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No. 21.

SYRIA.

DAMASCUS.

(From Mr Buckingham's Travels.)

DAMASCUS is a city, the capital of a Pashalic of the same nanie, 11 is situated in a fertile plain, amidst extensive gardens forming a circuit of between twenty-five and thirty miles. It is computed that there are in this city ten thousand Roman Catholics, three thousand Christians who dissent from the Romish communion, belonging to the Greek, Syrian, Armenian, and Maronite churches, and fifteen thousand Jews. The remainder are Mahomedans, who are supposed to amount to about one hundred thousand persons. Damascus is a place of great antiquity; it is alluded to by Abraham, who calls his servant. Eliezer of Damascus (Gen. xv. 12) This ancient city was visited by Mr. Buckingham, in March 1816, and from whose instructive account, the following extracts are made.

On entering Damascus, (says this very able writer,) I was charmed beyond expression with the verdant and delightful appearance of the olivegrounds, fruitful gardens, and running streams, through which the city is approached. A remarkable peculiarity of the buildings is, that almost every separate edifice appears to have a high pointed dome of brick-work, which being of the same light-coloured earth used in the bricks of the buildings, resembles at a distance, a number of large straw bee-hives. We entered the city through the Bab-el-Ullah, or the gate of God, so called from its leading to Jerusalem and Mecca, both holy cities, and both places of pilgrimage; the last only of the Mahomedans, but the first to all the several classes of Jews, Christians, and Moslems by each of whom it is held in high estimation, and called by all, El-Khods-el-Shereef,-the Holy and the Noble.

We passed up through the city in a North-west direction, by a street leading from the Bab-el-Ullah, at least a mile in length, and equal, in breadth, to any of the great thoroughfares in

London. To avoid notice, and to prevent too narrow a scrutiny into our faces, which the inhabitants of bigoted towns and cities like this are too much disposed to exercise on strangers coming among them, we drew over our faces the Keffeah of the Bedonins, after the fashion used by the Desert Arabs when they advance to the attack in battle, to conceal their features, or in cold weather, for warmth, or among strangers, to whom they do not wish to be known; so that nothing remain visible except their eyes,-while we scarcely turned our reards on either side, but contented ourselves with returning the salutations of the faith, with which ali passengers are greeted on their entrance into a town or cty, whatever be the object of their journey.

The street through which we passed was paved in the centre, upon a raised level, forming an excellent road for beasts of burden, camels, and horses, and would easily admit the passage of six or eight abreast. Eelow this raised road, was an unpaved space on each side; and within this, again, a pavement of smaller stones, nearly as broad as the central raised way, for footpassengers, along the front of the dwellings, shops, and other edifices that lined the street. Had the buildings been at all correspondent to the length and breadth of this fine road, the effect of the whole world have been excellent; but these were, in general, poor and mean, and totally destitute of uniformity, whether in size, style, or materia!. Among the principal edifices, I noticed several mosques, some modern, and others apparently of pretty old date. The shops were all open, and many manufactories of silk, cotton, stuff, and leather, were carried on at each side of the street, in the open air. Notwithstanding my disappointment at the general inferiority of the buildings of this fine street, to the expectation I had formed of them, I was nevertheless much pleased at the cleanliness of every thing we saw, and the apparent health and beauty of the people of all classes that we met on our way, as well as the richness and gaiety of apparel, among the young and old, the rich and poor, in proportion to their

several ages and ranks; the oldest and poorest among them, however, being much better dressed than the ordinary class of people in any Arab or Turkish town that I had yet seen.

After more than half an hour's continued ride through this single street, which led us nearly into the centre of the city, we turned off to the westward, and went for upwards of half an hour more through narrow passages and covered bazaars, forming a perfect labyrinth, until we reached the convent of the Catholic Christians, at which we arrived about sun-set. Notwithstanding the poverty of my dress, being still habited as a Bedouin Arab, and though unfurnished with any letter of introduction, I received a very kind and hospitable reception. The President was a native of Spain, and one of the fattest, and, in every respect, the most jolly-looking friars I had ever

seen.

