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From Blackwood's Magazine. SKETCHES FROM EASTERN TRAVEL.

XIII.

THE SYRIAN DESERT, FROM DAMASCUS

TO KARYATEN.

every stone, every lizard, every every. thing!"

"He is a very uncanny personage!" exclaims Philippa-"never speaking a word, but every now and then suddenly breaking into a hoarse, quiet, cackling laugh, for no reason whatever."

IT is the first of May. Behold our travellers bidding a last farewell to Damascus, "He is evidently not used to Eurowith its shady gardens and cool, clear peans," says the sister. "I suppose he streams of water, its crowded bazaars (re-is greatly amused at our outlandish ways." splendent with rich silken stuffs of all the colors of the rainbow, and more especially stocked to overflowing with an endless variety of delectable sweetmeats), and lastly its pale-faced inhabitants, richly robed, but sad of countenance through this moon of Ramadan, fasting from dawn to sunset, and feasting by night. Behold the familiar cavalcade threading its way through those same bazaars narrow streets which scarcely allow room for the riders to pass between the "shops on each side, so that the horses have to pick their way among the goods set out for sale.

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At last the city is left behind, and through its belt of shady gardens the procession winds on to the open plain beyond. The travellers present a more picturesque appearance than hitherto, for (rightly judging that no amount of muslin puggarees will avail against the power of desert suns) they have provided themselves with huge kefiyehs of gorgeous Damascus silks, which, bound round their hats, shade the eyes, and fall over the shoulders in protecting folds. The cavalcade is now headed by the stately figure of Sheikh Nasr ibn Abdullah, his dark eyes sparkling as he feels his steed bound beneath him, and scents afar off the air of the desert. Truly it is a goodly sight to see the dark-robed sheikh galloping across the plain, sometimes (with one hand on his horse's mane) bending to the ground, and, without drawing rein, picking some flower which he gravely presents to one or other of the ladies. And whithersoever goes the son of Abdullah thither follows him Sheikh 'Ali, his cousin and attendant. Pronounce not his name, good reader, without due attention to the apostrophe. It symbolizes an Arabic consonant which the sister explains to represent the sound heard between two consecutive bleats of a camel. "So now you know how to pronounce his name," says she; "but for my part I shall call him the Man with the Eyes. His face is so muffled up that nothing but his eyes is visible, and such quick, penetrating, observant eyes I never beheld in my life. He notices every blade of grass,

Quietly and swiftly the bright hours slip away. The chief event of the day is that, at different points on the line of march, the cavalcade encounters three huge droves of camels, the smallest of which contains sixty at least. They are in the charge of a few Bedouin folk who have brought them across the desert from Bagdad, intending to sell them in Damascus. Many of the camels are quite young, and most of them seem very wild - at least so thinks the trembling Sebaste when they crowd up to her, showing their teeth, and craning forward their ostrich-like necks as though debating whether to peck first herself or her beloved steed.

The plain is crossed in a north-easterly direction, the travellers ascend the slopes of its bounding chain of hills, and, in the afternoon, descend the other side to the plain beyond, where they camp outside the village of Muadameyeh. Gathered round the supper-table in the sitting-tent after dark, the wanderers indulge in wild conjectures about the unknown regions on which they are entering.

"What is the name of our next camping-place, Cæsar?" asks the father, as the young dragoman appears with a dish of dried dates.

"To-morrow, sir," is the answer, "we shall not gamb at no blace. We shall be in the wilderness."

