Towards morning the rain had ceased, and had turned into a thick fog, which forming together into thick clouds, appeared sometimes to be cut by the prominent mountains of the lofty Libanon, and sometimes with its phantom-like play, with the light of the morning sun occasionally breaking through upon the nearer and farther woody hills and mountain-tops, perfectly delighted us. When we came to the first height, which is divided from the principal chain by a shallow valley, we had suddenly an indescribably beautiful and astonishing view over the whole of the mountain range of Libanon, which rose up before us, its whole length and down a considerable distance, covered with fresh shining snow; a true Alpine country in its most magnificent features, which towers majestically over this land blessed with eternal spring, but now so shamefully oppressed by its Turkish enemies. I enjoyed most fully this uncommon sight, which aroused in my heart a true native joy, and I tried to retain within me this clear pure light. Before me I drove my little Egyptian horse, who had lost his rider at Bâlbek, and who carried on his back the small possessions he had left; I thought then, how I had rejoiced a few days before, at the idea of the good Ibrahim’s astonishment, when he should traverse with us the snowy region of Libanon. The ass did not appear to be much pleased with the snow-heaps that we had to ride through; he often stood quite astonished in the middle of the snow, and no doubt took it all for salt, the white soft fields of which he had already known by the Red Sea and elsewhere. We rode zigzag along the immensely steep precipice seven to eight thousand feet high, which is here not rocky, but covered with earth, and terminates in a sharp brow. “El hamdu l’illah!” cried the old guide, when we had reached the top; and, “Salâm, salâm,” sounded in chorus. We had reached almost the highest point of Libanon, but the view over land and sea was unfortunately hidden from us by clouds and fog, although the blue sky was above our heads. After a short ride down from the top, our guide showed us at our feet, in a large level inlet of the mountains, the ancient and renowned forest of cedars, out of which King Hiram sent the great stems to Solomon to build the temple; it appeared from above as small as a garden. It had been considered for a length of time as the remains of this forest, till, in later times, in a northern part of Libanon, other forests of cedars have been discovered. We soon lost sight of the cedars as we descended lower into the clouds, which cut off all view from us. Suddenly the dark shadows of these giant trees appeared in close rows before us, out of the great masses of fog, like spirits of the mountains. We rode to the chapel of the hermit, who has usually a good glass of Libanon wine to put before a stranger, but we found it shut up; just then the clouds broke into a regular straight-down rain, from which the needle-like roofs of the proud cedars