Wady-er-Ruhaibeh — Ruins — Desolate Cities — Wady-el-Khulasah — River-Bed Well — Wady-el-Khuzay — Wady-el-Murtubeh — Wady-es-Seba

Wady-er-Ruhaiheh, Feb. T4. — Rose before seven. Hie morning was sunny, but there was the appearance )f frost on our tents, and a heavy dew lay around. Had I phiasant walk among the shnibby knolls of sand, where I found, at intervals, a considerable amount of genuine grasfi. The lark singing, almost out of sight, in the sunshine, made most cheering music, — quite like I morning psalm. The warble is the same as in our ;Ioudier skies; nor could any (jne mistake it. It was a pleasant thought that there was such a song, coming up each day, in such a solitude, where there is no ear but that of God to hear the melody. It sung to the silent sands and the unwaviug shrubs, as pleasantly as to the greener fields of other climes. Nay, its song seemed to have fuller compass, and its wing more unfettered range in such a waste. How well the song and the solitude seemed to suit each other!

We moved off at nine, through a broad, undulating region, stretching eastward and northward, forming i sort of semicircular sweep on our right and in front In the distance spread the low hills of Palestine, ranging nearly east and west. This was our first glimpse o “Immanuel’s land;” as indeed the hills are the firsl objects which you greet in any land, save Egypt; foi there only is there no outstanding object visible afar of to bid you welcome. A welcome from the hills of Palestine was one worth having.

The whole valley was covered with lilies, among which the small land-tortoises were creeping about. We tool possession of some of these, in order to bring home a specimen of the more respectable live-stock of the desert At a quarter past ten Ave came to some ruins, in which we found stones of many sizes and shapes, round, square, and oblong. There were several fragments of pillars, which, from their exact resemblance to those which we had seen at Sinai and Feiran, were evidently the remains of ecclesiastical buildings. On one of these pillar-fragments there was an inscription. It was considerably defaced, but looked very like those of Wady Mukatteh On a small eminence Ave came upon the ruin of a large building, 45 ft. by 52 ft, containing six equal compartments. The stones were massive and Avell-hcAvn, — some of them round, — the remains of pillars or corner-ornaments, such as the convent of Sinai shews on the roof at several of its angles. Farther down, Ave came to another well-defined ruin, 33 ft. by 40 ft., divided into four oompartments. Farther on Ave came to larger buildings of a similar kind, with terrace-walls and massive stones in all directions. Fragments also of pottery were scattered about. Not ten minutes further on we came to a large tomb-like building, which, though partly ruined, is still in tolerable preservation. It seemed in some respects lilce a ivehj, or tomb of a moslem saint, in others like a small chapel, such as might have formed an appendage, to the convent not far off. Its exterior (such as the dome) was more like the former, its interior more like the latter.

Aljove this tomb, on a height of perhaps thirty feet, there is a large well or cistern. It might be some forty or fifty feet in diameter, well-built on all sides, and with steps leading down to the bottom. This last feature in a well occurs Imt seldom in the desert. There the wells are deep and narrow, — that is to say, not wider than six feet in diameter, But in Syria, where they are often not so much wells as cisterns or tanks, these steps down to th “in are often seen, as in the case of the pool at Hebron and Solomon’s pools. The well at which Eliezer found Rebekah, when he went to seek her as a wife to Isaac, was of this kind, for we read that “she went down to the well and filled her pitcher and came up” (Gen. x.xiv. 16). The wells of Mesopotamia, no doubt, resembled those of Syria more than those of the desert. The well before us was very old, though perhaps the present cistern was merely tlip successor of one much old or. For these w<lls sii-ni n-.t to have altered their sito

3 1 i ISAAC’S WELL.

from the earliest days in which they were built. Frequent repairs and changes they have undergone, but the well itself remains much as it was. The question occurs then, was this the well which Isaac’s servants dug, after their conflicts with the Philistines? The name Ruhaibeh looks very like ReJioboth (Gen. xxvi 22), and the objection urged by Dr Robinson that Scripture only mentions a well, not a city (whereas there has been a city here), is of no weight, seeing a city might rise up in after ages, though not a stone of it was laid in Isaac’s day. Indeed, the whole of this region is strewed with ruins of cities built in subsequent times. This may be the site of Isaac’s well, nay, it may be the site of Hagar’s well, — Beer-Iahai-roi (Gen. xvi, 14), which was “in the way to Shur,” and “between Kadesh and Bered;” or it maybe Hagar’s other well in the wilderness of Beersheba (Gen. xxi. 14, 19). Certainly it must have been somewhere in this region that all these scenes took place, and these wells were found.

Any one acquainted with the geogra23liy of the region, will see that Buhaibeh quite suits the scene of the sacred narrative. Isaac went to Gerar (Gen. xxvi. 1), which was, most probably, a little south-east of Gaza. Having become rapidly prosperous while there, he was driven by the envy of the Philistines from. Gerar itself to ‘’ the valley of Gerar” (ver. 17), which was probably one of the wadys which abound in that district. There he “yitched his tent,” a little way south of Gerar itself As Abraham had formerly sojourned here, there were wells still to be found, though “stopped” by the Philistines after Abvaimm’s death (ver. 18). Besides reojDening these, Isaac’s servants “digged in the valley and found there a “svcll of living water” (ver. 19). As the Philistines strove for this, and for another well, which they digged, Isaac and his household were gradually driven southward beyond the reach of the Philistines, till at Kehoboth they found rest (ver. 22). All this quite corresponds with Ruhaibeh, and the probability is completed when we read again, “he went up from thence to Beersheba” (ver. 23), which was less than a day’s march distant.

