HAIFA
OR
LIFE IN MODERN PALESTINE

BY
LAURENCE OLIPHANT
AUTHOR OF ‘THE LAND OF GILEAD,’ ‘ALTIORA PETO,’
‘PICCADILLY,’ ETC.

SECOND EDITION

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS

EDINBURGH AND LONDON

MDCCCLXXXVII

PREFACE.

The expectations which have been excited in the minds of men by the prophecies contained in Scripture, and the hopes which have been roused by them, have ever invested Palestine with an exceptional interest to Biblical students; while its sacred conditions, historical associations, and existing remains prove an attraction to crowds of pilgrims and tourists, who annually flock to the Holy Land. As, however, the impressions of a resident and those of a visitor are apt to differ widely in regard to the conditions which actually exist there, and the former has opportunities of researches denied to the latter, I have ventured to think that a series of letters originally addressed to the New York ‘Sun,’ and extending over a period of three years passed in the country, might not be without interest to the general reader. Many of these will be found to deal chiefly with archæological subjects, which must, indeed, form the main subject of attraction to any one living in the country, and conversant with its history.

A flood of light has been thrown of recent years upon its topography, its ancient sites, and the extensive ruins which still exist to testify to its once teeming population, by the prolonged and valuable researches of the “Palestine Exploration Fund” of London.

As, however, these are embodied in volumes so expensive that they are beyond the reach of the general public, and are too technical in their character to suit the taste of the ordinary reader, I have in many instances endeavoured to popularise them, availing myself extensively of the information contained in them and in Captain Conder's excellent ‘Tent Work in Palestine,’ and quoting freely such passages as tended to the elucidation of the subject under consideration, more especially with regard to recent discovery at Jerusalem; but which, as I was grubbing about, I have not been able to define as exactly as I should have liked to do had all the publications been beside me at the moment.

The experience and investigation of the last three years, however, have only served to convince me that the field of research is far from being exhausted, and that, should the day ever come when excavation on a large scale is possible, the Holy Land will yield treasures of infinite interest and value, alike to the archæologist and the historian.

Haifa, 1886.

CONTENTS.

[INTRODUCTION.]

The chapters which compose this volume originally formed a series of letters, all of which passed through my hands. I prepared them for their first appearance in print, and corrected the proofs afterwards. Finally, it was at my suggestion and advice that they were gathered together in a book.

The deep interest which the land of Palestine possesses for every thoughtful mind makes us all greedy for fresh and truthful information, alike concerning its present condition and the discoveries which new researches add to our knowledge of the past. From this point of view, many of the pages which follow are of exceeding importance. Every Christian will read with deep attention the author's description of the present state of places connected with momentous events of New-Testament history; and when, as in the present instance, the traveller and investigator is one whose judgment and whose accuracy may be entirely relied upon, the value of the report surpasses every careless estimate.

It is with this feeling that I have urged my friend to complete his work for publication, and with this feeling I earnestly commend it to the reader. Nor is its interest confined to historical and Biblical questions alone; the ethnologist examining the races of modern Syria, and the philosopher contemplating the marvellous processes of Asiatic transformation, will also find here material which will repay their most careful study.

C. A. Dana.

New York, November, 1886.

HAIFA.

[A VISIT TO EPHESUS.]

Smyrna, Nov. 4, 1882.—There are two ways of doing Ephesus: you may either go there and, like the Apostle, “fight with beasts,” in the shape of donkeys and donkey boys, or you may wear yourself to death under the blazing sun, alternately scrambling over its rocks, and sinking ankle deep in the mire of its marshes. In old days it was an easy two days' ride from Smyrna to Ephesus, the distance being about fifty miles, but the Smyrna and Aiden Railway speeds you to the ruins in about two hours now, first through the romantic little gorge from whose rocky ledge rises the hill crowned by the ruined castle which overlooks the town, past a modern and an ancient aqueduct, the latter moss-grown and picturesque, with its double sets of arches rising one above the other; through orange and pomegranate groves, and vineyards yellow and languishing at this season of the year from the drought; across fertile plains from which the cereals and corn crops have been removed, and where flocks of sheep and goats are scattered on distant hill slopes, or follow in long lines the striking figures of the shepherds in their broad-shouldered felt coats; past the black tents of the Yourouks, a nomadic tribe of Turcomans, whose kindred extend from here to the great wall of China, and who vary their pastoral operations from one end of Asia to the other with predatory raids upon unsuspecting travellers; and so on into a wilder country, where the mountains close in upon us, and the Western tourist begins to realize that he is really in Asia, as groups of grunting camels, collected at the little railway stations, and their wild-looking owners, tell of journeys into the far interior, and excite a longing in his Cockney breast to emancipate himself from the guidance of Cook, and plunge into the remote recesses of Asia Minor or Kurdistan.

As we approach Ephesus the country again becomes more fertile, and groves of fig-trees, surpassing all preconceived notions of the size ordinarily attained by these trees, reveal one of the principal sources of supply of those “fine fresh figs” which find their way in such abundance to American railway cars. As the modern Ephesus is a miserable little village, containing only a few huts and a very limited supply of donkeys, the wary traveller will see that his are sent on from Smyrna beforehand, and will probably find some consolation for the absence of any competent guide or decent accommodation, or appliances for seeing the ruins, in the evidence which this fact affords of the comparative rareness of tourist visitors.

So far from being assailed by shouts for backsheesh, or bombarded by sellers of sham antiques, or struggled for by rival guides, one is left entirely to one's own devices on that desolate little platform. There is an apology for a hotel, it is true, where cold potted meats are to be obtained, and, by dint of much searching, a guide, himself an antique, turns up, but we are very sceptical of his competency. A row of columns still standing, which once supported an aqueduct, and the crumbling ruins of a castle on a conical little hill immediately behind the railway station, suggest the mistaken idea that these are the ruins of Ephesus. They are very decent ruins, as ruins go, but the castle is a comparatively modern Seljük stronghold, and there is nothing certain about the antiquity of the aqueduct. In exploring the castle we find that the blocks of stone of old Ephesus have been built into its walls, and that a still more ancient gateway, dating from the early period of the Byzantine Empire, is also largely composed of these antique fragments, upon which inscriptions are to be deciphered, proving that they formed part of a Greek temple. So, in the old mosque of Sultan Selim, which is at the base of the hill, we find that the magnificent monolith columns of a still more ancient edifice have been used in the construction of what must in its day have been a fine specimen of Saracenic architecture; but we have not yet reached the site of ancient Ephesus. As we stand on the steps of the old mosque we look over a level and marshy plain, about a mile broad, which extends to the foot of two rocky hills, each about two hundred feet high, and divided from each other by what appears to be a chasm. Behind these is a higher ridge, backed by the mountain chain. It is on these two rocky eminences, and on their farther slopes, now hidden from view, that the ancient Ephesus stood; but the problem which has for many years vexed antiquarians is the site, until recently undiscovered, of what gave the town its chief notoriety.

The temple of the great goddess Diana, about a quarter of the way across the plain, was a wide, low mound, and here it is that the recent excavations of Mr. Wood have laid bare one of the most interesting archæological discoveries of modern times. We eagerly tramp across the mud and over the corn-stalks of this year's crop to the débris, and, climbing up it, look down upon a vast depressed area, filled with fragments of magnificent marble columns, and with carved blocks on which are inscriptions so fresh that they seem to have been engraved yesterday, all jumbled together in a hopeless confusion, but from amid which Mr. Wood, who has had a force of three hundred men excavating here for the three previous years, has unearthed many valuable memorials. At the time of our visit the work was suspended and Mr. Wood was away, nor was it possible to obtain from the utterly dilapidated old Arab who called himself a guide, any coherent account of the last results, beyond the fact that a ship had come to take them away.

I made out one inscription, which was apparently a votive tablet to the daughter of the Emperor Aurelius Antoninus, but in most cases, though the engraving, as far as it went, was clear, the fragments were too small to contain more than a few words. In places the marble pavement of the temple was clearly defined, and its size was well worthy the fame which ranked it among the seven wonders of the world. From here a long, muddy trudge took us to the base of the hill, or mount, called Pion, on the flank of which is the cave of the Seven Sleepers, and attached to it is the well-known legend of the seven young men who went to sleep here, and awoke, after two hundred years, to find matters so changed that they were overcome by the shock. When I surmounted the hill and looked down upon the Stadium, the Agora, the Odeon, and other ruins, I was conscious of two predominating sentiments. One was surprise and the other disappointment; surprise, that one of the most populous and celebrated cities in the world should have arisen on such a site; and disappointment, that so little of its magnificence remained.

From an architectural point of view there is absolutely nothing left worth looking at. Lines of broken stone mark the limits of the principal buildings. The Stadium, which accommodated 76,000 persons, and one of the theatres, which accommodated over 56,000, are almost shapeless mounds. The whole scene is one of most complete desolation, and we are driven to our imagination to realize what Ephesus once must have been. In the case of Palmyra and Baalbec no such effort is necessary; enough is left for us to repeople without difficulty those splendid solitudes; but in Ephesus all is savage and dreary in the extreme; deep fissures run into the rock, which must have formed nearly the centre of the town; huge boulders of natural stone suggest the wild character of some portion of the city in its palmiest days. It is difficult to conceive to what use the citizens devoted this Mount Pion, with its crags and caverns and fissures. The lines of the old port are clearly defined by the limits of a marsh, from which a sluggish stream, formerly a canal, runs to the sea, about three miles distant, not far from the debouchure of the Meander. No doubt the mass of the city surrounded the port, but there is a marvellous lack of débris in this direction. Between the Temple of Diana and the foot of Mount Pion there is not a stone, so that the probability is that the temple was situated amid groves of trees. On the hill there are stones, or, rather, rocks, enough, but they are of huge size, and for the most part natural. Of actual city comparatively few remains still exist. No doubt its columns and monuments and slabs have supplied materials for the ornamentation and construction of many cities, and the convenience of getting to it by sea has materially aided the spoilers. Still, the site of ancient Ephesus affords abundant material for conjecture, and the more one studies the local topography the more difficult is it to picture to one's self what the ancient city was like.

From historical association it must ever remain one of the most interesting spots in the East, while, even from a purely picturesque point of view, the wild and rugged grandeur of the scenery amid which it is situated cannot fail to stamp it upon the memory. As I believe it is intended to continue excavations, we may hope for still further results, and there can be no doubt that, when once the obstacles which are now thrown in the way by the present government, to all scientific or antiquarian research in Turkey, are removed by the political changes new pending in the East, a rich field of exploration will be opened, not at Ephesus alone, but throughout the little-known ruined cities of Asia Minor.

[THE RUINS OF ATHLIT.]

Haifa, Nov. 27, 1882.—The more you examine the countries most frequented by tourists, the more you are perplexed to comprehend the reasons which decide them to confine themselves to certain specified routes, arranged apparently by guides and dragomans, with a view of concealing from them the principal objects of interest. There is certainly not one tourist in a hundred who visits the Holy Land who has ever heard of Athlit, much less been there, and yet I know of few finer ruins to the west of the Jordan. To the east the magnificent remains of Jerash, Amman, and Arak-el Emir are incomparably more interesting, and these, of course, are also almost ignored by tourists; but that may be accounted for by the fact that special permission from the government is required to visit them, while an impression still exists that the journey is attended with some risk. Practically this is not the case. It takes a long time to remove an impression of this kind, and it is the interest of a large class of persons who live on blackmail to keep it up. But in the case of Athlit there is no such drawback. Probably the neglect with which it is treated is due largely to the fact that no scriptural association attaches to the locality, and people would rather go to Nazareth than examine the majestic remains of Roman civilization, or the ruder superstructures of crusading warfare.

The easiest way to reach Athlit is to go to it from Carmel. As the monastery there is a most modern structure, about fifty years old, tourists often get as far as that, because the guide takes them there; but they know nothing of the mysteries of this sacred mountain, second only to Sinai, in the estimation of the modern Jew, in the sanctity of its reputation, and they turn back when, by riding a few miles down the coast, they would follow a route full of interest. The road traverses a plain about two miles in width. On the left, the rugged limestone slopes of the mountain are perforated with caves—in the earliest ages of Christianity the resorts of hermits, from whom the order of the Carmelites subsequently arose. Here tradition still points out the spot where the crusading king, St. Louis of France, was shipwrecked; and in a gorge of the mountains may still be seen the foundations of the first monastery, near a copious spring of clearest water, where the pious monarch was entertained by the first monks, whom, out of gratitude, he enabled subsequently to establish themselves upon the site occupied by the present monastery, and to found an order which has since become celebrated. Along this line of coast there is an uninterrupted stretch of sandy beach, upon which the full force of the Mediterranean breaks in long lines of rollers, and which would afford an interesting field of study to the conchologist. Among the most curious shells are the Murex brandaris and the Murex trunculus, the prickly shells of the fish which in ancient times yielded the far-famed Tyrian purple. The Phoenicians obtained the precious dye from a vessel in the throat of the fish.

Instead of following closely the line of coast, I kept near the base of the Carmel range, reaching in about two hours from Carmel the village of El Tireh, where the mosque is part of an old Benedictine monastery, the massive walls of which have been utilized for religious purposes by the Moslems. Their worship has had little effect upon the inhabitants, who are the most notorious thieves and turbulent rogues in the whole country side. They are rich enough to indulge their taste for violence with comparative impunity, as they can always square it with the authorities. Their village is surrounded with a grove of thirty thousand olive-trees and the rich plain, extending to the sea, is nearly all owned by them. Indeed, their evil reputation keeps other would-be proprietors at a distance. Here the plain begins to slope backward from the sea, so as to prevent the water from the mountains from finding a natural outlet, and in summer the country becomes miasmatic and feverish.

From El Tireh, where the inhabitants treated me with great civility, I crossed the plain, and in an hour more reached an insignificant ruin called El Dustrey, a corruption of the crusading name “Les Destroits,” or “The Straights,” so called from a gorge in the limestone ridge, which here separates the plain from the sea. This very remarkable formation extends for many miles down the coast. It is a rugged ridge, varying from twenty to fifty feet in height, and completely cutting off the sea beach from the fertile plain behind. Here and there it is split by fissures, through which the winter torrents find their way to the sea. Skirting this ridge, we suddenly come upon an artificial cutting, just wide enough to allow the passage of a chariot. At the entrance, holes were cut into the rock on both sides, evidently used in ancient times for closing and barring a passage-way. The cutting through the rock was from six to eight feet deep and from sixty to eighty yards in length. The deep ruts of the chariot-wheels were distinctly visible. Here and there on the sides steps had been cut leading to the ridge, which had been fortified.

Passing through this cutting, we debouch upon a sandy plain and a reedy marsh, in which my companion had the year before killed a wild boar; and here we were in the presence of a majestic ruin. Immediately facing us was a fragment of wall, eighty feet high, sixteen feet thick, and thirty-five yards long. It towers to a height of one hundred and twenty feet above the sea, and is a conspicuous landmark. It has been partially stripped of the external layer of carved stone blocks, and has furnished a quarry to the inhabitants for some centuries. The wall had evidently once continued across the base of the promontory upon which the ancient fortress and town were built. Passing up a rocky passage and under an archway of comparatively modern date, and which could still be closed by means of massive wooden doors, we enter the enceinte, and discover that the whole promontory is underlaid with huge vaults. It became also evident that the immense fragment I have described was the outer wall of a large building, for on the inside were three ribbed, pointed arches, supported on corbels, representing on the left a bearded head, on the right a head shaven on the crown, with curling hair on the sides; in the centre a cantilever, with three lilies in low relief. As the roof had fallen in, the spring of the arches alone remained. The whole was constructed of blocks of stone about three feet long, two feet high, and two feet wide. The promontory upon which all this solid masonry had been erected was washed on three sides by the sea. It rose above it precipitously to a height of about fifty feet. The area was occupied by a miserable population of possibly a hundred squalid, half-clad Arabs, whose huts were built among the ruins, thus preventing any effectual examination of them. It would be difficult to conceive a greater contrast than is presented by these wretched fellahin and their burrowing habitations with the splendour of the edifices and the opulence which must have characterized the former inhabitants. Here and there we see a fragment of a granite column, while, when we reach the brink of the cliff which forms the sea-face of the promontory, we are again surprised at the stupendous scale of these ancient works, and of the sea-wall built out upon a ledge of rocks, exposed to the full fury of the waves, and still standing to a height of forty or fifty feet.

To the right of the promontory, a wall, the base of which is washed by the waves, is perforated by three arches. It presents a most picturesque appearance. The southern face is, however, the most perfect. Here there were evidently two tiers of walls, one upon the sea-level and one upon the face of the cliff. Descending into the space between these I perceived an opening in the side of the rock, and found myself in a vaulted chamber, which was sufficiently lighted by apertures in the rock for me to measure it roughly. I estimated the length at a hundred and twenty feet, the breadth at thirty-six, and the height at thirty. It so happened that on the occasion of my visit it was blowing half a gale of wind from the seaward. The breakers were rolling in upon the reefs at the base of the promontory, throwing their spray high up on the ruined walls, and producing an effect which, with the grandeur of the surroundings, was indescribably impressive. This chamber was the handsomest of a series of vaults, several others of which I have explored under the guidance of the sheik, by means of candles and torches. They are altogether six in number, running round a rectangle measuring about five hundred feet by three hundred. They are of different sizes, varying from fifty to three hundred feet in length, from thirty to fifty in breadth, and from twenty-five to thirty in height.

The name of the town which stood here in ancient times has never been discovered. This is the more singular as it must evidently have been a place of considerable importance in the time of the Romans, more probably as a fortress than as a place of commerce. Its natural advantages for defence suggest themselves at once. It is important in the history of the crusades as being the last spot held in Palestine by the crusaders, who evacuated it in 1291. It was then destroyed by the Sultan Melik el Ashraf, so that the most modern parts of the ruins are only six hundred years old. But the crusaders must have entered into possession of what was then an ancient fortress in a high state of preservation. When they took it, it became celebrated as Castellum Peregrinorum, or the Castle of the Pilgrims. It is also spoken of in the crusading records as Petra Incisa, from the fact that it was entered through the cutting in the rock which I have described. In 1218 the Knights Templars restored the castle, and constituted it the chief seat of their order. They found “a number of strange, unknown coins.” That it was a place of great strength may be inferred from the fact that it was chosen by such good judges as the Knights Templars as their chief stronghold; that it was successfully besieged by one of the sultans of Egypt, and that it was finally abandoned only because every other crusading possession in Palestine had succumbed.

[A JEWISH COLONY IN ITS INFANCY.]

Haifa, Dec. 10.—About sixteen miles to the south of the projecting point of Carmel, upon which the celebrated monastery is perched above the sea, there lies a tract of land which has suddenly acquired an interest owing to the fact of its having been purchased by the Central Jewish Colonization Society of Roumania, with a view of placing upon it emigrants of the Hebrew persuasion who have been compelled to quit the country of their adoption in consequence of the legal disabilities to which they are subjected in it, and who have determined upon making a bona fide attempt to change the habits of their lives and engage in agricultural pursuits. I was invited by the local agent in charge of this enterprise to accompany him on a visit to the new property, whither he was bound with a view of making arrangements for housing and placing upon it the first settlers. Traversing the northern portion of the fertile plain of Sharon, which extends from Jaffa to Carmel, we enter by a gorge into the lower spurs of the Carmel range, which is distant at this point about three miles from the seacoast, and, winding up a steep path, find ourselves upon a fertile plateau about four hundred feet above the level of the sea. Here over a thousand acres of pasture and arable land have been purchased, on which a small hamlet of half a dozen native houses and a storehouse belonging to the late proprietor compose the existing accommodation. This hamlet is at present occupied by the fellahin who worked the land for its former owner, and it is proposed to retain their services as laborers and copartners in the cultivation of the soil until the new-comers shall have become sufficiently indoctrinated in the art of agriculture to be able to do for themselves.

The experiment of associating Jews and Moslem fellahin in field labor will be an interesting one to watch, and the preliminary discussions on the subject were more picturesque than satisfactory. The meeting took place in the storehouse, where Jews and Arabs squatted promiscuously amid the heaps of grain, and chaffered over the terms of their mutual copartnership. It would be difficult to imagine anything more utterly incongruous than the spectacle thus presented—the stalwart fellahin, with their wild, shaggy, black beards, the brass hilts of their pistols projecting from their waistbands, their tasselled kufeihahs drawn tightly over their heads and girdled with coarse black cords, their loose, flowing abbas, and sturdy bare legs and feet; and the ringleted, effeminate-looking Jews, in caftans reaching almost to their ankles, as oily as their red or sandy locks, or the expression of their countenances—the former inured to hard labor on the burning hillsides of Palestine, the latter fresh from the Ghetto of some Roumanian town, unaccustomed to any other description of exercise than that of their wits, but already quite convinced that they knew more about agriculture than the people of the country, full of suspicion of all advice tendered to them, and animated by a pleasing self-confidence which I fear the first practical experience will rudely belie. In strange contrast with these Roumanian Jews was the Arab Jew who acted as interpreter—a stout, handsome man, in Oriental garb, as unlike his European coreligionists as the fellahin themselves. My friend and myself, in the ordinary costume of the British or American tourist, completed the party.

The discussion was protracted beyond midnight—the native peasants screaming in Arabic, the Roumanian Israelites endeavoring to outtalk them in German jargon, the interpreter vainly trying to make himself heard, everybody at cross-purposes because no one was patient enough to listen till another had finished, or modest enough to wish to hear anybody speak but himself. Tired out, I curled myself on an Arab coverlet, which seemed principally stuffed with fleas, but sought repose in vain. At last a final rupture was arrived at, and the fellahin left us, quivering with indignation at the terms proposed by the new-comers. Sleep brought better counsel to both sides, and an arrangement was finally arrived at next morning which I am afraid has only to be put into operation to fail signally. There is nothing more simple than farming in co-operation with the fellahin of Palestine if you go the right way to work about it, and nothing more hopeless if attempted upon a system to which they are unaccustomed. Probably, after a considerable loss of time, money, and especially of temper, a more practical modus operandi will be arrived at. I am bound to say that I did not discover any aversion on the part of the Moslem fellahin to the proprietorship by Israelites of their land, on religious grounds. The only difficulty lay in the division of labor and of profit, where the owners of the land were entirely ignorant of agriculture, and therefore dependent on the co-operation of the peasants, on terms to be decided between them.

I eagerly welcomed the first streaks of dawn to get out of the close atmosphere in which three had been sleeping besides myself, and watch the sun rise over the eastern mountains of Palestine. Ascending to the top of the hill in rear of the hamlet, I enjoyed a magnificent view. To the south the eye followed the coast-line to a point where the ruins of Cæsarea, plainly visible through a glass, bounded the prospect. From the plain of Sharon, behind it, the hills rose in swelling undulations, unusually well-wooded for Palestine, to a height of about two thousand feet, the smoke of numerous villages mingling with the morning haze. In the extreme distance to the northeast might be discerned the lofty summits of Hermon, and in the middle distance the rounded top of Tabor; while northward, in immediate proximity, was the range of Carmel, with the Mediterranean bounding the western horizon. While exploring the newly purchased tract and examining its agricultural capabilities, I came upon what were evidently the traces—they could hardly be called the ruins—of an ancient town. They were on a rocky hillside, not far from the hamlet. My attention was first attracted by what had evidently been an old Roman road, the worn ruts of the chariot-wheels being plainly visible in the rock. Farther on were the marks of ancient quarrying, the spaces in the rock, about two feet square, showing where massive blocks had been hewn. The former owners of the property, observing the interest with which I examined these traces, took me to a spot where the natives, in quarrying, had unearthed a piece of wall composed of stone blocks of the same size, neatly fitted, and approached by steps carved in the rock. In close proximity to this was a monument, the meaning of which I was for some time at a loss to conjecture. It consisted of three sides of a square excavation hewn out of the solid rock of the hillside, uncovered, and the depth of which it was difficult to determine, on account of the débris which had accumulated. Upon the faces of the chamber thus formed, rows of small niches had been carved, each niche about a foot high, six inches wide, and six inches deep. The niches were about two inches apart, and on one face I counted six rows or tiers of eighteen niches each. The other sides were not so perfect, and the rock had broken away in places. I finally decided that the whole had probably in ancient times been a vault appropriated to the reception of cinerary urns, but the matter is one which I must leave to some more experienced antiquarian than I am to determine definitely. It is not to be wondered at that this obscure and partially concealed ruin should have escaped the notice of the Palestine Exploration Survey.

One of the fellahin now told us of a marvel in the neighbourhood. It was a hole in the rock, to which, by applying one's ear, one could hear the roar of a mighty river. Attracted by the prospect of so singular a phenomenon, we scrambled through the prickly underwood with which the hillsides are thickly covered, and finally emerged upon a small valley, at the head of which was an open grassy space, and near it a table of flat limestone rock. In the centre of it was an oblong hole, about two inches by three, the sides of which had been worn smooth by the curious or superstitious, who had probably visited the spot for ages. First, the Arab stretched himself at full length, and laid his ear upon the aperture. I followed suit, and became conscious not only of a strong draught rushing upward from subterranean depths, but of a distant roaring sound, as of a remote Niagara. For a moment I was puzzled, and the Arab was triumphant, for I had treated his rushing subterranean river with a contemptuous scepticism; yet here were undeniably the sounds of roaring water. Had it been a distant gurgle or trickle it would have been explicable, but it was manifestly impossible that any river could exist large enough to produce the sounds I heard. Though the day was perfectly still, the draught upward was strong enough to blow away the corner of a handkerchief held over the mouth of the hole. At last I solved the problem to my own satisfaction. By ascending the hill on the right the roar of “the loud-voiced neighbouring ocean,” distant between two and three miles, was distinctly audible. It had been blowing the day before, and the rollers were breaking upon the long line of coast. I now conjectured that the crack in the rock must extend to some cavern on the seashore, and form a sort of whispering-gallery, conducting the sound of the breakers with great distinctness to the top of the hills, but blending them so much that it seemed at first a continuous rushing noise. This was an explanation contrary to all tradition, and it was received by the Arab with incredulity.

We now descended once more to the plains, and, crossing them, reached the village of Tantura, where we arrived about midday, passing first, however, the ruined fortress of Muzraá, a massive block of masonry about fifty yards square, the walls of which are standing to a height of about ten feet; then turning aside to the old Roman bridge, which spans in a single high arch the artificial cutting through the limestone rocks by which the ancients facilitated the egress of a winter-torrent to the sea. The inhabitants of Tantura have the reputation of being very bad people, and three years ago I saw a party of French tourists at Jerusalem who had been attacked and robbed by them. We were, however, entertained with the greatest hospitality, having a levée of the sheik and village notables, and with difficulty escaping from a banquet which they were preparing for us. They live in a miserable collection of hovels amid the almost defaced ruins of the old town, traces of which, however, are abundant in the neighbourhood. A lofty fragment of wall on a projecting promontory half a mile to the north of the town is all that remains of what must have been a castle of grand dimensions. A chain of small, rocky islets, a few hundred yards from the shore, forms a sort of natural breakwater, and at very little expense Tantura could be converted into a good port. As it is, when the weather is smooth, native craft run in here, and when once at their anchorage can defy any gale. Tantura, or Dor, was one of the towns assigned to the half tribe of Manasseh, but we read that they failed to expel the Canaanites from it, though when Israel “became strong they put them to tribute, but did not utterly drive them out.”

In the time of the Romans Dor was a mercantile town of some importance, and, though in the wars of the Diadochi it was besieged and partly destroyed, the Roman general Gabinius restored the town and harbor, and its architectural beauty was such that we read that even in the time of St. Jerome its ruins were still an object of admiration. Unfortunately, since the Turkish occupation, all these coast cities have been used as quarries for the construction of mosques and fortifications. The marble and granite pillars and columns, and the carved blocks of stone which formed the outside casings of the walls, have been carried away, leaving nothing but the mere skeletons of ruins as forlorn and desolate as the peasantry who find shelter beneath them.

[THE TEMPLE SOCIETY.]

Haifa, Dec. 25.—There are probably not many of your readers who have ever heard of “The Temple Society,” and yet it is a religious body numbering over 5000 members, of whom more than 300 are in America, 1000 in Palestine, and the remainder scattered over Europe, principally in Germany, Russia, and Switzerland.

The founder of the sect, if sect it can be called, is a certain Prof. Christophe Hoffman of Würtemberg, who, after studying at the University of Tübingen about thirty-five years ago, became a minister of the Lutheran Church and the principal of the College of Crischona, not far from Basle, in Switzerland. Here he became known as entertaining certain theological opinions which soon acquired some notoriety, as they consisted mainly of a criticism on the action of the Church with reference to the rationalistic opinions then becoming prevalent in Germany, and which found their culminating expression in the writings of the late Dr. Strauss. Mr. Hoffman, who was an ardent opponent of the modern and sceptical tendency of German thought, attributed its growing influence to the feeble opposition offered to it by the Church, and maintained that its impotency to arrest the evil arose from the inconsistent practice of its members with the moral teaching which they professed. Under the influence of this conviction he abandoned his charge at Crischona, and with his brothers-in-law founded a college at “Salon,” not far from Stuttgart, and commenced an agitation in favour of church reform, both in written publications and by his personal influence. He was shortly after elected to the Diet at Frankfort, where he presented a petition signed by 12,000 persons in favour of reform of the Lutheran Church.

His Biblical studies at this time, especially of the book of Revelations, led him to the conclusion that the period of the second advent of the Messiah was approaching, but that Christ could only be received by a Church which had attempted to embody his moral teaching in daily life; in fact, that he could only recognize those as his own at his second coming who had succeeded in practically applying the ethical code which he had taught when he came first; and he reproached the Church with failing to inaugurate a social reconstruction which should render possible a Christ life in the true acceptation of the term. A doctrine based on Scripture, and directed against the ecclesiastical system to which he belonged, naturally brought him into direct collision with it; and as an interpretation of the New Testament which strikes at the root of all compromise between profession and practice must ever be an inconvenient doctrine to churches which are based upon such compromise, Mr. Hoffman was summarily expelled, carrying with him, however, a large body of followers.

