A Price for Politeness.—?Escort.—?Picturesque Scenery.—?Samaria.—?Its Founder.—?Its Vicissitudes.—?Residence of Elisha.—?Famine.—?City beautified by Herod.—?Its Location.—?Hill of Omri.—?Grand Ruins.—?Tomb of John the Baptist.—?Temple of Augustus.—?Prediction fulfilled.—?Departure for CÆsarea.—?Night on the Plain of Sharon.—?The Sick brought out.—?Plain of Sharon.—?The Lost Lake.—?CÆsarea uninhabited.—?Dangers.—?History.—?Imperial City under Herod the Great.—?Grand Ruins.—?St.Paul a Prisoner.—?Death of Herod Agrippa.—?AthlÎt.—?Mount Carmel.—?Scene of the Sacrifice.—?Great Event.—?Abode of Elisha.

Samaria, the ancient capital of Israel, is seven and a half miles to the northwest from Nablous, and 25 miles beyond, in the same direction, is CÆsarea, on the Mediterranean coast. Intending to encamp that night amid the ruins of the latter city, we ordered our horses at nine A.M. At the appointed time their solid iron shoes were heard on the pavement below, and the impatient Arab servant was crying, “Horses ready, sir.” But we had met with an unexpected delay. Judging from the magnanimous manner in which the schoolmaster of Nablous had received us at our arrival, and his affable deportment during our stay, he seemed above the tricks and meanness of other Orientals; but an Arab is an Arab the world over—selfish, money-loving, and untrue, whether Christian, Jew, or Moslem. Eastern hospitality always means an equivalent to be returned for whatever has been received. Gifts are presented with the tacit understanding that presents are to be given in return. Even the merchant assures the buyer that all he has is his, well knowing that in this unbounded generosity he is protected by the customs of the East, which are invested with all the sanctity and authority of law. More than once our host had said, “All Ihave is yours—my house, my food, my service.” To the uninitiated this is equal to his ideal of Oriental hospitality; but when the day of departure comes, the deceptive curtain is lifted, and his Arab host stands before him a persistent creditor. Having paid our host for his apartments and for the entertainment he had furnished, Isaw that he wore an expression of disappointment. “What is the matter, my friend? Why is thy countenance sad, seeing thou art not sick? It is nothing else but sorrow of heart.” “Ah! my dear sir, you have paid me for my room, for my food, and for my service, but you have not paid me for my politeness.” “How much do you charge for your politeness?” Athoughtful moment followed, and he replied, “Two dollars and a half.”496

Waving him an adieu, we sprang into our saddles, and in a few moments issued out of the western portal of the city. Intending to visit CÆsarea, which is now a desolation and a den of thieves, we had taken the precaution to engage two Turkish soldiers as a guard, for whose service the governor had demanded an exorbitant sum. They were to have met us at the gate of the town, but, true to their traditional indolence, they did not arrive till long after the appointed hour. The sun was high, a long journey was before us, many places of deep interest were to be visited, and we felt impatient at the delay. To wait was the only remedy. At length one came, informing us that his companion had lost his horse. Refusing to linger longer, we ordered him to advance, leaving word with the guard at the gate to hasten the tardy soldier, who overtook us after half an hour’s ride.

Our cavalcade now presented a picturesque appearance as we wound round the southwestern spur of Gerizim and descended into the upper end of the Vale of Shechem. Leading the way, our guard were mounted on spirited horses fantastically caparisoned, while they themselves were attired in costumes of the gayest colors. Each was armed with a long gun thrown across the shoulders, a Turkish sword dangling by his side, and a brace of old-fashioned cavalry pistols sticking in his girdle. As we advanced the scenery became surpassingly lovely. Terraced hills rose on either side, casting a grateful shade in the vale below; groves of figs and olives, apples and pomegranates, apricots and almonds, covered the plain and mountain sides. As we rode on, our ears were saluted with the sound of running waters and the song of birds. In less than thirty minutes we passed on our right a noble fountain, covered with a Roman arch, around which were groups of peasants and droves of asses. An hour beyond we came to an arched mill-race, not unlike a Roman aqueduct, consisting of twelve pointed arches, gray with age and festooned with graceful ferns. It is used for carrying the water to the south side of the valley, where it falls headlong into the heart of an old mill, amid the whirr of wheels, mingling an air of civilization with the crude mechanics of the East. Leaving this terrestrial elysium, our path diverged northward over bleak hills whose limestone ribs had burst through the scanty soil, intensely reflecting the light and heat of a Syrian sun. The path is cut into the solid rock, in some places resembling steps, but now worn smooth by the tread of man and beast. Near the summit of the ridge is the “Shepherds’ Spring,” where maidens were drawing water for their flocks. Now the royal city of Samaria rose to view. Its unique hill, like a truncated cone, adorned with circular terraces; its marble porticoes, now in ruins; and its hut-like dwellings, rising from amid the remains of more pretentious edifices, formed a picture of singular beauty. Descending through magnificent groves, the path followed the valley, and, after passing beneath an old arched gateway, it abruptly turned to the west up the hill of the Samaria of Omri, the Sebaste of Herod, and the Sebustieh of modern times.