We now ascended the low hill above the well, attracted by the appearance of ruins. We were not disappointed. These ruins cover a very large space of ground, and are evidently the remains of one of the many ancient towns scattered over this neighbourhood. Foundations, walls, and even streets are visible in all directions. We wandered amongst them for some time, surveying their different parts with no small interest, — entering houses, climbing walls, and marking the different compartments. The city is said by some travellers to be called Ruhaibeh; but the only name by which our sheikh knew the place was Khurbit-el-Beer, “the ruins of the well.” All is utter ruin and solitude. The sound of the millstone is gone, the voice of man is not heard; no trace of the living is to be found, and no monument of the dead is there. Was that old well the beginning, and that moslem wdy the end, of the city’s history?

The district is not a very safe one to travel in. There are some lawless prowlers here whom our Arabs did not seem fond of meeting. We could imagine, in this region of ruined cities, the scene described by Job, in the career of the outlawed robber: —

“He pitches his tent in desolate cities, In houses which no man inhaljitcth, Which are ready to heconie heaps.” — (Job xv. 28.)

As we did not take up our night-quarters here, we did not hear the “complainings” of “the moping owl,” as did the American traveller; but the quick-darting lizards among the stones we saw, as in other places.

Our sheikh kept close by us the whole time; but evidently was impatient and uneasy at our lingering so far behind the caravan. Pointing sometimes in one direction, and sometimes in another, he shook his head, looked grave, and spoke of “bad Bedaween.” But we saw none of “the tents of the robbers” (Job xii. 6), which seem to be even more plentiful in some jDarts of the desert now, than in the age of the patriarch. Urged, however, by our sheikh, we hastened down into the valley, and, walking briskly, we soon overtook our camels.

We passed large fields on our right under cultivation, while on our left rose a range of low sandy slopes or hills. In this neighbourhood Abraham and his son had been, tilling thee very acres. “Then Isaac sowed in that land, and received in the same year an hundredfold; and the Lord blessed him” (Gen. xxvi. 12). The Arab husbandmen were busy with the plough, — an

ii Instrument as poor and inefficient for the purpose of turning up the earth as can be conceived. Here it was drawn, not as usual by oxen, but by camels. Some ten or twelve of these we saw at work in various directions, in the course of our forenoon’s ride. They look very ungainly in the field, and do not seem at all suited to this kind of work. It is for bearing burdens, not for drawing either ploughs or carriages that the camel is fitted. In the field it seems quite out of its element. It is in the desert that it shews to advantage, — especially when moving on over sand under the pressure of some heavy load, under which any other animal would have broken down. The cultivation continued for two or three miles along the valley of Ruhaibeh; and then about half-past eleven, we passed into sand again. The way was very circuitous and rather hilly, but beset on both sides with the same lilies as before, in great abundance, along with some of the usual desert shrubs.

About twelve wo came to Wady-el-Khulasah, with mountains on the right, which our Arabs called MaJcJuxth. Here we found another detachment of ruins, shewing how continuous had once been the course of population in this district, — city after city having been planted within a mile or two of each other. All this of course infers a very much higher state of cultivation than at present shews itself, or even sc3ms possible from the appearance of the country. The infidel has .sometimes pointed the finger to Palestine, and u.sked how was it po.s.sible that it could have maintained such a jjojmlntion as Scripture assigns to it? We take him to Ruhaibeh and its neighbourhood, and bid him look at these ruins. What do they mean? Are we to judge of past fruitfulness by present barrenness, — of past numbers by present desolation? Or we ask him to turn his argument against the Roman historians of the latter, and question their veracity, seeing they tell us of the cities which once flourished here, and of the population which covered those now empty wastes, — wastes over which the patriarchs wandered, through which the great Roman road once passed, and in which Christian churches once flourished.

The whole region now begins to brighten up. It is no longer “a land that is not sol” (Jer. ii. 2), such as we have hitherto been passing through. * It is a land “made soft with showers” (Ps. lxv. 10;. It is not indeed the goodly land of vines and olives, of streams and fountains (Deut. viii. 7, 8); but it is at least not a waste. The “pastures of the wilderness’’ (Ps. lxv. 12) are here. The sternness of the desert features is now relaxing into a smile. ISJot only is the valley becoming green, but the slojoes are beginning to be clothed with the same hue; nay, “the little hills rejoice on every side;” for though their verdure is still poor and unable to reach their summits, yet it is sufficient to take o3 that aspect of dreary nakedness which the desert presents, and which, by its long continuance, has grown quite oppressive to us. The green of the scattered shrubs, which we met with almost every day, was but a

Bcanty relief. Cheering as were the palms of “Wady- Ghurandel and the tarfas of Wady Sheikh, they only partially mitigated the sear and lonely lifelessness of hill and vale. For they rise out of the baie sand; and the want of the green sward beneath takes away more than half the gladness of their verdure. I had no iilca previously that so much of earth’s beauty depended on the green of its jloor. Nothing can be a compensation for the want of this.

