Jerusalem, Oct. 13th, 1836.

We have just returned from a visit to Jericho, the Jordan, and the Dead Sea, and I now set myself to the work of giving you a short account of these places. If you wish for a full and detailed account of these celebrated places, I must send you to books and the makers of them. My object is to give you such brief notices, as I have time to commit to paper. The Rev. Mr. Lanneau of the Jerusalem mission joined us, and made a very agreeable addition to our party; we took also two soldiers as a guard, this district being notorious for robbers.

We left Jerusalem by the gate of St. Stephen, passing between the chapel of the Virgin Mary and the garden of Gethsemane. We crossed Mount Olivet a little to the south of the church of the Ascension, where there is a slight depression in the mount; the part south of this is called the Mount of Corruption. On it Solomon built places for his heathen wives, to practise the heathen rites. They point out a place where they say he had a large establishment for these "strange women." The Mount of Corruption! very well named, when put to such uses; a very corrupt business it was—bad enough at any place, but still worse at the holy city, and by the ruler of the chosen people! Solomon was, no doubt, a very wise man in some things, but he did not show it in his relation to females. In that respect he behaved very foolishly. It is the dictate of wisdom for a man to have one wife, it was thus intended by his Maker; and he will be the happier and even the better man, all other things being equal, for being thus connected. If he uses a little wisdom in making his choice, and a little more in treating and taking care of his wife, as every good man ought to do, he will find, nine times out of ten, that his wife will be a great comfort and help to him, and do him good all the days of his life. But what is to be expected of the man who is so very foolish as to gather them about him by the score, yea, the hundred? And then, what a selection from all the idolatrous nations within his reach! I doubt not they were a bad set, a very bad set of women; but what right had he to expect a better from the quarter whence he obtained them? Had he gone to some good old pious father of his own people, and married his well-raised, virtuous, and pious daughter, and confined himself to one wife as a wise man ought to do, and a good man would do, he might have been happy in the married life. But behaving as he did, there is no wonder that he was unhappy. It is not at all courteous and gallant in him, in these circumstances, to show his spite in making hard speeches about the ladies, as if there was no fault on his own side.

Mount Olivet, where we crossed it, had a few trees on it, and a portion was laid out in gardens and vineyards, but a great deal of it evinced neglect. It has a wide, flat top, over which we passed for some time, before we began our descent. We had a pretty good view of the northern end of the Dead Sea, the valley of the Jordan, and the mountains of Moab, which run north and south, not far east of the Jordan and the Dead Sea. These mountains do not appear to be very high; I should judge them to be about the height of the hills to the west of Jerusalem. My attention was arrested by the apparent straightness of the range, and the uniform height of the ridge. The top of it, from the south to the north, as far as it could be seen with distinctness, appeared almost perfectly level. It forms a most beautiful eastern horizon to a person on the high grounds about Jerusalem.

On the eastern side of Olivet, a little on the descent, is Bethany, where Lazarus and his sisters lived. It is a low, miserable village, containing only a few families, and most of these live in the lower rooms and cellars of old buildings. Not one good house did I see in the village. It is little else than a mass of ruins. An old ruin is pointed out as the house of Martha. We were shown the grave of Lazarus; it is an excavation in the rock, narrow at the mouth, barely allowing a person to enter; we descended eight or ten steps, and there found a small room, in which was a place that served for an altar, on which service is at times performed. In one side of this room is a small hollow place, rude enough certainly, in which we were told the body of Lazarus was deposited. The whole concern is certainly a very poor one, much less like a place of interment than many we had seen, but may have been intended for that purpose.

