The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1879-10-31
lHarper's Magazine.l


The village of Damer, which lay al
most at my feet, is the point at which the
Arab express courier, after nine days
and nights journey across the desert, de-
livers us his mail. The wild Bedouin
who performs the dangerous, solitary and
fatiguing journey rarely enters the two
centres eff Eastern civilization, between
which he furnishes a means of communi-
cation. For him the fragrant gardens
and well-stocked bazars of Damascus
have no attraction; or perhaps he fears
that he might be seduced by them, and
avoids the temptation.
Be that as it may, he stops on the
verge of the desert, at either end of his
route, and swings on his 1.-THE dromedary
to and fro over its arid wastes, catch
ing such snatches of rest as he NAV
at the scattered oases and widely-sepa-
rated wells where he stops to refresh
his camel. With the coppery sky scorch-
ing him by day and the changeless blue
above him at night, rarely knowing the
shelter even of an Arab tent, carrying
with him the dates and rice sufficient to
last him for his journey, exposed to
perils from thirst and sand storms and
predatory Arabs, to whom the feet ami
NAL he rides is sore temptation, he is,
without doubt, the most bizarre and ex-
ceptional postman in existence.
One wonders whether he has really
ever fathomed the mystery of his occu-
patton, or found out why he should thus
be kept constantly oscillating between
the opposite margins of the desert with a
bag; whether he knows what is in the
bag, or, if he does, can form any concep-
ton why people in Damascus should
care to know what people are doing in
Bagdad, for he. can never have ex-
perienced the sensation of wanting
either to receive or to send a letter. 1t
is probably with considerable feeling of
scorn and contempt that he ministers to
this morbid craving for imparting and
receiving useless information.
Then, again, what opportunities for
profound reflection he enjoys! Rarely
exchanging word with his fcllow-man,
yet constantly battling with hidden
dangers-always on the alert, and yet
never varying the eternal monotony of
sky and desert-the mystery Of existence
must present the problems which ciyili-
lzation has failed to fathom, in an en-
tirely new light to him forever perched
on the back of a dromedary. For all
we know, he may have framed theory
of evolution depending on "environ-
ment," by which, when the fittest is
called upon to survive, he may remain
the sole representative of the human
race.
Meanwhile, the types of the highest
state of civilization, blases with its dis
coveries, are driven to suicide, and find
life monetonous because it is made up of
"buttoning and unbottoning," but he
who is never called to do either the one
or the other, serenely leads the most
monotonous existence of all. Yet no
thought Of self-destruction from ennui
ever enters his mind as he jogs backward
and forward over the dreary waste with
the bag which he despises Except, pos.
sibly, the gentlemen who prefer to be
stage-coachman to any other existence,
and daily leave the White Horse Cellar
in all weather throughout the London
season, who is there who is likely to have
attained to the calm elevation of his new
philosophy And even these do moi
carry . pest-bag.