“... gay green,
Thou smiling nature’s universal robe!
United light and shade; where the sight dwells
“With growing strength and ever new delight.”

But we had now come to a region where nature seemed putting off her sackcloth, and exchanging the grim frown for the happy smile. The change was welcome. And though there was no palm, no olive, nor tree of any kind around, yet even without these, the landscape seemed gay and goodly. It was unadorned, but Ftill it was clothed. In Feiran it was adorned, but not clothed; and we found that no amount of the former could be an equivalent for the want of the latter.

Had there been here some lofty mountain, from which we might have viewed the far-off region on eitlu-r side of u.s, we should have seen, to the east, Mount Hor rising up in its bare, rocky grandeur, with Petra in majestic ruin not far off, while, in the north-west, we should liavc caught a glinips<; of the “great sea.” Or had we fit.ruck again into Wady-el-Arish, we might, without difficulty, have taken our course down its well-marked channel, till we reached its mouth at Rhinocorura, where the torrent that had its birthplace in the ravines and fissures of Et-Tih, pours its flood, after many a bend, over the sands of the Mediterranean. It was always interesting to us as we passed along, not only to see what could be seen on right and left, but to imagine what could not be seen, as we marked it upon our maps and reckoned ujj the distance between it and us.

About half-past one we came to Khurbit-d-Kkulasah, the ruins. of Khulusah. In this name seems to be preserved the Roman Elusa, mentioned by Ptolemy in the second century. The remains are very extensive; and the stones are of all sizes and shapes, — shewing even in their fragments the carefulness with which they had been hewn and prepared. There is a large quantity of broken pottery scattered about in all directions, — indicating how much earthenware had been in use in these cities. The “jjotter’s vessel” lay in fragments (Psa. ii. 9); and we could understand the meaning of the figure used by the prophet to set forth Israers desola,tion: —

“He shall shiver it as the shivering of a potter’s vessel. Breaking it, he spareth it not.

And there shall not be found among its fragments a shred To take up fire from the hearth Or to skim up water from the pool.” — (Isa. xxx. 14.)

Many fragments we did find, but all thoroughly useless for any purpose, — not one above two inches square at the most. When these are of any size they are most nsefal for lifting the glowing embers, either to kiuult; another fire, or lighting the pipes of such of our Beda-Aveen as smoked, — for they did not all do so. But the pieces under our feet were so small, that they could hv. no preservative to the fingers. Still more useful wou.’.(l they be to “skim up” (as the word is) water from tJie pool; — for though the idea of “scooping the brimming strtam” comes from a land of broader rivers than the desert knows, yet often did we see the Arab, in iis thirst, making use of various appliances to quench his thirst at the pools by the way. Sometimes they “bowed down upon their knees to drink” (Judges vii. 5). Sometimes they “lapped of the water with their tongue as a dog lappeth” (Judges vii. 8). But a fragment ot earthenware with a slight hollow would have been quitch a prize. I found my gutta-percha cup of great use, and by means of it I tasted of every well, or pool, or stream that we might light upon; but even a piece of pottery is not in such circumstances to be despised. In all this region, however, we came upon nothing save mere fragments, — though certainly these fragments were in great abundance. They were of various sizes and colours, — some red, some bluish, some dun, some whitish. Here wo picked up a broken handle of a pitcher; there an ornamented ])icce of the rim; then a solid piece of tlic base. J]ut still they hud all been thoroughly broken, as if pounded to pieces under the heel of the spoiler. Not far from this was a beautiful bed of a stream, which we should much have liked to see in its fulness. But it was dry. Yet even these dry channels here are much more pleasant to the eye than the sandy depressions to which we had become familiar under the name of vjadys. To these wadys your fancy had not only to bring water, in order to give them beauty, but to plant their banks with trees and clothe them with grass. But here you had just to supply the stream, and immediately all was beautiful.

Hard by were the ruins of large buildings, some square, others circular, the stones not rude but well-hewn. Here we found a regularly-built well, upwards of twenty feet deep and twelve in diameter, with some troughs beside it. Troughs beside wells, needful in all countries, are quite indispensable in the East. Hence the frequent references to them in Scripture. “She hasted, and emptied her pitcher into the trough (we should just have poured the water on the ground, but it is too valuable in the East to be thrown away), and ran again unto the well to draw water” ((j!en. xxiv. 20). “The priest of Midian had seven daughters: and they came and drew water, and filled the troughs to water their father’s flock’’ (Exod. ii. 16). Finely-carved stones were scattered about, of various sizes. A little further en we -came to another well, whose arch-formed mouth rises above ground. Then we reached another, considerably larger, called Beer-Khalasah, partly arched at the top, and rising up conically a few feet, with an aperture in the centre, large enough to admit of a bucket or skin-vessel being let down through it, yet sufficiently small to make it capable of being covered with a stone or rock. With us it is a matter of smaller moment that the well should be carefully covered over, — for water is not so precious in our moister climate, and our Wflls are not in danger of being filled up with the sand-drift. It is otherwise in the East, both in Syria and in the desert. Hence the care with which the wells or springs are “shut up” and “sealed” (Song of Sol. iv. ] 2). The mention of this in Jacob’s history shews us that the stone was as necessary in Syria as in the desei t. “He looked, and behold a well in the field... and a great stone was upon the well’s mouth; and thither were all the flocks gathered, and they rolled the stone IVom the well’s mouth and watered the sheep, and put the stone again upon the Avell’s mouth in its place” (Gen. xxix. 2, 3, 8).

