CHAPTER XXI.

“Thy strength, Jerusalem, is o’er,And broken are thy walls;The harp of Israel sounds no moreIn thy deserted halls:But where thy Kings and Prophets trod,Triumphant over death,Behold the living soul of God,—The Christ of Nazareth!The halo of his presence fillsThy courts, thy ways of men;His footsteps on thy holy hillsAre beautiful as then;The prayer, whose bloody sweat betrayedHis human agony,Still haunts the awful olive-shadeOf old Gethsemane.”

“Thy strength, Jerusalem, is o’er,

And broken are thy walls;

The harp of Israel sounds no more

In thy deserted halls:

But where thy Kings and Prophets trod,

Triumphant over death,

Behold the living soul of God,—

The Christ of Nazareth!

The halo of his presence fills

Thy courts, thy ways of men;

His footsteps on thy holy hills

Are beautiful as then;

The prayer, whose bloody sweat betrayed

His human agony,

Still haunts the awful olive-shade

Of old Gethsemane.”

To him the past was real. He saw the fields of corn, the ancient olive-trees, the high walls, and the high towers, upon which the Saviour looked. He saw again Abraham, Samuel, Saul, David, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Pilate, and their associates. He walked in imagination in the welcoming crowd as they strewed the branches along the path from Bethany to Jerusalem. He saw the council chamber, the cross, and the ascension. He dreamed of the gathering armies at Antioch and Joppa, whose banners at last waved over the palace of Godfrey of Bouillon in Jerusalem. To him the gates of history swung wide open, and he wandered back through the centuries, meeting patriarch and maiden, shepherd and warrior, prophet and judge, seer and apostle, in a companionship social and confidential. It was like long generations of experienceto walk those hallowed fields and realize the wonderful tales of history. In this, as much as in the views of the present, is found the profit resulting from travel in such lands. One lives over the tales of which he has read, with each locality serving as a fresh reminder of the unnoted details. He is an old man in experience who has travelled in the right spirit over those eldest lands of the world; and few indeed is the number of tourists who can feel that they have done so.

Mr. Taylor, like Longfellow, Tennyson, and Scott, had a gift of looking through the present into the past, and held delightful communion with the old days. Trying, however, with a laudable desire to instruct his readers, he kept studiously close to the simple facts of his actual experience, and in his narrative seldom allowed himself to fall into poetical expressions.

He left Egypt about the middle of the month of April and landed at Beyrout, which was not at that time, nor since, a very attractive locality. It was made more unpleasant to him by an incarceration in a kind of prison called the “Quarantine.” But with a resignation worthy of the oldest Turk, he made the best of his circumstances, and judging by the account he has given of it, he had an easy, jolly time of it. Released from the prison he travelled down the shore of the Mediterranean to Tyre, with whose remnant he seems to have been deeply impressed. The old Tyre, with its fleets, with its enormous stocks of merchandise,with its lofty piles of cedar timber, with its gorgeous purple robes, with its bulwarks and battlements, with its armed defenders and hosts of besiegers, arose from its crumbled fragments and passed through the panoramic changes which so startle the student of Syrian history.

After leaving the village which now replaces the ancient city, he rode down the sandy shore and composed a poem which was afterwards somewhat changed, but in which was retained the boldness of the waves, which then beat at his feet.

“The wild and windy morning is lit with lurid fire;The thundering surf of ocean beats on the rocks of Tyre,—Beats on the fallen columns and round the headland roars,And hurls its foamy volume along the hollow shores,And calls with angry clamor, that speaks its long desire:‘Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of Tyre?’Within her cunning harbor, choked with invading sand,No galleys bring their freightage, the spoils of every land,And like a prostrate forest, when autumn gales have blown,Her colonnades of granite lie shattered and o’erthrown;And from the reef the pharos no longer flings its fire,To beacon home from Tarshish, the lordly ships of Tyre.”“Where is the wealth of ages that heaped thy princely mart?The pomp of purple trappings; the gems of Syrian art;The silken goats of Kedar; Sabæa’s spicy store;The tributes of the islands thy squadrons homeward bore,When in thy gates triumphant they entered from the seaWith sound of horn and sackbut, of harp and psaltery.”“Though silent and forgotten, yet Nature still lamentsThe pomp and power departed, the lost magnificence:The hills were proud to see thee, and they are sadder now;The sea was proud to bear thee, and wears a troubled brow,And evermore the surges chant forth their vain desire:‘Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of Tyre?’”

“The wild and windy morning is lit with lurid fire;

The thundering surf of ocean beats on the rocks of Tyre,—

Beats on the fallen columns and round the headland roars,

And hurls its foamy volume along the hollow shores,

And calls with angry clamor, that speaks its long desire:

‘Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of Tyre?’

Within her cunning harbor, choked with invading sand,No galleys bring their freightage, the spoils of every land,And like a prostrate forest, when autumn gales have blown,Her colonnades of granite lie shattered and o’erthrown;And from the reef the pharos no longer flings its fire,To beacon home from Tarshish, the lordly ships of Tyre.”

Within her cunning harbor, choked with invading sand,

No galleys bring their freightage, the spoils of every land,

And like a prostrate forest, when autumn gales have blown,

Her colonnades of granite lie shattered and o’erthrown;

And from the reef the pharos no longer flings its fire,

To beacon home from Tarshish, the lordly ships of Tyre.”

“Where is the wealth of ages that heaped thy princely mart?The pomp of purple trappings; the gems of Syrian art;The silken goats of Kedar; Sabæa’s spicy store;The tributes of the islands thy squadrons homeward bore,When in thy gates triumphant they entered from the seaWith sound of horn and sackbut, of harp and psaltery.”

“Where is the wealth of ages that heaped thy princely mart?

The pomp of purple trappings; the gems of Syrian art;

The silken goats of Kedar; Sabæa’s spicy store;

The tributes of the islands thy squadrons homeward bore,

When in thy gates triumphant they entered from the sea

With sound of horn and sackbut, of harp and psaltery.”

“Though silent and forgotten, yet Nature still lamentsThe pomp and power departed, the lost magnificence:The hills were proud to see thee, and they are sadder now;The sea was proud to bear thee, and wears a troubled brow,And evermore the surges chant forth their vain desire:‘Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of Tyre?’”

