John Philip Newman

Road to Jericho.—?Delay.—?Caravan.—?Robbers.—?Ladies.—?Scenery.—?Waters of Enshemesh.—?Wilderness of Judea.—?Scene of Christ’s Temptation.—?Thieves of Jericho.—?Parable of the Good Samaritan.—?Brook Cherith.—?Wild Region.—?Elijah fed by the Ravens.—?First View of the Plain of the Jordan.—?Evening at Jericho.—?Ruins of the ancient City.—?Historical Events.—?Fountain of Elisha.—?’Ain DÛk.—?Castle of Doch.—?Jericho of the New Testament.—?Scene of Herod’s Death.—?Town of Riha.—?Site of Gilgal.—?Great Events.—?Sunrise on the Plain of Jericho.—?Richness of the Plain.—?Quarantania.—?Description of Turkish Soldiers.—?The Ride.—?Banks of the Jordan.—?Sources of the Sacred River.—?The ten Fountains.—?The three Lakes.—?Descent and Sinuosities of the River.—?Glen through which it flows.—?Flowers and Trees on its Banks.—?Birds in its Shrubbery and Beasts in its Thickets.—?Its Color.—?Depth.—?Rapidity.—?Twenty-seven Rapids.—?Falls.—?Islands in the River.—?Roman Bridges.—?Brook Jabbok.—?Jacob and the Angel.—?War Scenes.—?Entrance of the Jordan into the Dead Sea.—?Meaning of Jordan.—?Pilgrim’s Ford.—?Charming Scenery.—?Mountains of Moab.—?Vision of Balaam.—?Vision of Moses.—?His Death.—?Crossing of the Jordan by the Israelites.—?Probable Place.—?Overflowing of the River.—?Causes.—?Translation of Elijah.—?Cure of Naaman.—?Baptismal Stations of John the Baptist.—?Bethabara.—?Ænon.—?Scene of Christ’s Baptism here.—?The Argument for it.—?Journey to the Dead Sea.—?Robbers.—?Features of the Sea.—?Delightful Bath.—?Dimensions of the Sea.—?Its Bed coeval with the Upper and Lower Valleys.—?Sea larger than formerly.—?No Outlet.—?Its Waters evaporate.—?Peninsula.—?Island.—?Surrounding Mountains.—?Hot Springs of Callirrhoe.—?Sublime Chasm.—?Castle of Machaerus.—?Wild Glen.—?River Arnon.—?Scenery.—?City of Kerak.—?Ruins of Zoar.—?Location of Sodom.—?Manner of its Destruction.—?Mountain of Salt, cause of the saltness of the Sea.—?Lot’s Wife.—?Ruins of Masada.—?Besieged by Flavius Silva.—?Tragical Death of 600 Sicarii, their Wives and Children.—?Fountain of the Kid.—?David and Saul.—?Maon.—?The Home of Abigail.—?Journey to Bethlehem.—?Wilderness of Engedi.—?ANight with the Monks of MÂr SÂba.—?The Monastery.—?Bethlehem.—?Its Names.—?Antiquity.—?History.—?Convent of the Franciscans.—?The Stable of the Nativity.—?Present Condition.—?Pictures.—?The Manger.—?Tomb of St.Paula.—?Cell of St.Jerome.—?Basilica of St.Helena.—?Evidence that this is the Birthplace of Christ.—?Stable in a House.—?Situation of Bethlehem.—?Population.—?Beautiful Women.—?Herodium.—?Tomb of Herod the Great.—?Cave of Adullam.—?Hiding-place of David.—?Its Wonders.

The road from Jerusalem to Jericho leads from St.Stephen’s Gate down the steep sides of Moriah, across the Valley of the Kidron, over the southwestern shoulder of Olivet, near the village of Bethany, through the wilderness of Judea, and, descending the Mountain of Quarantania, terminates on the great Plain of Jordan. It is another illustration of the accuracy of the sacred writers in their topographical allusions, and another proof that only those who were familiar with the land—who had traversed its highways and noted its natural features, could have written descriptions so minute, and, withal, so incidental. In his parable of the “Good Samaritan,” the Savior casually states, “A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho;” which not only indicates the relative position of the latter place to the former, but also the descent of nearly 4000 feet from the Jewish capital to the city of Herod the Great. To the careful and candid observer, such internal evidence of the Bible is ever forcing itself upon his attention, and calling forth expressions of wonder and admiration for the truth-telling chroniclers of our Lord’s life and ministry.

The “latter rains” had delayed our departure for the Jordan, and a farther delay had been caused by the high March winds, which had so dried the surface of the earth, and had filled the air with dust to such an extent, that for the space of a whole day the Mount of Olives was invisible even to one standing upon the wall of the city. But the charms of a Syrian spring morning soon returned, and at an early hour we were in the saddle, waiting impatiently for the caravan to rendezvous at the Garden of Gethsemane. It was a day peculiar to the Promised Land, for the blandness of the sky and the softness of the air. The foliage on shrub and tree wore every shade of green, and the lovely flowers that covered vale and hill-side recalled the beautiful lines of Shelley:

“And the spring arose on the garden fair,

Like the spirit of love felt every where;

And each flower and herb on earth’s dark breast

Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.”

Our dragoman had agreed to furnish horses, tents, board, and military escort for the journey at six dollars a day per capita. The escort is indispensable, for he who goes down to Jericho without a guard “falls among thieves,” and, though it is only a question of time when the traveler is robbed, whether prior to the tour or afterward, yet, for the sake of convenience, the former is preferable. He is robbed before the journey by the government, which insists that every pilgrim must pay for its protection; he is robbed on the journey by the organized banditti of the GhÔr, whose depredations the government winks at, if it does not connive with the thieves themselves.

It was ten o’clockA.M. when the caravan moved. Happily for the social amenities their society afforded and the smiles of joy their presence never failed to impart, we were joined by the talented and amiable wife and daughter of a distinguished New Yorker,245 who was making the tour of Palestine. Mounted on their swift Arabian horses, and tilting their long burnished spears, the Arab guard led the way, followed by the ladies on gentler horses, while the heavy-laden mules, carrying tents, baggage, and cuisine, brought up the rear. On our right lay the Valley of Jehoshaphat, with its monumental tombs; on our left were the terraced slopes of Olivet, green with verdure and bright with flowers; while before us rose the rugged Hill of Offense. Crossing the shoulder of the Mount of Olives, the path sweeps abruptly to the east, and, after winding round the head of the small valley that furrows the hill-side, descends eastward past the place where the Redeemer paused to weep over Jerusalem, and just beyond skirts the town of Bethany. Descending between rough and barren hills, we entered a rocky glen, and in half an hour came to the fountain of El-Haud, the “waters of Enshemesh,”246 marking the boundary-line between Judah and Benjamin. It is the halting-place of caravans, and its cool, sweet water, flowing into a stone trough beneath a Saracenic arch, is alike refreshing to man and beast in a region so waste and arid. Continuing down the glen for more than an hour, we turned to the left, and soon began the ascent of a wild ravine, the sides of which are limestone, streaked in graceful curves with dikes of porphyry. As the farewells of cultivation, and half rebuking Nature for her general sterility, a stray flower peeped above the rocks, and a stunted tree stood in silent desolation on the hill above. Gradually ascending over chalky hills, our path lay through the bleak Wilderness of Judea. At noon we reached the summit of the central ridge between Enshemesh and Jericho. Neither pen can describe nor pencil sketch the forbidding aspect of this dreary spot. The hills are broken into a thousand rugged, barren peaks, and in color are a mixture of yellow and of a dull red and white. The intervening valleys are dry and stony, and on all that blighted soil there is neither shrub, flower, blade of grass, nor any living thing to relieve the dreariness of the accursed scene. Fit abode for the devil and his angels, the counterpart of Pandemonium, it was hither the Spirit led the suffering Son of God to encounter the Evil One.247

For twenty centuries this region has borne a thievish character, and the lapse of time has not changed its reputation. As in the days of our Lord, it is still infested with robbers, who, from their undiscovered dens, or from behind some craggy bluff or beetling cliff, level their long gun at the unwary traveler. Suggested by the dangers of the route, the desolation of the spot, and the remains of an ancient caravansary, tradition has identified it as the scene of the parable of the “Good Samaritan.” Hard by the roadside are broken walls, fragments of an arch, and deep vaults, said to mark the site of that inn to which the “certain man was brought who went down to Jericho and fell among thieves.”248

Resuming our journey, we began rapidly to ascend, and soon came upon portions of an old Roman road dating back to the reign of Herod the Great. Winding downward amid chalky hills and through narrow rocky defiles, we at length reached the brow of that sublime gorge through which the brook Cherith flows. Like a silver thread, the stream is seen flowing between banks bright with oleanders. It is here Elijah was fed by the ravens while the famine raged in Palestine. Rising like massive walls five hundred feet high on either side, the mountains cast their deep shadows into the profound chasm below. In their precipitous sides the anchorites have burrowed their solitary cells, and on the loftier crags the Syrian eagle builds his eyrie. Increased by the sombre foliage of the stunted shrubbery clinging to the rocks, there is a solemn grandeur in this mountain gorge, reflecting the sturdy character and rugged life of the great prophet of Tishbeh. Skirting the very verge of the cliff, the winding path descends five hundred feet to the bottom of the glen, where the white rocks reflect the heat like the blast of a furnace. Bearing the Arabic name of El-Kelt, we soon reached the verdant banks of the prophetic brook. The waters are clear, cool, and sweet, but in early autumn, as in the time of Elijah, the stream becomes dry, and as then, so now, the black-winged raven croaks in its flight over the deep ravine.249 The Cherith flows through the Valley of Achor over the Plain of Jericho, and, meandering as it advances, is lost amid the shrubbery surrounding the castle of RÎha. Refreshed by its delicious waters, we ascended the northern bank of the streamlet, and were soon in the Vale of Achor, where Achan was stoned to death.250

RAVEN.