After leaving this, the lilies disappear for a little. The stones of Elusa lie scattered over the valley, with fireat quantities of pottery of all colours, — white, black, and red. In a little, the lilies recommenced, covering vast tracts of ground as before. Here too the rltVni abounds; — for this is the desert of ijeersheba, through which Elijah pas.sed on his way to the Mount of God (I Kings xix. l — i). Here it was that “he came and sat down under a vUVni-ivnii;” for we read that, having loft his seiTant at Beerslieba, “He himself went a day’s iouniey into the wilderness,” which would bring him to thi.s very spot. Hen? it was that ho requested for him-

self that he might die, and said, “Enough now, 0 Jehovah, take away my life; for I am not better than my fathers.” * Here it was that “he lay and slept under a ritt’m-tree;’’ and here it was that the angel touched him and said. Arise and eat. Here it was that “he saw the cake taken on the coals, and a cruise of water at his head,” of which he partook, and then laid him down once more beneath the shadow of the shrub. Here it was that the angel came the second time and gave him food, — food prepared by no human hand, — food upon the strength of which he went forty days (ver. 8). It was the bread of the mighty; and in this desert, as in the days of Israel, “man did eat angels’ food.” Why the journey occupied forty days is not said. It need not have taken half that time. But God had lessons to teach him by the way.

Nearly two miles from the ruins already described we came upon others, at half-past two o’clock. There was a small eminence covered with fragments of hewn stone. In the centre was a well, — perhaps originally one of those dug by the patriarchs, for wells here do not

* Some of the old commentators have discovered a tradition respecting the tree under which the iDrojohet lay and slept, which makes us smile. It is said that the shade of the ritt’m is noxious, and that he sat down under it as one courting death! Any one who has seen the Arabs enjoying the shade of that tree, or has enjoyed it himself in a sunny noon, will have no great difficulty in defending Elijah from the charge of meditated suicide. Whence the commentators took this tradition I do not know. The reader will find the tradition itself and a defence of the prophet, in Paxton’s “Illustrations of feiripture.”

WADY-EL-KnUZAY. 325

easily change, — and if filled ujd they are dug again, as we see in the case of Isaac. It had been carefully built, and was U23wards of four feet in diameter. Around were many fragments of pottery, — ancient of course, — fcr who has been here for many a century to leave his fragments on these fields?

We ascended gently for an hour, and then came down into Wady-d-Khuzay, — a fine valley covered with vegetation, — chiefly consisting of shrubs, though interspersed with grass. A flock of sheep, black and white, was feeding on the pasture. Advancing half an hour further, we found the shrubs decreasing, and the gi’assy herbage becoming more plentiful. As we move northwards the wilderness gradually dissolves into the fruitful field. Yet not without some such retrogression, as makes one at times think that it was quite resuming dominion. For it was not so much the wilderness that was encroaching on the tillage, as the tillage that was pushing its way into the wilderness. In truth, it seemed as if there were a tide of vegetation setting in from the north, and making its way south over the desert sands. Sometimes a vast wave rushed forward, over the plains, and occupied large space. Then it returned and left the intcrxal bare, so that the verdure seemed sometimes gaining and sometimes losing ground, — just as in the case of an advancing tide. Such was the aspect which this b(jrder-land presented to us.

About four, we pa.ssed into Wad)/ Murtuhch, — a grassy vale, according to desert-reckoning, but bare enough when compared with Strathmore or Teviotdale. The usual shrubs scattered their dusky vegetation over the Avady, though less thickly than before. We examined some ruins on a mound, consisting of well-hewn stones. Hard by was the bed of a stream, which after rains must contain a considerable quantity of water. It was now dry The white pebbles, as well as larger stones with which the channel was strewn, formed quite a contrast to the wadys of the desert. Along its margin some grassy slopes spread themselves out, and gave a softer beauty to the spot than any which we had hitherto seen.

“VVe are now on the parallel of the Dead Sea. It is no doubt several days’ journey distant from us; but had we been able to mount high enough, we might perhaps have seen the southern margin of these solemn waters, where four cities lie entombed. We certainly should not have grudged trouble or toil to get a glimpse of Bultr Lut, and of Usdum, — the names still retained by the natives, shewing how tenaciously the story of Lot has cluug to that sea, and how well even Arab tradition has remembered the doom of Sodom.

About five o’clock we ascended the gentle ridge above Wady-es-Seba, — and there we found as sweet and green a vale as we could wish to see. It was not a large hollow, but it was pleasant, and sheltered on all sides. The undulating slopes and rounded hillocks, half in light and half in shade, yet bathed in as bright a sunset as an eastern sky can furnish, and all this mingled with

ASCENT. o27

the memories of patriarchal suns and sunsets, — of the times when, perhaps, on this very spot, “Isaac went out to mediate in the field at the even-tide” (Gen. xxiv, 63),* presented a scene as exquisite to the eye as it was soothing- to the spirit. It was iomethiug too to be in a region hitherto but little traversed by travellers. Few eyes of strangers rest on these hills, and few feet of strangers pass through them. Egypt and Sinai have been visited by thousands, and described till they have become familiar to those who have never left their own shores; but this district is almost unexplored.

