En Route for Hebron.—?Travelers.—?Beautiful Scenery.—?Ancient Travelers.—?Evening.—?Gray’s Elegy.—?Search for Lodgings.—?Hebron.—?Its Name.—?Origin.—?Home of Abraham.—?History.—?Location of the City and its Environs.—?Pools.—?Cave of Machpelah.—?The Mosque over it.—?Tombs of the Patriarchs and their Wives.—?Prince of Wales.—?Isaac still Lives.—?Identity of the Cave.—?Evidence.—?United in Death.—?Beersheba.—?Its ancient Wells.—?Events of the Past.—?Changeless Customs.—?Abraham and the Angels.—?Dining with an Arab Sheikh.—?Grapes of Eshcol.—?Abraham’s Oak.—?Ruins.—?Pool of Solomon.—?His Aqueduct.—?Plains of Rephaim.

It was four o’clock, one Friday afternoon in the month of March, when we issued from the western portal of Bethlehem on our way to Hebron. We had dined at a small German inn within the town, and from the proprietor Ihad obtained a spirited horse, though at an exorbitant price. The descent from the hill on which the city stands is rapid and difficult. In less than half an hour we reached the Pools of Solomon, but the day was too far advanced to examine them with care. Many travelers were on their way to northern cities, some on camels, some on asses, some on foot. Salutations were exchanged as we passed each other, and their appearance indicated both kindness and thrift. The men were attired in loose flowing robes, with sandals and turbans; the women in blue garments, and a white sheet enveloping their person; a thin veil was drawn closely around the lower part of the face, just above which their black lustrous eyes were peering. It was a strange sight to an American to see men riding and women walking; but in the land of Sarah, Rachel, and Mary, where the highest honor ever bestowed upon our race was conferred upon a woman, her degradation is no less true than sad.

Beyond the Pools the country rapidly improved in fertility and beauty. Though hilly, the land was not mountainous; and though the relative position of hill and valley was not regular, yet this confusion added interest to the scene. The vales were green with grains and grasses; the hills were covered with groves of fruit-trees; and along the highway were wells and fountains of cool water. As we advanced the scenery became picturesque. Now the valleys ran tortuously between the mountains; now ridges of Jura limestone rose on either hand; now dwarfed oaks and wild flowers covered hill and vale, while every where were visible ancient terraces and ruined towers, the evidence of former cultivation and of a larger population. But the pleasures of the journey were lessened by the condition of the roads, which were crooked and uneven, broken and stony. Sections of the old Roman highway remain, but by the neglect of twelve centuries this once famous road, over which the Roman chariot rolled, has been so damaged that those “royal road-makers” would now disown it as the work of their hands. Yet even an inconvenience so great was forgotten in the recollection that over this same road Abraham had passed with Isaac to the Land of Moriah, Jacob had fled from the face of Esau, David had ridden in triumph to Jerusalem, and the Holy Family had hastened to Egypt to escape the murdering minions of Herod.

The day was far gone as we neared the home of the Patriarchs. The sun was fast sinking into the blue waters of the Mediterranean; the Hebron Hills were casting their lengthening shadows over the vineyards of Eshcol, and the wild flowers, blooming along the path, were closing their tiny petals “beneath the kisses of night.” It was such an hour and such a scene as the plaintive bard has embalmed in immortal verse:

A solitary light shone from the minaret of Hebron as we entered its ancient portal. “Strangers in a strange land,” we sat down upon the stone pavement, waiting the return of our dragoman, whom, in the absence of a hotel, we had dispatched to search for lodgings in a private dwelling. Weary and hungry, we waited till nine o’clock for his return, being closely watched by the Hebronites, and, in turn, we watched the progress of a little courtship between a pretty Jewess and a young Israelite—she coquettishly peeping through a latticed window, he standing beneath it, catching the smiles and accents of love.

A Polish Jew had been persuaded to receive us into his house, but as it was Friday night, the beginning of the Jewish Sabbath, the family refused to prepare us food, or do any thing for our comfort which required work. Our host’s name was Jonah, a most unpromising fact. According to the style of Polish Jews, he wore yellow robes trimmed with fur, and a high round fur cap. His wife was elegantly attired, and was a person of more than ordinary beauty, which was not true of the other ladies of the family. Their house was near the Cave of Machpelah, and built of gray limestone. The room we occupied was in the second story; the ceiling was arched, and on the sides of the apartment was a raised platform, which served us as a couch. We had eaten nothing since we left Bethlehem; our host’s religion would not allow him to relieve our hunger, and, while we sent for a little Mohammedan maid to prepare the meal, Ithought on our Lord’s parable of the ass in a ditch on the Sabbath-day.

