Diocesan School

Jerusalem, March 4. — After breakfast we visited the Diocesan school. The building is large and comfortable, but the attendance small. The rooms are capable of accommodating a considerable number, and, if a higher style of education were adopted, the school might compete with the educational institutions of Latins and Greeks, which are largely attended, having, I believe, upwards of thre hundred children in each, and conducted by very superior masters. A first-rate education is given, embracing all branches; and I am told that the proficiency of the children in these schools would do no discredit to some of our best academies at home. There is a general desire for education, and the parents of all creeds are anxious to obtain the best. Of this the Latin and Greek churches are fully availing themselves; and thus they are gathering round them the youth of J erusalem. Their patriarchs and prelates are seizing the education of Egypt and Palestine.

THE PARTY.

At half-past twelve, we started for Marsaba, from time immemorial the halting place or “Mutatio” of travellers bound for Jordan and the Dead Sea. Some take the Jordan first and spend the first night at Jericho; others take the Dead Sea first and rest at the convent of St Saba, which, though a short day’s journey, is the only watering-place on the route; and, I need hardly say, that in these lands of scanty and infrequent wrater, it is the position of the well that regulates the day’s march. The morning’s inquiry is not as to where is the next hotel, but as to where is the next spring or pool. In the desert it was not so; as we carried water with us for ourselves, and our camels could do without it for three or four days; but in Syria it is different. Horses and mules are not made for the same endurance of thirst as the camel.

Our party wras a tolerably large one, more than doubling our desert numbers. We had young and old, ladies and gentlemen, Americans as well as English and Scotch, — a most agreeable company. Twto Sheikhs of the Ghor Arabs accompanied us, as guides and protectors. They wrere gaily dressed, their coloured robes flowing out and shewing their well-knit frames; their swarthy faces looking out from under their large overhanging kefias, whose red and yellow stripes nodded gracefully in the sunshine or floated in the wind, as their wearers, spurring their hardy steeds, and brandishing their long spears, scoured the plain or scaled the hill, or shewed off their prowess in the mimic fight.

At half-past twelve the cavalcade moves out over the rough, slippery pavement of the Jaffa gate, and beneath the double arch (one flat, the other peaked) which the gates of the city present. We rode slowly down the steep of Zion, then, passing through what is called the valley of Hinnom, we see above us Akeldama on the right. Turning down Wady Kedrun, or rather from Wady Kedmn into Wady en-Nar,* at Bir Eyub, we pursue for some distance a southward course. The valley here is more spacious than between the city and the Mount of Olives. The narrow ruggedness which is seen at and above the village of Siloam has widened out into a fertile, grassy hollow, richly studded with olives, which, however, have not the aged appearance and the many stems which we find in Gethsemane. The road winds through a succession of striking ravines. In less than an hour, from the time we left the city, our course bends eastward. Up to this turn we have got occasional glimpses of Jerusalem as we look back, up the valley of the Kedron. The last of these is exquisite. It is a view of the city through the long narrow vista of the rocky defile. We linger to look at it, and it well repays the lingering. These varied glimpses which you get of Jerusalem from so many different points, high and low, and under so many ever-changing aspects, bring back perpetually the old words of one who knew

* I do not profess to know where the one wady ends and the other begins. It is likely that in ancient times the whole bed, down to the Dead Sea, was the Kedron.

A LOCUST.

it well, and had seen it from every height and hollow, —

“Beautiful for situation.” Not feeling very comfortable on the horse which has been assigned me, I ask Haji Ismail what is to be done. He summons one of the Sheikhs, who at once gives me his steed, and mounts my shabbier one. But though the animal I have got is a better one, it is more unmanageable, and besides, the shovel stirrups with their short straps do not give either a firm or an easy seat, as we mount or descend the endless succession of steeps and hollows which here, like so many vast furrows or ridges, run up from the valley of the Kedron. So in the course of half an hour I dismount, and walk for a little. The bed of the brook down which we saunter is dry. At first it is smooth and sandy; afterwards it becomes rougher, with ruts and stones. I find some advantage in walking, as I can look better about me, and gather specimens of the many wild flowers that are growing along the edges and up the slopes. One of our party picks up a locust, perhaps an inch and half long. This is the first that we have seen. The season is not yet far enough advanced for them. It is difficult, in picking up a single specimen of the tribe, to conceive how they could form so dire a scourge as we know they have often done. It is this small insect which this child beside me holds between his fingers, and to whose tiny claws he is presenting a minute round stone, which it grasps convulsively, that has swept over kingdoms and laid them desolate in a day. It was this insect, not longer than three grasshoppers, that “went up over all the land of Egypt, so that the land was darkened,” that “did eat every herb of the land, and all the fruit of the trees,” till “there remained not any green thing in the trees or in the herbs of the field, through all the land of Egypt” (Exod. x. 1 5). The form of a locust is not unlike that of a grasshopper, but more striking, resembling a miniature horseman, to wThich perhaps lies the reference in Rev. ix. 7, “The shapes of the locusts were like unto horses prepared unto battle,” Yet irresistible as was the onset of these myriads, they were at the mercy of each breeze; “I am tossed up and down as the locust” (Psa. cix. 23). An east wind brings them (Exod. x. 13); the west wind hurries them away (ib. x. 19).

But the banks of the Kedron soon rise into rugged precipices, some hundreds of feet in height, forming a narrow and impassable ravine, fit haunt for the jackal and the eagle. We must now quit the brook, and diverging slightly to the right, ascend the height on which Marsaba is built. For an hour we continue ascending and winding. The road is rough; here over broken stones, there over flat slippery rocks, on which our horses more than once threaten to lose their footing. As we near the convent, the road becomes more level, and there is a low wall of loose stones on our left, which is by no means unnecessary, as the precipice on which it is built, and on the ledge of which we are climbing, is

MARSABA

fearfuL Sometimes we lose sight of it; at other times we look down into its depths, and see, on the side opposite to us, caves in every recess, and ruins on every ledge. These exactly resemble what we saw at Feiran. They seem to have been dug or built for the same purpose as those in the peninsular desert, and probably about the same time. In these, thousands of hermits sought to purchase a name here, and heaven hereafter, by living like worms or wild beasts; neglecting every call of sympathy, and love, and duty.

About four we reach Marsaba; but we prefer to encamp outside, in a pleasant hollow, about a hundred yards from the convent, whose high walls and massive towers overlook our tents. We see the monks moving about upon the roof, wondering, no doubt, that we should prefer the tent to the cloister. The former, however, has charms for us which the latter has not; and the remembrances of Abraham and his tent are pleasanter to us than those of St Saba and his cell. Yet the convent stands nobly upon the mighty cliff, a much more imposing structure than that of St Katherine at Mount Sinai. It crowns the precipice, and, taking advantage of the bold inequalities of the descent, it has fitted in its buttresses and battlements to the various shelves and ledges, so as to present, on one side especially, not so much one castle or convent as an assemblage of these, spreading out in wings on both sides, and rising, tier above tier, upon the receding rock. We spend the evening in wandering over the overhanging heights, and sauntering up the Led of a small torrent, which, when in flood, sends its hasty waters into the Kedron, but which was now wholly dry, its bed partly flat rock and partly grey sand. We are indebted to the well of the courtyard of the convent for the excellent water, which our muleteers are drawing up with ropes, getting access to it by a small low postern in the outer wall. It is not the “noise of archers” in “the place of the drawing of water” (Judges v. ] 1), that we hear, but the voices of monks and muk~ rayi, sometimes scolding and sometimes helping each other.