Our course was now nearly due east. We had a very steep descent to make on the eastern side of Olivet. We found some cultivated ground, and a few olive and fig trees. Among the limestone on the surface we saw many masses of silex, much of it of a variegated and fine kind, which had the appearance of the coarser kinds of agate. We passed from the Mount of Olives into a deep hollow, which runs east towards the valley of the Jordan. Near the head of this hollow is a spring of water, with a ruin in the vicinity, which appears to be a great stopping-place for those who are passing to and from Jerusalem and Jericho. We found there a company of Arabs and muleteers. Our road led us down the valley. The hills on both sides were steep, and the valley narrow. From this place there is a change in the character of the rock, and a corresponding one in the character of the soil and the aspect of the country. The rock becomes a friable limestone of the softest kind. This continues most of the way to the valley of the Jordan. It is easily disintegrated, and of course but little of it appears on the surface. A fine-looking soil covers the face of the country, the hills are rounded over, and but few rocks are seen projecting out. Those veins of silex, which I have mentioned, form an exception; and there are several of them, one above another, at a greater or less distance. They vary from two or three to twelve or eighteen inches in thickness; and, in some places, form a kind of cord-like appearance round the hills. While, however, the land looks more favourable for tillage, it does not show the evidences of it—far otherwise—we saw less and less of its surface under the care and cultivation of man, and fewer traces of a resident population; no villages, no houses, no vineyards nor olive trees, and but occasionally a spot that had been made to yield grain. About half-way from Mount Olivet to the plain of Jordan, we passed a district that exhibited rather a singular aspect. The rock on both sides of the narrow valley down which we were passing, was thrown much out of the horizontal position, which is the general state of the rock in this district, and forced up in the middle, a rod or two it may be, and made to have much the appearance of a regularly-formed arch. It was manifest especially in the siliceous stratum before-mentioned. In some places you might count many of these arches along the side of the hill, on both sides of the valley, and in part corresponding with each other. They had all the appearance of having been formed by the action of some great force from below, acting partially on small locations. I noticed the same, but on a more extended scale, on the road by which I returned from the Dead Sea, which lay considerably to the south of this. It was, however, as far as I could judge, about the same distance from the valley of the Jordan. It is, indeed, the same district, and may possibly exhibit a similar appearance both north and south to a much greater extent. It deserves an examination from some one who has leisure and the desire to gain a perfect knowledge of the geology of Palestine.

The west side of the valley of the Jordan is bounded by a very high hill; it might well be called a mountain. It cannot be less than from 500 to 800 feet high. The rock of these hills is limestone, so very soft and white that I hesitated whether it did not more properly belong to the chalk formation. As the valleys approach this abrupt border of the plain, they cut deep into the earth, and some of them form most tremendous chasms. They reminded me much of the mouths of the streams in some parts of Kentucky, and on the Kanhawa. They are all destitute of trees, and hardly a bush is to be seen that would shade a goat. This nakedness of the banks and precipices gives them a wild appearance. On the sides of these deep chasms you occasionally see ledges of rock jutting out, and caves, either natural or artificial, entering under them—a noble place for thieves and robbers. The descent from the hills to the plain of Jordan is abrupt and steep. To our left was a most tremendous gorge, with a small flow of water in it. The face of the hill towards the plain, was almost entirely destitute of vegetation, and deeply furrowed, from the washing of its soft and yielding soil. Directly before us, and a short distance from the foot of the hill, we saw some ruins, and the remains of a wall which enclosed a considerable district. Whether this was the remains of some old village or city, we could not tell, as our road turned north of it, towards Jericho, and we had not time to visit it and examine it more minutely. We crossed the rivulet flowing out of the deep gorge to our left, as we descended the hills; on its banks were some old ruins, and, to our right, was a large and very high mound, which, from its regularity, had the appearance of being artificial, and was much like some of those large mounds that are seen in the valley of the Mississippi.

A few small trees adorned the banks of the rivulet within the gorge, and marked its course through the plain. This noble, wide-spread plain lay almost as much at waste, especially toward the hills, as if there was no man to till the ground. It had the appearance of having been fertile, and not wholly deprived of its fertility, but as worn a good deal with former usage. There was, as is usual with plains near water, a scattering of water-worn pebbles over it, but not so many as to be at all in the way of tillage. As we entered more on the plain, we passed some spots that bore marks of having yielded grain not long since.

