of Ba'albek. And yet no landscape of him to examine, at his ease, the pictu- | ancient cedars and to cross into the valley resque scenes, which succeed one another, so as almost to bewilder him. There, as among the Alps, he may travel whole days to arrive at a spot which was in sight when he set out. He turns, he descends, he winds round, he climbs; and under this perpetual change of position, one is ready to think that a magic power is varying at every step the beauties of the landscape. The truth of this lively description we fully experienced on our perilous ascent to el-Mezra'ah. The old sheik of the village received us very cordially, and we passed a comfortable night after the fatigues of the day. Mezra'ah consists of some sixty houses, and appeared to be a thriving place. The steep descent towards Ajelun in the valley of Nahr-Salib is terraced and planted with mulberry trees, silk being the principal produce of the Kesrawan. At two hours' distance from Mezra'ah | lie the interesting ruins generally called Kula'at Fakra, or the castle of Fakra, which we visited next morning. These ruins occupy a most singular site on a barren hill, immediately below the frowning heights of Jebel-Sunnin, in a wilderness of rocks, waterfalls, and perfect solitude. The walls consist of large square blocks, and are in some parts well preserved. We entered on the east into the interior, and found there the ruins of a temple; three bases of columns are still standing on the platform, a few frusta, parts of an Ionic capital, and interesting fragments of the entablature are lying around. Other ruins, in total desolation, are seen outside the castle, or fortified temple. As to the period to which these temple-ruins belong, and their real name, history is silent. Strabo, the geographer, mentions several castles, such as Sinnan and Borrhama, in this part of the higher regions of the Lebanon: perhaps these castle ruins may have belonged to one of them. An ascent of twenty-five minutes brought us to the Issr-el-Bughaleh, or Issr-elHajr, the famous natural bridge of Mount Lebanon. The great distance from the coast, and the fatigue of the rocky roads, must certainly be the cause why this remarkable scenery, the most terrible and romantic of the Lebanon, is so seldom enjoyed by Syrian travellers. Few climb to the snowy regions, except to see the Along a very rough path we followe the course of Nahr-Libnan, and descende to the woody region of Meiruba. L pine-forests covered the sides of th mountains; rocks and water-courses we adorned with large masses of rhododendra or laurel rose, which, by its white and violet flowers and rich foliage, disting st ed itself from the more common FLT oleander in the valleys on the coast. W crossed the deep bed of Nahr-Assil, *** all on a sudden three magnificent w falls burst on our sight. The cascades came thundering down the steep decl from the snowy top of Jebel-Sunnia: spray of the dashing waters rose in a cloud through the wild chasm, and. flected by the meridian rays of the launched a most glorious rainbow h¢ aerial bridge, across the gloomy can be low. A more splendid sight I never s Great are the hardships of the traveller | tempting to enter. They crossed each who in the early months of the year tra- other, got entangled, and occasioned such verses Mount Lebanon; but he is amply a confusion, that it lasted a good while berewarded by a freshness of vegetation, a fore the first lady could disengage herself variety of coloring, of light and shade, a and her horn, and enter the room. The picturesque relief of glittering snows and whole party then came on, one by one; foaming waterfalls, all which he would but sitting down on the cushions spread look for in vain during the later season, out on the floor, they were obliged to pay when the gray, colorless limestone rocks constant attention to the movements of around, and the cloudless burning sky their neighbors, and bring their own horns above, will soon force him to seek a refuge in harmony with theirs. This tantur is the in the mulberry groves of some village or most inconvenient, silly, and unbecoming monastery on the western hills nearer the head-gear I ever saw; but the ladies on coast, and enjoying the refreshing breezes the mountain are exceedingly fond of it, from the sea. At an early hour in the and a prohibition to wear it on the part of afternoon, we arrived at the pretty village the husband, they say, would most seriof Meiruba, pleasantly situated at the foot ously endanger the harmony of the family. of Jebel-Shebruh, high above the deep and narrow Wady-Salib. We alighted at the house of the Sheik Feris-Chassim, who politely offered us accommodations for the night; but the evening being lovely, we preferred to encamp beneath the mulberry trees, which form a fine grove around the village. At Meiruba we saw the first cedars, which only distinguished