans, carpets, etc. Mrs. Sheikh herself carries round the rose-sherbet, followed by the pretty daughter before mentioned, who holds a large napkin of very delicate material, on which the visitors are expected to dry their lips. The sister carries on an Arabic conversation with the sheikh, and many polite things are said, which unfortunately are rather lost on the rest of the English visitors.

For the next three days, diverging from the scarcely perceptible track which leads towards Damascus, our friends travel over ground never (says Cæsar) traversed by Europeans, and through places quite unrecognized by guide-books. Even the Cæsar has never been here before, and Sheikh Nasr only once. The last days of desert-travel have now arrived. The Palmyrene excursion has been eminently successful, the only disappointment being that the travellers have not fallen in with any large number of Bedouin folk. Once, indeed, they find themselves not very far from a Bedouin camp, which they might visit by making a detour of two hours or thereabout. Unfortunately this would involve the loss of a day; for whenever the Bedouin see visitors approaching, they instantly kill a sheep, and by no possibility can you bring your call to an end until you have feasted thereupon, which rule of good manners necessitates a certain expenditure of time. Wherefore, to the inconsolable disappointment of some of the party, the Bedouin project is given up. An account of the desert-marches would be incomplete without some description of the devices to which our friends resort in order to enliven the monotony of the long rides. When feeling particularly puerile they propound impromptu riddles, which

At other times the sister charmingly recites ballads for the benefit of the other riders; but perhaps the most acceptable entertainment is that supplied by Cæsar and Sheikh Nasr, when they get up a tournament for the amusement of their English friends, charging one another at full gallop, chasing one another like the wind, wheeling about with astonishing swiftness, and generally displaying very fine horsemanship, sometimes, moreover, making quite intelligible speeches in the language of gesticulation.

"Cæsar would make his fortune on the stage!" exclaims Philippa. "Look at him now, bearing down upon Sheikh Nasr with eyes flashing wrath, and his sword held like a spear above his head!"

Cæsar dashes to the side of the sheikh, and glaring into his face, makes the fol lowing speech without uttering a word.

"Thou and I, O sheikh, are deadly foes. When I meet thee alone, I will seize thee by the throat. I will wring thy neck with my hands, and leave thee dead on the ground!"

As for Sheikh Nasr, he can tell quite a long story in sign-language. Some years ago he made a journey to Odessa to visit by invitation a certain Russian prince, and very interesting is his account of his experiences on shipboard.

"Why, it is the very words of the Psalm!" exclaims Philippa; and in fact the sheikh, though perfectly silent, is clearly speaking on this wise:

"We mounted up to heaven," says he; "we went down again to the depths. The ship reeled to and fro, and staggered like a drunken man; and as for me Here he lays his head down on his horse's neck, and looks as though his soul were indeed melting because of trouble.

Sometimes the sister converses with Sheikh Nasr in Arabic, and in the course of these conversations it is discovered that he is the nephew of that Sheikh Miguel who was married to an English lady of rank. It is also discovered that, for all his gentleness, he thinks very little of making a descent on a hostile camp, taking with him five or six hundred horsemen, and making a clean sweep of all their possessions; and you would believe him, too, if you were to see his fine face lighting up with the "joy of battle," and his dark eyes sparkling and flashing as he remembers these exploits. But he cannot be persuaded to describe them in detail. It is strange, after such an admission, to

see the kindliness and courtesy wherewith, when the cavalcade arrives at the camping-ground, he advances to the father's palanquin, takes him in his arms, and lifts him to the ground, carrying him with the utmost gentleness, and apparently with no effort at all. Then, with stately grace, he will move toward whichever of the ladies is still on horseback, and, si lently laying one hand on her rein, will point with the other to his own shoulder, meaning that she is to lean thereon as she dismounts.

The travellers now find themselves once more in a region of villages, which are interesting in their way, though most of our friends look back with regret to the time when they sometimes travelled all day without seeing a human being except their own people, and camped at night under an unbroken expanse of sky, surrounded on all sides by the vast tracts of the lonely desert. It is exceedingly amusing to arrive at a village where Europeans are an altogether unknown curiosity. Nearly the whole population come forth to witness the arrival, and follow the outlandish creatures to their tent doors, where they stand in mute astonishment watching with wide-open, serious eyes the progress of afternoon tea. By this line of conduct they give to the strangers the best possible opportunity of gazing at them, and the English folk are never weary of admiring their graceful attitudes, picturesque dresses, and (sometimes) very beautiful faces. Children almost always predominate, and very charming children they are, especially the little girls, some of whom are wonderfully handsome. If you leave your tent door open you are sure to have a whole ring of these little Arabesses gathered round it, and watching your movements with the profoundest admiration. Their mothers and grown-up sisters also take a very deep interest in the English ladies and their strange attire, and are never tired of stroking their silk kefiyehs, marvelling at the astonishingly fair hair of some of them, and pitying their sunburnt faces. They are always most anxious to know what relations they are to one another, and it becomes imperatively necessary to learn sufficient Arabic wherewith to explain, with the help of signs, that they are four sisters with their father, and a friend. When asked after their mother, they point to the ground, and are answered by sad faces of intelligent sympathy.