After travelling about three miles, we reached the village which is called Jericho. Just before entering it, we crossed a small brook which flows from the north-west, and has its rise in the fountain pointed out as that which Elisha healed. 2 Kings, ii. 21. About this brook, and spreading out over the plain, were a number of bushes, mostly of the thorn kind, and not unlike what I have heard called the white thorn in some parts of the United States. The largest of them were about as high as a peach tree, but were rather a clump of branches growing out of one root, than branches from the same stem. They have many very sharp thorns on them. Some of them bore an apple, of a whitish colour, larger than a grape. There was also another bush with prickles on it, which grew from four to five feet high. It bore a yellow fruit, about as large as the apricot, that looked very rich and pretty, enticing the appetite, but the taste was unpleasant and indescribably nauseous. When cut, they were soft and watery.

The village called Jericho, may stand about mid-way from the hills to the Jordan. It is one of the most miserable villages that I ever saw. The houses are low, dirty, miserable places, hardly deserving the name. Piles of rubbish, ashes, and filth, lie all about. There is one building now occupied by the soldiers stationed there, that has high and strong stone walls, but is much out of repair. The village has, however, some gardens about it, and a number of fig and other fruit trees. Of the many palms which may once have decorated this city, but one remains. We encamped near the house used as a fort by the troops, under some fine spreading fig trees. There were some cattle in the village, but we were not able to procure any milk that was fit to drink; a small vessel which they sent to us, being so bad that we would not have it, but sent it back to the owner. We have usually found it difficult to procure milk.

We set out in the morning to visit the fountain of Elisha before we went down to the Jordan. It lies about three miles north-west of Jericho. As our guide did not know the way, we tried to engage a person from the village, and on inquiring for a boy, they told us they had no boys; all their boys and young men were taken for soldiers. They are all Mohammedans in this village; and it is only Mohammedans, or Druses and Ansairi, who are next-door neighbours to them, that the Pasha honours with a forcible incorporation into his army—a happy deliverance for the Christian. After some inquiry, a woman engaged to be our guide so far as to put us in the right road. The spring is a fine large one, near a small hill, half a mile in the plain. There were some appearances of ruins in the piles of stone that lay about its head. The water is clear, but not cold; there is a considerable spreading of the waters by means of small channels, and also from the level character of the ground. This district is for some extent covered with the thorn-bush I have mentioned, together with some intermixture of other growth.

Mount Quarantania, which is one of the highest and roughest parts of that range of hills that border on the plain, has a peculiarly desolate appearance, and is full of holes and caves. This is the mountain into which, as the monks tell us, our Lord was led, after his baptism, to be tempted of the devil. Between its base and the fountain are a number of old walls and buildings, which indicate that a place of some consequence may once have been situate there.

The French prince whom I have mentioned before as on a visit to Palestine, we learned, had spent the night at the fountain with his retinue. He had come the day before from Bethlehem to the Dead Sea, and from thence came up past Jericho to the fountain of Elisha, and was off this morning for Jerusalem before we arrived. It would seem that even to unbelievers this land has a most intense interest; and well it may, for what land ever witnessed such wonders as have taken place in Palestine?