It reminded us of some of the downs of our own island. We seemed to breathe more freely when coming to the green earth again; for though we had, during the last three or four days, been cheered by verdant spots, we had not yet lighted on a region so thoroughly gi’een. Home, with its fresh fields, seemed nearer, and the link more visible between it and us. In the soft grass there seemed something kindred and companionable. It seemed to know us, and we it, as friends. What a power this verdure seemed to possess of bringing up thoughts, and scenes, and faces, which the desert sands had banished!

The way from Wady-d-MaHuhah to Wady-es-Seha winds most tortuously, yet most gently, through a pass between the various undulations which divide the two wadys. We took nearly an hour to traverse it; and at

“And Isaac came from the way of tbo well Lahoi-roi: for Lo dwelt in tbo south country” (Gon. x.xiv. C2).

six o’clock we halted m a hollow upon the ridge which overlooks Wady-es-Seba. We should greatly have preferred moving forward and pitching our tents beside Abraham’s wells; but it was late, and we were content to remain on the heights above Beersheba, — tVe more so because the hills of Judah were full in view.

Heifjhts above Beersheba, Feb. 15. — Rose a little after six, and wandered out on the heights which surrounded our tents. The sun was still unrisen, and the morning was slightly cold. There was no frost so far as I could judge; but the thin and almost invisible vapour, as it rose from the moist ground into the chill, wan air, sugo-ested that possibly there might have been some during the night. But every sign indicated a day of heat and sunshine. The alternation alluded to by Jacob I could easily understand: “in the day the drought consumed me, and the frost by night” (Gen. xxxi. 40).

Our camels were scattered on the numerous slopes in search of food. On these heights the lilies abounded, with grass and low shrubs between. I noticed that the camels did not touch the lilies at all; but cropped what lay between. It reminded me of the words, “he feedeth among the lilies” (Cant. ii. 16). We did not here see any flocks feeding, or any “young harts” leaping; but in other places we had frequent occasion to notice the sheep and lambs browsing on the like pastures, — among but not on the lilies, for while the lily furnishes no acceptable food for flocks and herds, it seems by the shade of its high broad leaves, to retain the moisture, and so to nourish herbage wherever it grows. The place of lilies would thus be the place of the richest pasture, as Solomon evidently indicates, when again using the figure, he speaks of the “young roes which feed mnonj the lilies” (Cant. iv. 5, and again vi. 3). They grew in almost incredible numbers and luxuriance; — often where nothing else flourished, corroborating the prophet’s allusion, “he shall grow as the lily” (Hosea xiv. 5). Their tapering leaf is richly green, and hence the “heap of wheat set about with lilies” (Cant. vii. 2), would form, by the contrast, an object of no common beauty, the pale yellow and the vivid green setting off each other, as the leaf of the primrose does its own yellow blossom. Close by these lilies there grew several of the thornshrubs of the desert; but above them rose the lily, spreading out its fi-esh leaf of green as a contrast to the dingy verdure of these prickly shrubs. “As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters” (Cant. ii. 2). Whether this be the lily of the lalley, I do not know. It grows on hill and valley, all over this region. Nor is it of one species only, but of several, as we could easily see, though only one species was in flower. That which was in flower the Arabs called usiveih. It was larger than the others, and shot up its lilac, hyacinth-looking flowers from a tajjeriug stalk, sometimes two ft-et long.*

These long lily-stalks wcro used by Bcvoi-ul of our pnrty as a sort ol whip fur the camels. They nnswerc<l the purpose toloi-nbly well, being rather tough and stroni;:.

o30 DESCENT.

The sun came up, as I was wandering among these grassy knolls, and threw his light upon the distant hills of Judah, covering theui with a veil of mellow purple. The larks were sinijing overhead, the camels were feediug around, the Arabs were moving about beneath, and the tents were brightening in the sunlight, as I moved slowly down, recalling patriarchal memories, and thinkinsf how often Abraham and Isaac had trodden this ground, had fed their flocks among these lilies, and had enjoyed the morning sunshine as I was now doing.

We started about eight, the travellers preferring to walk, leaving the camels to follow. A morning waik to Beersheba! We needed no adventitious circumstances to add to the interest of the route; yet the clear sky above us, and the fresh grass beneath our feet, were most exhilarating. The descent is a very gradual one, the path winding through the same kind of gentle undulations as on the preceding day. We passed several beautiful hollows, rich in pasture, just such as we could suppose the patriarchs to have known, as places for their flocks to feed; — not, perhaps, to” rest at noon ‘*’ (Caut i. 7), for this requires more shade than these hollows could afford, — some rock, or cave, or group of trees. — yet to feed at morn or even, or it might be in the watches of the night (Luke ii. 8). The birds still cheered us with song as we passed, and the moles were busily at work under our feet, casting up the brown soil, just as in our Hekis at home. The knolls T;ere of all variety of height and figure, varying the scene at every turn. We wandered slowly on, cheered by the fresh grassy fragrance which was rising about us, as the heat drew up the moisture from the soil. As we walked together, we read aloud the various passages in Genesis connected with this locality They came to us with new interest and meaning.

