A EIDE TO BABYLON. 



[MAGA. JUNE 1863.] 



IF, reader, at any previous period of your life, you 

 have had the good fortune to visit the far city of 

 Baghdad, I pray you to look upon the following 

 opening pages of my story much in the light that 

 young ladies are wont to look upon the metaphysical 

 disquisitions of a novel as pages, in fact, containing 

 matter wholly superfluous and void of interest to you, 

 and which you may, therefore, lawfully and advan- 

 tageously skip. I take it for granted that your stay 

 there, whether short or long, did indelibly impress 

 upon your mind the general appearance of the town, 

 and the manner of life there at least that of the 

 European. No description of mine is likely to freshen 

 those memories of the old, quaint, Oriental city, such 

 as I hold you must keep stored away somewhere, 

 treasures to the mental vision. But, on the other 

 hand, if you have never made that weary desert ride 

 that has Damascus as a starting-point and Baghdad 

 as a goal if you have never won your way against 

 the current of the Tigris, rolling its fast rushing 



