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# The Northern Ḥeǧâz

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THE NORTHERN ḤEǦÂZ ALOIS MUSIL —— * ——
AMERICAN GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY ORIENTAL STUDIES AND EXPLORATIONS No. 1
AMERICAN GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY ORIENTAL EXPLORATIONS AND STUDIES No. 1. Edited by J. K. WRIGHT
THE NORTHERN ḤEǦÂZ
A Topographical Itinerary
BY
ALOIS MUSIL Professor of Oriental Studies Charles University, Prague
Published under the Patronage of the CZECH ACADEMY OF SCIENCES AND ARTS and of CHARLES R. CRANE
NEW YORK 1926
THE AMERICAN GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY BROADWAY AT 156TH STREET NEW YORK, N.Y., U.S.A.
STÁTNÍ TISKÁRNA, PRAGUE, CZECHOSLOVAKIA
TO THE CZECH ACADEMY OF SCIENCES AND ARTS
CONTENTS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1944, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 79 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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# The Philosophical Review/Volume 26

Index page: Philosophical_Review_Volume_26.djvu
The Philosophical Review

## Volume XXVI

CONTENTS OF VOLUME XXVI.
Articles.
Page.
Discussions.
Reviews of Books.
Notices of New Books.
Summaries of Articles.
Notes.
# The Philosophical Review/Volume 24

Index page: Philosophical_Review_Volume_24.djvu
The Philosophical Review
# The Philosophical Review/Volume 23

Index page: Philosophical_Review_Volume_23.djvu
The Philosophical Review

## Volume XXIII

CONTENTS OF VOLUME XXIII.
Articles.
Page.
Discussion.
Reviews of Books.
Notices of New Books.
Summaries of Articles.
Notes.
# The Philosophical Review/Volume 19

Index page: Philosophical_Review_Volume_19.djvu
The Philosophical Review

## Volume XIX

CONTENTS OF VOLUME XIX.
Articles.
Page.
Discussions.
Reviews of Books.
Notices of New Books.
Summaries of Articles.
Notes.
# The Philosophical Review/Volume 22

Index page: Philosophical_Review_Volume_22.djvu
The Philosophical Review

## Volume XXII

CONTENTS OF VOLUME XXII.
Articles.
Page.
Discussions.
Reviews of Books.
Notices of New Books.
Summaries of Articles.
Notes.
# The Philosophical Review/Volume 27

Index page: Philosophical_Review_Volume_27.djvu
The Philosophical Review

## Volume XXVII

CONTENTS OF VOLUME XXVII.
Articles.
Page.
Discussions.
Reviews of Books.
Notices of New Books.
Summaries of Articles.
Notes.
# The Philosophical Review/Volume 20

Index page: Philosophical_Review_Volume_20.djvu
The Philosophical Review

## Volume XX

CONTENTS OF VOLUME XX.
Articles.
Page.
Discussions.
Reviews of Books.
Notices of New Books.
Summaries of Articles.
Notes.
# The Philosophical Review/Volume 25

Index page: Philosophical_Review_Volume_25.djvu
The Philosophical Review

## Volume XXV

CONTENTS OF VOLUME XXV.
Articles.
Page.
Discussions.
Reviews of Books.
Notices of New Books.
Summaries of Articles.
Notes.
# The Philosophical Review/Volume 21

Index page: Philosophical_Review_Volume_21.djvu
The Philosophical Review

## Volume XXI

CONTENTS OF VOLUME XXI.
Articles.
Page.
Discussions.
Reviews of Books.
Notices of New Books.
Summaries of Articles.
Notes.
# The Pilgrim's Progress (1909)

In the "Every Child Can Read" series; illustrator unknown
the Pilgrim's Progress
By JOHN BUNYAN
EVERY CHILD CAN READ
EDITED BY
REV. JESSE LYMAN HURLBUT, D.D.
ILLUSTRATED
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
PHILADELPHIA
Christian Confides in His Wife.
See page 13
Copyright, 1909, by The John C. Winston Co.
Book 1
    Chapter 1
    Chapter 2
    Chapter 3
    Chapter 4
    Chapter 5
    Chapter 6
    Chapter 7
    Chapter 8
    Chapter 9
    Chapter 10
    Chapter 11
Book 2
    Chapter 1
    Chapter 2
    Chapter 3
    Chapter 4
    Chapter 5
    Chapter 6
    Chapter 7
    Chapter 8
    Chapter 9
    Chapter 10
    The Little Pilgrim
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Old Road to Paradise/Life Tells the Dreamer