Hebron comes from Kirjath-Arba—city of Arba—from Arba, who was father of Anak, and progenitor of the giants called Anakims. At a later period it received the name of Mamre, in honor of Mamre, the Amorite, the friend and ally of Abraham. It now bears the Arabic name of El-KhulÊl, “The Friend of God,” evidently referring to the “Father of the Faithful.” Hebron is older than the oldest authentic history. According to Moses, Hebron was built seven years before Zoan in Egypt.343 But when was Zoan built? Seven years after Hebron! This indefinite answer leaves us to infer that Hebron is among the oldest cities in the world, having a greater antiquity than Damascus. Though its earliest history is obscure, its identity with the home of the patriarchs is unquestioned. Subsequently to his separation from Lot at Bethel, Abraham pitched his tent on the Plains of Mamre.344 Hither came the fugitive from the battle of the kings, and informed him of the capture of his nephew.345 From these peaceful pasture-fields he went forth with 318 trained servants, born in his own house, and, pursuing the victors unto Dan, there retook his relative.346 It was here, while sitting in his tent door, as old men are accustomed now to sit, that three angels in human form came to his tent, one to promise him a son, the others to pass on and destroy the “cities of the plain;”347 and, ascending the eastern hill early the next morning, he saw the smoke of the country that went up as the smoke of a furnace.348 Here, in harmony with the renewal of a covenant previously formed, and in obedience to the Lord’s command, he and all the males of his house were circumcised. Here is the scene of the unhappy story of Hagar and Ishmael,349 and, years later, of the birth of Isaac. Here Sarah died, and in the cave of Machpelah Abraham interred his beloved wife.350 Years after, the prince of patriarchs was laid by her side; and, in the termination of generations, Isaac and Rebecca,351 Leah and Jacob,352 descended to this abode of death. Two and a half centuries subsequent to the demise of Jacob, the good Caleb rested in peace and honor in Hebron;353 and, 400 years later, David here inaugurated a long and prosperous reign, and held his court during seven and a half years.354 But in less than 1000 years thereafter the home of the patriarchs and the seat of royalty became the theatre of the most horrid tragedies of war. Here, beside the graves of their fathers, and beneath the noble oaks on the ancestral plain, thousands of Jewish captives were brought from Jerusalem by the victorious Romans and sold into slavery.

Having an elevation of 2,800 feet above the sea, the modern town of Hebron is beautifully situated in the Valley of Eshcol. Extending north and south, and spreading out over the slopes of the neighboring hills, the city is divided by gardens into two sections, the main portion lying on the eastern slope, surmounted by the lofty wall of the Haram. To the north, on the declivities of the western hills, is a large cemetery. The graves of ordinary persons are marked by a circle of stones, while the tombs of distinguished individuals are designated by heaps of small stones, thrown together by friends and admirers to perpetuate their memory. The hills that bound the city on the east and west are not high, but graceful and rolling. To the northwest they are thickly covered with olive-groves, orchards of fruit-trees, and vineyards, each with a watch-tower for shelter and protection. There is nothing in the architecture of the town to awaken admiration. Like the buildings in the suburbs of Damascus, the dwellings are of gray limestone, with flat roofs, and surmounted by one or two domes. Unlike Jerusalem, the city has no walls, though at the entrance of the chief thoroughfares there are gates, which are closed at night, and carefully guarded during the day. The streets are nothing more than paved alleys, and would be vastly improved by an occasional cleansing. Though subject to Mohammedan control, Hebron is a thoroughly Jewish city. The population is estimated at 10,000, 500 of whom are Polish Jews. There is not a resident Christian in Hebron. The citizens live by cultivating fruit-groves and vineyards; by a small mercantile trade; and by the manufacture of water skin-bottles and colored glass trinkets, such as rings and bracelets, which find a ready market among this simple-hearted people.