The history of Samaria is among the most thrilling and romantic portions of the Sacred Volume. It dates back to 900 yearsB.C. “In the thirty and first year of Asa, king of Judah, began Omri to reign over Israel, twelve years; six years reigned he in Tirzah. And he bought the Hill of Samaria of Shemer for two talents of silver, and built on the hill, and called the name of the city which he built after the name of Shemer, owner of the Hill Samaria.”497 Up to this time the revolted ten tribes had no capital city as the object of their pride and the centre of their affections. Originating in rebellion, the kingdom of Israel had been governed by adventurers, who had reared sumptuous palaces as fancy or luxury inclined. From Shechem, the original seat of empire, Jeroboam removed to the enchanting Heights of Tirzah, a magnificent mountain six miles north from Nablous, projecting from the table-land of Ebal. Solomon had praised its beauty in his immortal song: “Thou art beautiful, Omy love, as Tirzah;”498 and for forty years it was the seat of royalty. Ambitious for an imperial city near Jerusalem, Baasha, the successor of Jeroboam, abandoned Tirzah for Ramah; but, overtaken by misfortune, he was compelled to return to the mountains of Ephraim. More successful, however, than his predecessor, after a reign of six years Omri finally exchanged Tirzah for the strength, wealth, and glory of Samaria. Succeeding his father Omri to the throne of Israel, and marrying the Sidonian Jezebel, Ahab removed his court to Jezreel, on the slopes of Gilboa. To him belongs the shame of having first erected an idol temple to Baal on the summit of Samaria, which secured for him the divine verdict that “Ahab did more to provoke the Lord God of Israel to anger than all the kings of Israel that were before him.”499 The city was a tempting prize to the military plunderers of that distant day. In the reign of Ahab, Benhadad, king of Damascus, besieged it with a strong and boastful army, but, through the courage and celerity of the young men of the provinces, he was repulsed with terrible slaughter.500 Long the residence of the Prophet Elisha, Samaria was the scene of many of the most interesting events in his marvelous career. Benhadad, regarding him the cause of the discomfiture of his army, dispatched a detachment of troops to Dothan, six miles to the north, to capture the man of God. Conscious of his danger, Elisha invoked the divine aid, and the Lord smote the men with blindness, and the prophet, whom they had been sent to capture, led them as captives back to Samaria. Forgetting that mercy is due to the vanquished, the king of Israel, in a paroxysm of revenge, cried out, “My father, shall Ismite them? shall Ismite them?” More humane than his royal master, the kind-hearted Elisha replied, “Thou shalt not smite them: wouldst thou smite them whom thou hast taken captive with thy sword and with thy bow? Set bread and water before them, that they may eat and drink, and go to their master.”501 Benhadad, enraged at his failure to capture the man whom he supposed was the cause of his ill success, sought to accomplish by famine what he had failed to do by the sword. Investing the city on every side, he reduced the citizens to the greatest necessity. It was during the horrors of the long and fearful famine which followed that, as the King of Israel passed along the wall, “there cried a woman unto him, saying, Help, my lord, Oking. And he said unto her, What aileth thee? And she answered, This woman said unto me, Give thy son, that we may eat him to-day, and we will eat my son to-morrow. So we boiled my son and did eat him; and Isaid unto her on the next day, Give thy son that we may eat him; and she hath hid her son.” Rending his clothes at a spectacle so mournful, and erroneously attributing the famine to Elisha, the king swore, “God do so, and more also to me, if the head of Elisha, the son of Shaphat, shall stand on him this day.” Conscious of his innocence and undaunted at the threat, the prophet sat calmly in his house; and, contrary to all human probability, but knowing what would befall the enemy that night, he said to the executioner, “To-morrow about this time shall a measure of fine flour be sold for a shekel, and two measures of barley for a shekel, in the gate of Samaria.” Terrified by a supernatural noise, that night the Syrians abandoned their well-provisioned camp and fled for safety. Four lepers, who had lingered outside of the city, dying of hunger, in the desperation of despair resolved to enter the enemy’s camp and ask for bread; but, to their surprise, the camp was empty of men, but full of the spoils of war. Lepers though they were, they hastened back to the city with the glad tidings of plenty, and that day were fulfilled the prophetic words of Elisha.502

No important event occurred in connection with Samaria for 700 years, till the reign of the Emperor Augustus, who bestowed it as a gift upon Herod the Great, by whom it was enlarged and beautified, rivaling Baalbec and Palmyra in the magnificence of its architecture. Herod reared a temple on the summit of the hill in honor of his patron, and inclosed its base with a colonnade, consisting of two ranges of columns 50 feet apart, and extending 3000 feet in length. Such was the splendor of Samaria in the apostolic age, when Philip, together with Peter and John, preached the kingdom of heaven to the Samaritans, and encountered Simon Magus, the sorcerer of Sebaste.503

The ancient city was located on one of the most imposing and picturesque hills in Palestine. Situated in a basin-like plain six miles in diameter, it rises in an oval shape to the height of 300 feet. Connected with the mountains on the east by a gentle swell of land, it has the appearance of a noble promontory. Midway its sides is a broad, irregular terrace, the site of the modern town, while its summit is a long, level plateau. On the north and south are valleys, converging on the west into the Valley of Nablous and running to the sea, bounded on either side by higher mountains, dotted with villages, and fertile in groves of fruit-trees and fields of grain. Nothing evinces the refinement and elegance of Omri’s taste more than the selection of this hill to be the site of his imperial city; but, under the degenerating influences of Mohammedanism, the beautiful in nature and the grand in art sink into insignificance. The footfalls of the Prophet are the pitfalls of civilization. Here, as every where else in the East where he sways his sceptre and lifts his sword, shame succeeds glory. Filth and rags, indolence and turbulence, crime and misery, are the chief features of the 400 inhabitants of the modern town. Their sixty wretched huts are constructed of mud, in which are imbedded the polished but now broken columns of costlier edifices. In a region where plenty waits on ordinary industry, they are but little above the condition of common beggars. In such a land indolence is a crime and poverty a dishonor.