We took a south-east direction across the plain, which differed but little from the district we had already passed over, in the sterility of its aspect. This appearance may in part have been owing to the circumstances, that we were now at the close of the summer, and these plains had been parched with a six months burning sun, without the protection of a good covering of vegetable growth, and not favoured with a shower of rain. This was enough to parch the life out of almost anything. Parts of the plain had been under tillage, and on some spots the stubble on the ground showed that a crop of grain had been gathered, but the greater part lay untilled. It no doubt serves, as much of the best lands of these regions do, for pasturage—a matter, in the estimation of the people of this country, equally, if not more important than land employed in tillage. This is not the season for flocks to be seen on the plains, as they are too much burned up; and I know not where they can find districts at present that are not. At the distance of a mile and a half from the Jordan we made a descent of eight or ten feet. The descent was rather irregular, the edge of the strata much washed, and there were many irregular parcels of earth along the edge, that had resisted the wastings which had removed the strata to this extent. The whole surface of this part of the plain was very destitute of vegetation. At the distance of nearly three quarters of a mile we made another descent, nearly as great as the former; the edge of it had much the same washed and irregular appearance. The land on which we now entered had many of these irregular mounds of earth that I mentioned as lying along the water edge of the former descent. It looked as if the whole plain had once been on a level with the part above the first descent, and that a sweeping torrent, extending out to where the first bank is, had passed over it, and swept away about ten feet of earth, except a few hard spots near the edge; then, that another torrent had come down, reaching out only to the place where the second bank is, and within its range had carried off about ten or twelve feet of earth, leaving a large number of spots that resisted it; for the mounds between the first and second banks nearly agreed in height with the plain above that bank, while those below the second bank agreed in height with the land between the first and second banks. In the space between the second and third banks much of the ground looked as if it was often covered with water, like the dried mud on which water has long lain; this was not the general character of this district. There were at places many small bushes, and on some parts of it a pretty considerable crop of dry weeds. We made a third descent near the stream, of about the same depth. On and near this last bank, down to the water's edge, there were many bushes of various kinds; among them considerable quantities of the willow, "the willow of the water-courses."

The Jordan, where we visited it, may be twenty or twenty-five yards wide. It is, however, very various in its width, but I should think what I have given embraced its common width. It had a strong current at this place, and was very muddy; whether this is its usual colour, or was in consequence of a considerable fall of rain two days before, I am unable to say. After amusing ourselves in the water for some time, we thought it would not do to come away without crossing it. We swam to the other side, and cut some rods from the willows, on "the other side of Jordan." We could have waded across, if it had not been for the rapidity of the current, which swept over a gravel bar into a deep hole. Many lives, it is said, have been lost at this place. We, however, swam over and returned in safety. I gathered twelve stones from the Jordan, and cut half a dozen stems from the willows that grew on its banks. We looked at the water, and the banks again and again, as if we were fearful we might forget how they looked; and at last, yet with reluctance, set off for the Dead Sea.

We saw the Jordan at the place usually visited by the pilgrims, three or four miles from its mouth. Its course makes it enter the Dead Sea somewhat east of the middle of the plain. It may be that some visitors follow the course of the stream, and see it at its entrance; we, however, did not do this, but made for the Dead Sea, at a point about midway from the entrance of the Jordan to the western side of the plain. I may here remark that the valley of the Jordan appears to be very uniform in its width. The ranges of hills which border this valley or plain, run nearly parallel to each other. The Dead Sea fills up this valley nearly from ridge to ridge, leaving but a small border of land along its shores.

In going from the Jordan to the Dead Sea, for a considerable space, not a blade of grass or vegetation was to be seen. It was so soft and dusty, that the horses sank to their fetlocks; and in some places it was rendered uneven by the irregular mounds—many of which did not seem to know what vegetation is. Whether this peculiar barrenness was owing to the unfavourable nature of the soil I know not; possibly this may be the case. I did not see any other indication of salt, which has been reported as found on the surface of the ground, until very near the sea. Between this barren district and the Dead Sea, there was an evident change in the aspect of the ground—we found some dry grass and small bushes; and as we came nearer the shore the bushes increased in size and number, and some spots might be called thickets. We saw also a cane brake and a variety of other growth. To my very agreeable surprise, I found the shore fine, smooth, gravelly, and deepening very slowly, so that a person might wade in for some distance. There was along the shore drift-wood, most of it small, but still larger than any I had seen on the Jordan. This would seem to indicate that somewhere on its shores there is more timber than we found in the spot we visited. The water was not only very salt but exceedingly bitter, as much so as most travellers have stated. The great density of the water was amply proved by its power to bear up the body. There is some truth in the saying, that it requires an effort to keep the feet and legs under, so as to use them with advantage in swimming. Some writers have, however, stated the matter in rather too strong terms.