“Though silent and forgotten, yet Nature still laments

The pomp and power departed, the lost magnificence:

The hills were proud to see thee, and they are sadder now;

The sea was proud to bear thee, and wears a troubled brow,

And evermore the surges chant forth their vain desire:

‘Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of Tyre?’”

One of the most sublime experiences of life is to stand where he stood, with the great waves rolling up the beach and shaking the earth with their powerful surges, and with the spray breaking about the dark ruins of the ancient city, and there repeat the poem from which the above verses are taken. It gives power and life to the words which can never be felt or seen by those who have never heard the bellowings or felt the shocks of the Mediterranean surf.

From Tyre he ascended Mount Carmel, and following the shore to Jaffa, took the usual route to Jerusalem. It was the most pleasant season of the year (April), and all vegetation was fast springing into its bountiful life. The cactus, orange, and pomegranate were in bloom, and all nature seemed in its most cheerful mood. So like a paradise did it look to him, that it was some little time before he could get into that frame of mind which brought a realization that he was in that land of great renown. But as that thrilling moment arrived when he stepped upon the highest plateau of the mountains near Jerusalem and looked with astonished eyes over the valley and on the “City of our God and the mountain of his holiness,” he felt, with a sudden thrill, that he was in the presence of the Great and the Holy. With emotions that cannotbe described he rode over those sacred fields and entered the gates of the city.

From Jerusalem he made an excursion, by the way of Bethany, to the Dead Sea. It was a sultry day, and he suffered much from the heat, having therein a suggestion of the rain of fire and brimstone which destroyed the cities whose ruins are supposed to be petrified at the bottom of the Dead Sea. With his usual hardihood he plunged fearlessly into the bituminous waters of the Dead Sea, and seemed to enjoy what no traveller who has since indulged in that bath is known to have enjoyed, the buoyance of the water and the sensations caused by the volcanic materials held in solution.

On his return to the city he remained for several days examining the sacred localities and contending with the crowds of beggars and guides who blocked the narrow and filthy streets of Jerusalem. The wretchedness, poverty, disease, and filth of the people are so prominent and so loathsome, that unless the ordinary traveller keeps constantly on his guard, he will forget all the old and holy associations in his disgust for the city of to-day. It is said that the city is less dirty and less stricken with disease than it was in 1850. If such be the fact, it is a marvel indeed how Mr. Taylor ever found a fit place for his Muse, which so frequently visited him there. He seems, however, to have been deeply interested in everything, having about as little faith in what the guides told him aboutthe locality of the Holy Sepulchre, Calvary, Gethsemane, and the true cross, as travellers in more modern times appear to entertain. Jerusalem was not only all that we have represented it to be outwardly, but the people would lie beyond the fables of any other people; would steal and would murder. To be much troubled by these facts would destroy the poetry of the place, and Mr. Taylor allowed none of those things to move him. He wrote of the facts as he found them, uncolored by the imagination, and seems to have flattered himself that he was not as sentimental as the travellers who had preceded him. If he was so very practical, whence such beautiful poetry?

“Fair shines the moon, Jerusalem,Upon the hills that woreThy glory once, their diademEre Judah’s reign was o’er:The stars on hallowed OlivetAnd over Zion burn,But when shall rise thy splendor, set?Thy majesty return?”

“Fair shines the moon, Jerusalem,

Upon the hills that wore

Thy glory once, their diadem

Ere Judah’s reign was o’er:

The stars on hallowed Olivet

And over Zion burn,

But when shall rise thy splendor, set?

Thy majesty return?”

On the 7th of May he left Jerusalem, in company with another traveller and the mule-drivers, taking the route by way of Samaria to Nazareth through a country at that season covered with the richest and freshest foliage. Along the entire route the tourist seldom passes out of sight of broken columns, falling fortresses, gray old monasteries, dismal hermitages, and Roman masonry. The olive and fig trees shadedthe path, and with the wide fields of grain gave the appearance of thrift and enterprise. He visited Shechem, where it is said that Joseph was buried, and near which he was thrown into the pit by his brethren. There Mr. Taylor saw Samaritans of the original stock, and there he was shown an ancient manuscript of Hebrew Law, said to be three thousand years old.

He made a short stop at Nazareth and was shown where the mother of Christ had resided, the table from which Christ ate, and the school-room (?) in which Christ is said to have been taught.

Going thence he ascended Mount Tabor, as it was his custom to climb all the mountains he could reach, and then hastened on to the Sea of Galilee. There he swam in its crystal water, and visited the Mount of Beatitudes, Joseph’s Well, and Magadala, the home of Mary Magdalene. Passing Cesarea Philippi, and crossing the anti-Lebanon range of mountains in imminent danger of robbery and death from the rebellious tribes of Druses which inhabited that region, they came out on the afternoon of May 19th in view of the lovely city of Damascus.

Mr. Taylor made a sketch of himself as he appeared in his Eastern costume, while seated on an eminence that afternoon, overlooking the most ancient city in the world. In one of the rooms of Mr. Taylor’s lovely home of Cedarcroft there hangs a large painting, of considerable merit, and said to be an excellent portrait, which was executed by a friend from that sketch.It represents Mr. Taylor sitting in Oriental posture, on the mountain-side, with the domes, minarets, and embowered walls of Damascus on the distant plain. He always held that painting to be a treasure, connecting him, as it did, with those scenes of early travel, and with the friend who made the painting, and with those who admired it.

He was delighted with Damascus. It was placed in the centre of a plain whereon grew in the greatest abundance all the fruits and all the varieties of leaf and blossom known to the tropic zone. No other spot yet explored can boast such beautiful trees; such a profusion of roses; such blossoms of jessamine and pomegranate; such loads of walnuts, figs, olives, apricots; such luxuriant grasses, and such productive fields, as that land which has been cultivated by man the longest. Nature has set the crown upon Damascus and blessed it with a superabundance of vegetable life. But what is given to verdure seems to be taken from humanity, for, regarded as a whole, he found the people of the city to be a rather bad lot. Yet there, as elsewhere, he found agreeable companions and warm friends. He made himself so much at home that he soon appeared like a native, and all the labyrinths of bazars and alleys were as familiar to him after a few days’ stay as they seemed to be to the oldest resident. He liked their life so well that he soon learned to enjoy to its full the physical comfort and mental rest of the Turkish bath. He ever after referred to the bathat Damascus as the acme of bodily satisfaction. The fact that so many travellers have been disappointed in the enjoyment of the bath does not show Mr. Taylor’s account to be so much overdrawn, as it shows the difference between the pleasure to be derived from the pastimes of any people by those who adhere more or less to their own tastes and customs, and those who, like Mr. Taylor, fall wholly and heartily into the ways and thoughts of the native. When in Damascus, he not only did as they do outwardly, but he set his mind in the same channel, and knew what it was to be a Turk in aspirations as well as in dress. No other traveller known to literature ever entered so completely into the experience and social companionship of the people whom he visited.

