Ain el-Mellahah

Ain el-31ellahah, Tuesday, March 18. — Walked out about six, the morning cloudy, but pleasant. First went up to the heights above our tents (westward), from which I got a full view of El-Hideli or the waters of Merom, as well as of the small stream flowing into it from the spring at our tents. Sitting on the slope of the hill, near some piled up brushwood which seemed to be a sort of enclosure and protection for cattle, I read the 16th and 7th chapters of Matthew, the scene of which lay before me. Here are the coasts of Cesarea Philippi (Matt. xvi. 13), to which Christ took his disciples apart, from the busy scenes of Galilee and Jerusalem. In some of yon north-eastern solitudes, the Lord found the retirement which was to be held nowhere else, in this populous land. Through this he may have passed on his way to the region of Tyre and Sidon.

I wandered down the banks of the stream for a little.

They are skirted with jungle and look very green, though sadly untrimmed and waste. Trees as well as shrubs were here, some just coming into leaf, some with white blossoms hanging on every bough. There was a pleasant fragrance coming from them, and the aspect of the country was that of fertility.

“We started northward at eight, to reach Banias in good time. That place seemed not above a three hours’ ride, but to avoid marshes and streams, we had to make a long circuit which made it more than twice that. We passed along the foot of the westward range of hills. They appeared about a thousand feet in height, each one distinct from his fellow, and forming a separate abutment down upon the plain where we were. We saw some wood upon them at different parts. The plain is fruitful. We found cattle in considerable numbers, and Arab tents, or rather huts, made of reeds, like wicker-work, forming a small moveable village, which, with its inhabitants, flits about for pasture to the cattle. About eleven o’clock, we saw to the left, just before we turned more to the east, a village which we were told was Ibnean. I do not find it noted in any map or mentioned by any traveller. If I am right in the name, it may be the Jabneel or Jebneel of Joshua (Josh. xv. 11, xix. 33).

We crossed several small streams, clear and rapid, hastening down to swell the J ordan, — the Derderah, the Hasbani, which looks more like Jordan than a tributary of it, and the Leddan. About twelve, we

Ff

ARAB RACE.

came to what apjoeared the extremity of the plain, and entered quite a forest of oaks. The road was very rough, partly through newly ploughed fields, over a gentle eminence; but it was quite romantic, on account of the variety of wood, young and old, shrub and tree, oak and olive. We reached the banks of the Banias a little after two, somewhat in advance of our tents, though our baggage-mules had been pushed on at quicker speed than usual, on account of the rivalry between the two parties. This seems the only way of quickening an Arab’s pace, and convincing him that his mules can move rapidly, even under burdens. We had noticed, at starting, how clever and rapid our dragoman was in dismantling our tents, providing breakfast, and packing the luggage. He was thoroughly in haste, and got the start of Abd-el-Atih and the American party by some ten minutes. Over the plain of El-Huleh, and across the different streams, there had been a race for nearly six hours; but, as we were not along with them, we only saw its close. We were standing under the large olives on the level circle (almost a hollow), where we were to encamp for the night, when the two foremost mules made their appearance over the eminence already noticed. They were both tolerably well loaded, and, in addition, had their drivers on the top of the baggage. The mukray, or muleteer of Abd-el-Atih’s caravan, was a tall Nubian, black as coal. Haji Ismael’s muleteer was a tawny Syrian, quite as tall and majestic as the Nubian, by name Assad, an active fellow, but hot in temper, and of a tongue so unmanageable and vociferous, as to be quite an annoyance to quiet travellers. They bad been racing the most of the way (as much as heavy-loaded mules could do), each alternately overtaking the other, and each determined to be foremost. As they came over the brow of the rising-ground, they were within six yards of each other, the Nubian, ho we ver, being first. Scarcely had they begun the short descent, than the Nubian’s baggage, which was loose and ill-balanced, gave a lurch to the right. This was too much for the mule. It stumbled and came down, driver and baggage rolling on the ground. The poor black came with such force to the ground on head and shoulder, that I thought he would be stunned, and I ran to help. In less than half a minute he was on his legs, re-adjusting the load; for the mule had risen instantly, and stood waiting to be re-loaded. Assad saw that the day was his, and without waiting to assist his fallen brother, he pushed forward, and distanced his fellow -muleteer. No shout of triumph arose; but instantly all set to work, unloaded the winning mules, and in less than ten minutes, every stitch of canvas was unfurled, and duly fastened with pin and loop. This completed Haji’s victory over Abd-el-Atih, Yet five minutes was all the difference between the two, such was the celerity with which the fallen baggage had been replaced.

We have encamped, for once, on “the other side of Jordan,”

Now for a ramble by the stream, and an explora-NAHR BANIAS.

tion of this source of the J ordan! Descending the steep bank of earth, which is a thicket of verdant jungle, I tasted the stream and refreshed myself with a thorough washing in it. This is only a tributary (and one not noted in any map that I have seen), yet it has a tolerable amount of water, which hurries along over rocks and stones, under the shade of fig-trees and oleanders. From this we passed over to the fountain of Banias, which feeds the main stream. The amount of water in this stream is greater than we expected to see so near the source. It rushes past the town wildly like a highland torrent; yet it has a considerable breadth. It does not now issue out of a cave, as used to be said. Certainly there is a cave, and a very spacious one, at the spot. But it is quite dry, and evidently used as a shelter for cattle. It is now considerably raised above the bed of the stream, but in former days may have been on a level with it, as the stones with which its floor is covered are loose. From under this bed or platform of stones, which, however, in front, looks quite like part, of the rock, the river pushes itself out, its springs bubbling up in all directions, and forming an ample basin, which some give as an hundred and eighty feet in breadth. A noble beginning this for any river! This breadth of course narrows itself a little when the basin discharges itself into the river. Still the width of Jordan from its very source, as here seen in Nahr Banias, strikes one as peculiar, and somewhat noble. To issue all at once in full breadth, from such a mountain as Hermon, to pass into such a lake as that of

Galilee, and then to end in such a sea as that of Sodom,

this is no common story for a river. One calls to mind,

.. the Egyptian traveller when he stood By the young Nile, and fathomed with his lance, The first small fountains of that mighty flood.