WISTFULNESS
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/To Captain Seaman Weeks

TO CAPTAIN SEAMAN WEEKS, CHAIRMAN OF THE TENTH WARD INDEPENDENT ELECTORS.
aptain Weeks, your right hand—though I never have seen it, I shake it on paper, full ten times a day: I love your Tenth Ward, and I wish I lived in it; Do you know any house there to let against May? I don’t mind what the rent is, so long as I get off From these party-mad beings, these tongues without heads! I’m ashamed to be seen, sir, among such a set of Clintonians, Tammanies, Coodies, and Feds!
Besides, I am nervous, and can’t bear the racket These gentlemen make when they’re begging for votes; There’s John Haff, and Ben Bailly, and Christian, and Bracket, Only think what fine music must come from their throats! Colonel Warner calls Clinton a “star in the banner,” Mapes swears by his sword-knot he’ll ruin us all; While Meigs flashes out in his fine classic manner, “The meteor Gorgon of Clinton must fall!”
In vain I endeavor to give them a hint on Sense, reason, or temper—they laugh at it all; For sense is nonsense when it makes against Clinton, And reason is treason in Tammany Hall. So I mean (though I fear I shall seem unto some a Strange, obstinate, odd-headed kind of an elf) To strike my old tent in the Fourth, and become a “Tenth Ward independent elector” myself.
D.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/To Croaker, Junior

TO CROAKER, JUNIOR.
our hand, my dear Junior! we’re all in a flame To see a few more of your flashes; The Croakers forever! I’m proud of the name— But, brother, I fear, though our cause is the same, We shall quarrel like Brutus and Cassius.
But why should we do so? ’tis false what they tell That poets can never be cronies; Unbuckle your harness, in peace let us dwell; Our goose-quills will canter together as well As a pair of Prime mouse-colored ponies.
Once blended in spirit, we’ll make our appeal, And by law be incorporate too; Apply for a charter in crackers to deal; A fly-flapper rampant shall shine on our seal, And the firm shall be “Croaker & Co.”
Fun! prosper the union—smile, Fate, on its birth! Miss Atropos, shut up your scissors; Together we’ll range through the regions of mirth, A pair of bright Gemini dropped on the earth, The Castor and Pollux of quizzers.
D.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/To Domestic Peace

TO DOMESTIC PEACE.
“Malbrook s’en va-t-en guerre.”
h, Peace! ascend again thy throne, Resume the spotless olive-leaf, Display thy snowy muslin gown, And wave o’er this distracted town Thy cambric pocket-handkerchief!
Or, if thou dost not like the dress (We own we have our doubts upon it), Come like some pretty Quakeress, And let thine orbs of quietness Shine, dove-like, from a satin bonnet!
We need thee, row-abhorring maid! The dogs of party bark alarms, And e’er the Battery tax is laid, And e’er the next election’s made, E’en Murray’s Guards will rush to arms.
Feds, Coodies, Bucktails, all in flame, With peals of nonsense frighten thee;
Sweet Peace! thou wert not much to blame, If thou shouldst loathe the very name Of Clinton, or of John Targee.
For us, enthroned in elbow-chair, Thy foes alone with ink we sprinkle; We love to smooth the cheek of care, Until we leave no furrow there, Save laughter’s evanescent wrinkle.
With thee and mirth, we’ll quit the throng— Each hour shall see our pleasures vary; Jarvis shall bring his Cats along, And Lynch shall float in floods of song Pure as his highest-priced Madeira!
D.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/To Ellen