Like the enchantment of a mirage, the Plains of the Jordan, green and well-watered, now burst upon our view, and beyond appeared the trans-Jordanic mountains. Following the sinuous banks of the Kelt, we reached the foot of the descent late in the afternoon, and, turning northward, pitched our tents near the Fountain of Elisha. The sun had gone down behind Mizpeh and Gibeon; the shadows of Quarantania lay darkly on the plain; the bleating flocks on the distant hill-side had gathered round the shepherd of the GhÔr; the stars came out one by one from their empyrean abode, and we lay down to slumber amid the ruins of ancient Jericho.

Two cities, neither identical in site nor history, have borne the name of Jericho—one belonging to the age of the prophets, the other founded by Herod the Great and visited by our Lord. The remains of the former consist of six mounds of rubbish and two noble fountains, located half a mile from the foot of the mountain pass. These mounds vary in height from ten to forty feet, and in like proportions in their circumference. Around their bases and on their sides and summits are the dÉbris of old buildings, such as heaps of hewn stone and fragments of pottery, and within them are the entombed dwellings and palaces of the ancient city, remaining for future excavations to uncover. Situated on this magnificent plain, the walls and towers of the older Jericho attracted the attention of the Israelites, who from the mountains on the other side of the Jordan looked down with delight upon this, the first city of Canaan which they had seen.251 Hither came the spies to “search out the country;” here lived the friendly Rahab, who secreted the two Israelites under the “stalks of flax which she had laid in order upon the roof;” to the west are the mountains whither she sent them to elude pursuit;252 and around these mounds stood the walls which were miraculously thrown down.253 Dooming the city to perpetual destruction and infamy for the gross idolatry of the inhabitants, Joshua pronounced a curse upon him who should attempt to rebuild it, which 550 years thereafter was singularly fulfilled in the days of Ahab.254 Here the embassadors of David, whom Hanun, king of the Ammonites, so shamefully treated, were ordered to remain “till their beards were grown.”255 Subsequently to the reconstruction of the city by Hiel, it became the seat of the famous school of the prophets.256 From it Elijah and Elisha passed over the plain to the Jordan, and, crossing the river by a miracle, the former was translated, and the latter, returning to the city, reluctantly consented that fifty of the sons of the prophets should ascend the mountains of Moab to search for Elijah.257 Delighted with its pleasant situation, and desiring to make it their permanent abode, the young prophets requested Elisha to heal the fountain and restore fertility to the land; and after the miracle, the effects of which are apparent to this day, the successor of the renowned Tishbite left Jericho for Bethel.258

The fountain which the prophet healed is now called ’Ain es-SultÂn, and gushes forth from the base of a double mound. The water is cool and sweet, and, after pouring into a large semicircular reservoir, flows in random streamlets to the Jordan. Less than three miles to the northwest is the more copious fountain of ’Ain DÛk, supplied from two springs bursting out of the southern bank of Wady en-Narwaimeh. The water is conducted by an aqueduct along the base of Quarantania to sugar-mills half a mile distant from ’Ain es-SultÂn; but, as the mills are now in ruins, this fine stream performs no higher work than to water a few gardens of cucumbers in the vicinity of its source and along its course. Around these springs are strewn the remains of the celebrated Castle of Doch, in which Simon MaccabÆus was murdered by his son-in-law Ptolemy.259 Abandoning the site of the ancient city, Herod the Great founded the Jericho of the New Testament on the banks of the Cherith, a mile and a half to the south. Around it were the palm-groves and balsam-gardens which Antony presented to Cleopatra, and which the Idumean farmed of the Egyptian queen.260 Selecting it as one of his royal cities, Herod adorned it with a palace, a hippodrome, and other magnificent buildings. Here he entertained Cleopatra in a sumptuous manner, and here he terminated his life. From this palace he was borne, amid unrivaled funeral pomp, over the southern plain, and up to the wild pass of Nukb el-Kuneiterah, to be interred on the summit of Herodium, in the splendid mausoleum which he himself had constructed at great expense during his reign.261 More than thirty years after the death of this royal monster, Jericho was visited by Christ, in his frequent tours from the Land of Moab to Judea. Here resided the rich publican Zaccheus, with whom Jesus lodged; by the side of some of its thoroughfares blind Bartimeus sat, whom the compassionate Savior restored to sight; and from scenes so tender he ascended to Jerusalem, to make his triumphal entry into the Holy City.262

Not two miles to the southeast is the Arab town of RÎha. It is small and filthy, and contains a few hovels occupied by from fifty to one hundred inhabitants, who are guilty of the sins of Sodom. Within a rude court-yard is the only reservoir of the village, and near it stands a rough stone tower thirty feet square and forty high. It is the barrack of the Turkish garrison, stationed here for the protection of the government lands, for the defense of the peasants of the GhÔr, to collect the taxes imposed upon the miserable villagers, to punish offenders, and to serve as the escort of travelers en route for the Jordan and the Dead Sea. Though bearing the name of Jericho, it is more probably the site of ancient Gilgal. In view of the silence of historians on the point, it is impossible now to decide whether Gilgal was the name of a city or the designation of a tract of land, though the former is more in harmony with the scriptural account of the place. Accepting Josephus as authority, Gilgal was ten stadia, or less than a mile and a half, from Jericho, and fifty stadia, or more than six miles, from the Jordan.263 The old Tower of RÎha coincides in its location with this description, and may be regarded as indicating with sufficient accuracy the scene of so many memorable events. Few names in sacred history recall scenes more thrilling and momentous than Gilgal. Removing the twelve monumental stones from the bed of the Jordan, Joshua caused them to be placed here as the memorial of the miraculous dividing of the river;264 around them the Israelites first pitched their tents within the Promised Land;264 here they rolled away the reproach of Egypt by the renewal of the rite of circumcision;265 here they kept the Passover for the first time in Canaan;266 here Joshua saw, in a day-vision, the captain of the Lord’s host “standing over against him with his sword drawn in his hand;”267 and here the tabernacle was first set up in Palestine, where it remained till removed to Shiloh.268 Four centuries later Samuel held his court nigh unto this ruined tower, and offered sacrifices for the people then assembled.269 Here Saul of Gibeah was made King of Israel,270 and two years thereafter, upon the very spot of his coronation, he lost his kingdom by acting “foolishly.”271 After the death of Absalom the tribe of Judah assembled here to hail the return of David.272 And here, in the reign of Jehoram, Elisha healed the poisoned pot,273 restored Naaman to health, and cursed Gehazi with leprosy for his cupidity.274

The sun rose upon the Plains of Jericho after our first night’s slumber among the Arabs of the GhÔr, reflecting a pale yellow light through dense masses of mist which obscured from view the summits of the distant mountains. Ascending the loftiest spur of Quarantania, a landscape of extraordinary character lay before me. Stretching from the northern shore of the Lake of Tiberias to the southern coast of the Dead Sea, the valley of the Lower Jordan unfolded to the eye its manifold and marvelous features. Ahundred and twenty miles in length, ten in breadth, and 1312 feet below the level of the Mediterranean, it is among the greatest geological wonders of the globe. From sea to sea lofty mountains bound this great chasm on either side. Rising thousands of feet above the river terrace, the Moab range forms the eastern wall of the great valley, while the Heights of Galilee, the Mountains of Samaria, and the Hills of Judea run along its western border. Broken and barren, the sides of these mountains are furrowed with deep ravines, the frequented passes to the plains below. As far as the eye can reach, the deep, tortuous bed of the Jordan is seen along its eastern side, the turbid waters of which remain unseen till viewed from the second terrace of the stream. The broadest portion of the Jordan valley, the Plain of Jericho is not unlike in form a vast semicircle. Not ten miles long, it is less than eight broad from the roots of the western mountains to the banks of the river. On the south is the Dead Sea, on the east the Jordan, on the north are the Hills of Judea dipping into the rushing river, and on the west is Quarantania rising 2000 feet above its base. Level in the centre, but gently undulating toward the north and south, it has a soil of inexhaustible fertility; and abundantly watered by its numerous fountains, its groves of zukkÛm, its beautiful willows, its verdant meadows, its flowers and rank weeds growing luxuriantly, sustain the scriptural allusion to “Jericho, the city of palm-trees,”275 and the prophetic blessing, the promise of perennial fruitfulness.276 Such was its fertility in the “Middle Ages,” that the cultivation of the sugar-cane, with other products, yielded the nuns of Bethany an annual revenue of $25,000,277 and by the application of scientific agriculture, would again become, in the language of Josephus, a “divine region.”278

PLAIN OF JERICHO AND VIEW OF THE DEAD SEA FROMTHENORTH.

Called Quarantania to indicate the forty days during which the Son of God endured the assaults of the Evil One upon its summit, the Mount of Temptation is sterile and gloomy. The rocks are white and naked; the sides are perforated with the cells of hermits, who, retiring from society, hope by the rigors of a solitary life to obtain a better world; and the summit is crowned with a small chapel, the only monument of the Redeemer’s triumph over the Prince of Darkness. In the lower caves some wild Bedouins, with their families, had taken refuge, and near them were shepherds keeping their scanty flocks.