In order that he might leave no habit untried which came within his reach, he took a potion of hashish, to test its strength and effects. The drug did not begin to intoxicate him quite as soon as he expected, and he doubled the dose, thus taking six times as much as would intoxicate an ordinary Turk. It made him terribly ill; and it was almost miraculous that he survived the shock to his system. He did not try the strength of that drug again. Among the friends he made, and whose home he visited at Damascus, was a family of Maronite Christians, who, eight years later, were heinously butchered by the Moslems during the great massacre following the Druses’ and Marnoites’ dispute in 1860.

Leaving Damascus.—Arrival at Beyrout.—Trip to Aleppo.—Enters Asia Minor.—The Scenery and People.—The Hills of Lebanon.—Beautiful Scenes about Brousa.—Enters Constantinople.—A Prophesy.—Return to Smyrna.—Again in Italy.—Visits his German Friend at Gotha.—The Home of his Second Love.—Goes to London.—Visits Gibraltar.—Cadiz.—Seville.—Spanish History.

“Upon the glittering pageantriesOf gay Damascus streets I lookAs idly as a babe, that seesThe painted pictures of a book.”—Taylor’s Oriental Idyl.

“Upon the glittering pageantriesOf gay Damascus streets I lookAs idly as a babe, that seesThe painted pictures of a book.”

“Upon the glittering pageantries

Of gay Damascus streets I look

As idly as a babe, that sees

The painted pictures of a book.”

—Taylor’s Oriental Idyl.

From Damascus Mr. Taylor journeyed to Baalbec, where are the most imposing ruins to be found in Syria, and where stand six of the most symmetrical and exquisitely carved columns to be seen in Asia or Europe. He described the temples and fragments so vividly, that travellers who have taken his “Lands of the Saracen” for a guide have seldom been disappointed or mistaken in their anticipations, the actual scene they look upon being so like the image they formed in their minds while reading his description. The gift of portraying through the combination of words and sentences an accurate picture of a city existing in astrange land and amid a strange people, is a rare gift, and the number is very few of those who are found to possess it. Mr. Taylor was one of those privileged ones. In his description we see the columns, cornices, pediments, walls, platforms, broken pillars, and falling pavilions as distinctly as they appear when we afterwards look upon those romantic piles with the natural eye. To him, as to others, it was a study to determine, if possible, how such enormous blocks of stone, sixty-two feet long and ten feet in diameter, could have been transported and placed in the buildings. It is beyond all the skill of to-day to move nine thousand tons of stone in a single block with the conveniences of that time.

From Baalbec he ascended the Lebanon range of mountains, and looked over the land from the snowy peak of one of its lofty summits. He visited the sacred cedars which have lived on the mountain-side for three thousand years, and then rode on through chasms, along cliffs, and by the sweetest and richest dells, until he descended to the plain of Beyrout.

His appreciation of the hills of Lebanon is more clearly seen in his poetry than in his prose. For, when writing of them afterwards, he said:—

“Lebanon, thou mount of story,Well we know thy sturdy glory,Since the days of Solomon;Well me know the Five old Cedars,Scarred by ages,—silent pleaders,Preaching in their gray sedateness,Of thy forest’s fallen greatness,Of the vessels of the TyrianAnd the palaces AssyrianAnd the temple on MoriahTo the High and Holy One!Know the wealth of thy appointment—Myrrh and aloes, gum and ointment;But we knew not, till we clomb thee,Of the nectar dropping from thee,—Of the pure, pellucid OphirIn the cups of vino d’oro,On the hills of Lebanon!”

“Lebanon, thou mount of story,

Well we know thy sturdy glory,

Since the days of Solomon;

Well me know the Five old Cedars,

Scarred by ages,—silent pleaders,

Preaching in their gray sedateness,

Of thy forest’s fallen greatness,

Of the vessels of the Tyrian

And the palaces Assyrian

And the temple on Moriah

To the High and Holy One!

Know the wealth of thy appointment—

Myrrh and aloes, gum and ointment;

But we knew not, till we clomb thee,

Of the nectar dropping from thee,—

Of the pure, pellucid Ophir

In the cups of vino d’oro,

On the hills of Lebanon!”

In that city he laid his plans for the future, and abandoned his purposed trip to the Euphrates and Tigris. He relinquished the design to visit Assyria with great reluctance, and decided to pass through the interior of Asia Minor to Constantinople. Acting immediately upon this resolution, without an apparent doubt of being able to traverse safely the unknown interior of Asia Minor, he engaged a vessel and sailed up the coast to the Orontes River, and thence to Aleppo. In that city, by a ludicrous mistake, Mr. Taylor and his travelling companion were invited to the house of one of the wealthiest merchants, and were treated with the greatest hospitality by the owner, who supposed they were titled Englishmen. But when the mistake was revealed, Mr. Taylor had become such an agreeable visitor that his host insisted upon entertaining them during their stay in Aleppo. He had been there but a few days before he became such a general favorite,that he was invited to call on the nobility, was urged to attend feasts, balls, and weddings, and when he left the city, the friendly regrets of hundreds of Moslems and Christians followed him.

Leaving Aleppo early in June, he followed the shore of the Mediterranean around to the plain of Issus, where Alexander the Great won his great victory, and thence to Tarsus, the birthplace of the Apostle Paul. It may have been “no mean city” when Paul was born, but it was a most insignificant village when Mr. Taylor was there. But as the magnificent mountains of the Taurus range loomed up along the northern horizon, his attention was taken from rags, beggary, and ruined fortresses, to snowy cliffs, over which he had a passion for clambering.