Accordingly, in the course of next day's march our travellers find themselves at last in the Syrian desert. It is a perfectly level plain, bounded to north and south by two ranges of bare hills. At first the breadth of the plain from range to range is only a very few miles, but day by day, as the travellers advance eastward, the plain grows broader and broader, an ocean of bluish green. Yes, really green, for (though at a later season the sandy ground is parched and bare) at this time of year it is more or less covered with tufts of outlandish desert weeds with strange aromatic scents, and sometimes the plain is gay with wild flowers. Otherwise there is no vegetation whatever not so much as the ghost of a tree or shrub over all the level plain, which stretches away and

as she brings her horse alongside of her sister's, "when we get home, I think I shall publish a pamphlet entitled 'The World, a Mirage,' proving that what we call the Universe. that is, the subjective side of material nature-is as different from the objective reality as is that lake we saw just now from the quivering par ticles of heated air which caused the delusion!"

away to right and left toward the rocky hills, and eastward is unbroken to the utmost horizon. Oh, the delight of a gal lop over those level tracts of desert! Ladylike canterings do very well for the confined plains of inhabited countries, but when you have hundreds of miles of desert before you, then is the time to let your horse start off with a bound and rush like the wind over the vanishing plain, away and away toward the changeless horizon. Only Abu Hassan (wretch that he is!) has a notion that horses with eight hours' "Sophia!" exclaims Sebaste reproachwork before them ought not to gallop fully, "have you no sympathy for the exmuch in the broiling sunshine and Ca-alted imaginings of philosophic minds? sar countenances him! Philippa, dear, you will listen to me?"

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"Eh?" says Sophia absently; "did you speak?"

Sebaste subsides.

The morning start from the desert camp Not if it's about Subjective and Obis generally an early one. Sometimes jective, as it always is, Sebaste!" says breakfast is over, the tents and their furni- Philippa severely. "I have told you be ture have been packed up, and the caval- fore that I consider that division to be cade is on the move before six o'clock. merely a conventional way of speaking, This ensures three hours of reasonably conveying, to my mind, very little meancool riding. Wonderful are the tendering indeed!" colors of the shadowy distance, gleaming in the first rays of the sun. All around the When midday comes the travellers no desert creatures are stirring: bright-eyed longer look about for shade, knowing that jerboas, furry and soft and brown, dart out that commodity does not grow in the of their holes to look at you; terrified liz-desert, but alight in the midst of the endards with upturned tails scurry hither and less plain, holding fast their horses while thither between your horse's hoofs; huge the Syrian folk are busy pitching the now yellow locusts flit and swim through the indispensable luncheon-tent. Then, when clear, fresh air; a lark is singing over- the Syrians are at liberty, the travellers head; even that venomous old snake (the creep under its delicious shade, and conwhich approach at your peril!) is enjoying tentedly watch the preparations for the his morning exercise of twisting and coil- midday meal. Cæsar delicately carves ing and gliding about the tufts of desert the fowl in true Arab fashion (be not overweed. shocked, fastidious reader!) with "the knife and fork that heaven gave him;" and from out the magic saddle-bags of Abu Hassan appear lemons, oranges, dates, dried figs, raisins, and so forth sumptuous feast in the midst of the desert.

On ride the travellers, gaily conversing through the early hours of coolness. But about nine o'clock the heat comes upon them suddenly, irresistibly. The morning breeze drops to a perfect stillness, there is no sound but that of the horses' hoofs on the hot ground, conversation dies away, and the riders go on and on in silence, their heads muffled in their silk kefiyehs, - not oppressed by the heat, but quietly enjoying the glowing atmosphere.

Then do the desert fairies begin their freaks; and, as you ride on over the endless plain, suddenly you see before you a cool, still lake of shining water, dotted with islands, and reflecting its rocky shores and headlands. It is all so perfectly clear and natural that your eyes, dazzled by the hot sunshine, rest with delight on the cool, clear water. But presently, alas! the lake begins to dry up, contracting at every forward step, till all before you is once more desert-unending desert.

"Sophia," says Sebaste confidentially,

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Luncheon over, while the baggage passes out of sight on its way to the camping-place, there ensues a delicious hour or more of quiescence. Space is limited in the tent, wherefore Irene and the father generally retire to their respective palanquins, where Irene studies the guidebook with indefatigable diligence (though scanty, indeed, is the intelligence to be extracted therefrom concerning these outlandish regions); while the father instructs Hassan, who reclines on the ground on the shady side of his palanquin, in the English cardinal numerals. The father is never weary of extolling the marvellous quickness of his young Arab pupil, who at the beginning of the journey knew not one word of English, but who now, starting at one, goes on almost unprompted all

the way up to a hundred, which, when he has reached, he bounds into the air in irrepressible triumph, exclaiming, "Hassan no Arab! Hassan English!!