Yet, as we moved about along the edge of this basin, or crossed it on the large stones which are scattered over it, marking the depth, and clearness, and rush of this new-born river, we saw what made us ask afterwards, if even the Nile has a beginning so noble as this?

The niches and half-erased letters on the face of the rock, to the left of the cave, we saw, but were not much struck with them. Yet they are suggestive way-marks in the past history of the place; and as the inscriptions of Wady Magharah carry one back at once to the days of Pharoah, so do these rock-cut records of Banias carry us back to the days of Herod and Augustus. The inscriptions are not half so old as those in Magharah or Mukatteb, and they have been carefully cut in the limestone rock, a much harder substance than the crumbling sandstone of the desert; yet the desert writings are to this day sharp and fresh, while these of Banias are so effaced by time as to be almost illegible.*

* Our Lord visited this region; yet there is’ no record of his resorting to this town, though there is no unlikelihood of his having done so. By Matthew we are told that he came into “the coasts of Csesarea Philippi,” (xvi. 13), while Mark (giving us, as he often does, little pieces of supplemental information) tells us that it was into “the towns cf Caesarea Philippi” that they came, (viii. 27).

KALAT BANIAS.

We visited the village and castle. The latter was the chief attraction, on account of the view on all sides from its top. Ascending its rained, grass-covered walls, Mr Poynder and I sat down upon the top to look around us. Itself a ruin, it is situated in the midst of ruins, ruins which indicate the former magnificence of the town. There were large bevelled stones lying here and there, and the castle itself must have been a fine one. At its foot rushes the Banias, noisy but clear in its flow; while on all sides, up to the very walls, rise trees of every leaf and name. Banias occupies not so properly a terrace, but a slight hollow on a broad rising-ground, which slopes up gradually to the hills. That raised hollow begins at the low ridge where we had seen the Nubian tumble; and from that line the platform or shelf, which there sinks down a little, continues very gradually to rise; so that the town is somewhat elevated above the plain, and beautifully planted in a mountainnook as rich and well-watered as any spot which the land contains. It is not every town that has a plain before it such as el-Huleh, nor such a stream as that of Jordan to water it, nor such a mountain as that of Lebanon to guard it.

The heat here was great, and though the wind rose afterwards, yet, towards evening, all was so still and close that one began to think of a thunder-storm at hand. And though this was not quite a pleasant anticipation to dwellers in tents, yet it would have been something to hear Syrian thunder, and see the Syrian lightning at the foot of Hermon. The sun was about to set, but it was half-smothered with clouds; and the quiet of the afternoon, though very acceptable in itself, was rather ominous. It was strange to lie oppressed with heat in this low-sheltered nook, and yet to see above us the unmelted snows of the mountain. Down here all summer is around us, while winter sits up yonder! *

In the course of the evening we had under consideration the passages which record our Lord’s visit to Caesarea Philippi. We saw from them that the transfiguration must have taken place in this region and not in Galilee, of course not on Tabor. To the top of one of those mountains which he saw from Pisgah was Moses brought when he appeared with Elias; so that, having already seen the land afar off, he might now see it near, and see too “the King in his beauty,” (Isa. xxxiii. 17). What mountain it wras we did not pretend to determine, f

* Now upon Syria’s land of roses
Softly the light of eve reposes,
And, like a glory, the broad sun
Hangs over sainted Lebanon;
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers,

And whitens with eternal sleet, While summer, in a vale of flowers, Is sleeping rosy at his feet, t Before it took place (as we have already noticed) it is said that the Lord and his disciples were in this region; and after it was over they went

4?56 walk up the wady.

Banias, Wednesday, March 19. — The wind rose during the night, and clouds were moving above us. Still, when I went out at six, the morning was fine and the heat considerable. I walked about for more than an hour in all directions, among the olives and other trees which cover the whole platform. I went up the small stream, on the banks of which our tents were pitched, for about half a mile. It was wooded all the way, but its channel soon became dry. It seemed to curve slightly round the mountain and lead into a wild glen, into which, however, I had not time to follow it. I did not learn its name, nor do I know whether it has one, but I should suppose it to be an unnamed brook flowingout of Wady el-Asal, at the foot of Hermon, and joining the Banias just at the castle. At the upper part of it, where it passes into the gorge, I sat down amid some oleanders and fig-trees, and read those chapters of Matthew which relate to this region. The wady which strikes up from this into the mountain-gorge is said to be the haunt of wild beasts; and often in connection with this morning’s scene have these words come into mind,

south into Galilee, by Capernaum. Mark says, “they departed thence,” that is, from Caesarea Philippi, (ix. 30), and that then they “passed through Galilee” (ib.) and “came to Capernaum,” (Matt. xvii. 24; Mark ix. 33). The transfiguration thus took place probably “on the other side of Jordan,” which our Lord seldom visited, save here and at the Sea of Galilee; and it was as if he were thus formally taking possession of these eastern provinces as his kingdom, claiming Manasseh and Gilead, a well as Ephraim and Judah, (Pisa, cviii. 8).