Grand amid its ruins and conspicuous in its desolation is the Church of John the Baptist, reared to the memory of that great man some time during the reign of the Crusaders. Standing on the very brow of the broad terrace on the east, its broken arches and crumbling walls recall the beautiful ruins of Melrose and Dryburg Abbeys. In form it resembles a Greek cross. The finish of the interior is of the Corinthian order, and exceedingly beautiful. Measuring 153 feet in length and 75 in width, the interior consists of a nave and two grand aisles, formed by rows of clustered columns ornamented with Corinthian capitals. In the eastern end is the chancel, with pointed arches elegantly adorned, resembling the segment of a circle. But the Gothic roof is gone, and in the aisles grass grows where once cowled monks and mail-clad knights knelt in prayer. On white marble tablets set in the wall are sculptured crosses of the Order of the Knights of St.John, now mutilated by the hand of Moslem ignorance.

The southern half of the interior has been inclosed for a mosque, and under a wely in this inclosure is the reputed tomb of St.John, called by the Arabs “Neby Yahya.” It is a small chamber excavated in the solid rock, reached by the descent of 21 steps. Here pious tradition points to the final resting-place of his headless body, brought hither by his friends from the castle of Machaerus, on the east of the Jordan, where it was originally interred. When the brave Crusaders took possession of the Holy Land, they guarded with affection and veneration the sepulchre of their patron saint, and reared over his ashes this church as his funeral pile. Though impossible to determine the correctness of the tradition that here urns the dust of the greatest of prophets, it is no less a tribute to his memory, and a dishonor to the memory of his royal murderer, that the name of John and that of Herod are the only two conspicuous names perpetuated by the ruins of Samaria.

Plucking a memorial leaf from the tomb, we followed the broad, level belt of land to the southwest side of the hill, where are the remains of Herod’s colonnade. It is impossible to speak with accuracy of its vastness and magnificence. According to Josephus, Herod enlarged the city, surrounded it with a wall 20 furlongs in circumference, in the midst of which he left an open area a furlong and a half in circumference, where he erected a temple to Augustus, remarkable alike for the vastness of its dimensions and the exquisite beauty of its finish.504 To rival the renowned city of Palmyra, he constructed a colonnade 50 feet wide and 3000 long, consisting of two rows of polished limestone columns 16 feet high and two feet in diameter, ornamented with Corinthian capitals. Through this imposing colonnade the royalty, the beauty, and military of Sebaste passed up to the temple of Augustus, which crowned the hill of Omri; but, like the grim skeleton of departed beauty, it is now a ruin. For more than 200 feet this avenue is marked by prostrate columns and broken bases. Ahundred shafts still stand erect as when reared eighteen centuries ago, but now marred by the rude plowshare of the equally rude Arab. Ascending to the site of the temple, 200 feet above the colonnade, we found 17 columns without capitals, two of which were lying prostrate, overgrown with the ripening grain. Half a mile distant to the right were 15 columns, which are all that remain of that famous quadrangle composed of 170 columns. Where marble walks once ran and exquisite statuary stood, venerable Nature, outliving the monuments of human greatness, has resumed her ancient sway, bearing on her fertile bosom clustering vines and ripening grains. From the summit the prospect is no less extensive than captivating. Unrivaled by any other hill as a site for a capital, the position of Samaria is strong and central, its environs are fertile, and its summit is fanned with breezes from the distant sea. The vineyards, the cotton-fields, the circlet of mountains green with corn, and the rich Plain of Sharon beyond, bounded by the blue waters of the Mediterranean, form a picture of more than ordinary beauty, and one which Elisha and Herod, Philip, and Peter, and John must have contemplated with delight.

As we descended from the ruins of Sebaste, whose citizens were great in crime as they were great in wealth and power, the prophetic denunciations against the city and their fulfillment were recalled to mind: “Iwill make Samaria as an heap of the field and as plantings of a vineyard; and Iwill pour down the stones thereof into the valley, and Iwill discover the foundations thereof.”505 “Samaria shall become desolate, for she hath rebelled against her God.”506

It was two P.M. when we mounted our horses for CÆsarea. Reapers were thrusting the sickle into the ripe barley, and maidens were gleaning after them, as we rode over the Plain of Sebaste. Soon we turned westward and again entered the Valley of Nablous, here known as Wady Sh’aÎr, “The Valley of Barley.” Through its centre flows a brook, which increases in width and rapidity as it approaches the sea. Following the northern bank of the stream, we passed, at intervals of several hundred yards, Roman aqueducts, near which are mills driven by water power. Reaching the small hamlet of ’Anebta, the road to CÆsarea branches, one continuing down the valley to the Plain of Sharon, while the other, striking across the barren ridges of Wady MussÎn, enters the plain by the village of BÂkah. Choosing the latter, we traversed a barren and cheerless region. Night came on apace as we neared the large and flourishing town of Shuweikeh, situated on a lofty hill. Passing the village of KakÔn, we mistook Zeita for the town of BÂkah. Riding through its silent streets, we learned from a peasant that the place of our night’s encampment was still to the westward. Regaining the road, we lingered for a moment to examine the remarkable Hill of ZÎt, marking the eastern border of the Plain of Sharon. Its sides are scarped and regular, and its summit is level; around its base are hewn stones and fragments of columns belonging to some unknown city. It was here we had a despicable instance of the military tyranny of the Turks. One of our soldiers rode into a field and cut down grain enough to feed his horse that night, while the owner, who was a poor man, besought him, in the most respectful manner, to spare his grain, as it was all his property. But neither age, prayers, nor poverty touched the heart of that military ruffian.