He now, with a few friends, established a sort of colony in Würtemberg, where an effort was made to put into daily practice these high aspirations, and the number of adherents throughout Europe and in America grew as his views began to be more widely promulgated and understood. In 1867 the more prominent members of the society held a meeting, at which it was decided that as the second advent of the Messiah was expected to occur in Palestine, the Holy Land was the fitting place for the establishment of the central point of the Church which was preparing itself to receive him; that there should be laid the corner-stone of the new spiritual temple which gave the name of the society; and that it was the first duty of those who were waiting for his coming to restore the land to which so many Biblical promises especially attached. While they considered that the new kingdom which was to own Christ as its king was to embrace all those who were prepared to receive him, in all lands and from among all races, yet the spiritual throne would be erected in Palestine, and its material restoration must be a necessary preliminary to its final and ultimate redemption. It was therefore decided that while the great majority of the members of the society should remain in Europe to witness for the truth, and to contribute to the support of the attempt to be made in the Holy Land, a certain number should proceed thither to establish themselves in trade and agriculture, and endeavour by the example of honest industry to elevate the native population and redeem the land from its present waste and desolate condition.

In 1868 Mr. Hoffman, Mr. Hartegg, and some others went to Constantinople with a view of obtaining a firman from the Porte, but, failing in this, they proceeded in the following year to Palestine, where, attracted by the great advantages of soil, climate, and position offered by the lands at the foot of Mount Carmel, in the neighbourhood of Haifa, they fixed upon that locality as the initial point of the enterprise. Hither shortly flocked agriculturists and handicraftsmen representing all the important industries, and they proceeded to lay out their village and build their houses on the slope between the foot of the mount and the sea, about a mile to the westward of the native town; but they soon found that it was impossible to do this without meeting with the most strenuous opposition on the part of the native government, and incurring the covert hostility of the monks who have for seven hundred years enjoyed a spiritual monopoly of Mount Carmel. As the colonists were almost without exception men of very moderate means, and believed in the responsibilities of individual ownership, and not in any communistic system, they soon found themselves engaged in a severe and unequal struggle.

Ignorant of the language, the country, the methods of agriculture, the manners and customs of the inhabitants, who regarded them askance, and unused to the climate, their faith and powers of endurance were taxed to the utmost. Not only did they persevere with the most unflinching resolution at Haifa, but extended their operations to Jaffa, where at that time a colony of American Adventists, whom some of your readers may remember, and who had emigrated there about twenty years ago, was in process of dissolution. Purchasing the remains of their settlement, a new group of the Temple Society established themselves there. Since then two more colonies have been formed, one at Sarona, about an hour distant from Jaffa, and one in the immediate neighbourhood of Jerusalem, where the leader, Mr. Hoffman, at present resides.

The united population of these four colonies amounts to about one thousand souls, besides which a few families are also established at Beyrout and Nazareth. But the largest settlement is at Haifa, where the society numbers over three hundred. These now, after fourteen years of vicissitudes, appear to be entering upon a period of comparative prosperity. They have not long since completed a twelve years' struggle with the government for the legalization of the titles to their land, which the authorities endeavoured to prevent by throwing every possible obstacle in the way; and while the question was pending they were compelled to pay their taxes through the nominal native owners, who assessed the lands at four times their actual value, putting the balance into their own pockets. All these difficulties have, however, at last been surmounted. They now hold their seven hundred acres of fine arable and vine land free of all encumbrance, and their well-cultivated fields, trim gardens, and substantial white stone mansions form a most agreeable and unexpected picture of civilization upon this semi-barbarous coast.

Meanwhile, the influence of three hundred industrious, simple, honest farmers and artificers has already made its mark upon the surrounding Arab population, who have adopted their improved methods of agriculture, and whose own industries have received a stimulus which bids fair to make Haifa one of the most prosperous towns on the coast. Already, since the advent of the Germans, the native population has largely increased. New stone houses have sprung up in all directions, and many are in course of construction. The value of land has increased threefold, and the statistics of the port show a large increase in the exports and imports. Perhaps the most remarkable innovation is the introduction of wheeled vehicles. Fifteen years ago a cart had never been seen by the inhabitants of Haifa. Omnibuses, owned and driven by natives, now run four or five times a day between Haifa and Acre, the capital of the province, distant about ten miles. It is true that the road is the smooth sea beach, and that its excellence varies according to the state of the tide, but in this country carts come before roads, and fortunately its topographical features have been favourable to the employment of wheeled vehicles. On one side of Carmel, extending southward, is the plain of Sharon, and over this one may drive to Jaffa without the necessity of road-making, so level and free from natural obstacle is it. On the other we may cross with equal ease the plain of Esdraelon to the Sea of Tiberias—the experiment having been made recently—and a road has been constructed to Nazareth, distant about twenty-two miles. This involved an expenditure on the part of the colonists of about one thousand dollars. It is used largely by the Arabs, who have contributed nothing towards it; but the effect on their minds, as they drive over it in their own carts, and remember that they owe both cart and road to the colonists, whom at first they mistrusted and disliked, is a sound moral investment, and bears its fruit in many ways.

Fifteen years ago no one could venture outside the town gates to the westward after nightfall, for fear of being waylaid and robbed by the lawless inhabitants of Tireh—a village noted for its bad character, about seven miles distant—who used to come marauding up to the outskirts of Haifa. Now one can ride and walk with safety in all directions and at all hours. The Germans have most of them learned to talk Arabic, and many an Arab that one meets salutes you with a guten morgen or guten abend, though that is probably the limit of their linguistic accomplishments; but they respect and like the colonists, and a good deal of land is now cultivated on shares by Germans and Arabs, who seem to arrange their business and agricultural operations to their mutual satisfaction and in perfect harmony. When we remember that the Carmelite monks have held the mountain for seven hundred years, and compare their influence over the native population with that which these honest Germans have acquired by simple example during less than fifteen, we have a striking illustration of the superiority of practice to preaching, for it should be remarked that any attempt at proselytism is entirely foreign to their principles. Their whole effort has been to commend their Christianity by scrupulous honesty in their dealings, by the harmony and simplicity of their conduct, and by the active industry of their lives.

[THE TEMPLE COLONIES IN PALESTINE.]

Haifa, Jan. 20, 1883.—In a former letter I gave you a sketch of the origin of the Temple Society and of the religious motives which have led to the establishment of four agricultural colonies in the Holy Land by emigrants from Germany, America, Russia, and Switzerland. As I have taken up my winter residence in the principal one of these, situated beneath the shadow of Mount Carmel, some description of the place and its resources may not be without interest for your readers. I know of no locality in the East which offers greater attractions of position, climate, and association than this spot. Thanks to the efforts of the colonists, it has become an oasis of civilization in the wilderness of Oriental barbarism, where the invalid in search of health, or the tourist on the lookout for a comfortable resting-place on his travels, will find good accommodation, and all the necessaries, if not the luxuries, of civilized life.

Throughout the whole length of the coast of Palestine from Tyre to Gaza, only one deep indentation occurs. This is where it sweeps in a curve around the old fortress of St. Jean d'Acre, and terminates in the projecting precipice upon whose ledge the monastery of Carmel is situated. The bay thus formed is nine miles across from Acre to Carmel, and about four miles broad. It is bordered the whole distance by a smooth, hard beach, at the southeastern and most sheltered extremity of which is situated the town of Haifa, a modern native town, squeezed in between an overhanging bluff, on which are the ruins of an old castle, and the sea. It owes its origin to the arbitrary act of a pacha who, about a century ago, had rendered himself quasi-independent of the Porte, and established the seat of his government at Acre. The population of old Haifa, situated near the point, having rebelled against him, he punished them by razing it to the ground, and transported the inhabitants to the edge of the bay under the rock, on which he put a castle, while he surrounded them with a wall, thus keeping them prisoners. When he died, his successor was suppressed, the garrison of the castle was removed, and the wall was allowed to fall into disrepair. The inhabitants, who thus were restored to liberty, accustomed to their new location, began to cultivate the surrounding land and to increase in wealth and prosperity. Their gardens spread to the eastward, where the brook Kishon, winding through a fertile plain, struggles to debouch into the sea, but only succeeds at certain seasons, owing to the huge sand-bars which form at its month. These dam it back into small lakes, which are surrounded by date-groves, thus forming a most agreeable feature in the scenery. Behind the plain rises the low, wooded range which is traversed by the road leading to Nazareth.

Though Haifa is comparatively modern, there are some traces of old ruins in the town, the walls of an old crusading castle, one or two caverns, which bear marks of having been inhabited in the rocks immediately behind them, and the crumbling remains of an archway, dating, probably, from a period anterior to the crusades. Prior to the arrival of the colonists of the Temple Society, Haifa was as dirty as most Arab villages. It is now well paved throughout. The houses, all constructed of white limestone, quarries of which abound in the immediate vicinity, give it a clean and substantial appearance, and contain a bustling and thriving population of about six thousand inhabitants. Under the high cactus hedges at its eastern gateway are usually to be seen, squatting amid sacks of grain, hundreds of camels, which, attended by wild-looking Arabs, have arrived with their loads of cereals from the Hauran, on the other side of the Jordan; for Haifa is gradually becoming one of the great grain-exporting ports of the country, and one or two steamers are generally to be seen loading in the harbour.

Leaving the town by the western gateway, we ride for about a mile parallel to the seashore between high cactus hedges, and suddenly find ourselves apparently transported into the heart of Europe. Running straight back from the beach for about half a mile, and sloping upward for about a hundred feet in that distance, to the base of the rocky sides of Carmel, runs the village street. On each side of it is a path-way, with a double row of shade-trees, and behind them a series of white stone houses, of one and two stories, generally with tiled roofs, each surrounded with its garden, and each with a text in German engraved over the doorway. There is another, smaller, parallel street. The whole settlement contains about sixty houses and three hundred inhabitants. The English, American, and German vice-consuls are all colonists. There is a skilled physician, an architect, and engineer in the colony, an excellent hotel, a school, and meeting-house. The German government subscribes two thirds and the colonists one third of the funds required for the school. Some of the colonists are in business, and have stores in Haifa. There is also a good store in the colony, where all the most important trades are represented. There is one wind grist, and one steam mill, the latter in process of erection. There is a manufactory of olive-oil soap, the export of which to America is yearly increasing, and now amounts to 50,000 pounds, and which may be purchased in New York by such of your readers as have a fancy to wash their hands with soap direct from the Holy Land, made from the oil of the olives of Carmel, at F. B. Nichols's, 62 William Street. There is also a factory for the manufacture of articles from olive wood.

Where Carmel rises abruptly from the upper end of the street, its rocky sides have been terraced to the summit, and about a hundred acres are devoted to the cultivation of the vine. Unfortunately, the varieties which have been imported from Germany all suffer severely from mildew. I have therefore sent to the United States for Concords and some of the hardier American varieties. Along the lower slopes are thick groves of olives. Scarped along the rugged mountain-side leads the road to the monastery, distant about a mile and a half. Situated about five hundred feet above the sea, it forms a conspicuous object in the landscape as seen from the colony.

The views from the house in which I am living are a never-ending source of delight. To the east I look over the native town and harbour, with the date-groves and the plain of the Kishon beyond, backed by the wooded range which separates it from the plain of Esdraelon. To the northeast the eye rests on the picturesque outline of the mountains of northern Palestine, with the rounded top of Jebel Jernink rising to a height of 4000 feet in the middle distance, and snow-clad Hermon towering behind to a height of 9000 feet. Immediately to the north, across the blue waters of the bay, the white walls and minarets of Acre rise from the margin of the sea, and beyond it the coastline, terminating in the white projecting cliff known as “The Ladder of Tyre.” To the northwestward we look across a plain about a mile wide, containing the colony lands, and beyond is the sea horizon, till we turn sufficiently to meet Carmel bluff and monastery. Behind us the mountain rises precipitously, throwing us at this time of the year into shade by three in the afternoon. But even on New-Year's Day we do not grudge the early absence of the sun, for as I write the thermometer is standing at 66° in the shade. It is not, however, the features of the scenery which constitute its chief beauty, but the wonderful variations of light and shade, and the atmospheric effects peculiar to the climate, which invest it with a special charm. On the plain to the west of the colony, which is bounded on two sides by the sea, on one by the mountain, and on one by the colony, are the traces of the old town of Haifa, mentioned in the Talmud, but not in the Bible, which was besieged and taken by storm by Tancred, the crusader, in 1100, with a massive ruin of sea-wall and other remains, from which I have already dug out fragments of glass and pottery. Behind are the almost obliterated remains of an old fort, with here and there a piece of limestone cropping up, bearing the marks of man's handiwork.

Everywhere in Palestine we come upon the evidences of its antiquity. This plain, now made to yield of its abundance under the skilful labour of the German colonists, is no exception, for in the time of the Romans it was the site of the city of Sycaminum, and in the groovings of rocks upon which the sea now breaks we see the traces of what were its baths; in the mounds we find fragments of old masonry and cement; in the depressions we see signs of wells, and in the rock cuttings of tombs. Only the other day I found, while digging in the garden for the prosaic purpose of planting cabbages, a fragment of polished agate which probably formed a part of the tessellated pavement of some Roman villa.

So the process of decay and reconstruction goes on, and man is ever trying to rear something new on the ruins of the old. Let us hope that the sixty or seventy substantial houses of the new colony are but the outward and visible signs of that moral edifice which these good people have come to Palestine to erect, and that from the ruins of a crumbling ecclesiasticism they may build a temple worthy the worship of the future.

[EXPLORING MOUNT CARMEL.]

Haifa, Feb. 7.—It was my fate as a child to live in a country-house in Scotland, of which one half was some centuries old, with stone walls several feet thick, and circular stone steps leading up into a mysterious tower, which was supposed to be haunted, and in which it was rumoured that a secret chamber existed, built in the wall, and I remember perfectly that certain places seemed to sound hollow to blows of a crowbar, which as I got older, I used to apply to suspected localities. It is more years than I care to think of since those days, but I can trace a resemblance to that childish feeling in the sensations by which I am animated when I wander over the gloomiest recesses of Carmel alone in search of caverns.

It is called in some ancient Jewish record “the mountain of the thousand caves,” and has been inhabited from time immemorial by hermits and religious devotees. Independently of the Biblical record, we have historical traces of its holy character. According to the most ancient Persian traditions, sacred fire burned at the extreme western point of Carmel. Suetonius speaks of the oracles of the god of Carmel, and Alexander the Great repeats the saying. The Syrian city, Ecbatana, alluded to by Pliny, was situated on this mountain. Pythagoras lived here in retreat for some time because it had a reputation for superior sanctity, but Strabo mentions the caves as being haunts of pirates. They were doubtless used as places of refuge for bad characters, as well as of seclusion for pious ones. Others were used for tombs, others for crusaders' sentry-boxes, and now they are the retreat of flocks and herds, and in some instances storehouses for grain.

Those, however, thus utilized are comparatively few in number; I believe many to be unknown even to the natives, while others are invested by them with a mysterious character, and their dimensions are probably exaggerated. I have received accounts of some, which I hope to visit, which are said to extend beyond any known exploration, of others which bear traces of carving and inscriptions, but nothing can be more uncertain or unsatisfactory than native accounts upon all matters where definite information is required. I have tried exploring with guides and exploring alone, and have been almost as successful one way as the other.

One of my first visits was to a ruin which I had observed crowning a summit of the range, but which was only visible from certain points, so shut in was it by the intervening mountain-tops. I started on horseback, determined to find my way alone, and struck into a valley where the narrow path followed a ledge of limestone rock, often not more than two feet wide. I soon found myself diving into a sombre gorge, the precipitous sides of which rose abruptly from the bed of the winter torrent. As I proceeded it became more and more uncanny; the path was so narrow I could no longer venture to risk my horse's footing, as a slip would have involved a fall of at least two hundred feet. My ruin disappeared, and my gorge seemed to trend away from it, the sun sank behind the range, and the deep gloom of the solitary valley, hemmed in on all sides by terraces of limestone, with here and there a fissure indicating some cavernous recess, was becoming depressing.

I tried to turn, but the ledge was too narrow, so I was obliged to creep cautiously on in the wrong direction. I began now rather to fear lest I should meet some one, not merely because passing would have been impossible, but because the spot was eminently well calculated for an act of violence, and, while I always go about unarmed, I find that my neighbours seldom go out riding alone without carrying revolvers. The aspect of a wild-looking Arab, with a gun slung behind him, suddenly turning a corner and coming straight towards me, was, under these circumstances, not reassuring. Fortunately, at the moment I saw him I had reached a spot where a huge rock had been displaced, and had left a vacant space large enough to enable me to turn comfortably, and I retraced my steps, amply repaid for my failure in not reaching the ruin, by the solemn grandeur of the part of the mountain into which I had been penetrating, and by finding my Arab, when he overtook me, to be a communicative and harmless individual, who was on his way home from a cave in which he stored his grain, and which he assured me I should have reached if I had continued a few hundred yards farther. Beyond this, he said, the path led nowhere.

My next attempt was made with a friend who knew the way, and who led me along a corresponding ledge upon the opposite side of the valley, into a side gorge, which we followed past a wall of rock, in which were two or three small caverns, which I entered, the largest not more than twelve or fourteen feet square, and showing no signs of having been inhabited. A huge rock detached from the mountain-side, and hollowed into a sort of gallery, is so celebrated among the natives that it has a name of its own. Just behind it we turned to scramble almost straight up the mountain-side, covered with a scrub composed of camelthorn, odoriferous thyme, sage, marjoram, and arbutus, and then found we were at the foot of seven clearly defined terraces, completely encircling the rounded hill, upon the top of which stood the crumbling walls of an old fort, and which formed portions of its defences. On one of these stood a shepherd's hut, and inside the enclosure made of bushes was the entrance to a cavern, about thirty yards long, four feet high, and twenty or thirty feet across. In it, when they were not out feeding, the shepherd kept his flock of long-eared goats.

Ascending to the ruin, I found it to consist of the remains of what had evidently been a fort, the walls of which, enclosing a space of about sixty yards long by forty broad, were standing to a height of eight or ten feet, and were composed of blocks of limestone. At one angle a portion of the fortress had at a later period been converted into a church, the apse, with its arches, being in a tolerable state of preservation. The name of this ruin is Rushmea, and according to the most reliable sources of information to which I have had access, it was used by Saladin to watch the progress of the siege of Acre when that place was held by the crusaders. Prior to the crusades and the formation of the order of the Carmelite monks, the mountain was inhabited by anchorites, some of whom claimed to have inherited the sacred character of Elijah and Elisha. For some time seven of them seem to have divided the claim between them, and one of them is reported to have lived in a cave at Rushmea, which is said to contain carving and inscriptions. It was for this cave I was especially in search; but though I have visited the locality three times in all, twice with guides, and have found some seven or eight caves, one of which had a carved limestone entrance, none of them seemed of sufficient importance to answer the traditional description. A magnificent view is obtained from the ruin over the Bay of Acre, with the town in the distance and the plain of Kishon beneath, and plainly visible the famous well for the possession of which Saladin and Richard Cœur de Lion fought. I have visited this celebrated source, with its massive masonry and crumbling cistern, in the centre of which there is now a flourishing fig-tree. During the siege which Haifa then withstood, the town was completely destroyed, so that the crusading army had to remain in tents, and here it was that the lion-hearted king caught that severe fever which gave rise to reports of his death, and which resulted in his remaining for four weeks at Haifa to recover his health. That plain is as unhealthy now as it was then, and the date-groves, which are its most striking feature, must have existed then, for they are mentioned in the records of the year 1230, when King Amalrich II. died of a surfeit of sea-fish, for which the place is celebrated.

To return to Rushmea. The whole hill-top is covered with the traces of remains far anterior to the ruins of crusading times. Everywhere we come upon the solid limestone foundations of what must have been large buildings; there are flights of steps hewn in the rock, large square cuttings from which blocks have been taken, places where circular holes have been drilled, grooves, niches, and excavations. On a plateau about a hundred yards to the west is a series of massive stone arches in a very fair state of preservation. I found the elevation of Rushmea, by my aneroid, to be as nearly as possible seven hundred feet above the sea. In a valley behind it, and a hundred feet below it, are a dozen olive-trees of immense age, and near them a celebrated spring, called the Well of Elisha. It is not above twelve feet deep, and, on descending into it, I found that it was in fact not a spring, but a subterranean stream which enters a receptacle formed for it in the rock, from a cave at the side, and from which it disappears again. Instead of returning from Rushmea by the way I had come, I pushed up to the head of the valley in which the spring is situated. On two of the hills which rise from it I found terraces and the foundations of stone edifices. Indeed, wherever one wanders in Carmel, one is apt to stumble upon these substantial records of its bygone history. As the mountain is about thirteen miles long and nine miles wide at its southeastern extremity, and as every valley and hillside and plateau has at one time or other been inhabited, and as many of these remain still to be explored for the first time, there is abundant field for investigation, and it is impossible to take a ride or a scramble in any direction without coming upon some object of interest. Nor is it possible to lose one's way when alone, except to a limited extent, for the nearest hill-top, if you can get to it, is sure to let you know where you are.

Thus leaving Rushmea without a guide, and soon without a path, I pushed through the scrub, now dismounting and driving my horse before me, now forcing him, much to his discomfort, through the prickly bushes. Even at this time of year the hills are bright with scarlet anemones, and the delicate pink or white cyclamen, and fragrant with aromatic odours as we crush through the shrubs. Suddenly I came upon the foundations of a wall, which I followed for about a hundred yards, and which was about four feet in thickness. Near it, half hidden by the bushes, was a circular block of limestone about five feet high and the same in diameter, in the centre of which had been drilled a hole. It looked like the section of some gigantic column such as we see in some of the temples of Upper Egypt; but it stood alone, and I fail to imagine its design. Possibly it may have been used for sacrificial purposes. Shortly after I found myself on a high, level plateau, where the soil was so excellent, and the rocks had so far disappeared, that it would do admirably for farming purposes. It seemed to extend over some hundreds of acres. Formerly, the whole of these fertile tracts of Carmel were covered with magnificent forests—even in the memory of man—but of late years the demand for charcoal has so much increased that the mountain has been almost completely denuded of trees, and although a strict order has been issued by the government against the felling of timber, it still continues, and, thanks to the system of backsheesh, the export of charcoal from Haifa last year exceeded that of any previous year. Keeping westward by my compass I soon after struck a path, and finally dropped down upon the German colony near Haifa, after a day's ramble through the most delightful scenery, every step of which was replete with historical association and antiquarian interest.

[THE VALLEY OF THE MARTYRS.]

Haifa, Feb. 12.—A more thorough examination of the rocky hillsides of the Carmel promontory in the vicinity of the celebrated monastery than I have been hitherto able to give it, has revealed many spots of interest, and one in particular, which seems to have escaped the observation of the Palestine Exploration Fund Survey. About two miles and a half from Haifa the road to Jaffa passes between a projecting spur of the range and a mound about a hundred feet high, which formed the centre of the ancient city of Sycaminum, and which probably conceals some interesting remains, which I hope some day to be able to unearth.

It projects out into the sea, and on the flat rocks at its base, over which the waves break in stormy weather, there is a large circular bath excavated by the Romans, about twenty feet in circumference, with a channel cut through the rock, which admits the rising tide. All round this mound are fragments of columns, carved capitals, and blocks of polished marble, some of the lightest of which I have carried away; but it is upon the unknown contents of the mound itself that my imagination is prone to speculate. On the left of the road are caverns and rock-cut tombs, some containing the remains of loculi; and the surface of the smooth limestone rock leaves traces of ancient steps, and cuttings, showing that in old times the hand of man had been actively employed upon it. I had often examined these, and thought I had reached their limit, when, pushing my exploration farther up the steep hillside a few days ago, through the low brush by which it is covered, I unexpectedly came upon a plateau eight or ten acres in area, and about two hundred feet above the level of the sea, covered with the débris of ancient ruins. It was evidently the upper part of the old city of Sycaminum, and commanded a magnificent view of the coast-line southward, and of what was formerly the lower town, which has heretofore been supposed to be all that there was of the city.

This upper town, from its cool and delightful position, was probably the residence of the wealthier inhabitants; here, too, were fragments of marble columns and carved capitals, and conspicuous among them two gigantic old olive millstones, one about eight feet in diameter and two feet thick, and the other of less diameter, but of more than three feet in thickness. There were, moreover, many rock tombs with loculi, the foundations of ancient walls of immense thickness, and here and there fragments of the wall itself standing, in one place to a height of about five feet. But the most interesting find was a triangular piece of marble, on which was an inscription in a character which may possibly be ancient Syriac. It is certainly not Greek, Roman, or Hebrew, though at the first glance I thought it was the former. Unfortunately, the stone has been cut since the inscription was engraved, and there are only a few letters of each word, one below the other, but it was evidently originally a long one, consisting of many lines. I also discovered here a cistern, with four circular apertures; causing myself to be lowered into it, I found it to be seventy feet long, supported by four pillars hewn from the living rock, lined with cement, and twenty feet high, from the débris with which it was partially choked. Altogether the place is well worth a fuller and more careful investigation, which I hope to give it.

About an hour's ride further south is an interesting spot called the Valley of the Martyrs, which, though rarely visited, is well worth an excursion, not merely on account of its peculiar geological features and its great scenic attractions, but from the historical associations which attach to it. It was towards the close of the twelfth century that Father Brocard was elected vicar-general of the order “of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel,” whose sanctuary had been long established upon the mountain, though the members of the order had their homes in its numerous caverns, resorting to the shrine only for purposes of worship, while they lived as scattered ascetics in the surrounding valleys. Father Brocard conceived the idea of collecting them in a monastery, and placing them under certain fixed regulations, which have ever since been the rules of the order, and which were sanctioned in A.D. 1207 by Saint Albert, Patriarch at Jerusalem, Pope's Legate, and then resident at Acre.

It was in this gorge, which subsequently became known as the Valley of the Martyrs, that Father Brocard decided to build the first monastery, attracted thither, probably, by its beauty of situation and the copiousness of its springs, one of which is called after Elijah, as tradition has it that the inhabitants in his time complained of a lack of water, and he touched the rock and caused the present stream to gush forth. It wells up from under the limestone rock, and flows through a channel cut for it, for a few yards, into a basin hollowed out of the solid rock, about twelve feet square and six feet deep; from here it flows down the narrow gorge, and speedily expends itself in fertilizing some small gardens of figs, oranges, and pomegranates, which are wedged in between the rocky hillsides, and are tended by one or two poor families who live in caves. These gardens are now claimed by the present monastery, but there seems much doubt as to the validity of their title.

It is safer to dismount after passing this spring, as we now have to cross the smooth surface of the limestone rock as we follow the steep path that leads up to the ruin of the old monastery, the position of which is indicated by the remains of an enormous wall which nearly reaches across the gorge, looking from below like some huge dam, and which must have concealed the monastery itself from public gaze, except from the hills above. We are now struck by the extraordinary petrifactions over which we are passing. The path is worn deep by centuries into the soft limestone, in the sides of which appear layers of petrified twigs and branches of the bushes of a bygone period. They are perfectly white, except where fractures exhibit the black flint core; but in some instances the form of the branch is perfect with all its twigs. Passing under the projecting buttress of the dam-like wall, we suddenly open on a terrace covered with vines and fruit-trees on one side, and find ourselves at the mouth of a large cave on the other. Entering this, if we are willing to brave the fleas—for, as it is generally inhabited by an Arab family, they abound—we find that we are in a spacious apartment supported by a column of solid rock, while all around are mangers for horses, cut out of the stone. Of these we count fourteen, which will give some idea of the size of the cave. Probably in crusading times it was a cavalry outpost, affording, from its strong natural position and proximity to the plain of Sharon, a splendid point of vantage from which to pounce upon an unsuspecting enemy.

Ascending from the cave by some steps to the terrace, we come unexpectedly upon a delicious spring overshadowed by spreading fig-trees, which fills with crystal water a basin that has been hollowed out of the overhanging rock; from this it trickles into another stone-cut reservoir, from whence it is led by a stone channel, hollowed by the monks, to the monastery itself, one small room of which is still standing. The rock rises perpendicularly behind, and is scooped here and there into recesses, which were formerly, doubtless, the cells of monks, while the cool shade of spreading fruit-trees, the beauty of the view, the presence of running water, and the ever-blowing southwest wind, of which they got the full benefit, must have modified to a considerable extent the austerities of their existence.

There came a day, however, when their peaceful solitude was rudely disturbed. In 1238 the Saracens came upon them unexpectedly, and massacred them all, not leaving one to tell the bloody tale. There seems to be no record of the actual number who fell victims upon this occasion, but they must have been very numerous, as the Monastery of St. Brocard had become a refuge for monks from all parts of Palestine, who fled hither to escape the persecution to which they were being subjected in other parts of the country. Not content with putting them to death, the Saracens dragged their bodies down to the Spring of Elijah, and flung them into the square reservoir there, which I have already described. According to the pious chronicler of this tragic event, the spring immediately refused to flow, and when the Christians of Acre, hearing the news, came to bury their coreligionists, they found it dry. When they had completed their melancholy task, they prayed that the water might commence to run once more, which it immediately did, and has never ceased since.

The result of this tragedy was the practical expulsion of the order of the Carmelites from Palestine. The Monastery of St. Brocard, after its short-lived existence, fell into ruins, and more than four hundred years elapsed before the order once more secured a footing on Mount Carmel, and built a monastery upon it at the end of the promontory, which served as a hospital for the French soldiers during Napoleon's occupation of this part of the country. His hurried evacuation of Palestine involved the destruction of the monastery and the massacre of all the wounded, to whose memory a monument has since been erected in the garden attached to the present edifice. But there can be no doubt that both for picturesqueness and historical association the old ruin of the Monastery of Saint Brocard, which altogether escapes the attention of the tourist and the pilgrim, is far more interesting than the modern monastery, which is not fifty years old, and which is about two miles distant from this old site.