With me from Lebanon, my bride,
With me from Lebanon thou shalt come:
Thou shalt look from the top of Amana,
From the top of Senir and Hermon,
From the dens of the lions,

From the mountains of the leopards. (Cant. iv. 8.) For several days Lebanon has been in sight, and for several days more it is to continue so. I knew not how it was, but there was something indescribably attractive about that noble range. A thousand memories, both stirring and soothing, more venerable than its majestic clouds, floated over it. And we have since that, sometimes felt what it was to be “sighing for Lebanon,”

We started from our olive-grove at half-past eight, the morning growing cloudier, and spreading out its mists thickly above us, portending rain, we think, though some of our Arabs say not. We took our way at first over the same wooded eminence as on the previous day, but afterwards kept more to the north. On our left, about half a mile from us, and about half an hour from Banias, we saw Tell el-Kadi, the hill of the Judge,* a small bushy mound, in a plain, where the

* Ingenious as is Dr Wilson’s conjecture that Tell el-Kadi is the Arabic rendering- of Dan, we feel doubtful on this point. The natives do not translate names, they corrupt them. Is this not the ancient Kadesh of Naphtali, or some other place of that name, and perhaps the Kadytis of Herodotus 1 Kadesh, or something like it, seems to have been a common name in this distiict, if we may judge from the Haddatha near Tibnin, and el-Kadi, Kadisha, and Hadith on the way to Beirut. The Kadytis of Herodotus was certainly somewhere in this northern region of Palestine.

DAN.

Jordan finds another of its many springs. This is supposed by some to be the ancient Laish or Leshem, afterwards called Dan. by the tribe of that name, in honour of their ancestors (Josh. xix. 47), of whom it was said,

“Dan shall judge his people, As one of the tribes of Israel.” (Gen. xlix. 16).*

It was somewhere into this green territory, this place for flocks and herds, that the lion of Dan took his leap from the hills of Bashan (Deut. xxxiii. 22), making his den in Laish, “the place of the old Hon,” Driven back by the Amorite into the mountains (Judges i. 34), he made many a leap into a plain below, nor did he rest till he had made Laish his own, and set up there not only a judge, but a priest and a graven image (Judges xviii. 30). Upon Tell el-Kadi, Wady A sal may be said to open, and it is not impossible that in A sal we may have the remains of the ancient Laish or Laisa.^ The whole of this neighbourhood seems to have been originally the haunt of wild beasts, and Laish and Asal may be the “lions’ dens” of Solomon (Cant. iv. 8).

A little to the north of this, or rather to the north of Banias, we are told is a place called Ruhaiby which

* Dan is mentioned first of the children of the handmaids, and to him (as to the other sons of the handmaid, I suppose) is here given equal tribal rank and authority, with the sons of Rachel and Leah. See Quarterly Journal of Prophecy, vol. i. p. 364.

t We were not near enough to see the heaps of stones and old foundations which Dr Wilson mentions.

X I owe this information to Mr Thomson of Sidon, who had recently travelled this tract. Mr Thomson spoke also of a wady” corresponding to the valley mentioned in Scripture, Umefc, Beth-Rehob (Judges xiii. 23). clearly indicates the site of the ancient Beth-Rehob. For of Laish, it is said, that it was “in the valley that lieth by Beth-Rehob,” (Judges xviii. 28). There is, about two miles south’ of Tell el-Kadi, near the place where we crossed yesterday, a grove of large trees mentioned by Dr Wilson, but which we had failed to notice. It is called Shajar ed-Difneh, and he supposes that this is the Daphne mentioned by Josephus as the place up to which the marshes of the lake extended, and which has fountains supplying the lesser Jordan, under the fountain of the golden calf.*

Our road was wild and rough for a time, not marked by any object of interest. Suddenly we found ourselves upon the edge of a deep ravine, down the precipitous side of which we had to descend by a rocky road no better than a sheep-path. After a little difficulty, but no evil, we reached the wooded bottom of the dell, through which were flowing the rapid waters of the Hasbani, now beginning to swell a little, as if there had been rain farther up, or as if the snows of the two Lebanons had begun to melt. As there was no bridge, we had to ford it as best we could. At some places it looked much too rapid, and at others too deep for such a purpose. The ford, however, was pointed out by the native of Banias, who had undertaken to be our guide; and I have seen worse fords in Scotland than this proved to be. In we plunged, and without much difficulty crossed. Our baggage-mules, however, did not find it

* Lands of the Bible, vol. ii. p. 173.

ABIL.

so easy, and the passage of the commissariat across the stream was watched by us with considerable interest from the shore. The bed of the stream was rough, not without holes; and the rush of water against the limbs of the heavy laden mule threatened to throw him over at every step. From side to side the baggage swayed, sometimes touching the surface. Slowly did the cautious creature lift and plant his steps. Eagerly did the driver cheer him on with his voice. Gradually the stream grew shallower, the rapids were passed, and the western bank was ascended, not without some thankfulness on our parts, as there was small pleasure in the prospect of having beds, tents, and provisions drenched in water, if not carried down the stream, and perhaps floated into the lake of el-Huleh.