Those persons who have ascended the Alps at the Simplon pass, have a very good idea of the Taurus mountains, and can realize somewhat of Mr. Taylor’s satisfaction as he rode up the gorges and peered into the deep valleys. He loved the mountains anywhere. But the Taurus seemed then, in the glow of his return to perfect health and with all the profusion of nature’s living beauties blooming about him, and the eternal snows gleaming above him, to be the most attractive landscape in the world.

“O deep, exulting freedom of the hills!O summits vast, that to the climbing view,In naked glory stand against the blue!O cold and buoyant air, whose crystal fillsHeaven’s amethystine bowl! O speeding streams,That foam and thunder from the cliffs below!O slippery brinks and solitudes of snow,And granite bleakness, where the vulture screams!”

“O deep, exulting freedom of the hills!

O summits vast, that to the climbing view,

In naked glory stand against the blue!

O cold and buoyant air, whose crystal fills

Heaven’s amethystine bowl! O speeding streams,

That foam and thunder from the cliffs below!

O slippery brinks and solitudes of snow,

And granite bleakness, where the vulture screams!”

His visit to Konia (Iconium), the capital of Karamania, was full of little episodes and personal incidents, which he told afterwards in print in his own inimitable manner. But nothing of unusual moment occurred until he reached ancient Phrygia, where the ruins of olden cities and fortresses interested him much. Their history was almost as unknown as the story of the temples of Yucatan, and consequently had a mysterious appearance which charms in a bewildering way the study of a poet.

Riding on over hills and mountains, across delightful streams, through fertile valleys, associating with the Turks on friendly terms, and studying their habits and language, Mr. Taylor pushed fearlessly into the very heart of Asia Minor. Visiting Oezani in its debris, and the valley of Rhyndacus, they traversed the primeval forests on the Mysian Olympus, and true to his instincts he sought the heights of Olympus, twin mountain, in size and literature, with its Grecian namesake. From that point to Brousa, near the Sea of Marmora, it was but a day’s journey, and seems to have been the most delightful ride of the whole tour. Gardens, orchards, grain-fields, thickets of clematis and roses, patches of beech and oak woodland, and brilliant streams pleased the eye, while the songs of birds and of happyharvesters charmed the ear. Grand mountains pierced the skies, covered with dense forests, behind them, and the plain stretched away—a Garden of Eden—to the shore of a placid inland sea.

They entered Brousa in excellent health and spirits, having seen no unusual fatigue and been in no great danger during the whole journey through a country then almost lost and unknown to the civilized world.

From Brousa, the party descended to the Sea of Marmora, and taking a sail-boat were wafted by the Golden Horn into the interminable fleets of Constantinople. During his stay in that city he witnessed the display of the Turkish holidays, saw the Sultan on his throne, entered the mosque of Saint Sophia, ran to the numerous conflagrations, and unravelled to his satisfaction some of the social and political problems connected with the Sultan’s rule and the state of popular discontent. He foretold a war with Russia, and a contest between the latter and England over the coveted gem of the East and the gate to the Black Sea. His predictions have already been proven to be true, showing an insight into political affairs wholly unlooked for in a young man, and not to be found in such as had travelled to less purpose.

On leaving Constantinople, he proceeded again to Smyrna, which place appeared to so much better advantage on his second visit than it did at his first, that instead of leaving it, as before, with anathemas, he celebrated his visit with a poem.

“The ‘Ornament of Asia’ and the ‘CrownOf fair Ionia.’ Yea, but Asia standsNo more an empress, and Ionia’s handsHave lost their sceptre. Thou, majestic town,Art as a diamond on a faded robe.”

“The ‘Ornament of Asia’ and the ‘Crown

Of fair Ionia.’ Yea, but Asia stands

No more an empress, and Ionia’s hands

Have lost their sceptre. Thou, majestic town,

Art as a diamond on a faded robe.”

The reader may not need to be again reminded of Mr. Taylor’s double view of the scenes he visited, or of the fact that he tried to give faithful pictures of the present in his prose and left the ideal and fanciful to his books of poetry. But to understand his disposition, and correctly estimate his ability, they need to be read together; and hence, before taking leave of Asia Minor, we venture to quote a verse from a dedication to his friend Richard H. Stoddard, which we have seen in a volume of Mr. Taylor’s poems.

“O Friend, were you but couched on Tmolus’ side,In the warm myrtles, in the golden airOf the declining day, which half lays bare,Half drapes, the silent mountains and the wideEmbosomed vale, that wanders to the sea;And the far sea, with doubtful specks of sail,And farthest isles, that slumber tranquillyBeneath the Ionian autumn’s violet veil;—Were you but with me, little were the needOf this imperfect artifice of rhyme,Where the strong Fancy peals a broken chimeAnd the ripe brain but sheds abortive seed.But I am solitary, and the curse,Or blessing, which has clung to me from birth—The torment and the ecstasy of verse—Comes up to me from the illustrious earthOf ancient Tmolus; and the very stones,Reverberant, din the mellow air with tonesWinch the sweet air remembers; and they blendWith fainter echoes, which the mountains flingFrom far oracular caverns: so, my Friend,I cannot choose but sing.”

“O Friend, were you but couched on Tmolus’ side,

In the warm myrtles, in the golden air

Of the declining day, which half lays bare,

Half drapes, the silent mountains and the wide

Embosomed vale, that wanders to the sea;

And the far sea, with doubtful specks of sail,

And farthest isles, that slumber tranquilly

Beneath the Ionian autumn’s violet veil;—

Were you but with me, little were the need

Of this imperfect artifice of rhyme,

Where the strong Fancy peals a broken chime

And the ripe brain but sheds abortive seed.

But I am solitary, and the curse,

Or blessing, which has clung to me from birth—

The torment and the ecstasy of verse—

Comes up to me from the illustrious earth

Of ancient Tmolus; and the very stones,

Reverberant, din the mellow air with tones

Winch the sweet air remembers; and they blend

With fainter echoes, which the mountains fling

From far oracular caverns: so, my Friend,

I cannot choose but sing.”

