And now these two have passed before us, and a fresh sight attracts attention. Fierce-looking fellows, three in number, now appear, their heads girt with long flowing silk handkerchiefs, of a bright yellow colour; their beards are thick, black and curly; their features sun-burnt; their eyebrows knit, and there is a lurking savage look in their eyes which speaks volumes of treachery and bloodshed. Long loose striped dresses with horse-hair girths, loose shintians, and the ordinary Syrian red boots, complete their costume. They are mounted on Arab steeds of the purest breed; slung by their left side is a scimitar of fine Damascene steel; each carries on his shoulder a long polished _Roomah_, or lance, from which hangs tassels of various gay colors. These horseman are Bedouins of the Desert, who perhaps, have come hither to spy out the land under the pretence of a friendly visit on mercantile business; but what is more likely to be the reason, to find out when next a caravan, or travellers, will pass through the desert. No one fears them now, since their number is too small, when compared to the crowds which are on the alert and passing to and fro. Still, these Bedouins may even at this very moment be plotting a similar carnage and attack to that which was made at Aleppo, so recently as 1850. Notwithstanding the ferocity of their nature, “their hand still being against every man,” yet they never are guilty of a breach of faith or friendship. As an instance of this, an Arab was once at Damascus, and received civilities from a Damascene, who gave him some bread and tobacco. About two years passed, when it so happened that this man was going to Aleppo with a caravan, which was attacked, and, happily for all, the traveller was recognised by one of the Bedouins, who proved to be the very man who had received hospitality at Damascus.
Next on our panoramic sketch we find two hardy labourers, fine robust looking men; these are the _fellahen_, and their vocation in life is restricted to tilling the ground; but there are some amongst them who follow the occupation of farriers, and some few in the larger towns are blacksmiths, tinkers, and shopkeepers; but those that occupy our attention at present wear too healthy an aspect to be taken for citizens. They are peasants from a neighbouring village, and to them Sunday is a day of rest; during the weekdays they are early risers (up with the lark, and even before this “_bird hath shaken the dew-drop from her wing_”); to them sleep has been a boon indeed—a luxury that few who are not accustomed to hard manual labour can be supposed to enjoy. The careful thrifty wife, although her husband is an early riser, was up before him, lighting the fire, and preparing his early meal. He gets up, and goes through his ablutions; and I may here remark, that Europeans in general, and especially the English, form a very incorrect notion as to the habits of the poorer class of natives in Syria, since few people are more careful in their rigid adherence to cleanliness, though their brown sun-burnt skin gives strangers an idea to the contrary. His breakfast consists of a few loaves, resembling Scotch cakes, on which cheese, and on fast days olives, mashed together, are carefully rolled up; sometimes, as an extra dainty, a little cold stew from yesterday’s dinner, or a small dish of _leban_, gives a relish to his keen appetite; and having finished this he shoulders his plough, loosens his cattle, and followed close at the heels by his house-dog, goes forth to his labour till evening. He has generally arrived at the field of action before the sun gets up to look at him, and he never leaves it till the fiery sun, red with heat, has sunk below the horizon. Truly, a labourer in Syria is a living specimen of the curse brought upon mankind by the disobedience of Adam—“_He earns his daily bread by the sweat of his brow_.” Every day, save on fasts and festivals, his toil never ceases. At the commencement of the year, his first and most laborious occupation is that of rearing silk-worms, of which I shall now proceed to give a description.