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The sister is exhausted with the heat, and Sophia hovers about her arranging a couch of rugs for her to rest on; Sebaste, reclining at ease with her head on Elizabeth's lap, observes meditatively, "What a place is the desert for metaphysical research - for pursuing the study of scientific ontology!" and falls asleep on the spot. But Philippa-strong-minded, uncompromising Philippa-is rummaging in her Arab saddle-bags for an ink-bottle, and, sitting upright on her rug, she heroically labors at the family journal. Here is an extract from the productions of her indefatigable pen :

"We are now really in the desert, and are much surprised to find how beautiful the Syrian desert is at any rate at this time of year, when the rains have only just ceased. On our first day of deserttravelling we were much impressed by the loneliness of the endless plain, over which we travelled on hour after hour without seeing a single human being except our own people. There was no water to be had all the day, though there are many dry water-courses, which we suppose to have been made by the winter rains. The men were always on the lookout in case some pool might still be left; but all water had been sucked up by the sun long since. The mountains on either side of the plain are beautiful, though not very high; the plain here is from four to five miles wide, and we have been coming through the midst of it, about equally distant from the mountains on either side. The view ahead of us is perhaps the most beautiful, being perfectly flat, and stretching away, as it seems, to such an infinite distance, that even the most prosaic and unimaginative person is roused up, and begins to wonder what there can be, or what there may not be, in that mysterious country, so full of beautiful tints and shadows. About midday we pitched our lunch-tent on the greenest spot we saw near us, and very glad were we of its shelter from the broiling sun. We had brought water sufficient for ourselves; but the poor horses and mules had to do without, and stood about rather disconsolately, trying to get into each other's shadow. In the afternoon we espied, at some distance on our left, one or two Bedouin tents, and nearer to us was the flock of black sheep and goats belonging to them. Led by the sheikh, we cantered up to them; and Cæsar, pro

ducing a little silver bowl of Damascus workmanship, we had a drink all round of sheep's and goat's milk, which was most refreshing. It was comical to see our quiet, dignified Sheikh Nasr running after and capturing a goat with much agility. The poor Bedouin goat-herd was very obliging, and willing to give us travellers as much milk as we liked. The father gave him a Turkish bischlik, which is equal to about half a franc. He was overjoyed at this, and said to the sheikh in Arabic that he should go and tell his people how much the English governor' had been kind enough to give him."

"Wake up, Sebby!" exclaims Philippa, shutting her ink-bottle; "Abu Hassan says it is time to start."

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My name is Sebaste, and has three syllables, if you please," says that young lady, with dignity. "You know, Philippa, that I object on principle to the hashing up of Christian names in that way! And I wasn't asleep, either."

"Why don't you ever help with the family journal, then?" retorts Philippa.

Meanwhile every one has, as Sophia elegantly expresses it, "woken up," the horses are saddled, the palanquins are hoisted up between the much-enduring mules, the tent is packed up, and onward once more fare the travellers. Followed closely by 'Ali, Sheikh Nasr leads the way, as usual in silence, except that sometimes the wild, plaintive note of a Bedouin chant breaks sweetly on the stillness of the hot air. After perhaps an hour's rid ing, the Man with the Eyes points forward across the boundless plain. The sheikh, with those eagle eyes of his which well befit his name of Nasr, follows the direction of 'Ali's hand, and sees also what_to the rest of the travellers is invisible. But presently, as they ride on, there appears, miles and miles away on the eastern horizon, a tiny white speck scarcely discernible on the wide, wide ocean of green. Then onward and onward fare the travellers, while that white point seems to recede before them till they begin to think that the fairies are at their tricks again. Sometimes (when the white speck is on slightly rising ground) it is full two hours before it is reached, but slowly, slowly it grows and grows, until at last it develops into the tents, the welcome tents.