Up the hill on the opposite side we pushed, passing Abil, a village upon an apparently artificial mound, the ancient Abel of Scripture (2 Sam. xx. 14, 1 5, 18; 2 Kings xv. 29), which lay near to Beth-Maachah.* It was to Abel that Sheba, the son of Bichri, the Benjamite, fled in his rebellion against David, pursued by Joab and the men of Judah. It was here that the wise woman of the city persuaded the citizens not to resist, but to” cut off the head of Sheba and cast it out to

* In 2 Kings xv. 29, our version gives A lei-Beth- Maachah as one word: from which some have concluded that Abel and Beth-Maachah were the same. But the Hebrew may mean “Abel of Beth-Maachah,” as in 2 Sara. xx. 15; or the list may run thus — He fl took Ijon, and Abel, Beoh-Maachah, and Janoah. and Ke lesh,” &c.

Joab.“* It was here that they were wont to speak in old time, saying, — “They shall surely ask counsel at Abel, and so they ended the matter” (2 Sam. xx. 1 8).-f*

But now we have to pass down again into another glen, not quite so steep and rugged as the former. It is the glen of the Derdavah, a smaller stream than the Hasbany; barer, perhaps, also, but still wild and beautiful. About a mile up we saw some fine waterfalls, where the Derdarah was making its way down to us over rocks of no inconsiderable height, through a narrow ravine. A little more wood wrould greatly have added to their beauty. Was it from these cascades that the city Abel-Maim 3 the house of waters, took its name? (2 Chron. xvi. 4) +

The day was not brightening; the clouds were drawing closer to each other, and on the hill-tops mists were gathering, as if brought up by the west wind from the sea. Eight before us, at the distance apparently of four or five miles, rose a height, round whose top a special mist-wreath seemed to have gathered. A breeze swept past and drew the curtain aside, and we saw,

* It is curious to notice that Sheba, though a Benjaniite, was “a man of Mount Ephraim” (2 Sam. xx. 21).

+ The expression “a mother in Israel,” used in this passage, has been generally referred to the wise woman herself. But may it not refer to the city, which lay here as a mother with her daughters around her. Abel was evidently an ancient and a great city. It is poor enough now.

£ Are Abel, Abel-Beth-Maachah, and Abel-Main, the same, as some think; or are they not distinct, though all of them having connection with Abel, and that with some great scene of mourning once witnessed here 1

KULAT ESH-SHUKIF.

girt with a grey mantle of mist, the old castle of Esh-Shukif (Kulat esh-Shukii), perched upon the peak, leaning over an enormous precipice. As we neared it, the view shifted its lights and shadows every five minutes; the mist and the sunshine alternating, and giving us the finest specimens of “dissolving views” that we had seen. The region is mountainous in the extreme, but not bare. Wood, grass, and flowers, meet us in all directions; the damp of the morning seems to bring out their odours; and as we passed along, the fragrance was refreshing, — all the more because it was “the smell of Lebanon” (Cant. iv. 1 1; Hos. xiv. 6). For this is. the region of Lebanon, and these heights over which we are moving, are the lower hills which undulate between the two great ranges of that well-known chain. We started in the morning from the foot of Anti-Libanus, and we were now on our way to Libanus (or Lebanon). It is on one of the southern heights of the latter that the Kulat above referred to is placed. We soon approached this, and as the noon now shone out more brightly, we had a full view of the whole, first from the opposite height (where our photographers staid behind to do their work), and then from the gradual slope by which we went down into the ravine below. The castle is extensive, stretching over a considerable portion of the rocky height. It did not look ruinous, though it must now be upwards of seven hundred years old. The height of the great perpendicular rock-wail on which it stands is at least fifteen hundred feet. I never saw a more imposing structure. Whether as a watch-tower or as a castle, it is a place worth being noted. The fierce rush of the Leontes (Nahr Litdni) along the base of the cliff completed the grandeur of the scene.

For a considerable distance here the Leontes makes its way through like ravines. It seemed as if this part of Lebanon had been cleft right along the ridge, and a passage made for the old river; which pursues its wild way, with noisy haste, for many a mile, through these almost inaccessible ravines.

After descending almost to the river, we turned gently to the right, and took our way for some distance along the rugged slope which falls down to the stream. The road was distinct enough, but as rough as can be conceived, and allowing only one abreast, as is indeed the case with most of the roads of Syria. We met two mounted Druses on the way. saluting them civilly of course, but passing them with difficulty, on account of the narrowness of the path. All this time the precipice, with its castled summit, was at our left, far above our heads, with only the river between. A wild path, indeed; and in the twilight gloomy enough; yet how truly did it represent Lebanon!

We soon reached the bridge, a little way up the stream. It is old, and looks rather crazy; yet it is solidly built, and perhaps was more elegant in earlier days, though it could not look more picturesque than it does now.

NABUTIYAH.

We now ascended the hill on the western bank of the river. The road is steeper than on the other side, and so entirely unmarked, that our men were several times at a loss as to the way, for our guide had been dismissed before we crossed the bridge. As we passed up the wild steep, we got a view of the Castle on its western side. It was now almost behind us, and did not look so romantic as before, the gradual slope of the hill taking off the boldness of the site.

