------------------------------------------------------------------------
DAMASCUS must now be left behind, adieu, we wish we could say _au revoir_ to its lovely lanes and pleasant orchards, its curious motley crowded bazaars, its marble palaces and murmuring waters, and its grand associations with all time—for did not through Damascus pass those archaic caravans whose descendants colonised the four quarters of the globe? Shem probably here said goodbye to Ham on his way to Africa, and both bade God-speed to Japhet, in quest of a new world farther north; and Noah himself—did not he pass here on his way to leave his bones as near as possible to Eden; and are we not shown his tomb, and that of Adam, Abel and Seth, _cum multis aliis_ near here even to this day? Adieu also to the comfortable hotel of Demetri, an oasis in the desert of barbarism we pass through. We follow back the diligence road a few miles as far as Dummar, and then start upon the upper road to Baalbec, _viâ_ Zebedâni, one of the prettiest rides in Syria; but first to get a zest for better things we pass across the arid desert of Sahrâ. We see on the way several rock-cut tombs, and soon enter the upper part of the Abana watershed, which might well be called the “Happy Valley,” in this part of the world where there is so much desert and wilderness. We pass several Mohammedan villages having a clean prosperous appearance, the women looking better and healthier than any we have yet seen. We now enter the narrow gorge of the Abana, a very romantic looking defile, and soon after about five hours from Damascus, come upon Ain El Fijeh (one of the principal tributaries of the Barada), a little river which springs up suddenly from the earth so abundantly as at once to form a large stream, which, although not broad, is very deep. It must be, we should think, the shortest river in the world. Over these springs, half-hidden by the beautiful foliage of the fig and pomegranate, rise the massive remains of two temples, one across the stream, one in it, all around is a grand luxurious grove; this is a fine halting spot and a good place for a bath. Fruit trees of all kinds—walnut, fig and orange, mulberry, vine and lemon line the banks of this most lovely little stream, and where its crystal current mixes with the turbid Barada, there is a “Meeting of the Waters,” more beautiful even than the “_Moore_” famed meeting of the Avonbeg and Avonmore in the once picturesque Vale of Avoca. Here the giant poplar, the graceful palm, the spreading sycamore, the sombre cypress and the stately oak, are found forming little forests wherever a rill of living water can force its way. If the ruined aqueducts of Tyrian and Roman times were only, and they could easily be, reformed, the whole land would again laugh and sing, and paradises as of old, would replace the present deserts. God made the land a garden of Eden, man, by neglecting the watercourses, has turned it into a wilderness. We continue our journey, following the course of the Barada for some two hours, having a succession of pretty woodland views until we come to Sûk Wady Barada, supposed to be the site of the ancient Abila, the chief town of the district of Abilene, of which (according to St. Luke) Lysanias was tetrarch in the reign, of Tiberius Cæsar.