While a supper of fresh fish was was preparing, a suit of clean garments was brought to me, from one of the Christian merchants residing near the convent; and I enjoyed a pleasure not to be described, in throwing off clothes that had never been changed for thirty days, though sleeping almost always on the bare ground. Neither was my pleasure less, in devouring, with a zest almost unknown before, the fresh fish, soft bread, and excellent wine of Lebanon, set before me for my evening repast. An excellent appartment was given up for my exclusive use, containing a good bed, a sopha, table, chairs, drawers, with a dressing-room and closet adjoining, and a window opening into a paved court below, in which was a fine clear fountain, and several orange-trees, besides a passage leading to an open terrace, whereon I might uninterruptedly enjoy the morning and evening air. I had scarcely ever before enjoyed so sudden and complete a transition from all the sufferings and privations of a barbarous and almost savage mode of life, to the pleasures and abundance of a civilized and social state of existence.

After an early breakfast on Saturday, March 11th, we left the convent on foot; and as our faces were not yet

By the

known to any of the Moslem of Damascus, we directed our course first to the great Mosque, where, when we had arrived, we shook off our slippers and walked boldly through. aid of our beards, white turbans, and a certain conformity to the Turkish or Arabic movements, only to be acquired by habit, we passed undiscovered, and without even being regarded, as mere strangers generally are, though known to be of the same faith. This Mosque is situated to the north of the Catholic convent, and stands on an elevated position, nearly in the centre of the city. On approaching its entrance, we ascended a flight of steps leading up to the door, at the front of which is a fountain, that sends forth a column of clear water to the height of from ten to fifteen feet. The square court in front of this building is magnificent from its extent; and the interior of the mosque itself from its vast dimensions, produces a most imposing effect. Its form is that of an oblong square, composed of three long aisles running parallel to each other, and divided by rows of Corinthian columns. On the outside it is seen that these three aisles have a separate pent roof, that the large dome rises from the centre of the central roof, and that at the end of each of these is a minaret. The Mosque at the time of our passing through it, was full of people, though they were not worshipers, nor was it at either of the usual hours of prayer. Some of the parties were assembled to smoke, others to play at chess, and some apparently to drive bargains of trade, but certainly none to pray. It was, indeed, a living picture of what we might believe the temple of Jerusalem to have been, when those "who sold oxen, and sheep, and doves, and the changers of money, were sitting there," were driven out by JESUS with a scourge of cords, and their tables overturned. It was, in short, a place of public resort and thoroughfare, "a house of merchandize," as the temple of the Jews had been in the days of the MESSIAHI.

We made an excursion to a small suburb, named Salheyah, lying at the foot of the mountains which bound

Damascus on the west and west-northwest. This suburb or town is situated at a distance of about two miles from the limits of the city, to which, however, it may be said to be connected by a public road, with a broad paved way in the centre for horses, and a raised causeway on each side for the accommodation of foot passengers. This road leads through one continued succession of gardens on each side, with clean and limpid streams; forming, altogether, one of the most interesting walks that could be desired. This place becomes one of general resort for pleasure on the last day of every week, when it is crowded with visitors on their way to and from Salheyah, where it is usual for persons of every age and condition to appear in holiday trim, whenever their health and circumstances admit.

(To be continued.)

THE COTTER'S DAUGHTER.

It was a cold stormy night in December, and the green logs as they blazed and crackled on the Cotter's hearth, were rendered more delightful, more truly comfortable, by the contrast with the icy showers of snow and sleet which swept against the frail casement, making all without cheerless and miserable.

The Cotter was a handsome intelligent old man, and afforded me much information upon glebes, and flocks, and rural economy; while his spouse, a venerable matron, was humming to herself some long since forgotten ballad; and industriously twisting and twirling about her long knitting needles, that promised soon to produce a pair of formidable winter hose. Their son, a stout, healthy young peasant of three-and-twenty, was sitting in the chimney-corner, sharing his frugal supper of bread and cheese with a large shaggy sheep dog, who sat on his haunches wistfully watching every mouthful, and snap, snap, snapping, and dexterously catching every morsel that was cast to him.

We were all suddenly startled, however, by his loud bark; when, jumping up, he rushed, or rather flew towards the door.