Anxious, hungry, and weary, we pitched our tents, at eight P.M., in the environs of BÂkah, a small straggling town on one of the richest plains in the world. The mules unloaded, the horses tethered, supper over, prayers offered, my companions asleep, Iwalked out upon the magnificent Plain of Sharon. Adreamy haze, like gossamer gauze, veiled the skies of night, through which moon and stars softly peered. Ascene so lovely recalled the tender strain of one of our finest poets:

The horse and his rider lay side by side, and the watch-fires, burning dimly, shed a livid glare upon the sleepers. The moon, growing brighter as she ascended, silvered each spear of grass and blade of corn, while far away to the east, amid the mountain glens of Samaria,

It was now midnight, and Iwas alone, a stranger in a strange land, without one near me whose face Ihad seen beyond the ocean. The heavens only were familiar; the moon and stars of my childhood were as old companions; but, rising above the one and the other, Isought communion with Him who is enthroned on high.

The morning dawned inauspiciously; the gossamer veil of the previous night had been folded into thick clouds, which obscured the summits of the distant hills. While we were waiting for our muleteer to load his beast, there occurred a scene illustrating the tenacity of Eastern customs. In our party was Dr.Barclay, the eminent American physician of Joppa. His fame had preceded him, and, learning of his arrival, the villagers brought out their sick of all ages, and for a time our encampment became a hospital. Among the number was a young girl, who with faltering step came leaning upon the arm of her mother. She was pale and emaciated, and apparently in the last stages of consumption. The doctor examined her symptoms, questioned her mother, and prescribed for the patient, who long since, Ifear, has passed to another world. Such was a faint illustration of the days of the Savior, when “they brought unto him those having all manner of diseases, and he cured them.” In a country where science is neglected, materia medica is unknown, the barber is the physician, bloodletting is the panacea for all diseases, and the “medicine-man” of more enlightened lands is revered next to God.

The sick had scarcely found shelter within their hovels when the storm broke upon us in all its fury. Protected by a thick burnous and a Mackintosh coat, we waited patiently the return of fair weather. The rain ceasing, we advanced, but had not reached the southern limits of the town when the storm was renewed with tenfold violence. Deeming it prudent to halt, we remained upon the plain for an hour, amid a drenching rain and exposed to a raging wind; but when the rain ceased a rainbow spanned the heavens such as seldom appears in Western skies.

Hoping to reach CÆsarea by noon, we dashed over the plain, and in less than two hours came to the Nahr Abu ZabÛra, which was so swollen as to render fording dangerous. Exploring the banks for a ford, but failing to find one, we plunged in with a shout, and with difficulty gained the opposite bank. Safely “beyond the floods,” the Plain of Sharon lay before us in all its wealth and beauty. It extends like a vast prairie from the base of Carmel on the north to the sea-girt cliffs of Joppa on the south. Eastward the Hills of Samaria look down upon it, with Ebal and Gerizim rising above their fellows. Westward is the sea, whose waters roll their ceaseless waves against its “empire shores.” It has a shore line of 50 miles in length, and varies from one to 15 miles in breadth. Undulating in long and graceful swells, it is at intervals dotted with low hills crowned with the ruins of unknown towns. Retaining its ancient character, it is the best pasture-land west of the Jordan valley. Three thousand years ago here Shitrai the Sharonite kept the flocks of David,507 and over its ample fields the shepherd of to-day might wander with his herds. Of the “rose of Sharon” neither peasants nor scholars have any knowledge at present; if it exists, it is not recognized by its inspired name. There grows upon the plain the “imperial thorn,” by some regarded as the thorn of which the Savior’s crown was made. Growing to the height of four feet, it has a gorgeous purple blossom, with a long, lancet-like brier, and would well compose a mock imperial crown.

There are no paths over this great plain, which is seldom trodden except by those who till the soil, and the compass or a peasant is the traveler’s only guide. Though ordinarily this is a disadvantage, yet to us it proved advantageous, as in our wanderings we discovered a lake that had been lost since the days of the Crusaders. Though it is not large, its waters are pure, of a bluish tint, and abound in fish. Flocks of wild ducks were floating on its placid bosom. Its waters never fail, though they are sensibly increased by the rains in the wet seasons. Its shores are clean and sandy. On the north it is bounded by a high sand-bank of many miles in extent. The sand is of an orange color, like that found on the Debbet er-Ramleh in Arabia. On the south and west there is a meadow rich in rank weeds, and covered with acres of white and yellow daisies. On the north and east there is an oaken grove, lovely as an English park.

Crossing the large sand-hill, we soon entered a tract of country remarkable only for the quantity of thorns and brambles, which scratch both man and beast in the most painful manner. An hour’s ride from the lake brought us to the outer walls of CÆsarea, and at one P.M. we encamped within its massive ruins. Fearing an attack, our soldiers immediately left us to return to Nablous, assigning as the cause the worst of military reasons—that they were afraid to remain. An Arab soldier is rarely to be trusted in danger. His convictions of right and wrong, his sense of obligation, his want of personal courage, his habitual meanness of soul, and his traditional hatred of the Christian, disqualify him to be a trusty guard. He is of advantage to the traveler in saving him from the petty annoyances of the common people, by whom he is dreaded because he is tyrannical and brutal, but it is his nature to cower in the presence of a superior and courageous foe. There is nothing so mean as an Arab soldier.