Marsaba, Wednesday, March 5. — We rise before the sun, about five o’clock, in order to give ourselves sufficient time for the Dead Sea and Jordan. In consequence of the usual amount of Arab delay and confusion, we are not able to start till a quarter to eight. We have been speculating as to which way our path lies. How shall we cross that enormous chasm, which looks so like the valley of the shadow of death? Or how shall we find a road up these steeps that lie in front? W e seem hemmed in on all sides; must we retrace our steps? We must; and, following our guides, we find that we have to return for upwards of a mile, along the road by which yesterday we ascended to the convent. Keeping this road, we soon arrive at the place where the perpendicular sides of the ravine have sunk down into mere rising grounds. Now we can cross the ravine. We do so; turning to the right, and moving VIEW OF THE DEAD SEA.

eastwards across a succession of ravines, and hillocks, and undulations, till we reach the Dead Sea, about half-past twelve. On a height, somewhat more than a mile from the place where we crossed, we get our first view of the sea. We had seen it several times from the Mount of Olives, but that was far off. Now it is near; not eight miles off. We gaze right down upon its waters, which now, in the glow of morning, look bright and clear. There they lie, lifeless and motionless, but intensely blue. At this distance not a wave seems to rise, nor a ripple to stir. Only the silent clouds float lazily above them, as if suspended in a dense air. The shadows come and go, in seams or patches, across the surface. The mountain-wall of Moab flings down its long line of shade, increasing the solemn majesty of the scene, while deepening its unearthly gloom. Dull exhalations seem occasionally to rise, reminding one of the time when Abraham from some similar height to the south of this spot, “looked toward Sodom and Gomorrha, and toward all the land of the plain, and beheld, and lo, the smoke of the country went up as the smoke of a furnace,” (Gen. xix. 28). Yet, upon the whole, beauty, not gloom, is the characteristic of the scene, — beauty which is not marred, but rather heightened, by the stern grandeur of the hills of Moab.

These hills of Moab, what a noble background do they form to the views in Southern Palestine, and how necessary a part do they seem to act in every scene! You have hardly crossed into the land when you catch a glimpse of their grey summits, and you do not lose sight of them for an hour till you have passed many a mile north of J erusalem. Like some of the higher ranges of the desert, they shew themselves everywhere; not indeed in rugged peaks, but, not less attractively, in long ranges of steep mountain precipices, whose undulating line of summit, as well as light and shade of slope, are quite peculiar to themselves. One gets to love these stern hills, and to look on them as friends, the unchanged relics of the great eastern rampart which once defended the land. On some of these heights Balaam stood, with Balak and his princes, looking down eastward upon Jacob’s goodly tents, and westward, across that sea, upon the goodlier land on which Israel was about to enter. More to the north yonder, perhaps was Pisgah, whence Moses saw the land, and Nebo, where he died. Behind these, some twenty miles right eastward, lies Medeba, over which the prophet represents Moab as “howling,” (Isa. xv. 2); a few miles north-eastward, Baal-Meon, once the temple of Baal, and “the glory” of Moab, (Ezek. xxv. 9); a few miles north of this Heshbon, the royal city, under whose deceitful shadow the fugitives of Moab took refuge, (Jer. xlviii. 45); a few miles still farther north, Elealeh, “watered with the prophet’s tears,” (Isa. xvi. 9).* Nearer us, but a little to the south, among these hills lies

* ... In Hesebon

And Horonaira, Seon’s realm, beyond

The flowery vale of Sibma, clad with vines,

And Eleale, to the Asphaltic pool. Par. Lost, i. 408.

UNDULATIONS.

Machaerus, where John the Baptist was beheaded. Southward of this lie Ataroih (Num. xxxii. 3), and Kirjathaim (Josh. xiii. 19), and Bibon (Josh. xiii. 17). and A roer (Num. xxxii. 34). While, farther still to the south, could the eye but reach it, there is a cleft in the mountains through which comes down the Arnon. Immediately under us, perhaps just where the shadow of yon cloud is resting, stood one of the cities of the plain; and across that very breadth of water, perhaps where yon streak of silver is gleaming, David sent his father and mother, in the hour of danger, entrusting them to the guardianship of the king of Moab (1 Sam. xxii. 3, 4).

For more than three hours, it has been a ride over a continuous series of heights and depressions, many of these, especially the latter, grassy and pleasant. Five or six times we have caught full gaze of the sea, as we mount the slopes or halt upon the hillocks; as many times have w7e lost sight of it, as wTe move down into the valleys or hollows between. These glimpses of the Dead Sea through the hollows of the intervening hills, were exquisite, and I seem to see them still: each came like a meteor, shining out and then vanishing, or rather like a peculiar face, once perhaps seen in a crowd as wre pass along, but too striking or too fair not to be remembered for ever.

The road, though thus unequal, and in some places circuitous, is not rocky nor precipitous; this district seems to contain more depth of soil than some parts of the south of J udah. Grass spreads over the sides and bottoms of the hills, and even the summits are not wholly bare; though one looks in vain for anything like the rich green turf of meadow or mountain, such as are known in the north. Wild-flowers are shooting up in all directions; the anemone, the cyclamen, and in still greater profusion, a yellow flower, like a small marigold, called cassia by some. This verdure continues all the way; and even when at last we find ourselves in the plain of the Lake, which we had thought to be wholly barren, and “given to salt,” we see flowers, and shrubs, and reeds, down to the very margin of the waters.* These tall reeds, six feet high at least, wave softly in the noon-breeze which is coming over the sea and rippling its waters, and these bushes, some like oleanders, form low patches of brushwood, which relieve the sandy aspect of the plain, and take away the utter desolation which otherwise the scene would present. This northern end of the lake is not so waste and fearful as the southern, where the mountains of Usdum (Sodom) and the rocks of salt, frowning over the sluggish, sullen sea, form a scene of indescribable barrenness and desolation.

* Baumgarten speaks of “reeds and decayed trees” as covering the shore. Salignac mentions “trees growing here and there,” but without fruit. Brochardus mentions the beautiful trees near Engedi on which grow the apples of Sodom, full of ashes. See further descriptions of the Sea in these old authors. The first of these seems to have had a most disagreeable journey along the margin Af the Sea, over holes and slime- pits, into which his mule fell; with the addition of heavy showers.

APPKOACH TO THE SEA.

The worst and wildest parts of the scene are doubtless on the south and south-east. The description given by the few travellers who have visited that region, exhibits a horrid dreariness and marshy barrenness, which the north end of the Lake does not equal. Is it this eastern margin that is to be retained under Sodom’s curse, as a memorial of sin to Israel, when all else is healed; so that, standing upon the cliffs of Engedi, where all around shall be as Eden, they shall see afar the unhealed fens of El-Lisan, or Rabba, or Kerak? “The miry places thereof and the marshes thereof shall not be healed, they shall be given to salt,” (Ezek. xlvii. 11). The pillar of salt may have vanished; but the salt mountains of Usdum shall still say, “Remember Lot’s wife,” and the marshes of Moab shall still cry, “Remember Sodom.”