themselves from other fir-trees by the remarkable length of their branches; they were far inferior to the splendid cedars we a few months later saw at Warwick Castle, and on the lakes of Westmoreland, in England. While Mustapha and the muleteers were pitching the tents, we followed the sheik to his house, on a ledge overlooking the valley, where a most curious scene took place. In all the villages in Syria the houses are stone-built, with flat roofs, and loors so low that the person who enters is obliged to stoop. This custom, said our andlord, had been adopted as a protection against the haughty Turks, who, finding at high door-way, would enter the houses on horseback, and quarter their steeds in the best part of the dwelling. It happened to be a holy day at Meiruba, and the Maronite Christians, men, women, and children, in heir festal dresses, were paying visits or njoying themselves among the trees. The women, particularly, were distinguished by the tantur, a high silver or razen horn, which is attached to the foreead, and covered by a long white veil Langing down at full length behind. We ad hardly been seated, and lighted our argiles, before half a dozen horns all at nce appeared at the low entrance, at Meiruba is surrounded by the wildest mountain scenery of the Kesrawan; the ascent to it is by the worst of roads, and yet it became the battle-ground between the Egyptians and Turks during the war in 1840. The old sheik gave me an animated description of those military movements in a region where a mule can hardly find its way along the precipices. The united Anglo-Austro-Ottoman fleet had disembarked an army of twelve thousand troops, with a numerous artillery, in the bay of Juneh, on the main road leading along the coast from Beirut to Tripolis, and northern Syria. A fortified camp had been thrown up, and a communication opened with the mountaineers of the Lebanon, Druzes, and Maronites, when Ibrahim-Pasha, at the head of eight thousand of his best troops from Zahleh, in the plain of the Buka'a, passed the mountain by the pass of Sunnin, and descended along those horrible paths, so well known to us, by Biskinta and Mezra'ah to Meiruba, where he encamped. From thence he sent off different columns across the deep glen of Nahr-el-Salib towards the coast to reconnoitre the Turkish camp, and take position for a general attack. But on those nearly impassable ridges he was suddenly attacked by several Turkish battalions, led on by daring British officers, and, at the same time, discovered the armed Druze and Maronite mountaineers from the heights in his rear on all sides descending towards Meiruba. The Egyptian troops, therefore, after a short and ineffectual resistance, were forced to abandon their camp and baggage, and in wild dis order, pursued by the light-footed Druzes, to find their way across the heights of Jebel-Sunnin to the main body of the army encamped in the plain of Ba'albek. On the 30th of May, we descended to the coasts of the Mediterranean. We had complained of the former roads in the higher regions of the mountain, and yet this last journey proved the most fatiguing. We were obliged to dismount and to lead the horses by the bridle over rocks, where they hardly found a footing, and every moment seemed in danger of being precipitated into the valley below. From every turn of the path, splendid views of the most varied scenery opened to the interior valleys of the Lebanon. These lower regions were beautifully clothed with wood; laurel, myrtle, arbutus, thymelæa, holmoak, different species of pines, and other evergreens, formed a thick-set forest, above which here and there arose a venerable cedar spreading its dark branches far away over the precipices. In three hours we reached the last mountain terrace overlooking the deep valley of the river Adonis, the Wady-Nahr-Ibrahim, and the distant coast of Jebail. The heat at noon became oppressive. We therefore stopped at the convent Mar-Deina, the only inhabited place we had seen since we left Meiruba in the morning; and, pitching our tents beneath the beautiful trees on the very edge of the rocks above the valley of Adonis, we awaited the breeze in the afternoon springing up from the sea. These woody highlands were in mythology the favorite haunts of Adonis, the hunter, the Phoenician personification of the Sungod, and lover of Astarte, who was killed by the wild boar, and by the sorrowing goddess transformed into a rose. The Greeks afterwards took up this pretty Syrian fable, representing the return of the sun after the autumnal equinox, and the withering approach of winter, and instituted the worship of Adonis at the splendid temple at Byblos. The prospect over the sea from the height of Deir-Mar-Deina is fine, and it increases in beauty as the traveller descends towards the bridge crossing the Adonis, at the base of the mountain. The interior of