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also of the Armenian bishops, animated by the progress of liberal' opinions and feelings, even in Lebanon, have, within the last ten years, thrown off the yoke of celibacy, and taken to themselves wives. A priest of the mountain brought up the rear of the party, in his turban, robe, and beard: mounted on his sure-footed mule, habituated, like its master, to cross precipices and ravines; he was on the way to his own home, his own rooftree, where the wife of his bosom awaited him, in the midst of the village of his flock, who would welcome the return of their pastor. His cottage was, probably, as humble as the peasant's; but in that humbleness there was no want, no privation: the little, well-cultivated garden, the few, very few books, the coarse furniture; the attachment of his people, with whom he lived as with one large family. Might not the priest of Lebanon, even with the errors of his creed, be a happy and pious man?
IN A VALLEY NEAR BATROUN.
This scene, characteristic of the often narrow and rugged vales of Syria, is on the confines of the territory of Tripoli, and about three miles from the sea, which is visible from the heights: the Castle is supposed to be a relic of the crusaders, and is a position singularly fortified by nature, and almost impregnable in the age in which it was defended. Here dwelt of old the soldiers of the Cross; perhaps some of the chivalry of England, with a small band of retainers: savage as is the seclusion, it is in the heart of a territory of exceeding beauty and fertility, where a ruthless hand and licentious heart could find ample indulgence. This remarkable rock is perpendicular on all sides, being a hundred feet high, and five to six hundred feet in circumference: the walls of the Castle are so uniform with, and so resemble, the sides of the rock, that they seem almost of one continued piece with them. It would make a famous bandithold, being in a state of good preservation; the gloomy scenery of the iron-like vale is in keeping with its dark and massive walls: it looks as if perched on the turreted cliff, to give a fine and wild finish to the scene. A rivulet runs beneath, crossed by a half-broken and massive arch, over which is the path leading through the valley. The heights to the right are luxuriantly spotted with trees: the benighted traveller, no khan being within reach, may seek the shelter of the decayed chambers and vaults, and, while his fire flashes on the hoary floor and walls, be thankful that he is sheltered from the wind and the dews of night: he may safely feel that he is lord of all he surveys: no host shall meet him in the morn with an eye craving for presents, while kindness is on the lips; no sheich with an exorbitant demand, which may be lessened but not evaded; nor the sound at sunrise of the Turkish prayers, heard distinctly from room to room—first the low muttering, then the gradual swelling of the voice, and the names of Alia and Mohammed mingling loudly in the morning thanksgiving.