I had three
weeks' delicious sea-bathing at Beyrout; and while there we kept Her
Majesty's birthday at the Consulate-General with great pomp and ceremony.
We also made several little expeditions. Richard went farther afield
than I did, to Tyre, Sidon, Carmel, and Juneh. I was too weak to go
with him, which I regretted very much, as I would have given a great
deal to have visited the grave of Lady Hester Stanhope.
On June 14 we turned our faces homewards to Damascus, and as we journeyed
over the Lebanons and descended into the plain I could not help feeling
the oriental charm of the scene grow upon me. Beyrout is demi-
fashionable, semi-European; but Damascus is the heart of the East, and
there is no taint of Europeanism about it. As I was nearing Damascus in
the evening I fell in love with it. The first few weeks I had disliked
it, but gradually it had grown upon me, and now it took a place in my
heart from which it could never be thrust forth. I saw how lovely it
was, bathed in the evening sun, and it seemed to me like home--the
home that I had dreamed of in my childhood long ago. I cannot tell what
worked this charm in me; but henceforth my affections and interests, my
life and work, knitted and grew to that Damascus home of ours, where I
would willingly have remained all my days. I knew that mine was to be
the wanderer's life, and that it is fatal for the wanderer to make ties
and get attached to places or things or people; but in spite of this
presentiment, I greedily drank in whilst I could all the truths which
the desert breathes, and set my hands to do all the good work they
could find, until they were full to overflowing.
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