The sun had mounted high above the thick mists, which at an earlier hour had veiled his brightness, when Ireturned to the encampment. Weary in waiting my return, the caravan had moved, and Iwas left alone among the “thieves of Jericho.” The sight of a revolver extorted from a skulking Arab the direction the party had taken, and applying whip and spur, Idashed through the jungle on the banks of the Cherith, and in half an hour rejoined it. On reaching RÎha we obtained an additional escort. Our military guard now consisted of six soldiers—five Bedouins and their sheikh. Though wild in their exterior, there was a rude grandeur in the soldiers of RÎha. Each wore a loose garment of camel’s hair, with openings in the side for the free play of the arms, a pair of rough sandals on his otherwise naked feet, and a bright-colored shawl of Broosa silk thrown carelessly on the head, and held firmly by an elastic cord, the ends of the shawl hanging loosely down. Each carried a brace of pistols and a pair of daggers in his girdle; over the shoulder was slung a long gun, by the side dangled a Damascus blade, and in the hand was borne a lance fifteen feet long. The saddle of each was large, with the bow terminating front and rear in a pommel. The stirrups were of sheet iron, fourteen inches long and seven wide, gently curving, the lateral edges turned upward. Each was mounted on a small but swift and spirited horse, and the captain of the band was followed by a pack of hounds used for hunting gazelles. Their speed was wonderful. Proud of their splendid horsemanship and willing to excite our admiration, these rude soldiers of the Desert gave proof of their marvelous skill and daring, darting forward with the suddenness and celerity of the thunderbolt over hill, through gully, over rocks, through briers, over streams, through thickets, tilting the spear as they rode, as if to plunge it into some advancing foe.

For half an hour our path lay through a jungle of thorny shrubs, beyond which was an open plain. The day was glorious; the air balmy; the sun shone through a gauze-like haze; the leafy songsters, from their sylvan coverts along the streamlets, “caroled the melody of their song.” Our horses were fleet, our spirits buoyant, and over that noble plain we rode with unbounded delight. Both in kind and richness the soil varied as we advanced. Now it was barren and covered with a thin, smooth, nitrous crust, through which we sank as in ashes; again it was rich, bearing groves of fruit-trees, tufts of the feathery tamarisk, and beautiful oleanders, with their finger-like leaves and tulip-shaped flowers. At tenA.M. we reached the first terrace, or highest bank of the Jordan, composed of irregular hills of clay, and measuring twenty feet deep. Here our soldiers sallied forth, plunging into the dense thickets and sweeping like lightning around the hills to discover the robbers and save us from surprise. In fifteen minutes more we had descended to the second terrace, and five minutes thereafter we stood on the banks of the most sacred and renowned river in the world. Other rivers are deeper, broader, longer, but the Jordan is unsurpassed in the peculiarities of its source, the sinuosities of its channel, the glories of its history. Springing from the heart of anti-Libanus, ten crystal fountains pour their eternal waters into its descending current. From the base of snow-capped Hermon three noble fountains send their united contributions southward, feeding the River HasbÂny. Situated forty miles to the north from the head of Lake Tiberias, the first is the Fountain Fuarr, at HasbeÎya, and is the remotest perennial source of the Jordan; the second is called Sareid, located south of Kefr Shubah; the third is Luisany, near El-Ghujar. Eighteen miles to the south from HasbeÎya is the largest permanent fountain in the world, known as El-LeddÂn. Its pure waters gush forth from the foot of the green hill of El-KÂdy, and, after forming a pool, they flow southward in a broad stream, increased in its course by many rills creeping from beneath noble oaks, and at length it joins the HasbÂny seven miles north of Lake Merom. Four miles to the east from El-KÂdy is the Fountain of Banias, next in size to that of El-LeddÂn, but which, unlike the latter, originates in many rivulets, which, uniting, rush on to a confluence with the LeddÂn, and, a mile below the junction, join the HasbÂny. Farther to the south the fountains of Derdara, Ruahiny, and those of BelÂt, BlÂta, and El-MellÂhah, unite with the same stream, which, after flowing southward for six miles over the lovely Plain of HÛleh, spreads out into Lake Merom, on whose shores Joshua achieved his final triumph over the banded kings of Canaan.279 Four and a half miles in length and three and a half in breadth, this gem of the lakes is the first gathering together of the waters of the Jordan from their perennial springs. The lake having a triangular form, the river issues through the apex, and, after running nine miles with a fall of 650 feet, expands into the Sea of Galilee, which is thirteen miles long and six wide. The inlet to the sea is seventy feet broad, and the waters, flowing between alluvial banks, are lazy and turbid. Purified in their passage through this second reservoir of the Jordan, they find an outlet in the southwest corner of the sea. Here the river is more than ninety feet wide, the banks are high and round, and the contiguous mountains rugged and barren. Half unwilling to leave the parent waters to take the headlong leap over twenty-seven rapids to the Sea of Death, the Jordan turns back upon itself; but, forced at length to return by the unyielding rocks, it cuts a channel westward, then west by south, when, impelled by the unchanging law of gravitation, it rushes madly southward, foaming and leaping downward 700 feet in less than sixty miles. Though, between the seas as the crow flies, the actual distance is not more than sixty miles, yet, owing to the infinite multiplication of its windings, it is more than 200 miles in length. The tortuous glen through which it flows varies in breadth from 200 to 600 yards, and in depth from fifty to eighty below the surrounding plain. The sides of the glen are abrupt and broken, composed of marl and clay intermixed with limestone. Where it is widest, the bottom is mud covered with reeds; where it is narrowest, it is rock and sand. Along its banks grow in rich profusion the scarlet anemone, the yellow marigold, the water-lily, the feathery tamarisk, the pink oleander, the Syrian thistle with its gorgeous purple blossom, and cane-reeds, oaks, willows, and wild pistachios. Amid foliage so rich and rare are birds of exquisite plumage and variant song. Disporting in the water are herons and ducks; dancing from bower to bower are sparrows, swallows, and nightingales; wheeling their tireless flight over stream and shrub are eagles, partridges, hawks, and snipes, while storks spread their vast wings along the banks, and

“The moping owl does to the moon complain

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,

Molest her ancient solitary reign.”

In the deep, impenetrable jungle, extending for miles in depth along either bank, is now, as formerly, the hiding-place of the leopard, the wild boar, and tiger.

In color the Jordan is not unlike the Tiber. In breadth it varies from eighty to 240 feet; in depth it is from two to sixteen feet; in motion it flows from two to twelve knots an hour, bearing on its yellow bosom, as it rolls to the sea, the dÉbris of northern forests. In its descent there are wild cascades, down which the foaming torrent leaps eleven feet, at the rate of twelve miles an hour. Throughout its sinuous course there are twenty-seven rapids, some of which are 900 feet long, and the shallow waters foam as they pass over the large boulders of sandstone and trap. Below the longest rapid there is a series of five falls, having a descent of eighteen feet, with rapids between them; and at El-Buk’ah there is a whirlpool grand and dangerous. At intervals, where the channel is deep and free from rocks, a boat might glide with ease and pleasure. In the broader portions of the river bed there are islands, some barren, others verdant and flowery. Near the four well-known fords are the remains of old mills, with their sluices, and the ruins of ancient bridges of Roman construction, pointing us back to a better civilization, and reflecting the genius, industry, and utility of a former age. At Semakh, a mile south of the Lake of Tiberias, are the abutments of a fine bridge of ninety feet span, and at Zurka are the remains of a nobler structure.

SHOOTING THE RAPIDS.

Midway the two seas the Brook Jabbok flows into the Jordan. Descending through a deep ravine, amid the loftiest of the AjlÛn range, its volume is swelled by the mountain torrents, rendering it at times impassable. Its banks are fringed with tamarisks and oleanders, the clustering flower of the latter imparting a gorgeous aspect to the scene. As three thousand years ago the Jabbok was the boundary between the kingdoms of Sihon and of Og,280 so this modern Zurka is the dividing line between the province of Belka and that of AjlÛn. Somewhere on its banks occurred one of those thrilling events so common in the patriarchal history. Coming from the distant home of Laban, enriched with the rewards of twenty years’ industry, and blessed with a numerous family of children and servants, the patriarch Jacob halted on the northern bank of the Jabbok, and that night wrestled with an angel. And as the light of the coming day dawned, down the glens and sides of the southern mountain the chieftain of Seir came, with his four hundred warriors. Hoping to appease Esau’s anger by the gentleness of his manner, Jacob crossed the brook, and, forgetting the enmities of boyhood, the twin brothers embraced and were reconciled. Parting, Esau returned to his mountain home, and, fording the Jordan here, Jacob ascended by the beautiful Tirzah, and dwelt in the Vale of Shechem.281

Centuries later, this brook was the scene of events less peaceful. Obeying the heroic Gideon, the men of Ephraim took possession of this ford and slew the fugitive Midianites;282 and ninety years thereafter the Gileadites under Jephthah, descending from their native mountains, held the passage of the stream, and slew every Ephraimite whose betraying tongue could not correctly pronounce the password Shibboleth.283

The Pilgrim’s Ford, opposite Jericho, is no less enchanting in its natural scenery than it is memorable for its sacred associations. Ahundred feet wide and twelve deep, the Jordan sweeps by at the rate of six knots an hour. From this point to the Dead Sea the river retains its general peculiarities of sinuosity, of color, of rapidity, of banks, and foliage. The inlet to the Asphaltic Lake is three feet deep and 540 wide, and here is the third and largest reservoir of the Jordan—its first and only stage of rest. Here it ends.