In a country where water is scarce, and the mechanical art is in a rude condition, the pools and fountains of the wiser and more opulent ancients are preserved with care. The traveler is therefore not surprised to find himself standing beside fountains as old as the reign of David. In the southern part of the vale, where the buildings stretch across the valley from east to west, is the pool over which were hanged the murderers of Ishbosheth.355 It is a square tank, solidly built of large hewn stones, measuring 130 feet on each side and fifty deep; and in the northern section of the town there is another reservoir, eighty-five feet long, fifty-five broad, and eighteen deep.

But the chief attraction in Hebron, alike to the Christian, the Jew, and the Moslem, is the cave of Machpelah, now bearing the Arabic name of El-KhulÎl—“The Friend of God.” Approaching it with a reverence almost religious, with head uncovered, and with emotions excited by the hallowed associations of the place, Ihad hoped to have entered its precincts, and to have read the Bible story of its purchase and of the interment of the patriarchal families, but a Moslem fanaticism, as inhuman as it is irreligious, drove me from the sacred inclosure. What a stinging rebuke to such conduct is found in the courtesy, the justice, the goodness displayed by Abraham in the purchase of the field from the sons of Heth! His memory should soften religious asperities; his character should pacify the rage of fanaticism; his spirit should harmonize the discordant elements of sectarian strife; but a Moslem is too selfish, too bigoted, too depraved to rise to such sublime conceptions.

The field containing the cave of Machpelah is located on the higher slope of the eastern hill, and is now inclosed by a massive wall fifty feet high, the lower portion of which, to the height of forty feet, is of Jewish construction, and the upper part is of Saracenic origin, with a minaret at each angle. The wall has an ancient appearance, being constructed of large beveled stones hewn smooth, and extends north and south 200 feet, and 115 east and west. The exterior is ornamented with square pilasters, sixteen on each side, eight at each angle, which, without capitals, support a cornice extending the whole length of the structure. The wall is solid, without window or aperture except at the angles of the northern end, where are the chief entrances, reached by broad flights of steps, of gentle ascent, leading to the court within. Within this mural inclosure stands a mosque, once a Byzantine church, which, like the Church of St.Sophia in Constantinople and the Church of Justinian in Jerusalem, has been essentially altered and dedicated to Mohammed. Beneath it is the cave of Machpelah, and within it are the monumental shrines of the patriarchal dead. Within a small chapel, on the right, is the cenotaph in honor of Abraham, and directly opposite, in a similar recess, is the shrine of Sarah. Each is inclosed by an iron railing, and guarded by a silver gate. That of the father of the faithful consists of a coffin-like-structure, six feet high, built of plastered marble, draped with three carpets of a green color, embroidered with gold, while over that of Sarah is spread a pall. On the sides of the mosque, midway the building, and immediately opposite each other, are the monumental tombs of Isaac and Rebecca. Like those of their parents, they are placed within chapels, in the walls of which are windows, protected by iron bars. In a separate cloister, opposite the entrance of the mosque, in corresponding recesses, are the tombs of Jacob and Leah. Over that of the former are green-colored carpets of a coarse texture; against that of the latter recline two war-banners of the same hue.

Regarding these tombs with a superstitious veneration in keeping with the spirit and teachings of their religion, and with a fanaticism that would lead to the instant death of an intruder, the Moslems reverence them as among their holiest shrines. Until the year 1862, admittance was absolutely refused to Jew and Christian, except to architects, who were allowed to enter to repair the structure; but, thanks to the intelligence, the power, and perseverance of the Prince of Wales, the bar of seclusion from this most sacred and interesting place has been removed; and though at present the relaxation is slight, yet the ultimate effect of the prince’s visit must be the removal of all restraint, at least so far as to admit the ordinary traveler to the sacred inclosure, as he is now admitted to the Mosque of Omar, for a small fee, which formerly was as sacredly guarded. Moslem cupidity can not brook the temptations of gold.