At Constantinople Mr. Taylor heard of the action which had been taken by the United States, looking to the opening of the ports of Japan to the commerce of America. He heard that a squadron was to leave the United States in November, under the command of Commodore Perry, and he formed the resolution to connect himself with the expedition, if possible. To that end he wrote to his friends and employers in New York, asking them to obtain permission for him to join the fleet. Not knowing just when the expedition would sail, nor at what ports it would stop on its way to Japan, he anxiously watched for information, and inquired at every place where information was likely to be found.

He was determined to visit Spain before he went to China and Japan, and was equally resolved to visit the home of his German travelling companion who ascended the Nile with him, and who had sent pressing invitations to him to come to Gotha.

The business details connected with his finances and outfit for Spain and China also called him to London, and arranging his tour so as to accomplish these diverse ends he visited Malta, where he was delayed ten days, and then sailed to Sicily, where he witnessedthe Catanian centennial festival in honor of St. Agatha, and where he beheld the awful spectacle of Ætna in eruption. From Sicily he sailed up the coast to that Naples which, as a wayfarer in Rome seven years before, he had so much longed to see, and filled his letters with praises of its beautiful bay and charming circle of mountain, city, town, cliffs, and islands. Without changing steamers he proceeded to Leghorn, and going to Florence experienced that delight of all delights,—in Florence a second time. Feeling that his time was limited, and “drawn by an unseen influence,” he hastened on to Venice, and thence through the regions of the Austrian Tyrol to Munich and Gotha.

Gladsome days at Gotha! Was it not the country of his beloved friend? Was it not the home of his friend’s niece, Marie Hansen? The daughter of the great astronomer, Peter Andreas Hansen, was a worthy child of a noble sire. Mr. Taylor had listened to her praises, but had hardly hoped to meet her.

“Now the night is overpast,And the mist is cleared away:On my barren life at lastBreaks the bright, reluctant day.”“Quick, fiery thrills, which only are not pangsBecause so warm and welcome, pierce my frame,As were its airy substance suddenlyClothed on with flesh; the ichor in my veinsBegins to redden with the pulse of blood,And, from the recognition of the eyesThat now behold me, something I receiveOf man’s incarnate beauty. Thou, as wellConfessest this bright change: across thy cheeksA faintest wild-rose color comes and goes,And, on thy proud lips, Phyra, sits a flame!Oh, we are nearer!—not suffice me nowThe touch of marble hands, reliance cold,And destiny’s pale promises of love;But, clasping thee as mortal passion claspsBosom to Bosom, let my being thusAssure itself, and thine.”—Taylor’s Deukalion.

“Now the night is overpast,And the mist is cleared away:On my barren life at lastBreaks the bright, reluctant day.”

“Now the night is overpast,

And the mist is cleared away:

On my barren life at last

Breaks the bright, reluctant day.”

“Quick, fiery thrills, which only are not pangsBecause so warm and welcome, pierce my frame,As were its airy substance suddenlyClothed on with flesh; the ichor in my veinsBegins to redden with the pulse of blood,And, from the recognition of the eyesThat now behold me, something I receiveOf man’s incarnate beauty. Thou, as wellConfessest this bright change: across thy cheeksA faintest wild-rose color comes and goes,And, on thy proud lips, Phyra, sits a flame!Oh, we are nearer!—not suffice me nowThe touch of marble hands, reliance cold,And destiny’s pale promises of love;But, clasping thee as mortal passion claspsBosom to Bosom, let my being thusAssure itself, and thine.”

“Quick, fiery thrills, which only are not pangs

Because so warm and welcome, pierce my frame,

As were its airy substance suddenly

Clothed on with flesh; the ichor in my veins

Begins to redden with the pulse of blood,

And, from the recognition of the eyes

That now behold me, something I receive

Of man’s incarnate beauty. Thou, as well

Confessest this bright change: across thy cheeks

A faintest wild-rose color comes and goes,

And, on thy proud lips, Phyra, sits a flame!

Oh, we are nearer!—not suffice me now

The touch of marble hands, reliance cold,

And destiny’s pale promises of love;

But, clasping thee as mortal passion clasps

Bosom to Bosom, let my being thus

Assure itself, and thine.”

—Taylor’s Deukalion.

After a few weeks spent in and about that pleasant city, to which he was destined to return and claim his bride, and in which he was to pass many of the sweetest days of his life, he journeyed to London. There he made his arrangements for a trip into China, and hastened away to Gibraltar.

On the 6th of November he left the great rock and took passage in a steamer for Cadiz, in Spain. There he walked the streets three thousand years old, and wherein, it is said, that Hercules strode. Yet there is but little now to be seen that would remind one of antiquity. He noticed, however, the beautiful and graceful women. From Cadiz he went by boat up the Guadalquiver River to the pretty town of Seville. There were the old Moorish houses; there the massive Cathedral; there the Saracenic palace of Alcazar, with all its porches, galleries, arches, and sculptures; there was the palace called Pilate’s House, with its decorationsfrom Arabia, and inscriptions from the Koran; and there was the museum containing Murillo’s best paintings.

But it requires only a short time to visit all the attractions of Seville, and Mr. Taylor soon proceeded to Granada. In nearly all the cities which he visited he was reminded, directly or indirectly, of the visit of his friend, Washington Irving. He found the same guides, or lodged at the same hotel, or visited some celebrated locality of which Irving had written.

In Granada was the celebrated fortress of Alhambra, which was captured from the Moors by the troops of Ferdinand and Isabella the same year that Columbus discovered America; there was the palace of Charles V.; there the Carthusian convent, the Monastery of St. Geronimo, and there the cathedral with the remains of Ferdinand and Isabella. He made a hasty trip to Cordova and its ancient Moslem mosque. Then, visiting Alhama, Malaga, and Ronda, he returned hastily to Gibraltar and examined the renowned fortress, said to be the strongest citadel in the world.

In that somewhat hasty view of Southern Spain he obtained much valuable information and an experience which often served him in his literary work as a writer for the public press. Southern Spain and Southern France, next to Rome itself, are replete with warlike and romantic associations. Gauls, Romans, Moors, and Spaniards, have made nearly every plain a battle-field; and the toppling walls of the ancient towersand palaces tell of the fiercest contests, the most terrible inquisitions, and the narrowest of narrow escapes. Song and story in prose and rhyme have combined in every form to make the land attractive, and it is a matter of deep regret that Mr. Taylor, who was so capable of developing all these characteristics, had not more time in which to visit them and write out his experience.

