who could read. For a Greek Catholic priest,
this sentiment was liberal indeed.

In the morning we started two hours
before daylight, as I was anxious, if possible,
to reach the top of Gebel Sannin—the highest
point of Lebanon—before sunrise. The road
was so bad that, for the sake of our own
necks and our horses' legs, we walked.

For the first half-hour we got on pretty
well; but the descent into the valley which
we had to reach before mounting again, was
so bad that even walking became painful.
At the foot of the ravine we were joined by
a village priest of the Maronite Church, who
was travelling with his wife and six children
on the same road as ourselves. We sat and
partook of a pipe (no coffee this time) with
this party, and then mounted our horses to
ascend the far side of the hill, being told
that there the road was pretty good. From
the top to the bottom, the ascent was quite
as steep as the steepest mountain tract
which could be seen in Switzerland or
Scotland, and the road was so narrow that
after the first dozen yards, it was utterly
impossible to dismount from horseback.
Although accustomed all my life to riding,
I own that my heart was in my mouth
the whole way up. Some idea of the steepness
of the path may be formed, when I
say that in twenty-five minutes we gained
an altitude of eighteen hundred feet; and
this upon horses which had great difficulty
in keeping their footing, owing to the
large, round, loose stones, of which the path
was formed. If anything had been wanting
to establish the superiority of the Syrian
horses over all others for hill-work, this
morning's journey would have proved enough.
A single false step—nay, even a stumble,
for there was no room for a horse to recover
himself—and the rider must have been
dashed to pieces. The Arab travellers,
however, not only seemed to think nothing of
the danger, so accustomed are they to
these dangerous mountain passes; but the
Maronite priest pertinaciously drew my
attention to the fact that this road had been
made by the Bishop Agabeous, and praised
this terrifying causeway as much as if it had
been as broad and as smooth as a Middlesex
turnpike road.

I never felt more truly thankful for
escape from danger than when we reached
the top of the hill, and I could pull up my
horse in order to let him take breath. To
stop for an instant during the ascent would
have been fatal. We had therefore to
push on from the bottom to the top as fast
as possible. When we gained the crest of
the ridge, the horses of my own party, and
the mules of the priest's family, were
(although the wind was quite cool, and we
were yet in the grey of the morning) streaming
with perspiration, from the great exertion
they had made.

At the top of the hill, we turned at once
to the right, and proceeded towards the
village of Beshkinta, which was at the foot
of Mount Sanniu, about two miles off. The
road was pretty good; it seemed excellent
after what we had gone through; and led in
a gentle slope upwards towards the village.
As we went along, we saw the crops of standing
corn, hardly yet ripe for harvest; whereas
in Beyrout all had been gathered in two
months before. The cocoons, or silk-worms,
which, in the plains, had been all ready six
weeks ago, were up here only just being
delivered over to their purchasers. Upon
arriving at the village, the inhabitants of
each house that we passed came out and
begged us to stop, dismount, and stay with
them; whilst the Maronite priest who had
joined us on the road, lustily shouted out
from behind that we were his guests, and
must put up at his house. The natives of
Syria are surely the most hospitable people in
the world, and appear to exercise the virtue
solely for the pleasure of it. The very
poorest amongst them will be as eager ta
entertain a stranger as if he expected benefit
for doing so; whereas, with the exception
of a trifling present to the servant of the
house, it would be considered an insult to
propose any remuneration for the benefits
received.

As time would not permit, we made no
halt whatever in Beslikinta, but hurried on
towards the top of Mount Sannin, at which
we arrived about an hour past sunrise. The
view from this place is most extensive,
embracing as it does the whole line of sea coast
from Tripoli in the north to Sidon, Tyre and
Saint Jean d'Acre on the south. In the far
off west, the island of Cyprus is also
distinctly visible. After passing the village,
we appeared to have left vegetation all
behind us; the ridge upon which we stood
seemed to have not one blade of green grass
upon it. Although this was the middle of
the hottest weather, we could see in rocky
crevices of the mountain, nooks where last
winter's snow had not yet melted. In all
these higher parts of Lebanon, hoarding of
snow in caves during the winter and spring,
and the selling of it in Beyrout during
the summer, form the chief occupations of
the peasants. As all Sannin is claimed
in feudal right by our old friend the Emir
Moussa, of Mitayne, the tax upon this
traffic forms no inconsiderable portion of his
income.

A short way below the top of the ridge is
a spring of water, which is celebrated all
over the mountain for its healthful
properties, and for its coldness at all seasons.
So cold did we find this water to be, that .
we could only drink it in sips, being
unable to take a draught.

Since leaving Mar Hanna I had felt that
something was wrong with my horse. I
now examined him attentively. To my
great chagrin I found there was danger of a