It was a dangerous experiment to visit CÆsarea, and especially to remain there during the night without a guard. For many years there has been a standing feud between the FellahÎn who dwell in the villages on the plain and the HawÂra Arabs who hover along the coast. It was a novel sight, as we crossed the fields, to see farmers engaged in the peaceful pursuits of husbandry armed to the teeth. Men were threshing with guns slung upon their backs; women were gleaning with heavy clubs dangling at their side; and patrol-men, with sword and pistols, gun and lance, were on the alert to give the alarm at the first appearance of the foe. With brief intervals, such has been the condition of Sharon since the earliest ages, and Isaiah gives it as a sign of the restoration of the Jews, that “Sharon shall be a fold of flocks, and the Valley of Achor a place for the herds to lie down in, for my people that have sought me.”508 Discouraged by such dangers, but few travelers attempt this interesting tour; but there is so much of religious and political importance connected with this renowned city, that we felt justified in making the journey and remaining during the night, after we had been abandoned by our military escort.

The authentic history of CÆsarea commences with Strabo, in the reign of Augustus, who describes it as an insignificant landing-place, marked by “Strato’s Tower.” From this solitary tower CÆsarea became the most magnificent city in Palestine, under the auspices of Herod the Great. The subject and friend of Augustus, he sought to perpetuate the favor of his royal master by founding an imperial city and giving to it the family name of CÆsar; and, impelled by an unbounded ambition, he aimed, if possible, to make it rival Rome in the elegance of its architecture and in the extent of its commerce. Abandoning the traditions of his fathers, he transferred the capital of his empire from its mountain fastnesses to this inhospitable coast, which exposed it alike to the corruption of Western nations and to the attack of their naval galleys. But in removing the sceptre of empire from Judah he unconsciously became the accomplisher of prophecy, and in inviting the civilization of the West to his shores he unintentionally opened a highway for the nations to hear from apostolic lips the sublime lessons of Christianity. Sparing neither art nor treasure in founding his new city, he surrounded it with a wall of many miles in circumference, and within the inclosure erected on a commanding hill, which he encompassed by a second wall, a splendid temple of white marble, and dedicated it to CÆsar. According to Josephus, he adorned it with two statues, one representing Rome, and the other his patron Augustus. To attract the commerce of the West, he constructed in front of the acropolis a harbor equaling the Athenian PirÆus both in elegance and extent. Sinking huge stones to the depth of 20 fathoms, he constructed an immense and gently-curving breakwater to protect vessels in port from the southern and western gales, but left an open channel on the north for the entrance and departure of ships. To strengthen and beautify the mole, he reared large towers, containing vaulted chambers adorned with arched ceilings, mosaic pavements, polished columns, and sculptured capitals, for the accommodation of naval officers, and connected the towers and the shore by a long quay, designed for the landing of merchandise and the pleasures of a promenade. To tempt the wealth and fashion of Greece and Rome, he erected on the east and south a vast theatre and circus; and to secure the health and comfort of the citizens, he built aqueducts extending miles in length, and large enough to admit a mounted cavalier.509 But the history of CÆsarea was as brief as it was splendid; its decline was as rapid as its rise was sudden. Forsaken by men, it is now an uninhabited desolation. An unbroken silence reigns within its palaces, the wild Arab refuses to pitch his tent within the crumbling walls, and the shepherd declines to lead his flock amid its wild flowers and rich grasses. Rank weeds grow where royal feet trod, the shy fox barks and the hungry jackal wails where kings reigned, and sobbing winds sigh responsive to moaning waves where the voice of revelry was heard. As the ancient population of the city, consisting of 200,000 souls, could not have resided within the walls of the acropolis, our first attempt was to ascertain the location and direction of the outer wall. Riding to the east of the town, we could trace a regular mound sweeping from shore to shore in the form of a semi-circle, now covered with rubbish, and overgrown with high weeds. Returning, we ascended the second or inner wall, which is well preserved, and is exceedingly strong. On the south, east, and north it is surrounded by a deep moat, and is flanked on three sides by bastions surmounted with towers 120 and 150 feet apart. Commencing on the shore, the north wall runs inland a distance of 900 feet; forming an angle at this point with the eastern wall, the latter extends southward 1728 feet, where it joins the south wall, which runs to the sea, a distance of 657 feet. Having an altitude of more than 70 feet, this wall is supported by 17 bastions. To increase its defensive power, the eastern wall is double, one portion being perpendicular and the other oblique. Near the northeast angle is a large gateway, the chief entrance to the town on the east; and in the southern wall, near the shore, there is another gate, surmounted by one of the watch-towers of the olden city.

Measuring half a mile in length and a quarter in breadth, the whole area within this inclosure is covered with heaps of rubbish, with deep intervening pits; and on the one and in the other grow marigolds, white daisies, chess, thistles, and brambles. Not a fragment of CÆsarea’s temple remains to be identified, and on its site are the ruins of the Cathedral of CÆsarea, in which the learned Eusebius officiated as bishop of the diocese for more than a quarter of a century. Of this noble edifice four large buttresses are standing, which, from their height, are seen from afar, presenting an imposing appearance to the traveler, whether his approach is from the plain on the east or from the sea on the west. Though a complete ruin, the outline of this early Christian church can be traced without difficulty. Constructed of beveled stones, the interior consisted of a nave and two lateral aisles. Originally extending 143 feet in length, 121 feet of the south wall continue in situ, 13 feet in thickness. In the eastern end is the chancel, which, consisting of three semicircular apses measuring 60 feet in all, is the breadth of the cathedral. Standing from 16 to 20 feet apart, and being from five to seven feet thick, the four remaining buttresses formed the grand portico to this Christian temple. Judging from the projection of the arch, the doorway was 12 feet high, as it is nine wide. Beneath the church is a dark and loathsome vault 77 feet long, gradually declining toward the east. It is now the den of jackals and hyenas.