Leaves Gibraltar for Alexandria.—Egypt and Old Friends.—The Town of Suez.—Embarks for Bombay.—Mocha and its Coffee.—Aden.—Arrival in Bombay.—Reception by the People.—Trip to Elephanta.—Ride into the Interior.—Difficulties of the Journey.—Views of Agra.—Scenes about Delhi.—Starts for the Himalaya Mountains.

“Where is Gulistan, the Land of Roses?Not on hills, where Northern wintersBreak their spears in icy splinters,And in shrouded snow the world reposes;But amid the glow and splendor,Which the Orient summers lend her,Blue the heaven above her beauty closes:There is Gulistan, the Land of Roses.Northward stand the Persian mountains;Southward spring the silver fountains,Which to Hafiz taught his sweetest measures.Clearly ringing to the singing,Which the nightingales delight in,When the Spring, from Oman wingingUnto Shiraz, showers her fragrant treasuresOn the land, till valleys brighten.”—Taylor.

“Where is Gulistan, the Land of Roses?

Not on hills, where Northern winters

Break their spears in icy splinters,

And in shrouded snow the world reposes;

But amid the glow and splendor,

Which the Orient summers lend her,

Blue the heaven above her beauty closes:

There is Gulistan, the Land of Roses.

Northward stand the Persian mountains;Southward spring the silver fountains,Which to Hafiz taught his sweetest measures.Clearly ringing to the singing,Which the nightingales delight in,When the Spring, from Oman wingingUnto Shiraz, showers her fragrant treasuresOn the land, till valleys brighten.”

Northward stand the Persian mountains;

Southward spring the silver fountains,

Which to Hafiz taught his sweetest measures.

Clearly ringing to the singing,

Which the nightingales delight in,

When the Spring, from Oman winging

Unto Shiraz, showers her fragrant treasures

On the land, till valleys brighten.”

—Taylor.

By far the most interesting and valuable part of Mr. Taylor’s experience as a traveller was in India, China, and Japan, if we consider only the welfare of his readers. But so far as its influence upon him wasconcerned, its impression was far less marked than that in Europe and Egypt. At the time he left Gibraltar for Egypt, the lands of India, China, and Japan were comparatively little known to the reading communities in America. Even India, which had so long been the idol of England and the El Dorado for all her adventurous spirits and valorous soldiers, was a country with which America had but little communication, and in whose people Americans took but little interest. It was a neglected field.

Mr. Taylor, in a letter to a friend in Washington, laid much stress upon the importance to American commerce of an accurate description of those lands, and hoped to be the instrument by which an interest in such enterprises might be awakened. It was a laudable, patriotic purpose, and was most conscientiously carried out by him.

He left Gibraltar on the 28th of November, on a Peninsular and Oriental steamer, which touched at that port, on its way from Southampton to Alexandria. He arrived at Alexandria December 8, and sought his old quarters in the city. He felt like one who returns to his home, as he walked the streets of the Egyptian city, and relates with evident satisfaction how pleasant it was to call out to the crowd of donkey-drivers in their native tongue.

But his visit to Cairo gave him the keenest delight, as there he saw many familiar faces, and was greeted with many welcoming smiles. He was especially delightedto meet his faithful dragoman, Achmet, who had been his companion on his trip to the White Nile, and the happiness of the Egyptian on seeing his old employer told very impressively the power and virtue of Mr. Taylor’s character. Men were faithful to him because he had faith in them. They loved him because he understood and appreciated them. Even the little donkey-boy on whose animal Mr. Taylor had rode a year before in one of his reckless canters through the bazaars, remembered him and offered to let him ride again without pay—an act unheard of by other travellers there. It could not be otherwise than sweet to travel in any land where the people were friends and where the wanderer was regarded in the light of an especially intelligent relative.

At that date there were no railroads in Egypt, although one was projected, and Mr. Taylor was compelled, in common with the crowd of other travellers, to ride in a cart, eighty-four miles, through the sandy desert, to Suez. The latter town was then, according to Mr. Taylor’s account, a small, dirty, insignificant place. But the writer, who visited the place after a visit to Japan, China, and India, in 1870, found a very prosperous town, with excellent hotel accommodations. The bazaar was large and stocked with an immense quantity of goods from all parts of the civilized world. It has doubtless grown much since the work was begun on the Suez Canal, and since the harbor has been dredged and the wharves constructed.

His stay in Suez was, however, very brief, as the Mediterranean steamer had arrived much behind time, and consequently all were hurried on board the little tug, and soon walked the deck of an India steamer.

They were on the Red Sea! Now that its barren, sandy shores, the home of the pelican and ostrich, have become so familiar to tourists, and its glaring surface been so often mentioned by correspondents, there is less romance about a voyage from Suez to Aden than in that comparatively early day when Mr. Taylor visited the locality. There was the rugged pass on the west, through which the pillar of fire led the escaping Jews to the shore, and there was the beach and highlands on the east, up which they marched dry-shod from the bed of the sea, while the waves rolled in on the hosts of Pharaoh. There was the hill on which Miriam sang so exultingly; and beyond, the hot peaks of the Sinaitic Wilderness. Somewhere in the vicinity of that sea resided the Queen of Sheba; and not far from its shores were the forgotten mines of ancient Ophir.

But Mr. Taylor felt now that a patriotic duty rested upon him, and avoiding the delicious flights of fancy which pleased him so much in Europe, he devoted himself to the practical things which might be of advantage to his ambitious countrymen. So he told about the sailors who were employed on the steamer, where Hindoos did all the drudgery and Chinamen prepared the food, under the direction of Europeans.He described the character of the passengers, telling where each came from and where they were going. How he ascertained these facts is an enigma; but they were important to commercial people who would compete with the established lines, and who would like to know whom to employ and who would be their patrons. There were physicians, soldiers, officers, merchants, and health-seekers, from each of whom Mr. Taylor managed to gain much information. He did not wait, like the fashionable tourist of this day, until he arrived at his destination, trusting to luck for information and accommodation. He closely studied the country before he arrived there, and frequently astonished his guides and native companions by showing a much more accurate and extensive knowledge of their country than they possessed who had lived there all their lives.