Canon Stanley, who accompanied the prince, has recorded, with his usual elegance of diction, some thrilling illustrations of the superstition and almost religious awe with which the guardians of the Mosque regard these patriarchal shrines. “The princes of any other nation,” said the chief santon, “should have passed over my dead body sooner than enter; but to the eldest son of the Queen of England we are willing to accord even this privilege.” And, as the party entered the silver gate guarding the tomb of Abraham, the priest ejaculated, “OFriend of God, forgive this intrusion.” Maintaining even in death their rigid rule of the exclusion of male visitors from the society of their females, not even the Crown Prince of England was permitted to approach the cenotaphs of Sarah and her female descendants. The patriarchs being regarded as still existing in a state of suspended animation, and capable of resenting any indignity offered to their sepulchres, or the presence of any unwelcome visitor, the prince’s party was denied admittance to the tomb of Isaac, who, according to the santon, being unlike his kind-hearted father, and more easily exasperated, would arise and drive out any but those congenial to his spirit.

Beneath the Mosque is the sacred cave where rest in peace the remains of the eminent dead, and where to this day may still repose intact the embalmed body of Jacob. Machpelah signifying “double,” the cave consists of two compartments, separated by a wall of native rock. To its sepulchral vaults there are three entrances—one in the northwest corner, close to the western wall; a second in the court, opposite the entrance-gate of the Mosque; and a third near the shrine of Abraham. Believing, like the Catholics, in the intercession of saints, the Moslems throw their petitions to the patriarchs356 through the latter aperture.

Of the identity of this spot with the cave of Machpelah there can not be a reasonable doubt. In the days of Josephus it was marked by a memorial erected by Abraham himself, and from his time both Jews, Christians, and Moslems have in turn been the faithful guardians of the patriarchal tomb. Its identity is avouched by the belief of the Jews themselves, and around its venerable walls the despised descendant of the illustrious patriarchs now chants his prayers, and laments the departed glory of the once mighty kingdom of his renowned ancestors. Threatened with instant death should his devotion or temerity lead him to cross the threshold, he is only permitted, on certain occasions, to look through an aperture in the massive wall upon the spot where rest in peace those who were mighty in their day and generation, but who, in the helplessness of death, can bring no relief to a posterity who have abandoned their altars, and rejected the long-promised and now exalted Messiah.

There was something touching in the thought that Istood beside the family vault of those who had long lived together in the happy estate of matrimony, and there was even enjoyment in the reflection that God had vindicated the duality and unity of marriage in the grave. Here, side by side, sleep Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and Leah. Hagar and Keturah are not with Sarah, and Rachel is not with her sister Leah. Is this separation in death God’s reproof to Jacob for his dissatisfaction with Leah? Though the reasons that determined him to inter his beautiful Rachel in a common field by the roadside are unknown to us, and though Hebron is less than twenty miles distant from Ephrath, yet it is somewhat remarkable that in after years she was not exhumed and laid in the family tomb of Machpelah. Was Jacob unwilling to divide his grave with the daughters of Laban? or, conscious of the purity and singleness of his affection for Rachel, would he have her alone even in death? By the highway her solitary tomb remains, and, as if impressed with the patriarch’s wish, his descendants have made no interments on the spot.

Inseparably connected with Hebron is Beersheba, which is less than forty miles to the south. The road thither is hilly, and the journey toilsome; but, on approaching the well that Abraham dug, the pasture-fields of the patriarchs stretch out before the eye in all their native beauty and richness. Covering an area half a mile in length and a quarter of a mile in breadth are fragments of pottery, remains of foundations, and traces of a stone wall, the date of which is unknown, called by Moses Beer-sheba, “Well of the Oath,” because of the covenant between Abraham and Abimelech, and by the Arabs BÎr es-Seb’a, “Well of the Seven,” because of the seven ewe-lambs the former gave the latter: the modern name corresponds with the Bible designation. Having a diameter of twelve and a half feet, and a depth of forty-four feet to the surface of the water, this well is excavated in the living rock, and contains an abundance of pure fresh water.

Around this well what thrilling memories cluster! Departing from Hebron after the conflagration of Sodom, Abraham planted here a grove, whose fruit he gathered, and beneath whose shade he worshiped.357 Here Isaac spent his happy youth, rejoicing in the smiles of honored parents, and here his father received the command to offer the child of promise as a burnt-offering.358 After the demise of his mother, here Isaac received his bride Rebekah; and Beersheba became the scene of that sad episode in domestic life, the fraud of Jacob in obtaining Esau’s birthright.359 Here, in manhood, those brothers were estranged by a mother’s folly, and from this ancestral abode Jacob fled to Haran.360 After the lapse of seventy-five years he was here again, and offered sacrifices prior to his departure into Egypt, whence he was brought back with funeral honors such as only kings receive.361 Threatened by the infatuated Jezebel, hither Elijah fled, and, sitting beneath the shade of a juniper-tree, requested for himself that he might die.362 And here was the southern boundary of the Promised Land, whose uttermost limits, in the earlier history of the nation, were from “Dan to Beersheba.”