We approach the sea. The ground has in all directions a crust of wxhite salt, in appearance somewhat like what we had seen in the desert at Ghurundel and Useit, only thicker and more plentiful. The shore is strewed with the debris of trees which Jordan in flood has brought down; twigs, branches, and roots, lying along the beach, all of them well coated with salt. In different parts, the shore is deeply lined with a dark-brown substance, like well-pounded bark, which possibly may be the debris of leaves, or perhaps the seeds and flowers of the tall shaggy reeds which seem to grow plentifully around, and which a south-east wind would waft across the Lake, from the reed-jungles on the shore of Moab.

The waters look intensely blue, though as we near them there is a tinge of green perceptible. There is a slight curl over them at present, as a soft breeze has risen, and the ripples drop quietly at our feet, with a thick soapy or greasy froth, which leaves a stain upon the sand. The noon is hot, and besides, we have got down to a level, which makes a sort of tropical climate, as the lake is upwards of 1300 feet below the level of the Mediterranean. We are thirsty, and the water looks cool and tempting; but we know its nature and refrain. Not so my little grey horse, which, though I suppose it has not been here for the first time, still seems ignorant of the lake’s true character. As thirsty as ourselves and not so prudent, it rushes into the water and takes a draught; one draught, no more. It shakes itself and turns away. We taste the water and find it nauseous in the extreme. It is not so much salt as acrid. Burning bitterness seems better to describe it than salt; burning bitterness, which seizes on lips, and tongue, and palate, leaving for a considerable time the sense of prickliness and inflammation. A single drop will do this; though, of course, the larger the mouthful the more intolerable the sensation. Whether, at night, the waters have the hue of absinthe, as some travellers have remarked, I cannot say. That they have the taste of absinthe by night and by day, I am sure. There is no unpleasant smell, nor any vapour arising from the water, save perhaps at the marshes on the beach. The eye sees almost no difference between this and any salt lake or arm of the sea. Standing on the shore, just at the head of the lake, we look down as far as the eyo can reach. We do not see the projecting point of land, which forms a striking feature of the lake, though unrepresented in old maps, and apparently unknown to any geographers beyond the present generation. Though the natives call it M-Lisan, or “the tongue,” it can hardly be the same as that called “the tongue of the Salt Sea” (Josh. xv. 2; xviii. 19), as it could not have formed the boundary either of Judah or Benjamin. On our left rise the hills of Moab, whose ravines have now become more visible, and which shew, here and there, patches of black and green. On the right rises the lower, but not less precipitous range, which flanks the western coast, forming about twenty miles down, the rocky nest of Ain Jidy* and ten miles farther, the castled peak of Fs-Sebbeh.f We look in vain to the right for the stone of Bohan the son Reuben (Josh, xviii. 17), which could not be far from the road along which we had descended to the sea.

After wandering for a little along the salt-encrusted beach, and picking up some small pieces of flint strewed over it, we propose to bathe, each one choosing the spot he most fancies. I observe a curious peninsula, about one-fourth of the distance between us and what I suppose is the mouth of Jordan. J It may be about a quar-

* Engedi. *f* Masada.

X The modern maps of the Dead Sea differ nearly as much from one another as to the north shore, as the old ones as to the south. Judging lot’s cairn. ter of a mile in diameter, and is one vast heap of stones intermixed with branches, trunks of trees, all of them peeled and bleached. The stones are large, none of them less than a foot square, and many of them four times that size. They are not rounded, but their angles are all rubbed off by the chafing of the waves. A gifted traveller could easily find in this spot the ruins of Gomorrha, but I do not risk a conjecture, and know not whether it has a veritable name.* There are the remains of something like a wooden shed, and in any other lake or sea I should say that this is the resort of the fishermen. But this cannot be. Perhaps the Bedawin here light their fires and keep watch. The stones are polished or rather glazed, and the wood coated with salt. At any slight rise of the lake, this peninsula must be a complete island.

But under so hot a sun one feels the attraction of anything that looks like water; so, without much delay, I plunge into the tempting element. I am soon afloat, and find all true that has been said as to the density of the waters. Striking out to some distance, I find myself exposed to the breeze and the spray, which soon compel me to return, as it is impossible to keep the eyes open from the pain produced by the salt. The water has

from the eye I should say that De Saulcy’s is the most correct. Robinson, in the map to his last edition, seems to follow Lynch, who did not survey the north shore at all, but proceeded at once with the soundings of the sea itself.

* Do Saulcy calls it Rejdm Lid, Lot’s Cairn, vol. ii. p. 32.

THE DAY OF HEALING.

an oily sensation; yet after all, if you can keep it from mouth and eyes, the difference is not very perceptible between it and the ocean, save as to density and buoyancy. Some speak of the difficulty of sinking here; I feel as much the difficulty of swimming. Not because there is a tendency to sink, but because the feet persist in getting above the surface, thereby throwing the head too low, and depriving the swimmer of his impelling power. In spite of spray and breeze, and salt and bitterness, I enjoy this plunge greatly, not being willing to quit the water even after a sw7im of some twenty minutes. Two birds like gulls are flying over my head all the time. Are they in quest of fish? It would seem so. Yet probably they are mistaken, as no fish is said to be found in this lake of the dead, save what the J ordan in flood hurries down to it, to die. The day has not yet come when this sea and these waters round it, shall be healed by Ezekiel’s river, —

u These waters issue forth to the east border,*
And they go down to the desert, (Heb. Arabah)
And they go to the sea, — To the sea they are issuing forth,
And healed shall be the waters.
And it shall be that every living thing that moveth,
(Whithersover the river shall come)
Shall live!

* The word for border or oountry is Gelila, the same word as is used in Josh, xviii. 17, for a place in this neighbourhood, “It went forth to En-Shemesh, and went forth toward Geliloth, which is over against the going up of Adummim.”

And there shall be a very great multitude of fish, Because these waters come thither, And they shall heal!

And live shall every thing whither the river cometh.”

(Ezek. xlvii. 8, 9.)

Coming out of the water we find ourselves thoroughlypickled. The salt has encrusted our skin and powdered our hair like hoar-frost. We do not experience, however, any very disagreeable sensations, though we are a little out of sorts with the coating of brine and bitumen. But in two hours we hope to reach the Jordan and wash all this away. We are very thirsty, and there is no well at hand. We come up to our dragoman to see if he can help us. We find him lying lazily on the hot beach, keeping his horse standing, as a shade, between him and the sun. He has provided no water, and he seems to think that an orange will suffice till we reach J ordan. We do not think so, and are inclined to blame him; but there is now no help. We can surely endure thirst for two hours, even on such sands and under such a sun.

We now mount and move on to the pilgrim’s bathing-place. The sheikhs are flourishing their spears and spurring their steeds to lead the way. One points to the place where J ordan pours itself into the lake, as if asking whether we wish to visit the sppt. We would fain do it; but it is two or three miles off, and we have a long ride before us. So, after allowing him to conduct us a little way, and to shew us the hollow which contains the river, we turn round and press northwards.

THE GHOR.