He mentioned the hot red hills and the furnace-like surface of the sea, saying that one part of the Red Sea was the hottest part of the earth’s surface. But he appears to have suffered less than he had in the desert, and was quite happy with his biscuit and claret, and lost no time with useless fans.

He saw Mocha from the deck of the steamer, and immediately set about ascertaining what advantages that port and town offered to commerce. Without leaving the deck he found persons who knew all about Arabia and its products; so he sits down and writes a letter about coffee and its culture in and about Mocha.He was such a devoted lover of coffee that it may have been a peculiarly interesting topic to him. At all events, he wrote so intelligently that an old schoolmate, who was engaged in foreign trade, acted profitably on Mr. Taylor’s hints and started a son in the coffee-trade at Baltimore. Mr. Taylor stated in his letter that fifteen thousand tons of coffee were exported annually from Mocha, it being raised in the interior and brought to Mocha on camels. He said that foreign vessels could best load at Aden, the English stronghold on the south-west coast of Arabia, to which port the native coasting vessels carried nearly all the exports of Mocha and of the other small ports along the Red Sea. He also gave the information that equally good coffee could be obtained on the Abyssinian coast, and at a smaller price.

He entered the port of Aden in the night, and was startled to look out on the port in the morning and see such jagged masses of black rock shooting up from the sand one thousand five hundred feet. It is another Gibraltar, and shrewdly has England held by diplomacy what she obtained by such a show of force. But the heat from the sand and barren rocks is so intense that the quivers of a heated atmosphere are always visible, and very injurious to the eyes. At the time of Mr. Taylor’s visit, the town and the harbor were wretched and dangerous; but in 1870 the writer found a neat village, with good hotels, and a spacious wharf. Mr. Taylor saw the advantages of the portand predicted its growth. He mentioned the form, features, and dispositions of the Arabians; and told what interest the Parsees and Hindoos took in the local trade. He mentioned the articles of commerce to be found there, and gave the prices.

There is not to be found in his letters to the “Tribune,” nor in his book, “India, China, and Japan,” any mention of his sensations when he saw, as he did at Aden, a fire-worshipper (Parsee) for the first time. Being a poet by nature, and an admirer of Moore, he must have been fascinated by the actual presence of a Gheber with whom he could converse, and with whom he could change English money into the coin of the country. How “Lalla Rookh” comes to the tongue’s end when we look a fire-worshipper in the face and recognize the picture Moore had given of him!

At Aden Mr. Taylor witnessed an incident which, to one so broadly charitable and Christian, must have been most revolting. One of the workmen, who had been loading the steamer with coal, was asleep in the hold when the vessel started, and the officers finding him aboard after they had put to sea, forced the poor native overboard and left him to float ashore with the tide or perish in the waves. He whose land was the world, whose brethren were all mankind, whose friends were the humblest heathen as well as the titled official, looked back at the dark speck on the waves, and tears filled his eyes.

From Aden, the steamer entered upon its trip across the Indian Ocean, which was true to its reputation, and was placid and peaceful as an inland lake. But the slow steamer took nine days to sail from Suez to Bombay; and by the time Mr. Taylor was brought into view of the mountains where Brahma and Vishnu had so long been worshipped, he had become acquainted with nearly all the Hindoo sailors, and could secure unusual attendance from the waiters by addressing them in the Hindustanee language. He had learned the names of the principal streets of Bombay, the names of the richest merchants, and the kind of fare to be expected at the hotels. So naturally did he fall into the ways of the people that the boatmen who took him ashore at Bombay mistook him for an old resident and carried him ashore for one rupee, while charging the other passengers three. He seated himself, or rather stretched himself, into a palanquin carried by four men,—one at each end of a long pole,—and like a native rode through the streets of Bombay on the necks of servants. But he did not enjoy that kind of conveyance; he had too much sympathy with the human race to impose his weight on the necks of human beings without misgiving, and he afterwards refused to be carried about in that way when mules were to be had.

At Bombay, he was received with the same good-will and hospitality as he had found in other lands. Parsees, Hindoos, English, and Arabians vied with each other in giving him kindly attentions; the peoplewere pagan in religion, but Christian in generosity and charity. It broadens one’s ideas of theology to be thrown into communion with so many different nations with as many different gods. But its tendency is to confirm, rather than to unsettle, the belief in the Christian doctrines. At all events, such was Mr. Taylor’s experience; and such has been the effect upon others.

He found the common people very servile, and lacking in spirit, and attributed it to the long despotism. But in them he found faithful friends, and learned to respect them. They were nearly all pagans when he was there, and worshipped their huge red idols with a sincerity and self-sacrifice worthy of the highest profession. In order to learn something of India in those remote ages beyond the testimony of history, and even back of the age of tradition, he visited the old temple on the island of Elephanta, about seven miles from Bombay. The massive structure, in partial ruin, so wonderfully wrought and massively constructed, made a deep impression upon his mind. Far, far back in the uncounted ages, the foundations were laid by men who were not low in the scale of civilization, if an idea of the beautiful and the ability to embody it in forms of stone be a test of enlightenment; it stands to-day, defying time, as it has defied earthquakes and cannon-shot. Into the fathomless future will it pass, an immovable monument of the skill and art of man in the childhood of human experience. In the statuaryMr. Taylor found a strange resemblance to the three ages of art; the statue of Brahma representing the style of the Egyptian, Vishnu being represented in a form and carving of the Greek style, while Siva was cut from the stone in such a shape as to remind him of the Mephistopheles of the German school of sculpture.

His keen scrutiny also developed the theory that the pillars were rough copies of the poppy-stem and the lotus-leaf. The latter was the emblem of sanctity in the days of Brahma. Mr. Taylor’s suggestion has been attractively enlarged upon and illustrated within a few years by writers for English literary and art periodicals.

No excursion from Bombay exceeds that to Elephanta in romantic attractions; for there are not only extensive ruins of greater and lesser temples, but the landscape, wherein the greenest islands dot the sheen of a gorgeous bay, is bright with most beautiful flowers and bright leaves, and the air is permeated with the odor of roses and cassia. Soon Elephanta will be a “summer resort,” and Taylor’s description and reflections will be sold by newsboys as a guide-book.

