THE HOME FRIEND; A WEEKLY MISCELLANY OF AMUSEMENT AND INSTRUCTION. PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, BY THE SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE, No. 27.] [PRICE 1d. SEA-COASTS AND SHORES OF CILICIA, &c. (continued). SCRIPTURE geographers assert that "Laodicia ad Mare," as Latachia in Syria was anciently styled, is nowhere referred to in Sacred Writ. Notwithstanding this omission, from the peculiarly advantageous position of her port, and situated as Latachia is between Tarsus and Seleucia on the one side, and Sidon, Tyre, and Joppa on the other, it must necessarily have been the resort of many of the vessels coasting between those then opulent and commercial cities, and in all probability itself have been a town of some consideration. The port of Latachia was by nature well VOL. II. B adapted for use as a port of refuge: improving upon these natural facilities, the ancients constructed a breakwater of considerable solidity, which entirely secured the harbour, and rendered the anchorage a perfect basin, where hardly the ripple of a wave was perceptible, and where, in the zenith of its glory, upwards of a thousand ships found secure and commodious anchorage. Time and earthquakes have materially assisted in destroying the handiwork of man, and the breakwater, which in its pristine condition greatly ameliorated the condition of the harbour, in its present dilapidated state (being in many parts so much broken down that the waves during a gale make a clean sweep over the ruins), only tends to encumber the basin with rubbish, and the filth and matter accumulated through centuries, besides the vast quantity of sand washed over the ruins; these, in addition to the crumbling masses of masonry that have fallen into the port, have materially helped to choke up the harbour, and such is its present condition that barely a dozen vessels with any pretension to size can find accommodation; and even these few incur much risk during the strength of winter gales, from the violence with which the sea, bursting over the breaches in the break water, dashes volumes of water against and over them. Those Apostles and primitive Christians who found occasion to travel by land from Phoenicia into Northern Syria or Cilicia, must necessarily have taken Latachia en route. The roads by the sea-side have in all ages been preferred in the east by travellers when they were practicable. This choice was, and is to this day, made for many reasons: in the first place they are the shortest and least fatiguing; and, secondly, they are the safest. The mountains that intersect Phoenicia and Syria have always been toilsome, always insecure. They were so centuries ago, they remain so to the present hour; and in a country where the habits and customs, nay, even the costume of the people, have been handed down from generation to generation, with hardly, if any, change or deviation, we think we are justified in supposing that the roads travelled over by the natives dwelling on the sea-coasts of Syria and Palestine are the same as were travelled over by their ancestors in the days when Paul, Barnabas, and Peter were at Antioch; and there is no reason to doubt but that one, if not all three, of these Apostles visited Laodicia, the Latachia of to-day. It was midnight when we, gliding almost imperceptibly over the smooth waters of the summer sea, passed under the solitary lantern that glimmered feebly, in wretched imitation of a lighthouse, from the small windows of a miniature tower, erected by the Ottoman government, on the summit of the rock that formed the natural portal of the once secure and commodious harbour of Latachia. To the right, and from this rock to the mainland, a distance of not many hundred yards, dark-looking fragments of masonry indicated the ruins of the once solid breakwater; to the left, a natural curve in the bay formed a small promontory, and from this promontory to the rock, a distance of not more than fifty yards, was the deep and secure entrance channel. But few vessels were lying in the harbour when we entered, and the whole place was wrapt in solitude and darkness. Our little feleucah at last anchored within a yard of the landing-place; but as there was a quarantine establishment here, none dared to land before the authorities should have inspected our bills of health and granted us a permit. The night was pleasant and cool, but curiosity was on the tiptoe, and we felt no inclination to sleep, especially as our miserable accommodations were close and confined, besides being infested with vermin; by and by, the moon came peeping over the lofty hills at the back of the town, and when she had thrown her silvery beams upon all around, then, indeed, the picture presented to us was one that a painter might dream of but barely realize. The ocean, like one vast sheet of silver, extended on one side, with ever and anon the small sail of sponge-fishers' boats, glimmering up like a bright flash, else shadowing darkly over the waves. As the vessel rose or fell with the tide-in the harbour itself things were yet indistinct-the moon capped with a silvery crown the tops of dark-looking stately houses, or sent her beams to sport like elfins amongst the dark leaves of the walnuttree, but beyond this all was misty and confused. By and by she grew paler, the tops of the mountains more distinct; often we caught sight of a goatherd, and listened to his voice as he led his flock thus early forth to graze; thousand of larks sang their morning hymn of praise; cocks crowed lustily, hens cackled; the morning star set behind a deep line in the horizon, and the first grey tinge of dawn appeared. What a time! what a prospect ! to raise up one's heart with thanksgiving towards the Great Creator of all, to sing with David— "The dawn of each returning day Fresh beams of knowledge brings." (Psalm cxix. 2.) The morning has fairly broke, and the people