You cannot conceive of anything so beautiful as Constantinople, viewed from the Golden Horn or the Bosphorus.  I think it must be the handsomest city in the world.  I will go on deck and look at it for you, directly.  I am staying in the ship, tonight.  I generally stay on shore when we are in port.  But yesterday I just ran myself down.  Dan Slote, my room-mate, is on shore.  He remained here while we went up the Black Sea, but it seems he has not got enough of it yet.  I thought Dan had got the state-room pretty full of rubbish at last, but a while ago his dragoman arrived with a bran new, ghastly tomb-stone of the Oriental pattern, with his name handsomely carved and gilded on it, in Turkish characters.  That fellow will buy a Circassian slave, next.

I am tired.  We are going on a trip, tomorrow.  I must to bed.  Love to
all. 
               Yrs
                    Sam.

               U. S. Consul’s office, Beirut, Syria, Sept. 11. (1867)
Dear folks,—­We are here, eight of us, making a contract with a dragoman to take us to Baalbek, then to Damascus, Nazareth, &c. then to Lake Genassareth (Sea of Tiberias,) then South through all the celebrated Scriptural localities to Jerusalem—­then to the Dead Sea, the Cave of Macpelah and up to Joppa where the ship will be.  We shall be in the saddle three weeks—­we have horses, tents, provisions, arms, a dragoman and two other servants, and we pay five dollars a day apiece, in gold. 
                         Love to all, yrs. 
          
                                   Sam.

We leave tonight, at two o’clock in the morning.

There appear to be no further home letters written from Syria—­and none from Egypt.  Perhaps with the desert and the delta the heat at last became too fearful for anything beyond the actual requirements of the day.  When he began his next it was October, and the fiercer travel was behind him.

To Mrs. Jane Clemens and family, in St. Louis: 

Caghari, Sardinia, Oct, 12, 1867. 
Dear folks,—­We have just dropped anchor before this handsome city and—­

Algiers, Africa, Oct. 15. 
They would not let us land at Caghari on account of cholera.  Nothing to
write.

Malaga, Spain, Oct. 17.  The Captain and I are ashore here under guard, waiting to know whether they will let the ship anchor or not.  Quarantine regulations are very strict here on all vessels coming from Egypt.  I am a little anxious because I want to go inland to Granada and see the Alhambra.  I can go on down by Seville and Cordova, and be picked up at Cadiz.

Later:  We cannot anchor—­must go on.  We shall be at Gibraltar before midnight and I think I will go horseback (a long days) and thence by rail and diligence to Cadiz.  I will not mail this till I see the Gibraltar lights—­I begin to think they won’t let us in anywhere.