The journey from Palmyra to Baalbek has now been more or less described; but

the present paper having been submitted to the searching criticism of the practicalminded Philippa, she pronounces that "there is no backbone in it." By way of supplying this lamentable defect, we will now conclude with one of her own eminently vertebrate descriptions, extracted from the pages of the family journal:

"On Ascension day (May 15th), leaving Karyatên, we rode across the desert westwards, and in about two hours began to ascend the lower slopes of the mountains bounding it in that direction. A pictur esque little couple on a donkey, a mother and her son (a boy of about thirteen), came with us from Karyatên as far as the first village we reached, in order that they might have the benefit of our protection on the road. Besides themselves, the unfortunate little donkey seemed to be carrying a stock of things for sale, and some household goods into the bargain. El Breij, where we camped that night, looked very picturesque as we approached it, lying as it does near the eastern slope of the Anti-Lebanon. The village seems miserable enough when one gets near, but the people who crowded to see us seemed healthy, and most of them very goodlooking. El Breij is on the way from Damascus to Homs, and a carriage road is actually in process of being made be tween the two cities.

"The next day we had a beautiful ride through mountainous country. Our route lay along a wady which traverses this part of Anti-Lebanon; further on it develops into a splendid gorge, whose rocky, mountainous sides are very grand. About seven hours' ride brought us to Ras Baalbek, a village on the western slopes of the Anti-Lebanon, from whence one looks across the valley to the snowy ridges of Lebanon.

"Next morning we started for Baalbek, and rode all day along the valley, which takes a south-westerly direction. The mountain ranges on either side are very beautiful; there is a good deal of snow even on the lower ridges of the Lebanon, and it has not yet disappeared from the Anti-Lebanon range. We had beautiful views of the Mount Sunin (over eightyfive hundred feet high), and far away in the distance we at last saw Mount Hermon again. A good part of our path lay by the side of a stream which comes from one of the sources of the Orontes, and flows in a northerly direction till, joined by other streams, it forms that river. In this stream we saw a snake of a tawny-brown color swimming at full speed, till, perceiv

ing us, he went to the bottom and lay there, refusing to stir for any amount of stones thrown at him. A handsome tortoise was picked up this morning, and Irene has decided to appropriate him; so we have another travelling companion, whose constitution, it is hoped, will prove tougher than that of the infant bustard.

At last, as we came round the shoulder of a hill, we had a beautiful view of our destination, the ruins of Baalbek." But they must be relegated to the next chapter.

XVII.

BAALBEK AND THE LEBANON.

NOT more than one clear day can be devoted to Baalbek. Our friends visit first the enormous hewn stone (shaped, but not entirely detached) left in the quarry by the ancient Phoenician builders, and intended, apparently, for the unfinished north wall of the platform on which stands the great Temple of Baal. It is 68 feet long, 14 feet 2 inches high, and 13 feet 11 inches broad, containing over thirteen thousand cubic

feet.

As for the ruins of the great temples, although far less extensive than those of Palmyra, they are immeasurably grander, and are the most beautiful ruins ever beheld by our travellers, though not fascinatingly weird and strange, like the more ancient Egyptian temples. The visitors first explore the vaults in some of the massive substructures, which contain Phoenician masonry of unknown antiquity, dating from a period far more remote than that of the classic temples above, built in the days of Antoninus Pius. Emerging from these vaults, they turn to the Temple of the Sun, with its stately colonnade of Corinthian columns sixty-five feet high supporting a sculptured roof of wonderful richness. Then, passing through the beautiful entrance in the eastern face, they stand in bewildered admiration of the profusion of interior sculptures, fragments of which are beautifully preserved.

Next they make their way to the great Temple of Baal, and marvel most of all at the remaining six columns of its immense colonnade. Each column has a circumference of twenty-two feet, and their height (including base and Corinthian capital) is seventy-five feet. They are furthermore crowned by an entablature fourteen feet high, which, with its deep moulding and profusion of sculptured ornament, is said to be hardly surpassed in the world. The capitals and bases are each but a single

block of stone, the mighty shafts are each composed of three blocks, and the entablature, reaching from column to column, of one block. There were originally fifty. four such columns.

To any one standing at the lower level of the Temple of the Sun, it is indescribably impressive to look upward at the stately giants that remain, conspicuous against the clear blue sky, the rich tints of the stone made more resplendent by the golden Syrian sunshine.

After long wandering about the great Temple of Baal, ever discovering fresh fragments of deep mouldings and exquisite sculpture, the travellers walk round on the outside of the exterior walls of the platform on which the temple stands, till they reach the western side. Here the wall rises about fifty feet above the surface of the ground, and contains the three huge stones of world-wide renown. They are each from sixty-three to sixty-four feet long, and in height and thickness thirteen feet. They are raised to a height of twenty feet above the ground. Immediately beneath them is a course of masonry wherein each stone is about thirty feet long and thirteen feet high. The whole of this platform is of unknown antiquity, built probably by the ancient Phoenicians.

Thence they go to visit the beautiful little Temple of Venus, which stands at some distance from the others, but is of the same age and style. Very beautiful it looks, with its rich mouldings lit up by the evening sunshine, and contrasting with the vivid green of the surrounding trees.

Thus ends our travellers' one view of some of the most marvellous ruins in the world. To see them thoroughly in so short a time is a manifest impossibility, but even so superficial an examination leaves a profound impression not to be easily obliterated.

A very sad thing has to be done in the course of this day- viz., saying good-bye to Sheikh Nasr, who is departing for Beyrout. He comes into the sitting-tent, and silently taking the hand of each one of the travellers, kisses his or her right shoulder, and so departs. This leavetaking throws somewhat of a shadow over the day, which should have been an especially merry one, seeing that it is Cæsar's birthday. Returning from the ruins a little before sunset, the travellers find him entertaining quite a crowd of congratulating friends and cousins, who sit round in a ring in front of the sitting-tent, with Cæsar in the middle.

"This lady speaks Greek, Miss Se