This being an ancient ford, the western bank is worn down to the water’s edge by the tread of many generations. On either side willows bend their graceful limbs to touch the rapid stream, tamarisks wave gently in the soft zephyrs, oleanders bloom amid foliage of lighter and deeper green, and the crystal streamlet from RÎha flows into the turbulent Jordan among trees of statelier form. Alittle to the south the banks are steep, and the bottom is soft and covered with weeds and lacerating briers. Directly opposite, the Mountains of Moab rise in all their rugged grandeur, with their sides broken by deep ravines and their summits veiled in a purple haze. Forgotten in the lapse of time, yet somewhere on those loftier peaks were the high places of Baal,284 the “field of Zophim,”285 and the “top of Peor,”286 whither Balak led Balaam to curse Israel. From those summits of vision the prophet of Pethor looked down upon the Lord’s chosen people, but could not “count the dust of Jacob.”287 He beheld them “crouching like a lion,”288 and, in the rapture of his song, exclaimed, “How goodly are thy tents, OJacob, and thy tabernacles, OIsrael.”289 Under more auspicious circumstances, a greater than Balaam surveyed the Land of Promise from Pisgah’s top.290 Turning northward, “his eye that was not dim” swept the land of Gilead unto the icy crown of Hermon; turning westward, he beheld the distant hills of Naphtali standing out against the sky; nearer, he saw the possessions of Ephraim and Manasseh; directly before him was the Land of Judah and Benjamin, the City of the Great King, and the blue waters of the Mediterranean beyond; while at his feet lay the rich plain of Jericho, the “city of palm-trees,” the first conquest of the triumphant arms of Joshua. In his tent, or in some retired glen, or on some solitary peak, the son of Amram wrote most of his inspired history; and yonder, when the work of his wondrous life was finished, when the farewell view of the goodly Canaan had been completed, when he had given his final blessing to Eleazar the priest, to Joshua the warrior, “Moses, the servant of the Lord, died there in the land of Moab, according to the word of the Lord; and he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor; but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day.”291 Atomb so vast was worthy of the worldwide influence of his life, and the Mountains of Moab are the appropriate monument of a character so pure and a name so great.

The tradition that identifies this ford as the place where the Israelites crossed the Jordan is supported by the clear and simple statement that they “passed over right against Jericho.”292 The crossing, however, could not have been confined to this limited space. Here probably the priests crossed, while the multitude sought a passage at every feasible point between the city of Adam, thirty miles to the north, and the Dead Sea, five miles to the south. To facilitate the crossing, this long section of the river-bed became dry, which was necessitated both by the millions of people to cross, and also by the impassableness of many portions of the banks. The rendezvous was opposite Jericho, and as the swarming millions came up the western bank, they turned northward and southward toward a common centre. Bearing the ark of the covenant, the priests led the van, and as their feet touched the water, “the waters which came down from above stood and rose up upon an heap very far from the city of Adam, that is, beside Zaretan; and those that came down toward the sea of the plain, even the salt sea, failed and were cut off, and the people passed over right against Jericho.”293 Unlike the dividing of the Red Sea, this was the cutting off or damming up of the waters on the north; and the miracle is the more wonderful, as at that time the river was more than ordinarily full. The incidental allusion that the “Jordan overfloweth all his banks all the time of harvest”294 is equally true at the present day. In the tropical climate of the Jordan Valley the harvest is many weeks earlier than on the mountains 1300 feet above it. Barley harvest occurring here in the middle of March and wheat harvest about three weeks later, it is evident that the allusion refers to the harvest-time of the Jericho plain. At this time of year the Jordan annually rises to the fullness of its banks, and not unfrequently overflows them; and, though occurring in the dry season of the year, the rise is owing to the melting snows on Mount Hermon, and also to the heavy winter rains, which, having previously fallen on the Hermon range, and by March having percolated the sides of the mountains, begin to swell the springs within them, which, being the sources of the Jordan, then commence and for weeks continue to pour an increased volume into the river channel, permitting the traveler of to-day to behold the filling up and overflowing of the sacred river as it overflowed all its banks three thousand years ago.

More than five centuries later, the Jordan was here twice divided in one day—once for the safe passage of Elijah and Elisha to the land of Moab, and again for the return of the latter to Jericho;295 and, two years subsequently, here the proud Naaman bathed his leprous person and was made whole. To one unacquainted with the three rivers mentioned in connection with his cure, there is the appearance of pride and contempt in his language; but in recalling, in the moment of disappointment and chagrin, the clear waters of the Abana and Pharphar, in contrast with the yellow, turbulent waters of the Jordan, the Syrian warrior but indicated the correctness of his taste in preferring the “rivers of Damascus to all the waters of Israel.”296 But after a cure so miraculous, notwithstanding its inferior beauty, the Jordan must have been to him the noblest and most sacred of rivers.

As the baptismal station of John the Baptist, and the scene of our Lord’s baptism, the Christian contemplates this traditional spot with deeper, sweeter interest. But, however sincere and intense may be the desire to identify the scene of an event so hallowed, it is difficult to ascertain with certainty where that greatest of all baptisms occurred. In general terms, St.Luke describes John as coming into “all the country about Jordan;”297 but, with great precision, St.John designates two stations of the great Baptist: “Bethabara, beyond Jordan,”298 and “Ænon, near Salim.”299 Signifying “The House of Passage,” Bethabara may have been the name of some well-known ford; but the most eminent critics agree that Bethany should be inserted in the text in the place of Bethabara.300 Finding it difficult to discover a Bethany beyond the Jordan, Origen, in the early part of the third century, changed the reading, and others, following his version, place Bethabara near the Brook Jabbok, on the east, and Ænon on the west, eight miles southeast from Bethshean.301

Such locations, however, leave Southern Palestine without a baptismal station. Born in the south, and from his Judean home called to the great work of his mission, John’s ministry was commenced in the “wilderness of Judea.”302 His first hearers were those of the Jewish capital and of its adjacent towns: “Then went out unto him Jerusalem, and all Judea, and all the region round about Jordan.”303 Preferring a journey of six hours to one of two days, the people of the south would naturally descend to this traditional ford, where the Baptist as naturally would be waiting to receive them. And where else should Jesus be baptized but where his ancient people had crossed the “swellings of Jordan,” and nigh unto the capital of his kingdom, whose citizens had just received his forerunner?

Having prepared the way of the Messiah in Judea, and to accommodate the multitudes of the north, and prepare them for the reception of the promised Christ, John ascended the river to the mouth of the Jabbok, where he baptized the inhabitants of Samaria; and ascending thirty miles farther, to the ruined bridge of Semakh, he baptized the people of Galilee. His mission accomplished in Southern, Central, and Northern Palestine, and compelled to leave the Jordan at that season of the year to seek water suitable to drink, John removed to the fountains of Ænon, eight Roman miles southeast from Scythopolis, where there was “much water,” and where he baptized “strangers,” and those who had failed to attend his ministry at the river. His latter days were spent in the north, and mostly in Tiberias, the royal city of Galilee, where, true to his high calling, he reproved Herod Antipas for his connubial infidelity, for which he was imprisoned and beheaded in the Castle of Machaerus, near the scene of his earlier labors.

The sun was rapidly approaching the zenith when we left the ford for the Dead Sea. To avoid a detour, and also to shun the banks of the river, which, from their softness and steepness, are never safe, we crossed diagonally the great plain extending to the sea. The heat was intense; not a breath of air was stirring; neither shrub nor flower appeared to gladden the eye; no fountain was nigh to moisten our parched lips. Adeep purple haze veiled earth and sky, obscuring the view of Moab and the peaks of Engedi; and over that vast plateau of unrelieved desolation was spread a white sulphurous crust, reflecting the light and heat. Near the mouth of the Jordan a band of Bedouin ruffians were holding an ominous consultation, and keenly watching our movements. From the head of the caravan came the shrill voice of the sheikh to “close ranks,” while two soldiers dashed into the jungle to ascertain the design of the council. Intimidating the robbers by threats, they returned, assuring us that no attack would be made, but advising us to keep close together. At noon we stood upon the northern shore of the Dead Sea. Owing to the thick haze that obscured the mountains, it seemed shoreless. The smooth waters lay like molten silver, silent and motionless, sparkling in the sunlight and dazzling to the sight. It was death robed in light. The waters are clear as crystal and exceedingly brilliant, and, though intensely salt, they are so soft that a bath in them is like bathing in oil. When midway my person Ibegan to rise, and yielding to the soft hands that bore me up, Ireclined as upon the softest down. To sink was impossible; to float required no effort; to read, converse, sleep, was easy. Where the cuticle was bruised or broken a smarting sensation was experienced, and for ten hours after the bath the hair remained stiff and the body felt as if it had been lubricated with oil. Gently sloping toward the sea, the northern coast consists of sand and blackened pebbles, and over its entire breadth are strewn quantities of drift-wood, such as willow twigs, broken canes, and poplar branches, thrown up by the violence of the waves when the sea is in commotion. Higher up is a terrace of bitumen, soft and slippery, and not unlike black clay. Neither shrub, flower, nor blade of grass, nor shell, can be found on all that lengthened beach.

DEAD SEA.

Occupying the lowest portion of the Jordan Valley, the Dead Sea is forty miles long, from five to nine wide, and from two to 1308 feet deep. Its greatest depth is 2620 feet below the level of the Mediterranean, and 5220 below the site of Jerusalem. Having its greatest width midway the sea, from Ain Jidy to the River Arnon, it is most shallow at its southern extremity, and deepest in its northern section, southwest from the thermal waters of Callirrhoe. Not many yards from the eastern cliffs it is more than one hundred and seventy fathoms deep.

Geologically considered, the profound cavity containing this inland sea must be coeval with the conformation of the Jordan Valley on the north and the Valley of ’Arabah on the south. This mighty chasm must always have been the bed of a great lake, receiving the waters of the Jordan and the mountain torrents, together with those of the living springs which abound along the margin of the vale. Though much smaller then than now, both Abraham and Lot must have looked down upon its waters. Originally confined within its deeper bed, it has passed its primal limits by some convulsion or atmospheric phenomena as yet unknown. The great difference in its depth, from a third of a fathom to two hundred and eighteen fathoms, together with the record of Moses that the “plain of Jordan was well watered every where before the Lord destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, even as the garden of the Lord, like the land of Egypt as thou comest unto Zoar,”304 sufficiently indicates that the more shallow portions now overflown were once the rich green fields so tempting to the eyes of Lot.305 According to authentic history, this vale was one of the cradles of the earliest civilization, not only containing the five royal cities that were destroyed, but also the cities of the Phoenicians, who, afterward removing to Tyre and Sidon, rose to greatness in art, science, and commerce. Its present desolation is due to natural causes, some of which are still apparent, and though its waters must always have been more or less salt, and its coasts must always have abounded in bitumen pits, yet these are not inconsistent with the richness of its plains, as attested by sacred and profane writers.