If any work of art is worthy to be called grand, it is the Herodian harbor of CÆsarea. The breakwater described by Josephus is a continuation of the southern wall of the acropolis, more than 300 feet of which are still visible above the sea. Some of the stones in the lower courses are 20 feet long, six wide, and as many thick. In the southeast corner of the mole are the remains of a tower, reached by 20 stone steps, and commanding a view of the entire port. The ceiling was formerly arched, and a portion of an old arch projects from the side, resting on the figure of a human head. Connected with this tower, and on a level with the shore, were the apartments for the officers of custom, the mosaic floors of which remain in excellent condition. On the very extremity of the mole is another tower, containing a square room 20 feet high, 30 wide, and 35 long, but the waves are fast wearing it away. On the northern side of the harbor, flanked by stones 15 feet long, seven wide, and six thick, are three immense gateways for the entrance of vessels. Following the shell-strewn shore of a small bay, we reached the end of the northern wall of the acropolis. The noble marble pier, once extending into the sea 170 feet, is now a ruin. Its hundred prostrate columns lie as they fell, most of them parallel to each other, with now and then one lifting its head in silence above its fellows, worn by the tireless surges which roll over it, careless of its former grandeur. To me, sitting on one of those columns far out into the sea, time passed unconsciously. The day had declined, the golden sun was sinking into the distant ocean, and, as if an angel had led me back into the past, Ithought of the fall of empires and the vanity of human glory.

Hailing the first blush of returning day, Isat on the desolate shore and read the inspired history of CÆsarea. Excepting Jerusalem, no city in Palestine is more intimately connected with the early Christian Church. Coming from the interior, the apostles sought the great centres of commerce, where they preached to men of all nations their catholic faith. Having baptized the Ethiopian eunuch, Philip the Evangelist followed the coast, and, preaching Jesus to the inhabitants of all the maritime cities thereon, he came to CÆsarea.510 Thirty years thereafter, here, with his four daughters, he resided as one of the seven deacons of the infant church, when St.Paul and St.Luke were his guests. It was in his house that Agabus took Paul’s girdle, and, binding his own hands and feet, foretold the arrest and imprisonment of the apostle to the Gentiles.511 Arrested in the Holy City, here Paul was brought a prisoner by order of Claudius Lysias, and somewhere amid these ruins was the dungeon in which he was confined two years. In obedience to Roman law, hither came Ananias the high-priest, with the orator Tertullus, to accuse him before the governor. Here stood the palace of the sordid Felix and his adulterous Drusilla, where he “reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come;” and where he made that marvelous defense before Agrippa and Festus, provoking the taunt from the latter, “Paul, thou art beside thyself; much learning hath made thee mad;” and extorting the concession from the former, “Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.” And from this harbor, now the wreck of earlier grandeur, that apostle entered the ship Adramyttium, under Julius, a centurion of Augustus’s band, to prosecute his appeal before CÆsar, and at last to die a martyr at Ire Fontana, beneath the walls of Rome.512 Here was the home of the devout Cornelius, to whom Peter came from Joppa on the coast, 33 miles to the south, with the keys of the kingdom of heaven, to open its gates to the Gentiles and baptize the first heathen convert. Here, in the year 270A.D., Eusebius Pamphili was born, and subsequently this was the birthplace of Procopius the historian.

Sending the baggage to AthlÎt, our party separated to explore the different parts of the city, agreeing to rendezvous at night at the above-named place. Riding down the coast with a single companion, we first examined Herod’s amphitheatre. Located a little south of the acropolis wall, it occupies a commanding position. Judging from the shape of the ground, it was originally semicircular in form. Much of the masonry has survived the waste of time, and among the broken granite columns is one nine feet in circumference. The arena has an eastern and western diameter of 69 feet, and a northern and southern diameter of 78 feet. The seats are of stone, arranged in tiers, and recede as they ascend, giving a slope from the bottom of the arena to the outside of the uppermost seat of 90 feet. The width of the eastern wall, from the highest tier of seats to its outer edge, is 75 feet, forming a grand promenade. It was not possible to determine whether this is an embankment of earth faced with masonry or a solid wall. It is penetrated with arched passage-ways, like those in the amphitheatres of Capua and Pompeii, which lead to the dens and stalls of the animals designed for the entertainment of the spectators. On the south side is one of the principal vomitories leading to the arena; it is 11 feet wide, 48 long, and is the only one now open. High up in the southeast part of the building is a solitary seat, just as it was left by the last spectator by whom it was occupied. The shape of the mounds on the south indicates that the southern wall of the theatre served as part of the city wall, as on its extreme western end are the remains of an old watch-tower containing a circular chamber, and not far to the north are the ruins of another, occupying a narrow neck of land commanding the approaches to the coast. It is evident, from the present appearance of the mounds, that originally the walls extended to the shore, agreeing with the description of Josephus that “it was conveniently situated for a prospect to the sea.”513