What a stretch of utter barrenness! What a dreary plain of sand, unbroken by tree, or rock, or hillock! And what a sun is this that is now beating down upon us, and doubling all its heat by reflection from this yellow powder beneath us, into which our horses sink at every step, up to the fetlocks. But though the day is hot, the breeze is not at rest. We have felt it as it brushed the salt spray from the lake, we are now to feel it as it lifts the sand from the plain. It is evidently not taking the whole breadth of the Ghor, but moving in lines or stripes, which as they cross and cut each other, are tossing up the sand in wild eddies. We have noticed this already as we gazed on the plain from the height this morning, but now we see it close at hand, and by no means relish the idea of being swept round by one of these sandy whirlpools, which are rising and falling, moving from place to place all over the plain. The sand of the Sinaitic desert is in general not fine enough nor deep enough to play such “fantastic tricks,” But here it is like dust, and for many a mile it is, I suppose, some feet in depth. It seems rougher too, and more furrowed on the surface, so as to be more easily caught by the wind. We are looking to some spot, perhaps half a mile before us or at our side. The sand is smooth and the air is clear. In a moment a yellow cloud rises out of the ground, and, whirling round with immense velocity, assumes the form of a vast spiral column, which, after reaching a height of some sixty feet, spreads itself out in air.* It does cot stand still for a moment, but rotating both round its own axis, and also round some centre which the breeze has chosen for it, it continues the smoky whirl for five or ten minutes, till, as the wind falls, the sand precipitates itself, or rather seems to dissolve in air.

“As the whirlwind passeth,
Even so the wicked is not;

But the righteous is built up for ever.” (Prov. x. 25.)

The “rolling thing before the whirlwind” (Isa. xvii. 13), or “the stubble” which it sweeps away (Isa. xl. 24), we do not see, for this arid champaign contains no thistle-down, nor stubble, nor brown leaf; but the sand and dust, rushing on before the blast, we do see; and it is worth the looking at.

It was on this wide plain that Lot looked down from the heights above Ai, and saw that it was well-watered and fruitful, as the garden of the Lord (Gen. xiii. 10). But where are the richness and the beauty now? It was across this plain that the thousands of Israel marched, with Joshua at their head, to take possession of the land. Over these plains the prophets, from their school at Jericho, had often strayed, musing on the same scene, as we are now doing. Along these sands, eastward to Jordan, the two prophet-friends walked in

“The wind goeth towards the south,
And turneth about unto the north,
It whirleth about continually,

Yea the wind returneth again upon its whirlings.” (Eccles. i. 6)

INCREASING FRUITFULNESS.

silent fellowship, in the day when the Lord announced that he” would take up Elijah into heaven by a whirlwind’’ (2 Kings ii. 1). Not that the ascension of the prophet was accomplished by some mere Jordanic sand-storm; the whirlwind referred to in this event was certainly the same as that out of which J ehovah answered Job (Job. xxxviii. ]), and which Ezekiel saw encircling the mysterious glory of the Shekinah (Ezek. L 4); but the figure of the whirlwind seems singularly apt in the case of Elijah, seeing it was across this plain, where these are constantly occurring, that he was proceeding to the spot where the chariot of fire was to receive him.

As we move northwards, the sandy plain is exchanged for a more broken and fertile region. There are now shrubs and flowers, and grass, in the hollows and along the dried water -courses. But the fertility here is not great, though it is a wonderful improvement on the sandy barrenness over which we have been riding. Yet these empty channels have the promise of fulness; these hills, of richest pasture; these mountains, of vines: —

u It shall come to pass in that day, The mountains shall drop down new wine, And the hills shall flow with milk; And all the rivers of Judah shall flow with waters, And a fountain shall come forth out of the house of the Lord, And shall water the valley of Shittim.” (Joel iii. 18).

* There must have been a valley of Shittim, a vale of acacias, somewhere on the plain of Jordan, to which the above passage makes refe-Our party is beginning to straggle and separate. So long as we are on the level plain, this is of no consequence, as we can see each other; but about three o’clock, when crossing one of these torrent beds, and passing through a sort of jungle, four of us linger behind, and lose sight of dragoman and sheikhs. Thinking that our course must still be due north we press on, over the stony and uneven ground; but we see no trace of our friends. Have we struck into the wrong path? As we hesitate, we see clearly two ways before us, divided from ea’ch other by bare sandy hills, of no great height. We choose the right as the likelier, and give the reins to our horses, certain to overtake the party, as it is not ten minutes since we lost sight of them. But no one is visible. About a mile off, we see human forms; but can they be our companions or guides? More likely they are wandering Bedaween, who, if they find us alone, will not spare us. We are now in a small sandy plain, girt in, to the left, by a sweep of low hills, or hillocks, on one of which stands an old castle, apparently deserted, and in ruins. We know not its name, and no one is near to tell us. Which way shall we now turn? The party is evidently not in front, else we must, ere this, have overtaken them. On which side are they? This is our debate. As we debate, a long shining serpent makes its aprence. The “Shittim,” or H Abel Shittim,” of Num. xxv. 1; xxxiii. 49; Micah vi. 5, was beyond Jordan, in the land of Moab, and takes its name, not from acacias, but from” the children of Sheth,’, (Num. xxiv. 17), a nation namedp along with Moab and Edom, as the enemy of Israel

EL MESHRAH.

pearance, gliding over the sands. One of our number, leaping down from his horse, assails it with his whip, and at length kills it. We debate again. Which way shall we go? Push straight on is our first purpose; for, as in wTar, so in travel, there are some mistakes which can only be rectified by persevering in them. But the wild Arabs in front make us hesitate. Right over these sandy hillocks to the left, say some of us; for our party must be there, as that is the road which we ought to have kept, when we diverged to the right. Backwards, say the rest of us. Let us retrace our steps to the point whence we struck off, lest, if we attempt these unknown steeps we lose ourselves altogether. The latter counsel prevails. We turn our horses’ heads, and move briskly southwards, hoping to catch somewhere a glimpse of the party, and thinking that our Arabs will be in search of us. Ere we have gone half a mile, we discover, to the left of us, among the thick jungle, Ali, our Jerusalem muleteer. He has been waiting for us, and immediately sets out before us as our guide. In less than ten minutes we find ourselves in the midst of our friends, on the woody banks of the Jordan, at the pilgrim’s bathing-place, where, tradition says, Israel crossed the stream. The spot takes the name of El-Meshra.

Here there is a shelving shore for about sixty yards, but everywhere else there are steep banks, overgrown with trees of every various kind, planes, willows tamarisks, nubks, acacias; but the palm and olive are awanting. The river is turbid, as if the rains or melting snows were still pouring themselves into it. It. is not red nor brown, like so many of our northern rivers in flood, but of a dull grey or dark leaden hue. It rolls rapidly, and is here perhaps a hundred feet across. We bathe, and find the refreshment great, after the salt of the Dead Sea, and the heat of the day’s sun. The bottom of the stream here is soft with a dull coloured mud, in which we alternately slip, or sink up to the ancles. It is a deposit from the grey hills which line its eastern bank up to the Sea of Galilee. About twelve or fourteen feet from the bank, it is above our middle, and a few feet more would compel us to swim, and bring us into the rush of the stream. We would fain swim across that we might set foot on Reuben’s territory, but the river is rapid, and we are not willing to run needless risks.* Yet here lay the territories of J acoVs eldest and his youngest son, adjoining each other, — that of Benjamin in which we are, and that of Reuben on which we are looking. -f- The pastures beyond these eastern hills were the fit resting place for a cattlefeeding people, and formed a spot of quiet security

* Salignac, after mentioning the joy of washing both “soul and body” in Jordan, tells us of being damped by a calamity that befel the party. Their French physician when bathing was devoured by a crocodile or dragon, “captus crocodilo (draconem dicas an bestiam, incertum) absorptus fuit.” Some wild beast may have done this; certainly not a crocodile. Drowning, however, not devouring, is the fate of many a pilgrim.

