62

STUD OF THE EMIR BESHIR.

leaving the country.

Save one or two sent

to him at his place of exile, Brusa, and some inferior ones given away, they have remained here. Their hoofs, from want of wear, are turned up at the end. The blood of all is good; but only two claim great admiration, the far-famed mare Hassefereemee—a grey mare of upwards of thirty years of age, She would never breed; but at last she did from a donkey. The mule, however, died, since which the Emir says it is Kismet. There is also a chesnut stallion of noble make, but tenderlegged and old.

We were shown also a celebrated Arab mare from the Anase Jemeli, or the Beautiful. She was worthy of the pen of a Warburton or a Lamartine: clean grey, with black mane and tail silvered at the end; her skin thin as a kid glove, and the long hair as fine as that which drops over the shoulders of beauty. The eye was bright, wild and flashing; the nostrils full-almost bell-shaped: tall and strong, yet light and active, she well deserved her name-the Beautiful. The sight of such creatures made our own hacks look wretched; but spurs are invented, so mounting the said hacks with many regrets, we were out of the town by noon.

ANTIPATER THE POET,

63

CHAPTER V.

Anxiety to reach Djouni--Antipater the Poet-The road to DjouniThe Kiah and his Daughter-Late Residence of Lady Hester Stanhope The Life of that Lady-Arab recollections of her— General Lastanau and the Prophecies of Lady Hester-Her eccentricity-Mischances on the Road-The great Hero of the Christians -Palace of Beit ed Deen-The Country of the Yezdeky-Ascent of Barouk-Plain of the Bekaa-Arrival at Jeb Jenin-Dispute of the Geographers.

SKIRTING the beach for a mile or so, we turned up into the mountains, anxious to reach Djouni, Lady Hester Stanhope's former residence. talking over our projected tour, our hostess said,

66

On

You are going to stupid people: the Cairenes, if asked a question, have a ready reply; the Damascene has to hunt for one in her sleeve; the Halebeen has to run to her mother to ask what to say."

Sidon was the birth-place of Antipater the poet, A.M. 3856. He had great powers, and composed verses extemporaneously; he was noted also for regularly having the fever once every year, on the same day-that of his birth, which was also that

64

THE ROAD TO DJOUNI.

of his death. He was one of the most esteemed

of the Stoics.

Passing the Anta, or modern river of Sidon, we sent the servants and baggage on to Deir El Khammer while we proceeded at a more rapid pace to Djouni. At a former period, while stationed at Beyrout in a vessel of war, it had been my almost weekly practice to ride to Djouni, and leaving Beyrout at midnight, generally to arrive there at eight or ten in the morning. The day was passed in learning Arabic from ruby lips under the kiosks and shade of the lovely but neglected garden. The night saw me again on horseback, to regain the ship and probably walk a four hours' watch; but long years had passed, and the very face of the country had changed under quiet peace and protection.

The road lay along the mountain side, affording here and there beautiful glimpses of the river and narrow gorge below; every available spot was cultivated; the earth kept from being carried off by stone walls. Thus, the whole mountain side was terrace on terrace, verdant in the young spring, save where some tough boulder of rock refused all compromise and reared his front bald

THE KIAH AND HIS DAUGHTER.

65

and barren. The road, a mere goat's track, wound up now on one hill, now on another, crossing the stream with wayward turns, as it jumped and frisked fresh from its native springs. The mountains got higher, and scenery wilder, till, after three hours of patient toil, the much loved spot appeared, but still far off, and we had to wind up and through the small village of Abka.

Here my first endeavour was to find the house. of my old friend, the Kiah or head of the village, whose lovely daughter had made the groves of Djouni a paradise. After some trouble we found the house; a middle-aged hag put her head over the terrace, and yelled to us to be gone. "Ya sit,"* I said, "where is the Bint Miriaim ?" Married,"

66

was the short reply: a handsome matron showed herself over the terrace; "and I am she." The appearance of a huge mountaineer stopped any desire that arose to recall old scenes; so we descended the hill, and climbed up to the old convent, Lady Hester's residence for so many years. Sad, sad, was the change!

Ya sit means 66 my lady." It is a term which, being totally undeserved, save by the wives and daughters of the Shebab family, is seldom used to any others. It, therefore, rarely fails to conciliate even the outrageous demons of old women met with only in the East.

VOL. I.

F

66

RESIDENCE OF LADY HESTER STANHOPE.

Low portions of the walls alone stood: the interior, a green grass-grown heap, formed by the fallen roof and walls; the garden, once a mass of tangled beauty, all the more beautiful, that no hand had watched or trained it for years, was gone; and the cold furrows of the plough gave a sadder appearance to the spot. Some few lemon and lime trees alone were left for their intrinsic worth. The very ground she reposed on was envied by the plough, whose sharp traces had run round it in scraping propinquity. The beautiful kiosks into which, on my last visit, a way had to be forced through honeysuckles and jessamine, were entirely removed: the outer wall around the plateau of the hill alone was left. Her tomb had been respected, and the isolation she sought was indeed perfect :-choosing out the sunniest spot, we lay and mused. Often in other climes and beautiful scenes had fancy strayed back to the bright hours spent amidst this once lovely grove; and now the return to it in desolation seemed but a necessary act in the drama of life. We dream; but rarely does the glad fulfilment come.

A room where once the merry laugh of gay companions rang, now is a grassy bank; its own