and cordial four feet of manhood, Thomas
Trap, Esquire, a highly respectable and well-
to-do Outsider of Capel-court, who somehow
or other had the luck of growing rich at the
expense of his clients.

What was I to do? My most valued English
friends thought it an excellent joke on the part
of Trap, and begged me to consider them at my
service for any and everything, except money
and credit. I shook the dust off my feet, and
gave them my good wishes, in return; and then
looking abroad, recollected there was such a
place as Deutschland, and that nestled therein,
was the goodly, clumsy, cleanly, and picturesque
city of Rotterdam, where some five years of my
youth had been agreeably spent. In Rotterdam,
moreover, dwelt one of my oldest friends,
Anthony Kaatts by name, brother of one Peter
Kaatts, also my dear friend, who had emigrated
to the Levant.

Anthony was a merchant of much wealth, and
Peter had large landed and other possessions.
Anthony and Peter were partners: the latter
having an establishment at Beyrout, as well as
a silk factory and village in the Libanus.
Anthony Kaatts was truly a glorious fellow; no
arrière nensées, no touch-me-not calculating
prudence, no stand-off, Mr. Poverty, about
him! Both he and his brother Peter, I may
venture to say, were pure and simple— two
of the noblest works of God. They loved the
world and enjoyed it, because it loved them;
and it loved them because they had no
enjoyment unallied with the consciousness of making
others happy. They were both of them of Dutch
build; a substantial form of the mundane
creature that I much esteem over your thin and
sallow Carrius. This, however, may be merely
a natal, or rather national, prejudice, as well as
the inference that the former are capable of
larger and more sympathetic purpose.

Anthony saw that I was ruined utterly; but
Anthony did not therefore cachinnate, holding
his gorgeous sides— not he. Anthony took me
to his heart and embraced me— and almost
shouted in his gladness, that he should make a
man of me yet. Peter, he said, had already
enough and overmuch to do at his factory in
the mountains; and that I should be the
Beyrout partner.

Was not this delightful to one who had been
shorn to the skin by an instrument sharpened on
Three per Cents. Reduced?

I parted from my friend Anthony, and took
my stand on the deck of the good ship
Overyssel, bound for Beyrout. Now, albeit I like
the smell of tar, it follows not that I should
go over the thrice-told tale of a sea-trip— a
thing to be eschewed as a most egregious
superfluity. Therefore, I step at once upon the quay
at Beyrout, crowded with Arabs and merchandise."

In the midst of a noisy and bustling scene, I
was accosted by a youth with a pleasant
countenance, who announced himself as an emissary
from my friend Peter Kaatts. Peter's house
was charmingly situated in full view of the harbour,
with terraces and kiosques, " gardens of
gûl in their full bloom," &c.; and Peter's
reception of me was as cordial as Anthony's.

Our dinner-table was so arranged as to give
us a splendid view of the sea through the open
French windows— open, commonly, in that
exquisite climate. We banqueted sumptuously,
and over our claret and coffee talked much
of the land of dykes, and of the good deeds
of Anthony among his countrymen, in
addition to his sharing expenses with Peter
himself in the benefits which the latter had
introduced into Syria. Truly they were twin in
the holy work of benevolence.

Although we sat somewhat late into the night,
I rose early the next morning, refreshed, and
looked out upon ocean-bound Lebanon— one
of the fairest prospects in the world. It
reminds one of a chain of Alps— but under
effects of colour infinitely more beautiful than
those observed in higher latitudes. The range
extends from Cape Saide to Latakia; the
mountainous wall being grandly indented with gorges
of vast extent, made rich by clustering vines,
fig-trees, the sycamore, mulberry, carol, pine,
and walnut. It is after passing the primary
chain of elevations that we arrive at what is
specially denominated "the Lebanon."

Within the former region was my friend
Peter's country establishment, and it was
proposed that we should pay a visit to it early in
the week.

A lovely morning was that which welcomed
our gallop along the sea-shore; orange, and
aloes, and the sycamore-fig forming a natural
and umbrageous arcade. We reached Cape
Batroun and the rock of Adonis; and here our
path was an ascent for some distance. Descending
from our hilly apex, we came upon the
monastery of Antoura, and, following a path
somewhat intricate and steep for six miles or so,
it opened out into a high-road worthy of the
coaching times of Albion. Around us the
scenery was the most romantic that imagination
can picture; and to imagination I, plain and
commercial-minded Caleb Bottersloot, must
leave it.

At a sudden turn of the defile, the clustered
groups of white habitations, cottage-shapen, and
environed with gardens and verdure, burst on the
sight. This was Eden. Peter, who had grown
to twice his European size under the fostering
air of Libanus, was not sorry at approaching a
haven of rest. Nevertheless, neither heat nor
fatigue affected his good-natured smile, or the
bland recognition he gave to his worthy overseer
Aboubek, who received us with benediction.
" Sala el Kaër!"

Peter's factory was one of the largest and
most commodious establishments of the kind I
have ever seen, and stood amidst a forest of
mulberry-trees, the latter abutting upon a valley of
considerable extent.

Peter was not only a grower and winder of
silk, but was also a rearer of cattle, and cultivator
of maize, barley, wheat, oil, and the vine.
Samples, too, of sugar from the cane, coffee, and