TO ELLEN.
he Scottish Border Minstrel’s lay Entranced me oft in boyhood’s day; His forests, glens, and streams, Mountains, and heather blooming fair, And Highland lake, and lady, were The playmates of my dreams.
Years passed away—my dreams were gone; My pilgrim footsteps passed at noon Loch Katrine’s storied shores: In silence slept the fairy lake, Nor did the mountain-echoes wake At music of my oars.
No tramp of warrior-men I heard; Welcome-song, or challenge-word, I listened, but in vain; And, moored beside his favorite tree, As vainly wooed the minstrelsy Of gray-haired Allan Bane.
I saw the Highland heath-flower smile In beauty, upon Ellen’s isle;
And, couched in Ellen’s bower, I watched, beneath its latticed leaves, Her coming, through a summer eve’s Youngest and loveliest hour.
She came not—lonely was her home; Herself of airy shapes “that come Like shadows, so depart.” Are there two Ellens of the mind? Or have I lived at last to find The Ellen of my heart?
For music, like Sir Walter’s, now Rings round me, and again I bow Before the shrine of song, Devoutly as I bowed in youth; For hearts that worship there, in truth And joy, are ever young.
And dear the harp that sings to-day, And well its gladdened strings obey Its minstrel’s loved command— A minstrel-maid’s, whose infant eyes Looked on Ohio’s woods and skies, My youth’s unheard-of land.
And beautiful that wreath she twines Round Albi cottage bowered in vines, Or blest in sleigh-bell mirth;
And loveliest is her song that seems To bid me welcome in my dreams, Beside its winter hearth.
And must I deem her beckoning smile But pleasant mockery, to beguile Some lonely hour of care? And will this Ellen prove to be But like her namesake o’er the sea, A being of the air?
Or shall I take the morning wing, Armed with a parson and a ring, Speed hill and dale along; And, at her cottage-fire ere night, Change into flutterings of delight, Or what’s more likely, of affright, The merry mockbird’s song?
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/The Vision of Eliphaz

THE VISION OF ELIPHAZ.
PARAPHRASED FROM JOB
’was in the solemn midnight hour, When sleep extends its balmy power, The slumbering world around; When Darkness, o’er the extensive globe Spreads, far and wide, its sable robe, And Silence reigns profound!
As wrapped in lonely solitude, The starry canopy I viewed, In pensive thought reclined; A sudden tremor chilled my blood, My hair, with horror, upright stood, And terror filled my mind.
Before mine eyes a spirit passed— I gazed, with trembling looks, aghast! As o’er the path it flew; It stood, but naught could I descry, The gloom, that veiled the midnight sky, Concealed it from my view.
Dread Silence reigned! I, shuddering, feared! When suddenly a voice I heard, In slow and solemn tone: “Shall man,” it cried, “presume to vie In justice, and in majesty, With Heaven’s Eternal Throne?
“Can man more purity display Than He, who formed him from the clay, The offspring of the dust? Behold! to those that round Him stand, Attentive to His dread command, He gives no charge, or trust.
“Even angels, next in might to God, Submissive at His footstool nod, And own superior power; And ah! how much! how far below Are mortals, doomed to pain and woe, The pageants of an hour.
“Before the meanest worm they die, And, mouldering into dust, they lie, Within the earth’s cold bed. Many, on whom the morn arose, Before the evening shades, repose In mansions of the dead.
“And soon their memory is no more, Long ages roll successive o’er, And other scenes arise; And, leagued with their departing breath, Before the fatal shaft of death, Their boasted knowledge flies.”
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/To * * * *

TO * * * *.
he world is bright before thee, Its summer flowers are thine, Its calm blue sky is o’er thee, Thy bosom Pleasure’s shrine; And thine the sunbeam given To Nature’s morning hour, Pure, warm, as when from heaven It burst on Eden’s bower.
There is a song of sorrow, The death-dirge of the gay, That tells, ere dawn of morrow, These charms may melt away, That sun’s bright beam be shaded, That sky be blue no more, The summer flowers be faded, And youth’s warm promise o’er.
Believe it not—though lonely Thy evening home may be; Though Beauty’s bark can only Float on a summer sea; Though Time thy bloom is stealing, There’s still beyond his art The wild-flower wreath of feeling, The sunbeam of the heart.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/To E. Simpson, Esq.

TO E. SIMPSON, ESQ., ON WITNESSING THE REPRESENTATION OF THE NEW TRAGEDY OF BRUTUS.
have been every night, whether empty or crowded, And taken my seat in your Box No. 3; In a sort of poetical Scotch mist I’m shrouded, As the far-famed Invisible Girl used to be.
As a critic professed, ’tis my province to flout you, And hiss as they did at poor Charley’s Macheath; But all is so right and so proper about you, That I’m forced to be civil in spite of my teeth.
In your dresses and scenery, classic and clever; Such invention! such blending of old things and new! Let Kemble’s proud laurels be withered forever! Wear the wreath, my dear Simpson, ’tis fairly your due.
How apropos now was that street scene in Brutus, Where the sign “Coffee-House” in plain English was writ!
By-the-way, “Billy Niblo’s” would much better suit us, And box, pit, and gallery, roar at the wit.
How sparkled the eyes of the raptured beholders, To see Kilner, a Roman, in robes “à la Grec!” How graceful they flowed o’er his neatly-turned shoulders! How completely they set off his Johnny-Bull neck!
But to hint at the thousand fine things that amuse me, Would take me a month—so adieu till my next. And your actors, they must for the present excuse me; One word though, en passant, for fear they’ll be vexed.
Moreland, Howard, and Garner, the last importation! Three feathers as bright as the Prince Regent’s plume! Though puffing is, certainly, not my vocation, I always shall praise them, whenever I’ve room.
With manners so formed to persuade and to win you, With faces one need but to look on to love, They’re like Jefferson’s “Natural Bridge” in Virginia— “Worth a voyage across the Atlantic,” by Jove!
H.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/To E. Simpson, Esq. (2)