around us awake to life and activity on board the little vessel they are busy washing and scouring the decks; on shore, sweeping and preparing for the bustle of the day. Down comes an austere-looking person, wrapped round with an ermine cloak; he inspects our paper, accords the permit, and we jump on shore light-heartedly, glad to escape from the cramped-up limits of our little boat. Close to the landing-place, the jetty itself being all tiled in, are the customhouse, quarantine office, and some merchants stores on the one side; on the other, one or two convenient coffee-shops which overlook the harbour. Here seated on diminutive stools, and partaking of their morning's cup of strong coffee, we encounter a motley assembly, comprising Turks, Christians, Fellahs, and even several of the European inhabitants, who, though they live in the town a good half-mile distant from the sea-side, have contrived to get down here thus early to luxuriate in the sweet freshness of the morning air. Many, also, habituate themselves to sea-bathing, than which no recreation can be more healthful in such a climate as that of Latachia. Leaving this assemblage to the enjoyment of their keif, we, following the small donkeys that are loaded with our baggage, pass through a desolate street of lofty ominous-looking buildings, which with their closely-barred windows have more the resemblance of prisons than anything we can compare them to; these were the private residences of the more opulent citizens in bygone days, when commerce flourished, and when the population might have been reckoned by thousands, instead of by tens as is now the case. Save by the owl and the hawk, these places are now utterly forsaken; their vast courtyards serve as granaries and sheds for cattle, but scarcely a human being enlivens their solitude. Emerging from this gloomy part through a tottering gateway, we enter upon a wild and uncultivated country, and here, for the first time, journeying southward, meet with the cactus or prickly pear, growing in great luxuriance; here, also, the Arab bulbul, with its black tufted head, is twittering forth its gratitude to that careful Guardian whose forethought for the wants of all creation uas abundantly supplied these wants in the spontaneous productions of the earth. The Arab bulbul, so long as the season lasts, lives almost exclusively on the fruit of the cactus; and when these are done, and winter's gloom spreads over the land, they then, by intuitive instinct, wing their way southward to more congenial climes : "O praise the Lord with hymns of joy, And celebrate His fame. He savage beasts that loosely range, He feeds the ravens' tender brood, And stops their hungry cries.” (Psalm cxlvii. 1, 9.) Passing over this place, a quarter of an hour's smart walking brings us to the gardens which form the environs of the present town of Latachia; these are all securely hedged in with cactus, growing so tall as to exclude the prying eyes of the inquisitive. Passing one of the gates, however, we catch a glimpse of the interior economy. The gardens contain chiefly fruit trees: amongst these figs of twenty varieties, the sweet-kernelled apricot, and the sour as well as the sweet pomegranate; of these the pulp of the former is boiled down, and becomes a sharp stringent acid, much used by the natives in culinary purposes. The houses of the peasants are constructed much upon the same principle as those at Suedia-if anything, larger and better adapted for ventilation, for the heats in Latachia during the summer months are intense, and ague is oftentimes prevalent. We entered the town through a tottering archway, on either side of which immense dustheaps impregnated the air with odours of all the impurities there suffered to decay, before this matter is transferred as manure to the silk gardens of the more opulent inhabitants. Passing through a dark and filthy street, liberally bestrewed with the skins of water-melons, cucumbers, and other nauseous matter, besides a multitude of dead cats, rats, and other vermin, we rejoiced to find ourselves once again breathing the pure atmosphere of heaven, on an elevated piece of ground, to the right of which stands the principal Turkish Mosque in the town, whilst to the left are a long range of handsome modern dwelling-houses, the residences of the various native consular agents, each house boasting a flag-staff, from whose summits the banners of European nations were proudly floating in the air. The Mosque, which is the handsomest one in the town, has a singular tale connected with it, for the truth of which all the more respectable inhabitants vouch. The story goes, that some years since a devout Sheik il Islam, chief of the Moslem faith, under whose charge the Mosque was, and to whom the keys were confided, on one occasion locked himself in, and for three consecutive days refused admission to any of the natives. The Turkish populace at length, being infuriated at this conduct, burst open the doors, when to their astonishment the Sheik il Islam warned them to stand off, telling them they were all infidels, and that there was no true religion in the world save the religion of the Christians-a denouncement which caused the infuriated Turks to strangle him on the spot. The Turks in Latachia are to this day the most fanatical in the whole of the Turkish empire; a bad people, addicted to every imaginable vice. Latachia is of modern years noted for the vast quantities of very superior tobacco which it annually ships into Egypt and to all ports of the Mediterranean: this leaf is chiefly grown at the small sea-side town of Gibili, ten miles to the southward of Latachia. Its present population may be estimated at about fourteen thousand; five thousand Christians, chiefly of the Greek church, four thousand Turks, and the remainder, with the exception of some hundred Catholics, Fellahs, descendants of the wild mountain tribes, and not a |