Wady-esh-Sheikh — Sinaitic Range — Nukb Howai — Bedaween Graveyard — Inscriptions — Wady er-Rahah — Traditions — Wady Shueib — Convent

Wady-esh-SheiJch, Saturday, Jan. 26. — I got tip before five, as we mean to start early for Mount Sinai, taking the way through the rugged pass of Howai and sending our baggage round by Wady Slielkh, which winds on till within a mile of the mountain. I awoke our dragoman, who cried out “Yes, Sir,” called up our two servants, Hainan and Humn’Ul, and then went to sleep again. I tried to stir the Arabs, but that was beyond my power. They would not move. There they lay in two circles round the ashes of their fires, their coarse camel-hair cloak thrown over their heads, and the sand or their wooden saddles for a pillow. It was with some difficulty that I avoided walking over them, as in the semi-darkness no one could guess that these brown-looking heaps were anything save sacks of corn or perhaps charcoal. Our two faithful servants, however, knew their duty, and set about

20 -i AN EASTERN WATCH.

preparing breakfast. Meanwhile, I enjoyed Ijialf an hour’s walk among the rocks and over the sands in the morning moonshine.

Our dragoman certainly had a watch, but it seemed to be of little use to him, and, accordingly, when he had to get up early in the morning, for a start, it was to the skies that he looked, not to his time-piece, for the hour, or at least for an approximation to it. Whether the said watch actually measured time, I cannot say. Like other eastern watches it was peculiar in its dial-plate, for the deciphering of which some skill is needed, as not only are the numbers difierent from ours, but eastern hours are not the same in length at all times, for they vary with the distance between sunrise and sunset, Oui Arabs had no watches, — no not our sheikh. Watches! What do these sons of the desert care for such toys! They have the sun by day and the stars by night. Their keen and practised e3’e reads with amazing correctness the time of day or night from these “lights of heaven” that “rule the day and night.” Their mode of time-keeping carried us back to the first appointment of these “lights,” when it was said, “let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and for years” (Gen. i. 14).

In their cities the voice of the Muezzin announcing the hours of prayer from the minaret, divided the day for them into regular parts; and I believe that scientific means are adojDted, by astronomical observations, to keep these times exact. How often have we heard that voice at niiclday proclaiming these solemn words to the busy city, “God is great, God is the greatest, come to prayer, come to jarayer; prayer is better than work; come to prayer.” It drew in some to the mosque; it simply announced the horir to others. In the desert, of course, the hours of prayer could not be correctly observed; for no minaret rises there, and no muezzin makes the rocks echo with his message. And though occasionally we saw our men going aside to pray, or rather to re2:)eat some verses from the Koran, and to perform a multitude of genuflections, yet in general they were not very observant of the prophet’s rules and times.

We moved off at half-past six, — that is to say, we fuur travellers, with our cunicls and camel-drivers, — and our dragoman. It was cold, the thermometer at 38’’. Gradually the east began to shew signs of day. At one part of our rugged road the Bedaween set fire to a bush that was growing by the way. In a moment it was consumed. I thought on Moses. He had been forty years in the desert and knew well its shrubs, and how quickly they burned to ashes. When he saw one of them on fire, and yet unconsumed, it could not but excite his wonder. As yet he had not seen the glory of Jehovah, — the Shekinah glory, — nor knew how, though it wa-s” like devouring fire,’’ it could dwell even in one of these bushes without consuminir a leaf or twiir.