Passing Tibnin, we came about half-past three to a village on the left, on a hill-slope, Nabutiyah el-foka, that is “Nabutiyah the upper,” We should gladly have halted here, as the day had again quite overcast, and the rain was pouring down; but our dragoman wished to proceed a little farther to Nabutiyah el-tahta, that is “Nabutiyah the lower,”’ On we went in the rain for a mile and a half, when we reached the last-named village at four o’clock, and got ourselves safely lodged in one of the houses of the fellahm, where we were soon surrounded with the natives, all most civil, but rather troublesome. They stood at windows, in which, of course, there was no glass, but enly wooden shutters; they gathered round the door; they crowded into the house; but they did not in any other way annoy us. They are Christians of the Greek Church, and look remarkably clean and bright. The children greatly attracted us, both by their pleasant manners and their comeliness. They were shy at first, but soon became our friends, taking hold of our hands, and kissing them. The priest came in and seated himself on one of the camp-stools; but not being able to communicate with us, he soon went away; not, however, till he had serutinised most minutely ourselves and all that belonged to us.

The latter part of our journey to-day has lain through a considerable amount of cultivation, which would have been seen to better effect had it not been for the rain. We observed several new houses by the way, giving us to understand that the district is a thriving one. The village in which we are, looks new in great part; and the house in which we were, though dingy in the inside and admitting the rain in large drops through its clay-plastered roof, was evidently a new one.

The road over which we had passed to-day was more continuously mountainous than any we had seen. It brought us over, I know not how many, of the spurs and offshoots of Lebanon. Yet, rugged as it is, it must have been one of the great roads between Banias and Sidon. Even in the very earliest days of Israelitish history, there was a connection between these two places, as is implied in the history ox the Danites (Judges xviii. 7, 28). Of the inhabitants of Laish, it is said that “they dwelt careless, after the manner of the Zidonians.” It is intimated, also, that though they were afar from the Zidonians,” and their city “far from Zidon,” yet it would have been from Zidon that help was to have been expected against enemies. In what way they were connected with Zidon, we do not know; and it would be interesting to discover why it

G £

PHCEXICIAN PLAIN.

was to Zidon that they should have looked, and not to Tyre, seeing this latter city lay nearer, and the road to it was not so entirely mountainous. Possibly Laish was older than Tyre, and therefore drawn to Zidon by a contemporary antiquity. In the passage just cited, however, it is intimated that the communication between Laish and Zidon was a very uncertain one, which, from the nature of the intermediate region, we could well imagine it to be.

Nabuteyah el Tahta, March 20. — The rain still continues; but we set off about nine, after a not very comfortable night. The road all forenoon was very rugged; not so mountainous, perhaps, as yesterday; for we are on the lower spurs of Lebanon, but still quite rugged enough to make it troublesome. We crossed I know not how many hills and ravines, with not a yard of level road at any part. At twelve, the “great sea” burst on our view from one of the heights. How7 blue and beautiful, stretching away interminably to the far west! At two, we came down into the plain, the great plain of Phoenicia, about three or four miles south of Zidon, which city we now see for the first time, and which, even from this distance, looks beautiful, whether viewed in connection with the sea or the land.

As we were riding along the road, not far from the shore, a fierce thunder-storm broke over us, which compelled us to seek shelter for a little in a small building on the right, in front of which there was a porch, under which we halted, without dismounting. We arrived at Sidon, now Said a, a little after three, and went to the French Khan, an immense building, with a large square in the middle, and a gallery running round on all sides. Our rooms were not clean, and our wet condition made them, perhaps, look drearier than they really were.

Mr Graham and I afterwards proceeded to the house of Mr Thomson, the American missionary, who received us most kindly, and gave us a great deal of interesting information on the localities through which we had passed. He has been upwards of twenty years in Palestine, knows it well, and speaks Arabic as his native tongue.

The rain ceased for a little, and we took advantage of this to visit the old castle. It is still used as a kind of fort, though ruinous, and” stands on a flat piece of rock in the sea. A bridge connects it with the town. We spent more than an hour here, not so much struck with the castle itself, as with the view around which it afforded us. On all sides, how lovely is this city! What a contrast to such a town as Alexandria! The sea on the one side; then the town itself, fringed with trees of every kind, — the mulberry, the tarfa, the orange, and the fig; then the rich plain, sloping up gently to the east; then Lebanon, looking down over all, — Lebanon, now receiving the last rays of the fitful sun upon its grey rocks and white snows. The beauty of Sidon is far beyond what I had been led to expect.

Sidon, March 21. — The rain was upon us down here in the plain, but snow has been up yonder on Lebanon;

SAREPTA.

for the mountains look decidedly whiter than on the previous day. We started at half-past ten. The bazaars here, through which we passed on our way out, were cleaner and better furnished that in most of the places where we had been. Indeed, ‘the whole town has a superior air. We rode southward along the shore, part of our road being the same as that by which we had come yesterday. Wind and rain assailed us bitterly for an hour. Still we got a good view of the broad and fruitful plain that lies between the hills and the sea; a plain in ancient days so amazingly cultivated, and so completely studded with cities and villas, as to appear for miles one great continuous city, fringed and interspersed with gardens of every kind. Ruins lay around all the way.