At Bombay he visited the large mercantile establishments and investigated the prospects of trade; saw the people in their homes, at meals, prayers, marriages, and funerals, and studied the work of the carpenters in that celebrated shipyard where was constructed the man-of-war wherein the Star-Spangled Banner was written. He knew all about the city as it was when he saw it,and as it had been from its Portuguese beginning; and yet he remained but a single week. Who was the simpleton that circulated an unauthorized statement that Mr. Taylor travelled far and saw little? In fact, he knew more of the needs and enterprise of Bombay than many old residents.

In his haste to see as much of India as possible, and yet arrive in China in season to join Commodore Perry’s expedition to Japan, he determined to ride in one of the mail carts of India a distance of nearly four hundred miles. His new friends advised him not to attempt the journey, and entertained him with the deeds of assassins and robbers along the route, and the results of the fatiguing ride of seven days and nights in a two-wheeled vehicle without springs or mattresses. But his mind was made up to go, and go he would. So, regardless of warnings and advice, he started into the interior in a cart with a driver and the “Royal Mail.” The traveller who now lounges in the luxuriant carriages of the railway trains between Bombay and Calcutta, can have no idea of the trials of such a journey as Mr. Taylor undertook. Then, there were no railroads, no regular stages, even; nothing but lumbering carts drawn by oxen and decrepit old horses. But he endured the fatigue with his usual fortitude and good fortune, while his already remarkable experience among hospitable people was repeated there in a most praiseworthy style. Friends, friends, everywhere! Men divided their meals andbeds with him. People with whom he could converse by signs only, gave him food and pressed themselves into his service, and would take no pay. In one place a soldier sat up all night to give the weary traveller his bed. Surely, the essence of human kindness and charity is not confined to Christian lands!

Through jungles, where there was not a single path; along highways, crowded with innumerable carts; riding in wildernesses, where water was scarce, and food not to be found; in every kind of vehicle known to the primitive people, from a horse chaise to a bullock-cart; surrounded by miasmatic marshes, and the lairs of tigers, he hurried on toward Delhi.

On his way he made a short stop at Agra and Futtehpoor-Sikra, where stand some of the mightiest and most costly temples which have been reared since the beginning of the Christian era. It well repays years of work and economy to wander among the palaces, mosques, and mausoleums of those great cities. No palace in all the world can be found to equal that of Akbar, the great Mogul, at Agra. When Mr. Taylor visited the city, nearly all the rubbish, made by wars and sieges, had been cleared away, and the scarred walls and marred mosaics had been restored, so that he stood under mighty domes, amid all the splendor of the East. No one can imagine its beauty and grandeur, unless he has seen it. Such lofty arches! such masses of pure white marble! such a profusion of pearl, jasper, cornelian, agate, and many stones ofgreater beauty and value! Such exquisite carvings, such lovely mosaics, such labyrinths of inwrought balustrades and porticos! Such tombs, so rich, so beautiful, so great, that the tomb of Napoleon in Paris is lost in comparison!

Mr. Taylor was delighted beyond measure by a visit to the tomb of the Empress Noor-Jehan, wife of the Shah Jehan. Moore uses her romantic history in his “Lalla Rookh,” for verily she was “The Light of the Harem.” Shah Jehan, “Selim,” erected that marvellously beautiful building, with its lofty dome, and slender minarets, its inlaid jewels wherein the walls are made to hold a copy, in Arabic, of the whole Koran. Beautiful as Eastern songs represent Noor-Jehan to be, the tomb in which she lies must surpass her in whiteness and delicacy of outline. Never, in harem of Cashmere, nor in garden of Mogul, were there more delicious odors than those which still fill the air about her tomb. No brighter, more various, or more odorous flowers bloomed in Mahomet’s Paradise, than now bewilder the visitor to that hallowed spot. It was fortunate for Mr. Taylor that he had seen the boasted palaces and temples of Europe and Western Asia, before he visited that enchanted spot. Dreams of Aladdin became literal there. In towers, arches, domes, colonnades, ceilings of pearl and precious stones, pillars wrought with the skilful jeweller’s art, inlaid floors in which no crease appears, in diamond-like foundations, and in the unity of itsunbroken sculptures, the temples of Agra and of its suburbs, excel those of Venice and Florence, as the exquisite and angelic echoes in the dome of Queen Noor’s tomb excel, in length and sweetness, those of the Baptistry at Pisa.

From Agra, he rode over the wide highway, one hundred and fifteen miles, to Delhi, the former capital of the Moguls, and which, at that time, boasted the presence, in his palace, of Akbar II. There he was treated with the same hospitality as he had been in other cities, and kind-hearted residents guided him about the streets of the modern city, and accompanied him to the magnificent ruins in various quarters of the plain whereon stood the old city. Pile on pile of massive columns lay in ragged majesty about him, and bewildered his senses with their unnumbered towers. Ruins, ruins, ruins, as far as the eye can trace the broken plain. Palaces, fortresses, temples, mosques, harems, tombs, obelisks, and massive battlements lie hurled together in undistinguished profusion, while here and there the porch of some lofty building, or some imposing arch, still breaks the line of the horizon. One pillar stands in the plain, whose summit is two hundred and forty feet above the ground. Near this gigantic shaft are the ruins of the palace of Aladdin. But the stone that cumber the plain, and the stable platform, once the floor, do not suggest the palace of diamonds, emeralds, pearls, gold, and ivory of which we have read; and the beholder is tempted to believethat there was a mistake of location, and that Agra instead of Delhi, was the place after all. But Mr. Taylor, whose time was limited, could not linger long, nor hope to solve all the riddles which such an inexhaustible antiquarian museum suggested, and after visiting Hindoo temples, adorned with fascinating carvings and unintelligible inscriptions, and tombs covering the remains of known and unknown monarchs, he hastened back to the modern city, with its wide Boulevard, and made preparations to visit the Himalaya Mountains.

He left that interesting city with great regret, for, to the poet, it suggested a very attractive place for fanciful dreams, and peaceful moralizing. Moore incorporated in his poem a Persian inscription, which was shown Mr. Taylor in the palace of Akbar II.: “If there be an Elysium on earth, it is here, it is here.” And it might have been such an Elysium but for the dilapidated, dirty condition of the palace, in which the motto was seen, which did not harmonize with the sentiment, and may have robbed the whole palace of its poetical attractions.

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