Though the receptacle of the perennial Jordan and of springs that never fail, and though without an outlet its mighty caldron is never filled to overflowing, and its waters have but a slight perceptible rise and fall. Situated 1312 feet below the level of the Mediterranean, and shut in by high barren mountains of limestone, its supply never exceeds the demand made by its rapid evaporation. With the Gulf of Akaba thirty-five feet above the Mediterranean, it is inconceivable how the Dead Sea could ever have flowed southward over the plain of ’Arabah to mingle its waters with those of the Red Sea; and this impossibility is the more apparent from the fact that the waters of ’Arabah flow into the Dead Sea from a water-shed midway between the two seas. Such curious facts at once disprove the hypothesis either that there is a subterranean outlet on the south, or that, prior to the fall of Sodom, the waters of the Jordan flowed in a river channel through the “Vale of Siddim” to mingle with those of the Indian Ocean. Evaporation was then, as now, the only outlet.

With the exception of a few semicircular plains, the “Salt Sea” covers the entire breadth of the vale, in many places the mountains dipping into the waters without a footpath along the shore. At the northwest corner there is a neck of land extending into the lake, which, when the water is low by increased evaporation, is a peninsula, but at high water its extreme point is a small island, covered with ruins of great antiquity, consisting of heaps of unhewn stones, some of which retain their original position in the foundation of a building whose history is unknown; and at the southeast angle of the sea, near the ravine of Kerak, is a low, broad promontory or cape, extending four miles to the north up the centre of the lake. Wherever a brackish fountain trickles down the hill-side, and flows over those little plains formed by the receding mountains, there shrubs grow, flowers bloom as in more genial climes, birds sing sweetly as in more enchanting bowers, and the Arab, with the traveler, pitches his tent, unaffected by the fancied deadly exhalations from the poisonous sea, which only exist in the stories of poet and romancer.

The mountains that bound the Asphaltic Lake on the east and west are as remarkable for their native grandeur as for their historic associations. Those on the east are portions of the Moab and Edom ranges; the one descending from the north and the other ascending from the south, are separated midway the sea by the sublime chasm of El-MÔjib. The former is composed of sandstone, with sections of limestone, and with dikes and seams of trap rock, over which are scattered quantities of post-tertiary lava, pumice-stone, and volcanic slag; the latter is in part sandstone with strata of limestone; while at the extreme south there is a post-tertiary deposit of carbonate of lime, with sandstone disintegrated, and with a mixture of sulphur and gypsum. Rising from 2000 to 3000 feet high, the eastern range is rugged and barren, and, from a peculiarity in the atmosphere, is perpetually veiled in a purple haze. The sides are broken by twelve ravines desolate and wild. Less than ten miles from the northeast angle of the sea, at the mouth of Wady Zurka Ma’in, are the warm springs of Callirrhoe, sending forth, between grand and lofty sandstone cliffs, a copious stream, in whose thermal waters Herod the Great sought, in vain, relief from his loathsome disease. It is twelve feet wide, ten inches deep, and has a temperature of 95° Fahrenheit. Its banks are lined with canes and tamarisks, and the pebbles are tinged with the sulphurous waters. The chasm is 112 feet wide, and from eighty to 150 high, through which the torrent sweeps to the sea at the rate of six knots an hour. High up the ravine is a pretty cascade, with a perpendicular fall of six feet, and below it the foaming waters rush over a succession of rapids. In this sublime glen purple flowers bloom, and ravens and butterflies wing their tireless flight. On the very brow of the northern cliff stood the famous fortress of Machaerus, where John the Baptist was beheaded.306 Two miles to the south, on the borders of a little streamlet, is a grove of thirty date-palm-trees; three miles farther is a bright cascade, whose sparkling waters leap into the sea from the very mountain summit; and five miles beyond is the ancient river Arnon, on whose banks Balak met Balaam,307 and which was the southern boundary-line of the Amorites, whose dominion ran northward to the Jabbok. This tract of land Moses conquered from Sihon,308 and for it the Ammonites fought with Jephthah309 while it was possessed by the tribes of Reuben and Gad.310 The Arnon is a tributary to the sea, eighty-two feet wide, four deep, and one hundred wide at its mouth. The vast fissure through which it falls is ninety-seven feet wide, and varies from 100 to 400 feet high. The cliffs are red, yellow, and brown sandstone, and, worn by the winds and rains, resemble Egyptian architecture. In graceful curves the ravine winds inward, and in its profound depths are huge boulders, which have fallen from the summit above. Along the border of the torrent a few shrubs grow, and gazelles descend to drink of its limpid waters. Fifteen miles to the south, on a summit 3000 feet above the sea, stands the ancient city of Kerak, containing more than 3000 inhabitants, about equally divided into Christians and Moslems, which is renowned in the history of Jewish wars as the city whose king, in a moment of desperation, rather than surrender to King Jehoram, offered up his eldest son upon the town wall as a burnt-sacrifice, so disgusting the Israelites as to compel them to raise the siege.311 From the mountain of Kerak a wild ravine leads down to the reputed ruins of Zoar, near the shore, to which Lot fled when commanded to fly to the mountains above.312

To the southwest from the ruins of Zoar stood Sodom and Gomorrah, with their companion cities of the plain. Covering a large area of what was once dry land, the sea is here exceedingly shallow, and the plains bordering on the southern coast give evidence of their former fertility. These cities must have occupied this section of the vale, or it would have been impossible for Abraham to have seen the conflagration from Hebron, sixteen miles to the northwest.313 But not a vestige of those renowned cities remains to designate the scene of their glory and shame. The “rain of fire” was probably a shower of nitrous particles ignited by the electric flash, which, as it fell, kindled to a flame the buildings of the cities, constructed of bituminous stones and cemented by green asphalt. Formed of such combustible materials, the conflagration of the towns must have raged with unwonted fury, and the descending fire, wrapping vale and mountain in a winding-sheet of flame, must have precluded the possibility of escape. But the preservation of Zoar amid the general burning was a miracle of the highest order. Standing within the vale and hard by the neighboring towns, but without the smell of fire about its dwellings, it must have presented a singular spectacle, surrounded by an invisible wall against which the burning waves madly dashed in vain.

The mountains on the western side of the Dead Sea, like the hills of Judea, are limestone, of a white, red, and yellow hue, and, rising from 1000 to 2000 feet high, their sides are barren and rugged, and broken into wild ravines. At intervals the hills recede, forming on the shore semicircular plains, which, being watered by brackish fountains, are converted into salt marshes. Along the western coast large quantities of pure sulphur, asphalt, and pumice-stone abound. In the southwest corner of the vale, extending five miles to the northwest, is a rugged ridge of hills composed entirely of mineral salt. From a marshy delta, coated with salt and bitumen, a grand ravine leads up to this saline ridge, called by the Arabs Jebel Usdum. The winter torrents have cut deep furrows in its sides from summit to base, and the combined action of the rains, and the burning siroccos that sweep over mountain and plain, have rounded the faces of the cliffs. The peaks rise in tiers, while their roots, in lesser hills, project toward the sea. Far up the ravine, between two higher cliffs, is a lower ridge, not unlike a pedestal, on which is a singular pillar of pure solid salt, round in front and angular behind. Resting on a pedestal sixty feet high, the solitary column rises forty feet higher, connected with the hill behind by an immense bar of salt. This is the only resemblance to “Lot’s wife” in the vale, but can not be her, as its position is in the wrong direction from Zoar. But the presence of such a mountain of salt, whose base beneath the surface is washed by the waves, and from whose summit large blocks of salt are carried down by the rains into the water, sufficiently accounts for the extreme saltness of the sea. On the marshy flats at its base is the “Valley of Salt,” where David slew “eighteen thousand Syrians,”314 and where Amaziah, at a later period, slew “ten thousand Edomites.”315

Situated on the brow of a lofty cliff 1500 feet above the sea, and twelve miles north from Usdum, is Masada, the last refuge of the Jews after the destruction of Jerusalem by Titus, and the scene of the noblest heroism and of the most bloody tragedy in the annals of war. Separated by a deep ravine from the surrounding mountains on the north and south, and attached to them on the west by a narrow ridge two thirds its height, is a naked rock, having a perpendicular face toward the sea, and rising 700 feet high. Standing two miles from the shore, it is not unlike a pyramid in form. Though the summit is jagged and peaked, it contains a level area for building purposes 3000 feet in length and 1200 in width. Portions of four buildings are standing. On the south are the remains of an ancient gateway with a pointed arch; on the north stands a tower with a double wall of great strength, and near it is a quadrangular ruin. Within the ancient wall, which once completely encircled the rock, are three large cisterns, hewn in the solid rock, and covered with white cement. The largest of them is forty feet broad, 100 long, and fifty deep. Adjacent to the wall are the remains of the old Roman camps, constructed by the besieging army of Flavius Silva, apparently as complete as when abandoned centuries ago.

Reared in the second century B.C. by Jonathan MaccabÆus as a strong defensive work, the fortress of Masada was enlarged and rendered impregnable by Herod the Great. Designed by him at once for a palace and a fortress, he strengthened the position, and connected with his royal apartments baths, adorned with porticoes and colonnades. Confident of its impregnability, here the Idumean king deposited his rarest treasures against the day of danger.