+” The Lord hath made Jordan a border between us and you, ye children of Reuben and children of Gad.’’ (Josh. xxii. 25.

REUBEN AND BENJAMIN.

for a tribe that excelled in nothing, and has no name of renown in all its generations, save “Bohan the son of Reuben,” And here, close beside Reuben’s flocks, with only Jordan between, roamed the wolf of Benjamin, sometimes prowling in these thickets, sometimes scouring these plains, sometimes climbing in yon western mountains of Bethel, whose summits, rising above the Jericho hills, we can barely recognise.* Here it was that in the morning he devoured the prey, and here it shall yet be that in the evening he shall divide the spoil.

But we must now quit El-Meshra, and bid farewell to Jordan, till we meet it again nearer its source, less turbid in its flow. We have not moved ten yards when the river is hidden from our sight by its high banks and over shadowing jungle. Unlike the Nile, which is so fully visible on all sides, Jordan is seldom seen from any distance. Of its appearance from the range of hills upon its eastern side I cannot speak; but looked at from the western heights, only the dark line of brush-

* 1 1 Unstable,“* or swelliDg, and then vanishing, as this flood, which forms his boundary, Reuben has had no pre-eminence (Gen. xlix. 3,4). He “lived, and did not die;” but his “men were few.” (Deut. xxxiii. 6). He sank gradually down in Israel, till he became but the ninth in tribal rank. Yet as the first-born he seems to have led the van when marching to the conquest of the land. u The children of Reuben and the children of Gad, and half the tribe of Manasseh passed over armed, before the children of Israel, as Moses spake unto them; about forty thousand prepared for war passed over before the Lord unto battle, to the plains of Jericho.’* (Josh. iv. 12, 13. wood, which marks its sinuous course, can be traced. It winds invisibly from lake to lake, and forms 200 miles of water out of 60 miles of land.

Our course now lies east by north, as we mean to make direct for Er-Riha (Jericho), or rather for Ain Sultan (Elisha’s fountain), which lies beyond it. Many a backward look we take of the scene just quitted, and of the grey hills rising above it. Is yon ravine, some miles to the north, Wady Keshan, up which, if we could go, some twenty miles, we should find ourselves on the site of old Heshbon, amid Amoritish, Jewish, and Roman ruins, and looking on the broken reservoirs, which perhaps once were” the pools in Heshbon by the gate of Bath-Habbim V’ (Cant. vii. 4). We move onward through the brushwood, as this extends a considerable way, though the trees confine themselves to the margin of the stream. This outer and inner fringe of tree and jungle was in ancient times the resort of lions; and out of it the overflow of the stream drove them, —

Behold! He shall come up,

Like a lion from the swelling of Jordan,

Against the habitation of the strong.

(Jer. xlix. 19; 1. 44.)

As we advance we feel that we are rising, and yet we seem to be crossing a level plain, which our two Sheikhs are scouring in all directions, brandishing their spears, and rushing in mock battle against each other. But the rise is a peculiar one. A succession of steppes or shelves from the Jordan, almost to Jericho, raises us.

FILLING UP OF THE BANKS.

These form so many banks and channels; and, as the river swells, in time of snow-melting, it first overflows the one, then if the flood be a heavy one, it rises to the second or third bank, thus literally overflowing or “filling up” all its banks, (Josh. iii. 15). The whole plain through which we have been passing since we left the lake, seems to have been at times submerged. Yet as to the present overflow of the river there is some uncertainty, as no travellers seem to have visited it later than March or the beginning of April. The greater flood may be after that; though it is quite possible that the actual “filling up” may be less extensive now, not because the snows of Anti-Libanus or the Hauran mountains have diminished, but because the stream itself, flowing over a muddy channel, has gradually dredged its bed, carrying down its mud and silt to the Dead Sea, and leaving a deeper bottom than in former ages.

But where is Gilgal? It must be somewhere on our present route, for it is in the east border of Jericho, (Josh. iv. 1 9). It has passed away, and not one of the twelve stones remain either here or in the river. And the city of Adam too has perished, (Josh. iii. 16); no trace of it is to be seen. And where is Zaretan, which wxas beside Adam (Josh. iii. 16); and was this soil “the clay-ground, in the plain of Jordan, between Succoth and Zarthan,” where Solomon cast the vessels of the Sanctuary? (1 Kings vii. 46). And where is “the stone of Bohan the son of Reuben” (Josh. xv. 6), the Ehrenbreitstein of the Ghor; the stone which marks the prowess of the son of J acol/s eldest born? Old travellers speak of it, De Saulcy thinks he has found it; yet we look in vain for it.* But we need not ask these questions. Every relic is gone of all these ancient places. Not a name nor a ruin bears witness to their former existence.

The sun is fast declining, and its western radiance is adding softness to the scene. The air is clear and bracing, for the day’s heavy heat has passed away, and a light breeze is wandering at will over the plain. The sensation of freshness and buoyancy forms a joyous contrast to the lassitude produced by the fierce heat to which we have been exposed for hours. We are still far below the level of the Mediterranean, but the evening, as it falls around us, seems to bring with it the exhilaration of mountain air. And see these brakes of tall reeds, which we are passing! How gracefully do they wave to the wind, and how brightly do their large bushy heads of yellow down, gleam in the sinking sunshine! They are the reeds of the wilderness “shaken with the wind” (Matt. xi. 7). At no time could we have seen them to greater perfection, or realised from them more fully the meaning of these words of the Lord. The whole scene is

* Felix Fabri, vol. ii. p. 82. De Saulcy, vol. ii. 50. Large and peculiar stones have all names. In the desert we found it so. There was Hajir-er-Rekab, and Hajir-el-Ful, and Hajir Musa. So it was in ancient days in Palestine (and I suppose still). But of the four stones mentioned in Scripture not one now is known. There were Eben Bohan; Eben-Ezer, 1 Sam. vii. 12; Eben-Ezel, 1 Sam. xx. 19; Eben Zoheleth, 1 Kings i. 9. The Rabbies had a book which they called Eben-Bohen, or the Touchstone. See Chronicles of Rall’i Joseph, translated by BiallollotzJcy, vol. i. p. 192.

AIN-HAJLAH.

exquisitely enjoyable, though perhaps no part of it can be called beautiful. The eastern hills of the El-Belka, (which embrace the mountains of old Ammon and Moab), the dark line that marks the J ordan, the broad plain of glittering sand, the gleam of the Dead Sea, with the mountain shadows darkening it, all these, as we stood still and looked around us, formed a picture of mingled solemnity and sweetness, peace and gloom, which imprints itself not on the eye, but on the soul for ever.

But now we approach a patch of jungle, trees and shrubs of various kinds covering the bottom and sides of a small hollow. We see a path close by these reeds which are shaking in the sun. We follow it down through the entangling branches, and in a few minutes find ourselves at the side of one of the clearest and finest wells that we have seen. It is circular in form, well built, and preserved with care, open on all sides, but shaded by the trees. The very look of it refreshes. What a resting-place at noon! Our dragoman does not know the name. Is this Ain-Hajlah, and was the castle we saw in the afternoon Kasr Hajlah, the remains of the Beth-Hoglah of Benjamin; a city on the border-line between Benjamin and Judah? (Josh. xv. 6,.. 18, 19, 21).