As we got to the top of the first height, we had a fine view of the Sinaitic range, though not of Jehel MCisaitsc4f; with Serljal. not far off. The rugged perpendicular cliffs and peaks, on one side lighted up with sunshine, and on the other still wrapt in deep shade, with a few light clouds resting on their summits, presented a view of matchless grandeur. We now descended into a alloy, where KnJcb Howai seems to open, or rather to close upon us; f<jr (in correspondence with the original Hebrew word), Kukh, denotes a hole bored through the mountains; and if the name mean, as it is said to do, “the pass of the wind,” the place has every appearance of being true to the name. It is just such a hole or fissure as the winds of the wiklerncss would delight to traverse, in their passage over the hills to Er-Iiuhah. No blast overtook us; but we could imagine the rush and roar of the storm through such a mountain-tunnel. Not far from this we saw ruins, — probably some outpost of the Sinaitic convent. Our dragoman calls all these things Roman; we should prefer to call them Romish or Greek. The desert seems, from the fourth century and onwards, to have been the abode of monks of all sorts, as well as the resort of pilgrims. It was not persecution that drove them to these solitudes, nor could it be the desiv» of doing good to their fellow-men, for even although, like St Anthony, they could preach to the fishes, yet the desert afforded no scope for the exercise of such gifts. It would have been the part of brave men to have faced the evils and perils of the city, as did the Master and his apostles. It was cowardly to quit the shore because the storm was high, and to refuse

to man the life-Loat that slioiild have gone forth to the rescue of a shipwrecked world.

I Hard by is a Bedaween burying-groimd, — the first that we had come upon. No wall nor hedge surrounds! it; no C3’]3ress throws its long shadow over it. It seemed I at first but a collection of stones; but we soon saw that there was order in this collection. Stones in couplets, five or six feet from each other, and set on end, with here and there a circle of lesser stones round them, shewed us that this was a j)lace of graves, though no name nor epitaph appeared. ‘Perhaps it might have been originally in connection w’ith the monastic establislmiont w hich was not far off; but now it was but the gathering-place of Arab dust. I had seen tombs upon the lone moor, and graveyards over which the sea-spray flung itself, and plain headstones with a bare text, or a name, or even without any such mark; but I had never seen any thing so rudely simple as these Eedaween tombs.

As we advanced the valley became gloomier, and the shadows of the awful mountains on each side threw an impressive solemnity over us. Our northern passes are are not so terribly wild; though steep in their slopes and lofty in their peaks, they are generally wider, and their sides are not without verdure, while the stream that liurrios through the rocks at the base, speaks oi life and frcshn<,’ss. But in this “pass of the winds,” on whii li w<^ are just entering, all is barrenness, — brown, bare, and Ufeless. To the right went off Wady Sol/if,

-nnuiiig westward and forming a junction with Wady sheikh. As we were ascending to the pass, we saw another Arab graveyard on the right. It is rather strange to find two such places within two miles of each other, while, previous to this day’s journey, we had met with none. We soon got fairly up into the pass, and came imder the shadow of these mighty cliffs. Large mounds of stones appear in various places all up the ravine. About eleven the way became so steep and rough that we had to dismount. After walking, or rather cUmbing, up for some time along the side of the pass, we saw symptoms of verdure at the bottom, and went down to explore it. We found a bright little rocky glen, with some half-grown palms and desert shrubs. Here, no doubt, a stream runs during the wet season, or after a shower; but all that we found was a pool under the shade of a palm-tree, with masses of granite all round. It was pleasant to sit down here and read the sixty-third Psalm. After “drinking of this brook by the way” (Ps. ex. 7), we set about recovering the path we had left, sometimes climbing over, and sometimes under, the huge rocks that stopped our path, like fragments of some vast mountain-wali that had gone to pieces on the heights. Near the head of the pass, about half-past eleven, we saw a “]Iukatteb” inscription of one line, surmounted with the Egyptian Tau, which is in the form of a cross. It was, of course, on granite, yet it was not in a better state of preservation than those on the soft sandstone of the Mukatteb rocks.