Prior to the fall of Jerusalem, the Sicarii, who had sworn never to submit to the Roman arms, obtained by treachery the possession of this fortress. Commanded by the bold and skillful Eleazar, 600 of these patriots, with their wives, children, and servants to the number of 967, retired to Masada as the last refuge of the Jewish nation. The strong-holds of Machaerus and Herodium had yielded to the powerful arms of Lucilius Bassus, and now Flavius Silva, his successor, laid siege to Masada. Cutting off all hope of succor from without, and of escape from within, by circumvallation, the Romans reared for the intended assault a mound of earth and stones, on which they planted an iron-cased tower commanding the walls of the fortress, and from which they drove the Jews from their ramparts. Successful in gaining a position so advantageous, the Romans retired for the night with the intention of storming the fortress the following morning.

Conscious of his inability to continue a successful defense—convinced that any attempt to escape would prove disastrous—satisfied that death awaited the garrison, ravishment their wives, and slavery their children, that night Eleazar called his faithful band around him, and proposed self-destruction as the terrible alternative. Appalled by the thought of murder and suicide, the heroic Sicarii, whose souls had never known the sensation of fear, for a moment hesitated; but, upbraided for the want of true courage by their leader, a frenzy seized them, and, each one grasping his wife and children in his arms, after lavishing upon them the fondest tokens of affection, they plunged their daggers to their hearts, leaving the bleeding bodies lifeless upon the ground. Resolved not to survive a calamity so insupportable, they prepared for their own destruction. Gathering the immense treasures of the palace together, they consigned them to the flames; then, choosing by lot ten of their number to dispatch the rest, each soldier threw himself down by his wife and children, and, grasping them in his arms, offered his neck to the sword of his companion. Drawing lots who should be the last survivor of the ten and the executioner of the nine, the lot fell on one who in turn was to dispatch himself. The nine slain, all the victims were examined to ascertain whether life was extinct; then, applying the torch to the palace, and surveying for a moment the raging flames and the dead, in families, stretched upon the ground, he lay down beside his wife and child, and the last of the Sicarii dispatched himself.

The morning dawned; the command was given; the Romans rushed to the assault; but, on scaling the ramparts, no foe appeared, no sound was heard, and, lifting a shout of triumph, they rushed to the palace. Their approach had startled from their retreat a sister of Eleazar, an elderly woman, and five children, who, learning of the intended slaughter, had secreted themselves in the vaults of the fortress. When they refused to credit her story, the sister of Eleazar led the conquerors within the court-yard of the palace, and pointed them to the dead who were too brave to be Roman slaves.316

Fifteen miles to the north from the Plain of Masada is the Fountain of the Kid. This beautiful spring is four hundred feet up the mountain side. Bursting from a limestone rock, and rushing down over precipitous rocks, and amid acacias and flowers, it fertilizes a small plain extending to the beach, and cultivated by the Bedouins of the GhÔr. Near this fountain David was secreted when pursued by Saul, and in a cave near by he “cut off the skirt of Saul’s robe privily.”317 Up this pass the children of Ammon ascended to attack Jerusalem in the days of Jehoshaphat.318 Originally celebrated for its vines and aromatic plants, Solomon compares his beloved to a “cluster of camphire319 in the vineyards of Engedi.”320 Around this fountain now grow the “apples of Sodom.” The fruit grows in clusters upon a tree fifteen feet high and two in girth, is of a yellow color, and has such a blooming appearance as to tempt the traveler’s appetite; but, on being pressed, it explodes like a puff-ball, leaving in the hand nothing but the rind and a few dry fibres.

On the summit of an adjacent hill are the ruins of Maon, the residence of the churlish Nabal and his beautiful wife Abigail, and a mile to the north is the large fountain where this “son of Belial” held his annual feast, to whom David sent his famishing troops to ask permission to enjoy the festival as a reward for services which he had previously rendered to the ungrateful Nabal.321

The shrill call of the Bedouin sheikh roused me from my reverie as Isat on the small island in the sea recalling the past and receiving imperishable impressions of the changeless features of the “Vale of Siddim.” That night we were to sleep with the monks of MÂr SÂba, and the journey thither was long, toilsome, and dangerous. Filling a can with seawater, and gathering mineral specimens from the beach, we mounted. The path lay across an undulating plain to the right of Ain JehÂir, whose brackish waters nourish a thicket of canes and a few pale flowers. Ascending the rugged pass of Nukb el-Kuneiterah, one skirted for an hour the verge of a yawning ravine, the precipitous sides of which were as dangerous as the view below was grand and awful. Reaching in less than two hours the summit of the highest ridge, the Wilderness of Engedi lay before us, and through openings in the distant cliffs we caught farewell glimpses of the Dead Sea. Passing an encampment where the children were nude and the women unveiled, we were glad to drink of Arab leben, or soured milk, a beverage similar to that which Jael gave Sisera,322 which was brought to us in a goatskin bottle. Descending hills gray and barren, and crossing verdureless plains, we reached the Vale of the Kidron as the last rays of the sun were tipping the higher peaks of Moab. Wild and grand, the perpendicular sides of the gorge are more than 300 feet high. The limestone rocks are blackened with age, and perched on the highest portion of the ridge is the famous Convent of MÂr SÂba. Approaching night had now thrown a deeper shadow in the ravine below; the skies reflected subdued light, and from the transparent blue the stars began to shine. The fatigue of the day had left the mind pensive, and the silence of the hour was unbroken except by the chirping of some invisible songster. Winding round the brow of a bold cliff, the gray towers of the ancient monastery stood out against the evening sky, and from the uppermost turret a solitary monk in dark flowing robes was watching our approach. The ponderous iron gate of the convent was thrown open, and, led by one of the fraternity through an interior court-yard, where orange and lemon trees scattered their rich perfume, we entered the “Pilgrim’s Room.”

Like many other religious establishments, the monastery of St.SÂba rose from the devotion of a single hermit. Attracted by the solitude of the spot and the wild grandeur of the situation, some time in the year 483A.D., St.SÂba, a native of Cappadocia, and a man of extraordinary sanctity, founded the convent which bears his name. His triumph over the “Lion of the Kidron” attracted his fellow-anchorites to the glen, to the number of 14,000, to share his glory and devotion. From the cells which they excavated in the rocks gradually rose the walls, towers, chambers, and chapels of the edifice; and so curiously are the several parts arranged, that it is difficult to determine the masonry from the native rock. Crowned with a dome and clock-turret, the church stands on the brink of the highest cliff, supported by enormous buttresses rising from the bed of the Kidron. The interior is after the Byzantine order, adorned with pictures, ornamental lamps, and sacred banners. Near the church is the charnel-house, where the bones of the pious have been carefully preserved from the time of the patron saint to the last brother deceased. The bodies of the dead are deposited in vaults till the flesh has wasted away, when the skeleton is broken to pieces, and the bones are piled up in ghastly array, arm with arm, leg with leg, skull with skull.

Though enlarged and beautified by monkish industry, the cave in which St.SÂba lived still retains its native rudeness. Among the pictures which adorn the walls is one representing the beheading of John the Baptist. The artist has transferred to the canvas the horror of the murder and the turpitude of the crime which led to the execution. In the background is seen the martyr’s cell, with barred window and iron door. Robed in green garments, the headless body of John lies prostrate upon the marble pavement, while over it stands the fierce executioner, holding in one hand his sword still dripping with blood, and in the other the bleeding head. With an air of triumphant revenge Salome is approaching, attired in ermine and adorned with a coronet of jewels, and bearing on her hands a charger to receive the dissevered head of the faithful minister of truth and purity.

The morning was far advanced when the iron gates of MÂr SÂba opened for our departure. The day was charming, and the ride to Bethlehem was one of extraordinary delight. The spring clouds, like softest gauze, screened us from the otherwise burning rays of a Syrian sun, and a gentle breeze from the Mediterranean came over the hills of Judea “fresh as the breath of morn.” It being early spring-time, Nature smiled in all her virgin beauty. Grasses and grains were ripening; flowers every where were in bloom; herds of cattle and flocks of sheep were feeding on the hills, and high up in mid air three eagles screamed as they soared above us.

In an hour from the monastery Jerusalem was seen to the north, and half an hour beyond Ifor the first time saw Bethlehem nestling among the JudÆan hills. Aflood of childhood’s memories rushed back to mind, unsealing the fountain of emotion as when in boyhood Iwas accustomed to read the story of the new-born King. On the south lay the Plains of Bethlehem, where shepherds were watching their flocks—some chanting a pastoral song, others playing upon their rude flute. The sterility of the wilderness had given place to cultivated fields, and along the wayside grew a pretty blue flower, of a stellar form, called by the monks the “Star of Bethlehem.” Passing through the small village of Beit SahÛr, we turned westward, and, ascending a well-made road, in half an hour we passed beneath the ancient portal of the City of the Nativity. The streets were crowded with people, and along the main thoroughfare were merchants selling fruits, flowers, grains, vegetables, cutlery, saddlery, clothing, furniture, and ornaments, and mechanics of all kinds were pursuing their respective vocations.

So long as childhood continues, Bethlehem will be cherished by the young, and recalled with delight by those of riper years. The synonym of helpless infancy, mothers will revert to it with hope, and the children of each generation will claim it as their common heritage. As here the young mother pressed her tender offspring to her bosom for the first time, Bethlehem must ever remain the symbol of domestic affections and privacies.