Emerging from this thicket, and leaving this “eye of the desert” behind us, we continue our route. The sun is setting, and we have still some distance to traverse. The inequalities of the way are many, but not rugged; still they are such as to cause mishaps in the shape of stumbling and falling, to some of our party. Yet, though we shall have some incidents to talk over, or to laugh over, at night round our tent-table, we have had no adventures beyond those of passing through such scenes as we have done to-day. Seldom does one single day bring the traveller into contact with so many wonders. The journey is quite an episode, and one of striking interest. Nor is it yet done.

We are approaching Jericho. But the shadows have fallen, and though the sky is clear, yet the dusky twilight narrows the landscape, and hides even its near features. The valley of the Jordan is now shut out, and the Dead Sea has ceased to gleam in the distance. I know not whether on this spot, and in the stillness of the “gloaming,” we may hear the notes of St Saba’s vesper-bell. I suppose not. We are too far north, and there are many intervening heights. And even though we had, it could not have fallen on our ears with the awe and the mystery which it is said to bring with it, as at midnight it passes over that solemn sea behind us, and dies upon the hills of Moab.

There is no moon in the sky; but the air is clear, and the stars are brightening, and the twilight has not yet passed wholly into night. We are at Jericho; but the house of Zaccheus, of which pilgrims speak, is invisible, or only recognised as a dark mass of building, which may be anything or nothing. We enter Jericho, or at least Riha, for old J ericho is not. The poor mud-huts of an Arab village, out of which the lights are

ORCHARDS OF ER-RIHA.

twinkling as we pass, are all the memorials of th@ goodly city. We are, perhaps, moving over the walls that fell at Israel’s summons, or over Rahab’s house where the scarlet ribbon fluttered, or by the gate at which the blind men sat, at which our Lord so often entered. It may be so; we know not. All has crumbled down. Nay, more. Is this really the site of Jericho, or is it farther westward, nearer the hills? We do not know; and so must pass on, content to say that this was part at least of the great plain where the city stood, and that the city itself could not be far off.

Just as we have gone through the village, we hear voices and see lights and tents. We conclude that they are ours, and that we may dismount and tarry at Jericho for a night. But we soon find that they belong to another party, just arrived from Jerusalem, who are reversing our route, and taking Jericho first and Marsaba last. They are at dinner, so we do not intrude, but move on in the darkness. The land is evidently more fertile, trees and bushes on every side. Our road seems to lie through gardens and vineyards; and these trees are possibly figs, or other such fruit-trees. One thing we know about them; they are not palms. With its feathers spread out against the blue sky, the palm makes itself known at night as well as at noon. But it is not here. Riha is not the city of the palm-trees. We shall see on the morrow, if these are to be found anywhere around. We hear now the low murmur of waters, and know that we are on the banks of the rivulet that

AlN-SULTAN. pours itself from the fountain of Elisha. A hoarse noise now comes up from the low ground at our side. The frogs of Eiha are all awake, and the croaking of myriads salutes us. We should have preferred the voice of the “night-warbling bird,” tuning its” love-laboured song 9 but we must be content. Yet the hoarseness is not pleasant, and grates sorely on the ear, especially in such a place, and at such an hour, when stillness would have been a peculiar boon to those who had so many memories to gather up; from the days of Joshua, down through those of Hiel and Elisha, to the time of Zaccheus, and the Lord himself.

After riding nearly half an hour further, by a winding and intricate road, still apparently through orchards in some parts, we reach our tents, a little after seven. They are pitched amid a vast grove of trees, hard by Ain-Sultdn, the royal fountain, or as Christians have named it, the fountain of Elisha. The day has been a memorable one, and the contrast between the different scenes, more marked than during any day of all our previous route. We began with the wild ravines of Marsaba, the haunts of doubtful saints, and we have ended with the pleasant grove and murmuring waters of J ericho, — the resort of one of the mightiest of Israel’s unambiguous prophets. We have traversed the grassy knolls of Judah; descended to the sullen sea, on which the marks of the old judgment still lie; passed over as dreary a waste of sand as Debbet Ramlah or Wady Wardan; enjoyed the fresh rush of Jordan, and the

VIEW OF THE PLAIN OF JERICHO.

shade of its wooded margin; wandered over an undulating region of sand, and soil, and shrubs, and flowers; gone through one of the poorest and filthiest of eastern villages; and now we are encamped in an oasis richer, save in palms and tarfas, than Ghurandel and Feiran.

A in-Sultdn, Thursday, March 6. — Rose at six, and went out for a morning ramble in the plains of Jericho. There had been some rain during the night; but no sign of this remained, save a few clouds and a slight dulness in the air. A hundred yards or so from our tents I found an eminence which promised to raise me above the thicket which surrounded us, and give me a view of the ground over which we had passed yesterday in the twilight. I would fain have climbed some of the rocky heights above us, in which I see caves and ruins; but that would require another day. Not that I desired to ascend the Quarantina mountain, where, tradition says, our Lord spent the forty days of his fasting. In this case, tradition builds on no evidence, and one is not inclined to undergo the toil and danger of its ascent, in compliance with a sixth century fable.

The height, on which I soon found myself, was sufficient for my purpose. It shewed me the whole stretch of plain, both south and east. The Dead Sea, with its bare precipices on the one side, and high mountains on the other, lay on the right, like a great cauldron of gleaming quicksilver. The wide plain which we had traversed yesterday, and which we had so often looked on from the Mount of Olives, stretched in front; that part nearest Jordan a sandy waste, that nearest to us a tangled “bush” of shrubs and trees. Jordan was invisible, from the lowness of its channel. Riha, with its huts of mud and fences of dry thorn, was not far off. This spot, or at least the neighbourhood, seemed likelier to be the ancient Jericho.* It is close by the fountain, and it is just at the foot of the hill, and thus answers better to the descriptions both of the Bible and Josephus. It was the city of palm-trees; but the eye searches in vain for a single palm in all this region. This is the more remarkable, because this is quite a climate for such tropical trees. We had noticed, however, in the desert that the palm loves the salt spring, and takes kindly to the soil and air impregnated with salt, as in Howarah, Ghurandel, and Useit. Here, however, there is nothing of this kind; for the bituminous exhalations from the Dead Sea, driving along the plain before the south wind, could not com-

* The Jericho of the Roman age must have been nearer the mountains than the huts of Er-Riha are; for Strabo tells us that it was girdled with mountains like a theatre (Geogr. B. 16, 41. He also notices its palms). Jerome states that there were three Jerichos: — (1) That destroyed by-Joshua; (2 ) that rebuilt by Hiel (or Gram, as he calls him), which existed in the time of our Lord, but was afterwards destroyed by the Romans — “propter perfidiam civium” — about the time of the siege of Jerusalem; (3.) that which was built after this, and existed in his day. The three cities must have occupied three different sites, for he speaks of the ruins of the two former being visible in his day; and in giving the site of Gilgal, he speaks of it as east of “the ancient Jericho,” Onom. Galgala. It may be suggested either that Jericho was farther south than Er-Riha, or that the Bead Sea once came farther north; for Eusebius and Jerome say that Jericho and Zoar were the two limits of that sea.