On the top of the hill above the ruins of the Monastery of St. Brocard is a plateau, called the Garden of Elijah, or the field of melons, which is abundantly strewn with geodes, or fragments of calcareous stone, having all the shape and appearance in many cases of petrified fruit, the crystallization of the centres when they are split open having confirmed this idea, thus doubtless giving rise to the legend that Elijah on one occasion, passing through the gardens which were once situated here, asked the proprietor for some fruit. He replied, not wishing to comply with the request, that they were stones, on which the prophet, apparently in a fit of temper, said, “Well, stones let them remain,” and stones they have remained ever since. I found some curious specimens so like small melons that one can well understand how this fable may have originated among an ignorant population.

[THE ROCK-HEWN CEMETERY OF SHEIK ABREIK.]

Nazareth, Feb. 18.—There is a low range of hills, about five hundred feet above the sea-level, half-way between Haifa and Nazareth. It is beautifully timbered with oak-trees, and cut up into the most charming valleys. Running almost due north and south, it divides the plain of Esdraelon from that of Acre. Its southern extremity, terminating abruptly, forms a small gorge with the Carmel range, through which the Kishon forces its way to the sea. It was during a heavy rain-storm a week ago that I approached the ford of this river from Haifa. It was not without trepidation, for the stream had been so swollen by recent rains that communication with the interior had been interrupted. It was doubtful whether the passage of this river, which almost dries up in summer, would not involve a ducking. I therefore prudently requested my companion to precede me into the yellow, swirling stream, and although the water came up to our saddle-bags, the horses managed to get across without losing their footing. Then we galloped into the oak-woods. The sun broke out from behind the clouds, and we determined to prosecute our search for certain caves, of the existence of which we had heard, and which, owing to the state of the weather, we had almost decided to abandon.

Leaving the high-road to Nazareth to the right, we followed a path for about half an hour which took us to the village of Sheik Abreik. It was a miserable collection of mud hovels, in the muddiest of which dwelt the sheik. After much palaver and promises of abundant backsheesh we got him to admit the existence of the caverns of which we were in search, and persuaded him to be our guide to them. The first was called by the Arabs “The Cave of Hell.” Its entrance seemed to justify the ill-omened appellation. It was a steep, sloping tunnel into the bowels of the earth, just large enough to admit the passage of a man's body. To slide into this feet foremost after a heavy rain involved a coating of mud from top to toe. After going down a few yards we found a chamber in which we could stand erect. Here we lighted our candle and looked about us. We found that it was the first of a series of similar chambers opening one into another. Each contained loculi, hewn out of the solid rock. The entrances to these chambers were arched. The pilasters on each side of the entrance were in some cases ornamented with rude sculptures and decorated with designs in a yellow pigment. These were in the form of curves, scrolls, and circles, and were carried over the roof. Each chamber was about ten feet long by six feet wide, and on an average contained three tombs or loculi, one across the chamber, facing the entrance, and one on each side. There do not seem ever to have been lids to these stone receptacles for the corpses.

The bodies were embalmed, wrapped in cloths, as we read in Scriptural accounts of burials, notably in that of our Saviour. “Each in his narrow cell forever laid,” they remained undisturbed until rude hands, ages afterwards, “rolled away the stone from the mouth of the cave” and rifled the contents.

Some of the entrances to the chambers had been completely filled up. In such cases the partition wall of rock had been broken through. Some of the chambers were larger than others, and there were two tiers of loculi. In order to get from one chamber to another it was often necessary to drag yourself along at full length upon the ground. In one case the roof had been broken through into a chamber above, and this probably led to more.

I had not time fully to explore this most curious and interesting spot. Examinations of this sort in the middle of a long day's ride are very fatiguing. The effort of scrambling about on all fours, or after the fashion of the serpent, is very great, and makes you very dirty. In the absence of a string you are haunted by the idea of not being able to find your way back, to say nothing of the chance of sticking in one of these narrow passages. Altogether, I entered about fifteen different chambers, and doubtless the others did not differ in any important particulars. I am afraid, however, that I was not the first to discover them, but that this honour rests with Captain Conder, Royal Engineers, of the Palestine Exploration Fund. The sheik told us he had once before guided a foreigner to this locality, and on the next cave we visited we found the letters R. E. scratched in red paint on the rock, which under these circumstances can only mean Royal Engineers.

The next cave was a much more comfortable one to examine, though not nearly so interesting. You could walk about it comfortably, but there was no ornamentation. The chambers were larger, but there were only five or six of them. The stone coffins had, in many instances, been completely destroyed, but the massive stone columns, or rather blocks, of living rock which supported the roof were finer than those in the “Cave of Hell.” Perhaps it owed its more dilapidated condition to the largeness of its entry, and its proximity to another huge cave which had evidently in crusading times been converted into a Christian place of worship. According to a rough measurement obtained by pacing it, the nave was seventy feet by thirty, the apse eighteen by twenty-one, and two apse-shaped transepts about twenty by eighteen; but these were very much filled with rubbish. The height of the cave was about thirty feet. The whole formed a subterranean church, which, in its perfect condition, when entered from the hillside, must have presented a very imposing appearance. On the slope of the hill, not far from this cave, was the carved pedestal of a granite column, and near it a handsome stone sarcophagus.

Instead of going back to the Nazareth road after finishing our examination of this interesting spot, we made for a hill on the summit of which we saw some large blocks of stone betokening ruins. Here we came upon a native excavation, evidently very recent. Indeed, we heard later that it had only been abandoned the week before. The natives occasionally find an unopened tomb, and dig into it for treasure. It was useless to attempt to disabuse their minds of the idea that we were treasure-hunters. On asking them what they had found, they said, some red glass bottles, which they had broken to discover what they contained. They had also found three jars, one containing ashes, one earth, and one was empty. These they had also smashed. It was enough to make one's mouth water to hear of the destruction of these curiosities so very recently. I implored them if they found any more not to break them, but to bring them to me. They laughed, and promised to do so, saying, at the same time, “They are so very old that they are not worth anything.” This cave was evidently an important one, but the natives, finding nothing but the glass and the jars, had blocked up the entrance again, and I had to put off the examination of it to some future time. On the top of the hill there were several sarcophagi, some coffins hewn out of the living rock on the surface, with the stone lid at the side. At one place I saw a huge stone lid about eight feet long, two feet six inches broad at its base, and the same in height, but coming up to a ridge, which was evidently still covering the mortal remains which had originally been placed beneath it. The position of this I have also marked, and propose, at some future time, to remove it by gunpowder and see what is below.

Had it not been necessary to push on in order to reach Nazareth before night, I would have lingered longer at these ruins, which are called Zebda by the natives. They are worthy of a full examination. The whole rocky summit of the hill is evidently honeycombed with cave tombs, many of which had not yet been opened. One of these, some miles farther on towards Nazareth, especially attracted my attention. A huge circular stone about two feet in diameter had been rolled into the carved stone entrance to the cave, and become tightly wedged. All the efforts of the natives to remove it, and the marks of such efforts were visible, had evidently been unavailing. It needed a very small charge of dynamite to remove the obstacle which had so successfully resisted the barbarian ingenuity of ages. This I had arranged to do, but on the day fixed for the purpose persistent rain disappointed me. However, it is a treat in store.

The first entrance into one of these old Jewish tomb-caverns will be an exciting episode, but there is an amount of suspicion and jealousy on the part of the natives which will render prudence and circumspection necessary if any attempt of this sort is to be carried out with success.

The whole plain of Esdraelon, on the verge of which this ruin is situated, as well as part of the hills behind, is now all owned by one rich firm of Syrian bankers, who draw an annual income of about $200,000 a year from it. They own practically about five thousand human beings as well, who form the population of thirty villages, which are in their hands. I found no more potent talisman in inducing the natives to comply with my request; than to mention the name of “Sursuk,” and imply that I had the honour of his acquaintance. No despot exercises a more autocratic power over the liberties or the lives of his subjects than does this millionaire landed proprietor, who continues annually to add to his territory till the whole of Galilee seems in danger of falling into his hands. This part of the country, however, is at present beginning to attract the attention of foreigners, and it is to be hoped that before long he may find rivals in the field who will do more to improve the condition of the peasantry, and introduce methods of agriculture which may make them more independent of the money-lenders who now make their profit by sucking their very life-blood.

[EASTER AMONG THE MELCHITES.]

Haifa, April 2.—The population of Haifa, which amounts to about six thousand souls, consists, so far as religious distinctions are concerned, of Moslems, Roman Catholics—here called “Latins”—orthodox Greeks, and Greek Catholics, or Melchites. Of these the latter are the most numerous. This town may be considered the stronghold of the Melchite schismatics. They are more influential here than in any other town in Syria. They compose two thirds of its entire population. Originally orthodox Greek, they owe their origin to the missionary efforts of Romish priests and Jesuits during the last two centuries. As the object has been to gain partisans, more pains have been taken to obtain nominal submission to the authority of the pope than any real change of doctrine or ritual. To this day, Lazarists, Franciscans, Carmelites, and Jesuits are active in their efforts to make proselytes to this sect from the orthodox Greek Church. They allow them to retain their independence of Rome in many particulars. Thus it is governed by a patriarch at Damascus who owes allegiance to the pope. Mass is celebrated in Arabic, they administer the sacrament in both kinds, they retain their Oriental calendar, and their priests may be married men, though they may not marry after ordination. They differ from the orthodox Greek Church in this, that they take the Romanist view of the procession of the Holy Spirit. They believe in Purgatory, they eat fish in Lent, and acknowledge the papal supremacy. Otherwise they have made no change in passing from one jurisdiction to the other. As perverts they are naturally intensely hated by the orthodox Greeks, and when disturbances take place between Moslems and Christians, the Greek orthodox are generally to be found siding with the Moslems against Roman Catholics and Melchites.

To this sect belong some of the wealthiest and most aristocratic families in Syria. As the ordinary traveller is not often brought into contact with them, I was not sorry for the opportunity which my residence furnished me of witnessing their Easter observances. At midnight on the Saturday preceding Easter Sunday the festival is announced by a great consumption of gunpowder. An uproar which would do credit to a prolonged skirmish lasts till the early mass. The Melchite church is the largest and most imposing in Haifa. It is enclosed in a courtyard, round one side of which runs a balcony. At an early hour on Sunday morning the whole population turns out in its grandest attire. The men wear short embroidered jackets, with long sleeves slashed to the elbow, waistcoats of brilliant colours and innumerable buttons, bright-coloured sashes, and baggy trousers. The women are in flowing white robes, which, drawn over their heads, are held under their chins, only partially concealing their gay head-dresses sparkling with coins, and their low-cut vests, gaudy with gold or silver embroidery. The children are especially subjects of decoration in costume, and strut about in the brightest of garments, plentifully ornamented with gold lace and flowers.

The narrow street leading to the church is tolerably crowded as we force our way along until we suddenly meet a loud-voiced procession, the priests, accompanied by choristers, keeping up a discordant nasal chant as they march round the church with the image of the Saviour on a crucifix, with red and green banners, and with swinging censers, followed by a miscellaneous crowd, all carrying tapers. This occurs three times. Afterwards the church square fills with a noisy crowd of men. The windows and housetops which command a view of it are filled with female spectators, who are not allowed to mingle freely with the men. On the stairs leading to the housetops are clustered the tawdrily dressed little girls, upon whom no such restriction is imposed, and then, if I may be pardoned the expression, the religious fun may be said to begin. It consists in letting off squibs, crackers, pistols, and guns till the spectator is almost deafened. The men form themselves in a circle so large that it fills the whole courtyard, each man throwing his arms right and left round his neighbour's neck, and, lifting up his voice in a discordant scream, which is supposed to have some musical connection with the screams of all his neighbours. It is a dull dance, although noisy. Everybody makes ungainly steps in time, yelling and leering at each other in an idiotic manner, and letting off their guns when impelled to do so by excitement. As far as I could make out, their songs were rather of an amorous than a religious character.

When this entertainment came to an end a seedy-looking character entered the arena with an open Bible in his hand. He proceeded up the stairs to the open balcony, whither he was followed by the armed crowd who had been dancing. These ranged themselves right and left beside him, and he commenced in Arabic to read in a loud voice a chapter from the Gospel of St. John. When he had read a certain number of verses he paused, and about a hundred guns went off in a sort of feu de joie. Then he read on, while his audience loaded their guns. Then he paused again. They fired again, and so on all through the chapter, thus emphasizing as it were the most striking passages by periodical explosions of gunpowder. When this was over the church bell rang, and some priests with round, high-crowned hats and locks flowing over their shoulders made their appearance. I was told by a Melchite friend that there was no use in going to church now, as everybody intended to go and get drunk and pay visits, and indulge in more dancing of a less restrained character, but that there would be a better mass on the following day, because the French consul was going to attend in full uniform, and everybody would be there.

This Easter festival lasts three days. The merriment increases and culminates on the last day, at the expiration of which everybody has given proof of his religious devotion by arriving at a blind state of intoxication. When in this sanctified condition disturbances not unfrequently occur between these Christian worshippers and the Moslems, in whose mind Christian religious ceremonial is inseparably connected with drunken riots and wild orgies. The Caimakam or Turkish governor of the town, fearing that the strict observance of Easter according to their custom on the part of the Melchites might lead to these results, issued an order that on Easter Monday and the day following no firing was to be allowed, but the Melchites replied to the police officer charged with enforcing this order, that they had no intention of obeying it. A serious difficulty might have occurred were it not for the intervention of the English and French vice-consuls, who gave the Melchites to understand that the Turkish authority must be respected. It was a curious illustration of the state of Turkish administration here that a Turkish governor should have to appeal to foreign consuls in order to secure compliance on the part of Turkish subjects with his own orders. When I attended mass on the following day there was no firing. With the exception of the French consul, my friends, and myself, the whole congregation stood. Three priests officiated at an altar unusually tawdry, and a group of men and boys kept up a stentorian nasal chant from first to last. They were accompanied by an orchestra of two men, each of whom had a pair of common steel table knives, with which they kept up a most ear-splitting clatter on the rim of a copper bowl, that might on ordinary occasions have been used for salad. The incense-swingers puffed fumes of incense into the faces of the French consul and myself as being honoured guests, and a priest brought him an open Bible to kiss, but abstained from offering it to me—on religious grounds best known to himself. Then he painted a good many people with holy water, using a piece of cotton put on the end of a wire. Then there was the usual procession and elevation of the Host, and the more devout members prostrated themselves and kissed the flagstones of the church. The sacrament was administered, the bread and wine being mixed together in a silver cup, which was held over an embroidered napkin stretched between two boys, so that none of the contents fell to the ground as the priest put the teaspoonful into the mouths of those who knelt before him. The women did not seem to need it, as they were all bottled up in a gallery, and could only see or be seen through a lattice-work.

The service came to an end, and the people divided to allow the French consul, who, with his cocked hat and gold lace, had been the figurehead of the ceremony, to march out in state. These French consuls are all very pious men in Syria. The French government, which has been ejecting monks and nuns and closing religious establishments, and making laws against religious instruction in France, is very particular about the religious principles of their representatives in Syria; as a member of the French government recently remarked, “Religion is only useful as an article of export.” Thus, the French consul-general at Beyrout goes to mass on Easter Sunday with the Roman Catholics. On Easter Monday he attends mass with the Maronites, and on Tuesday he worships with the Melchites, thus dividing his favours equally, and patronizing with great impartiality any heresies he may happen to come across.

As the correct thing among the Melchites after being at church is to go and “have something to drink,” I followed the usual custom and paid a visit to my Melchite friend's family. The ladies of his establishment, in gorgeous attire, pressed beer and wine and raki, and sweetmeats and cakes and coffee, upon our enfeebled digestion. We smoked narghilès, and enlightened our minds upon Melchite manners and customs. As I passed through the outskirts of the town on my return home, I came upon the male Melchite population indulging in their circular dance and their discordant chants. They continued on the following day, stimulated by a plentiful indulgence in intoxicating liquors, thus to glorify God, and to celebrate the resurrection of the Saviour among men.

[THE JEWISH QUESTION IN PALESTINE.]

Haifa, April 17.—The exceptional interest which, in the minds of many people, attaches to the Jewish question in Palestine must be my excuse for now alluding to it. Although, in consequence of the strenuous opposition of the Turkish government, the tide of emigration into the country has been checked, the desire of the Russian and Roumanian Jews to escape from the persecution to which they are subjected in Europe to the Holy Land has in no degree diminished. On the contrary, colonization societies continue to be formed and funds collected both in Russia and Roumania, and the English government has lately remonstrated with the Porte on the breach of treaty which the prohibition of Jews to settle in Palestine involves, with what success remains to be seen. The diplomatic action of the present government of England is by no means of a robust kind. Curiously enough, the Russian policy on this interesting question appears to be undergoing a change. The Russian government seems disposed to espouse in Turkey the cause of the race which it oppresses so unmercifully at home. M. de Nelidoff, the Russian Minister at Constantinople, has lately addressed a note to the Porte, in which he complains that the imperial authorities at Jaffa place every possible obstacle in the way of Jewish pilgrims from Russia who wish to disembark there in order to proceed to Jerusalem. The Porte has replied that no restriction whatever has been placed upon pilgrimages to the Holy City, and that the Jews, like everybody else, are free to go there. The Porte, however, draws attention to the imperial decree, recently published, which strictly prohibits the provincial authorities from allowing Jews, under any condition whatsoever, to settle in Palestine, and states that should any Jews, in spite of such express prohibition, seek to establish themselves there, the law of exclusion would be rigorously enforced. But all foreigners, of any nationality whatsoever, have a treaty right to settle in Palestine. The proof of which is that American and German colonists have established themselves here; that a society has been formed in Petersburg for promoting colonization in Palestine by Russian Christian subjects. A Jew, therefore, who is a Russian subject has manifestly as good a right to buy a piece of land in the country and settle upon it as a Christian. At this moment the Russian Consul-General at Beyrout is warmly espousing the cause of a Russian Jew colonist, who forms one of a colony of twenty-five Russian and Roumanian Jew families who have bought land and settled not far from the Lake of Tiberias. A Moslem youth wishing to examine his revolver, which the Jew refused to allow him to do, the weapon accidentally went off in the struggle, and mortally wounded the Moslem. The whole Mussulman village was up in arms, and it was only by the exercise of much tact on the part of the native Arab Jews that a general massacre was averted. The young Jew was thrown into prison, although it was recognized as an accident, and has been confined in a filthy cell for more than four months. His case was warmly taken up by the Russian authorities, and the plea of the Porte is that he had already signed a paper declaring himself an Ottoman subject. The Russian officials reply to this that he has since travelled under his Russian passport, has been recognized as a Russian subject by the authorities, and that the Arabic paper he signed was erroneously represented to him as being only a permission from the local authority to buy land and build a house. There the matter stands at present, and a warm correspondence is taking place on the subject. It is significant as showing the attitude which the Russians are assuming in the matter. The Russian vice-consul here not long since brought some Russian immigrant Jews on shore in spite of the remonstrances of the local authorities. It is evident that if the Russian government adopts the policy of encouraging Jewish immigration into Palestine, and of protecting the immigrants when here, they will have obtained an excellent excuse for political interference in the country. This was always the danger, and might have been avoided by a more enlightened and far-sighted policy on the part of the Porte. Had the Turkish government encouraged Jewish immigration on the condition of every immigrant becoming a Turkish subject, they would have added to the population by an industrious class of people, who would speedily have increased its material prosperity, while the government might have so controlled and regulated the immigration and the colonization that there would have been nothing to fear from it. By adopting this policy they would avoid possible complications with foreign powers, while they would at the same time gain the sympathy of the most enlightened among them, by affording to a suffering and persecuted race an asylum where their presence would not only be harmless, but in the highest degree advantageous to the Turkish province they had chosen for their home. Of late the prospects of both the Jewish agricultural colonies which have been established in Galilee have improved. The assiduity and perseverance with which, in spite of their inexperience, of the obstacles thrown in their way, and of the hardships inseparable from settlement in a new country, they have laboured on the soil, the progress they have made, and their prospects for the future, all go to show that under favourable auspices colonies of this nature cannot but succeed; and this belief has taken too firm a hold on the Jewish mind both in Russia and Roumania for it to be lightly abandoned. At present the pressure on the part of the Roumanian Jews to emigrate hither is greater than in Russia, where there has been a lull in the persecution; but unfortunately the Roumanian government has no diplomatic agents in these parts, and is indifferent to the fate of the Jews who leave their country. In former times the British government had a habit of taking waifs and strays of this description under its protection. Thus, nearly the whole Jewish community at Tiberias were originally Russian refugees who emigrated to Palestine thirty years ago, and applied for British protection, a privilege which Lord Palmerston promptly granted them, and to this day they travel with British passports, and pay five shillings a year to renew their registration, which secures them the protection of the British consul. If any government were philanthropic enough to adopt a similar plan now, there would be no difficulty in these poor Roumanians entering the country and settling here; but it is a course which naturally involves responsibilities, and opens a door to possible complications, and in these practical days people's sufferings, unless something is to be made out of them, do not furnish a sufficient justification to compensate for the amount of trouble which they might involve. Meantime the agricultural enterprise of the Jews in Palestine has to contend not merely with local opposition, but with the unaccountable indifference with which their efforts in this direction are regarded, with a few brilliant exceptions, by their Western coreligionists. At present the seven or eight colonies which exist are all composed of Russian or Roumanian refugees, but the best material for farmers is to be found among those Jews who have been bred and born in the country, who are already Turkish subjects, who speak the language, and are familiar with all the local conditions, and who are now mendicants, subsisting on that most pernicious institution, the Haluka, which, while it is a tax upon the whole Jewish nation outside of Palestine, is a fruitful source of pillage, contention, and sloth, among its recipients at Jerusalem and Safed. Out of some seven thousand Jews resident at the latter place, many are willing to give up all claim to the Haluka, and establish themselves as agriculturists, if they could be assisted in the first instance with the necessary capital. With some of these the experiment has been tried on a small scale, and they have proved more successful farmers in every way than the foreign immigrants, while, as they are natives of the country and subjects of the government, the latter does not interfere with their operations, as in the case of the foreigners. Under these circumstances, it is a thousand pities that Western Jews do not come to their assistance. They would confer thereby a twofold benefit upon their race. They would assist the industry and enterprise of their coreligionists, while they would undermine that system of religious mendicancy which is a disgrace to any religion, and they would deprive thereby their adversaries of the right to say, as they do now, that the success which attends missionary efforts at proselytism is due chiefly to the fact that Jews abroad are indifferent to the best interests of such of their race as have chosen for their home the land of their ancestors.

[“HOLY PLACES” IN GALILEE.]

Nazareth, May 1.—Talking the other day to a Franciscan monk on the prospects of his religion and of the propaganda for the faith which his order is making in these parts, he informed me that much depended upon the restoration of “holy places,” with a view to increasing their importance and popularity, for practically the most effective agent for the conversion of infidels is hard cash, and the increase of expenditure means the increase of converts. Of course he did not put it in this undisguised language, but it is distinctly a great pecuniary advantage to a native village that it should become a centre of religious attraction to pilgrims and tourists, and that money should be spent in building churches and monasteries, and otherwise civilizing remote and outlying localities where the inhabitants would remain paupers but for the sanctity of the spot upon which they are fortunate enough to live. Indeed, the latter are acute enough to understand that they can frequently make a good thing of it by the exploitation of the rivalries of opposing creeds, and they cleverly change from one to the other, when they perceive that it would be to their advantage to do so. Thus, not long ago, no fewer than a hundred and twenty of the inhabitants of the village of Kefr Kenna, situated only a few miles from this place, who belonged to the orthodox Greek Church, became Roman Catholics, and as a reward for this proof of their spiritual intelligence a Franciscan monastery is now in process of construction. The small village is deriving no little profit in consequence, to say nothing of the fact that it will draw pilgrims to visit the historic locality now that they will be received there by the holy fathers. For both the Greek and the Catholic churches have hitherto assumed the truth of a tradition to the effect that Kefr Kenna was the village in which the miracle took place of the conversion of water into wine—that it is none other, indeed, than the Cana of Galilee—and they show you the house where the marriage took place, and the stone water-pots, to prove it. The fact that it is a matter of great doubt whether it be Cana of Galilee at all, does not affect the question where religious faith is concerned, but it seems a pity that the inhabitants of Kâna el Jelil, commonly called Khurbet Kâna, should not be put up to the fact that they are possibly the possessors of the site of the veritable Cana, and may have got a “holy place” worth thousands of dollars to them if turned to proper account.

I will not trouble my readers with quotations from Scewelf (A.D. 1102), from Marinus Sanutus in the fourteenth century, from Andrichomius, and from De Vogue and Dr. Robinson in later times, to prove that this may be so. The fact that it is admitted by many modern geographers would be enough for the inhabitants of Khurbet Kâna or for the Greek Church, if they wished to revenge themselves upon their Catholic rivals. These latter have made another still more happy hit quite lately at Sefurieh, the ancient Sepphoris, distant about three miles from Khurbet Kâna, in reviving there an almost forgotten “holy place.” The merit of its discovery seems to rest with Saint Helena, who made a pilgrimage to Palestine in the fourth century, and to whose ardent piety, vivid imagination, and energetic exertions are due most of these traditional spots connected with the life of Christ which attract pilgrims to the Holy Land. On what authority she decided that a certain house in Sepphoris—called in those days Diocæsarea—had been the abode of Joachim and Anna, the parents of the Virgin, we are not told, nor how, upon descending into details, she was further enabled to identify the exact spot upon which the Virgin received the salutation of the angel; suffice it to say that the proofs were so convincing to her devout and august mind that she stamped it with her sanction, and a cathedral was afterwards erected upon it. In the course of centuries this edifice crumbled away, the site, curiously enough, became the manure and rubbish heap of the village, and under the mound thus formed was buried nearly all that remained of this ancient cathedral. Only the high arch of the middle aisle and the lower ones of the side aisles still testified to the modern tourist the ancient proportions of the edifice.

Within the last two years, however, it has occurred to the Franciscans to make excavations here, with the view of restoring the ancient cathedral and of renewing its fame as a holy place, for, to all good Catholics, it must ever be a matter of the deepest interest to see where the angel saluted the Virgin, and where her parents lived, and to press their lips to the ancient stones thus hallowed. Moreover, an influx of pilgrims to this point will have a threefold effect. It will bring money to the Franciscan treasury; it will probably be the means of converting the resident local population, who have been fanatic Moslems, but who, I was assured by my ecclesiastical informant, had benefited so much by the money already spent, that they were only deterred by fear, and by its not being quite enough, from declaring their conversion to Christianity to-morrow; and, thirdly, it would give the French government another holy place to protect. For it is by the manufacture and protection of holy places that republican France extends and consolidates her influence in these parts.

It was with a view of seeing what had been done that I determined to ride over to Sefurieh and from there take a line of my own through the woods to the Bay of Acre, instead of returning to the coast by the regular road across the plain of Esdraelon. Passing Cana and the Christian village of Reineh, where there is an old well with a sculptured sarcophagus, we leave to our right a Moslem “holy place,” called Mashad, where there is a conspicuous wely, or Moslem shrine. This spot Moslem as well as Christian tradition declares to be the tomb of Jonah. This tradition is based on the fact that the prophet is said in the Bible to be of Gath-Hepher—and this site is pretty well identified with that of the modern Mashad. There can be little doubt that these Moslem welies are the modern representatives of those “high places” which the ancient Jews were so constantly punished for erecting. They seem, indeed, to differ in no very marked degree from the “holy places” of the present day.

In an hour more we are galloping up the grassy slope on the side of which are the mud hovels of the modern population, whose conversion is so imminent, and the summit of which is crowned with the picturesque ruins of a crusading castle, reared upon foundations which are evidently of a far anterior date. This building is about fifty feet square, and from the top, which we reach by a dilapidated stair, we have a magnificent view of the surrounding country, the Buttauf, formerly the plain of Zebulon, at our feet—at this time of year a sheet of water—with the high range of the Jebel Safed behind, and bounding the horizon westward the sea-line of the Bay of Acre, with the wooded hills, through which lies my proposed route, intervening. On the side of the hill near the village is the church in process of restoration, and in the courtyard which has been recently built in front of it, where the rubbish mound lately stood, are no less than a dozen syenite columns, some standing to a height of twelve or fifteen feet, some prostrate, while their capitals and entablatures are strewn around. A small chapel has been fitted up in one of the side aisles, where a priest from Nazareth comes every Sunday to perform mass to the Arab and his wife who are left in charge during the week, and who at present form the whole congregation. The priest told me that many more handsome columns were in a subterranean part of the church which had recently been discovered, but which I could not visit, on account of débris. He also pointed out the fact that the pillars which supported the arches were divided into five sections, so built that they might actually enclose the ancient walls of the house of Joachim and Anna.

What renders this excavation interesting is, that as Sepphoris was, at the time of Christ, the principal Roman city and fortress of Galilee, some relics of a date anterior to that of the church itself may very likely be discovered. The former importance of the town may be fairly estimated by the extent of its ancient rock cemetery, which lies about a mile to the eastward, and which I visited. Here abound caves with loculi for the dead, sarcophagi, either cut into the living rock, with their stone lids still upon them, or else detached and strewn like huge water-troughs over the rocky area, immense cisterns, and rock-cut steps, and a quarter of a mile distant is a wonderful work of Roman engineering skill in the shape of an aqueduct many miles long, which supplied the citadel with water, which it is supposed continues to Sheik Abreik, a distance of ten miles, and which here tunnels through the hill for a quarter of a mile. The roof has in places fallen in, and exposes to view the canal itself, which is about twenty feet deep, with sides beautifully cemented. This subterranean aqueduct has only been recently discovered by the Palestine Exploration Fund Survey, and is quite unknown to tourists, though the whole place is well worth visiting.