Originally called “The House of Bread,” and now “The House of Flesh,” its Arabic name, Beit Lahm, contains the significance of its wondrous history. To distinguish it from Bethlehem belonging to the tribeship of Zebulun,323 it is called by the sacred historian “Bethlehem of Judah;”324 to preintimate its fruitfulness, it was prophetically designated Ephratah;325 to illustrate its rising glory “among the thousands of Judah,” it was announced as the birthplace of Him “whose goings forth have been from of old.”326 In antiquity coeval with the oldest cities in the world, its identity is unquestioned. Stretching backward thirty-six centuries, its authentic history opens with the mournful death and burial of the beautiful Rachel;327 and rendered imperishable by the sepulchral monument to that beloved wife, 600 years later it was the scene of the touching story of Boaz and the youthful widow of Chilion.328 Giving birth to Obed, the father of Jesse, Bethlehem, less than 100 years subsequent to the marriage of Ruth and Boaz, was the birthplace of David,329 where, at the tender age of seventeen, he was anointed king over Israel; and, in honor of events so illustrious, it thereafter was called the “City of David.” During the reverses which befell Saul of Gibeah it was captured by the Philistines, and David, having been declared a public enemy, was compelled to fly to the cave of Adullam.

After 1000 years of comparative oblivion, Bethlehem suddenly emerged from obscurity into brighter and more enduring glory. Summoned by the Emperor Augustus to their native city to be taxed, Joseph and Mary came from the hills of Nazareth, and, reaching the town at the close of the day, after a journey of eighty miles, the mother of the Messiah was compelled to lodge in the stable, “because there was no room for them in the inn.”330 That night the Prince of Peace was born; the race commenced its life anew; angels sang the song of the nativity; wondering shepherds hastened to pay homage to the new-born King; a lone but marvelous star arrested the attention of the magi of Arabia Felix; and Bethlehem rose to be “greatest among the thousands of Judah.”

An event so great and memorable has rendered the city of the Savior’s birth a holy shrine, at which the devout of all ages and countries have bowed with unspeakable delight. And, in commemoration of the event, and to rescue the site from oblivion, the Emperor Constantine, in the commencement of the fourth century, ordered the erection of a magnificent basilica over the “Grotto of the Nativity,” which is now the oldest monument of Christian architecture in the world. Separated from the town by a long esplanade, the church occupies the eastern brow of the hill on which the city is built, and, together with the three convents abutting from its sides, forms an enormous pile of limestone, vast in dimensions, irregular in outline, and, though it is destitute of external architectural grandeur, the size, strength, and commanding position of the edifice render it the chief attraction of the place. The Greeks, Latins, and Armenians hold joint possession of the basilica, and adjoining it are the monasteries for the entertainment and devotion of their respective orders.

It was late one evening in the month of April that Irapped for admission at the iron door of the Latin convent. The Franciscans received me kindly, and, after a generous meal, an aged monk led me to my apartments for the night. The convent bell called me early from my slumbers, and, ascending to the broad, flat roof of the monastery, Ienjoyed an extensive view of the surrounding country. The sky was soft, the air pure, and the sun was just rising above the mountains of Moab. The shepherd’s shrill voice mingled with the tinkling of bells as he led his flock in search of pasture, and the leaves of orange, fig, and olive trees shone like jewels as the dew-drops thereon reflected the morning light. Far away to the east are the Plains of the Jordan, the mountains of Gilead, Moab, Ammon, and Seir; on the north the Hills of Judea are bleak; on the west they are green as far as the eye can reach toward the “Great Sea;” on the south are the Gardens of UrtÂs and the Pools of Solomon. With a mind attuned by such a scene, Iread the romantic story of Ruth and Boaz, the history of David’s coronation, and the more tender narrative of the Savior’s birth. The past returned with all the reality of the present, and history repeated its wondrous deeds before the eye of a sublime faith. But the charm was broken in a moment by the chant of a funeral dirge. Just beneath me, and near the convent wall, a long procession of women was approaching, following to its final rest the lifeless form of some daughter of Bethlehem. It was a singular hour for a burial. Except the men who bore the corpse, there were no others present. Fifty women robed in white gathered about the grave, and, as a symbol of the abundant happiness of departed spirits, each one bore upon her head a basket of bread, and, leaving it upon the tomb, they all retired.

Descending through the long halls of the monastery, we found the monks differently engaged; some were arranging their scanty toilets, others repeating their prayers. On each door is a rude picture illustrating the faith of the inmate, and the subject he desired to be most frequently reminded of. On one is a coffin; on another are the lambent flames of Purgatory; but on most is the serene face of Mary. My guide rejoined me in the hall of the refectory, and led me to the stable of blessed memory. Passing through the Latin chapel, where a priest was celebrating mass, we descended a flight of narrow winding steps, cut in the native rock, at the foot of which is the sacred grotto. Thirty-eight feet long, eleven wide, and two deep, it has the appearance of having been the cellar of a Syrian house, which, according to a custom still prevalent, serves as a stable. Near the eastern end is the supposed place of our Lord’s birth, marked by a white marble slab, in the centre of which is a large silver star, encircled with an inscription in Latin, “Here Jesus Christ was born of the Virgin Mary.” Sixteen silver lamps shed a perpetual light upon the shrine; from golden censers incense unceasingly ascends, while the walls are covered with silk embroidered with gold. To the south is the substituted manger, the original having been carried to Rome and deposited in the church of Santa Maria Maggiore. Above it is a fine picture of the birth-scene by Maello, and near it is a better one of the Magi. Anarrow passage leads to the small grotto where Joseph is said to have stood at the moment our Lord was born, and in it is a picture representing the angel warning him to take the young child and his mother and escape into Egypt. The angel’s face is expressive of intense earnestness; the countenance of Joseph is calm and thoughtful; while Mary tenderly but firmly clasps her infant to her bosom.

Following a glimmering light, we entered a large sepulchral vault containing the dust of the departed members of the fraternity, and from it passed to the “altar of the infant martyrs” slain by Herod. Apicture above it commemorates the death of “twenty thousand innocents,” and the old monk groaned as he looked upon it. In an adjoining oblong chamber are altars dedicated to the memory of St.Paula and her daughter Eustachia, two eminent Roman ladies, who spent their days here in charity and devotion; and near the altars are their tombs, over which are the portraits of the saints. Their features are represented as sharp, their expression pensive, and over their heads an angel holds a wreath of glory. Not far from these sepulchres is the tomb of Jerome, and in the north end of the same chamber is the study of that eminent scholar. Here, in a cell twenty feet square and nine deep, around which runs a stone seat, he spent most of his life, producing those great works which have given immortality to his name. Here, in the severities of monastic life, he smote his body with a stone while imploring the mercy of the Lord. It was here he fancied he heard the peals of the trump of the last judgment incessantly ringing in his ear. On the wall hangs a portrait of this great man. The head is round and bald, the face beams with intelligence, by his side hangs a crucifix, and behind him stands an angel sounding in his ear the trumpet of the last day.

Reascending the narrow staircase, we passed into the magnificent Basilica of St.Helena. In length 120 feet by 110 wide, the interior consists of a central nave and four lateral aisles, formed by four rows of twelve Corinthian columns in each row, twenty feet high and two and a half in diameter, supporting a horizontal architrave. According to tradition, these pillars were taken from the porches of the Temple at Jerusalem. Originally the roof and rafters were formed of cedar from the forests of Lebanon, but at present they are of oak, the gift of King EdwardIV. when the church was last repaired. The gold, marble, and mosaics which once adorned the walls of this noble edifice have been removed, and by the mutual jealousies of the rival sects this grandest of Eastern basilicas is in a neglected state. The aspect of the interior is greatly injured by a partition wall separating the choir from the body of the church, which in turn is divided into two chapels, one belonging to the Greeks and the other to the Armenians; on the north side of the choir is the Chapel of St.Catharine, occupied by the Latins.

Though we reject the unwarrantable grouping together in a single grotto of so many “holy places” as unfounded in fact, and especially the particular spot where Christ was born, there is no reason for the rejection of the cave itself. Its history runs too far back to have its identity affected by the flood of monastic legends which followed the conversion of the empire, and the historical chain is unbroken from the death of the Apostle John to our own day. Anative of Nablous, and born in the beginning of the second century, Justin Martyr describes the birthplace of Jesus “as a grotto in Bethlehem;” one hundred years later, Origen refers to the fact as recognized by Christians and pagans; and, a century after him, Eusebius mentions it as an accepted traditional spot, and as so regarded prior to the time of St.Helena’s visit. Crediting the tradition, the mother of Constantine caused to be erected the present basilica in the year 327A.D., and fifty years after its erection, Jerome of Dalmatia, with Paul and Eustachia, settled in Bethlehem, where the great “Father of Church History” expired, in 420A.D., in his ninetieth year. Though the city fell into the hands of the Moslems at a later period, and the church was stripped of its ornaments, yet the cave remained undisturbed; and, on their approach to Jerusalem, the Crusaders retook Bethlehem, and in 1110A.D., BaldwinI. elevated it to the dignity of an episcopal see; and, notwithstanding the vicissitudes through which it has passed, it is now a thoroughly Christian town. Unlike the tradition identifying our Lord’s tomb, the traditional history of his birthplace is unmixed with monkish miracles, and the preservation of the site is as simple as it is natural.