As we got down to Wady-es-Seha, aboub half-an-hour from our time of starting, we observed a hollow of considerable size, in which there were ruins. The terrace-walls and foundations of houses were quite visible; and on all the small knolls there were great quantities of stones, many of which had evidently been used in building. Yet we do not know of any city here; though it is not unlikely that the whole of this wady was once well-peopled. Its fruitful and well-watered soil would draw population to it in all ages. By the way we noticed quantities of the coloquintidci, formerly seen in several places of the desert. To the west for a short space Ave marked some low white cliffs. In one or two places the ground was ([uite broken and cut up by torrents; but no water was to be seen in their sandy beds. Broken potteiy was strewed in all directions, both on the level track and on the mounds. Flocks of sheep and camels were feeding here and there.

A little after nine we came upon an extensive plain, who.se level breadth was relieved by numerous undubitions and lieautified with green. Again we saw ruins, similar to the former and not a mile distant from them. We noticed also a long strip of green table-laud, with fragments of pottery in considerable quantities At half-past nine we reached the water-course, on whose banks, — upon the level ledge which ran along ior some distance, — were ruins like those we had already seen. In the greener parts camels were feeding. The channel ot the river was thickly paved with pebbles, and with white fetones of some size, and was about one hundred and flftv feet broad. Immediately on reaching the other side you come upon the wells, from which it took, and still takes, its name, Beer-es-Seha, the “well of the seven,” or the “well of the oath.”

But this river-bed is the boundary of Palestine. We shall not at present step across it. We leave the entire land for another journey and another volume. The tribes of Simeon and Judah lie before us, but we do not, in the mean time, enter on their territories.

For some days past we have been traversing the land of the patriarchs, — for the border-land that lies between the desert and Palestine may well be honoured with that name. It is the region which they specially occupied when they were” strangers and pilgrims on the earth’’ (Heb. xi. 13). No doubt they did sojourn, at times, in the land itself; but this southern territory, less preoccupied and less exposed to hostile assaults, they seem to have jjreferred. Of Jacob this may not appeal altogether true, but of Abraham and Isaac we may say that this was the country which they knew best and Id which they dwelt longest.

The hoDie of the patriarchs was here — of Isaac eapecially, who took up his dwelling by the well Lahairoi (Gen. xxiv. 62); and the history of this region is a history of the patriarchs. Just as the desert lias only a history of forty years, the time when Israel was there; so this “south country” has a history of little more than a Century, the time when the two eider patriarchs had their sojourn in it.

They builded no cities hi it, for their dwelling was in tents, and with these they were content. Thdir faith rested on the city which hath foundations, and until it should arrive they were satisfied with the tent alone. Here Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Lshmael and Hagar lived. From this it was that Isaac was led up to Moriah, like a lamb for sacrifice; for, as Jerome nc’ticcs, Abraham must have been living here and not in Hebron at that time, else he would not have taken three days to reach Jerusalem.* In after ages the Romans came and occupied the country, making roads through its whole length, and building cities on the slopes of its valleys. But of their doings here we know little. Cities and temples, and in later ages churches, rose where the tents of the patriarchs had been pitched, — but these have pa.ssed away. Not a stone is left ujion another.

The patriarchs, though they chose it for their residence while living, did not take it as their abode when

Ho speak a of him as being in Geinr, not nearer, for from tbo onk of Mamro to Moriah i.j only hardly ono day’s journey, “vix unius dioi itet plenum.”

dead. They built no tombs, they hewed out no sepulchres for themselves oi their children. Their dust was to be conveyed to Canaan, and rest in the cave of Machpelah. They might live and they might die in the land of strangers, but not in it would they be buried. Their bones must be gathered to their fathers, and their dust sleep in a soil which they could call their own. A resting-place in death was more to them than a dwelling-place in life. The latter was of little moment, seeing they were strangers here; but the former was of much, seeing it bore uion their resurrection-hope, and of that hope they desired to testify by their guarded dust and rock-hewn sepulchres.*

There were no goodly mountains here, like Carmel, or like Lebanon; nor any streams such as Jordan or Kishon; nor any lake such as that of Galilee There was nothing to mark the country in any special way. There were no great features to form a fatherland round which their affections or their patriotism might entmne themselves. Nor was it a land flowing with milk or honey. It was a fruitful land no doubt, but a plain and unambitious territory, very much lile the lowly men who occupied it. It was less likely to be coveted than

* In the desert we saw frequent gi-aveyarda, and also in Palestine, but none in this middle district. Not only have the patriarchs no such monumental memorials, great or small, but Roman, Christian, and Mahommedaa have none. The patriarchs have left the well, the Moslems the wely, the Christians the dismantled convent, and the Romans the ruined city. That is all.

most lands, by the stranger, so that here they might sit down in peace, and pass the few days of their pilgrimage in unmolested calm, — walking with God, while they walked with each other, in these quiet vales.