Leaving it with regret, for it required a longer examination than I was able to give it, I struck off past the lovely springs of Sefurieh, where a copious stream gushes out full-blown from its source, to fertilize a valley rich with olive and fig gardens—a spot celebrated in crusading annals as the scene of many skirmishes, in some of which Richard Cœur de Lion distinguished himself so much that his name is still handed down in tradition among the natives. Crossing wooded hills, we find that every step opens new surprises upon us of scenery and of discovery, for these wild forest recesses have never been thoroughly explored. First we came upon a group of prostrate columns on which we found inscriptions, so worn, however, that we were unable to decipher them, but the native who was with us told us that the clump of old trees which overhung them bore the name of “Trees of the Bridegroom,” suggestive of Baal-worship and a holy place of antiquity. Then we examined two hill-tops covered with cave tombs, and strewn with massive and overgrown remains hitherto undiscovered. One of these was called Jissy and the other Hamitz. The largest of the caves contained three chambers with loculi. The entrances were carved. Not far from them I found another group of columns, and on them managed to trace the letters IMP. AVR., evidently standing for Imperator Aurelian, which would make them date from the third century after Christ. So, winding through rocky, wooded dells, we reached Bethlehem of Galilee, the modern Beit Lahm, where there were the remains of an ancient subterranean aqueduct or sarcophagus and the fragment of a column, and on through more glassy glades, finding our way by instinct, for we were without a guide; but we had a better chance of stumbling upon undiscovered ruins this way, and whatever path we followed was sure in the end to lead us somewhere; moreover, the view guided us from the hill-tops, and our compass when we were in the valleys. I quite regretted when at last we suddenly emerged from these old oak woods—alas! so rapidly being destroyed by the charcoal burners—and found ourselves on the edge of a hill overlooking the plain of the Kishon, across which a rapid ride of three hours brought us to our journey's end, and completed one of the most delightful rides it has ever been my fortune to make in this country.

[PROGRESS IN PALESTINE.]

Haifa, May 16.—Considering the number of tourists, both American and English, who annually visit the Holy Land, I have been much struck with the erroneous impression which still continues to prevail in regard to its availability as a field of colonization, and as an opening for foreign enterprise and capital.

For some time past a discussion has been taking place in the Jewish papers on both sides of the Atlantic, in which the merits of Palestine from this point of view have been canvassed, and I can only account for the extraordinary inaccuracies which have characterized the arguments of the disputants, by the supposition that they have derived their information from sources which, owing to the changes which have taken place in the country during the last few years, may now be considered obsolete.

Readers will be surprised to learn that almost every acre of the plain of Esdraelon is at this moment in the highest state of cultivation; that it is perfectly safe to ride across it unarmed in any direction, as I can testify; that, so far from plundering and despoiling villages, the few Bedouins, whose “black tabernacles” are now confined to the southern margin of the plain, have, in their turn, become the plundered and despoiled, for they are all reduced to the position of being subject to inexorable landlords, who charge them exorbitantly for the land which they occupy, and for which they pay in hard cash, under penalty of instant ejection, which is ruthlessly enforced, so that the inhabitants of the villages, with which the plain is now dotted, live in perfect security, though more than twenty years have elapsed since it was predicted that “in ten years more there will not be an inhabited village in Esdraelon.” It looks to-day like a huge green lake of waving wheat, with its village-crowned mounds rising from it like islands; and it presents one of the most striking pictures of luxuriant fertility which it is possible to conceive.

When, therefore, I read the other day, as an argument why colonies should not be established in this part of Galilee, a description of the dangers which would attend any such experiment, I was amazed at the temerity of the assertion. But as so much attention is just now devoted to the consideration of the agricultural capabilities of Palestine, I think it only right that the delusions which evidently continue to exist on the subject should be dissipated with as little delay as possible. The fact is, that nearly the whole plain of Esdraelon is divided between two great proprietors, the Sultan himself, who has recently acquired a great part of the eastern portion of it, and the Sursocks, the richest bankers in Syria, who are resident in Beyrout, and who own nearly all the villages extending from the foot of the Nazareth hills to the sea. Some idea of the amount of the grain which is annually grown on their portion of the plain of Esdraelon alone may be gathered from the fact that Mr. Sursock himself told me a few weeks ago that the cost of transporting his last year's crop to Haifa and Acre amounted to $50,000. This was said as illustrating the necessity of a railway across the plain, with a view of cheapening the cost of transport, as, owing to the Sultan having property here, it has become desirable in his majesty's interest. A concession has recently been granted to these Beyrout capitalists for the purpose of constructing a line which shall connect the Bay of Acre and the two ports upon it with the great grain-growing province to the east of the Jordan, called the Hauran, from which region thousands of camels loaded with cereals come annually to Acre and Haifa.

As I write the engineers are starting to commence the surveys of this line, which will run right through to the centre of the plain of Esdraelon, and open up a great extent of new country lying in the hills behind it, which will now find an easier access to the sea, while the whole of Galilee will benefit from so important a means of communication. Indeed, it is a remarkable fact that while every province in Turkey has been steadily retrograding during the last few years, Palestine alone has been rapidly developing in agricultural and material prosperity. In Haifa and its neighbourhood land has risen threefold in value during the last five years, while the export and import trade has increased with a remarkable rapidity, and the population has doubled within ten years. Indeed, the population of the whole of Palestine shows an increase during that period, more particularly owing to immigration within the last year or two. The consequence is that although, so far as security for life and property is concerned, there is still much to be desired, great progress has been made, and with a more energetic government the country might be rendered as safe as any in the world.

As it is, the Bedouins are being gradually pushed east of the Jordan, and it is now becoming more and more rare for an Arab encampment to be seen in the neighbourhood of the more settled and prosperous part of the country. There are, of course, villages where the inhabitants have a bad reputation, and, as a rule in the establishment of new colonies, proximity to these should be avoided; but fertile lands, near peaceable villages, removed from all risk of Arab incursion, and which can be purchased at a low price, abound; and I know of no more profitable investment of money, were the government favorable to it, whether by Jew or Gentile, than is furnished by a judiciously selected tract of this description. In proof of which may be cited the extraordinary wealth which has been accumulated by the Sursocks alone, who now own thousands of acres of the finest land in Palestine, and who purchase numerous new villages every year.

At the same time it must be admitted that, practically, the purchase of land in this country is attended with many difficulties. It is either held by villages in a communal manner, or in very small patches, many of which have several owners. In the first case the whole village, with its lands, must be purchased, an operation involving many official formalities, or the co-proprietors of the small patches have to agree upon the amount of the purchase-money, and then to show a clear title and the payment of all arrears of taxes. As a rule the purchase of any considerable extent of land involves negotiations extending over several months, and strangers unused to the ways of the country and the methods by which official routine may be expedited and obstacles removed are apt to meet with many disappointments. On the other hand, owing to official corruption, immense tracts of land fit for cultivation, but which are unoccupied owing to the sparseness of the population generally, may, through favouritism and backsheesh, be obtained at an almost nominal price.

The same erroneous impression prevails in regard to the barrenness of the country, as in regard to its insecurity. Few travellers see more than the beaten routes, where the hills happen to be unusually stony and barren; but the extent of the population which once inhabited the country furnishes the best evidence of what it is capable of supporting, and its capacities in this respect have been most forcibly dwelt upon by the officers engaged in the survey of the country for the Palestine Exploration Fund, who have enjoyed unequalled opportunities of judging upon the question. The fact that the resident Jewish agricultural population of Galilee alone amounts to over a thousand souls, is probably one which will astonish Western Jews more than any one else; but I have verified it by actually visiting myself the localities in which they are engaged in their farming operations, and am not giving the number without having arrived at it upon sure data.

There are three prejudices which have operated against the colonization of Palestine by Jews, and which are all absolutely unsound, and these are, first, that the Jew cannot become an agriculturist; secondly, that the country is barren, and, thirdly, that it is unsafe. The real obstacle in the way to Palestine colonization does not lie in any of these directions, but in the fact that the government is most determinedly opposed to it.

[THE FIRST PALESTINE RAILWAY.]

Haifa, June 13.—When Thackeray foretold that the day would come when the scream of the locomotive would awake the echoes in the Holy Land, and the voice of the conductor be heard shouting, “Ease her, stop her! Any passengers for Joppa?” he probably did so very much in the spirit in which Macaulay prophesied the New-Zealander sitting on the ruins of London Bridge, as an event in the dim future, and as a part of some distant impending social revolution; but the realization of the prediction is becoming imminent. The preliminary survey has just been completed as far as the Jordan, of the Hamidié, or Acre and Damascus Railway, which bids fair to be the first Palestine railway.

It is called the Hamidié line because it is named after his present majesty the Sultan Abdul Hamid, and probably one reason why the firman has been granted so easily lies in the fact that it passes through a great extent of property which he has recently acquired to the east of the plain of Esdraelon. The concession is held by ten or twelve gentlemen, some of whom are Moslems and some Christians, but all are Ottoman subjects resident in Syria. Among the most influential are the Messrs. Sursock, bankers, who own the greater part of the plain of Esdraelon, and who have therefore a large interest in the success of the line. From which it will appear that this is no speculation of Western promoters or financiers, but a real, bona-fide enterprise, and one which is likely to become a large source of profit to the holders of the concession and to the shareholders, for it will tap one of the richest grain-producing districts in the East.

I have myself ridden over the line for the first twenty miles, and have just seen the surveying party, who have returned well satisfied with the facilities which it offers from an engineering point of view. Starting from Acre, it will follow the curve of the bay for ten miles in a southerly direction at a distance of about two miles from the beach. Crossing the Kishon by a sixty-foot bridge, it will turn east at the junction of a short branch line, two miles long, at Haifa. Hugging the foot of the Carmel range, so as to avoid the Kishon marshes, it will pass through the gorge which separates that mountain from the lower ranges of the Galilee hills, and debouch into the plain of Esdraelon. This plain it will traverse in its entire length. The station for Nazareth will be distant about twelve miles from that town; there may, however, be a short branch to the foot of the hills.

So far there has only been a rise from the sea-level in twenty miles of two hundred and ten feet, so that the grade is imperceptible. It now crosses the watershed, and commences to descend across the plain of Jezreel to the valley of the Jordan. Here the Wady Jalud offers an easy incline as far as Beisan, the ancient Bethshean, and every mile of the country it has traversed so far is private property, and fairly cultivated. At Beisan it enters upon a region which has, partly owing to malaria and partly to its insecurity, been abandoned to the Arabs, but it is the tract of all others which the passage of a railway is likely to transfigure, for the abundance of the water, which is now allowed to stagnate in marshes, and which causes its unhealthiness, is destined to attract attention to its great fertility and natural advantages, which would, with proper drainage, render it the most profitable region in Palestine. Owing to the elevation of the springs, which send their copious streams across the site of Beisan, the rich plain which descends to the Jordan, five hundred feet below, can be abundantly irrigated. “In fact,” says Dr. Thomson, describing this place in his “Land and the Book,” “few spots on earth, and none in this country, possess greater agricultural and manufacturing advantages than this valley, and yet it is utterly desolate.”

It needs only a more satisfactory administration on the part of the government, and the connection of this district with the sea by rail, to make Beisan an important commercial and manufacturing centre. All kinds of machinery might be driven at small expense by its abounding brooks, and then the lovely valley of Jezreel above it, irrigated by the Jalud, and the Ghor Beisan below, watered in every part by many fertilizing streams, are capable of sustaining a little nation in and of themselves. There is a little bit of engineering required to carry the line down to the valley of the Jordan, here eight hundred feet below the level of the sea, which it then follows north as far as the Djisr el-Medjamieh. Near this ancient Roman bridge of three arches, which is used to this day by the caravans of camels which bring the produce of the Hauran to the coast, the new railway bridge will cross the Jordan, probably the only one in the world which will have for its neighbour an actual bridge in use which was built by the Romans, thus, in this now semi-barbarous country, bringing into close contact an ancient and a modern civilization. After crossing the Jordan, the line will still follow the banks of that river to its junction with the Yarmuk, which it will also cross, and then traverse a fertile plain of rich alluvium, about five miles long by four wide, to the base of the ridge which overlooks the eastern margin of the Sea of Tiberias.

This is the extent to which the survey has been completed. It is not decided whether to rise from the valley by the shoulder of the ridge which overlooks the Yarmuk, or to follow the east shore of the Lake of Tiberias to the Wady Semakh, which offers great advantages for a grade by which to ascend nearly three thousand feet in about fifteen miles. This is the toughest bit of engineering on the line, and is in close proximity to the steep place down which the swine possessed by devils are said to have rushed into the sea. Once on the plateau it will traverse the magnificent pasture-lands of Jaulan, across which I rode four years ago in the spring, when the numerous streams by which it was watered were flowing copiously, and the tall, waving grass reached nearly up to my horse's belly.

This rich tract was the one on which it is probable that Job pastured his flocks and herds—at least, all the local tradition points to this. It was well populated until comparatively recent times, but the sedentary inhabitants, the ruins of whose villages dot the country, were driven out by the Arabs, who now pasture vast herds of cattle upon it, and droves of horses which are fattened here after their journey from Mesopotamia previous to being exported to Egypt. The course of the line across this region has not been definitely fixed, but it will probably take as southern a direction as possible, so as to tap the grain-growing country of the Hauran. There may possibly be a short branch to Mezrib, which is the principal grain emporium, and one of the most important halting-places on the great pilgrimage road from Damascus to Mecca. It is calculated that the transport of grain alone from this region to the coast will suffice to pay a large dividend upon the capital required for the construction of the road, which will be about one hundred and thirty miles in length. I do not remember the number of tons annually conveyed on the backs of camels to Acre and Haifa, but I have seen thousands of these ungainly animals collected at the gates of both those towns during the season, and the amount must be something enormous. This does not include the whole of the Damascus trade, which now finds its way by the French carriage road across the Lebanon to Beyrout, and which will all be diverted to the railway, or the produce of the rich country it traverses between the sea-coast and the Jordan.

The grantees have also secured the right to put steam-tugs upon the Lake of Tiberias, and under the influence of this new means of transportation the desolate shores will undergo transformation. The great plain of Genesareth, across which I rode a month ago, is now a waste of the most luxuriant wild vegetation, watered by three fine streams, besides being well supplied with springs. It was celebrated of old for the amount and variety of its produce, and I have no doubt is again destined to be so. The plains in which Bethsaida and Capernaum stood formerly are all covered with heavy vegetation which conceals the extensive ruins of the cities which once adorned them; and there is a fine back country within easy reach of the lake which will send its produce to it as soon as means of transportation are provided. At present there are only half a dozen sailing-boats on the lake, rather a contrast from the time when Josephus collected no fewer than two hundred and thirty war-ships with which to attack Tiberius in the war against the Romans; and the fish with which it abounded in the days of the miraculous draught are more miraculously numerous than ever, for fishing as an industry has almost ceased to exist, and the finny tribe are left undisturbed. There are some celebrated sulphur baths also on the shores of the lake and within two miles of the town, which are visited annually by thousands of patients. I was there during the bathing season, and found them camped in tents on the margin of the lake, or sweltering in the fetid atmosphere of the one large bathing-room, in which a crowd of naked and more or less cutaneous patients were disporting themselves.

The surveying party tell me that they received the greatest kindness and hospitality from the Arabs in the Jordan valley, who were of a sedentary tribe, and cultivated the land, and who looked forward with pleasure to the advent of a railway, and to the chances of employment which it afforded them. Indeed, both natives and foreigners are not a little excited at the prospect which is now being opened to them, and which promises to be the dawn of a new era of prosperity for the country.

Note.—Since the above was written, the concession has lapsed in consequence of difficulties which arose at the last moment in the formation of the company for carrying out the enterprise; but it is again in process of renewal, and I have little doubt but that it will be ultimately accomplished.

[SAFED.]

Haifa, July 10.—Next to Jerusalem, the city most highly venerated by the Jews in Palestine is Safed. I had occasion to visit it a few weeks ago on my way to a colony of Russian and Roumanian Jews which has been established in the neighbourhood. Perched on the summit of a mountain nearly three thousand feet high, it is one of the most picturesquely situated towns in the country; and there is a tradition to the effect that it was alluded to by Christ as “the city that is set on a hill, and cannot be hid,” when he preached the Sermon on the Mount, the mount being supposed to be one of the Horns of Hattin, a remarkably shaped hill.

The whole of this district is indeed full of romantic scenery. It is a country of wild gorges and huge precipices, which escape the attention of the traveller following the beaten routes, and to most of them associations are attached, investing them with an interest beyond that of a mere scenic character. There is, for instance, the Wady Hammam, where the bluffs are about twelve hundred feet high, perforated with caves, communicating with each other by passages concealed in the rock, once the abode of bands of robbers who lived like eagles in their eyries. Looking up at these holes in the cliff some seven or eight hundred feet above me, I tried to picture the terrible battle which was once fought in mid-air between the denizens of these caves and the soldiers whom Herod let down the face of the cliff in baskets to attack them. The desperate nature of the struggle, as the soldiers strove to make good their foothold on the edge of the caves, and the frenzy with which the robbers, who had no loophole of escape, must have defended themselves as they endeavoured to hurl their assailants from their baskets, suggested a scene which was quite in keeping with the gloomy character of the surroundings. Some of the more accessible of these caves have been occupied at a later period by hermits, and they may have been utilized for military purposes at the time of the crusades, but they have never been thoroughly explored.

Just before reaching Safed there is a rock called Akhbera, which rises five hundred feet sheer up from the path, and is also full of similar caves. Josephus mentions having fortified it. However prepossessing Safed may look from a distance, it does not bear a close acquaintance. Down the centre of every street runs an open sewer, which renders it the most odoriferous and pestiferous place that it has ever been my fate to sleep in. The aspect of the population is in keeping with the general smell. One seems transported into the ghetto of some Roumanian or Russian town, with a few Eastern disagreeables added. The population here have not adopted the Oriental costume as they have at Tiberias, but wear the high hats, greasy gabardines, and ear-curls of the Jews of Europe. Instead of Arabic, one hears nothing in the streets but “jargon,” as the dialect used by the Jews in eastern Europe is called. The total population of Ashkenazim, or German Jews, who are hived in this unenviable locality, is between five and six thousand; besides these there are about twelve hundred Sephardim, or Spanish Jews, who wear Oriental costumes, and in the other quarter of the town from six to seven thousand Moslems, making the total number of inhabitants about fourteen thousand.

As there is nothing approaching to a hotel or boarding-house in the place, I was of course dependent on the native hospitality for board and lodging, and thus able to acquire an insight into the mode of life of rather a curious section of the human family. The majority of the Jews here are supported by a charitable fund called the Haluka, which is subscribed to by pious Jews all over the world as a sacred duty, for the purpose of providing support to those of their coreligionists who come here or to Jerusalem to pass the last years of their lives in devotional exercises, and to die on the sacred soil. The practical result of this system is to maintain in idleness and mendicancy a set of useless bigots, who combine superstitious observance with immoral practice, and who, as a rule, are opposed to every project which has for its object the real progress of the Jewish nation. Hence they regard with alarm the establishment of agricultural colonies, or the inauguration of an era of any kind of labour by Jews in Palestine. They are bitterly hostile to schools in which any secular teaching is carried on, and agree with those Western Jews who consider that any scheme for developing the material resources of Palestine by means of Jewish industry is fantastic and visionary. It is due to the Jewish population of Safed to say that this spirit does not prevail among the younger members of it. There are about a hundred young Safed Jews who actually work as day-labourers on the farms of Moslems and Christians, and I was informed by one of the most liberal of the rabbis, the only one, in fact, who was inclined to promote Jewish agriculture, that about two hundred families in Safed were desirous of being established on farms, while several had owned land and cultivated it, and only abandoned it at last for want of protection against the extortionate demands of Turkish tax-gatherers. It is true that most of the Jews at Safed are under the protection of some European power, but until lately no power has taken sufficient interest in the race to raise a Jewish question with the Turkish government. Now that important political interests are to be subserved by doing so, and the destiny of Palestine is likely to become a crucial point in the Eastern question, both Russia and France are seizing every excuse for interference and complaint, and the questions which are constantly arising in regard to their Jewish protégés, both in Tiberias and Safed, are likely to furnish them with the pretexts they desire.

When I was in Safed, Russia was actively espousing the cause of a young Jew who had accidentally shot a Moslem, and over whom the Turkish government claimed jurisdiction, on the ground that, though a Russian, he had repudiated his allegiance to Russia. As the youth was not of age at the time, the Russian government still claimed the right to protect him in Turkey, though it had not exercised this right in Russia itself, from which country he had been compelled to flee for his life. As I rode through the village where the accident had taken place, in company with some Jews, we were pelted by the Moslem population, and, although the release of the boy is now certain, he will probably be compelled to leave the country, unless the relatives of the deceased Moslem can be pacified with the blood-money that has been offered them.

Jauna, which was the name of the village to which I was bound, was situated about three miles from Safed, in a gorge, from which, as we descended it, a magnificent view was obtained over the Jordan valley, with the Lake of Tiberias lying three thousand feet below us on the right, and the waters of Merom, or the Lake of Huleh, on the left. The intervening plain was a rich expanse of country, only waiting development. The new colony had been established about eight months, the land having been purchased from the Moslem villagers, of whom twenty families remained, who lived on terms of perfect amity with the Jews. These consisted of twenty-three Roumanian and four Russian families, numbering in all one hundred and forty souls. The greater number were hard at work on their potato-patches when I arrived, and I was pleased to find evidences of thrift and industry. A row of sixteen neat little houses had been built, and more were in process of erection. Altogether this is the most hopeful attempt at a colony which I have seen in Palestine. The colonists own about a thousand acres of excellent land, which they were able to purchase at from three to four dollars an acre. The Russians are establishing themselves about half a mile from the Roumanians, as Jews of different nationalities easily get on well together. They call the colony Rosch Pina, or “Head of the Corner,” the word occurring in the verse, “The stone which the builders rejected, the same is become the head of the corner.”

[MEIRON.]

Haifa, July 20.—One of the most interesting and little-known spots in Palestine is the famous shrine of Jewish pilgrimage called Meiron. Hither, in the latter part of the month of May, Hebrews resort in vast numbers from all parts, especially of the East, and as many as two thousand are often encamped there at a time. It is situated in a wild part of the mountains of central Galilee, on the edge of the most fertile plateau in the whole district, where the villages are surrounded by the most luxuriant gardens and groves, and the peasantry are in a more prosperous condition than I have seen elsewhere. Meiron itself is a wonderfully romantic spot; perched at an elevation of twenty five hundred feet above the sea, upon the northeastern flank of a high spur of the Jebel Jermuk range, it commands a magnificent view of the surrounding country, with the town of Safed, towering on its mountain-top, distant about five miles. A clear, brawling stream tumbles in a series of small cascades down the narrow gorge, which expands just here sufficiently to allow of some orchards of apricots, figs, and pomegranates; and near a spreading weeping-willow there is a picturesque old flour-mill, which turns to advantage so unusual a supply of water-power. A hundred yards or so above it is the spot sacred to Jewish devotees. A large, oblong courtyard, around which runs a broad stone balcony, upon which open chambers crowned with domes, marks the site of the burial-places of some of the most celebrated rabbis of Jewish history, and forms a sort of caravansary for the pilgrims. It was not the moment of the pilgrimage at the time of my visit, and I had a choice of chambers. Two of these had been fitted up most comfortably for my benefit, with beds and tables, by the Safed Jews who accompanied me, and who did the honours of the place. It was no doubt the sacredness of the tombs at Meiron which was the cause of Safed being constituted a Jewish colony and a holy city. Here are situated the tombs of the Rabbi Jochanan Sandelar, of the celebrated Rabbi Simeon ben Jochai, the reputed author of the book of the Sohar, and the Father of the Cabalists. Here repose the remains of his son, the Rabbi Eleazer; but more celebrated than all are the sepulchres of the great saints and doctors, Shammai and Hillel. The thirty-six pupils of the latter were buried with him. He founded a school of morals immediately prior to the birth of Christ; and, indeed, it is maintained by Jews that all the ethics of Christianity are to be found in the teaching of Hillel, to which Christ simply gave a more forcible expression than it had hitherto received.

Of all the tombs that of Hillel is the most remarkable. It is a huge cavern on the steep hillside, situated about half-way between the Courtyard of Shrines above, and the stream below. We first enter a chamber with loculi hewn out of the solid rock on each side. Passing through a doorway cut in the rock, we enter a chamber eighteen feet by twenty-five, with seven loculi in recess on the right, and the same number on the left, while facing us is a recess eighteen feet deep and seven wide, containing four sarcophagi hewn out of the rock. On each side of this recess is a smaller one, each containing four loculi. Most of them are covered by stone lids with raised corners, making in all thirty-six rock tombs in this one cave. The rocks all around are much cut in places into steps, cisterns, and olive-presses. There are also three dolmens on the north side of Meiron; they are not far apart, and are quite distinct, though of small dimensions; there are no traces or marks of any kind on the stones. In the shrine above these are chambers which are pointed out as traditional tombs. Near one of these was the synagogue, in which, when I visited it, there were an old man and his son engaged in their devotions. The old man had never left the room day or night for seven years, having lived the whole of that time on one meal a day of bread and water, while he slept on a mat on the stones. He had thus become invested with the odour of sanctity in the eyes of my Jewish companions. His son, a boy of fifteen, was rapidly praying himself into the state of imbecility at which his venerable parent, by dint of swaying his body to and fro, and his unceasing chanting, had already arrived. He reminded me of the Buddhist hermits whom I have seen in China on their way to Nirvana, and was a sight more painful than edifying. At the corners of the courtyard are stone erections like fonts, and some of these are also near the rock tombs; these, when the Jewish festival of “the burning” takes place, are filled with oil, which is set on fire, and rich Jews, desirous of showing their devotion, offer to the flames the most costly articles in their possession. The richest shawls, scarfs, handkerchiefs, and the rarest books are dipped in oil and consumed, and when any article of special value is burned, the spectators, who are already intoxicated with wine and excitement, burst forth with frantic plaudits of delight. Such was the account given to me by eye-witnesses, but possibly next year I may be able to give you a description of this unique and little-known festival from personal observation.

About fifty yards higher up the hill is one of the most interesting Jewish ruins existing in Palestine. It is the remains of a synagogue, which, according to Jewish tradition, dates from fifty years after the destruction of Jerusalem.

It was about this time, or a little later, that the Jews presented the extraordinary spectacle of two regular and organized communities, one under a sort of spiritual head, the Patriarch of Tiberias, comprehending all of Israelitish descent who inhabited the Roman Empire; the other under the Prince of the Captivity, to whom all the Eastern Jews paid their allegiance. The Romans recognized the Patriarchship of Tiberias, granted it special privileges, and the Jewish colony round Tiberias under its auspices became very powerful. Schools of Talmudic learning were established, and the most celebrated rabbis wrote, and, in fact, stamped with their learning the Judaism which has felt their influence to the present day. Then it was that Meiron became their place of burial, and that the largest and most ancient synagogue of which we have any traces was built at Meiron. The site of the synagogue was chosen on the eastern side of a rocky mound, and the western side and floor were excavated out of the solid rock. The whole of the area is ninety feet by fifty. Pieces of columns are lying about, with pedestals and capitals, but many of the finest fragments have rolled down the eastern slope. The edifice fronted the south, and here the façade remains, with a fine portal of large hewn blocks of stone, and a side door. Some of the stones are four and a half feet long by two and a half thick. The portal is ten and a half feet high by five and a half wide. Its side-posts are each of a single stone elaborately sculptured. The sculptured lintel projects somewhat above the side-posts, but I could see nothing of the Hebrew inscription which some of the old writers mention as being over the door. The centre stone was shaken out of its place by the earthquake of 1837. Altogether, the situation and general aspect of this singular ruin, projecting as it does out of the overhanging solid rock, is full of picturesque as well as of historical interest. Meiron is probably mentioned by Josephus as Meroth, a place fortified by him in Upper Galilee. Dr. Thomson identifies it with the Meroz, so bitterly cursed by Deborah because the inhabitants would not join the expedition of Barak. And, in confirmation of this, there is a fountain near Meiron called to this day by the Jews Deborah's fountain, but the Sephardim rabbi, who was my guide, philosopher, and friend at Meiron, identified it with Shimrom-Meron, whose king was one of the thirty-one mentioned in the Book of Joshua as having been smitten by him on entering Canaan.

A great part of the village belonged to the rabbi, and, with a view of encouraging agriculture among his coreligionists, he had put six Jewish families from Morocco on the land, who were accustomed to farming, and were doing well. Besides these there were twelve Moslem families, which completed the population of the village. I was much struck by the good-feeling which existed between them and the Jews, the sheik whom I visited speaking in the highest terms of the latter, as being hard-working and excellent agriculturists. Indeed, in walking over the village lands, those which were cultivated by Jewish labour compared favourably with the crops of the Fellahin. Altogether, I was so much attracted by Meiron and its neighbourhood, which is full of interesting remains that have not yet been thoroughly examined, from an antiquarian point of view, that I propose paying it another visit.

Behind Meiron rises Jebel Jermuk, the highest mountain in western Palestine. I scrambled up it one day, finding myself as I did so in the midst of the wildest scenery to the west of the Jordan. Here villages were few and far between. Nothing was to be seen but rocky gorges and wild hillsides, trackless, excepting where the goats follow each other in search of herbage, but with a grand and savage beauty which it is difficult to reconcile with the idea that they ever supported a large population. Probably, even in the most flourishing days of Palestine, these highlands were always its wildest parts, and there are comparatively few ancient sites or traces of ruins in the remote recesses of these mountains. Jebel Jermuk rears its rounded summit to a height of four thousand feet above the sea-level, and about three hundred feet below the top are the ruins of a village which was abandoned about twenty years ago by twelve Jewish families, which formed its entire population, and who were all cultivators of the soil and owners of flocks and herds. In those days it was the highest inhabited spot in Palestine, and it is wonderful to think its pure mountain air should not have protected the inhabitants against cholera, which was then decimating the country. So far from such being the case, nearly the whole male population was carried off, and the village was abandoned, and finally became the property of a Druse village about three miles distant. The stone walls of the houses are still standing, and there is a well of delicious water, shaded by trees, making the spot altogether a desirable retreat from the summer heats and a healthy locality for a colony, if it were not so inaccessible. These mountains are not frequented by Bedouin Arabs, and need nothing but roads and cultivation to make many now barren spots fertile and profitable. The more one travels over the less-frequented parts of the country, the more one is struck with the extent of its undeveloped resources and with the possible future which is in store for it.