With this theatre stands connected one of the most mournful tragedies of Bible times. Having murdered the Apostle James and attempted the life of Peter, Herod Agrippa came from Jerusalem to CÆsarea to call to account the citizens of Tyre and Sidon, who had incurred his royal displeasure. Arrayed in robes of gold and silver texture, Herod entered the theatre on a festive day to deliver an oration to his subjects. According to an ancient custom, it was early in the morning, and the sun’s rays, falling upon his resplendent garments, dazzled the eyes of the beholders, who, in a delirium of joy at the brilliant spectacle, and at the same time affected by the eloquent tones of his voice, rose en masse and cried out, “It is the voice of a god and not of a man. Be thou merciful to us; for, although we have hitherto reverenced thee only as a man, yet shall we henceforth own thee as superior to mortal nature.” In this moment of divine homage he looked up and saw above him, on a rope, an owl, a bird of ill omen. It was the messenger of his departure. Refusing to rebuke this impious flattery, “the angel of the Lord smote him, because he gave not God the glory, and he was eaten up of worms, and gave up the ghost.”514 Looking upon his flatterers as he expired, the dying king exclaimed, “I, whom ye call a god, am commanded presently to depart this life, while Providence thus reproves the lying words you have just said to me; andI, who was by you called immortal, am immediately to be hurried away by death.”515 The construction of the theatre is in harmony with these serious facts. The imperial throne being on the west side of the edifice, toward the shore; the auditors sitting with their backs toward the east; and the building, like all structures of the kind in Eastern countries, having no roof, the rising sun shone with dazzling brightness upon the monarch’s robes, transforming him into an object of indescribable magnificence, and awakening the acclamations of the people.

Riding eastward through lacerating thorns and briers, we saw a red granite block, 35 feet long, five wide, and four thick, lying upon its broad surface, and near it another of less dimensions. Beyond them, to the north, is Herod’s circus for chariot racing. It consists of an oblong basin with embanked sides. The three conical shafts of red granite, averaging from eight to ten feet in length, which marked the goal of the ancient course, are still standing; and in the midst of a field not far to the northwest is a deep well, 20 feet in diameter, with circular mouthpiece and arched roof.

The ride from CÆsarea to Mount Carmel is less remarkable for its Biblical antiquities than for the pleasures of the tour. It was 11A.M. when we regained the shore, and Irejoiced in the mysterious companionship of the sea. The aqueducts of Herod extended for miles on our right, and, though dry, are in a good condition. The coast is here lined with low black rocks, against which the waves dash wildly, the spray reflecting the rainbow. At midday we came to the Nahr Zurka, or the Crocodile River of Strabo and Pliny, which is a clear and fordable stream. Having its source among the hills on the east, it flows down a pretty glen, amid wild flowers and dense shrubbery. To the left is a low promontory, jutting into the sea, and covered with the shapeless remains of some unknown light-house. To the right the Samarian Hills creep down to the shore. The beach soon widened, and was strewn for miles with white and purple shells to the depth of several feet. In two hours we passed TantÛra, the Dor of the Scriptures, whose king was the ally of Jabin of Hazor.516 It is a small village of 30 houses; and on an islet to the west is an old tower, which, like an ancient landmark, is seen from CÆsarea to Carmel. Passing the small towns of Kefr Naum and Surafend on the right, we reached AthlÎt at sixP.M. on Saturday, and pitched our tents on a beautiful lawn, beneath the walls of the Castellum Peregrinorum. This is the second most interesting city of Phoenicia, but the date of its origin and the name of its founder are unknown. With ruins as vast and grand as those of CÆsarea, the style of the architecture is superior to that of the city of Herod. Unnoticed by sacred and profane historians, its name remained in obscurity till the twelfth century, when the Crusaders selected it as the chief landing-place for pious pilgrims en route for the Holy City, calling it the “Pilgrims’ Castle.” It occupies a rocky promontory, and is bounded on the west by the ever-majestic sea, and on the east by green hills and fertile plains. Crossing the headland from bay to bay are the remains of an outer wall, which once inclosed a quadrangular area a mile in extent. Within this inclosure stood the citadel, inclosed by a wall 15 feet thick and 30 high. It was constructed of pure Phoenician stones, and was penetrated by three gates, two on the east and one on the south, which were reached by stone steps. Opposite the southern gate is a massive pier 12 feet wide and 150 long, most of which is still above the water. Here the shore is covered with prostrate columns, fallen pendentives, broken entablatures, and marred cornices. Rising out of the sea are sections of the western wall, the southern end of which is formed of circular stones 12 feet in circumference. Originally there sprang from this wall a lofty arcade 35 feet wide, and beneath it ran an arched passage-way across the entire promontory. In the northwest corner is a large room, to the very door of which vessels came to land their passengers and discharge their cargoes. To the northeast of this arcade is a plain Gothic church 20 feet wide and 133 long. The ceiling is supported by 12 arches, springing from as many plain brackets, each arch culminating in an elegant embossed flower. The interior is reached by a single door, and its one square and two pointed windows look upon the sea.

Consisting of a few huts, occupied by inhabitants as filthy as they are wretched, the modern town of AthlÎt is piled upon the ruins of the ancient acropolis. Beneath the citadel are immense vaults, supporting the formidable fortress above. In the midst of these huts stands the once magnificent Gothic church of the Crusaders. The remaining wall is 80 feet high, and is divided into sections by ribs, which rest upon the heads of human figures. These arches, no doubt, spanned the eastern aisle of the church in the days of its glory. Such are the splendid ruins of AthlÎt. Impressed with its greatness, Iexperienced the novel emotions of gazing upon a decayed city whose powerful citizens are without a record in history. Enumerating Dor and its towns, Joshua may have included AthlÎt; or, if it existed at that time, it may not have been possessed by Issachar.