"Whew! whew!" whistled the youth-" Whoy-what the dickens ails thee, Rover?" said he, rising and following him to the door, to learn the cause of his alarm. "What! be they gone again, ey? for the dog was silent. "What do thee snuffle at, boy? On'y look at un, feyther; how the beast whines and waggles his stump o'tail!

It's some 'un he knows for sartin. I'd lay a wager it wur Bill Miles com'd about the harrow, feyther."

"Did thee hear any knock, lad?" said the father.

"Noa!" replied the youth; "but mayhap Bill peep'd thro' the hoal in the shutter, and is a bit dash'd like at seeing a gentleman here. Bill! is't thee, Master Miles?" continued he, bawling. "Lord! the wind whistles so a' can't hear me. Shall I unlatch the door, feyther?"

“Ay, lad, do, an thou wilt," replied the old man ; "Rover's wiser nor we be a dog 'll scent a friend, when a man would'nt know un."

Rover still continued his low importunate whine, and began to scratch against the door. The lad threw it open-the dog brushed past him in an instant, and his quick, short, continuous yelping, expressed his immoderate joy and recognition.

"Hollo! where be'st thee, Bill?" said the young peasant, stepping over the threshold. "Come, none of thee tricks upon travellers, Master Bill; I zee thee beside the rick yon!" and quitting the door for half a minute, he again hastily entered the cot. rich colour of robust health had fled from his cheeks--his lips quiveredand he looked like one bereft of his senses, or under the influence of some frightful apparation.

The

The dame rose up-her work fell from her trembling hands

"What's the matter?" said she. "What's frightened thee, lad?" asked the old man, rising.

"Oh! feyther!-oh? mother!"— exclaimed he, drawing them hastily on one side and whispering something

in a low, and almost inaudible voice. The old woman raised her hands in supplication, and tottered to her chair -while the Cotter, bursting out into a paroxysm of violent rage, clutched his son's arm, and exclaimed in a loud voice:

"Make fast the door, boy, an thou'lt not have my curse on thee! I tell 'ee, she shan't come hither!-No-nevernever;- there's poison in her breatha' will spurn her from me!-a pest on her!-What; wilt thou not do my bidding?"

"O! feyther, feyther!" cried the young peasant, whose heart seemed overcharged with grief, "It be a cold, raw night-ye wou'dna kick a cur from the door to perish in the storm Doant 'ee be hot and hasty, feyther, thou art not uncharitable-On me knees!"

Overcome by these heart-rending reproaches, the distressed girl fainted; but the strong arm of the young Cotter supported her-for the tender-hearted youth, moved by his fallen sister's sorrows, had ventured again to intercede.

"Hah! touch not her defiled and loathsome body," cried the old man"thrust her from the door, and let her find a grave where she may. Boy! wilt thou dare disobey me?" and be raised his clenched hand, while anger flashed from his eye.

"Strike! feyther-strike me!" said the poor lad, bursting into tears—" fell me to the 'arth! kill me, an thou wilt

I care not--I will never turn my heart agen poor Mary!-Bean't she my sister! Did thee not teach me to love her?-Poor lass !-she do want it all now, feyther-for she be downcast and broken-hearted !—Nay, thee art kind and good, feyther-I know thee art-1 zee thine eyes be full o' tearsand thee-thee woant cast her away from thee, I know thee woant. Mother, speak to 'un; speak to sister Mary too -it is our own Mary! Doant 'een kill her wi' unkindness!"

“Psha!” exclaimed the enraged father, only exasperated by his remonstrances. "Whoy talk 'ee to me, son -I am deaf-deaf!-Mine own hand shall bar the door agen her!"-adding with bitterness-"let her die!"-and stepping past his prostrate son, was about to execute his purpose-when, a young girl, whose once gay and The old man, moved by his affecflimsy raiment was drenched and stain- tionate entreaties, no longer offered ed, and torn by the violence of the any opposition to his son's wishes, but storm, appeared at the door. The old hiding his face in his hands, he fled man recoiled with a shudder-she was from the affectionate scene to an adas pale as death-and her trembling joining room. limbs seemed scarcely able to support Her venerable mother having recoher-a profusion of light brown hair vered the shock of her lost daughter's hung dishevelled and in disorder about sudden appearance, now rose to the her neck and shoulders, and added to assistance of the unfortunate, and by her forlorn appearance. She stretched the aid of restoratives brought poor forth her arms, and pronounced the Mary to the full sense of her wretchname of "Father!" but further utteredness. She was speedily conveyed ance was prevented by the convulsive sobs that heaved ber bosom.