[THE FEAST OF ST. ELIAS.]

Haifa, July 31.—The greatest religions festival of the year in these parts takes place on the 20th of July at the Monastery of Mount Carmel, and is called the Feast of St. Elias. It does not rank in the Roman Catholic Church generally as one of the highest importance, but among the Maronites, Melchites, and the Latin Oriental Church, as well as among the Carmelites themselves, it is par excellence the great annual ecclesiastical event. From all parts of Palestine worshippers of all ranks flock to the sacred grotto, and on the evening before the saint's day as many as five or six thousand souls are often assembled on the rugged promontory and in the enclosures surrounding the monastery. Hither I repaired about six o'clock on the evening of the 19th, and sipped coffee, smoked cigarettes, and chatted with the reverend fathers, while I looked out of the iron-barred windows on the multitude assembling beneath them. It was composed for the most part of vendors of fruit, sweetmeats, and refreshments of all sorts, who were establishing their stalls for the night in sheltered nooks, for the feast begins at midnight, and is carried on till nine o'clock next day, being, in fact, a species of religious orgy, which appears to have great fascination for the native Christian mind. It must be admitted that devotions which consist chiefly in dancing and drinking, with an occasional free fight, all through the small hours of the morning, are religious exercises of a kind not unlikely to attract the country people, who go in for a sort of holy spree on a scale of large proportions. This year, however, a general panic which pervaded the country in consequence of the cholera in Egypt reduced the numbers materially, especially of the Fellahin, among whom all kinds of absurd rumours were prevalent that the disease had spread to Haifa, and that the monastery itself was in quarantine. After watching the picturesque arrivals for some time, I declined an invitation to spend the night in the monastery, and determined to return next morning at five o'clock, when I was assured that the fun would be fast and furious.

As I approached at that hour my expectations were excited by the reports of the discharge of pistols and guns, and the sounds of the discordant chorus-chanting which forms the usual accompaniment to the native dances. Passing under the archway and entering the large courtyard of the monastery, I found it nearly full of excited groups in large circles, their arms clasped around each other's necks, swaying their bodies to and fro, and keeping time with their feet to their songs, while they occasionally waved their arms aloft and fired in the air. This is the regular Syrian dance of the towns, and it is sufficiently monotonous. The Fellahin, however, have a far more picturesque performance, in which the girls, in bright-coloured garments, join, dancing singly, or in twos and threes. Of these, unfortunately, there were very few. No doubt it was in consequence of the small attendance that there had not been so much drinking as usual, and I only saw one man captured by half a dozen Turkish soldiers, who must have a curious idea of Christian devotions, for an improper use of his fist.

About this time the guest-chambers and corridors of the monastery—where families of the better class who had come from Acre, Tyre, Nazareth, Jaffa, and other towns had passed the night, in the lodging provided for them—began to disgorge, and the variety of costume displayed by the shouting, singing, and dancing multitude formed a scene sufficiently picturesque and animated. Sometimes processions are formed, where offerings are made to the miracle-working statue of Notre Dame de Mont Carmel, in return for a child that has been prayed for, or a sick person who has been healed, but on this occasion her protection did not seem to have been invoked, or, at all events, there was no public display of gratitude. There is a large terrace in front of the monastery, and here a dozen horsemen or so were throwing the djerrid and exhibiting their equestrian skill, much to the detriment of the unfortunate animals they bestrode, whose flanks were bleeding profusely from the pointed angles of the iron stirrups which serve as spurs, and from the cruel bits by which, when going at full speed, they were jerked back upon their haunches.

While all this was going on outside, mass was being performed in the church for those who wished to vary the entertainment. This is a spacious, vaulted building in the form of a Greek cross, with a fine-toned organ in one transept, and a statue of the miraculous Lady of Mount Carmel, between four Corinthian columns, seated on a sort of throne in a richly decorated dress of white satin, in the other. Both the Virgin and the Infant in her arms had golden crowns on their heads, the result of a miracle, for when the Frère Jean Baptiste undertook the reconstruction of the monastery fifty years ago, he intrusted the carving of the statue to Caraventa, a sculptor of Genoa, and, not having money enough to buy her a crown suitable to her position, procured her one of silver, and one of copper gilt for the Child, saying as he did so, “You will know how to procure yourself a better one;” and this she achieved shortly after at Naples, where a rich nobleman presented her with two in return for a miraculous cure of which he was the subject. There is a book sold in the monastery containing a list of the miracles that have been performed by this statue, which was gazed upon with the greatest awe and veneration by the country people. They prostrate themselves before her, touching the ground with their foreheads, and offering up their supplications after a fashion that would shock an enlightened Buddhist by the superstition and credulity thus suggested. On each side of the figure are two altars, one dedicated to St. Jean Baptiste, and the other to St. Simon Stock, an Englishman, who was made Prior-General of the Order of Carmelites in 1245, and who in his day did more than any other to increase their renown. On the right of this is the statue of Elijah slaying a prophet of Baal, which was sculptured at Barcelona by Dom Amédéo. The prophet has got his false rival on the ground between his feet, and, with uplifted sword, is in the act of cutting his head off. He is hung round with votive offerings, and worshippers crowd around to touch some part of the statue, and then kiss the finger that has touched it. On a table in front a monk was selling engravings to the worshippers. I bought one of these, representing Elijah sending Elisha to look for the sign of rain. In the distance is the small cloud, no bigger than a man's hand, and emerging from it is the figure of the Virgin and Child, for the Roman Catholic tradition has it that in this cloud was revealed to the prophet the dogma of the immaculate conception, in which he was a firm believer from that time forward.

Descending a few rock-cut steps close to this image, we find ourselves in the cave of Elijah, a small grotto about ten feet by fifteen, at one end of which is an altar, which the devotees firmly believe is the actual rock that he used as his bed. Here a priest was performing mass. The body of the church was full of devotees, for the most part women in white burnooses, who squatted on the ground, and seemed principally engaged in suckling their babies.

The monastery derives a considerable revenue from these celebrations, as in good seasons votive offerings to a large value are brought; but the chief source of its wealth is derived from the sale of indulgences, or at least what virtually amounts to this. By these means it exercises a very powerful moral as well as financial influence all through the country, and as the Christian population, which is subject to it, is very large in proportion to the Moslem in the neighbourhood, and as it is under the exclusive protectorate of France, this influence partakes also of a very distinct political character. In fact, the Christians of the whole of this district enjoy a far more efficient protection against the oppression of the Turkish government than do the Moslems themselves.

The monastery is a modern building, and if it only had a tall chimney instead of a cupola it would look more like a manufactory than a religious edifice. The top of the cupola is five hundred and fifty feet above the level of the sea, which is immediately beneath, and commands a magnificent view. When Napoleon besieged Acre in 1799, and was compelled to raise the siege and retreat, the Turks fell upon the wounded French soldiers who were left in hospital here and massacred them to a man. The convent was, of course, deserted, and soon after fell into ruin. For twenty-seven years this much venerated spot was abandoned, but the order to which it had given its name never ceased to agitate for the restoration of its sanctuary, and the work of reconstruction was finally undertaken in 1826, by Jean Baptiste, and completed in 1853. So the present building is only thirty years old. In front of the main terrace is a flower-garden and some trellised vines, in the centre of which is a pyramid surmounted by a cross, with an inscription to the effect that it commemorates the resting-place of the bones of the French soldiers. It was not till five years after their massacre that Father Jules du St. Sauveur ventured back to the mountain, where he found these melancholy traces of the tragedy scattered among the ruins, and, collecting them, hid them in a cave until, under more auspicious circumstances, they could receive a Christian burial. There can be no doubt that the order is now increasing in wealth and influence, and expectation runs high that the day is not far distant when northern Palestine will become a French province, and when its prosperity will be still further secured.

[A SUMMER CAMP ON CARMEL.]

Esfia, Aug. 20.—The fact that the cholera was raging in Egypt, that in the ordinary course of events it was certain to visit Syria, that even if it did not, the months of July, August, and September are disagreeably hot at Haifa, determined me to make the experiment of camping out on the highest point of Carmel, and I am at this moment sitting under a Bedouin tent, arranged after a fashion of my own, at an altitude of eighteen hundred feet above the level of the sea, upon which I look down in two opposite directions.

On the northwest, distant six miles, curves the Bay of Acre, with the town itself glistening white in the distance; and on the southwest, distant seven miles, the Mediterranean breaks upon the beach that bounds the plain of Sharon, and with a good glass I can make out the outlines of the ruins of the old port of Cæsarea. Southward are the confused hills known as the mountains of Samaria; beyond them, in the blue haze, I can indistinctly see the highlands of Gilead; while nearer still, Mount Gilboa, Mount Tabor, the Nazareth range, with a house or two of that town visible, and Mount Hermon, rising behind the high ranges of northern Galilee, are all comprised in a prospect unrivalled in its panoramic extent and in the interest attached to the localities upon which the eye rests in every direction. I was some time picking out just the spot on which to camp, so many advantageous sites suggested themselves, but the paramount necessity of being near a village for security and supplies, and, above all, near a good spring, decided me in favour of my present location; and as the conditions under which I have brought a large party up to the top of this somewhat inaccessible mountain and planted them upon it are novel, I venture to think that an account of our experience may prove interesting.

In the first place, the village itself was out of the question, partly because Arab houses, as a rule, do not consist of more than one room, and even when one has turned out their human inhabitants, it still remains tenanted by so many others of a carnivorous character, though minute in size, that existence becomes a burden; and partly because they are pervaded with a singular odour of burnt manure, which the natives use as fuel for the ovens in which they bake their bread, and which is too pungent to be agreeable to unsophisticated nostrils. After inhaling it for a month I have got rather to like it than otherwise. As I suspected that such might be the case, and believed that a successful was might be waged against the insects, I decided on hiring one of these rooms as a guest-chamber and a place of resort from the midday sun, in case the camp did not prove a sufficient protection. This room was nothing more nor less than a vault like a cellar, with stone walls and a stone roof, supported by cross arches, about twenty feet by thirty; and I may here mention that the precaution turned out wise, for we got fairly rid of the fleas, and the temperature in the middle of the day, when we usually repair to it for our siesta, has never been over 80°. But how to make a camp which should accommodate three ladies and four gentlemen was a serious question. We had one European tent capable of holding two people, and a smaller one for a bachelor of modest requirements in the way of standing-room, and these we supplemented with a tent which we hired of some neighbouring Bedouins, which was thirty feet long, but which, when pitched according to their fashion, was an impossible habitation for civilized beings, as it had no walls. Indeed, the whole breadth of the black camel's-hair cloth of which it was composed was only ten feet. We therefore decided on using it merely as a roof, and sent down to Haifa for a camel load of light lumber in order to make a frame on which to stretch it. We also got up two dozen cheap mats, six feet square, at twenty-five cents apiece. With these we made front and back walls and partitions for sleeping cribs. Finally our erection, on which we proudly hoisted the national flag, was thirty-four feet long, ten feet wide, seven feet high in front and five feet in rear. These mats can be triced up in front and rear in the daytime so as to allow a free circulation of air. On the roof, in order to keep the sun from heating too fiercely upon us, we spread branches of the odorous bay-tree, with which the scrubby woods of the mountain abound, and of these same branches we erected a kitchen, and stable for the horse and three donkeys which composed our establishment. The thermometer usually fell to 70° at night, and there were heavy morning dews and fogs.

It was no slight task selecting the furniture, bedding, cooking-utensils, and comestibles for a party of seven, and it took eight camels, besides sundry donkeys, to carry all our necessaries. In order to understand the nature of the path over which we had to travel, the reader must get rid of the popular notion conveyed by the word “Mount,” which is usually applied to Carmel, that it is a solitary hill. So far from such being the case, it is a mountainous district about fourteen miles long and twelve wide at its base. It culminates in a promontory, which projects into the sea at its apex, but we are established ten miles from Haifa, the path ascending abruptly from that town, and following for nearly three hours' travel the backbone of the ridge, disclosing views of wondrous beauty down gorges on the right and left. It is “a rocky road to travel” for a delicate lady, involving steep, precipitous ascents, for which sure-footed donkeys are best; but we were obliged to resort to a chair and a litter, each carried by four bearers, who, as they stumbled and clambered up the narrow path, seemed bent upon capsizing their human burdens. Now, however, that we have safely endured the perils of the way, we are amply repaid for them.

The nights and mornings are of ideal beauty. The effects of sunrise and sunset, ever varying, over the vast landscape that stretches around and beneath us, are a constant source of wonder and delight. From the vine-covered terrace on which our camp is situated we look down a wild, rocky, precipitous gorge eighteen hundred feet upon the plain of the Kishon, scarce a mile distant, so steep is it. To the right this gorge widens into an amphitheatre, and the hillsides, sloping more gently, are terraced with vines, figs, and pomegranates, and at its head is the copious spring which supplies us with water, to which one of our donkeys makes several pilgrimages a day with a large earthen jar slung in a straw cradle on each side. Here, morning and evening, files of Druse women resort, and stand and gossip round the cistern into which the water gushes from the rock, their bright-coloured dresses forming a charming contrast with the dark-green foliage of the gardens and orchards that are irrigated in the immediate vicinity. Besides about five hundred Druses there are fifty Christians in the village, who do not harmonize with the Druses very well, and there is a hot rivalry for our favour, so that we have to exercise a considerable amount of diplomacy to keep on good terms with all.

We have hired the vault from a Christian, and his family next door consists of his stepmother and four half-sisters, strapping, good-looking wenches, who are not yet married, for lack of the necessary dowers. With them is staying a cousin from Acre, one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, quite Caucasian in type and complexion, which is white and transparent as that of any Western beauty. We have great difficulty in keeping this bevy of damsels out of our room, as Arabs have no idea of privacy, and they imagine that politeness consists in squatting round in a circle and asking silly questions. Excepting for the practice it gives one in Arabic, and for a certain insight which one thus gains into the manners and customs of the natives, these visits would be intolerable, and, indeed, we have found it necessary to take stringent measures to limit them. It is more interesting to go and sit in the cool veranda outside of the little Druse place of worship, and talk to the bright young man who is passing most of his time in studying the abstruse metaphysical system of his religion, and who is far more intelligent than the Syrian Catholic priest, who also comes and sits and smokes with us with the view of obtaining, which he has not yet succeeded in doing, some knowledge of our own religious belief. Now and then an episode occurs illustrating the conditions of native existence in these parts. One day I found the village excited at an outrage which a native mounted policeman had perpetrated. On learning that he had assaulted not merely one of the villagers, but my own servant, who had refused him access to our vault, I inflicted a little corporal punishment upon him, when his officer and the village notables interfered, and interceded in his behalf. I asked the latter why they were not glad to see a man punished who, like the rest of his class, was forever persecuting them; they said that when I was gone he would come back and take his revenge upon them. I finally made the man apologize to the Druse he had assaulted, and to my servant, all which he did very humbly, fearing that unless he did so I should insist upon his receiving a still severer punishment from the Caimacan, or local governor, at Haifa. The villagers were very grateful to see one of this arrogant and overbearing class humbled, but they say that unless one can stay and protect them their last state will be worse than their first.

[THE DRUSES OF MOUNT CARMEL.]

In Camp, Mount Carmel, Sept. 10.—It is not generally known that the Druse nation extends as far south as Carmel. The most southern village occupied by them in Syria is at Dalieh, about two miles from my present camp; their most northern home is at Aleppo. When, nine hundred years ago, Duruzi, the teacher from whom they take their name, came from Egypt to spread his new teaching, it was accepted by a tribe of people who lived in the neighbourhood of Aleppo, whither they had originally migrated from the province of Yemen, in Arabia. Adopting the new and mysterious faith, which, while it is a most interesting metaphysical and theological study, is too recondite to enter upon here, the body of the tribe migrated south, took possession of the valleys of the southern Lebanon, and made their headquarters at the foot of Mount Hermon. Spreading east from there, they crossed the tract known in ancient times as Iturea, and found a natural fortress in the volcanic region anciently called Trachonitis, the Biblical Argob, and in the mountains now called the Jebel Druse. Here they increased and multiplied, and in the early part of the seventeenth century produced that most remarkable warrior Fakr-Eddin, the only man of note of whom the Druses can boast. He conquered Beyrout and the southern coast towns, extending his sway as far south as Carmel, and as far east as Tiberias; and under his auspices the mountains of Galilee and Carmel became settled by Druses.

It is, therefore, not much more than two hundred and fifty years since the Druses first came to Carmel, and it is probable that when they did so they found the mountain wholly unoccupied, excepting by a few Christian hermits and devotees who lived in its caves—for the Carmelite monks had been driven away and their monastery destroyed three hundred years before; and, indeed, it was only at the time of the Druse occupation that the first attempt was made to restore it. For the two centuries during which the crusaders held the Holy Land prior to the end of the thirteenth century, Carmel was occupied by them, and the remains of their military posts are still to be found on many of the summits of the mountain; indeed, many of the old stones of which the village of Esfia is built, near which my camp is situated, bear their devices carved on them. Before the time of the crusaders there may have been Moslem villages on Carmel, but its glory departed when Palestine was conquered by the Saracens in the seventh century, and the last remains of Roman civilization, the traces of which still cover the mountain, were destroyed.

About the time of Christ, and for four or five centuries afterwards, it must have been in its full loveliness, its hillsides terraced with vineyards or clothed with magnificent forests, and its summits crowned with towns adorned with the grace and beauty of the architecture of the period. The discoveries I have made in proof of this I will postpone to another letter, as my intention now is to describe the present population by which the mountain is inhabited.

It is a curious fact that to this day there are no Moslems on Carmel proper. There are five or six Moslem villages at its base, on the various sides of the triangle which comprises the district, and they have lands running up into the mountain; but the actual population consists of two Druse villages, numbering together about eight hundred souls, and about fifty Christians, besides the twenty-five monks who inhabit the monastery. The mountain is nevertheless capable of containing a population of many thousands, as it evidently did in old times, and is a much larger district than is popularly supposed.

The eastern side, from the apex of the triangle, is thirteen miles in length, the western twelve, and the base nine, giving a total circumference to this highland region of thirty—four miles. The tract comprised in this area is beautifully diversified by wild gorges, grassy valleys, level or undulating plateaus covered with underwood, and rocky summits; and the scenery in places is as romantic as can well be imagined. The two Druse villages of Esfia and Dalieh are situated two miles apart, about three quarters of the way down the triangle from its apex (the projecting promontory on which the monastery is built), and occupy the most fertile part of the mountain.

When the Druses first settled here they founded no fewer than eight villages, but when, forty years ago, this country was conquered by Egypt and governed by Ibrahim Pacha, his rule was distasteful to the majority of Druses, and the inhabitants of six villages abandoned them, and migrated to the Jebel Druse. All these villages occupied the sites of ancient Roman towns, and were constructed of the ancient stones. In the course of my rambles I have visited them all. Of the two villages which remained, one, Dalieh, was occupied by some families which had migrated direct from Aleppo; the other, Esfia, is peopled by Druses from the Lebanon. There is a marked difference between the two, and the people of Dalieh are far superior to those of Esfia.

I went over there the other day, and spent the day and night as the guest of the sheik—or, I should rather say, of the sheiks, for there are two—one is the temporal and the other the spiritual head of the village—and I divided my attentions and my meals equally between them. They are very reluctant to talk about their religion, always turning the subject when any attempt is made to induce them to converse about it; but there is one question which they always ask, and that is whether there are any Druses in England. As it is an accepted fact among them that there are, any denial of it is considered a discreet reticence, and rather a proof than otherwise that one is somewhat of a Druse one's self. They also believe that the majority of Chinamen are, unconsciously to themselves, Druses; and they are firmly convinced that the world is drawing to a close, and that the appearance of Hakim, a divine incarnation, which was prophesied to take place nine hundred years after his last manifestation and translation, is now imminent, as the time is just about expiring.

The Druses are a sober, fairly honest, and industrious people, and have their own notions of morality, to which they rigidly adhere. They have only one wife, but they have great facilities of divorce. An amusing illustration of this came under my immediate notice while I was the sheik's guest. His son, a fine young man, had been my guide among some neighbouring ruins the day before. I had also made the acquaintance of the wife of the latter, a remarkably pretty woman, with a baby. Indeed, I was much struck with the beauty of the type of all the Dalieh women. Suddenly a tremendous uproar took place in the village. My host rushed out to restore order. While I looked down on the scene from an upper window, I saw his son, bareheaded, brandishing a huge stone in the air, and vehemently gesticulating, apparently in reply to a bevy of women who were screaming at him at the top of their voices. Indeed, all the women in the place seemed to have conspired to drive him to frenzy by their abuse. When the sheik appeared in the midst of them order was somewhat restored, for, to my surprise, he seemed to take part with the women, and dealt his son one or two sound blows. Then there was some palavering, and during the whole time I saw the wife of the enraged young man looking calmly on as a spectator. She had put her child in its cradle and was rocking it. Two or three old women were crying and still vociferating. Presently I saw a man come and lift the cradle with the baby, and the mother rose and followed him. They went into a neighbouring house, and were followed by the sheik and as many as could crowd in. Then ensued a long pause, until the sheik reappeared, with a document which he had been writing, in his hand, and the village population gathered around. At this time I could not see his son anywhere, but the wife was among the audience. When he had finished reading, the audience broke up and the sheik returned to me. When I asked what had been the matter, he replied, “Oh, foolish people quarrelling.” So I applied elsewhere for information, and was told that for some time past the sheik's son had been tired of his wife and in love with another woman, and had been seeking a cause of quarrel. He had apparently found it in some dispute he had just been having with his wife, and had uttered in his rage the formula of divorce, by which he dismissed her and sent her back to her family. Hence the feminine outbreak against him. The sheik had disapproved his son's conduct, as the wife was his own niece, and, therefore, her husband's first cousin, and he considered it a family disgrace; but, after what had happened, patching up the matter had become impossible, and he had nothing for it but, according to Druse law, to pronounce the divorce. I must say that the entire indifference manifested by the wife, when she followed her baby's cradle away from her husband's house, deprived her of the sympathy I should otherwise have felt.

From what I have been able to gather, the Druse women, if they are pretty, are a heartless lot. Another characteristic incident was a procession of Esfia Druses to the cave of Elijah, below the monastery, in fulfilment of a vow, when a child was dedicated to a religious life, and a goat was sacrificed to God, as in the times of old. After being sacrificed, it was nevertheless eaten, which seems somewhat to deprive the performance of its merit, as the share of the Deity was the bones. There was a great clanging of discordant instruments and loud singing as they came back, some of the men caracoling around on horseback, and others, with arms clasped, dancing in a measured step, followed by a group of dancing women, in dark-blue garments, with gaudy borders and fringes and sashes, and flowing white head-dresses bound with bright-coloured scarfs. They formed a most picturesque tableau, chanting their way to their home on this wild mountain hill-top.

One day a magnificent figure of a man, armed with sword and pistol, suddenly entered my tent. I asked him where he had come from. He said from the Jebel Druse, and, seeing a foreign tent, he had turned in to see who I was. So we exchanged confidences. He was, in fact, an outlaw. He had been fighting against the government, and was wandering from one Druse village to another, not daring to go back to his own, which was in the Lebanon. He said that at this moment the Druses of the Jebel Druse were in full revolt against the Turkish government; that no Druse dare show himself in Damascus, and no Turk dare show himself in the Jebel Druse. They had defied the Governor-General, who knew that it would be useless in their wild mountains to attempt to conquer them. He offered to take me to the Jebel Druse, if I would avoid all places where there were any Turks. He had a profound contempt for his coreligionists of Dalieh and Esfia. “I am ashamed of such Druses,” he said. “Why, I saw a Moslem insult one, the other day, and, instead of killing him, he walked away. Why don't they leave a place where they dare not punish insult, and come to the mountain?” I have rarely seen a finer specimen of humanity than this man was, and, with all the defiant recklessness and daring of his expression, there was the charm of entire frankness and good-nature combined with it.

Besides the two villages on Carmel, there are fourteen Druse villages, nearly all within sight of it, on the southern slopes of the mountains of Galilee. It is not improbable that, unable to support the military conscription and taxation which presses upon them, the inhabitants may, before long, abandon their present homes, and go to swell the numbers of their brethren in the Jebel Druse. The whole population of the Druse nation is about 120,000; they can put into the field 25,000 men of the best fighting material in Turkey; they are slowly migrating to the Jebel Druse, where about two thirds of the nation have already asserted their semi-independence.

[EXPLORATION ON CARMEL.]

Haifa, Sept. 24.—During the two months that I have been camped on the highest summit of Mount Carmel, I have visited no fewer than twenty ruins of ancient towns and villages. Of these I have discovered six which were heretofore unknown, the others having been found ten years ago by the officers of the Royal Engineers sent out to survey Palestine by the Society for Palestine Exploration.

Prior to that time, this historic locality was a terra incognita. The tourists who visited the mountain, like the pilgrims who journeyed thither for devotional reasons, satisfied themselves with a short stay at the convent, and even then did not understand that they were only on one mountain spur of a highland region thirty-five miles in circumference, where almost every hilltop was crowned with a ruin, and every gorge might open up new and unexpected beauties of scenery.

It is only after so exhaustive an examination as I have just accomplished that any idea can be formed of the extent of the population by which Carmel was once inhabited, of the high state of civilization which must have prevailed here, and of the extent to which its lovely hills and valleys were cultivated. These ruins bear a great resemblance to each other; and although none of them covers a very great extent of ground, they were built of most solid materials, and, to judge by some of the architectural remains, and the elaborate carvings and devices, they must have contained some handsome buildings.

The houses were built of blocks of drafted stone, usually four feet long by two and a half high, and two thick. The door-jambs and lintels, which in some instances are still in situ, were often seven or eight feet long by two feet six by two feet. In these were holes or sockets, in which the pivots worked. Some of the lintels over the doors were ornamented with devices; these were usually hexagons and circles, in the centre of which were ovals or other ornamental scrolls. Sometimes there was a bird or an animal, such as an eagle or a leopard, or seven-branched candlesticks, or raised bosses or crosses; here and there was a cornice with a florid carving, evidently of the Roman period, with fragments of columns or capitals. But some of these ruins have been inhabited by later inhabitants, who used the old stones for their modern constructions, and too often chipped off the carving. Indeed, they are the ready-made quarries of the country people of the present day, who come and carry off the stones to build their houses.

A notable and melancholy instance of this has occurred in the case of a place called Khurbet Semmaka. This was the most interesting ruin in Carmel, and was discovered ten years ago by the officers of the Palestine Exploration Survey. Here they found the portal of what once had been an ancient Jewish synagogue still standing, its door-jambs and lintels elaborately carved; part of the walls and fragments of the columns which formed an enclosing colonnade were in position, and formed the subject of much speculation, as it was the only specimen of Jewish architecture in this part of the country, and presented some features which were different from anything hitherto discovered; and it was therefore suggested that the building must have been built at a different period from any of those the remains of which still exist. Judge of my disappointment on visiting this spot to find that, with the exception of three feet of one door-jamb, all had disappeared; there was scarcely a stone left. The inhabitants of a Moslem village about two miles distant had within the last decade made a clean sweep of all these most interesting remains. Fortunately they still exist in the Palestine Society's Memoirs in the shape of most elaborate drawings and measurements, which were made by the Survey and have since been published.

Apart from the actual stones themselves and the carvings which are to be found upon them, the objects of interest which mainly characterize all these Carmel ruins are ancient olive-mills and wine-presses, often in a very perfect state of preservation, tombs and cisterns. First, in regard to the olive-mills. I found more than a dozen of these. On two occasions they were hewn out of the living rock. The lower stone, which was circular, had usually a diameter of eight feet, with a raised rim outside nine or ten inches high, and a raised socket in the centre, in which was a hole a foot square, where the upright was fitted to hold the lateral beam which worked the upper stone. This was usually five feet in diameter and eighteen inches thick, and had a hole pierced through the centre. Through this the long beam was passed, to which, as it extended far beyond the circumference of the lower stone, the horse was attached which worked the mill, the upper stone travelling on its broad edge around the lower stone, over the olives. From the lower stone a gutter was carved into the vat, also hewn out of the living rock, into which trickled the oil. I often found near these mills huge limestone rollers about three feet in diameter and seven feet long. On the sides of these were four vertical lines of sunk grooves, four or five grooves in each line. Taking 2.7 as the specific gravity of the stone, they must have weighed about two tons each. What their functions were, or whether they had anything to do with the olive-crushing process, I am at a loss to conjecture. The wine-presses were nothing more than huge vats, also hewn out of the living rock, sometimes above ground, in the shape of sarcophagi, sometimes pits eight or nine feet square and the same in depth.

The limestone hillsides in the neighbourhood of these ruins were almost invariably honeycombed with cave tombs, whose doorways were often rudely ornamented with devices, and in one instance I found an inscription in Greek characters so much defaced that I could not decipher it. They usually consisted of only one chamber, eight or ten feet square, but were sometimes larger, and contained either kokim or loculi under arcosolia, sometimes both. The kokim are tunnel-shaped excavations, usually seven feet long, two feet six wide, and the same in height—in other words, just large enough to contain a corpse. The loculus is an oblong tomb, with sides about two feet high, also large enough conveniently to contain a body. It is cut out of the living rock, as well as the arch which overspans it. Sometimes there is a large, arched recess opening out of the central chamber, containing several loculi. On more than one occasion I found a circular stone like a millstone in a groove in the doorway, which only required to be rolled a couple of feet to close the tomb completely, but the tombs are generally closed by an oblong stone slab, not unfrequently ornamented with devices. I also found several sarcophagi.