Such are the days of desert travel. Our wanderers, having started from Damascus on Thursday morning, reach, at the end of Saturday's march, the village of Karyatên, - a strange little town islanded far away in the vast plains of the desert. But the

description thereof shall be left for another travellers that he has himself witnessed chapter.

XIV.

KARYATEN AND THE KASR EL HER.

We left our travellers still advancing over the waveless desert-ocean toward the island-town of Karyatên, where live, surrounded on all sides by the desert, fifteen hundred souls, of whom five hundred are Christians. As the cavalcade reaches the outskirts of the village, there comes forth to meet it the venerable figure of a Christian priest-long-bearded and black-robed, his head surmounted by a tall, black headdress. His face beams with a kindly smile of welcome, and having greeted the travellers with the usual sign, he silently walks before, showing the way to their tents, which have been pitched on the flat, open space constituting the village threshing-floor.

Next day is Sunday, and, as usual when there is no English service to be attended, the father reads morning prayer and litany in the sitting-tent, the interior of which attains this day a temperature of 96° Fahrenheit. In the course of the morning the priest reappears. Leaving his shoes outside the tent (a pretty instance of Eastern politeness), he enters barefoot and kindly greets each of the travellers. He knows no European language, not even Greek, but a conversation is carried on through Cæsar and the sister, the only members of the party acquainted with both Arabic and English. It seems that he is called Hur Ibrahim, that he is very poor, and that he is a priest of the people known as the "Greek Catholic" Church -not that there is, in fact, anything more Catholic about them than about any other orthodox Churchmen, Greek, English, or otherwise, but that they acknowledge the supremacy of the pope and conform to some distinctively Roman uses. Presently Hur Ibrahim asks permission to depart, and, as the travellers rise to take leave of him, he removes his tall headdress, and looking upward, whispers a prayer over them and gives them his blessing. Finally he leaves the tent, promising to return in the afternoon and show them the way to the renowned tomb of Mar Ely ân. Who this saint was I know not, but it is said that miraculous cures are still constantly wrought at his tomb, especially on mad persons. The sufferer is chained up at night in the little church which contains the tomb, and in the morning is found perfectly well. Hur Ibrahim assures the

many of these miraculous healings, and no one who watches his face can doubt his perfect sincerity.*

On their return from the tomb he takes the travellers to see his church, and then brings them into his own house. They enter a room furnished with carpets, and cushions laid round by the walls, and are most kindly received by the ladies of the priest's household -i.e., his wife and the wives of his sons, who salute their guests by kissing their hands and pressing them to their own foreheads. The sister, who is experienced in Oriental customs, says that it is “manners " to snatch away one's hand at once without allowing this ceremony to be completed. The guests (including various friends of the priest) then sit round the room on the carpets, and are sprinkled with rose-leaves by way of further welcome, after which coffee is served in Oriental fashion by the priest's eldest son.

In the evening the sheikh of the town (who is a Moslem) sends the ladies of his household to call on the travellers. The father is, of course, excluded; and the Arab ladies, with their dark-faced, whiterobed attendant and protector, are received in Irene's tent, where conversation is carried on through the sister, while the visitors contentedly smoke two nargilehs, which they pass from one to the other. It is amusing to see the puzzled looks of the good ladies who have never before set eyes on such a number of single womankind, and their intense curiosity to dis cover what in the world has been done with all the husbands. Meanwhile their hostesses are lost in admiration of the sheikh's beautiful little daughter, who is about thirteen years old and has a charming face, full of sweet and refined intelligence. At last, with many pretty speeches, the visitors take their leave.

"What a satisfactory baby that was which one of the ladies brought!" exclaims Philippa, when they are gone. “I wish all infants could be swaddled up to that absolutely stiff condition, so that one could hold them without any fear of their breaking!"