I could lie on my back in the water, with my head, hands, and feet, all out at the same time, and remain thus as long as I pleased without making any motion whatever; this I could not do in any other water that I have been in. Still it is carrying the matter too far and beyond the truth, when it is said to be so heavy, or so dead, that it never rises in waves, but always lies smooth and unruffled, let the wind blow as it will. The drift-wood thrown out is evidence to the contrary. The shore exhibited proof that but a day or two before the waves had run high; but the best proof of all was the ocular and sensible one that they were then chasing each other out on the shore, as they do in all other seas—true they did not run high, but then there was not much wind to make them. The water was so clear that the bottom could be seen with great distinctness. In wading in there was, at some places, more softness at the bottom than I was led to expect from the firm character of the shore. There were, however, some spots on the shore where the soil gave way under our feet, and exhibited a kind of quicksand, as I demonstrated by getting into one of them over my shoes. Still the bank, the water, and the bottom, so far as I saw and tried it, had much less of the terrible, fearful, and unnatural, than I had expected. Instead of that dark, gloomy, and turbid spread of water, that from my childhood I had imagined, it struck me as a very pleasant lake. It reminded me of the beautiful lake of Nice. As to the deep and fearful gloom which many writers describe as hanging over it, I must think that it is mainly found in their imaginations. It is not wonderful that a place, which, for its great wickedness, was doomed to such a fearful catastrophe as were the cities which stood on this plain, should be long looked upon with fear and horror. It is a wise provision of our nature that it should be so. It operates, and no doubt is designed so to do, as a check to that fearful wickedness that calls down such a doom. It is not an uncommon thing for people to think that there is something fearful and gloomy in places where they know awful crimes have been perpetrated, and on this principle, perhaps, we may account for the fact that so many travellers have dwelt on the deep gloom which hung over the water, and the fearful desolation that reigned over the whole region. Now to me it did not appear thus; the shore, the waters, and the lake, had a natural and even a pleasing appearance—the more so as, from my old habits of thinking, I expected something of the fearful, if not terrible. The district was, it is true, rather destitute of trees and vegetation; but not more so than many districts that I have seen; not more so than the district from Mount Olivet to the plain of Jordan, and a very large district near Damascus, which I noticed in a former letter. There are more small trees, bushes, canes, and other vegetable growth, for a quarter of a mile along the shore, than there are on some districts north-west of Damascus, perhaps ten miles square, leaving out the narrow slips of land irrigated by the water of the Bareda. There is quite a cluster of small trees or shrubs at a point on the edge of the water, where it is soft and swampy. The question whether there are any living things in these waters is one that I am not able to decide from my own observation. I saw none.

There is a small island fifty or a hundred yards from the shore, rising six or eight feet above the level of the water, and appears to have some stones at the upper part of it. We thought we could see most distinctly another island, far to the south. As similar statements have often been made, and again contradicted, we looked at it the more carefully; and our conclusion was, notwithstanding all the declarations to the contrary, it must be an island, and one of considerable size, unless connected with the other shore by a very low neck of land, which the great distance prevented our seeing: this time will show. It is a singular fact, that a piece of water, which for ages has excited more intense interest than any other in the world, should yet be so little known, and so few should have been found who have made a serious attempt to explore it. There has not, as far as I know, been but one boat on the waters of the Dead Sea for ages, if from the days of Abraham; there may have been in the days of the Jewish nation, but I have not seen it confirmed by any writer. Last year an intelligent Irishman took a boat across from Acre to the lake of Tiberias, and after amusing himself with it on that lake, he passed down the Jordan to the Dead Sea, and spent some days in exploring it. How far he went to the south, and what discoveries he made, is not known. He had the misfortune to be taken sick, owing in part, it was supposed, to his imprudence and useless exposure. With much difficulty he got back to Jericho, and was then carried to Jerusalem, where he died. He had taken but few notes, which were unintelligible to all but himself. When inquired of concerning his expedition on the Dead Sea, he declined answering until he should recover, when he would tell them all about it. But death closed up the communications for ever. The boat was taken out and carried up to Jericho, as I have since learned. I did not know it was there, or I should have ascertained its fitness for another voyage. Were some one, acquainted with navigating a small vessel, and capable of taking soundings and making a proper survey of the lake, to spend a month or two in doing it, and to publish a full account, with a correct map of the sea and the coast, he would confer a very great favour on the Christian world. It would be so easy of execution, and of so universal interest when done, that I wonder that none of those men who long for public fame have not before now thought of it. It would be a curious matter, were some of the ruins of those ancient and devoted cities yet to be seen. Several of the old authors have mentioned them as to be seen in their day, and it is a current report among the natives that they are now to be seen beneath the water. Travellers now begin to pass to the eastern side of the Dead Sea, and visit Kerek at its south-east corner, and Petra the capital of ancient Edom.