About half-past twelve we came to large ruins on the shore, with a corresponding village on the height to the east. This was Sarafend, the ancient Sarepta.* These loose stones carried us back to Elijah and the widow. I picked up a piece of marble as a memorial. Sarepta was not a village, as we generally suppose; it was a town or city; for all the places along this coast were in ancient days cities; so great was the wealth flowing in upon Phoenicia from the innumerable regions with which it maintained commerce. As we passed on, I observed remains of splendid mosaic pave-

* Sarepta has thus (probably for safety) gone up from the plain to the hill; adding another to the numerous towos in Syria built on hills. One might almost say that more than half the inhabitants of Palestine live on hills. ments, — relics of buried grandeur. The mosaic floors of these merchant-villas were now the traveller’s highway! How fearfully has God avenged upon these cities, the pride, the love of pleasure, the self-deification, which he denounced on them by his prophets. It would seem as if love of ease, pleasure, luxury, lasciviousness, were the special sins of merchant-cities. Besides these mosaics, we passed pillars and carved work in all directions, strewing the road like pebbles or fallen leaves. We seemed for miles to be treading the graveyard of cities.

Before two o’clock we came in sight of Tyre, stretching out into the sea, As we came nearer, we saw the huge waves, driven up by the strong west wind, dashing against its rocks, and greatly increasing the beauty of the scene. Pillars of granite and marble lie in fragments along the shore. About four miles from Tyre, we crossed the Leontes by a rude stone bridge, and reached Tyre at four,. having ridden sharply during the latter part of our journey The road between Sidon and Tyre is reckoned eight hours; we completed it in little more than six.

The rain had for some time ceased, so we set out for a walk along the shore, to the south. Pillars of red granite, some almost entire, some in small fragments, lie scattered on the sand and in the sea. It was strange to see the waves washing, not over rocks, but finely polished pillars! At one of these granite fragments, I halted and bathed. Fishermen passed us with their

A COAST OF RUINS.

nets; but I saw none spread out to dry. We afterwards surveyed the city, — its broken arches, spanning part of the harbour, its innumerable columns wherever the eye turns, its mounds of ruin outside, with the various fragments of ancient splendour which have been so often described. It is not so beautiful as Sidon, nor surrounded with so much verdure and fruitfulness. A few palms grew inside, but outside there were none. What melancholy memories came up over that old sea, which is washing in upon us, and over which had flocked to this great ocean-market the ships of a hundred shores!

The road between Sidon and Tyre is, as I have noticed, strewed with half-buried ruins. Every mile or so we come upon fragments of pillars, hewn stones, heaps of debris, patches of mosaic, and the evident foundation of something more than villas or villages. It seems as if the whole of this eastern sea-plain had been for twenty or thirty miles, at least, a forest of cities, the suburbs of Tyre, and rivalling that city in splendour. Nestling between the sea and Lebanon, or sometimes climbing the lower slopes of that range, spreading out their porticoes of red granite, and their towers of white marble, to each day’s setting sun, what a picture must there cities have been of security, and wealth, and power, and grandeur! But all these have gone, with the great city itself. “The SUBURBS shall shake at the sound of the cry of the pilots,” (Ezek. xxvii. 28). They as well as she have been made “like the top of a rock,” places “to spread nets upon,” (Ezek. xxvi. 14?). Here and there some relic of their greatness shews itself above the ground, but to one looking along the plain, nothing appears but a great sand-swept level, broken by rocks and hillocks; but unrelieved by the dwellings of men.

... The sands are here, But not the foot-prints. Would’st thou trace them now? A thousand tides and storms have dashed them out, Winds brushed them and waves worn them, and, o’er all, The heavy foot of time, who plods the shore, Replenishing his sand-glass, trodden down Their vestiges and mine.

These splendid suburban cities were, I suspect, what the prophet refers to when predicting Nebuchadnezzar’s invasion of this region; he paints the ruin not only of Tyre, but of her “daughters,” “Her DAUGHTERS which are IN the field shall be slain by the sword,” “He shall slay with the sword thy daughters in the field, and he shall make a fort against thee,” (Ezek. xxvi. 6, 8). The expression “daughters,” for villages or towns dependent on a central city, is, as wre have seen elsewhere, a common one in Scripture; and as we have no doubt as to the meaning of “Gaza and her daughters,” “Bethel and her daughters” (1 Chron. vii. 28), we need to have as little doubt as to the meaning of Tyre and “her daughters.”

Tyre, Saturday, March 22. — At half-past six I went to walk on the roof of the house, which commands a wide view on all sides. The morning was clear but

LADDER OF TYRE.

rather chill, and during the night there had been rain. The sea spread out nobly to the west, while the southern ridges of Lebanon rose on the east, a broad, fruitful sea-plain, with slopes striking up to the hills, lying between.

A little after ten we started for Acco or Acre, under bright sunshine, along the sands. We still see the fragments of granite and marble, over which the sea is flinging its foam, for the surf is coming in heavily, the memorials of yesterday’s storm. Lebanon, with its ridges of snow, still towers to the left. We passed some ancient reservoirs, which the Pasha is repairing. We soon reached the Has el-Abyad or “white promontory,” anciently known as the ladder of Tyre. A bold flight of steps carries you up the slope, winding round to the other side. These steps are broad and well-cut in the solid rock, and are, I suppose, coeval with Tyre itself. The promontory in which they are hewn dips right into the sea; and as we stood upon it, and marked the distant blue of the sea, and the nearer white of the wave as it broke upon the rocks far beneath us, we thought that we had not seen many things more truly magnificent.

Descending on the southern side, we pushed along the shore, again ascending and descending an eminence that came down from the heights to the east. After this we came to Ez-Zih, the ancient Ecdippa, and the more ancient Achzib. It lay close upon our right, between us and the sea, beautifully planted on a gentle eminence. All round it, landwards, is an undulating plain, bright with flowers and verdure, through which we rode along.