TO E. SIMPSON, ESQ., MANAGER OF THE NEW-YORK THEATRE.
r. Philipps has gone—and he carries away with him Much of my cash, and my hearty good-will; To both he is welcome, and long may they stay with him— Poor as he’s made me, I’ll cherish him still.
For when the wild spell of his melody bound me, I marked not the flight of the gay, happy hours; His music created a fairy-land round me; Above it, was sunshine—below it, were flowers.
But ’tis folly to weep—we must cease to regret him; Look about—you have many as brilliant a star: There’s Barnes (you may laugh if you will), but just let him Play Belino for once;—he’ll beat Philipps by far!
When he sings “Love’s Young Dream,” every heart will be beating, The ladies shall wave their white kerchiefs in air;
The peals of applauses shall hail the repeating Of his “Eveleen’s Bower,” and his “Robin Adair!”
Fancy’s sketch! such fine shakes and such comic expression He’ll give it; ’twill put all the fiddles in tone! And let Olliff (clean shaved, with a new hero dress on) Play Baron Toraldi for that night alone.
If you wish to give all your acquaintance delight, Fill your house to the brim, take this hint—it will go; The humor will make e’en your candles burn bright, And crowd every seat, to the very fourth row.
Besides, entre-nous, there’s another good reason— Perhaps ’twill the proud heart of Beekman beguile; He may promise to lower your rent the next season, And, for once in his life,—take his hat off and smile.
H.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/To * * * *, Esquire

TO * * * *, ESQUIRE.
ome, shut up your Blackstone, and sparkle again The leader and light of our classical revels; While statues and cases bewilder your brain, No wonder you’re vexed and beset with blue devils: But a change in your diet will banish the blues; Then come, my old chum, to our banquet sublime; Our wine shall be caught from the lips of the Muse, And each plate and tureen shall be hallowed in rhyme.
Scott, from old Albin, shall furnish the dishes With wild-fowl and ven’son that none can surpass; And Mitchill, who sung the amours of the fishes, Shall fetch his most exquisite tomcod and bass. Leigh Hunt shall select, at his Hampstead Parnassus, Fine greens, from the hot-bed, the table to cheer; And Wordsworth shall bring us whole bowls of molasses Diluted with water from sweet Windermere.
To rouse the dull fancy and give us an appetite, Black wormwood bitters Lord Byron shall bear, And Montgomery bring (to consumptives a happy sight) Tepid soup-meagre and “l’eau capillaire;”
George Coleman shall sparkle in old bottled cider, Roast-beef and potatoes friend Crabbe will supply; Rogers shall hash us an “olla podrida,” And the best of fresh “cabbage” from Paulding we’ll buy.
Mr. Tennant—free, fanciful, laughing, and lofty, Shall pour out Tokay and Scotch whiskey like rain; Southey shall sober our spirits with coffee, And Horace in London “flash up in champagne.” Tom Campbell shall cheer us with rosy Madeira, Refined by long keeping, rich, sparkling, and pure; And Moore, “pour chasse café,” to each one shall bear a Sip-witching bumper of parfait amour.
Then come to our banquet—oh! how can you pause A moment between merry rhyme and dull reason? Preferring the wit-blighting “Spirit of Laws” To the spirit of verse, is poetical treason! Judge Phœbus will certainly issue his writ, No quirk or evasion your cause can make good, man; Only think what you’ll surfer, when sentenced to sit And be kept broad awake till you’ve read the Backwoodsman!
D.
# The Original Fables of La Fontaine/The Rat and the Elephant