Lebanon we had found a soli tude; here at once we met with life and movement. On the banks of the river, thickly covered with the fragrant white and blue agnus-castus and purple oleanderthe glorious tri-color of all the valleys of Syria-stood a camp of Turkish cavalry. The Arab horsemen were galloping along the sands, throwing their lances, and wheeling about their rapid and beautiful chargers, in the presence of some gravelooking Turkish officers in European uniforms, smoking their chiboukis before the khan on the bridge of Nahr-Ibrahim. What a picture for an artist! The variegated moving groups on the yellow sands, the sea-green tents with their red streaming bandrols, the high vaulted bridge over the deep glassy river, the wood-clad mountains, and the glittering sea, all illuminated by the soft and mellow hues of a Syrian sky! And yet interesting as is the scenery of Mount Lebanon, we felt extremely happy here on the sandy shore with the foaming surge and the broad horison of the Mediterranean before us, after our toilsome and perilous scrambling among the rocks; nay, even our horses seemed to partake of our delight, and carried us at ful speed along the rocky coast towards the ancient towers of Jebail, which invited us from afar. In an hour and a half we reached the gate, and, saluting the grimlooking Albanian warriors, who formed | the garrison, with their own usual greeting "Besa già besa," (truce be between us.. we passed them unmolested, and dismounted at the Armenian convent. This estab lishment was inhabited by five or s monks, and looked as gloomy and u comfortable as the city of Adonis itsel Jebail is surrounded by walls and towTS which seem to have been built during the crusades with ancient materials. The ca tle has a strong situation on the south of the city, near the coast, and forms massive square, built up with enorm blocks. All the lower courses are en dently the work of antiquity; but upper part is Saracenic, and the w was in a totally dilapidated condition. in the interior is a Gothic Christian ehuna now used as barracks for the Arnaut son. A fine orange grove extends b the castle towards the shore, where the British marines suffered a severe repas in 1840. A squadron having anche off the coast, began to batter the fortressand, meeting with no resistance, a body d marines landed, and marched through the orange garden straight towards the castle, which they supposed evacuated by the enemy. Yet close to the walls, they were suddenly received with a well sustained fire from the long Albanian toufekis, which sent death and destruction into their ranks. The proud red-coats, who had neglected to reconnoitre the environs, now at once perceived the impossibility of scaling those high and strong walls beneath a galling fire from invisible foes. They attempted in vain to rally, and bring up some field-pieces. The stout Albanians continued their terrible fire, and so on forced the British with a heavy loss to make a speedy retreat to their boats. Jebail is the ancient Byblos, which, according to Strabo, lay on a hill at some listance from the sea. Its inhabitants were good mechanics; they particularly excelled in the art of working in wood, and re said to have been employed by the Syrians, and even by the Jews in the buildng of the great temple at Jerusalem. The present town is the seat of poverty nd misery. The harbor is destroyed and overed with ruins; commerce has fled; he bazars are shut up and abandoned, nd the khans and public places are filled ith marauding Albanian soldiery. The w inhabitants mostly live in the fields; hey are Maronite Christians, and cultiate that famous black tobacco so well hown in the Levant by the name of Jebail. is aromatic, of an exceedingly pleasant avor, and inferior only to that of Lataki, aodicea,) a city situated north of Tri›lis. The unsettled state of the northern parts Syria, the sedition in the valley of Kasha, and the military movements along e coast, caused us at present to renounce r visit to the cedars, and next morn, May the 31st, to return to Beirut. We left Jebail at seven o'clock, and after leasant ride of three hours along the ist, we passed the promontory of Klimax, 1 arrived in the fine bay of Juneh. rther south, along blue ridge, studded h white specks, the houses of the dist city of Beirut, reminded us of the limit our Syrian travels. Juneh consists y of a row of magazines and storeises for the export of the silks and protions of Zuk-Mekavil, the thriving little VOL. II. NO. III. NEW SERIES. 