the beautiful fertile valley of Zebedêni to the south, until we turned eastward again in an hour and a half into the steep rock pass, where the running brook by which we had hitherto travelled, swelled into a little river named Bárada, which forces itself a passage in incomparably beautiful and picturesque cascades through the luxuriant green to the great plain of Damascus. For several hours we rode along its steep banks, and sometimes along its bed until we came to a high arch, which served as a bridge from the left to the right shore. Here the road went up the mountain, and we found in the continuation of the steep rock-wall we had just quitted, a number of ancient rock tombs. Soon after the wild gorge opened into a broader valley, in which the dashing river serpentines on more easily, passing several friendly lying villages in its course. Up to this place it had broken through a mountain ridge running due north and south, in an easterly direction, and whence it now flowed through a gateway formed of rock. Two single crags stood forth to the eastward like mighty pylones, of which the southern one bore upon its crown of several thousand feet in height, a little tomb, surrounded with some trees. This place is revered as the grave of Abel Hebbi Habîl, who, according to tradition, was buried here. The elevation is hardly to be climbed; so it seemed from this side at least. We, therefore, did not seek to ascertain whether the youth Habel had also had a grave of forty ells in length built for him. At the foot of the rock, the ancient town of Abila had been situated, the name of which had probably given rise to the story. We now left for some hours the charming valley of Bárada, and rode over naked rocky _plateaux_, until we descended to it again near Gedîden, and took a short rest on its shore in the shadow of high platanes and glistening larches. At length we again quitted the river, which had grown fuller and more violent from the many streamlets running into it, climbed a high mountain, and stood suddenly in sight of the boundless plain, which, stopped by no mountains to the east, lay before us like a single great garden, with innumerable thick-leaved green trees, cut through by roads and water. Directly at our feet, in the middle of this garden, lay glorious Damascus, with its cupolas, minarets, and terraces. We knew that we had to expect one of the most renowned views in the world. Nevertheless we were astonished, and found our expectations surpassed by the magnificent picture, which, as if by a magic stroke, unfolded itself before us, after the lovely, but narrow valleys, which alternated with the naked rock wildernesses. We remained at least an hour on this spot, which has been distinguished by the stately erection of a cupola resting on four open columns, called Qubbet e’ Nasr, “the Cupola of Victory.”