cold, we entertained less gloomy anticipations of our night's march. We still travelled nearly due south, descending a gentle but rugged and bleak slope, and in half an hour reached the side of a little plain with a deep alluvial soil, surrounded on all sides, except the south, by stony declivities. The great plain along the borders of Lejah opened up before us, and that wild region itself appeared in the distance. The lofty Tell Amâra rose up in the centre of it; and Jebel Haurân shut in the view more to the east. Some miles off to the left I saw large flocks, and a few horsemen wandering among them. These, I was informed, were the shepherds of the Druze village of Deir 'Aly, and some others on the borders of the desert.

We had now left the hills behind, and were sweeping across the rolling plain. The principal ridge of Jebel Mâni'a terminates considerably to the right of this road; but the plain for some distance to the south-east is diversified with low isolated ridges, intermixed with lofty conical tells, such as are common in all volcanic regions. At 4.15 we passed along the base of one of these tells, on the eastern side of which, near the summit, is a solitary terebinth-tree, a striking object in this naked district. There must be some peculiar sanctity attached to it, or it would not have escaped the axe of the Arabs. The tell itself receives the characteristic name of Abu Shejar, "the father of the tree." After passing it the plain on the west opened up more to our view, and I inquired for Merjâny; Aiyûb, who had joined us on his donkey, requested me to ride on with him and he would point it out. In twenty minutes more, after passing a low mound on the

right, we came in sight of that village, about an hour distant, situated at the foot of low hills. Beyond it rose the lofty range of Jebel Khiyârah, black and barren. On our left were some mounds with green patches of verdure on their sides and in the little vales between them. At 5 o'clock we passed their western base, and here crossed the bed of a shallow wady with some water lying in pools; and on its southern side a little fountain. Near the fountain are a few Arab tombs, with rough headstones; but this is all that marks the final resting-place of these sons of the desert. Around this place, and up among the little green valleys on the left, may be seen the hollow fireplaces, and oblong level spots, surrounded with rough stones, which always mark the favourite encampments of the Bedawîn. The spot is well chosen, and much frequented during the proper season. The water is close at hand, and from the heights above a commanding view is obtained of the more elevated portions of the plain northward, and of the broad expanse stretching away to the borders of the Lejah.

After passing this fountain we entered a plain, perfectly flat, and altogether different in character from that we had left. The soil is deep and rich, the surface entirely free from stones, and the whole presents the appearance of having, at no very remote period, been under cultivation. The borders of the Lejah were now clearly defined as a rocky shore, and we could distinguish several large villages and towns built among the rocks. Dark clouds hung over it, and added to the gloomy aspect of this forbidding region. Night soon closed around us, and, as dark clouds covered the whole heavens, we could not distinguish

objects even at the distance of a few yards.

Tò us,

strangers, the road, not very well defined at the best, was entirely undistinguishable. My horse had been restive all day, but when night came it was with difficulty I could manage him. He always insisted upon leading the van, and was thus ever and anon going off the path, and getting entangled in the wide fissures of the soil which the winter rains had not yet closed up. On compelling him to join my companions in the midst of the caravan, he dashed fiercely at one of the other horses, and he, rearing suddenly and wheeling round to avoid the onset, threw his rider. My fallen friend was detained some time in searching for his saddle-bags, and, on attempting to remount, the saddle turned and the horse galloped off in the dark. Of all this I knew nothing till I heard the cries far behind, and the shouts of the camel-drivers as the free steed ran madly past them. He halted at once, and the horse, with the true instinct of his race, when he rejoined his companions, waited for his master. Not long after this little incident we came to rugged and stony ground, though the only visible evidence we had of it was an increased darkness of the surface. A thick drizzling rain was falling, which, joined to the heavy black clouds that hovered over us, and the dark plain beneath, altogether obscured every object around; but the stumbling, and twisting, and winding of our horses, as they scrambled over and among masses of rock, were sufficient indications of the nature of the road. We had not proceeded far among the rocks when a halt was called, and a consultation held among the leaders of the caravan whether we should proceed at once, or wait for the light of the moon. The latter being determined upon, Mûsa requested us to follow him. This, however,

was no easy matter, as the camels had gathered in in great droves and long files, and these, added to the natural barriers of rocks and fissures, made locomotion somewhat difficult. I thought of dismounting, but my horse had long ago demonstrated that his vision was sharper, and his steps surer, than my own; so I kept a firm seat, and followed as nearly as I could the voice of Mûsa. In some eight or ten minutes I reached a spot where my horse came to a dead stand and refused to proceed. I urged and spurred him, but in vain. At last I got down to examine the nature of the barrier, and found a long line of squatting camels picketed in front. The voice of Mûsa in the mean time grew fainter until lost in the distance. It was now my time to shout Mûsa! Mûsa! And twenty others repeated the call from different places, but no Mûsa came. Aiyûb fortunately heard our calls and came up; and under his guidance we wound about until we thought we could distinguish the dark outlines of walls and buildings rising on each side. Here we dismounted and picketed our horses. Leaving our servants to look after the beds and luggage, we requested our guide to conduct us to some spot where we might get shelter from the rain. He said a house was ready for us, and he led us along over vast heaps of stones and jagged rocks till he brought us to a low doorway, through which we passed into a spacious apartment.

The house, of which we now took such unceremonious possession, seemed, internally at least, to have undergone little change from the time when its ancient master left it. The massive stone walls were unshaken; and the long slabs of black basalt that formed the ceiling lay as regularly, and fitted as closely, as when the architect had

completed his labour; and the very door hung in its place uninjured by the lapse of many centuries. This would not seem so strange in a land of peace and civilisation, where antiquities are preserved with a species of religious care, but in this country, where all is ruinous, and on the borders of the desert, where the more peaceful peasants have for long years been driven away by the wild Bedawîn, to find a house here, complete in all its parts, cannot but strike the traveller with astonishment. Its preservation is solely owing to its vast strength. It would require too much labour and toil to overthrow it, and it consequently remains perfect. The walls are upwards of four feet thick, built of large blocks of squared stones, put together without cement. The roof is formed of flags about six inches

thick, eighteen inches broad, and twelve feet long. They are carefully hewn, and closely jointed; their ends rest upon other stones which project about a foot beyond the wall, and are moulded so as to form a cornice. The door of the apartment we first entered was a slab 4 feet 6 inches high, 4 feet wide, and 8 inches thick; it opens upon pivots, being projecting parts of the stone itself,