reputed tomb of Samuel. But the Bible says plainly that this prophet was buried at Ramah. We crossed the now dry and stony channel of Terebinthe-supposed to be the Elah of 1 Sam. xxi, 9-where David found the smooth stones destined to crush proud Goliath's head. Here is the "hill country of Judea ;" and from the top of the last range of hills Jerusalem is in view.

Our camp life was resumed in the wilderness or desert of Judea-wild, desolate, fiery. After passing the tomb of Rachel, the pools of Solomon, and blessed little Bethlehem, with its groves of hardy old olives clinging to the rocky soil, and its orchards of fig-trees on the terraced hill-sides, no sign of life is seen except the thistle, dried to the roots by the glowing sun, and similar weeds, any one of which might have sat for the portrait of the "bramble bush" in the famous parable of Joash, with here and there a herd of goats, glad to find even these sapless brambles and thistles to feed upon. Was it among these bare and burning hills that shepherds watched their flocks by night? Was there no green grass covering the ground? Was the field, so often pictured in our visions, but a stony valley with a churlish soil, from which the plowman could not wring even a pittance; and were the shepherds like these hardy, uncouth men creeping up the hill-sides after their black, long-eared goats? Why not? "God hath chosen the weak things of this world."

From Bethlehem to the Dead Sea one might think the blast of a furnace had swept across the land; or, that the fires of judgment had burst from their caverns, and rolled in waves of flame over these round hills. The very stones look as though they had been burned to the core. Our Syrian horses climbed like goats over the slippery rocks and rolling stones, sometimes dropping both fore feet together upon steps and smooth ledges. The setting sun threw its blaze of glory upon the distant mountains of Moab like a line of ramparts, frowning upon the desert wastes and salt plains at their feet. We camped outside the walls of the Convent of Mar Saba, on the banks of that deep, wild gorge through which the Kedron flows only when the rains fall, and the mountain torrents rush down with leap and roar. Not far from the convent is Nebi Moussa, the tomb of Moses, according to the Mohammedans, who, with an astonishing coolness, ignore Mt. Nebo, though it is almost in view. Moses had been promised so the legend has it-that he should not descend into the tomb till he should do so of his own accord. One day he saw upon a

hill, white as snow, four men scooping out a hollow in the rock. "What do you here?" demanded Moses. "We prepare a place where our King may hide the most precious of his treasures," responded they; "our task is finished; we now await the arrival of the precious deposit." The sun was hot, the prophet was weary; he lay down to rest in the cavern which offered a shade so refreshing. The four men, who were angels in disguise, offered him an apple of delicious fragrance; but scarcely had he inhaled its odor before he fell asleep to wake no more, and the angels carried his soul to paradise. The rock retains its whiteness, thereby deceiving the Jews, but within it is black as the angel of death.

The Dead Sea, bright as a shield of silver, now lay before us. An hour's ride from there brought us to the Jordan, rolling between deep banks, except at "The Fords," where the banks are lowered to a gentle slope. Here, it is thought, the Israelites crossed, Elijah smote the waters with his mantle, and John baptized Christ. Opposite these fords is the site of ancient Jericho. We camped at the grand old fountain of Elisha, full, clear, and pouring forth a rivulet that rumbled musically all night long. Mingled with its music was the howling of the jackal, resembling the crying of a child, sometimes unpleasantly near our tents. The "Plain of Jericho" might be made an Eden of bloom and fruitfulness, but it is almost uninhabited and uncultivated. The precipitous cliffs of the Quarantania Mountains, honey-combed with the cells of anchorites, bound the plain on the west. The road from Jericho to Jerusalem is still unsafe; there is many a rocky defile where the lawless Bedouin may lurk for his victim. We had a guard of three Arabs, recommended by the American Consul. The chief of these waited for us to turn one of the corners of the road near Bethany, and made an eloquent speech, about as follows: "Bethlehem, Mar Saba, Dead Sea, Jordano, Jericho, me!" striking upon his breast when he had reached that climax in the oration; the purport of which was, that in consideration of his valuable services, keeping us awake half the night by his loud talking, and then falling asleep instead of guarding our tents, he wanted "backshish." This was given, and he was happy. But, away from the Bedouin-haunted desert, glowing with the furious fires of a Syrian sun, we hastened on to the sheltering towers of Jerusalem.

The long route northward to Baalbec and Beiroot is attended with much fatigue and exposure, but is dotted with scenes of interest. On the right is Gibeah of Saul; on the left,