As we stand on the hill of Mohammed at the northwest end of the city and look at Damascus we do not wonder at Naaman’s contempt of the Jordan. We have seen that the latter is a winding, rocky, semi-alkaline stream which flows through a desert, the great gorge or depression of Ghor. It has a scanty vegetation along its banks and flows through a valley of death to the great salt sea known as “The Dead.” The Abana, or Barada, as it is now called, and the Pharpar, now called Barber, are pure mountain streams. The former is one of the most beautiful of the whole world. I have travelled along it almost to its source. It is a rushing river of pure, clear green water which spreads life over all that it touches. Together with the Barber it makes green the great plain which lies below us and builds up the orchards of almonds, apricots, apples, and the rich crops which cover it, as well as the white city of Damascus rising in its centre. Now turn your eyes to the city itself. There it lies under these magnificent mountains with its luxuriant gardens and orchards surrounded by deserts. Within and without silver poplars cast their green shadows over the houses. The town has been compared to a pearl. It is shaped very like one. My guide, Shammas, who stands beside me, tells me that it looks like a camel, and a second glance shows me the head and neck of the beast reaching out to a point where lies a railway station of the road going to Mecca. The road itself is the long neck of the camel and farther back is the body, the minarets forming the hump. “Now look again,” says Shammas, “and see if it is not like a fan!” “Very much so,” I reply, “and it is also like a great spoon with a long slender handle and large oval bowl.” To come down to details, Damascus is an expanse of pearly white tinged with the pink of its roofs. The buildings rise high over the green, and out of them, like fingers pointing to heaven, are the minarets of two hundred mosques, with the mighty dome of the Great Mosque in the centre. At the right of the latter are the arched roofs of bazaars which have been famous for ages, while away off from the rest is a big yellow building with a roof of red tiles. That is the centre of Moslem fanaticism, where for centuries thousands of Mohammedan soldiers have been quartered. At times, a few years ago, even they have let loose their religious fury and slaughtered Christians living in the city.