The cisterns are of two kinds, bell-mouthed and of demijohn shape, or open rock-hewn reservoirs or tanks. At one ruin I found an extensive system of these latter. There were no fewer than six, of which the largest was forty feet square, all close together, divided only by narrow ledges of the solid rock out of which they had been hewn. They were from fifteen to twenty feet to the soil at the bottom, now overgrown with shrubs, so that in reality they are probably much deeper. In some cases stone steps lead to the bottom, and on the sides were deep niches from which evidently sprang arches to form the roof, for there can be little doubt that the most of them were originally covered. From the great number and extent of these cisterns it is manifest that the inhabitants were, in some instances, entirely dependent upon them for their water supply.

At the southeastern extremity of the mountain is the spot known as “the place of burning,” or sacrifice, because tradition assigns it as the locality where Elijah had his controversy with the prophets of Baal, and in commemoration thereof the Carmelite monks are at this moment building a church there, and using, by the way, some of the carved stones of a neighbouring ruin, regardless of all antiquarian considerations. I feel, therefore, a malignant satisfaction in the conviction at which I have arrived that they are building their church on a spot which is indisputably not the place on which the altar of Elijah was erected, if we are to believe the Biblical record, for it is in full view of the Mediterranean, and it would have been quite unnecessary for Elijah to tell his servant to “go up and look toward the sea,” for there is no higher point to go up to, and he could see the sea himself. But about a mile from this spot there stands, curiously enough, a pile of stones in a locality which would exactly fulfil the required conditions. I came upon it unexpectedly, almost concealed in a thicket of underwood. The stones are placed one upon the other without cement, and average eighteen inches square and eight or nine thick, forming a rude altar about twelve feet long and four high. The breadth varies, as they have been broken away, but there is a large artificial slab, six feet square, lying at the base. Though I do not for a moment mean to imply that this was the original altar, the unusual shape and position of this pile suggests that it may have been the result of some sacred tradition connected with the Biblical event, or it may be the remains of an ancient vineyard watch-tower. From it the ground swells back and upward in every direction, so that a vast host might have been assembled around and witnessed whatever was going forward, which would have been impossible at the traditional locality. A ten minutes' walk would have taken Elijah's servant to a neighbouring summit which commanded a full view of the sea, and the twelve barrels of water required to drench the altar could have been obtained from some rock-hewn tanks in the immediate vicinity, while the path that passes the pile leads straight down to the hill on the bank of the Kishon, where tradition has it that the priests were massacred. Moreover, it was in the centre of the most populous part of the mountain. Within a radius of two miles and a half from this pile of stones there are no fewer than twelve ruins of ancient towns and villages on the various hill-tops and mountain-spurs which surround it.

No fact could give a better idea than this of the populous character of Carmel in the days of the prophet. Not very far from this I discovered, half-way down the steep flank of the mountain, a fortress of a most ancient race, the stones which were piled one above another three high to form the rampart being immense natural unhewn boulders weighing from two to three tons each. I am not aware of anything of the kind having yet been found in Palestine, and as carrying one back to a period probably anterior to Jewish occupation, I regard it as the most interesting discovery I have made on Carmel.

[A PLACE FAMOUS IN HISTORY.]

St. Jean d'Acre, Oct. 14.—Of all the towns on the Syrian coast, from Antioch to Gaza, none has had a more eventful history than Acre, or one which more directly affected the fortunes of the rest of the country at large. Napoleon I. called it the key of Palestine, and it is doubtless owing to its important strategical position that it has undergone so many vicissitudes, and been the scene of so many sanguinary battles. There is, indeed, probably no similar area on the face of the globe on which so much blood has been shed.

I was at some trouble the other day to add up the list of sieges it has undergone, and the total was fifteen, not counting doubtful ones in the earliest history of the country, when it was invaded and conquered by the ancient Egyptians; but beginning with the siege of Acre by Shalmaneser, 721 B.C., when the fortress belonged to the Tyrians, and ending with its bombardment, in A.D. 1840, by the English Admiral Sir Charles Napier, the list is one which suggests a record of blood unparalleled in history. Its worst time was undoubtedly during the two hundred years when it was taken and retaken several times by Crusaders and Saracens successively. On one of these occasions when, after a two years' siege, the town fell into the hands of the Saracens, sixty thousand Christians are said to have fallen by the sword. The place is still shown, at the northeast salient of the outer wall, where stood the English tower, which was guarded by the troops of Richard Cœur de Lion.

The town now contains only about nine thousand inhabitants, cooped up by the fortifications in the very limited area of about fifty acres; and it is more picturesque than agreeable to live in. There is no more characteristic bazaar in the East than that of Acre, with its motley crowd of wild Bedouins from the desert, Persian devotees gathering around a Persian holy man who has taken up his residence here, Turkish soldiers who form its garrison, Druses, with their white turbans and striped abeihs, or overcoats, Metawalis, who are wild and gipsy-looking Moslem schismatics, Syrian Christians, and Moslem peasantry; add to these veiled women, long strings of camels, with an occasional foreigner, or sailor from a merchant-ship in the harbour, and you get a population as varied as any town in the country can show. Acre, therefore, is a most interesting place to spend a day in, apart from any antiquarian attraction it may possess, or monuments of more modern architecture which are worthy of attention.

There are few finer mosques in Syria than that of Jezzar Pacha, which stands within a large rectangular area, where there are vaulted galleries, supported by ancient columns ornamented by capitals brought from the ruins of Tyre and Cæsarea. Along these galleries have been built cells, destined for the people employed at the mosque, or the pilgrims who came to visit it. They surround a magnificent court, under which are cisterns, and upon which are palms, cypress, and other trees. Among them are white marble tombs, notably those of Jezzar and Suleiman Pacha. The town contains three other mosques, the columns in which and the pavement have certainly belonged to more ancient buildings. There are four Christian churches in the city, which belong to the Roman Catholics, the Schismatic Greeks, the Maronites, and the United Greeks respectively. Under the house of the Sisters of Nazareth and the neighbouring houses extend vast vaulted cellars which are now divided by walls of separation, and belong to different proprietors; they are doubtless of crusading origin. Deep cisterns also date from that period. Of the same date also are certain remains of walls and vaults near the convent, which are the ruins of a church almost completely destroyed. The most remarkable khan is near the port, called the Khan el Aurid on account of its columns, the galleries surrounding it being built on pillars of gray or red granite, covered by capitals of different orders, brought from more ancient monuments.

The citadel, as may be imagined, has often been destroyed and rebuilt. On one side is the military hospital, the lower part of which belongs entirely to crusaders' work, and consists of large subterranean magazines. In the middle is a great court, shaded by fig, palm, and other trees, under which are vaulted galleries and cisterns. Under the ramparts also extend immense ogival vaults, many of which belong to the time of the crusades. These have furnished magazines for later defenders of the fortress, and, during the bombardment by the English in 1840, the principal one exploded, with a loss to the defenders of 1600 men, 30 camels, 50 asses, besides horses, cows, and a great store of arms. Some of the guns lying about the ramparts are of old French manufacture, with the dates 1785, '86, '87. They are those which were sent by sea, for the use of Napoleon, but were captured by Sir Sydney Smith, and brought here to serve for the defence of the city. About half a mile from the city walls is an artificial hill or tumulus, called Napoleon's Hill, from the fact that he used it as his headquarters during one of the sieges of Acre. It was occupied for the same purpose six hundred years before by Richard Cœur de Lion.

In ancient times Acre was the most populous and flourishing port on the sea-coast after the decline of Tyre and Sidon, and contained an immense population; the town must have extended over the plain to the east of the city, which is still rich in ancient débris, fragments of pottery, and marble carvings. A great part of the modern fortification has been built from the ruins of Athlit, which I have described in a former letter, and which, before it was thus despoiled at the beginning of this century, must have been an ancient crusading fortress in almost perfect condition. When one thinks how lately it has been destroyed, one is all the more inclined to regret the disappearance of a monument which would have been the most interesting relic of its kind in existence. Acre possesses little Biblical interest. It is only mentioned once in the Old Testament, where it is alluded to as being a town from which the tribe of Asher, in whose territory it was situated, did not succeed in driving the Canaanites, but seemed to have lived with them in it upon friendly terms; and once in the New Testament, where, under the name of Ptolemais, it was visited by Paul on his way from Greece to Jerusalem.

There are many old people now in Acre who tell thrilling stories of the episodes which occurred here during the years when it was occupied by the Egyptians, between 1830 and 1840, and when it became necessary not merely to conciliate the conquerors, but to play a double game of keeping on good terms with the Turks, to whom it was ultimately, and, as it now turns out, foolishly, restored by the British; but none so thrilling as those which they have heard from their fathers, of the incidents which marked the reigns of Jezzar and Abdullah Pacha, especially the former. The following story was told me by the son of the man who was the confidential secretary of this fiend in human shape, who gloried in the name of “The Butcher.” In youth he sold himself to a slave-merchant in Constantinople, and, being purchased by Ali Bey of Egypt, he rose from the humble station of a mameluke to be Governor of Cairo. In 1773 he was placed by the Emir of the Druses in command at Beyrout. There his first act was to seize 50,000 piastres, the property of the emir, and the second to declare that he acknowledged no superior but the sultan. The emir, by the aid of a Russian fleet, drove Jezzar from Beyrout, but he was soon after made Pacha of Acre and Sidon. Under his vigorous rule the pachalik extended from Baalbec on the north to Jerusalem on the south. My informant told me that he was not originally a cruel man, but that one day he was playing with a little daughter who pulled his beard. “This is very wrong,” he said; “how did you learn to play with men's beards?” “Oh,” she replied, “I always play with the beards of the mamelukes when they visit the ladies of the harem in your absence.” This excited a fit of frenzied jealousy. Taking an escort, he announced that he was going on an official visit to a distant part of his pachalik. When he was a stage out of Acre, he told his escort to remain where they were, disguised himself, and returned rapidly and secretly to his harem. Here he found all his favourite wives disporting themselves with his mamelukes or military body-guard. Instantly he drew his cimeter and fell, not upon the men, but upon the women. Fifteen of these he is said to have killed with his own hand, and then, growing tired of the effort, he called in some soldiers to complete the massacre, not leaving one alive. My informant did not remember the total number slain. The mamelukes rushed to the great magazines, and swore they would blow themselves up and the whole town if a hair of their heads was touched. They were allowed, therefore, to saddle their horses and ride of in peace; but from that day the whole character of Jezzar Pacha was changed, and he made it a rule never to allow a week to pass without executions. His Jew banker was a handsome man. One day Jezzar complimented him on his looks, and then, calling a servant, ordered him to put out one of the Jew's eyes. Some time after Jezzar observed that the banker had arranged his turban so as almost to hide the lost eye, and he then, without a moment's hesitation, had his nose cut off. The poor Jew finally lost his head. The family of this man are still among the chief bankers of Damascus.

This butcher also employed his own leisure moments in unexpectedly drawing his sword and cutting off the ears and noses of his favourites and the people about him, and sometimes their heads, with his own hand. This was the man whom Napoleon besieged in Acre, and with whom British troops were unfortunately compelled to ally themselves to prevent the fortress from falling into French hands. My informant told me that during the latter years of Jezzar Pacha's life his character again changed for the better, and he gradually gave up his cruel practices. In fact, he described his cruelty as a monomania produced by a fit of jealousy, which it took him some years to get over.

[THE BABS AND THEIR PROPHET.]

Haifa, Nov. 7.—The Nahr N'aman, called by the ancients the river Belus, rises in a large marsh at the base of a mound in the plain of Acre called the Tell Kurdany, and, after a short course of four miles, fed by the swampy ground through which it passes, it attains considerable dimensions. Before falling into the sea it winds through an extensive date-grove, and then, twisting its way between banks of fine sand, falls into the ocean scarcely two miles from the walls of Acre. Pliny tells us that glass was first made by the ancients from the sands of this river, and the numerous specimens of old glass which I found in grubbing bear testimony to the extensive usage of this material in the neighbourhood. The beach at its mouth was also celebrated as a locality where the shells which yielded the Tyrian purple were to be found in great abundance, and I have succeeded in extracting the dye from some of those I have collected here. It was also renowned for a colossal statue of Memnon, which, according to Pliny, was upon its banks, but the site of this has not been accurately identified. The only point of attraction now upon its waters is a garden belonging to an eminent Persian, whose residence at Acre is invested with such peculiar interest that I made an expedition to his pleasure-ground on the chance of discovering something more in regard to him than it was possible to do at Haifa.

Turning sharply to the right before reaching Acre, and passing beneath the mound upon which Napoleon planted his batteries in 1799, we enter a grove of date-trees by a road bordered with high cactus hedges, and finally reach a causeway which traverses a small lake formed by the waters of the Belus, and which, crossing one arm of the river, lands us upon an island which it encircles. This island, which is about two hundred yards long by scarcely a hundred wide, is all laid out in flower-beds and planted with ornamental shrubs and with fruit-trees. Coming upon it suddenly it is like a scene in fairy land. In the centre is a plashing fountain from which the water is conveyed to all parts of the garden. The flower-beds are all bordered with neat edges of stone-work, and are sunk below the irrigating channels. Over a marble bed the waters from the fountain come rippling down in a broad stream to a bower of bliss, where two immense and venerable mulberry-trees cast an impenetrable shade over a platform with seats along the entire length of one side, protected by a balustrade projecting over the waters of the Belus, which here runs in a clear stream, fourteen or fifteen feet wide and two or three deep, over a pebbly bottom, where fish of considerable size, and evidently preserved, are darting fearlessly about, or coming up to the steps to be fed. The stream is fringed with weeping willows, and the spot, with its wealth of water, its thick shade, and air fragrant with jasmine and orange blossoms, forms an ideal retreat from the heats of summer. The sights and sounds are all suggestive of languor and dolce far niente, of that peculiar condition known to Orientals as kief, when the senses are lulled by the sounds of murmuring water, the odours of fragrant plants, the flickering shadows of foliage, or the gorgeous tints of flowers and the fumes of the narghileh.

The gardener, a sedate Persian in a tall cap, who kept the place in scrupulous order, gave us a dignified welcome. His master, he said, would not come till the afternoon, and if we disappeared before his arrival we were welcome to spread our luncheon on his table under the mulberry-trees, and sit round it on his chairs; nay, further, he even extended his hospitality to providing us with hot water.

Thus it was that we took possession of Abbas Effendi's garden before I had the honour of making that gentleman's acquaintance, an act of no little audacity, when I inform you that he claims to be the eldest son of the last incarnation of the Deity. As his father is alive and resident at Acre—if one may venture to talk of such a being as resident anywhere—my anxiety to see the son was only exceeded by my curiosity to investigate the father. But this, as I shall presently explain, seems a hope that is not likely to be realized. Meantime I shall proceed to give you, so far as I have been able to learn, an account of who Abbas Effendi's father is, and all that I know about him, premising always that I only do so subject to any modification which further investigation may suggest.

It is now forty-eight years since a young man of three-and-twenty appeared at the shrine of Hussein, the grandson of the Prophet, who was made a martyr at Kerbela. He was said to have been born at Shiraz, the son of a merchant there, and his name was Ali Mohammed. It is supposed that he derived his religious opinions from a certain Indian Mussulman, called Achsai, who instituted a system of reform, and made many disciples. Whether this is so or not, the young Persian soon acquired a pre-eminent reputation for sanctity, and the boldness and enthusiasm of his preaching and the revolutionary sentiments he uttered attracted many to his teaching. So far as I have been able to judge, he preached a pure morality of the loftiest character, denouncing the abuses of existing Islam as Christ did the Judaism of his day, and fearlessly incurring the hostility of Persian Phariseeism. A member himself of the Shiite sect of Moslems, he sought to reform it, as being the state religion of Persia, and finally went so far as to proclaim himself at Kufa the bab, or door, through which alone man could approach God. At the same time he announced that he was the Mahdi, or last Imaum, who was descended from Ali, the son-in-law of the Prophet, and whom the Shiites believe to have been an incarnation of the Deity. Mahdi is supposed by all Persian Moslems not to have died, but to be awaiting in concealment the coming of the last day.

As may be imagined, the sudden appearance after so many centuries of a reformer who claimed to be none other than the long-expected divine manifestation, created no little consternation throughout Persia, more especially as, according to tradition, the time had arrived when such a manifestation was to be looked for, and men's minds were prepared for the event. The Persian enthusiast, as soon as his preaching became popular and his pretensions vast, roused the most violent hostility, and he was executed at Tabriz in 1849, after a brief career of fourteen years, at the early age of thirty-seven. The tragic circumstances attending his death enhanced his glory, for he was repeatedly offered his life if he would consent to abate his claims, or even leave the country. He preferred, however, a martyr's crown, and was executed in the presence of a vast multitude, leaving behind him a numerous and fanatic sect, who have since then been known as the Babs, and whose belief in the founder subsequent persecutions on the part of the government have only served to confirm.

The Bab before his execution gave it to be understood that though he was apparently about to die, he, or rather the divine incarnation of which he was the subject, would shortly reappear in the person of his successor, whom, I believe, he named secretly. I do not exactly know when the present claimant first made known his pretensions to be that successor, but, at all events, he was universally acknowledged by the Bab sect, now numbering some hundreds of thousands, and became so formidable a personage, being a man of high lineage—indeed, it is whispered that he is a relative of the Shah himself—that he was made prisoner by the government and sent into exile. The Sultan of Turkey kindly undertook to provide for his incarceration, and for some years he was a state prisoner at Adrianople. Finally he was transported from that place to Acre, on giving his parole to remain quietly there and not return to Persia, and here he has been living ever since, an object of adoration to his countrymen, who flock hither to visit him, who load him with gifts, and over two hundred of whom remain here as a sort of permanent body-guard.

He is visible only to women or men of the poorest class, and obstinately refuses to let his face be seen by any man above the rank of a fellah or peasant. Indeed, his own disciples who visit him are only allowed a glimpse of his august back, and in retiring from that they have to back out with their faces towards it. I have seen a lady who has been honoured with an interview, during which he said nothing beyond giving her his blessing, and after about three minutes motioned to her to retire. She describes him as a man of probably about seventy years of age, but much younger-looking, as he dyes both his hair and his beard black, but of a very mild and benevolent cast of countenance. He lives at a villa in the plain, about two miles beyond Acre, which he has rented from a Syrian gentleman of my acquaintance, who tells me that once or twice he has seen him walking in his garden, but that he always turns away so that his face shall not be seen. Indeed, the most profound secrecy is maintained in regard to him and the religious tenets of his sect.

Not long ago, however, public curiosity was gratified, for one of his Persian followers stabbed another for having been unworthy of some religious trust, and the great man himself was summoned as a witness.

“Will you tell the court who and what you are?” was the first question put.

“I will begin,” he replied, “by telling you who I am not. I am not a camel driver”—this was an allusion to the Prophet Mohammed—“nor am I the son of a carpenter”—this in allusion to Christ. “This is as much as I can tell you to-day. If you will now let me retire, I will tell you to-morrow who I am.”

Upon this promise he was let go; but the morrow never came. With an enormous bribe he had in the interval purchased an exemption from all further attendance at court.

That his wealth is fabulous may be gathered from the fact that not long since a Persian emir or prince, possessing large estates, came and offered them all, if in return he would only allow him to fill his water-jars. The offer was considered worthy of acceptance, and the emir is at this moment a gardener in the grounds which I saw over the wall of my friend's villa. This is only one instance of the devotion with which he is regarded, and of the honours which are paid to him: indeed, when we remember that he is believed to possess the attributes of Deity, this is not to be wondered at. Meantime his disciples are patiently waiting for his turn to come, which will be on the last day, when his divine character will be recognized by unbelievers.

[AN ANCIENT JEWISH COMMUNITY.]

Haifa, Nov. 25.—In one of the most remote and secluded valleys in the mountains of northern Galilee lies a village, the small population of which possesses an interest altogether unique. As I looked down upon it from the precipitous and dangerous path by means of which I was skirting the flank of the mountain, I thought I had rarely seen a spot of such ideal beauty. It was an oasis, not actually in a desert—for the rocky mountain ranges were covered with wild herbage—but in a savage wilderness of desolation, in the midst of which the village nestled in a forest of orange, almond, fig, and pomegranate trees, the tiny rills of water by which they were irrigated glistening like silver threads in the sunlight, and the yellow crops beyond contrasting with the dull green of the hill verdure, long deprived of water, and the gray rocks which reared their craggy pinnacles above it.

The name of this village was Bukeia. I had heard vaguely of the existence of a spot in Galilee where a community of Jews lived who claimed to be the descendants of families who had tilled the land in this same locality prior to the destruction of Jerusalem and the subsequent dispersion of the race; as it had never been suspected that any remnant of the nation had clung to the soil of their fathers from time immemorial, and as it is certain that this is the only remnant that has, I took some trouble to ascertain the name of the village, and felt that it was worth a pilgrimage to visit it. Although hitherto unknown to Europeans and tourists, it has been for many years a spot much frequented by the Jews of Safed and Tiberias, and this summer especially, when the cholera panic prevailed in the country, there was a perfect rush of the wealthier Jews and rabbis of those towns to its pure air and bracing climate. In a small way it is a sort of Jewish sanatorium.

But the village does not consist altogether of Jews. In fact, they form the minority of the population, which is composed of eighty Druse, forty Greek-Christian, and twenty Jewish families, the latter numbering about one hundred and twenty souls in all. Refusing the invitation of the Druse and Christian sheiks to accept their hospitality, I listened rather to the solicitations of the elderly Hebrew who eagerly placed his house at my disposal, and was the patriarch of his coreligionists, his local title being, like those of the heads of the other communities, that of sheik. His house was a stone erection with a court-yard, and contained a single large room, which, as is common in Arab houses, afforded eating and sleeping accommodation for the whole family. On this occasion it soon became crowded to excess.

First appeared the Druse sheik, with white turban, and composed and dignified bearing. Then the sheik of the Christians, a man in no way to be distinguished from the ordinary type of native fellahin; then the Greek priest, in his high, round-topped black hat and long black coat, reaching nearly to his feet; then the Jewish rabbi, who officiates at the synagogue, in flowing Eastern robe; then some village notables of all three religions, who all squatted on mats, forming a semicircle, of which my friends and I were the centre, and which involved a large demand upon our host for coffee, for on these occasions it is a great breach of politeness not to furnish all the uninvited guests who flock in to see distinguished strangers with that invariable beverage. When one or two Moslems, who were temporary visitors to the village, dropped in from curiosity, I could not fail to be struck with the singular ethnological and theological compound by which I was surrounded. Here, in these Christian and Moslem peasants, were the descendants of those ancient Canaanites whom the conquering Jews failed to drive out of the country during the entire period of their occupation of it, though they doubtless served their conquerors as hewers of wood and drawers of water, and as farm-servants generally; for the result of the most recent and exhaustive research proves, I think, incontestably that the fellahin of Palestine, taken as a whole, are the modern representatives of those old tribes which the Israelites found settled in the country, such as the Canaanites, Hivites, Jebusites, Amorites, Philistines, Edomites. In what proportion these various tribes are now represented, whether they were preceded by a still older autochthonous population, namely, the Anakim, Horites, and so forth, are questions which have so far been beyond the reach of scientific research. But though this race, or rather conglomeration of races, which may be designated for want of a better by the vague title of pre-Israelite, still survives beneath the Mohammedan or Christian exterior, it has not remained uninfluenced during the lapse of centuries by the many events and circumstances that have happened in Palestine.

Each successive change in the social and political condition of the country has more or less affected it in various ways, and we must not be surprised when studying the fellahin at finding Jewish, Hellenic, Rabbinic, Christian, and Mussulman reminiscences mingled pell-mell, and in the quaintest combinations, with traits which may bring us back to the most remote and obscure periods of pre-Israelite existence. Indeed, for anything one could say to the contrary, the Christian fellahin of this village, though they had resisted the proselytizing efforts of the Saracen conquest in the sixth century, may, before they were converted to Christianity, have worshipped the gods of the Græco-Roman period; before that they may have been Jews, for there can be little question that the aboriginal population, to some extent, adopted the Jewish faith after the conquest, and before that were worshippers of the Syro-Phœnician deities, Baal and Ashtaroth. They may in those old times, when Jewish power was supreme, have been in this very village the servants of the ancestors of these very Jews who now share its land with them, as they had, according to their traditions, done from the most ancient period; and this means, in a country where genealogies are preserved for centuries upon centuries, a very long time ago. I have a friend at Haifa who says he can trace his ancestry back to the crusades, when his family was resident at the old town of the same name; and, as a grotesque illustration of their pretensions, a story is told of a Bedouin sheik who, being asked whether he was descended from Abraham, said that he could trace further back, and that, in fact, Abraham was not a sheik of a very good family.

The only really modern intruders in the group by which I was surrounded were the Druses, who only settled in the village about three hundred years ago, and whose origin prior to nine hundred years ago, when we know that they were settled at Aleppo, is rather obscure; but it is generally believed that they were originally a tribe inhabiting the province of Yemen. Here, too, in this small group of Arabic-speaking people, were represented four of the most widely divergent religions. There were the two Moslems, whose ancestors, probably, prior to the conquest of Palestine by the Saracens, had been Christians, but had then adopted the faith of the Prophet. There was the priest of the Greek Church, still clinging to the dogmas which he inherited from the first Christians—the descendant, possibly, of one who had actually listened to the words of Christ and his disciples, in the country which their posterity has never left. And indeed it is a curious reflection in looking at these fellahin to think that they may be the direct descendants of some of those thousands who were influenced at the time by the teaching which has since swayed the moral sentiment of civilized humanity. Then there were the Jews—the only group of Jews existing in the world whose ancestors have clung to the soil ever since that Teacher's tragic death, and whose fathers may have shared in the general hostility to him at the time—representing still the faith which was the repository of the highest moral teaching prior to Christianity, prior to Mohammedanism. Lastly, there were the Druses, in whose esoteric religion is to be found the most extraordinary confusion of metaphysical notions, gnostic and pagan, the outcome of a mystical interweaving of ideas derived from the most divergent faiths, with a Magian or Zoroastrian basis, upon which Hindoo and Buddhist, Jewish and Platonic, Christian and Moslem dogmas have been successively grafted, forming a system so recondite and abstruse that only the initiated can comprehend it, if indeed they can.

Such were the mixed religious and race conditions by which I was surrounded, and I was much struck by the apparent tolerance and amiability with which all the members of these different religions regarded each other. The Jewish rabbi told me privately that he much preferred Druses to Christians; but he lived on good terms with all. And when I went to see the synagogue the Greek priest strolled round with me, and the rabbi returned the compliment by accompanying us when I went to visit the little Greek church. Meantime, the Hebrew sheik had summoned all the Jewish population, and they came trooping in to perform the usual Eastern salutation of kissing the hand. Old men and maidens, young men and married women and children, I saw them all, nor, so far as dress and facial type were concerned, was it possible to distinguish them from the fellahin of the country generally. These twenty families seemed all to have descended from one stock, they all had the same name, Cohen, and they have never intermarried either with the people of the country or even with other Jews. I afterwards had some conversation with the Christian and Druse sheiks in regard to them. They said that formerly more of the village lands belonged to them, but owing to the wars, pestilences, and other misfortunes which had overtaken the country at various times, their property had become diminished; indeed, there can be little doubt that the Druses themselves, when Fakr Eddin conquered this part of the country, appropriated some of it; so that now, so far as their worldly circumstances go, the Jews are badly off. Nevertheless they do not complain, and are skilful, hard-working, and persevering agriculturists, to my mind more deserving of sympathy than many of their coreligionists who have come to settle in the country as colonists, depending more upon the assistance which they derive from without than upon their own efforts. The experience and example of their coreligionists at Bukeia would make the neighbourhood of that place a desirable locality for a colony.

From Bukeia I followed a northwesterly direction, by a most picturesque mountain path, and in a few hours reached the romantically situated town of Tershiha, where I was most hospitably entertained by the Cadi, a dignified Arab gentleman of a true old Oriental type which is now becoming rare. This place contains about two thousand inhabitants. They are nearly all the adherents of a certain sheik, Ali el-Mograbi, a Moslem reformer, who emigrated to this place from the north of Africa many years ago, and whose preaching has been attended with remarkable success. As his fame grew he moved to Acre, where he exercises an extraordinary influence. The tenets of the sect of which he is the head are kept a profound secret, though there is nothing to distinguish the worship of the initiated from that of any ordinary sect of howling dervishes, to the outside observer, except the sparing use of the name of Mohammed. It is said, however, that their views are latitudinarian, and, that, so far from being exclusive or fanatic, are rather in the sense of extreme toleration for other religions. Whatever be the nature of their heterodoxy, it is not now interfered with. Indeed, it is hinted that the sheik counts among his followers some of the most highly placed officials in the empire, and there can be little doubt that his doctrines are spreading rapidly among Moslems, while even Christians have joined the society. A large new mosque is now in progress of erection at Haifa. The sheik himself, whose acquaintance I made subsequently, is now a very old man, regarded with the most extreme veneration by his followers, and the results of his teaching prove that he must be endowed with gifts of a very high order.

[DOMESTIC LIFE AMONG THE SYRIANS.]

Haifa, March 1, 1884.—The ordinary tourists in Palestine who write books of their experience have so little opportunity of knowing the conditions which surround the daily life of a resident in a small country town, that a few details of domestic existence here, as contrasted with those of more civilized countries, may not be uninteresting. As a general rule, the foreigner who comes to a native town to settle down as a permanent inhabitant finds himself compelled more or less to adopt the manners and customs of the richer class of Syrians, which gives him an opportunity of becoming acquainted with their home life. Some of these are wealthy merchants or large landed proprietors, with incomes varying from $5000 to $15,000, though a man whose yearly revenue reached the latter amount, of which he would not spend half, would be considered a millionaire, and few small towns can boast of so great a capitalist. As, owing to the march of civilization, the richer classes have of late years taken to travel and the study of languages, persons occupying this position generally speak either French or Italian, have visited Paris, Constantinople, or Alexandria, and have a thin varnish of European civilization overlaying their native barbarism.