THE STREAM.

pensate for the genuine sea or the salt-spring. But, then, in early ages the springs here were marah, as the prophet’s miracle reminds us. “The water is naught” (2 Kings, ii. 19); or, literally, “the waters are bad,” These “bad” waters, however, may have nourished the palms, and the removal of the evil may have led to their gradual decay.

Coming down from the height, I went to the stream to enjoy a walk along its banks —

“To let the eare Drinke the eomplcoyning storie of the tide,” —

and to recall the age of Joshua and Elisha, as well as to wonder whither had fled all the fruitfulness of nature and the magnificence of art, which, in later days, clustered round this tiny rill, as if it had been a Tiber or a Nile. It is a veritable stream, or at least rivulet, about eight feet broad and half a foot deep, flowing smoothly downward, without a break or whirl, clear and sunny. Its banks are soft and fresh, with weed and flower, and grassy turf, lined with nature’s leafy trellice-work of shrub and tree. There is fragrance, too, coming up from the daisy, the lily, and the mint, which grow plentifully around. The trees are various; but the most common is the nubk. There is the Zukkum, a well-sized thorny tree, with a small leaf and a green fruit, like a potato-apple, out of which oil is extracted. There is also a large shrub or inferior tree, with yellow fruit, like small oranges. This fruit the natives call Tuffah-el-Mejdnin — that is, the mud-apples — because they are said to make all who eat them mad. This name, however, I found was not confined to this tree; for they call the mandrake plant, which grew in different parts of the country, and especially round Jerusalem, by the same name. Donkeys and sheep, however, eat these mad apples, it would seem, without losing their reason.

After this I wandered up the stream, observing, in several parts of it, very small fresh-water shells, with their tenants all alive within. I came to an old ruin, quite buried among nettles, shrubs, and overhanging boughs of trees. It was a small oblong structure, quite decayed, but may once have formed part of a tower or castle. The situation was just one to invite such a building, whether for husbandry or pastoral purposes. It is placed too low to be a castle, and it is too well built to be “a lodge in a garden of cucumbers,” though such gardens exist around. But may it not be the remains of some of King Uzziah/s handiwork, as noticed in his history: — “Also he built towers in the desert, and digged many wells; for he had much cattle, both in the low country and in the plains,” (2 Chron. xxvi. 10). I proceeded onwards to the spot where the fountain wells up strongly and freshly at the foot of a rock, forming a tolerably large basin, out of which it slowly finds its way to the channel of the stream, which, flowing onward through the verdure and jungle I have described, proceeds to Er-Biha, carrying fruitfulness and beauty for miles, till it loses itself in the sands of

THE FIG-TKEE.

the plain, — too feeble to succeed in reaching Jordan. The bottom of the basin is mingled sand and pebble, up through which the water bubbles, and over which it spreads itself, as pure and fresh a fountain of “living water” as one could light upon, either in the west or east. In our island, “living” (that is “running”) waters are so common, that they cease to be prized. But in these hot lands, where for so many months men are dependent on the hoarded rain-water of the tank or cistern, a stream of living water, fed from such a fountain, and perennial as the rock out of which it gushes, is a luxury which must be set down as God’s special blessing. Hard by the brink, and throwing its branches over the basin, was a fig-tree of good size. Every bough was loaded with small green figs, as large as gooseberries; spring was already far advanced in the low region of the Ghor, though it seemed little more than begun in the high lands around Jerusalem. A few days before, we had been at Bethany and not a fig-tree had begun to swell; but here the figs are already formed. The climate must be three weeks or a month earlier here. One is struck, too, with the figs bursting forth, ere a leaf is seen, and without any blossom. We had seen the almond putting forth its blossoms ere a leaf-bud had swollen; but here is the fig giving out its figs without blossom or leaf. Its branch is not yet “tender,” and it is not yet putting forth leaves (Matt. xxiv. 32), for as yet it is only spring; but in a few weeks, or less, the branch will swell and the leaf come forth, to shade the fruit from excess of heat; then it is known that “summer is nigh,”

This is certainly one of the fairest spots that we have seen, yet within view of the dreariest landscape that Palestine, or even the Desert, can shew. Ain-SuMn, the royal fountain, how true the name! One draught more of your heaven-healed waters, one dip more of hand and lip into your coolness, one look back upon your beauty, then farewell! It was all true that was said two thousand seven hundred years ago, “Thus saith the Lord, I have healed these waters; there shall not be from thence (that is, issuing from thee) any more death or barren land; so the waters were healed unto this day, according to the saying of Elisha which he spake” (2 Kings ii. 21, 22).

At half-past eight we started. When Elisha left this, after he had healed the waters, he “WENT UP to Bethel” (2 Kings ii. 23), for Bethel lies on the heights, upwards of twenty miles from this. And it was as he was passing up the mountain-road that the young men came forth to u mock” him and to taunt him with his own infirmity, and with the ascension of his master. His road lay in a north-westerly direction, ours in a south-westerly, though still we, like him, were “going up,” for our paths lay through the defiles of the same range. As we passed along we saw ruins, with pointed arches and many indications of former strength and elegance. We do not visit the fountain of Duk, said to be nearly as fine as Ain-Sultan, and doubtless identifying this neighbourhood with the old castle of Dok or Dagon, famous for the murder of Simon (Maccabaeus) by his son-in-law Ptolemy. Taking the road which winds up the hill, we passed through brushwood for some way, and could still notice the large Zucchum here and there. As we ascended the view of the plain once more opened upon us, J ericho, Jordan, the Dead Sea, and hills of Moab. There was much that was rich immediately under us, for wherever Elisha’s fountain poured its waters, there verdure was seen rising; and the barrenness of the more distant plain is not to be for ever. What the healed waters of the fountain have done for this neighbourhood, shall yet be done for this wilderness, and for the shores of yon sea, (Ezek. xlviii. 6-12).

We soon struck into a deep ravine; but the road lay not at the foot, but a considerable way up its southern flank. We noticed water at the bottom and a tolerable amount of verdure.* The note of the cuckoo came, like a “wandering voice,” across the glen, though there

* To this the reference may be in Josh. xv. 7, when describing Judah’s border-line as going up to Adummim by “the south side of the river.” That line began at the north end of the Dead Sea, where it forms an angle with Jordan; then it passed to Beth HogJah, then by the north of Beth-Arabah (a town, from its name I suppose, standing on the edge of this Judean desert); then it went up to the stone of Bohan, then towards Debir from the valley of Achor; then it went a little in a northerly direction till Gilgal was seen, due east (before, i. e., east) of the going up of Adummim; then passing Enshemesh, it came down from the hills, and terminated at Enrogel.

seemed no woods, in which this “stranger of the grove, this “messenger of spring,” could find a place for rest or song. We rode on through most romantic ravines, with flowers scattering themselves on the slopes and hollows, for several hours. It was the way which the Son of God had so often traversed, when he came and went between Jericho and Bethany. He had passed over these heights; he had seen all that we are now seeing, and heard all that we are now hearing.

