We, who merely crossed the desert from Cairo to Suez, could form little idea of the pleasures which a longer sojourn and more extended researches would afford--the poetry of the life which the Arab leads. Nothing, I was told, could exceed the enjoyments of the night, when, after a day of burning heat, the cool breezes came down from elevated valleys, occurring between the ranges of hills which I had observed with so much interest. This balmy air brings with it perfumes wafted from sweet-scented flowers, which spring spontaneously in the green spots known to the gazelle, who repairs to them to drink. Although the dews are heavy, the Arab requires no more protection than that afforded by his blanket, and he lies down under the most glorious canopy, the broad vault of heaven with its countless spangles, no artificial object intervening throughout the large circle of that wide horizon. Here, his ablutions, prayers, and evening-meal concluded, he either sinks into profound repose, or listens to the tales of his companions, of daring deeds and battles long ago, or the equally interesting though less exciting narratives of passing events; some love-story between persons of hostile tribes, or the affection of a betrothed girl for a stranger, and its melancholy consequences.
Notwithstanding the slight estimation in which the sex is held by the fierce and jealous Arab--jealous more from self-love than from any regard to the object that creates this feeling--there is still much of the romantic to be found in his domestic history. English travellers, who have acquired a competent knowledge of the language, may collect materials for poems as tragical and touching as those which Lord Byron loved to weave. I could relate several in this place, picked up by my fellow-travellers, but as they may at some period or other desire to give them to the public themselves, it would be scarcely fair to anticipate their intention.
We now began to look out with some anxiety for the arrival of the steamer at Bombay, speculating upon the chances of finding friends able to receive us. As we drew nearer and nearer, the recollection of the good hotels which had opened their hospitable doors for us in the most unpromising places, caused us to lament over the absence of similar establishments at the scene of our destination. Bombay has been aptly denominated the landing-place of India; numbers of persons who have no acquaintance upon the island pass through it on their way to Bengal, or to the provinces, and if arriving by the Red Sea, are totally unprovided with the means of making themselves comfortable in the tents that may be hired upon their landing.