Two roads lead from the “Pilgrims’ Castle” to Mount Carmel, one along the coast to Haifa, the other through the Vale of Dor. We took the latter: the path leads over rich plains, where reapers and gleaners were gathering the ripened grain. To the east the trees and blades of corn seemed to rise out of water, but we soon discovered that it was a mirage. In an hour we reached the mouth of a narrow mountain defile. To the south of the entrance are two remarkable caves, which some time have been human habitations. The larger of the two is 300 feet long and 50 wide. The sides and top are formed into sections by 13 natural arches, resembling the ribbed ceiling of a Gothic church. The bottom of the cave declines inward, and near its termination the percolated water drops from the fretted roof. Entering the mountain gorge, the lofty hills on either side are covered with oaks, hawthorn, myrtle, and acacias, and flowers bloomed along the grassy vale. The Sabbath silence that reigned within was unbroken save by the cooing of the dove in its mountain home, and the scream of the eagle as he flew from his inaccessible eyry. The hills soon receded, and the broad valley was dotted with oaken groves and fields of pasture, where herds of cattle and flocks of sheep and goats were browsing. Passing through the village of Asifriah, we descended a steep path leading into a ravine of extraordinary grandeur. Descending the glen, between mountains which arose thousands of feet above us, we turned to the north and began the ascent of Carmel. For two hours we ascended a mountain path steep and rugged, lined with oaks, acacias, and flowers, when we gained the summit of the sacred mount, and stood with Elijah of Tishbe, and Elisha, the son of Shaphat.

Branching off from the northern portion of the mountains of Samaria, Carmel is a bold and grand promontory projecting into the sea. Running in a northwesterly direction, it is the boundary-line between the Plain of Sharon on the south and that of Phoenicia on the north. Rising 2000 feet above the sea, it is 18 miles long and five wide. Covered with evergreen oaks, it is appropriately called “The Fruitful Field.” As the type of natural beauty, Isaiah compares the returning glory of his nation to the “excellency of Carmel,”517 while Amos predicts that “the top of Carmel shall wither,”518 as descriptive of the utter ruin of his country. From the summit the eye rests upon one of the noblest landscapes in the world. To the west is that “great sea” seen by the prophet’s servant; to the south are the Mountains of Samaria; to the north the Hills of Nazareth; while to the east is the Plain of Esdraelon, stretching far away to the Jordan in vast undulations, and dotted with Gilboa, Little Hermon, and Mount Tabor.

But the glory of Carmel is its sacred associations. In the darkest hour in Jewish history, when Jehovah’s altars were thrown down and his prophets slain, hither Elijah invited the priests of Baal to test by fire the superiority of their respective gods. The priests conceding the existence of Elijah’s God, the contest was to decide whether Jehovah or Baal should be the supreme divinity of the land. Chastened by the evils of a long drouth, the people were prepared for a procedure so extraordinary. Ahab, over whom the infamous Jezebel had gained the ascendency, was upon the throne of Israel; and, while lost to all the better feelings of woman’s nature, and irreclaimably abandoned to the worst forms of idolatry, there remained no hope in the case of the queen, yet such a divine interposition might act for good on the mind of the king.

Midway the mountain there is an upland plateau, commanding a view of the entire plain. In this recess there is a noble fountain, three feet square, shaded by oaks, and rising above it is that bold and rocky peak which the prophet’s servant ascended to watch the rising cloud. Here, in full view of Ahab’s palace, the sacrifices were offered. From the loose rocks that here abound were taken the stones to build the altars. From these forests was hewn the wood on which the offerings were placed. From this mountain spring, either miraculously preserved from becoming dry during the long drouth, or created by a divine power for the occasion, were drawn the twelve barrels of water to fill the trench around the altar of Elijah. From the pasture-fields below, up these slopes, came the bullocks to be sacrificed; while, covering the gentle declivities, and extending in vast concentric circles to the plain beneath, and clinging to every crag and tree above, the people were gathered to witness the most interesting of all sacrificial scenes. Around their altar stood the king and priests of Baal, while, wrapped in his mantle, Elijah stood alone. From morning till noon, and thence till evening, the prophets of idolatry implored their god in vain. With an irony that was biting as it was confusing, the prophet of Tishbe urged them to cry aloud. It was the dawn of his triumph. Sublime in his simplicity and strong in his isolation, Elijah invited the people near. Repairing the Lord’s altar, he prepared the sacrifice, and, in answer to a prayer no less brief than fervent, the fire descended and the sacrifice was consumed, amid the acclamations of the people, “The Lord, he is the God!” As the defamers of religion and the enemies of God and man, the priests of Baal were led down to the banks of the Kishon, from which they had so recently come in such pomp, and were slain. Ahab and Elijah reascended the Mount, the former to eat and drink, the latter to pray. Hearing, in his prophetic ear, the sound of abundance of rain, Elijah sent his servant up to the loftiest of the mountain peaks to watch the rising cloud from the bosom of the sea. The heavens grew dark, the rain began to fall; and in fear lest the Kishon might not be fordable, Ahab was commanded to hasten to his palace; while, careless of his age, and in the spirit of a loyal subject to a king whom he had humbled in the presence of his people, Elijah girded up his loins, and ran before the chariot of Ahab to the entrance of Jezreel.519

Consecrated by an event so remarkable, Carmel subsequently became the abode of Elisha. It was while looking down, one afternoon, upon this same great plain he saw the “woman of Shunem” coming in behalf of her only son. He sent Gehazi to inquire the object of her visit; but she passed him by, and, pressing up this hill, laid her complaint before him. Descending from his mountain retreat, he hastened to her home of sorrow and restored her child to life.520

In after years Carmel was regarded with a superstitious veneration even by the learned heathen. Here Pythagoras passed some time in solitary meditations, and hither Vespasian came to consult the oracle which became so famous.