ADY-ER-llAIIAH. 209

About a hundred yards farther on, we passed another, on an immense block of granite; and about sixty yards farther, another, on a similar block, in very large letters,

l)eginning as usual with rQjc

We now came into full view of Jebel IMusa, and just at the spot whore we did so, saw another brief inscription, and M. little farther on, another. The large sandy plain of Er-Rahah lay in front of us, about two miles in one duection and one in another. A finer place for the encampment of a multitude can hardly be imagined. The (Hffurent peaks of the great central range towered before us, — Jehel Oreb, Jehel Kdtherin, Jehel Leja, Jehel M’.’sa. As we were leaving the pass we heard the re- ])ort of a gun among the rocks, and soon after we met an Arab with a wild goat, or ibex, or Bedan, which he had shot. Our dragoman and he soon came to terms about it, and it was bought for our use. It was lean enough, as indeed all the animals in the desert are, for the pasture is always scanty. Jeremiah’s lament over the lost “beauty of the daughter of Zion” takes up this figure, “her princes are become like harts that find no ])asture, and they are gone without strength before the jmrsuer” (Lam. L 6).

Some travellers have maintained that all this region was much more fruitful and more plentifully watered three or four thousand years ago than it is now. It might bo 80; but the evidence of this is awanting. When the as.sertion is made on the ground of nny authentic facts, it is -worth notice, as every hint as to the desert’s past state or histoiy is interesting. But when it is made for the purpose of accounting for Israel’s long sojourn in the wilderness, and with the design of shewing that there was no need of any continuous intervention of miracle, it cannot fail to excite misgivings in the reader’s mind as to the extent to which the writer believes in the strict veracity of the IMosaic narrative.

We now descended into Wady-Er-Iiahah, the “valley of rest.” Here Israel pitched their tents before the mount in “the wilderness of Sinai” (Exod. xix. ], 2), which adjoins “the wilderness of Sin” (Exod xvi. 1; xvii. 1). The whole district is called Horeb in Scripture, which uniformly preserves the distinction between Sinai and Horeb, by using “on Sinai” (Exod. xix. 20), and “m Horeb” (Exod. xvii. 6); shewing that the former is a mountain, the latter a region.* With how many memories is this plain strewed! Once it was covered with the “goodly tents” of Israel; which probably spread themselves out into the neighbouring valleys, especially Wady Sheikh; for by itself it could

* Keble inaccurately uses “on Horeb” instead of “in Horeb” (Christian Year, Ninth Sicnday after Trinity). 1 Kings xix. 8, 11. It is remarkable that in the eleventh verse, which our translators render “upon,” the Hebrew is “in;” so that there is no authority for “on” in connection with Horeb. See p. 216. In the same hymn he speaks of “Sinai’s caves.” There is nothing worthy of the name of cave on Sinai. Indeed, being a granite mountain, it does not admit cf them, as do the limestone ranges of Syria and the sandstone of the moi-e northern parts of the desert, Elijah’s cave seems to have been at some distance from Sinai.

MONKISH TRADITIONS. 2 i 1

aardly have contained an encampment of two or three iiilHons. Once the praises of Jehovah rose from voices kvitliout number, and the smoke of the sacrifice was wafted across these peaks. Here, perhaps, in the centre 3f this plain, stood the golden calf, with the naked multitudes dancing and singing round it to their shaine (Exod. xxxii. 6, 25). Here it was that Moses broke in pieces the stone tablets of the law, — “it came to pass, as soon as he came nigh unto the camjD, that he saw the calf (which he could not see from the hill), and the dancing; and Moses’ anger waxed hot, and he cast the tables out of his hands, and brake them beneath the mount” (Exod. xxxii. 19), — just on that spot right in front of us, which the hill overhangs. But beyond these general memories or traditions we need not venture.