The evening was calm and fair; the sun was going down over the sea in cloudy brilliance; and the quiet of the sunset reminded us (as often such sunsets had done at home) that “the Sabbath was drawing on,”

About two miles from Acco, we saw the great aqueduct, by which water comes into the city from the adjoining heights. It is a noble piece of workmanship, extending for, I daresay, two miles; its tall, graceful arches, adding greatly to the beauty of the scene. We seemed, as we got nearer the city, to be passing through a region of gardens and orchards. But the most striking object was the cypress, which seems to be cultivated here to a greater extent than we had seen it elsewhere. These trees were generally in long rows, of great height but very slender, and so dark in their green that you would suppose them in the distance to be quite black. We reached Acco about half-past five. We took up our abode in the Latin Convent, and were tolerably comfortable, though the rooms were bare and ill-furnished. We had outridden our baggage, so that when we arrived we had no provisions, and the monks could give us nothing but eggs and coffee, of which we partook thankfully.

In the evening the English Consul, Mr Finzi, called on us, and was very kind. He brought us the news that the regiment of JBashi-bazooks which had been encamped within a mile of the city, had this morning deserted, and marching off with their horses and arms, were scouring the country for plunder. We were thank-ACCO.

ful that they had not come across our path; and no less so that our journey was so ordered as to have brought us here at this time, and not left us at Tiberias or its neighbourhood; for the plunderers are said to have gone in that direction, and are perhaps by this time robbing Kana-el- J alii or Nazareth, or Tiberias itself.*

A ceo, Sabbath, March 23. — The greater part of the day was spent upon the “housetop,” Besides the inducement of the fresh air, the view was noble, and the quiet most invigorating. But the bay has been so often described that a mere line of notice here is sufficient. Many of the public buildings of the town bear traces of the last siege. The marks of shell and ball are visible all around. This is the ancient Acco, out of which the Asherites could not drive the inhabitants (Judges i. 31). It is the Ptolemais of later days, to which Paul went from Tyre to salute the brethren, and “abode there one day” (Acts xxi. 7). We had worship at twelve in one of our rooms.

Acco, Monday, March 24. — We started after breakfast along the bay of Haifa. Part of the way was by the margin of “that ancient river, the river of Kishon,” now el-Mukutta. Once it had swept away the hosts of Sisera; at this time it had not water enough to enable it to force a passage to the sea. It seemed to be quite absorbed in the sands of a long bank which ran between

* We heard afterwards that, after robbing some villages in Galilee, they had returned in straggling parties and submitted themselves. They were under English officers. I suppose they are long ere this disbanded. it and the shore. Continuing our sunny ride along the sands, we reached Haifa at eleven, and learning that the steamer for Jaffa was expected here next day, we halted, as some of us were minded to sail, not to ride, to Jaffa. Leaving our men to pitch our tents we ascended Carmel. The road slopes gently up along the side of the hill amid olives and other trees, and in about twenty minutes we were on the top, gazing round us upon sea, and plain, and mountain. Having visited the convent, we took our way down the hill; and on our arrival at our encampment we discovered one of our tents lying prostrate. A hail-blast, which we had observed while in the convent, had swept along the base of the hill, and our tent-pole, which had stood many a desert-blast, snapped in two. This, however, could easily be put to rights, so we did not trouble ourselves about it, but having bathed and dined, we spent the twilight in a saunter along the sea-beach gathering shells.

Bay of Carmel, March 25. — Last night the storm was terrific, and how our tents withstood it I know not. The thunder rolling over Carmel, and the lightning every five minutes flashing through our canvas, kept us awake most of the night. All forenoon, at intervals, this was renewed, with wind, and rain, and hail. The thunder seemed as if first issuing out of Carmel; then after lingering a moment there, it took its way over the hills of Galilee; then going northward, it coursed along the peaks of Lebanon to Tyre and Sidon, from which it swept over the great ocean, which blackened and rose

SAIL TO JAFFA.

beneath the bursting tempest-blast. We sat in our tents gazing and listening. We should not have liked to miss the scene. It is not every day that one sees a thunder-storm over Carmel.

In the afternoon we embarked in the Austrian steamer for Alexandria, with no less than six hundred Greek pilgrims, from Cyprus and other places, bound for Jerusalem. We did not sail till next day, as the high sea running upon the coast would have prevented the captain from landing his pilgrims at Jaffa. It was not till Thursday morning that we found ourselves anchored before Jaffa. We went ashore and wandered for some hours amid its palms and orange-groves, breathing the delicious fragrance that filled the air. Towards evening we embarked, and on Saturday morning sailed into the harbour of Alexandria.

We have made a circuit of the land and seen its hills and vales; its plains and table-lands; its streams and lakes; its fields and forests; its cities and villages; its poverty and its abundance; its beauty and its desolation. It is not now what it once was, nor what it is yet to be. The marks of exhaustion, neglect, down-treading, and divine judgment are everywhere. South and north, from Simeon to Naphtali, the scene is the same.

The least of the towns of Galilee contained, in former ages, fifteen thousand people, according to Josephus.* Now all of them together would not yield that number, and Jerusalem itself does not exceed it. The whole land has been emptied, and its inhabitants “slung out” to the ends of the earth. Its cities have shrunk into towns, its towns have become low mounds of rubbish, and its villages cannot now be distinguished from the fields out of which they rose, or the rocks to which they clung. The old forts, too, have gone to pieces; or where they may be said still to subsist, they present, with a few exceptions, mere shattered walls. Yet often when the city or the tower has perished, the name has survived, like the fragments of an epitaph upon a worn or broken headstone.

