The plain of Tarsus is cultivated with wheat and barley; exports of which are sent annually to the capital from the neighbouring port: during harvest, the scene on every side is cheerful, with groups of peasants and tents scattered here and there, in which they dwell during the reaping time. The town is about four hours, or twelve miles, distant from the sea, within two miles of which, the Cydnus is 150 feet wide, and is now navigable only by small boats: the stream is full, and rather more rapid than the Orontes; its tide is impeded near the embouchure by a bar of sand and in other parts of its course there are now impediments, through time and neglect, which anciently did not exist How free and frequent was its navigation in the time of Roman power: how solitary are now its waters: the wild call of the Turkoman, where the harp and the viol were heard, and a pageant of beauty and luxury passed by—such as the world will ne'er see again. "Having crossed the sea of Pamphylia, Cleopatra entered the Cydnus, and going up that river, landed at Tarsus, to meet Antony. Never was equipage more splendid and magnificent than hers: the stern of her ship flamed with gold, the sails were purple, and the oars were inlaid with silver. A pavilion of cloth of gold was raised upon the deck, under which appeared the queen, robed like Venus, and surrounded with the most beautiful virgins of her court, of whom some represented the Nereides, and others the Graces. Instead of trumpets, were heard flutes, hautboys, harps, and other instruments of music, warbling the softest airs, to which the oars kept time. Perfumes were burning on the deck, which spread their odours to a great distance; the shores were covered with an infinite multitude of people." There is now a flashing of arms at intervals, of the lance of the desert robber—not of the legions and guards of Antony— the smoke is rising from the rock, where some wild family prepare their meal: the Cydnus sweeps almost uselessly by,*to be, in the prophetic words, "a place of broad rivers and streams, wherein shall go no galley with oars, neither shall gallant ship pass thereby."

The fall of the Cydnus is not remarkable for its height or grandeur, although the river is here tolerably broad and deep: a cataract, that meets the stranger every day in the Alps, is in the East an unwonted sight, and he pauses long and entrancedly before its flashing volume—as if the lost palaces of Bali suddenly rose from the waves at his feet The fall is broken in many places by rocks, from one of which a tree overhangs the torrent: a small isle of shrubs and a few palms is at a small distance above: the shores on each side are wooded, and backed by bold ascents. Mount Taurus is in the distance. The moon was in her midnight beauty, and beneath her soft and cool light the traveller pursued his way: the snow slept on the crests of Taurus, in such transparent lustre as if freshly fallen from heaven, and about to tarry but for a night: each peak, each grove, each lonely tent, was visible, as at noon-day. The bank beneath the fall was a pleasant resting-place, where the time fled unheeded away: and in the silence of the Eastern night there was something solemn in the rushing sound, as if the voice of the past was there, the glorious, the mournful, the indelible past On these shores rested the army of Alexander, in its resistless career. Let their solitude be peopled again! and the

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white tents, like a night vision, cover them, and the cry of the mighty and the voice of the trumpet, hush the murmur of the waves: when their king, "the terrible and the chosen one, that cut in sunder the gates of brass and bars of iron, and loosed the loins of princes," was here stricken, while the myriads of the Persians were drawing nigh; his strength lost in the Cydnus, like one of its own " bruised reeds," his voice feeble as an infant's, all lost but the unconquerable soul . Again the shores rang and trembled with his army's joy, when he passed before them, his white plume shading his pallid face, as one risen from the dead, "to go forth with great fury to destroy."

Two thousand years are passed since this beautiful pageant was here: and the Cydnus rolls on, cold and clear as then: yet Time, even this great interval, seems to lose its vastness, its awfulness, in such a night, in such an hour as this. They come again, the spectre-glories: the dead men rise from the dust of the earth: there is no sound on the night but the fall of waters, and the white foam is like the waving of garments in the gloom: the peaks of Taurus rise into the air, pure and shadowy as if they belonged not to this world: the cry of the Turcoman, afar off, is like a spirif s cry. What dim procession advances up the stream? the faint flash of oars, on whose silver shafts is the moon's rich beam? the harp and viol wailing, the pavilion of gold faintly shrouding the mightiness of death: each one was beautiful, each girl of Egypt and

Persia but on the face of their queen was unutterable beauty, and unutterable

sorrow: they wept around her, remembering her past glory; but she, too proud to weep, smiled on the shores in mockery, the same smile with which she met Caesar and Antony, and lastly Death; her face had the wan and dream-like hue as after the aspic stung her.

The night is passing away, the moonlight is paler on the snows of Taurus, and the breeze more cold at the first approach of morn: it is time to depart from the memorable stream, whose image will often follow the traveller during his pilgrimage, when he longs for water, and there is none.

The extreme coldness of this river, that proved so nearly fatal to Alexander, and afterwards occasioned the death of Frederic Barbarossa, has been rather exaggerated: several travellers have bathed in it of late years, without experiencing any ill effects. The water is undoubtedly cold, but not more so than that of the other rivers which carry down the melted snow of Mount Taurus. A portion of its ancient beauty, as well as clearness, and tufted trees on its banks, still remain. The celebrated pass leading from Cilicia into Syria, through which Alexander marched, when he left Tarsus to fight the battle of Issus, is about twenty miles to the north of that town: it is a remarkable defile through a chain of inaccessible mountains, and admits of only eight horses abreast, and seems to have been cut through the rock to the depth of about forty feet Cyrus and the Roman emperor Severus also entered Cilicia by the same pass. According to Xenophon, it was only wide enough to admit a single chariot, yet it was abandoned to the two former conquerors without resistance.