It was not the land of the palm or the olive; the vine, the fig, the pomegraiiate preferred the warmer air or the richer soil. It was a land of pasture, nothing more, — a land where, like Abel, they might feed their flocks without toil or care, — with less of the ancient curse, — the “sweat of the face” (Gen. iii. 19), than they might have had on more fruitfid plains. It was a laud suited for nothing but the unbustling life of shepherds, — the life that leaves most leisure, and afifords most opportunity, for fellowship with God. Egypt was the land of those who had their j)ortion here, and with it they had nought to do. The desert v. as the region of the wanderer, livinir on miraculous manna from heaven, and water from the rock, but neither the wandering nor the miracle was to be their portion. Canaan was the place of the settled habitation, where in the well-built cities their children were one day to rest; but that rest was not to be their lot. Here, however, was a land unlike all of these, just as their mode of life was to be unlike all that went before or should follow after. It was just such a land as suited them, the land of the stranger and the pilgrim. How well did the country and the dwellers suit each other! How beautifully does this nice, this gracious ada])tatit)n shew forth the wise and watchful tenderness, with which the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob provided for his chosen family during that time when, in his unexplained purpose and providence, he left them still outside the goodly land. Nor is the simplicity with which they trusted his faithfulness and followed his guidance less to be noted. It is worthy of our imitation, and, remembering this, we gaze and gaze again upon that narrow strip of land, where the footsteps of faith have left so visibly their ineffaceable imprint. For these things were “written for our learning that we, through the patience and comfort of the Scriptures, might HOLD FAST THE HOPE” (Rom. xv. 4), even as did these patriarchs in the midst of far thicker clouds, and keener trials of faith than we have known.

This home of the patriarchs was not within sight of Jerusalem; but it was far removed from Ur of the Chaldees, out of whose idolatry they had been rescued. It was not within sight of Lebanon, but it was beyond the vision of Sinai and its awful fellows. Yet though Jerusalem and Lebanon were far out of sight, still the promised land was near. Its hills were always within view. So that, while waiting here for the time when od was to lead them in, they could keep their eye upon its heights, or sometimes pass across the boundary to wander over, or for a season to pitch their tents upon its sunnier plains. Surrounded by deserts on every side they would be cheered by the perpetual vision of a land flowing with milk and honey, clothed with the olive and the vine, — a land in which their children, and their children’s children, if not themselves, were in coming days to dwe

Since Abraham first loft hU home on the banks of the J!r,phrates, he had known no certain dwelling-place. Sure of a resting-place somewhere, because God was beckoning him on, yet not sure of it anywhere, till he should sit down in Canaan, he was content to move or to rest as God shoukl bid him. And though it was on Canaan that his heart was set, yet, next to Canaan, he seems to have preferred this region above all others. More truly still did it suit Isaac’s gentle spirit. It was fitted to be the home of quiet faith, such as his, and of family tendernesses such as he delighted in. He chose it, therefore, for his place of sojourn, and most truly might it be named the land of Isaac. Once and again the world broke in upon him, and would have striven and quarrelled with him; but he resisted not. He retired before the quarrellers; he departed from the scene of strife, content to be wronged for the sake of peace and love. Yet in retiring before the injurers, he marks his sense of the evil and the wrong, by the names he gives to the scenes of the strife, calling the one I’^sek (strife), and the other Sitnah (hatred). And then, when he gets beyond the region of contention, he gives vent to his satisfied feelings by the name Reliohotli (room), which he affixes to the undisturbed resting-place in which he is now permitted to sit down.*

It was not the land of miracles. God did no mighty

Gen. xxvi.22. Had David Isaac in hia view when lie said, “Thou hast not shut mo up into the Lund of the enemy; thou hist sot luy feet in a lartjc room” (I’iu. xxxi. H) 1 The original worJa arc the same.

work here; nor did great events occur, pave that once or twice an angel jjassed across its fields in his ministry of love. It was the land for the unfolding of simple faith, — faith that grows out of no sign nor wonder, hut roots itself in the sure promise of the El-Shaddai, “fear not, I am thy shield and thy exceeding great reward;” and, so rooting itself, anticipates the fuller grace of after days, “blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed” (John xx, 29).

They who delight in monkish traditions or miracles of sjnirious saintsliip, will be disappointed here. No great deeds were done nor great words spoken here. There are no outstanding points on which Greek fables or Latin lies can fasten themselves. If it is a region not made illustrious by true miracles, it is one not disfigured and debased by false ones. In this respect, there is a peculiar satisfaction in passing through it, and surveying its tranquil fields. The spirit is relieved from that fretting sense of mockery which mars such scenes as Sinai or Bethlehem, or even the Mount of Olives. In these places superstition has done its worst, to desecrate spots which otherwise would have been viewed with unmingled interest or awe. There is no such defilement here. This region at least has been spared the mockery. You have not here to separate the true from the false; all here is TRUE. There may not be much, but what there is is real. These plains, and hills, and slopes are just what they were, when Isaac wandered over them; and the eye is not distracted with uncertainties, nor offended with fooleries, such as elsewhere vex the spirit in these eastern lands. More than once in the Desert, we found the lone acacia covered with the rags which Moslem devotees had hung upon its branches; — and just with such rags of Greek tradition, we might say that we found Sinai covered. But here neither IMosIem nor Greek had intruded their mockeries. The land lay quiet before us, in the pure happy twilight of the patriarchal morning. What an infliction upon a spot or region are these anilities which travellers love to record, and even philosophers to adorn.. The Egyptian plag-ue of frogs was not more loathsome than these swarms of monkish lies. Happy the scene that escapes their polluting touch. Yet we find men who stand aloof from the mention of true miracles dilating fondly on the false. We find men who take no interest in a spot, from its being the undoubted .scene of authentic miracles, expressing great interest in another spot which has only been the scene of monastic fraud. The true wonder forms no additional attraction to the place; the false wonder actually creates an attraction and gives world-wide name to an obscure locality. Such lias been the unreasoning perversity, not merely of mediiuval superstition, but of modern philosophy. Not that rationalism actually loves the falsehood or gives heed to the fable; but it so dislikes the true that it is glad to seize the occasion of setting the two side by side, that the one may cast discredit on the other, and the re;uler be led to the conclu.sion that he cannot believe one without believing both. The rationalist and the traditionist shake hands with each other across a narrow stream. The former says that Bible miracles are not true, and thereby brings them down to the level of the monkish lie; the latter says they are true, but so are the miracles of St Anthony and St Katherine, thereby so encumbering the true with the load of the false as to sink them both together.