In a land where social and domestic customs never change, the scenes of historic associations possess an interest that never fails. The advanced civilization of Europe has there left to the traveler the ruins of renowned cities, without perpetuating the customs of their citizens. The temples, palaces, and dwellings of the Greeks and Romans remain, attesting the genius, elegance, and wealth of their age, but the social habits of the inhabitants of Athens and Rome bear no resemblance to those of their superior ancestors. In Italy and Greece one feels himself in an ancient country surrounded by a modern people, and, to re-live the past, he must forsake the present. But in the East, where a “thousand years are but as one day”—where the stereotyped life of the patriarchs is the every-day life of the Arabs—where intonations of voice, peculiarities of gesture, modes of salutation, styles of dress, habits of business, customs of domestic life, and where the tent, the meal, the fold are the same, the only difference is in the change of the persons who now occupy the homes of those whose memory we cherish, whose examples we imitate, and whose faith we aspire to attain. Accustomed to the slow and regular processes of nature, possessing power rather than capacity, and clinging to experience as something immutable, those who live by the cultivation of the soil look with suspicion upon novelties, regard innovations with dread, and are the last to change. The incoming of Franks into Eastern cities insensibly affects the manners of society; but here, on the patriarchal pasture-fields of Mamre and Beersheba, the domestic life of to-day is the same as it was 4000 years ago.

In crossing the great Plain of Wady esh-Sheikh, in Arabia, en route for Mount Sinai, Sheik Hassan, the chief of a tribe of Tawarahs, invited us to dine at his tent. It was noon when, from the backs of our camels, we espied the encampment to the southward. Nine tents of camel’s hair were arranged in a line, supported by rude poles. Those for the females were impenetrable to the eye of strangers, while those for the males consisted merely of a roof, with the sides and ends open. On reaching the tent prepared for our reception, our camels knelt, we dismounted, and the sheikh’s father, a man of eighty years, rose to greet us, and bowed himself to the ground in an attitude of profound respect.363 Mats were spread for us to sit upon, and water was brought to wash our hands and feet.364 To the east of this tented home Hassan’s daughters were keeping his flocks, as Rachel had kept those of Laban nearly forty centuries ago.365 Ayoung man was sent to the fold to fetch a kid, tender and good, and, having dressed it, carried it into the tent to Hassan’s wife, who cooked it with milk and rice. The rice and meat were brought on two large wooden plates into our tent, and set before us on a small stool less than a foot high. Without knife, fork, or spoon, we returned to the days before the invention of such instruments, and with our fingers begun to eat, while the sheikh respectfully stood up, attentive to our wants.366 It being a breach of Arab etiquette to inquire after the health of a wife, we were not permitted to ask for Sarah as the angels did.367

Had the dinner Abraham prepared for the three angels on the plains of Mamre been dramatized, the correspondence could hardly have been more exact. The tent-life; this distant field; the pressing invitation to dine; the water for the ablution of our hands and feet; the going to the field for a kid; handing it to a servant to dress it; the meal itself; the sheikh standing up while we ate; the seclusion of the females gave a lifelike reality to the sacred story.

Like the patriarchs of old, these Bedouin sheikhs lead a predatory life, moving their tents from place to place, according to the climate, and the demands of their herds and flocks. But in wealth, in hospitality, in reputation, in purity of character, in devotion, in intellect, in nobility of nature, the modern Arab chief holds no comparison with the exalted nature, the high-toned character, and the Christian-like piety of the prince of the patriarchs.