Take a monk with you and he vnW go farther; for in the sixth century it became part of the monastic vocation to affix names and traditions to the localitien of this region, for the benefit of the six thousand brethren that then occupied the desert, and of the thousands of pilgrims that in after ages flocked to this centre. You will be shewn the “Hill of Aaron,” where he watched the idolatnnis dance of Israel round the calf which he had made; — the pit of Korah, — the mould of the guidon calf, — the mark of the body of Moses on the mountain, — the hoof-print of the dromedary of “the camel-driver of Mecca,”* near the top of Jebel Miisa, — the smitten rock, with its curious rents, in Wady Leja, which Sasa-

Sir Walter Scott.

fell overhangs; you will get traditions without number, — Christian and Mahommedan, — fastened upon every peak, or slit, or hollow, or granite boulder. But these are the things which destroy the scene, disenchanting it of the grandeur which overshadows the wondrous whole, by the introduction of trifles, and fables, and uncertain’ ties. The true grandeur of this region is made up of a few mighty events, — events which, in their awful majesty, sit apart from every other, and are incapable of mingling with lesser things. They are great, and will not mix with the little. They are true, and will not sort with the fabulous. They are solemn, and certain, and real, and can have no fellowship with the trivial, the uncertain, the unreal. Nothing can be more unequally yoked together than the histories and the traditions of Mount Sinai. Yet superstition has woven them into one, and in so doing has robbed the mountain of half its greatness, making us feel as if we were in the scene of Homer’s gods or Ossian’s ghosts, rather than in the spot where the prophets and priests of the most high God had been, nay, where the living God himself had spoken, and where he had appeared in his glory. It needs here an effort to conjure up the real by itself, and to separate it wholly from the unreal; yet it is only when one can succeed in doing so, that the true grandeur of the scene is realised. What pains these monks have been at to divest Sinai of its majesty! They could hardly have done more in this way, had they gone out with their paint-brushes and besmeared

the whole mountain with staring red, green, and bhie. The monks of St John’s, Malta, painted their silver shrines, at the approach of the French, to prevent them being stolen by the invader; and these desert monks have daubed their mountain-shrine all over with fond tales and legends, so as to hinder its true glory from being seen and appreciated. Yet thus, perhaps, God has hid the mountain of Moses as he hid his body, lest it might be worshipped. These fables and fooleries may have hindered a greater amount of superstition than they have fostered. It might have been worse for the world and worse for the church had the true cross really been found at the true Calvary, or had the broken tables of the law been actually discovered lying scattered at the base of Sasafeh. Superstition has sometimes been a destroyer of itself as well as an injurer of the truth of God.

We need something to check our veneration for sacred spots, — and to put us on our guard lest we mistake sentimentalism for faith. The Most High dwelleth not in temples made with hands, nor upon mountains consecrated by feet of holy men. Worship does not need Sinai to excite it. If the truth concerning God, as written in “the law and the prophets,” will not call forth worship, and fear, and love, nothing else will. Nowlioro are we more in danger of spurious religious feelings than amid the real scenes of Sinai or Jerusalem. In so far as my being in this solemn desert makes me better understand or reUsh even one sintjle verse of

Scripture, it has brought me rich blessing, well worth all the cost, and the toil, and the weariness; in so far as these scenes do for me what the harp of the minstrel did for the ruffled spirit of Elisha, — soothing or solemnising me, so that I may become more sensitive. to the “true sayings of God,” concerning sin and the sin-l)parer, — concerning my desert wanderings here or my hope of the Paradise above, — so far all is right But if I go beyond this, and make use of these rocks and solitudes for working myself up into a religious fervour, or melting my spirit do-Ti into tears, or moving my conscience into terror, — I have gained nothing, save perhaps a greater amount of self-delusion, by teaching myself to confound the sensuous with the spiritual, the human with the divine. We may not need to be very exact in scrutinising the nature of that patriotism that is kindled on the jjlain of Marathon; but we do need to be somewhat more particular in ascertaining the genuineness of the piety that has caught its warmth from the ruins of lona.

We have often asked the question, “Was St Paul here?” We know that he went into Arabia (Gal. i, 17), and his allusions to Sinai and Agar are almost those of one who had looked upon these yeaks (Gal. iv. 25).* It is not at all unlikely that he was here, and the fact

fi Mr Howson suggests Paul’s visit to Sinai. (Life and Epistles of St Paul, vol. i. p. 105.) Mr Stanley seems to adopt this; and Mr Alford remarks, “we may well suppose St Paul to have become familiarized, during his sojourn there, with this name (Hajir) for the gi-anite peaks of Sinai” (vol. iii. p. 48).

s a striking one. Moses and Paul — the laAvglver and he expounder of the true meaning and use of law — neet on the same mountain. They hold fellowship Lcross a void of fifteen hundred years, the only intermeliate link being Elijah, the awful reviver of the law, and it the same time the herald of Him who is “the end of he law for righteousness to every one that believeth.”