XIX
THE RAT AND THE ELEPHANT
(Book VIII.—No. 15)
An uncommonly small rat was watching an uncommonly big elephant and sneering at the slowness of his steps.
The enormous animal was heavily laden. On his back rose a three-storied howdah, wherein were accommodated a celebrated sultana, her dog, her cat, her monkey, her parrot, her old servant, and all her household. They were going upon a pilgrimage.
The rat wondered why all the people should express astonishment at seeing this enormous bulk—"As if the fact of occupying more or less space implied that one was the more or less important accordingly! What is it you admire in him, you men? If it is only the weight of his body which fills the children with terror, then we rats, small as we are, consider ourselves not one grain less than the elephant." He would have said more; but the cat, bounding out of her cage, let him see in an instant that a rat is not an elephant.
# The Original Fables of La Fontaine/The Sculptor and the Statue of Jupiter

XXVI
THE SCULPTOR AND THE STATUE OF JUPITER
(Book IX.—No. 6)
Once a sculptor who saw for sale a block of marble was so struck with its beauty that he could not resist the temptation to buy it. When it was in his studio he thought to himself, "Now what shall my chisel make of it? Shall it be a god, a table, or a basin? It shall be a god. And I, myself, shall ordain that the god shall poise a thunderbolt in his hand. So tremble, mortals, and worship! Behold the lord of the earth!"
The artist set to work and expressed so powerfully the attributes of the god that those who saw it averred that it only lacked speech to be Jupiter himself. It is said that the sculptor had scarcely completed the statue when he became so overawed as to fear and tremble before the work of his own hands.
The poet of old, likewise, greatly dreaded the hate and the wrath of the gods he himself created: a weakness which left little to choose between him and the sculptor.
These traits are those of childhood. The minds of children are always anxious lest any one should maltreat their dolls. The emotions invariably give the lead to ​the intellect, and this fact accounts for the great error of paganism. For that error has been prompted by the emotions of men in all the peoples of the earth. Men uphold with fanatic zeal the interests of the unreal creatures of their imagination. Pygmalion became enamoured of the Venus he had created, and in the same way every one tries to turn his dreams into reality. Man remains as ice before truth, but catches fire before illusion.
# The Original Fables of La Fontaine/The Scythian Philosopher

XLV
THE SCYTHIAN PHILOSOPHER
(Book XII.—No. 20)
A certain austere philosopher of Scythia, wishing to follow a pleasant life, travelled through the land of the Greeks, and there he found in a quiet spot a sage, one such as Virgil has written of; a man the equal of kings, the peer almost of the gods, and like them content and tranquil.
The happiness of this sage lay entirely in his beautiful garden. There the Scythian found him, pruning hook in hand, cutting away the useless wood from his fruit trees; lopping here, pruning there, trimming this and that, and everywhere aiding Nature, who repaid his care with usury.
"Why this wrecking?" asked the philosopher. "Is it wisdom thus to mutilate these poor dwellers in your garden? Drop that merciless tool, your pruning hook. Leave the work to the scythe of time. He will send them, soon enough, to the shores of the river of the departed."
"I am taking away the superfluous," answered the sage, "so that what is left may flourish the better."
The Scythian returned to his cheerless abode and, taking a bill-hook, cut and trimmed every hour in the day, advising his neighbours to do likewise and ​prescribing to his friends the means and methods. A universal cutting-down followed. The handsomest boughs were lopped; his orchard mutilated beyond all reason. The seasons were disregarded, and neither young moons nor old were noted. In the end everything languished and died.
This Scythian philosopher resembles the indiscriminating Stoic who cuts away from the soul all passions and desires, good as well as bad, even to the most innocent wishes. For my own part, I protest against such people strongly. They take from the heart its greatest impulses and we cease to live before we are dead.
# The Original Fables of La Fontaine/The Two Mules

I
THE TWO MULES
(Book I.—No. 4)
There were two heavily-laden mules making a journey together. One was carrying oats and the other bore a parcel of silver money collected from the people as a tax upon salt. This, we learn, was a tax which produced much money for the government, but it bore very hard upon the people, who revolted many times against it.
The mule that carried the silver was very proud of his burden, and would not have been relieved of it if he could. As he stepped out he took care that the bells upon his harness should jingle well as became a mule of so much importance.
Suddenly a band of robbers burst into the road, pounced upon the treasure mule, seized it by the bridle, ​and stopped it short. Struggling to defend itself the unhappy creature groaned and sighed as it cried: "Is this then the fate that has been in store for me: that I must fall and perish whilst my fellow traveller escapes free from danger?"
"My friend," exclaimed the mule that carried only the oats, and whom the robbers had not troubled about, "it is not always good to have exalted work to do. Had you been like me, a mere slave to a miller, you would not have been in such a bad way now!"