As in the days of the Hebrew spies, the Vale of Hebron is still famous for the delicious grapes of Eshcol.368 Extending up the valley for more than a mile, and covering the sloping hills on either side, these celebrated vineyards are cultivated with care, and are a source of considerable revenue to the proprietors. Unlike our vineyards, those of Eshcol have no arbors. The vines are planted in rows, from eight to ten feet apart in each direction. When they attain a height of six feet they are attached to a stake, placed in a sloping position, and the shoots extending from vine to vine form a long and graceful festoon. Occasionally two opposite rows are purposely inclined toward each other, forming with their branches a natural arbor. After vintage, in late autumn, all the shoots are pruned off, and the stocks are cut down within a few feet of the ground, leaving an ungainly and apparently dead trunk; but the returning spring brings forth again the tender leaf, and the coming summer matures the luscious grape for the autumnal vintage. In each vineyard there is a lodge, or stone tower, from which the watchman keeps guard against the depredations of beasts and the incursions of robbers. During the vintage season the town is deserted; the people retire to these towers, each one sitting beneath his own vine and fig-tree,369 and dividing the time between the gathering of the fruitage and the enjoyments of the annual festival. As the Moslems, who are the principal proprietors, are not allowed by their Koran to make wine, the grapes are either dried into raisins, or they are first pressed, and the juice is then boiled down into a sirup called dÎbs, not unlike molasses, but of a more delightful flavor and delicious taste. It was to these vineyards the spies came, and from them they carried bunches of the grapes to Moses and their brethren as evidence of the fruitfulness of the Promised Land. Their journey was long, fatiguing, and perilous. Leaving Kadesh Barnea, in the Desert of Paran, they entered the Jordan Valley, and followed the river northward to Lake Tiberias, and, winding round its northern shore, entered the upper valley of the Jordan, pursuing their journey as far as Rehob, near Dan, as men come to Hamath; thence returning through the midst of the land by Tabor, across the great plain of Esdraelon, over the hills of Samaria, through the vale of Shechem, by Jacob’s well, over the heights of Benjamin and Judah, by Shiloh, Bethel, Jerusalem, and Bethlehem, to Hebron. Here flows the brook Eshcol, from which they drank, and from the vines along its banks they cut down a branch with one cluster of grapes, “and they bare it between two upon a staff.” To those who live in more northern climates, this story of the enormous size and great weight of a single bunch of grapes must seem incredible; but, whatever may be the degeneracy of the Syrian grape, through centuries of neglect, the proof is abundant that in southern latitudes grapes grow to an enormous size. According to Pliny, a bunch of African grapes was larger than an infant. Paul Lucas mentions bunches which he saw in Damascus weighing forty-five pounds each, and in Naples Ihave eaten grapes each one as large as a plum. The mode, however, adopted by the spies to carry the bunch from Eshcol to Kadesh Barnea was probably not rendered necessary by the size of the cluster so much as by the desire to preserve it entire for the benefit of their brethren.370 Watched by the keen eye of the vine-dresser, we entered the vineyard, and were impressed with the exact correspondence between the one before us and the one described by our Lord: There was a certain householder, which planted a vineyard, hedged it round about, digged a wine-press in it, built a tower, and let it out to husbandmen.371 There were the vines; around them was the hedge; within it was the press; yonder stood the tower, and by my side toiled the husbandman. Within the same vale are groves of olives, and orchards of figs, and apricots, and quinces, and pomegranates. The latter fruit, so frequently referred to in the Bible, is as sweet to the taste as it is pleasant to the eye. In form and size it is not unlike an orange, and in color inclines to a pale yellow, tinged with a red blush. They grow upon a thorny bush, with a tulip-shaped flower of a brilliant red color, and form one of the luxuries of the East both to the native and to the stranger. But the noblest of all the trees of Hebron is the remarkable oak of Abraham. It stands in the midst of the vineyards, in a clean, smooth spot, covered with soft, fresh grass, and near a well of cool water. It is an oak of the evergreen species, measuring twenty-three feet in girth, and its magnificent branches spread out over a circle ninety feet in diameter. Six feet from the ground the trunk separates into four huge branches, and, higher up, these in turn spread out into many more. Standing alone, it appears to greater advantage, and its lengthened arms, loaded with exquisite foliage, affords delightful shade to the weary traveler. Here, on their festive days, the Jewish maidens and the young men of Hebron assemble beneath this ancestral tree to enjoy the rural pleasure of the song and dance. Though of great age, it is still sound and majestic, and with it tradition associates many thrilling memories. Standing on the Plain of Mamre, it probably marks the spot where Abraham pitched his tent and entertained the angels. Though hardly credible that this terebinth should have remained green and vigorous during the lapse of nearly forty centuries, yet it may be cherished as the last representative of the sacred forest of Mamre. Fond of contrasts, and never happier than when the extremes of fortune and the ends of time meet in the same scene, the Oriental legendaries point to this noble oak as the slave-mart where the descendants of Abraham were sold by their Roman masters into captivity.