We soon traversed the plain of Er-Rahah, and enered Wady-esh-Shueih — Jethro’s valley — or, as it has )een subsequently called from the convent which is planted in its centre, Wachj-ed-Deir. Here Jethro fed lis flocks, and here Moses abode with him forty years. from this he came forth, like another Melchisedec, to neet with Moses “at the mount of God ‘’ (Ex. xviii. 5). Ee was priest of God in “Alidian” (Ex. iiL 1), which ippears to have been the name for some part of this egion. By him was the worship of the true God kept dive in the desert, just as it was by Melchisedec in Ferusalem. Moses “did obeisance” to him, and Jethro jlessed him in words which bear a remarkable resemjlance to those of Melchisedec when blessing Abraham; ind it is “the less that is blessed of the greater” (Gen. dii. 19, 20; Ex. xviii. 10). Jethro “took a burnt-offerng and .sacrifices for God,” — he provides a feast, and to t he adls Aaron and the elders of Israel (Ex. xviii. 12) — thus showing him.self greater than Aaron. Nay, he proceeds to give counsel to Moses, and he begins that ;ouusel with the words of authority, “the thing that Lhou doest is not good.” And it was on Jethro’s coun-

sel that Moses acted in ordering the various things pertaining to the government of Israel The “king in Jeshvirun’” was counselled by one greater than himself “So Moses hearkened to the voice of his fother-in-law, and did all that he had said” (Ex. xviii. 24’).

This region, then, had, long before Moses or Israel entered it, been the seat of true worship. God had here his priest and his king. And this was the reason, doubtless, why Moses, when fleeing from Egypt, betook himself to the land of Midian. He knew that a people dwelt there who feared Jehovah, and that amid the rocks of the desert he would find a friendship and a sympathy which not only Egypt but his own people had denied him. Sinai was even then known as “the mountain of God” and as being “in Horeb” (Ex. iii. 1).* Whether “the glory” had or had not then taken up its abode upon the mount we cannot say. There is nothing unlikely in the thought that this was its old abode; not an abode to which it was just coming, but from which it was about to depart, in order to take up another dwelling; and that just as the glory, when about to depart from Jerusalem, was displayed to Israel in Ezekiel’s awful picture of it, so the glory, when about to leave Sinai, gave forth its unutterable splendour and majesty.

This is the meaning of the original, which our translation injures by inserting “even.” “He came to the mountain of God, Horeb-ward,” is the literal rendering. The mount of God is not said to be Horeb, but in the region called Horeb.

CO^JVENT OF MOU^T tflNAI. 217

Near the entrance to Wady-esh-Shueib, at the foot )f the hill, there are some more rude tombs. Are these graveyards ancient or modern? Or are they not both? That is to say, have they not been graveyards from ages immemorial, where generation after generation have been gathered to their fathers? For the resting-places 3f the dead are more fixed than the abodes of the living. rhey seldom change, and the child of this year is buried Iq the same spot as the forefathers of his tribe or race a, thousand or two thousand years ago. This, then, might have been the burying-place of Jethro and his tribe. Not far off is a well. Was this the well at which Moses sat down, and to which Jethro’s seven daughters came to water their flocks? Was it here that the son of Amram found his Gentile ])ride (Ex. ii. 15, 21)? Just beyond the well we saw another inscription; and again some tombs. Then we passed the pasha’s barracks, and saw a few Egyptian soldiers loitering about. At two we reached the convent, and entered by the garden gate, while our baggage, our dragoman, and our servants went up by the windlass. Our Bedaween remain outside, some preparing fire and food, others setting off for their homes; — some to return on Monday, one or two leaving us altogether.