The road forms a continuous descent from J erusalem to Jericho, and to this the expression may refer, “a certain man went dovm from Jerusalem to Jericho 93 (Luke x. 30), and somewhere in these rugged and lonely glens the man “fell among thieves,” The road would seem to have been in these days frequented by robbers, and many travellers, in different ages, have written of it, as still a place of peril and a haunt of evil-doers. An English traveller in 1506 writes, “from thence we held the right way from Jherusalem to Jherico, and that is the way of which it is sayde in the gospell, a certain man went down from Jherusalem to Jherico; and yet unto this day it is a right perillous way”* And an older traveller than this, in 1483, speaks of this at greater length. I translate a few sentences. When descending the cliffs “we heard shouts and angry voices, in the Arabic and Teutonic tongue. We heard some one shouting robbery in Teutonic words, mordjo, mordjo.” Hasten-

‘The Pylgrymage of Syr H. Guylforde, Knight, fo. xxx.

ADUMMUM.

tening down he found it was a battle of words and stones, between some of bis fellow-pilgrims and some robbers wbo were demanding money. After detailing at length the quarrel and its settlement, he proceeds, “We came to the ascent of the hills, which we called the heights of the desert of Adammim. For here there was once a town, whose ruins we saw, by name Adammim, that is the ascent of the red ones, on account of the blood which was frequently shed there by robbers; and from that castle that whole desert from Jericho up to Bethany is called Adammim, and it was for the succour of travellers in this sanguinary and cruel place that the castle was built. See Josh, xviii. 17. Hence to this day the Germans call this castle and desert Botbach, the river of blood. For the poor Arabs lurk here by the way, and plunder the passers by, nor dare even the Saracens, unless in bands, travel here. Our guides were constantly urging us to make haste when going up through the desert of Adammim,”* We got something to note, in confirmation of these old stories. One of the ladies in our company happened to linger a little way behind, at a part of the road where a sharp shoulder of the hill quickly hid her from the rest of the party. In a moment two Bedaween issued from a hollow by the way-side, who, taking hold of her donkey’s bridle, tried to lead it aside into the recess out of which they had come. Knowing a little Arabic, she spoke to them and

* Fabri Evagatorium, &c, vol. ii. p. 78.

IS WADY KELT CHERITH?

threatened them, but they insisted that she was going wrong, and that they were leading her right. Her donkey boy too, seemed in a moment to become their confederate, and urged her and the donkey off the road. She shouted, but the projecting angle of the hill prevented her being seen or heard. The fellows were proceeding to force, and would have carried her off to their mountain retreat, had not Mr Wright, who had been detained a little by the way, providentially came up. The Bedaween fled when he approached. But the incident was a curious corroboration of old testimonies, and an illustration of the parable already referred to, — giving us one proof more, among the many, that our Lord’s parables are not only most true to nature, but have actually some well-known fact as their basis.

By many this wady is held to be the Cherith, where Elijah took refuge in the day of draught. But even though the name (Kelt) could be identified with Cherith, which is hard to be believed, the narrative seems to bear against this identification. The stream of Wady Kelt is but a winter or spring brook, and would have been one of the first to dry up, whereas, it is plain, that the Cherith continued for at least a year to supply him with water. And when it did become dry, Jordan was at hand, within a walk of three or four hours, to give him drink, and prevent his being compelled (as is implied that he was) to quit his retreat. Besides the words of the narrative are express, “Get thee hence, and turn thee eastward” (1 Kings xvii. 3). Had this

CHERITII IN GILEAD.

been said to a prophet living in J erusalem or in Bethel, then Wady Kelt might have been the hiding place. But Elijah must have been either at Samaria or Jezreel, most probably the former, for Ahab was there. It was from Samaria or Jezreel that Elijah was to turn eastward, and thus he would not turn in the direction of Jericho at all, which lay quite to the south. And then the expression, twice repeated, “the brook Cherith which is before Jordan,” is no less decisive. For the Hebrew term here used, when employed geographically, invariably denotes the east, not merely towards or before. Indeed, we can attach but little meaning to the expression before a river, even though before a mountain or a city might be intelligible. What, for instance, could be understood by “before the Nile,” or “before the Euphrates?” Whereas eastward or wTestwrard has an obvious meaning. In going eastward of Jordan from Samaria, Elijah was going to a much safer place than Wady Kelt, so near Jerusalem on the one hand and Jericho on the other. He was going to the very borders of the land of Israel, if not across the boundary altogether. He was going to no unknown region, but to his native country, the mountains of Gilead; and somewhere amid their untrodden glens, and by the side of one of their well-fed brooks, perhaps by the sources of the Jabbok, he took up his abode, after he had uttered the words of awful judgment; like a thunderbolt returning to the cloud from which it had issued. About one, we halted for a few minutes by a well or cistern, at the foot of a steep ascent. It is called, ecclesiastically, the Fountain of the Apostles; but may it not be the waters of En-Shemesh mentioned in the boundary line of Judah? (J osh. xv. 7). This road has been from the earliest ages the great highway, not only between J erusalem and Jericho, but between J erusalem and the trans-Jordanic territories. It was the road which David took when flying from Absalom; for if you drew a line from Olivet to the fords of J ordan, it will pass near this (2 Sam. xv. 30; xvi. 1), so that we must have been passing Adummim, Bahurim, and are now at Enshemesh.

We did not dismount, but after the refreshment of a draught from this Fountain of the Apostles, we moved slowly up the hill over a road rough with stones, and in some places cut out of the rock.* It was a toilsome ascent. But the Son of God had been here before us, toiling up the same steep, and “drinking of the brook by the way,”

About half past one, at the top of the ascent, we abruptly came in sight of Bethany, resting apparently on the crest of the opposite height, yet in a hollow at the foot of the higher ridge of Olivet that rises behind. This view of the village is remarkably beautiful, — the best that we have seen of it. Often must the Lord have

* “Descending a steep hill,” says one travelling in the opposite direction, “we came to a well called the Fountain of the Apostles, because here, according to tradition, they used to drink and refresh themselves in their passage between this and Jericho.” — Travels of Charles Thomson, Esq, (1744) vol. ii.p 141.

VIEW OF JERUSALEM.

stood where we did, looking across the hollow, upon the lowly village, longing to rest under the loving roof of Lazarus, after a hot day’s heavy journey. We soon reached Bethany, and passed through it, amid the staring of villagers and the noise of dogs. It looked well from the distant height, with its olives, figs, and blossoming almonds; but within all was filth and confusion. Passing on, we began to descend the Mount of Olives, and, at a sudden turn, Jerusalem burst upon our sight; as fair a vision of an earthly city as the eye can look upon. Here it might be that the Son of God looked and wept. “When he beheld (or came in sight of) the city he wept over it,” Bending to the right, and going down into a hollow, we lost the view, till another turn brought it fully before us. Then slowly winding round and descending the western side of the hill, we came to the valley of Jehoshaphat, startling a turtledove from an olive-tree at our side, but meeting with no one till we ascended the slope at St Stephen’s gate, a little after two o’clock.

I found that in travelling through these scenes I could not read. I could look, and feel, and think, or rather muse, but I could not read. Not in the desert, nor in Palestine, could I sit down even to the careless reading of a single book. My senses had too much to engross them in the objects around to allow themselves to be employed in a work which could be done at home. The life that one thus leads in travelling here is almost wholly an objective one, and the eye is turned outward, away from self, and the throng of thoughts connected with self, which pour in at home. I had taken but few books with me; but even these few I found too many. I scarcely opened them. I awoke in the morning to look; I moved along through the hot hours of day, looking; and I got early to rest at night to fit myself for looking again. Something of this kind Solomon had known when he said, “the eyes of men are never satisfied,” (Prov. xxvii. 20).