Plucking a leaf from the famous oak and a sprig from the vines of Eshcol, we mounted our horses, and in less than an hour reached the ruins of Remit el-KhulÎl, the house of Abraham. Occupying the summit of a mountain ridge, from which the blue waters of the Mediterranean were distinctly seen, they consist of massive stone walls, of rounded columns now broken, of arched vaults now in ruins, and of a noble well hewn out of the solid rock. The two remaining walls are constructed of well-dressed stones, measuring fifteen feet in length, and are in good condition. The wall facing the south extends east and west 290 feet, while the other, running at right angles with the former, is 160 in length. The well is a perfect circle, with a diameter of ten feet. Its sides are faced with smooth dressed stones, from out the joints of which exquisite ferns were growing. The water is deep, clear, and sweet, reflecting the sun by day, and the moon and stars by night. An unsolved mystery still hangs over the ruins of Remit el-KhulÎl, if ruins they be. Their founder and their age are alike unknown. The Jews point to them as marking one of the halting-places of Abraham; the Latin fathers of church history ascribe them to Constantine the Great; while others attribute them to some unknown person, who would have reared for himself a castle and a palace, but was unable to finish the designed plan.

Resuming our journey, in half an hour we passed on our right a mosque, whose solitary minaret rose gracefully in honor of the Prophet Jonah, while to the left, a mile beyond, was a crumbling tower with pointed arches, and near it an immense fountain, where shepherds were bathing. On either side of the road were excavated tombs, now the haunt of the hyena and jackal. The mosque probably marks the site of Halhul, and the tower the site of Beth-zur, enumerated by Joshua as among the cities of Judah.372 Fifteen miles to the north from Hebron the valley of UrtÂs crosses the road at right angles, and to the right of the highway are the celebrated Pools of Solomon. To these, and to the lovely gardens which once environed them, he refers in Ecclesiastes, ii.,5,6: “Imade me gardens and orchards, and Iplanted trees in them of all kinds of fruits. Imade me pools of water, to water therewith the wood that bringeth forth trees.” Nowhere in the environs of Jerusalem could the wise king have attained the consummation of his wishes to greater advantage than here. Under the horticultural care of a Christian Jew, the valley of UrtÂs has been transformed into a charming garden. What were once rocky hills are now terraced from base to summit, covered with olives, figs, and almonds, while in the bed of the valley are grains and grasses, flowers and vegetables, growing in rich abundance. With his inexhaustible resources, what a scene of beauty must the vale of Etham and the neighboring hills have presented in the days of Solomon’s strength and glory! But Time, that inexorable destroyer of human works, has effaced every trace of his wonderful genius save the pools that bear his name. Both history and tradition point with unmistakable accuracy to the imperial founder of these great fountains. With his accustomed love of detail, Josephus refers to the rivulets and gardens of Etham, situated fifty stadia to the south from the Holy City, whither Solomon was wont to retire for rural delights; and the Rabbins, with even greater minuteness, describe the aqueduct which conveyed the waters of UrtÂs to Jerusalem.