Next morning, at about six o'clock; our friends again set out on their travels, ride through the narrow fringe of standing corn on the outskirts of the village, and

At the same time it may be right to add that the Eastern mind (so far as one can judge without a knowl edge of the language) seems to be immeasurably less accurate than the Western, so that an Oriental will, without intending to deceive, say many things which are not strictly and literally true.

once more launch forth into the desert. "Did you see those patches of corn?" says the father; "they show that the Syrian desert is really cultivable land wherever there is water. Why should not a canal be cut from the Barada at Damascus and the plain irrigated?"

watch the sunset, a glorious pageant of gold and crimson clouds; and then Sophia and Sebaste wander away and away in the glowing rosy light toward the unattainable horizon. Suddenly, before they are aware, the darkness comes down upon them, the vast dome of the sky is filled with the sparkling stars, and far away a faint, silvery, dawning light shows where the moon will rise, and entices them eastward on and on, and yet a little farther. Fearing to disturb the absolute silence of that venerable solitude, they are talking scarcely above a whisper in that half-metaphoric, wholly inexplicit strain which is little more than thinking in words.

"I wish," exclaims Sebaste suddenly,

Philippa, before whose horrified eyes there arises a vision of the desert neatly laid out in market gardens, hastens to demonstrate that there is a range of hills between, and that, further, the whole of their progress through the desert has been a gradual ascent, and the subject is happily dropped. Presently the riders overtake their six camels, on whose twenty-two water-skins they and their horses will be entirely dependent at the" that we could fall in with some of the next camping-place. As at this time of desert fairies, and persuade two of them year there is water at various places to go back and take our places in the tents, between Damascus and Karyatên, it was so that you and I could plunge farther and thought unnecessary to bring them all the farther into the desert, and wander away way from Damascus, so that this is their and away, and never be missed! Is it not first appearance. They are certainly an oppressive sometimes to feel one's self so acquisition from an artistic point of view, tightly tethered to one's friends? How is and give to the cavalcade a picturesque one to become acquainted with Nature if and distinguished character. one may never be alone with her? And how are we ever to find the clue of that symbolic interpretation of the material world (not fanciful and metaphoric, but intrinsic and essential) which has been lost and forgotten for ages, but none the less must assuredly somewhere exist? But the mind is free-free as the wind to rove through worlds of nameless fancies, through deserts of wild thought

Fully three hours of the day's march remain to be accomplished when the Man with the Eyes points out the Kasr el Hêr, an ancient and ruined tower near which the tents are to be pitched. It stands on a slightly rising ground, and is distinctly visible against the sky. The wanderers will long remember this place as the most beautiful of all their desert campinggrounds. Yet there is no water, and indeed nothing at all on the spot save the solitary ruin, the only remaining fragment of what must once have been a building of some grandeur, for there remains a gateway, nearly buried in the sand, whereon is some beautiful carving. No one seems to know what the building originally was except perhaps those large and outlandish, but sage and meditative birds, who make their nests among the shattered blocks of stone.

To the south the view is bounded by a low chain of mountains, bare and desolate, but beautified by the tender shades of blue and purple which rest on them, always still, yet always changing and melting into one another. "They are as beautiful," exclaims Sebaste, "as the tints on the surface of Plato's ideal world!" But northward the hills have receded, and the desert rolls away in boundless plains of shadowy blue, looking like the sea, but vaster still and more mysteriously beautiful.

After supper the travellers come out to

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"Snakes!" suggests Sophia, with sudden and startling emphasis.

"Well, I don't mean that I would go quite alone!" says Sebaste impatiently; "but I don't think it can be right to keep timidly to the beaten paths forever."

So saying, she turns away, and half
sings, half murmurs, in the silent air, the
vague words of an impromptu song:
The mind, the soul, the spirit, is free
Far over the earth's sweet meadows to flee,
Far over the plains of the billowy sea,
To wander at will with steps untaught
Through wilds and deserts of measureless
thought;

Free, free to soar upward afar out of view,
And to plunge in yon ocean of fathomless

blue.

But venture I will, when my wings are grown!

I dare not, I dare not adventure alone,

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