Wt; found nothing of the eager welcome, and the fond embrace, and the generous hospitality, which some travellers are said to have oxijeri(!need. A stout, oldish, and not over cleanly, servant showed us to our rooms, which wt-n; on a .-^ort of pillcry which ran along the north side of the convent. There we had a comfortable divan, a rough wooden table, a floor of cement, and walls of bare plaster. The window or lattice looked out towards the garden, and beyond it to £r-Rahali. Its fit was not a very tight one, and it flapped in the desert wind, which once and again came rushing through it, and at this season was sharp and cold. The long-gowned servitor, in whose countenance sat no intelligence, brought us some arrack or date-spirit, which has an unpleasant taste, but which seemed to be in use in the convent. The monks are described as living on poor and scanty fare, — beans, bread, and water. Such is said to be the rule of the house. They did not look like half-fed men; and we found, moreover, that very soon after our dragoman arrived, he was engaged to cook dinners for the brethren of a much superior kind.

After we had rested a little we went to survey the chapel of the convent. We had heard the bell ring, or rather the wood sound, for it is by striking a long beam of wood that they summon to service. They had three bells, of perhaps two centuries old, but they do not use these, perhaps through the force of immemorial custom. For in past ages they were not allowed to use bells. As Mahommedans do not use bells themselves, but summon to prayer by means of the human voice alone, so they seem to have prohibited the use of bells to others. Debarred the use of bells, the Christian sects had ingeniously contrived to construct and so to strike wooden bars, as to make them give out a sound not unhke a small bell. It was this bar of timber, placed in a sort of shed or belfry about the centre of the east wall, that had emitted the shrill sort of sound which we had heard. ^^’e descended to the chapel, into which light came but scantily. It was gaudily decorated on all sides vnih pictures, statues, candles, lamps, &c. There is too much of tinsel here. A high, large, bare, rocky hall would have satisfied our idea of a chajjel for Sinai. This toy is certainly out of place. Instrumental music is almostunknown in the churches of the east, so here it was wholly the human voice that was employed. The chanting saluted us as we entered, but we were only able to catch a few words of the modern Greek in which it was read. We heard something like a hymn to Jehovah, — Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The chanting was not pleasant. It was not irreverent, yet it was not solemn. It had a reedy sound, not unlike the drone of a bag-pipe. There were three monks engaged in it, each with service-book in hand and cap on head. One was standing at one side of the chapel at a desk, another at the opposite, also in a desk. The third wandered between the two, crossing and re-crossing the floor every two or three minutes, chanting all the while. Two or three were loitering about the outer ai.sle. We lingered perha|)S half an hour, and. tlpen left; — hut not with high t-uK^tion. This is not worship, — at least it is not the worship of which God has anywhere given us an example. Those chanters are not the leaders of praise to any a&sembly of God’s saints. From year to year they utter set sounds in which no one is present to join. It may be song, or it may be individual service, but it is not the worship of the church. It is not even “the voice of one crying in the wilderness,” for that voice drew tens of thousands together to hear the news of Messiah’s speedy coming; but this voice speaks to none. A passing traveller hears it, and perhaps adds his “Amen;” but that is all. The poor Arab understands it not: no one tries to teach him Messiah’s name. He lives untaught and uncared for, and he dies unpitied, by these brethren of the convent, who are far too busy with their garden, and their almonds, and their joomegranates, and their arrack, and their chants, to have time to shew these Bedaween the difference between Christ and Mahomet, between the Bible and the Koran. It sounds well to speak of the monastic *’ service of song “as a “prelude of the everlasting chant before the throne;” but what is there in this solitary repetition of words and notes, that bears the least likeness to the voice of the “great multitude which no man can number?” (Rev. vii. 9.)

