The Desolation of Babylon.
It is usual for travelers to dwell upon the utter desolation of Babylon, and to paint its site as a strip of desert, especially woe-begone and unfertile. But the eloquent gentlemen who dwell upon this aspect of the place could not have seen it in the middle of April. The date groves and gardens along the banks of the Euphrates are then things of beauty in their fresh spring verdure, and the plain itself is laid down with crops. Irrigation canals cross it here and there and give trouble to the horseman. No grass grows upon the mounds, and there are patches of the level white with the niter which is to be found here as in other parts of Mesopotamia; but the surface of the soil is, on the whole, green and pleasant to the eye. The glad waters of the river flow on in the bright morning sunshine, with palm and mulberry hanging over its banks, drinking in sap and life. The great city which counted its population by millions, and filled the world with renown not yet forgotten, has disappeared under the dust of twenty centuries, but nature is as fresh and jocund as when Babylon was still unbuilt. Birds sing overhead in the pleasant spring air; butterflies flutter about in search of flowers; balmy odors regale the sense. It is difficult under the circumstances to feel as one perhaps ought to feel for the great capital which once cumbered this ground. Nature does not mourn for it, and it is hard to be sad at the bidding of sentiment when the bright spring hides its grave.—Through Asiatic Turkey.