The rich families of the Syrian aristocracy are almost invariably Christians, but they have only recently shaken off the manners of their Mohammedan neighbours and conquerors. The women associate far more freely than they used to do with the men. They now no longer cover their faces, and although they still wear the “fustan,” or white winding-sheet, which serves as cloak and head-dress in one, it nearly always conceals a dress of European make, while, instead of bare feet thrust into slippers, they have Paris bottines and stockings. The men of this class also dress in European garments, wearing, however, the red fez cap.

The domestic arrangements of a family of this description are by no means so refined in character as the external aspect of the house and its proprietor, when he is taking his exercise on a gorgeously caparisoned Arab horse, would suggest. If we are on sufficiently intimate terms with him to stay as a guest in his house, we find that his pretty wife, with her Paris dress and dainty chaussure, walks about in the privacy of the domestic home with bare, or at best stockinged, feet, thrust into high wooden pattens, with which she clatters over the handsome marble hall that forms the central chamber of the house, slipping out her feet and leaving the pattens at the door of any of the rooms she may be about to enter. She wears a loose morning-wrapper, which she is not particular about buttoning, but in this respect she is outdone by sundry dishevelled maid-servants, who also clatter about the house in pattens and in light garments that seem to require very little fastening in front. As for the husband, who, when he called upon you, might have come off the boulevards of Paris, barring always the red cap, he has now reverted absolutely into the Oriental. He wears a long white and not unbecoming garment that reaches from his throat to his heels, and his feet are thrust into red slippers. As he sips his matutinal cup of coffee and smokes his first narghileh of the day, there is nothing about him to remind you that he knows a word of any other language than Arabic, or has ever worn any other costume than that of his Eastern ancestors. He is sitting in his own little den, with his feet tucked under him on the divan which runs around the room, and with his wife in close proximity, her feet tucked under her, and also smoking a narghileh and sipping coffee.

Yet, if you call upon this worthy couple as a distinguished foreigner, in the afternoon, accompanied by your wife, and are not on intimate terms, you are received in a room which they never enter, except upon such state occasions, by the same gentleman, in a perfectly fitting black frock-coat and trousers, varnished boots, and a white waistcoat, and by the same lady, in a dress which has been made in Paris.

The furniture consists of massive tables with marble tops, and handsome arm-chairs and couches covered with costly satins. The walls are resplendent with gilt mirrors and with heavy hanging curtains. The floors are covered with rich carpets. There is a three-hundred-dollar piano, on which the lady never plays; and there are pictures, of which the frames are more artistic than the subjects—the whole having the air of a show repository of some sort. Indeed, if your host is at all taken by surprise, the first thing he does is to open all the shutters, as, except upon such occasions, the apartment is one of silent and absolute gloom. He has a guest-chamber, also furnished after a civilized style, in which he puts you, if you are going to stay with him, and he has so far adopted civilized habits that he sleeps on a bed himself, and not on mats on the floor, like his forefathers. His dinner is served on a table, which is spread as he has seen it spread in the houses of foreigners, but he retains the native cooking, the huge pillaw of rice, the chicken stew with rich and greasy gravy, the lamb stuffed with pistachio nuts, the leben or sour milk, the indescribable sweet dishes, crisp, sticky, and nutty, the delicious preserves of citrons, dates, and figs, the flat bread and the goat cheese, and the wine of the country.

Altogether, he gives you plenty to eat, drink, and smoke, but his conversational powers and ideas are limited, which is not to be wondered at, considering that there is not a book in the house. He tells you that the house cost him $9000, which does not seem likely to be an exaggeration when we look at the handsome marble floors and staircase, massive arches, and the extent of ground which is covered by spacious halls and ample courts.

The kitchen and offices, if you have the curiosity to look into them, are filthy in the extreme, and the process of cooking the dinner, performed by a slovenly female, had better not be too closely examined. His domestic establishment probably consists of four women and two or three men who look after the stables, in which are three or four handsome horses, and a garden requiring constant attention. He has no wheeled vehicle, for there are no roads. The women rarely take any other exercise than that of waddling on gossiping visits to each other, when their conversation turns entirely on domestic subjects, on the marital traits of their respective husbands, on congratulations on the arrival of children, if they are boys, and condolences if they are girls, and on hopeful speculation and encouragement if there are none at all; for of all misfortunes which can befall a Syrian lady, to be childless is the greatest. If there are grown-up daughters they are carefully protected from intimacy with young men, and marriages are arranged by the parents. The chances of making a good match depend more on the amount of the marriage-settlement than on their looks. If the family happens to be a large one it is not uncommon to see a young lady who has been brought up in what, in Syria, is considered luxury, married to some poor and distant connection, whose family live in the humblest manner. In such a case the contrast is greater than can be imagined in our country. She is transferred from the palatial residence I have described to a one-storied house which probably does not consist of more than two rooms, and where her husband's family live in the old style. Here she is received, perhaps, by his mother and sister, with whom she is to live; who wear the pure native costume; who have never had a shoe or stocking on in their lives; who sleep on mats on the floor, for there are no bedsteads; who partake of their meals squatting on their heels, for there are no chairs or tables; and who eat with their fingers, for there are no knives and forks.

If the newly married couple do not occupy the same room with the rest of the family, they share the other one with the domestic animals. These probably consist of a horse, a cow, and a donkey. For the sake of security they are stabled in the room of the master of the house. Their manger is on a level with the floor on which he and his bride sleep. I have before now shared such a room with a young married couple—she, the daughter of a wealthy man who lived in civilized style—and all night I have been disturbed by the crunching of the animals feeding within a few feet of where I was lying; with their constant rising up and lying down; with the movements of my host and hostess, who would get up constantly in the night, sometimes to feed the animals, which were required for work before sunrise, sometimes to replenish the charcoal fire, sometimes to attend to the baby, or to open the door and hold a whispered conference with some nocturnal visitor. As there is no undressing on going to bed, among these people, and as they indulge in long snoozes during the day, the night does not seem to be so especially devoted to sleep as with us. They appear to think that, as going to bed simply consists in lying down on the floor in your clothes, one part of the twenty-four hours will do as well for sleep as another, and their nights are restless accordingly. As a general rule, for persons who have not been long enough in the country to get used to insects, the nights are made restless from other causes.

It is curious, in the case of such a marriage as I have described, to see the change which takes place when the young wife leaves the retired village to which she has been banished, owing to the impoverished circumstances of her husband, to pay a visit to her own family. I scarcely recognize her when I meet her again. When last I saw her in her humble home her costume consisted of a thin sort of chemisette, a pair of full, baggy trousers fastened at the knee, leaving the legs and feet bare, and over these a skirt, and we were dipping our fingers amicably into the same dish of rice. Now I would walk down Broadway with her on my arm, and be rather proud of her fashionable “get up” than otherwise; and she handles her knife and fork with far greater dexterity than I did my fingers.

The wave of civilization is, however, rapidly encroaching upon these humbler classes. It is only natural that a girl brought up in this way should endeavour to introduce innovations into her husband's home. Within the last few years there has been a marked change in this respect, particularly in a town like Haifa, where the Christian population largely predominates. A veiled face is rarely to be seen, while women, even of the poorer classes, are introducing the fashion of wearing gowns, adding a table and a few chairs to their domestic furniture, and have even gone the length of sleeping on bedsteads, though I have not yet pried sufficiently into nocturnal mysteries to know whether, when they go to bed, they have progressed in civilization so far as to undress.

[FISHING ON LAKE TIBERIAS.]

Haifa, April 2.—I have just returned from a trip into the interior, during which I have been exploring some new and interesting country. Instead of following the usual road to the eastward by way of the valley of Esdraelon, I struck in a northeasterly direction across the fertile plain of Acre, fording the Kishon at the point of its debouchure into the sea, where, after the winter rains, we are generally obliged to swim the horses, while we cross ourselves in a ferry-boat. In two hours from this point we strike the first low range of the Galilee hills, at a depression from which, in the times of the crusaders, the armies of Saladin used to issue forth to give them battle. Indeed, the whole ground over which we ride has been from time immemorial the scene of bloody warfare, and it is not impossible, considering how events are shaping themselves in the East, that it may become so again. Rising gently, by grassy vales carpeted with wild flowers, to a height of about five hundred feet, we shortly reach the picturesquely situated town of Shefr Amr, dominated by the extensive walls of its ruined castle.

This has been a place of considerable importance ever since, shortly after the destruction of Jerusalem, it was the seat of the Jewish sanhedrim. It was then called Shefaram, and is probably identical with the Kefraim which Eusebius says was six miles north of Legio, and with Hapraim, which we read in the Bible was assigned to the tribe of Issachar. Since then its name has been changed to Shefr Amr, or “the healing of Omar,” from a tradition that Daher el-Amr, a prince who governed this country about a hundred and sixty years ago, recovered here from a severe illness. The fortress is said to have been built by his son Othman in 1761, and it does not appear to be older, though probably it occupies the site of a much more ancient castle. It covers a very extensive area of ground, with crenellated battlements, and contains stalls for four hundred horses. It is now partly ruined, but a portion of it is still sufficiently well preserved to be the residence of the Mudir, or local governor.

I scrambled by a most dilapidated stone stair to the top of the walls, and had a magnificent view over the surrounding country. The position is so commanding that I could well understand why Saladin chose it as a point from which he could harass the Franks who were besieging Acre, which town was plainly visible in the distance. I was informed that the whole of this extensive fortress was offered by the government for sale for $1500. The stones alone would be worth more than this amount, if it were not for the cost of transport, to say nothing of the area of land which they cover. But, as a matter of speculation, Barnum's pink-and-white elephant would be about as convenient a possession for a private individual. It is no wonder that it has been for some time in the market, or that the town itself, when capital is so scarce, should be a sleepy looking, stagnant place. Still, it is better built than the average; the houses are generally constructed of stone—many of them are of two stories—there is a fair bazaar, and a population of about two thousand five hundred inhabitants, of which fifteen hundred are Greek Christians, three hundred Moslems, six hundred Druses, and the remainder Jews. Some thirty families of Morocco Jews settled here as agriculturists about the year 1850, but after struggling against extortion for twenty years they had to give it up, and the colony is now extinct, the Jews now here being natives of the country. The Druse population is also rapidly diminishing from the same cause; a slow but steady migration takes place annually to the Druse mountains to the east of the Hauran, where they are practically independent of government control; there are also a few Protestants here, with a schoolhouse, besides a convent and church of the Roman Catholic nuns (Dames de Nazareth), built in 1866, with a girls' school.

The only other interesting building at Shefr Amr is the Greek church, which has been rebuilt on old foundations. The remains were evidently Byzantine work, dating probably from the fifth or sixth century. Many interesting tombs are to be found both north and south of the town. The most noteworthy has a handsome façade, covered with a design of a vine with grapes in bold relief, and with small figures of birds introduced. Each vine-plant grows out of a pot. On each side of the door is an effaced Greek inscription, with rosettes in lozenges below and birds above. Here, also, are fragments of Greek inscriptions, and on the left side-wall of the vestibule is a bas-relief of a lion and a small animal, perhaps a cub; on the right a lion, a cub, and a bird. The drawing is very primitive, and has a Byzantine appearance. Inside this tomb, which contains three loculi, there are mouldings round the principal arch, with tracery of vines and carvings of birds. These tombs are interesting because both the inscriptions and ornamentation belong to the Byzantine period, thus proving that the mode of sepulture practised by the Jews from the most remote date was continued by the Christians up to the fifth or sixth century after Christ.

Our way from Shefr Amr led through the beautiful oak woods which belong to that town, but which seem doomed to destruction, for I observed that many of the handsomest trees were girdled near the base, while numerous stumps bore testimony to this lamentable work of denudation. In a country where wood is becoming so rare it was heartbreaking to ride through this beautiful, park-like scenery and witness the work of destruction going on in spite of the government prohibition against felling timber. Emerging from these grassy glades we descend into the magnificent plain of the Buttauf, now a sheet of emerald green, as the young crops extend before us as far as the eye can reach. Traversing this fertile country one is more and more impressed with the incorrectness of the judgment of the ordinary tourist, who, confining himself to the route prescribed by Cook, is taken through the barren hills of Judea, and to one or two holy places in Galilee, and then goes home and talks about the waste and desolation of Palestine. The trite saying recurred to my mind as I looked on this wealth of grain: “I pity the man who can go from Dan to Beersheba and say that all is barren;” or, as my travelling-companion, who was an American, more forcibly put it: “If ever I meet a tourist who tells me that Palestine is barren, I'll lick him.”

But we were not on the tourist track, and it was not till we reached Tiberias that we found specimens, and they were too discreet; in their remarks to give my friend an opportunity of expressing his views in the manner contemplated. Here we took a boat and crossed the lake. I wanted to investigate the present fishing capabilities of these waters, but I soon found that I had not the appropriate tackle. The natives either fish with circular hand-nets, which they throw with great dexterity, or with long hand-lines, which they bait with small dead fish and haul in, thus trawling in a rough way. They have no idea of fishing with a rod, and mine came to grief, so that I had no opportunity of casting a fly, but I think it not unlikely, from the way I saw the fish jumping towards evening, that they would rise to it. The natives catch their bait by poisoning the water with pinches of a powder which they throw in near the margin. In a few moments the minnows and small fish are to be seen swimming lazily along the surface, completely stupefied, and one has only to put one's hand in and take them out. The fish we caught were principally of the bass or perch species, averaging half a pound or more each. One of the boatmen caught a dozen with two or three casts of the hand-net, but it was useless to try with a rod without proper tackle. I am convinced that a spinning artificial minnow, or a copper spoon, would be very killing; so, of course, would be trawling live bait, but the natives know only their own primitive style of fishing, and the idea of a rod and line, even with the common angle-worm at one end and a fool at the other, was entirely new to them. Indeed, scarcely any fish are taken from the lake. There are only four boats on it, but these are used more for transport than fishing purposes, and the population is so sparse on the shores that there is no demand. We were assured by our boatmen, however, that they occasionally took fish over five feet in length, and I have seen enough of what may be done to decide me to go there again some day properly provided, instead of relying on native appliances.

The spot at which we were moored on the eastern shore of the lake was immediately under a precipitous conical-shaped hill, which rose abruptly to a height of twelve hundred feet from the waters. Its summit was crowned with the ruins of the ancient city of Gamala. The modern name for it is Kalat el-Hosn, but it owes its ancient appellation to its shape, which is exactly that of a camel's hump. It is interesting as having been a purely Jewish fortification, the last that was sacked by Vespasian and Titus before the siege of Jerusalem, and it has remained to this day exactly as they left it. Josephus gives a very graphic account of the siege, which took place in the last days of September, sixty-nine years after the birth of Christ. Owing to the precipices by which it was surrounded it was supposed to be impregnable, and when, at last, after a twenty-nine days' siege, it was found not to be so, the whole population who had survived its horrors, consisting of five thousand men, women, and children, flung themselves into the yawning gulf below the ramparts, thus perishing by their own act. Of the entire population only two women escaped alive.

When we compare the fighting of those days with the siege of Paris, for instance, where the population surrendered because there was a little too much sawdust in the bread, the results of modern as contrasted with ancient civilization suggest some curious reflections. That the civilization of those days was of a high order is attested by the magnificent remains which still exist in Gamala. Here are to be found, strewn over the ground, some thirty huge granite columns, which must have been transported from Egypt to this giddy height by engineering contrivances which would puzzle the science of these days, and Corinthian capitals neatly cut in hard, black basalt, and sarcophagi and other monuments, all evidencing a high state of art.

These ruins have hitherto been only superficially examined, and there can be no doubt that the investigations of the Palestine Exploration Fund, when the society is permitted by the Turkish government to prosecute their researches to the east of the Jordan, will bring many interesting treasures to light. I only regretted that I had no time to give to these ruins, as my objective point lay farther to the south and east.

[A VISIT TO THE SULPHUR SPRINGS OF AMATHA.]

Haifa, April 15.—At the spot where the Jordan issues from Lake Tiberias there are two large mounds, a fragment of sea-wall, and a causeway on arches which projects into the river, dividing it from the waters of the lake, and suggesting that it may possibly, in ancient times, have formed the approach to a bridge. There is no bridge there now. The river swirls round the arches, which are choked with ruins and reeds, and in a broad, swift stream winds its way to the Dead Sea. Here, in old time, stood the Roman city of Tarichæa, built on the site of a Phœnician fortress of still older date. Nothing remains but heaps of rubbish covered with broken pottery, and fragments of sculpture; but it offers, probably, a rich field for future excavation. The modern name Kerak signifies in Syriac “fortress,” and its natural position was remarkably strong, as the Jordan, after leaving the lake, takes a sharp bend to the westward and flows almost parallel with it, thus leaving an intervening peninsula on which the town was situated. It was defended on the westward by a broad ditch, traces of which still remain, connecting the Jordan with the lake, thus making the peninsula an island approached only by a causeway.

Josephus mentions Tarichæa as having been an important military post in the wars of his time. When I visited it the lake was unusually high, and the Jordan was unfordable, so we were obliged to ferry over, swimming our horses and mules a distance of seventy or eighty yards across the rapid current. Then we mounted, and galloped in a southeasterly direction, over a fertile plain, waving at this season of the year with luxuriant crops. I was so much struck with the fertility and agricultural capacity of this region that I made inquiry as to its ownership, and found that it had been presented by a former sultan to one of the principal Bedouin sheiks of this Eastern country, and that he was exempt from all taxation. His lands extend to the foothills, where the Yarmuk issues from the mountains of Gilead and Jaulan, which we were now approaching. We had ascended these but a little way when a scene burst upon us which surprised and delighted us by its wild and unexpected grandeur. The Yarmuk here enters the plain of the Jordan on its way to join that river, with a volume of water fully equal to the latter, pouring its swollen torrent between two perfectly perpendicular precipices of basalt, which are about two hundred yards apart, and look like some majestic gateway expressly designed by nature to afford the river a fitting outlet to the plain after its wild course through the mountains.

On each side of these cliffs the country swells back abruptly to a height of seventeen hundred feet above the stream. At their base, here and there, the limestone or basalt rock, for the two formations are curiously intermixed, crops out sharply, forming terraces with precipitous sides. The more distant summits are fringed with oak forests. The general effect of the landscape, as you first burst upon it after leaving the Jordan valley, is in the highest degree impressive. The path, gradually ascending, winds along the edge of cliffs, rising to a sheer height of three hundred feet from the torrent which foams beneath. We are so close to their margin on the right that it makes us giddy to look down, while on the left hand grassy slopes, covered with wild flowers, rise to the base of other cliffs above us. For an hour we wind along these dizzy ledges. In one place I observed a hundred feet of limestone superimposed upon two hundred of basalt, the whole forming a black-and-white precipice very remarkable to look upon. In fact, my further investigations of this valley of the Yarmuk, some portion of which, I believe, we were the first to explore, have convinced me that it affords finer scenery than is to be found in any other part of Palestine. It is astonishing that it should have remained until now almost entirely unknown. Where the valley opened a little we saw beneath us a small plain, almost encircled by the river, and on it about twenty Bedouin tents. Our unexpected and novel appearance on the cliff above evidently caused some little stir and amazement, but they were too far below us to communicate with, so we pushed on to a point where the path suddenly plunged down by a series of steps between walls of black basalt, making a very steep descent for loaded mules, and one not altogether pleasant for mounted men. It had the advantage of bringing us soon to the bottom, however, but not before my eyes were gladdened by the sight of one of the objects for which I had undertaken the trip.

At my feet, and separated from the river by a narrow strip of land covered with bushes, was a long pool of bluish-gray water, in marked contrast with the yellow stream. Above it floated a very light mist, or, rather, haze. Following with the eye a little stream of the same coloured water which entered it, past a primitive mill, I saw that it debouched from another pond similar in colour, and evidently its source, and to this our path was conducting us. It was the first of the hot sulphur springs of Amatha, celebrated by Eusebius as being much frequented in the time of the Romans, and famous for their healing qualities. We soon reached its margin, and, dismounting, tethered our horses under the shade of a large tree, and stretched ourselves for a rest after our ride, preparatory to a slight repast and a more minute investigation of the springs and the ruins by which they are surrounded. Our nostrils were regaled by a strong odour of rotten eggs, which left no doubt in our minds as to the quality of the water in the immediate neighborhood. We were here at a depression of five hundred and fifty feet below the surface of the sea, but the climate, which must be intolerably hot in summer, was at this time of year delightful. We were soon sufficiently rested to scramble down to the pool, only a few yards below us, which was about fifty yards long by thirty broad, and apparently five or six feet deep. The temperature was 98°, and the taste of the water very strongly sulphurous. Then we ascended a mound behind, covered with ruins, consisting principally of fragments of columns, carved stone seats, and drafted blocks which had been used for building purposes. Immediately behind this mound was an extensive ruin, consisting of three arches in a fair state of preservation. Two of the arches were fifteen or twenty feet high, and enclosed a semicircular space or hall for bathers. On the other side was a vaulted building which partly enclosed what is at this day the only frequented spring. This is a circular pool. Part of the old masonry which enclosed it still remains. The pool is about twenty-five feet wide, with a temperature so high that I found it impossible to keep my hand in it. To my great astonishment, and to theirs also when they saw me suddenly appear, four or five Arabs were bathing in it. How their bodies could support the heat was to me a mystery. They did not support it long. They were no sooner in than out, their bodies looking as much like lobsters as the complexion of their skins would permit. They laughed, and invited me to join them. One or two were stretched full length on the identical stone slabs under the building on which, doubtless, two thousand years ago, the bathers of that date used to repose after having been half boiled alive.

This spring must be of immense volume, to judge by the size of the torrent which gushed from it, and which was crossed on stepping-stones, flowing away in what would be considered a good-sized trout stream, to mingle its waters with the Yarmuk after a course of a few hundred yards. We determined, when our tents arrived, to pitch them near this spring, on the brink of another stream which flowed in from the eastward, and which, though slightly sulphurous, was drinkable. Indeed, we did not object to taking a moderate amount of this wholesome medicament into our organisms. We found another strong spring, not quite so hot as the one in use, a little above our tents, so that there is no lack of water. Indeed, I doubt whether sulphur springs of so much volume exist anywhere else in the world. Not far from this, with its back to another mound, were the ruins of an old Roman theatre, some of the rows of seats still clearly discernible.

These springs are situated on a plain about a mile long and half a mile broad, semicircular in shape, the chord of the arc consisting of a line of basalt precipices, from which it slopes gradually to the river, which forms the bow. It is watered by a good fresh-water spring, which rushes from the base of the cliffs. The hot sulphur stream which issues from the pool we first visited turns a mill and then flows into the long, oblong pond I first saw from above. Here, after the exertions of the day, I determined to bathe. I never enjoyed a swim more than the one in this soft sulphur water, with a temperature of 95°. The pool was about one hundred yards long and ten wide, and out of my depth nearly throughout its length. The rocks, upon which I could sit comfortably up to my neck, where the stream entered the pool were covered with a heavy white deposit. The sensation afterwards was one of delicious languor; but my full enjoyment of the bath was a little marred by the fact that I had to walk a quarter of a mile back to the tents afterwards. I had a long talk on my way, to the miller, the solitary resident of this lonely but enchanting spot, and tried to induce him to desert the mill, of which he was the guardian, and act as my guide up the river on the following day; but he was either too conscientious, too lazy, or too ignorant—I suspect the latter, as I found by experience that all the information he gave me of a topographical nature was utterly erroneous. It was, therefore, with a pleasing sense of anticipation that we retired to rest, determined to trust to our own geographical instincts alone for our proposed exploration.

[EXPLORATION OF THE VALLEY OF THE YARMUK.]

Haifa, April 30.—In my last letter I described the little-known hot sulphur springs of Amatha, with their extensive ruins, which indicate the celebrity they must have acquired in the days of the Romans. As the river Yarmuk above this point had, so far as I know, never been explored, I determined to push up the gorges through which it cleaves its way from the highlands of the Hauran to the valley of the Jordan.

Some years ago I had crossed it about thirty miles higher up, where it flows across a plateau at an elevation of 1800 feet above the sea. I was now standing on its margin, 550 feet below the sea. In the course of this thirty miles, therefore, it has a fall of 2350 feet. In other words, it was a fair presumption that there was a waterfall somewhere between those two points which had never been visited. The inquiries which I made from the natives on the point were unsatisfactory in their result. They seemed unable to discriminate between a rapid and a waterfall, and although they told me of many places where the water rushed with great violence, they seemed to know of none where it was precipitous. Upon one point they were, unfortunately, all agreed, which was that there was no path up the river-side, and that it would be found impossible at this time of year, when the stream was flooded, to force a way up. However, we determined to try. We thought we should be more free in our movements if we were unhampered by a guide, and directed only by our topographical instincts.

We therefore left our tents standing, as a sort of home on which to retreat in case of need, and struck across the small plain upon which the springs are situated, to a ford, which four days previously had been impracticable, but which we were assured we might now risk with safety. The stream was here a hundred yards broad, full of large rocks, and with a swift, turbid current that was by no means reassuring. The water came high up on our saddle-flaps, but we reached the other bank without mishap, and found ourselves skirting a dense thicket of tropical underwood, above which a grove of at least three hundred date-trees reared their tufted crests. It was a spot unlike any other to be found in Palestine, for, although the heat in the valley of the Jordan, owing to its depression below the sea, is as great as this, and at its southern extremity greater, nowhere throughout its length is to be found a spot where the vegetation is so dense and luxuriant. Here were wild orange, lemon, fig, almond, and mulberry trees, oleanders growing to a gigantic size, besides butm, sidr, carob, and other trees peculiar to the country, and thickets of cane twenty feet high, forming a splendid cover for the wild boars with which we were assured this jungle abounds.

The Arabs come here at certain seasons to gather the dates, weave mats from the reeds, and harvest the crops of the slopes behind, which were now all waving with young grain. During that time they live in mud hovels, partly excavated in the ground, which were now deserted. There was only one inhabitant, and he ran a small mill, picturesquely situated under some date-trees, which was turned by a stream of hot sulphur water issuing from a copious spring, with a temperature of 112°. The Yarmuk, which flows beneath a cliff of black basalt three hundred feet high, half encircles this unique spot, and I regretted that I had not time to explore it thoroughly; but the jungle was so impenetrable that it was impossible to make any impression upon it without an axe, and then it would have been a work of time.

We now followed a track which approached the river bank. The hills, fortunately, on our side sloped back gradually. Midway up the sheer face of the cliff opposite we saw here and there caves, which, from their regular shape, appear at one time to have been inhabited, but if so, the only approach could have been from above, by baskets lowered to the mouths, similar to the method used by the robbers who inhabited the Wady Hamam, behind the plain of Gennesareth, in days of old. Now, instead of robbers in baskets, we saw immense eagles sailing in front of the cliff, in the crevices of which they had placed their nests. Crossing a spur which jutted into the river from the mountains on our right, and which prevented our following it closely, we obtained a splendid view of its course for some miles. To our left were basalt and limestone cliffs, and above them steep, sloping grass lands, now carpeted with wild flowers. Above them again were more crags and cliffs, and then the rim which marked the edge of the plateau, fifteen hundred feet above us. To the right the hills sloped back more slowly, cleft here and there by wild, rocky valleys, while their summits were fringed with oak forests. Here and there the river foamed between precipices on both sides, and we began to perceive that the task of exploration was by no means easy. But it was perhaps all the more interesting. We made our horses scramble where only goats had been before, now along the base of the cliff over huge boulders, now half-way up its precipitous side, when prudence suggested that horse and rider should separate, and each be responsible for his own life and limbs. Now we forced our way through tangled thickets of flowering shrubs that clung to the rocky sides where they were less steep, and now, utterly baffled, diverging from the river and toiling up a steep grassy slope, only to slip and scramble down it again on the other side so as to regain the margin of the stream.

Our progress was necessarily slow, not only owing to the natural obstacles we encountered, but to the fact that we were mapping the country as we advanced; but the scenery by which we were surrounded was too romantic to be hurried over, and too interesting, from its novelty, not to be carefully noted. At last we reached a point where there had been a land-slide, leaving bare one precipice a thousand feet high, while it formed another above the stream, which it had displaced. Nothing remained for it but to attempt another ford, and try our luck on the opposite bank. This, to the amazement of some Bedouins, who watched us from it and waved us back, we succeeded in accomplishing, not without a narrow escape on the part of one of our party who, boldly leading the way, got entangled among the rocks and eddies. We were cordially welcomed by an Arab sheik, as we scrambled like half-drowned rats up the bank. He invited us to his tents, which were pitched a few hundred yards back from the stream, on a small plain. Here mats were spread for us, coffee roasted, pounded, and prepared, and, the young men gathering around, we proceeded, under the influence of an abundant distribution of cigarettes on my part, to exchange ideas. They told us they belonged to a village two and a half hours distant, and were therefore not nomads. They came hither at this season of the year to pasture their herds and look after their crops. I hardly like to report the conversation of these poor people as they came to confide their grievances to us, without our in any way inviting their confidence. Suffice it to say that the recent measure of the government by which it has been decided to substitute for the dime, which has heretofore been the share of the government in the entire produce of every village, an assessment based on the highest five years' average, has produced the greatest discontent among the rural population, whose poverty and distress, already extreme, owing to the extortion of the tax-gatherers even under the old system, and the withdrawal of the bone and sinew of the country by conscription, especially during the recent Russo-Turkish war, will thus be intensified. In fact, these poor people were driven to such desperation that they were most unreserved in their language, and although they are the most long-suffering and much-enduring of races, there is a point where the crushed worm will turn. However great the financial exigencies of the empire may be, they would better be met by a thorough reorganization and reform in the whole system of tax-collecting, than in adding to the burdens of the people, which are already greater than they can bear.