In a land where the customs of the people never change, all the incidents of the story of the birth of the Savior are confirmed by modern usage. It is no evidence of the poverty of Joseph and Mary that they failed to obtain lodgings in the inn, as the decree of Augustus had called home all citizens belonging to the town, which, being small, was filled to overflowing; nor is it proof of the humbleness of the holy family that they were compelled to lodge in the stable, as to this day, both in Bethlehem and in other Syrian cities, kitchen, parlor, and stable are frequently under the same roof, and often without a partition between them. In going from Jerusalem to Nablous, Istopped with a Christian at Beeroth, near Bethel. His dwelling was a one-story house. Within was a raised platform not two feet high, on which was arranged the furniture of his home; at the foot of the platform was a space four feet wide, and extending the whole depth of the building, which was the stable, and in one corner stood his ass. And in a neighboring house a woman was kneading dough on the platform, and a little girl was holding an infant, and two feet from them stood the ass, with his elongated head thrust into a stone manger excavated in the solid rock. This order of domestic architecture throws light upon the apparent discrepancies of Matthew and Luke. The former mentions a house in connection with our Lord’s birth;331 the latter a manger, thereby supposing a stable.332 But the historians refer to two distinct events—St.Luke, to the night of the Savior’s birth; St.Matthew, to the visit of the Magi, which occurred some time later. Mary and her son may then have found room in the inn; or, if the visit of the wise men was simultaneous with that of the shepherds, St.Matthew alludes to a house with a stable under the same roof, and the entrance to which was through the main door of the dwelling.

Bethlehem may be viewed with a pleasing confidence as the city where “God was manifested in the flesh,” and that from a place so humble influences have gone forth affecting the present condition and future hopes of the entire race. Since that wondrous child was born, empires have passed away and generations have descended to the grave. Of that renowned empire, whose proud emperor summoned Mary to perform a journey of eighty miles in the rains of December, not a fragment remains; and of the Herods who waylaid his infancy and persecuted his manhood, not a descendant reigns over an inch of the broad earth. But the kingdom of Christ endures, his subjects people both hemispheres, and the song of the Bethlehem songsters is yet to be the anthem of a redeemed world.

The situation of Bethlehem is peculiar. Located on a narrow ridge projecting eastward from the central mountain range, and breaking down in the form of terraced slopes, it is bounded on the east, north, and south by deep valleys. Constructed of white limestone, well built, square in form, and crowned with small domes, the buildings rise above each other in somewhat regular gradations. The streets are few and narrow, and though the city is not surrounded with a wall, it has two gates, which are closed at night. Sweeping in graceful curves around the ridge, and regular in their ascent as stairs, the well-kept terraces are adorned with the vines of Eshcol, and with fig and olive-trees. Extending from the base of the hill toward the south and east are the fertile plains where Ruth gleaned, and where the glory of the Lord shone around the peaceful shepherds.

Numbering over three thousand souls, the modern Bethlehemites are superior in their appearance to the citizens of any other town in Palestine. The men are of light complexion, with finely developed forms, and, in their affable demeanor and noble bearing toward the “stranger within their gates,” are not unworthy descendants of Boaz. In the regularity of their features, the freshness of their complexion, and the sweetness of their countenance, the women are not unlike those of America; and as if the Savior had bequeathed the beauty of his childhood to the children of his native city, they are exceedingly fair. So thoroughly Christian in sentiment are the inhabitants, that no Moslem is allowed a residence within the town. The Cross is unrivaled by the Crescent, and Christ reigns supreme where he was born. While most of the people are either peasants or shepherds, others are the manufacturers of “pious wares,” such as beads, crosses, rings, crucifixes, and models of the Holy Sepulchre, wrought out of olive-wood and mother-of-pearl.

Five miles to the southeast from Bethlehem is Herodium, the tomb of Herod the Great. Cherishing an ambition that knew no bounds, and rivaling Solomon in the magnificence of his reign and in the splendor of the cities of his kingdom, Herod sought renown in life by the power of his name and the perpetuity of his fame in death, by rearing for himself a mausoleum which he vainly hoped would have continued complete to the latest generation. Conscious of the vicissitudes to which his empire city was subject, and knowing that as he himself had rifled the sepulchre of David, his in turn might be plundered, he prepared for himself a tomb of great strength, far from human habitation. Aride of more than an hour brought us to the grave of this most execrable of monarchs. Being the last position held by the Crusaders after the fall of Jerusalem, the hill bears the traditional name of “Frank Mountain;” but, from the supposed luxurious life of Herod, the Arabs call it Jebel Fureidis, or “Little Paradise Hill.” Josephus, however, designates it Herodium, after the founder of the city which crowned its summit. According to him, it is sixty stadia from Jerusalem, and was designed by Herod to be a military outpost, protecting the inhabitants of the inland towns from the depredations of the Bedouins of Engedi, and also to serve as a palatial retreat for the king and his court. Having subserved the double purpose of war and pleasure, it at length fell before the powerful arms of Lucilius Bassus.333

Rising in the form of a truncated cone 400 feet from the crest of a round isolated ridge, it resembles, when viewed from the plain below, some grand catafalco. The ascent is up a circular path, and the view from the summit imposing. Through openings in the cliffs the Dead Sea is seen to the east; two miles to the southwest is the small town of Tekoa, the home of the wise woman whom Joab called to plead before David in behalf of Solomon,334 and the birthplace of the Prophet Amos;335 and to the northwest are the white walls and domes of Bethlehem. At its northern base is a reservoir 200 feet square, from the centre of which rises a mound of earth like an island in a lake, and near it are traces of the aqueduct, which conveyed the water from a great distance. The summit is an area 750 feet in circumference, surrounded by a ruined wall of large hewn stones, with a massive square tower at each angle. Within this inclosure are many vaults, and the walls of what appears to have been an amphitheatre. The latter is in the form of a three-quarter circle, and on the south side are three large blocks of limestone, so arranged as to suggest the idea that they were the royal seats from which Herod and his courtiers beheld the dramatic and equestrian feats so pleasing to Oriental kings. To the northwest of this structure is a large vault, which Isucceeded in entering by creeping through a narrow opening. The roof is a beautiful raised dome, with a circular keystone in the centre, and on the sides are doors leading to other chambers. On the very summit of the hill is the Tomb of Herod. It is a vaulted chamber of hewn limestone, fifteen feet long, twelve wide, and ten deep. Dying at Jericho, the royal monster was here interred, amid the scene of his crimes and folly. Profound silence now reigns where once the noise of revelry was heard, and, unhonored and unlamented, the dust of the proud Idumean is trodden by the foot of the transient traveler and the wild Arabs of Engedi, while in sight of his sepulchre the domes and towers of the city in which he sought to slay the “young child” rise up toward the throne of the world’s Redeemer as the monuments of the birthplace of Him who “liveth for evermore.”

One of the wildest, roughest roads in Palestine leads from Herodium to the Cave of Adullam, where David and his men were secreted when pursued by Saul, and where “every one that was in distress, and every one that was in debt, and every one that was discontented, gathered themselves unto him, and he became a captain over them, and there were with him about four hundred men.”336 From this cave his three “mighty men” broke through the lines of the Philistines who garrisoned Bethlehem, and, drawing water from the well that David loved so much, and which still exists, brought it in triumph to their chief;337 and from here he took his parents across the Jordan, to place them in the care of his kinsmen of Moab.338

Descending over ledges of rocks to the bottom of a deep ravine, dry and barren, and walled in by perpendicular mountains 1000 feet high, we found ourselves in one of the grandest gorges in the Wilderness of Judea, where the solitude is unbroken by human habitation. In the face of the rocks are vast caverns, partly excavated by the winds and partly by the band of robbers whose dens they were. Winding round rocky projections and crossing wilder ravines, we reached at noon the foot of the ascent of the opposite mountain range, in the side of which, 400 feet above us, was the cave of Adullam. Compelled by the intense heat and the impossibility of finding a path to leave our horses, we advanced single file, now leaping yawning gulfs, now clambering over smooth-faced rocks, and again skirting some dangerous precipice.

It was past noon when the advanced guide cried out “KureitÛn!” In front of the cave were three immense boulders, over whose smooth slanting sides only goats could apparently pass; but we had endured too much to be thwarted by such obstacles. One leap brought us flat upon the first rock, another on the second, a third into the mouth of the cave. Turning round, Ilooked down upon a scene of complete desolation. No mountain pine waved its green foliage as in Alpine solitudes; no waterfall delighted the ear with its music; no feathered songster awakened the slumbering echoes of the glen. Entering the cave through a passage-way six feet high, four wide, and thirty long, but which soon contracted to such dimensions as to compel us first to stoop and then to creep, we at length found ourselves in the hiding-place of David. Owing to the curve in the entrance, no sunlight ever penetrates this dismal abode. Lighting our candles, we began to explore. We found the interior divided into chambers, halls, galleries, and dungeons, connected by intricate passage-ways. The chief hall is 120 feet long and fifty wide; the ceiling is high and arched, ornamented with pendents resembling stalactites, and from the walls extend sharp projections, on which the ancient warriors hung their arms. The effect was grand as our tapers revealed each irregular arch, graceful pendent, and sharp projection, giving the whole the appearance of a grand Gothic hall. Lateral passages radiate in every direction from this chamber, but ultimately converge in a central room. Threading one by one these labyrinthian alleys, Ibecame separated from the guide, and felt no little trepidation till Iheard him respond to my call. The darkness and silence were oppressive, and the seclusion and intricacies of the cave would have baffled any attempt of Saul to capture the object of his pursuit. From the side of the first chamber we reached a pit ten feet deep, and from it a low, narrow alley, 210 feet long, leads to another hall, the inner sanctum, where David held his secret councils. On the walls are the names of a few explorers, and among them that of a romantic Irish lady. Though this appeared to be the end of the great cave, yet the guide spoke of a secret passage to Tekoa and Hebron.

The only difficulty in identifying this cave with the one David occupied is the fact that two Adullams are mentioned in the Bible—one on the borders of Philistia, and the other among the cities of Judea. Ahundred feet above the cavern are the ruins of a city, probably the site of the JudÆan Adullam, from which the cave takes its name. And three scriptural facts seem to place the question beyond dispute: David’s escape from Gath,339 the reception of his father’s house,340 and the draught of water which his “mighty men” obtained for him at the peril of their lives,341 all of which favor this location rather than the one in an enemy’s country.