On our return we took a course much more to the south, than the road by which we went down—having in view to visit and spend the night at a celebrated monastery, the San-Saba, which lies south-east of Jerusalem, and on the borders of the Engedi region. We therefore ascended the hills near the north end of the Dead Sea. Several beds of torrents lay in our route, which, although now dry, exhibited evidence that they do at times carry much water into the Dead Sea.

We had a striking proof of how little the people here knew of the country out of the common track. In ascending the hills, which were high and steep, and of the same soft yielding character before described, we had near us, on our right, a very deep gorge. It struck me that this might be the Kedron; and on asking our guides they at first hesitated, but after consultation, agreed that it was. We, however, found to our satisfaction before we reached Jerusalem, that this could not be the case, as we left this hollow far to our right in passing over the hills; and still found that the Kedron was on our left as we approached Jerusalem. I could not but often think during the tour of the expression, "going up to Jerusalem," and "going down to Jericho." It is down, down, all the way to Jericho; and up, up, all the way to Jerusalem.

Having reached the top of the first steep ascent from the Dead Sea, we entered on a more gradual one, which continued for several hours' travel. Our course was south-west—the Dead Sea lay to our left, and could be seen extending far to the south. The district we were passing over, was almost wholly without trees. There was a little grass, and some thistles, and an almost innumerable multitude of snails about the roots of the weeds and small thorn bushes.

This district appeared to be used only for pasturage. We saw signs of sheep and goats, and passed one or two wells, that had recently been used for watering flocks. This whole district appeared fertile. The rock was a very soft limestone; but I saw no signs of cultivation, and not a village was to be seen.

Before we reached the monastery, the night came on—and our guides became doubtful as to the way. We passed a grave-yard, but when the people had lived, who had been interred, no one could tell. After hunting our way for some time, we concluded that we must be wrong, although our guide still insisted that we were going in the right direction. We ought to have yielded to him. The majority, however, were so confident that our course was wrong, that we turned back, and took another road, which we had passed; after following this for some time, we came to a full halt, as our muleteers affirmed that it was not the right way. While we were debating the merits of the case, the horse of one of our guard, who had alighted, got his foot fastened in some part of his harness, and taking fright at it, made a most ludicrous affray. The Turkish soldier, who was previously out of humour with the guide, on account of his not knowing the way, now lost all patience; and while his horse was like to break his neck in floundering, he fell to beating the guide with the but-end of his gun.

Our whole case was unpleasant. We were lost, and our guard was likely, in his fury, to injure our guide. We loudly commanded the peace, and after a little, things began to look better. The horse broke the straps that had alarmed him. The soldier ceased beating our guide, and a muleteer, who had gone out to explore the road, returned with the assurance that he had found the right one, and that we were not far from the monastery.

We again set out, and soon reached San-Saba; but there new trials awaited us. It was now near midnight, and the gates were shut. We knocked loud and long before any one took notice of us; at last a small window, above one of the gates, was cautiously opened, and inquiry made who we were and what we wanted.