If, then, in looking at these patriarchal hills and vales, one feels disappointed that he can find no Scripture miracle to attach to them; he is comforted with the thought that here is a tenitory undisfigured by fable or forgery. No sixth-century saint has hung his rags upon these shrubs; no idle pilgrim has carved his name upon these rocks; no monk has bedaubed these slopes with his paint-brush. They are all just what they were, four thousand years ago. It is not, indeed, now the living land. It is dead; and it is the face of the dead that we look upon. But it is a face unmarred and unaltered. “Decay’s effacing fingers” have not swept .away one line of beauty. The countenance is as placid in its loveliness as when the sleep of death first stole over it, and fixed its features. Ages have not altered it; and nothing has passed away save that which could not be retained, — the life and the youth, the health, the freshness, and the joy.

It is only during the history of the patriarchs that this region is brouQ-ht into view. After that, it is almost lost sight of, save when a single verse informs us that Elijah passed through it on his way to the Mount

AN UNVISITED LAND. 3-il

of God. For even Israel did not enter it in their march to Canaan. At their first approach, when the spies were sent out, they were in the wilderness of Paran, which, though in one sense it formed part of this territory, yet more truly belonged to the country lying east of it. At their second approach, when their forty years’ wanderings were ended, they still took an eastward route, keeping by the Gulf of Akabah and Mount Seir, in order to turn the flank ot the mountains of Moab and enter Palestine by Jordan. And as it is a region almost unknown in the later ages of Bible history, so is it one wdiich, in subsequent times, has been left unvisited by the traveller. Hence it looks more fresh, because hitherto undescribed; it takes firmer hold of your mind, because it carries you -back at once to the times of old, and makes you feel that, in your survey ot it, you are indebted to no one, but are looking at it with your own eyes, not with those of travellers who have gone before you. Nothing seems to come between you and the patriarchs themselve.?, save time, which has only served to make the spot more venerable. The crowd of events which in other places comes between you and the men of old, distracting your eye and taking off the impressiveness of the view, is here unknown. Your thoughts are not divided among a multitude of conflicting met Wo turnctl to tho left at tho point where iKraol must have turned to llio right. Thus wo miiwcd WadijelJhidliarah, which seems really to be Ifazgroth (Numb. xi. 35); at least tho likonoss of tho nnmo, and tho suitabloueiw of tho pliico, fonn stronp presumptions in favour of this.

iiiories, each effacing the other i they settle down upon one single object, and are absorbed in one unhindered, unbroken vision. It is not like looking across plains, or streams, or hills, to some wondrous land beyond, where the intervening objects break up the oneness of the prosjject and perpetually suggest the idea of the distance and the obstacles between. It is like looking up to the heavens through the invisible and silent air, in the whole stretch of which there is not one object on which the eye can rest, short of the stars. The thought of distance passes away, the intervening air seems more to unite than to divide, till there seems, for the time, to be but two objects in creation, yomself and that heaven of stars, into which you seem unconsciously to have passed, almost without an effort or a volition.

We were glad that we had been led through this unknown region, and that we had thus seen the home of the patriarchs, the cradle of faith, ere the bondage was endured or “the law added because of transgression.” We had not meant to pass that way. Our plan was to visit Petra, and from Petra to turn straight to Hebron, crossing Wady Arabah by the supposed Kadesh Barnea, — striking north-westward by war a or A roer, and thence, perhaps, through Wady-el-Khulil to El-Khulil (Hebron) itself. Had this been carried out we should have missed the whole of this most interesting region, — a region, I confess, fuller to me of deeper and more sacred interest than the marvellous ruins of Edom’s wondrous capital. Reluctantly had we given up our original plan, and we now found that though we had been made losers in some respects, we had been gainers in others. The country we had traversed is but little known — in some parts not known at all, for the route we had taken had been pursued by no traveller before us. Dr Robinson supposes that he was the first who passed through the territory from Rubaibeh to Beersheba, — yet even he did not traverse the whole of it, as he struck in upon our route only at El-Abdeh, a little south of Ruhaibeh. This fact of itself added something to our zest and interest. Tn Egypt and the Desert we had, for the most part, pursued a beaten track, and found almost every spot noted by former travellers. Here we had lighted on an undiscovered mine. We had come upon an almo.st unknown territory, seen by hardly any, described by none. It was the land of Abraham and Isaac — the land of the tent and the flock — a land to which our only guide-book was the Bible.

Not for many Petras would we have missed this region. It has nothing striking: it is homely all over. It has nothing marvellous like the gi’eat city of the rock; but it has something more congenial, more heart-thrilling than the ruins of amphitheatres, or temples, or arches, or tombs. It has the memories of more ancient days, and the visions of a truer life floating above its fields. It has the happy, yet solemn, associations of patriarchal faith and love linked with all its scenes.