We next went down to the garden. In order to find our way and get the gate opened, we must have the servant or porter, that is, the lay-brother who acts as such. He was not at hand, so he had to be summoned by voice. “Musa,” jung through the convent. But he was out of the way. Again, however, we heard a voice shouting “Musa” along the galleries, and that name thus shouted aloud at the foot of Mount Sinai, echoed strangely in our ears. At length “Musa” came, shabby and dirty both in look and garb. Hu led us down by several llights of wooden steps in a poor state of rejDair, as indeed most things in the convent seemed to be. Through a low narrow passage, the stone-roof of which more than once struck unexpectedly on our heads, we made our way to the garden. As this was the month of January there was not much to be seen. The fruit-trees were not in leaf; but the almond was covered with its bright pink and white blossom, — which adorned its naked boughs. It is the “watcher” for the spring, — lying sleepless on its winter-couch, and then rushing forth in naked haste to salute the sun. Hence Jeremiah is made to use it as an emblem of the haste wath which a longsuftering God would at last perform his strange act of judgment upon —

the dark idolatries
Of alienated Judah.

The fig-tree, too, was there, but with neither fruit nor leaf The pomegranate was not in bud; but round its foot we picked up some of the old fruit of last year, — hard dry pomegranates. Only the cypress had on its dark verdure, rising in the midst of the wide-spreading trees, like a tall minaret above the archinsr dome. Are the.se all cxotlcft, — Grecian or Persian exotics, — as some think? And is this garden altogether a thing of monastic art and labour? Perhaps not. Feiran was an oasis of p.’diiis and nubks before one stone of its convent was laid; and it docs not seem at all unlikolv that there was pome oasis here of almonds, and figs, and pomegranates in the days of Jethro. We met with several fig-trees growing wild in Howai, within a mile or two of this, which shew that these are not exotics. And whence came the almond-rods of Aaron and the tribal heads, if there were no such trees then in this region? Does not the selection of the pomegranate as an ornament of the high priest’s robe intimate that it, too, was known in the desert?

Returning from the garden, I went to the place where the pulley and the windlass were at work fetching up our luggage. Neither Arabs nor monks were in any haste about this, acting, as all in these regions seem to do, upon the Mahommedan maxim, that “all sjDeed is from Satan.” I asked to be let down, and was proceeding to take hold of the smaller rope which is worked simply by the hands of two men, when I was stopped, and the end of the thicker rope was brought to me, which is worked by a large wooden windlass. Fastening roimd niy body tho five or six smaller ropes attached to the end of the large one, I swung myself out at the aperture, and the wooden crane soon lowered me, amid the shouts of our Arabs, who received me in i ‘r arms as I came slowly to the ground. I took the way which led circuitously up the mount, but was saluted at the outset by half a a dozen of dogs, who seem as plentiful outside as cats are Avitnin. Leaving their noise behind me, I walked slowly up the road, which is carefully kept in repair, and which conducts the ascender gradually round the hill to the southern side. I knew that I had not time to reach the top to-day, but I was anxious to get up as far as an hour might allow me. In about twenty minutes I came to snow, lying pretty deep and hard, not on the road, but under the wall which in some places lines it. It was the first snow I had seen since I left Europe, and it was evidently the remains of a vast deal more. Still ascending and winding, I came in sight of the southern base of the mountain, with the rocks and hills that rise right opposite. There is a narrow valley (Wady Sebaiyeh), partly sand and partly rock, into which the descent Avoidd not have been long or difficult. But I could not spare even half an hour, as the sun was getting low, and I was alone. The wady looked dreary and savage, bare gravel mounds and hills rising beyond it; nor was there any breadth of level ground for the encampment of a multitude. It was quite a contrast to Er-Raliah. After lingering here for a little to survey all above and below me, I returned to the convent, getting in by the garden-door as at the first.

Having still a little time before sunset, we proceeded to survey the convent. At its angles are crosses, and in one of its central buildings the crescent, jjerhaps to propitiate the Arabs. We examined the three bells and the wooden bar. Wo entered several of their smaller chapels, in all of which tlx- incense was still fragrant. The ornaments are poor and childish. We went to the lil)rary, but found it shut up. We looked in at the window and saw the Looks in utter confusion, and evi-

224) THE LIBRARV.