These pools consist of three immense reservoirs, situated in a straight line one below the other, and so constructed that the bottom of the first is higher than the top of the second, and the second than that of the third. They are in part excavated in the rocky bed of the valley, and in part built of square hewn stones covered with cement, and are entered by stone steps excavated in the rock. Measuring 380 feet in length, 236 in breadth, and twenty-five in depth, the upper pool is the smallest of the three. A hundred and sixty feet to the east is the middle pool, which is 423 feet long, thirty-nine deep, and varies from 160 to 250 wide. Two hundred and forty-eight feet farther east is the lowest and largest reservoir, being 582 feet in length, from 148 to 207 in width, and fifty feet in depth, and, when full, capable of floating one of our largest men-of-war. The eastern end of the lowest pool is supported by immense buttresses, in one of which is a chamber, and in the north wall of the first tank is a filter—a wise precaution. Forty rods to the northwest, in an open field, are the perennial sources of these great fountains. Twelve feet below the surface are two vaulted chambers, the larger of the two being thirty-seven feet long and twenty wide. Springing up at four different places through the bottom of these chambers, the water is conducted by little ducts into a large basin, from which it flows through a subterranean canal to the northwest corner of the first pool, where it is divided, a portion of it flowing into a deep vault near the old castle, and thence being conducted into the first pool, while the remainder is carried by an aqueduct along the hill-side, which is so arranged as to send a portion of its water into the second and third pools, and then, descending rapidly, joins the aqueduct leading from the lowest pool, from which point the water is conducted, via Bethlehem, by a sinuous channel to Jerusalem. Iknow not which to admire more—the genius of the architect that conceived such a complicated work, or the public spirit of the king who supplied the means for its execution. The original design was to supply the Holy City with pure cool water, and also the Temple service, which demanded such large quantities. And to obtain a constant and unfailing supply, these tanks bore to each other a mutual relation. When the fountain yielded more than was necessary, the surplus was carried into the pools, and when the yield was not equal to the demand, the deficiency was supplied from the pools themselves.

The wind blew hard from the northwest as Itraced up the hill-side the ancient aqueduct, repeating those impressive words of the great proverbialist, “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” Like the melancholy strains of a dirge, the winds moaned as they swept round the mountain brow, and the waters sighed as they languidly fell from pool to pool. Was it not the requiem of his departed glory? Asolitary descendant of his mighty kingdom now grubs a living where once his royal gardens stood, of whose beauty he sang in all the tenderness of the Canticles; and the robber of the desert and the wild Bedouin of the hills now bathe in those fountains which once sent murmuring streamlets along verdant banks and flowery beds, and supplied the imperial table with the cooling beverage.

The aqueduct is constructed of red earthen pipes, covered, for protection, by common limestone flagging. In many places the flagging is removed and the pottery broken, to accommodate the traveler with water. To preserve a proper level, it sweeps around the hills and heads of the valleys; and, though fatiguing to follow its windings, it repaid the toil, as illustrating the fact that, while the ancients could construct the most complicated works of masonry, they were ignorant of the simple method of conducting water over a level higher than its source. Having followed the aqueduct two miles, we crossed the wild valley of Ta’Âmirah, and reached Bethlehem in time to enjoy a Christian wedding. Ten pretty maidens had assembled at the door of the bride, and were singing a simple but sweet melody, accompanied with the clapping of hands. Unlike the music of the Moslems, there was a warmth in these bridal songs thrilling and joyous. From a scene so happy we passed through the town, and, a mile from the ancient gateway to the northwest, we came to the tomb of Rachel. “And they journey from Bethel; and there was but a little way to come to Ephrath; and Rachel died and was buried in the way to Ephrath, which is Bethlehem. And Jacob set a pillar upon her grave; that is the pillar of Rachel’s grave unto this day.”373 The pillar reared to the memory of a beloved wife has given place to a small white square building, surmounted by a dome. It is a Mohammedan wely. Standing by the side of the great road from Jerusalem to Hebron, the site has never been lost, its identity never questioned. Jew, Christian, Moslem, equally revere it, and never pass it without some token of affectionate remembrance. Gathering a few wild flowers growing near the dust of Rachel, we resumed our journey toward Jerusalem. In half an hour we reached the convent dedicated to Elijah, called MÂr EliÂs, and here came upon the new and noble macadamized road, extending from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, constructed by the monks of MÂr EliÂs, which is the first of the kind in Palestine, since the construction of a similar road by the French, running from BeÎrut to Damascus. The wind had increased to a tornado as we swept by the Plain of Rephaim. It was the last object of Biblical interest to heighten the joy of a long and interesting tour. Stretching from the rocky brow of Hinnom to the Convent of Elias, it gradually declines to the narrow Valley of Roses. Amile in length, it is one of the richest plains in the Holy Land. It is remarkable in sacred history as the camp of the Philistines in the days of Saul, and as containing a mulberry-grove, now gone, in the tops of the trees, of which David heard a “sound of a going,”374 which to him was the signal of war and the pÆan of victory.