It was too dark for them to see us distinctly; and in our eagerness to get the gate opened, we all talked and urged our suit, each in the language which he could best use—English, Italian, Turkish, Arabic, and Greek, were all put in requisition. The good fathers were evidently in doubt of us—who we could be, and wherefore come at such an untimely hour! All our entreaties did not move a bar of the gate. We pleaded, which was true, that we were suffering for water. A small jar of water was let down by a rope. This was soon emptied—it was let down a second and third time. This, in some degree, satisfied our present wants; but our animals were not supplied, except the horses of our guard, who poured water in their red caps and gave it to them to drink. The jar was drawn up, and the window shut, all our entreaties to the contrary notwithstanding.

We had no alternative but to wait until morning. We were hungry, but our provisions were exhausted. We could not cook, for we had no water. We felt a good deal of displeasure at the fathers who thus refused us admittance. We lay down at the gate and waited for the morning. About sunrise, after seeing that we were Franks, and but few in number, they opened the gates and gave us admittance. The superior apologised for their refusal to admit us in the night. He said most of the monks were absent, it being the season for making their wine—that there were but a few old men in the monastery—that the district about them was in a disturbed state—and they did not know who we were—they knew not but that it might be a stratagem of some freebooters to get in and rob the monastery—that had we sent them word from Jerusalem that we were coming, they would at once have admitted us. I thought that there was much reason in what they said; and this, together with the readiness with which they provided us refreshments, and showed us all parts of their establishment, made me cordially forgive their seeming rough treatment in refusing to admit us before.

The monastery of San-Saba stands on a narrow, deep ravine. It takes in part of the ridge on both sides, and has a very high and strong wall, which crosses the ravine at two places, so as to include the valley for a considerable distance. In the valley within the walls, is a small spring, the only one that is near. On the hills are towers connected with the walls. There are many buildings within, and rooms sufficient to hold several thousand persons. There are a number of chapels, several of which are richly furnished, and they, as well as most of the Greek monasteries in Jerusalem, have lately received rich presents from Russia. Above twenty boxes were lately sent to the Greek church in these regions, filled with rich chandeliers, censers, crosses, altar cloths, and priests' garments. They showed us a chapel, in which was a pile of human skulls, said to be of monks and martyrs. There was an altar before them, on which religious service seemed to be at times performed.

Most of the chapels had many pictures in them. The Greeks make much use of pictures in their worship. I was especially struck with a picture of the Last Judgment. God was represented as an old man—a fiery stream came out from before Him. The apostles were acting as judges—the dead were rising, and a halo of glory was around the head of the righteous—Peter was opening the gates of Heaven to the righteous, and the fiery stream was beating on the wicked, and forcing them into the mouth of a monstrous serpent.

There were many artificial caves in the sides of the ravine on which San-Saba stands. These were formerly inhabited by monks, it is said, but their number now not being great, they can find accommodation within the building.

With the history of this monastery I have very little acquaintance. It is an old institution, but still in good repair. The whole district about San-Saba, and from that to the Dead Sea, and I may add from that to near Jerusalem, is unusually destitute of vegetation.

In several places the rock had the dip, and not unfrequently veins of flint were seen in the limestone rock, and in many places the rock was nearly as white and soft as chalk. The whole district from the foot of Mount Olivet to the plains of Jordan, and from the end of the Dead Sea to Jerusalem, past San-Saba, seems not to have been cultivated, at least in modern times. The soil appears good, but from some cause it lies neglected; while west and north of Jerusalem, where the soil does not seem better, and where there is much more rock on the surface, there are many villages, and much of the ground is under tillage.

To the south of San-Saba, we saw the Frank mountain. It rises much above the neighbouring hills—has a sugar-loaf appearance, and is said to have many ruins on and about it. Still farther to the south, lie Engedi and Maon, and a second Mount Carmel, the one referred to in the life of David. 1 Sam. xxv. 2.