so named from the swiftness of its course, to Bagdad, that quaint, remote
Oriental city, which is associated with so many wonderful legends and not
less wonderful "travellers' tales." This was of old the residence of the
great caliph, Haroun-al-Raschid, a ruler of no ordinary sagacity, and the
hero of many a tradition, whom "The Thousand and One Nights" have made
familiar to every English boy. It is still a populous and wealthy city;
many of its houses are surrounded by blooming gardens; its shops are gay
with the products of the Eastern loom; and it descends in terraces to the
bank of the river, which flows in the shade of orchards and groves of
palm. Over all extends the arch of a glowing sky.

From Bagdad an excursion to the ruins of Babylon is natural enough. They
consist of massive fragments of walls and columns, strewn on either side
of the Euphrates.

[Cave temple at Ellora: page107.jpg]

On the 17th of June our heroic traveller joined a caravan which was bound
for Mosul, a distance of three hundred miles, occupying from twelve to
fourteen days. The journey is one of much difficulty and no little
danger, across a desert country of the most lifeless character. We shall
relate a few of Madame Pfeiffer's experiences.

One day she repaired to a small village in search of food. After
wandering from hut to hut, she obtained a small quantity of milk and
three eggs. She laid the eggs in hot ashes, and covered them over;
filled her leathern flask from the Tigris; and, thus loaded, returned to
the encampment formed by the caravan. She ate her eggs and drank her
milk with an appetite for which an epicure would be thankful.