"Mary-woman !" cried the old man, trembling-"Call me not feyther -Thou art none of mine-thou hast no feyther now-nor I a daughterthou art a serpent that hath stung the bosom that cherished thee! Go to the fawning villain-the black-hearted sycophant that dragged thee from our arms-from our happy home to misery and pollution-go, and bless him for breaking thy poor old feyther's heart!"

to the same humble pallet, to which, in the days of her innocence and peace, she had always retired so light-hearted and joyously, but where she now found a lasting sleep-an eternal repose!— Yes, poor Mary died!-and having won the forgiveness and blessing of her offended parents, death was welcome to her.-Absurdities, in Prose and Verse.

THE DISTRESSED OFFICER.

(A fragment.)

—He was in a military dress, and his figure, his face, and his walk evinced the gentleman-yet poverty contracted his countenance, and a succession of blushes which flushed into his cheek as he traversed the coffee-room, and to which deep sighs were the harbingers,

showed that he suffered.

He, at last, leaned upon his hat, and whispered to the mistress of the coffeeroom, a good natured creature, and she instantly curtsied with a degree of respect, that induced me to believe I had mistaken the index of the officer's mind-that instead of standing in need of a favor, notwithstanding his appearance, he had been conferring an obligation.

On quitting the bar and taking his seat, the mistress of the coffee-room ordered a pot of coffee and toast to the table where he sat, his eyes sparkled at the sight, and the toast was devoured with a degree of avidity, that indicated, not so much a wholesome appetite, as the keenness of actual want-he eat with every mark of real hunger.

The first plate of toast being dispatched, the mistress of the coffee-room ordered a second to be placed before him- but she gave her orders privately; and the waiter laid it on the table with a look the most pitiable. The officer seized the toast--the waiter wiped his eyes with his napkin, and the mistress of the coffee-room drawing up her breath sighed it out again so soft, so tender, so sweet, as harmonized every nerve of hose who heard it into that delightful unison of pity, that is only felt when the finger of charity touches the sympathetic cords of the heart.

The officer having finished his breakfast and taking leave of his hostess at the bar, an impulse, which was certainly not curiosity, induced me to inquire after his name and situation? Of these particulars the woman was ignorant-she had never seen him before-she knew nothing of him but this, he had ordered a breakfast at the bar, and assured her he would call and pay her for it at some future day.—

Until the day arrived when he should be able to pay, she desired he might constantly call and breakfast at her house on credit;—and he is welcome, said she to me, though that day should be the day of judgment.-And when the day of judgment arrives, said I, you will hear of this matter--you have done that which will stand you in account and gain you credit in the book of fate; if your sins are even multitudinous, your charity has covered them.

But let us see if something more cannot be done for this poor officer,-lend him, said I, these few guineas, should he call here to-morrow, as if coming from yourself.-The next day he received the cash.

I never heard more of my money for six years; at the end of that time the mistress of the coffee-room told me that Ensign,-now a Lieutenant-Colonel! had returned from abroad-had repaid her the sum borrowed, and given her a ring worth one hundred pounds by way of interest!

Penzance August 1827. S. H.

CONDESCENSION

PREVENTING ROBBERY.

(Howe's Literature.)

A Russian lady was travelling up the country. Her road led through a village, which had lately got an ill name for robberies and murders; and, indeed was become formidable to the whole district. By some unforeseen circumstances, her arrival at this place was delayed till the night was somewhat advanced, and, as the post boors absolutely refused to drive her any farther," she was obliged to put up at a cottage. A conversation between them and some of the people of the village, which, by the favor of the darkness, she happened to overhear, justly filled her with serious alarm. On entering the cottage she perceived several fellows, according to the custom of the country, lying on the stove, an old woman, whose physiognomy was not exactly adapted to inspire confidence, accosted her with the

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