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THE METHODIST MAGAZINE.

JULY, 1895.

IN THE LEVANT.

BY THE EDITOR.

BEYROUT TO SMYRNA.

HAMAL, TURKISH PORTER.

FOR two days the sea had been so rough in the open roadstead of Beyrout that no attempt could be made to embark. The great steamers, rolling and pitching at their moorings, were very suggestive of the treatment that their passengers would receive. It was with difficulty that freight could be either discharged or received. Indeed, one of the lighters. by which the cargo was brought

VOL. XLII. No. 1.

ashore, was capsized, and all its freight sank in the sea. At length it calmed sufficiently to permit going on shipboard. Our baggage was carried down on the backs of sturdy porters, through the narrow streets, to the tiny harbour for small boats.

Before embarking, Madame was made the recipient of the biggest bouquet of lovely flowers I think I ever saw, almost as large as a parasol. It was the final souvenir of our faithful dragoman, Mr. Abdallah B. Kayat, to whose thoughtful attention, during our month's journey through Palestine, our comfort and pleasure were so largely due. The sturdy strokes of our boat's crew urged us over the long rolling waves. We were heaved up, up, on the top of a billow, and then slid down, down, down, till ship and shore were alike concealed from view, and it seemed as if we would never emerge again. As we approached the steamship it seemed impossible to climb the steep ladder to her deck. Around were crowding boats and yelling boat

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men; high above us sheered the vessel's side. As our boat rose on the wave, at the moment it reached the right height we had to leap to the ladder and climb up to the deck. How the porters got our baggage on board I don't know.

In a few minutes some of our party (but I shall not divulge their names) had to take refuge in their berths, and the rest of us could hardly keep our feet as our ship tugged at the anchor chains and danced like a cork on the waves.

some I counted one hundred terraces, one above the other. In the background rose the snowy range of Lebanon. The many villages on the mountain sides glowed in the sunset light, and from windows miles away flashed a parting gleam as if to bid us good-bye. It was our last look on Palestine-land of such holy memories, of such thrilling history, of such tragic events. There can be no farewell to scenes like these.

The vessel's deck was crowded with about six hundred Cypriote,

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Amid the clank of machinery and rattling of chains the cargo was still being discharged, the lighters heaving and tumbling on the waves far below. It seemed only by good luck that the bales and boxes fell upon their decks instead of into the water. At length the anchor was weighed, the screw began to revolve, and the ship with its crowded living freight glided from the land.

The view shoreward was magnificent. On all sides rose the stately terraced hills which form the background of Beyrout, covered with vines and olives to the very top. On

Smyrniote and Greek pilgrims returning from the pilgrimage to the sacred places of Jerusalem and the Jordan. The deck was covered with their rugs and mats, on which they slept beneath the open sky. It was with difficulty that one could make his way about the ship without stepping upon them. Many of them had tin cylinders about five feet long and six inches through, containing palm branches plaited into graceful shapes, large religious pictures, and other souvenirs. Many of the pilgrims were exceedingly bright and handsome people. Among

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