17 capital of the Kesrawan, which has a most romantic and beautiful situation on the hills, overlooking the valley of Anturah and the sea. We here left the coast and ascended to Zuk through a grove of high Italian pines. Its Maronite inhabitants pressed around us, and offered us hospitality with an earnestness not often to be met with in this country; the greatest part of them are silk-weavers, saddlers, and shoemakers. Almost every house has a loom. The people here are industrious, intelligent, and in consequence, better dressed and lodged than in other parts of the mountain. The whole region is thickly planted with mulberry trees. The silkworms are kept in separate houses, or bowers, made of branches, and are attended with particular care. Charming as are the views from the hill of Zuk-Mekavil, those from the nunnery of Deir-Sidi-elBsherra are still far superior. A road lined with hedges of prickly pear, and here and there adorned with clusters of majestic pines, leads to the convent lying on a high hill commanding an extensive horizon over sea and land. Deir-el-Bsherra contained at the time of our visit twentyfive nuns. It is a large, solid, square building of hewn freestone, with many small windows carefully closed by Turkish verandahs, and surrounded by gardens, well watered, and filled with fig, lemon, orange, and pomegranate trees. On our arrival, a Maronite clergyman politely bade us welcome, and conducted us to a small neat house on the southern terrace of the convent, where the guests, the mousafirides, are lodged. Coffee and pipes were brought, and in the afternoon a savory dinner was served. It consisted of several dishes, the usual pilau, kapamas, or lamb with tomatoes and onions, boiled fish, fruits, sweetmeats, and some bottles of delicious vino d'oro from the Lebanon. We obtained permission to visit the church and the convent-garden, but did not see any of the Maronite nuns, though we inferred that they were willing to get a look at the fair-haired Anglo-Saxons, as we heard them talking and tittering from behind their wooden kafasi, or Turkish blinds. They are said to be well treated and happy. At certain hours of the day they work in the garden and tend their silkworms. Anturah has been well chosen for a seat of study on account of the seclusion, the salubrity of the climate, and the beauty of its environs. From the terrace of the college, which is shaded with magnificent orange trees, lofty as chestnuts in other countries, and covered with thousands of their golden fruit, we, for the last time, viewed this wonderfully charming scenery of Syria. We here heard of the arrival at Beirut of the Austrian steamer, which. in a day or two, was to take us back to Europe. This obliged us to decline the invitation of the professors to dine with them at college, and after a short visit we mounted our horses for the last ride. Our road lay through groves of pine and chestnut, and extensive vineyards ascend The environs of the convent are terraced, and form one continual mulberry grove. Silk appears to be its principal wealth. The upper terrace commands a magnificent panorama: numerous monasteries and villages are seen crowning the prominent ridges, all separated by deep and narrow ravines, or by sloping fertile valleys. Groups of dark cypresses and pines, relieved by pale olive woods, give quite an Italian character to the landscape. Northeastward, on an elevated brow, stands the large Maronite convent Bkirky, where the patriarch resides during winter; still higher on a steep conical hill rises Harispa, with towers and battlements, the Franciscan monastery. At an hour's distance in the charming valley below, lies the well-known college of Anturah, and beyond it Deir-ing to the pretty villages and convents Mar-Elyas, many other cloisters, and above them the soaring snow-capped masses of Jebel-Kuneiyiseh, one of the loftiest summits of Lebanon. Beirut itself is not seen; it lies hid by the promontory of the Dog river, Ras-Nahr-el-Kelb; but the dark expanse of the sea, with the fine deep bay of Juneh, complete this panorama, which hardly has its equal even in Syria. Next morning we sent off our muleteers with the tents and baggage directly for Beirut, while we paid a visit to the French in Anturah. The college was originally established by the Jesuits, and on the dissolution of that order in 1764, it was transferred to their successors the Lazarists, like all other establishments and possessions belonging to that order in Greece and the Levant. There were four professors, several Arab teachers, and fifty-eight students, all very comfortably lodged in the convent. The house is airy, and built in the style of architecture of Southern France. The rooms are furnished in the European manner; library, bedrooms and refectory are remarkably clean and well kept, and every attention paid to the health and comfort of the students. Several European travellers, studying the Arabic, take their board and lodging in the convent. Among the French missionaries, who in this college prepared for their vocation, were two young Lazarists, with whom I had made the passage from Smyrna to Beirut the winter before. In the latter city the order possesses another which everywhere, here in the Kesrawan |