d from the neighbouring Lebanon, and
of passing springs bursting forth near the seashore; one indeed so
close to the sea, that the waves continually dashed over it.

After riding forward for four hours, we reached the so-called
"Dog's-river," the greatest and deepest on the whole journey. This
stream also has its origin in the heights of the Lebanon, and after
a short course falls into the neighbouring sea.

At the entrance of the valley where the Dog's-river flowed lay a
simple khan. Here we made halt to rest for an hour.

Generally we got nothing to eat during the day, as we seldom or
never passed a village; even when we came upon a house, there was
rarely any thing to be had but coffee: we were therefore the more
astonished to find here fresh figs, cucumbers, butter-milk, and
wine,--things which in Syria make a feast for the gods. We revelled
in this unwonted profusion, and afterwards rode into the valley,
which smiled upon us in verdant luxuriance.

This vale cannot be more than five or six hundred feet in breadth.
On either side high walls rise towering up; and on the left we see
the ruins of an aqueduct quite overgrown with ivy. This aqueduct is
seven or eight hundred paces in length, and extends as far as the
spot where the Dog's-river rushes over rocks and stones, forming not
a lofty, but yet a fine waterfall. Just below this fall a bridge of
Roman architecture, supported boldly on rocky buttresses, unites the
two shores. The road to this bridge is by a broad flight of stone
stairs, upon which our good Syrian horses carried us in perfect
safety both upwards and downwards; it was a fearful, dizzy road.
The river derives its name from a stone lying near it, which is said
to resemble a dog in form. Stones and pieces of rock, against which
the stream rushed foaming, we saw in plenty, but none in which we
could discover any resemblance to a dog. Perhaps the contour has
been destroyed by the action of wind and weather.

Scarcely had we crossed this dangerous bridge when the road wound
sharply round a rock in the small but blooming valley, and we
journeyed towards the heights up almost perpendicular rocks, and
past abysses that overhung the sea.

The rocky mountain we were now climbing juts far out into the sea,
and forms a pass towards the territory of Beyrout which a handful of
men might easily hold against an army. Such a pass may that of
Thermopylae have been; and had these mountaineers but a Leoni