(If ntly in an imperfect state of preservation, — boards ton., leaves loose, and lettering effaced. Another room and a better bookcase were preparing, but as these were not yet fitted up, the books lay huddled together in another aparfrment. We would fain have got entrance to the interior to examine the volumes even as they lay, but by no persuasion could we induce the monks to give us access. So whatever of ancient lore this confusion i -xight conl;:iiD, — Greek or Latin fathers, — the gifts or purchases of twelve centuries, — remained unseen by us. The ancient Greek manuscript of the New Testament, belonging to the sixth century, named by Tischendorf the Codex Sinaiticus, was possibly buried among the chaos. That its custodiers knew its value, or have even attempted its collation, is very questionable. Their leisure, which is great, seems to be anything but a learned one.*

As we went round the roof, we found snow on some parts of it, and were struck with the crazy shabby look of its walls and stairs. In an open area below, we saw several bearded monks, whose vocation seemed to be that of playing with the large cropt-eared, cropt-tailed cats that swarm in the convent.

It was now near six o’clock, and Mr Wright had not returned from photographing in the plain of Er-Rahah. The sun bad set. and if monastic rules wwe to be kept,

* epsius remarks, “The whole life of the? lour priests and twentyoi.c lay-brothers is the reverse of edifying, x’hey gave us the general in;[.iession of being under a dark rain-cloud, weighed down by the continual pressure of ignorance and indolence.”

he would not be admitted unless he came immediately. AVc -svent to the “housetop” to look, but there was no apjDearauco of him. We hailed our sheikh, and told him what we were looking for. In a minute he was on his dromedary and off to Er-Rahah, along by the barracks and the tombs.’ Half an hour longer we waited, and the twilight was passing into the night, but he did not return. Often did our little servant Haman f-L -.t till the rocks echoed, but without an answer. Voices are heard, and objects seen in this clear, dry, lonely region, at twice the distance at which they are heard and seen with us at home, so that there could be no one within a mile, to return the hail. At last in the dim twilight Ave saw a speck passing out of Er-Rahah, and up our wady. We soon hailed it, and our little Nubian again made the rocks ring with the name of Sheikh Sulhidn. The hail was now returned, and in ten minutes the sheikh and his dromedary, with the belated traveller, were at the convent-gate. Mr Wright had been too much engrossed with his photography to notice the hours; and, besides, he had an Arab with him. Some eight or nine fine photographs of Sinai and the neighbouring peaks were quite a sufficient excuse for the delay. No one save a photogTapher can sketch the desert Roberts’ views are noble, and to a certain extent true; but they do not represent these desert cliffs and ravines. No artist can rightly do it. Only the ])lu)tograj)her can jiortray the million of minute details that go to make up the bleakness, the wildness, the awfulness, and the dismal loneliness of these unearthly wastes.

About nine I went out and walked upon the convent-roof. The starlight over the mountain-peaks was splendid, while the gloom that hung round these enormous precipices and impenetrable ravines, was quite oj)pressive to the spirit

This is the scene of which David spoke —

“He looked upon the earth, and it trcmhled; He touched the mountains, and they smolced.” — (Ps. civ. 32.)

This is the mountain “that was touched, and that burned with fire” (Heb. xii. 18).* We could imagine the black girdle of the thick darkness with which the mountain was surrounded, and the lightninos ofivinor forth their quick fire through this covering, making its blackness blacker. We could imagine, too, the supernatural blaze, kindled by no earthly hand, that shot up out of the midst of this, like a living column of fire, ascending, amid the sound of angelic trumpets and superangelic thunders, to the very heart of heaven.

* Not the mount that “might be touched,” as our translators have rendered it, but the mount “that was touched,” •vl/)j/y.a£w/jC?J’W, — the mount on which the finger of God rested.