The lake of Gennesareth still spreads itself out beneath as bright a sun as ever, but the living crowds that moved along its rocky margin are no longer there. The hills of Gilead still cast their shadows over it, and Hermon, in the northern distance, still keeps watch above it, and Tabor still peeps through the intervening hollows to catch a glimpse of its beauty, and Jordan still fills it with the melted snows of Lebanon; but in other respects the change between the present and the past is as marked as it is sad.

The old tenants of the land are gone, and though the

* Those who think that Josephus is exaggerating, should read the description given by Schiller of the condition of the Netherlands upwards of 200 years ago. Within that narrow territory there were “350 cities, alive with industry and pleasure; 6,300 market-towns of a large size; smaller villages, farm?-, and castles innumerable.” — Revolt of the Netherlands, B. 1

WASTE PLACES.

new occupants are Easterns not Westerns, they are but remotely kindred to the people whose soil they possess. Not by inheritance certainly has the land become theirs. The old language, too, has passed away, though perhaps the new has greater affinity to the old, than during the centuries before or after Christ, when the Greek tongue spread itself over the country, especially in Galilee.* For if the Chaldee and Syriac are daughters of the Hebrew, the Arabic, which is the offspring of these two former, is only removed by one or two degrees from the old language of Abraham and Moses.

The land too lies waste. Not only money and skill, but men are awanting to till it. It has a rich soil, as the thistles of Esdraelon, no less than the gardens of Urtass, tell. But there are no hands to drive the plough through its mould; and even though there were, the want of security for property would deter men from risking anything upon its cultivation. It “lies desolate, and keeps its Sabbaths,” (Lev. xxvi. 34). The traveller through Palestine sees that there are “few men left,” (Isa xxiv. 6). The- soil, left to itself, has gradually been washed down, and the fields have become bare and rocky. Verdure has become scanty, and the summits

* Gadara and Hippos had become Greek cities; Strabo, b. xvi p. 759, (Casaubou’s edition). So had Bethshan, Tyre, Sidon, Dor, Ashkelon, Gaza, and many others; Hug’s In trod, to the N. T., Part ii. ch. i. sect. 10. See that curious little work Dominici Diodati de Christo Grsece loquente exercitatio; qua ostenditur Grsccam sive Hellenisticam linguam cum Judreis omnibus turn ipsi adeo Christo et Apostolis nativam ac ver. uaculam fuisse. Naples. 1767. of the hills are bald, and their shoulders seem as if clothed in sacKcloth. The olive still clings to height and hollow (type of Israel’s predicted fruitfulness, Rom. xi. 17), but the palm has vanished.* The tree of gladness and triumph has folded up its leaves, and waits for happier days. In J erusalem there are but three stunted palms, none worthy to be the tree under which “Judaea Capta” might sit down to mourn her desolation. The few that still wave at Jenin, Tiberias, Nablus, and along the sea-coast to Jaffa, are but poor memorials of the past.

It bears no trace of Israel’s land. The heel of the Gentile has broken all its ancient monuments to pieces, save what could not be effaced, the sea, the mountain, the rock, the valley, the river, the lake. But the minaret of each village you pass, tells you that the land is “trodden down of the Gentiles.” Only four Jewish cities remain, Jerusalem, Hebron, Tiberias, Safet, and in these Israel has but a remnant. The 480 synagogues of Jerusalem, and the 400 synagogues of Bether,t with the multitudes of similar sanctuaries throughout the land, are no more. The Christian churches have fallen

* The olives are fine trees, much, more so than in the south of France. They do not seem to have deteriorated. Olives and thistles grow luxuriantly. One may know what the soil can bear by the olives of Beit-jalah and the thistles of Esclraelon,

t See the statements on this point, from Lightfoot and others, collected by Bingham in his Antiquities, vol. ii. p. 304. Goodwin states the number briefly; Carpsov, his annotator more fully. Moses and Aaron, b. ii. ch. 2, sect. 3.

HOW LONG!

into ruin, — churches that once crowded the land so thickly, that the condition imposed by the Saracen conqueror, “that the Christians should not be allowed to build new churches,” was a benefit not a hardship.

The land belongs to Israel by an entail that has not been cancelled. Yet at present he has no possession here. Not only does the Eastern Gentile rule and oppress; but the Western Gentile is laying his hand upon the soil. The Greek and Latin churches are very largely buying up the land, as if to secure it against Israel’s claim. How long their lease will be, is not for us to determine. We merely notice the fact, as an indication of how entirely at present the country has passed out of Israel’s hands. Israel does not now “dwell in safety;” the “fountain of J acob” does not pour itself out “upon a land of corn and wine,” (Deut. xxxiii. 28). The “fountain of Israel” (Psa. lxviii. 26) is dried up, and the channels of its endless streams throughout the land are utterly empty.

Go where you will, death reigns, for the” life from the dead ’ (Rom. xi. 15) has not yet come. Salem, the city of the living, is now but the tomb of the dead. As is the centre, so are the extremities; as is Jerusalem, so are Beersheba and Sidon. Place your finger anywhere, on body or on limb, you feel no throb of life. Pass round and through the land, you find it still the same. There is no pulse in any of its veins, for the great heart that sent these pulses out has long since ceased to beat.