Our hosts assured us that we should find any further attempt to ascend the river impracticable, and that there was a place where the water fell for a considerable height, but we could only reach it by making a circuit, which would take a day. However, we determined to judge for ourselves, and succeeded in getting about a mile farther, when we found the river shut in by precipices on both sides. It was impossible to descend to it from the brow of the cliff on which we stood, much less to ford it afterwards, or to scramble up the precipice on the other side. There was nothing for it but to make an ascent of at least fifteen hundred feet, either to the high plateau of Jaulan, on the right, or to recross the river where we had already forded it, and scramble up the steep, wooded hillsides of Ajlun until we could find a path leading in the desired direction. This latter course we determined to adopt; so we returned to the Arabs tents, crossed the river more successfully than before, warned by our previous experience, and braced ourselves for a twelve-hundred-feet climb up the best track we could find, under the guidance of one of our recent Arab acquaintances. I had been on the lookout all through the day for ruins, and I was now cheered by the intelligence that I should find some on the summit of the hill we were climbing. Such proved to be the case. The situation, at an elevation by my aneroid of about eleven hundred feet above the sea, would indicate that in old time it was a fortress. It was supplied with water by cisterns, the remains of which still exist, some of them demijohn-shaped, and one about ten feet square and twenty feet to the bottom, which, however, was much filled up. There were many piles of huge blocks of drafted stone, but I did not observe any columns or carving, and I think the remains date from a period anterior to the Roman occupation. The modern name of the place is Tel el-Hösn, but its existence has heretofore been unknown, except to the Arabs of the neighborhood, and its discovery was some compensation to me for the effort I had made to reach it.

[EXPLORATION ON THE YARMUK.]

Haifa, May 15.—From the ancient fortress of El-Hösn we crossed a spur to a high projecting point, from which we could look down a sheer precipice one thousand feet high, which had been formed by a land-slip, to the bed of the river. Forcing their way impetuously through a gorge opposite, the tributary waters of the Rukkad mingled their clear stream with the turbid Yarmuk, after a rapid course from their source in the highlands of Jaulan, from which elevated plateau they are precipitated in a magnificent waterfall eight hundred feet high. All this scenery is as yet absolutely unknown and unexplored, this fall having only recently been discovered, by my travelling companion on this occasion. I regretted being unable to visit it, but we were limited for time, and although it was only hidden from view by a projecting spur of the valley, so broken up is this country by precipitous ravines and gorges, that it would have taken us a day's hard riding to reach it.

It was with regret that we found ourselves compelled to leave the elevated position on which we now stood, and which commanded an extensive view, limited in the extreme east by the lofty mountains of the Jebel Druze; and, steering our way by compass, struck a southeasterly direction, over a park-like, undulating country, covered with oak forest, with occasional patches of cultivation. This part of the country to the east of the Jordan, which is called the Keferat, is thinly inhabited, the villages being very small, squalid, and far apart, but it is a country all waiting to yield of its abundance to some future race who may turn its magnificent resources to good account. In many places the trees were festooned with vines, the grapes of this district being celebrated, but the population pay little heed to their cultivation, for it is impossible to protect them from robbers. The Bedouins consider the sedentary inhabitants as lawful spoil, and raid over these lands at will, practically almost unchecked by the authorities, whose administrative hold on the country is of the slenderest description. It is, in fact, chiefly exercised at those times when it is necessary to send the mounted police into the villages to collect the taxes, and they clear up all that the Bedouins may have left, so that these poor people are engaged in a perpetual struggle to keep body and soul together, and although they are surrounded by a fertile country which, if it were properly cultivated, would make them wealthy, they only cultivate enough for their barest necessities, and have not the heart to attempt to accumulate wealth which they would not be permitted to keep. Situated at an elevation of about eighteen hundred feet above the sea, these high, wooded, fertile table-lands form a district which, should this country ever come to be occupied under more favourable conditions than now exist, will certainly be among the first to attract an agricultural population. The wild, rocky gorges by which it is intersected render the task of exploration, without a guide, one attended with some uncertainty. We take our bearings by compass, gallop under the vine-trellised trees, over green, level slopes, or along inviting glades, till we are suddenly brought up by a precipice down which it is impossible to scramble, which opens unexpectedly in a gulf at our feet. The spot we are making for is not half a mile distant, but we have to follow the edge of the gorge in the opposite direction. Then we come upon another at right angles, which forces us to double back still farther; so at last we wind round the head, first of one ravine and then of another, till we find two hours have elapsed since we were driven back on our tracks; the half-mile has now extended over five or six, the sun is declining with a rapidity which seems accelerated because the daylight has become so precious to us that we cannot bear to anticipate the prospect of its vanishing. At last we reach the head of the valley which has baffled us so long, and are compensated by discovering a ruin. Here are sarcophagi, rock tombs and cisterns, and carved fragments. Fortunately we come across a peasant, the only one we have seen since leaving the river, and he tells us that its name is Haleebna. We write it down and take its bearings as well as we can, for it is unknown heretofore, but the day is too far spent for us to linger for minute examination. The peasant tells us that the best thing we can do, if we would get back to our tents, is to go down the valley we had intended to cross. We follow his advice and have no reason to regret it. It is a Viâ Mala of grandeur and beauty, though on a small scale. We pass between curved limestone cliffs, the fissures in which are filled with underwood, the shrubs cling to the rocks, from which at one place gushes a copious stream of water, by the side of which we hurry with it down the valley, till we get back to the Yarmuk once more, and, wearied and exhausted, reach our tents in the gathering darkness. Here we find a picturesque-looking Kurd waiting to receive us; he is an old soldier, and shows us the scars of five wounds—not all, however, received in military service, but for the most part in Arab skirmishes. He is the agent of the government in these parts, and also of the native capitalist who is the practical owner of the land, which is cultivated by an Arab tribe whose tents are pitched near us; they are heavily indebted to the capitalist aforesaid, who allows them enough of the crops to keep them from starving and takes all the rest himself. And our Kurdish visitor is his collector of revenue. He seems to have some difficulty in protecting his employer's interests, and tells us triumphantly that only a few nights before he has shot an Arab whom he caught plundering. He says that during the bathing season as many as a hundred tents may be seen pitched round the sulphur springs of Amatha, and that their fame is so great that they are visited by invalids from Aleppo and Damascus. The fact, however, that Tiberias, which is five hours distant, is the nearest place in which supplies of any sort can be procured, and that the only accommodation to be obtained is the patient's own tent, must operate as a serious obstacle to the use of these springs, about whose curative value, however, there can be no doubt.

Our way from Amatha lay back across the Jordan valley, which at this season of the year is a sheet of waving grain, cultivated by a branch of the Beni Sukkr Arabs, whose large encampment, with the handsome tent of the sheik in the centre, we pass without stopping, for we are in full pursuit at the moment of five gazelles, which scamper across country, giving us a good run, in which we should have certainly overtaken them had we not been checked by a ravine. We cross the Yarmuk at a point near its junction with the Jordan, and where it carries a volume of water certainly equal to that stream. The Jordan here falls in a fine rapid of about thirty feet in a distance of less than a hundred yards, and would furnish splendid water-power for mills in a part of the country which is much in want of them. The ancient Jisr el-Medjamieh spans the stream at this point, guarded by a government toll-house. Crossing it, we determined to try a short-cut up the little-known Wady Bireh, which is watered by a clear, purling brook, which, if it were utilized, would make this valley one of the most fertile and attractive in this part of the country. After following its winding course for some miles, we found it finally narrowing into a crooked gorge, the sides of which approach so closely as scarcely to admit the passage of a loaded camel between the overhanging rocks. Indeed, when we afterwards described our route to the natives they said it was never used by them. However, it gave us an opportunity of seeing some most romantic scenery, and by shortening the way enabled us to reach Nazareth, jaded and worn out, it is true, the same night.

[A DRUSE RELIGIOUS FESTIVAL.]

Haifa, May 27.—Travellers who have gone from Nazareth to Tiberias must be familiar with the singular outline of a mountain which they perceive to the left of the road, with its two rocky crests separated from each other by a hog's back about a quarter of a mile long, and called the Horns of Hattin. The summit of the higher peak, one thousand feet above the sea, and about three hundred feet above the plain across which they are riding, forms a conspicuous object in a landscape which, at this point, is one of singular interest and beauty. Rising like a gigantic natural pulpit, tradition has since declared it to be the Mount of the Beatitudes, and asserts that it was from this picturesque elevation that Christ delivered that sermon which has exercised so vast an influence on mankind ever since.

Whether this be so or not, it is certain that the plain on which the audience was supposed to have gathered which listened to it, was the scene, about eleven hundred and fifty-seven years afterwards, of the most memorable conflict in which the Crusaders ever engaged, for it was the one which lost them Palestine, and which resulted in the triumph of Saladin, the Saracen, and the slaughter or capture of the most powerful and celebrated of the Crusading chiefs. At the extremity of the plain, and immediately beneath one of the horns of the mountain, there is a precipitous gorge, down which some of the hardly pressed Crusaders vainly attempted flight, the horses and their riders, heavily panoplied with armour, only escaping the spear of the Arab to meet an even more terrible fate, as they hurled themselves headlong down the rocky precipice. As, dismounting from my active steed, I allowed him to pick his own way down this dangerous defile, I looked with interest at the scene of the disaster, and listened to the story of my guide, who narrated how, only twenty years ago, a fight had taken place here between a celebrated Bedouin chief and a Kurdish tribe, in which the latter were signally defeated on the old Crusading battle-ground, and, seeking safety, like the Christian warriors, in the direction of this treacherous gorge, left sixty dead men and horses at the bottom.

These traditions and associations served to enhance the novelty and picturesqueness of the view before me as I entered the gorge, for it was now the scene of a great gathering of the sheiks and chiefs of the Druse nation, who come here annually on a pilgrimage to the shrine of one of their most celebrated saints, at which I was fortunate enough to be allowed to assist, a privilege which, so far as I am aware, had not before been granted to a foreigner. The building which forms this sacred resort has been erected by the Druses over the tomb of a certain holy man called Schaib, but exactly who Schaib was my utmost endeavours failed to discover. The Moslems say that he is Jethro, the father-in-law of Moses; but when I asked the Druses whether Moses had married Schaib's daughter, they denied it. Then a Jew of the country, familiar with the Druses, suggested that Schaib was Balaam, but they refused altogether to admit that an ass had ever spoken to their holy man. He had crossed the Red Sea with Moses, they said, and after Moses' death had been ordered by God to bury him, and had done so, and had fought against a mighty king and prevailed against him, and had himself been buried here, and he was the Father of all Prophets and the elect of God, and there were none greater or more sacred than he. I thought possibly he might be Joshua, but him they knew by his own name, so I have given up the personality of Schaib as an insoluble mystery. He is one of those Druse characters whom their tradition has interwoven with Biblical history, but the tomb which they thus honour is undoubtedly considered by Moslems to be the tomb of Jethro, who is known among them as Schaib; and the Rabbi Bar Simeon, writing in 1210 A.D., mentions the tomb of Jethro as being at Hattin. Considering that Jethro lived in Midian, on the shores of the Red Sea, it seems rather unlikely that he should be buried here. However, that is a detail. The fact remains that the spot is one of great sanctity, but is infinitely more venerated by the Druses than by the Moslems. Indeed, I met a Moslem who laughed at the Druses' superstitions in regard to it, and who was as much surprised and puzzled as I was when he heard them deny that Moses was the son-in-law of the buried saint.

The building which the Druses have erected over the old, dilapidated Moslem shrine, which still stands here, has already cost more than $5000, all subscribed by the Druses among themselves, and it is not yet completed. It consists of a courtyard, one side of which is formed by the solid rock, while the other contains chambers. The roof forms a terrace, and above it, also partly faced by rock, is a large upper chamber surmounted by a dome. The scene as we approached was very striking. The Druse sheiks, desirous of doing honour to their guest, formed in two lines to receive me, while guns were fired off and songs of welcome were sung. The white building, with its terraces crowded by men and women in bright-coloured garments, harmonized well with the romantic character of the scenery, and formed a picture calculated to impress the imagination.

I was ushered by my hosts into an anteroom, after exchanging cordial greetings with those I knew, and being introduced to those who were still strangers to me; and then we all squatted on carpets, thus occupying all the four sides of the room, which assumed the appearance of a sort of council-chamber. As, with the exception of the Japanese, the Druses are the politest and most courteous people I have ever met, a great part of our time is taken up in salutations and compliments. First we press our hands to our hearts and lips and foreheads, with great effusion. No sooner are we seated than we repeat this process as if we had not done it just before. Then, in flowery language, we ask each other repeatedly after our respective healths, and are profuse in our thanks to God that we are well, that they are well, that our families are well, and that we are permitted to enjoy the great privilege of meeting one another. Then coffee is brought in, and after drinking it we go through the same process of saluting each other all around. Then I request permission to light a cigarette, which is necessary, as the Druses never indulge in tobacco; indeed, the more rigid eschew coffee.

As I look around at the twenty or thirty sheiks, solemnly seated with their backs to the wall, I am much struck with the dignity of their bearing, the intelligence of their countenances, and their superior physique generally. As a rule, there is a religious and a secular sheik to each village, so that about half my entertainers exercise spiritual functions, and half temporal. There was nothing, however, in their dress to distinguish them. They all wore white turbans, black or striped abbas, or wide-sleeved cloaks reaching to the knee, beneath which was the usual flowing garment of the Oriental, and their feet were bare. Many of the Druses, both men and women, have brown hair and blue eyes, and complexions as light as our own, and some of both sexes are singularly handsome.

As all the sheiks had not yet assembled, we had not been long in conclave—indeed, had hardly exhausted our stock of compliments—before the singing of men and the firing of guns announced a distinguished arrival. Then we all went out to meet him, and I was interested in watching the method of greeting. I soon perceived that the forms of etiquette are most rigidly adhered to among them. When two of equal rank meet they clasp hands, and there appears a slight struggle—as they both bow their heads and lift their clasped hands towards their lips—as to who shall kiss the back of the other's hand first. This involves rather a curious twisting movement of the hands and heads, which produces a somewhat comical effect. Let any of my readers make the experiment, and, grasping each other's hands, try and kiss the respective backs of each without unclasping them, and the effort as to which shall succeed first makes quite a little game. My servant, who is a Moslem from Egypt, declared that they each kissed their own hands, and the argument waxed so hot between us that we had to refer the matter to a Druse to know which was right, so difficult was it to perceive exactly what really happened. If one felt himself inferior in rank to the other, he always succeeded in kissing the other's hand first, and snatching his own away before the other had time to kiss it. But if the difference in rank was still more marked, the superior made no pretence of wanting to kiss the inferior's hand after his own had been kissed.

Next came a great struggle as to who should take the lowest place. The place of honour was a particular corner, which, had I been better versed in their etiquette, I should have insisted on declining; but I innocently accepted it, and then the invariable struggle came as to who should be forced to sit next to me. I observed that in most instances the refusals were of that formal kind which young ladies indulge in when they have made up their minds to sing, but decline to do so until after they have been sufficiently pressed. I suppose there were envyings, jealousies, pride, and other base passions among my hosts as among other men, but if so they certainly concealed their failings with marvellous skill. One could not but be struck with the air of genuine harmony and affectionate cordiality which seemed to prevail among them.

The respect they showed to the head sheik of all, and the warm terms in which they spoke of him to me in private, could not but have been sincere, and, indeed, he seemed to deserve it. Though only a young man of about thirty-five, he inherited his honours, coming as he did of one of the most honourable Druse families; yet his distinguishing characteristic was a marked humility and consideration for others. His wife was certainly the most charming and lady-like person I have yet seen among Druse women. She was not more than three or four and twenty, with a fair complexion, magnificent eyes, and an elegant figure, a grace natural to her characterizing all her movements. Indeed, had she been dressed in the latest Parisian fashion, she would have been a strikingly attractive person in any society, nor would it have been possible by her features or complexion to distinguish her from any pretty American woman. As it was, her dress was exceedingly becoming. On her head was a long white veil; a loose, tunic-shaped jacket, with full sleeves, covered an embroidered sort of chemisette, and her short, flowing skirts partially concealed full trousers, tight around the ankle. On her wrists were a pair of heavy gold bracelets, and she was the only woman of the party who indulged in the luxury of shoes and stockings. The shoes, however, were always slipped off before entering a room.

The Druse women of Galilee do not, like those of the Lebanon, cover their faces; and, indeed, they are allowed a freedom which contrasts strongly with the position of their Moslem sisters. This wife of the head sheik enjoyed a privilege denied to any of the other women who had accompanied their lords to the shrine, for she frequently sat in the men's council, taking part in the conversation, though modestly, and with great reserve. In talking to me, which she did freely, I found that she was bright and intelligent, and full of inquiries as to the manners and customs of the females of civilization, in regard to whom she had an intense curiosity. I do not know, however, whether, if it had been fully gratified, it would have tended very much to her moral and intellectual improvement. She had brought her baby with her, and was generally surrounded by some of the more prominent of the other ladies, who, however, treated her with a marked deference. I watched her mode of greeting the different ladies as they arrived, with even more interest than I had that of the men. We read in the Bible of people falling upon each other's necks; this was exactly what the Druse women did, and very prettily and gracefully they did it, while they recognized the men by a distant, modest, and deferential salutation.

[THE GREAT FESTIVAL OF THE DRUSES.]

Haifa, May 30.—Towards evening of the day on which I arrived at the great Druse shrine of Neby Schaib, near Hattin, most of the sheiks who were expected had arrived, with their retinues. It might have been a feudal gathering of olden time; the noisy welcome of the chiefs, the clansmen singing war-songs and firing guns, the women following on donkeys, all combined to make a scene which carried one back to the Middle Ages, and I never wearied looking at it.

My tent was pitched on the lowest terrace of the sacred building, for it is not allowed to the unbeliever to pass the night within those holy precincts. Indeed, it was an unprecedented privilege to be permitted even to camp on the terrace, where there was only just room for my tent, nor should I have been allowed to edge in so close to the mysteries of Druse worship had there been five square yards of level ground within a quarter of a mile. But the precipitous rocks frowned above us all around, and the comparatively open space below was crowded with camels, horses, and donkeys, compelled to chum together, whether they liked it or not, and where the incessant din added to the general uproar of the place. The constant and stentorian braying of donkeys, varied occasionally by a horse fight, mingled with the barking of dogs, the shrill scream of welcome or ululation of women, the loud singing and clapping of hands of the dancing circles, and the firing of guns, all augured badly for a night's rest.

However, there was no thought of going to bed yet; great piles of rice on which whole sheep had been skilfully dissected were now borne in on round platters, each carried by two men. There must have been from three to four hundred people now collected at the shrine, and the feeding of such a multitude was no joke. Of these nearly half were women, all in gala dress, the favourite colours being blue, green, and red. I don't know that I ever remember in the same number to have seen a larger proportion of pretty women.

When I went up-stairs to the large vault which contains the tomb of the prophet I came upon them unexpectedly, all seated on the floor around the circular mats of parti-coloured straw which they use as tablecloths. The room, which was seventy feet long by forty wide, was crowded with this laughing, chattering, feeding, feminine multitude, with their glorious eyes, white, regular teeth, bewitching smiles, and delicate fingers plunged up to the knuckles into huge piles of greasy rice. Their invitation that I should come and take pot-luck with them produced a mixed sentiment in my breast. However, it was only said as a joke, for even had I desired I should not have been allowed to accept it. The entertainment was exclusively feminine, and I was surprised at so little reverence being shown to the venerated shrine by the close proximity of all this festivity.

Taking off our shoes and picking our way between these festive groups, we reached, at the other end of the hall, the tomb of the prophet, enclosed in a wooden screen hung with red cloth, while over the tomb itself was spread a sort of green silk pall, embroidered with gold stars. Some of the Druse sheiks who accompanied me reverently pressed their lips to this. They then pointed out a square block of limestone, in the centre of which was a piece of alabaster containing the imprint of a human foot of natural size. The toes are defined with more clearness than is usual in sacred footprints of this nature, and the Druses stooped and kissed the impression, assuring me that, if I would do so, I should feel that the rock exuded moisture, and that its peculiarity was that it was never dry. I was constrained out of politeness to appear to accede to their wishes, though I refrained from testing the condition of the stone with my lips, as I felt suspicious, considering how many lips had preceded mine, that any little dampness I might discover might be easily accounted for otherwise than supernaturally.

The question of footprints in the rock suggests some interesting considerations. There are one or two others in different parts of Palestine, as in the mosque at Hebron, built over the Cave of Macpelah, and as they are artificial, it is probable that they are coronation stones. We know by tradition that in ancient times a custom of this sort existed in the British Isles, where footprints in rock exist, and there are Scriptural allusions which give colour to a similar hypothesis in Palestine. The pillar alluded to in the crowning of kings was probably nothing more nor less than a coronation stone; and the habit which existed in some countries of making the king stand with his foot in the impression of a print in the stone, as a sign that he would walk in the footsteps of his predecessor, may account for their occurrence in Palestine. Thus we read that Abimelech “was made king by the oak of the pillar that was in Shechem;” when Joash was anointed king by Jehoida, “he stood by the pillar as the manner was,” and the same king “stood by a pillar to make a covenant, and all the people stood to the covenant.” The place of the footprint at Neby Schaib, in its elevated position above the copious fountain which gushes from the base of the opposite cliff, and the remarkable cropping up of the alabaster through the rock, rendered it just such a spot as would be likely to be chosen for such a purpose, and I think we may fairly hazard the conjecture that the footprint at the Neby Schaib marks the coronation stone of the rulers in this part of the country in early Jewish, or perhaps even more ancient, times. It is far otherwise with the footprint of Buddha on Adam's Peak in Ceylon, and with that of Christ on the Mount of Olives, both of which I have seen, and both of which are natural, and bear only a fancied resemblance to the human foot, that of Buddha being a depression in the rock about five feet long. In the case of the print under consideration, there was a split in the rock across the centre, which the Druses accounted for by saying that when the prophet stepped here he split the rock.

Meanwhile the women, having finished their repast, now prepared for a dance on the terrace. The music consisted of singing, with a hand-clapping accompaniment, executed principally by the spectators, while the dancers formed in a circle, holding each other by the waistband, and rhythmically swaying to and fro, as from time to time they changed the character and the measure of their step. All their movements were decorous, if not all actually graceful. Sometimes one would separate herself from the ring, and, advancing to the centre, perform a pas seul, while the others danced around her, she the while flinging her hands aloft, waving in each a light muslin veil, and making it float above her head, while she kept time with her feet. But among the Druses, as among most Orientals, the hands play as prominent a part in their terpsichorean exercises as their feet. The eminently good looks of the dancers were set off by their becoming costumes. These consisted of outer cloaks of a rich colour, linen or woollen, open all down the front so as to display the whole underdress, with light sleeves cut above the elbow, the whole trimmed either with wide bands of reddish satin or with a rich cross-stitch embroidery of silk. The unsightliness of the baggy trousers of dark blue is lost under the long, semi-transparent chemise, which falls over them as a white tunic, generally striped with thicker white, and tastefully embroidered with silk around the neck. The white sleeves of the chemise, widely pointed, and which flow about the forearm after escaping from the short cloak sleeve, form a simple but very graceful feature of this costume, whether they float freely or are twisted, for convenience in work, about the elbow. Scarfs of various bright colours are wound below the waist, and the cloak is usually caught together below the bosom by a cord or button, giving that double girdle often presented in ancient classical costume. The simple long, white cloth, with the centre of one edge drawn low upon the forehead, its two ends hanging down the back almost to the heels, bound fast by a wide fillet of brilliant colour tied around the head, completes very attractively, with its ancient Egyptian appearance, this simple but highly characteristic dress, which is enhanced by necklaces and bangles, according to the rank and position of the wearer.

Our attention was now distracted by some rival performances of the male part of the community in the courtyard below. Here the singing and clapping of hands were louder and more vehement, and time was given by one gentleman who played a pipe and another who was a sort of bandmaster, and directed the changes of time and step. Here the central figure who danced in the circle, instead of waving veils or handkerchiefs, flourished a sword with great grace and dexterity, slashing it about in excellent time to the music, and within an inch sometimes of the noses, sometimes of the legs, of the performers. The dancers worked themselves up at last to a high pitch of excitement and perspiration, new ones perpetually dashing into the ring and taking the places of those who were exhausted.

At last the gayeties were put an end to by the sheiks, who took no part in them themselves, but looked on with solemn dignity. The “okâl,” or initiated in the holy mysteries, despise all such frivolities, which are reserved for women and the uninitiated. Most of these had been sitting in a circle in a quiet part of the terrace by themselves, discussing either religion or the political questions affecting the interests of their nation, most probably the latter; but the hour had now arrived when the serious business of the night was to begin and festivity was to cease. The uproar died away, the elders wished us good-night, and silently trooped up the stone stairs to the great hall, whence issued the younger part of the female community, and I retired to the door of my tent to sit in the bright moonlight and contemplate the strange surroundings of my night quarters.

Soon there broke upon the stillness of the night the measured cadence of a sacred chant. Now it swelled, as numerous voices, male and female, took up the chorus; now it died away to a single voice. Never before, probably, had stranger been able to listen so closely to the prayers and invocations which characterize the mysterious and occult worship of the Druses. One thing surprised me, which I think is not generally known, and this is that women undoubtedly take part in some of their forms of worship, not, however, in all, for on the following night they were excluded, and the service was conducted by males alone. At last I went to bed, but not to sleep; the noises of the animals, to which I was in close proximity, for a long time banished repose, and when at last it came fitfully, I heard ever and anon the rhythm of the sacred chant. Throughout two entire nights, to my certain knowledge, did these Druses pray and sing, though, as I fell asleep on each occasion towards morning, I cannot precisely say at what hour their service was concluded.

There can be no doubt that, while these gatherings are essentially religious in their character, they are largely used for political purposes. In this respect a wonderful organization exists among the Druses. Although the nation may be said to be divided into three sections, of which one—by far the largest—occupies the mountains of the Hauran, known as the Jebel Druse, another the mountains of the Lebanon, and the third and smallest the hills of northern Galilee, they keep up a close contact with each other, and meetings such as these afford opportunities for them to hold counsel in regard to the political fortunes and condition of the nation. The Druses of the Jebel Druse, who form two thirds of the nation, have only this year made peace with the Turkish government, with whom they were at war last year, The impracticable nature of the country, combined with their own bravery, enables them to maintain a sort of quasi independence. They are free from the conscription, have a governor, or Caimakam, chosen from among themselves, and their taxes are little more than nominal. The Druses of the Lebanon come under the special statute relating to the government of that province, and as this is subject to the supervision of the six European treaty powers, their position is secured, and they have no cause of grievance, though they are in close contact with their neighbours, the Maronites, with whom they live on terms of considerable tension. The Druses of Galilee differ in position from the other two sections of the nation, in that they enjoy no privileges of any kind, but are, on the contrary, less fortunately placed in their relations to the government than either Moslems or Christians, the former being naturally, to a certain extent, favored by their government, and the latter being always able, in case of a grievance, to appeal to some Christian European power. These Druses are, however, absolutely without protection of any kind, and have many grievances unredressed, and many acts of hostility on the part of the peasantry of other religions, among whom they live, to struggle against. The only consolation they enjoy is the support and comfort they derive from the close tribal family connection which they keep up with the other two more fortunate branches of the nation. It is easy to perceive, therefore, why they should attach great value to these religious gatherings, and utilize them for secular purposes. There can be no doubt that the character of their religion, with the secrecy which surrounds it, enables them to organize in a special manner, and that the theocratic element which enters into their political constitution gives them a cohesion, a unity, and a power for combined action which the Christian sects, with their jealousies, bigotry, and internal dissensions, do not enjoy.

[HATTIN AND IRBID.]

Haifa, June 22.—While my two days' experiences at the Neby Schaib, described in my last two letters, were in the highest degree novel and picturesque, and enabled me to obtain an unusual insight into the manners and customs and religious observances of the Druse nation, my stay at this celebrated shrine of their pilgrimage was by no means destitute of archæological interest. The village of Hattin, which is in the immediate neighbourhood of the tomb of the prophet, forms the centre of many sacred and historical associations, while it is in itself a place of unusual beauty of situation.

In the overhanging rocks on the other side of the gorge, immediately opposite my tent, were several sepulchral chambers, all traditional burying-places of persons more or less historical. Some of these I examined. The largest was one entered by a doorway, which had recently been inhabited, for the framework of a wooden door to it still remained. It was supposed to be the burial-place of one of Jethro's daughters. We are told by Josephus that his family followed the Israelites out of Midian. Its last occupant was an Indian hermit, who had lived here in solitude for three years, when, getting tired of his seclusion, he had gone to Tiberias about a year ago, married there, and immediately disappeared with his wife, no one knew whither.

About a hundred yards from the Neby there issues from the mouth of the gorge a copious spring which, in fact, forms the source of a brook, that ultimately finds its way into the Sea of Galilee. It commences its beneficent course, however, by fertilizing a large area immediately surrounding the village, where flourishing gardens of oranges, lemons, figs, apricots, pomegranates, and other fruit-trees impart an air of luxuriant fertility to the landscape not common in these parts. Among these gardens is one which was purchased a few years ago by Sir Moses Montefiore, and presented by him to the Jews of Tiberias. Here I went, at the invitation of the overseer, and, seated on mats under the spreading arms of a fig-tree, I listened, while I sipped his coffee, to his tale of woe: how last year he had resisted what he considered an exorbitant charge for taxes, how his garden had in consequence been invaded and despoiled by the tax-gatherers; how, being a British-protected subject, and the garden being the property of British subjects, he had appealed to the British consul for redress; how he had spent £50 in the effort to obtain it, and had found British protection not only a broken, but an expensive reed to trust to; and how he was driven, by the refusal of the British government to protect its subjects, to try and protect himself by the plentiful expenditure of backsheesh. I explained to him that it was not the habit of the British government to protect its subjects, but rather to abandon them, even though they might be of exalted rank, and their lives might be at stake; and then I went in search of ruins.

I found some immediately adjoining the garden. What had evidently once formed part of an old Byzantine church was here turned into a mosque; and upon one of the stones was a curious Cufic inscription. In some of the other gardens were traces of foundations, indicating that in old times Hattin must have been the site of a considerable town. It is about two miles from the ruins of Irbid (which is no doubt the Arbela of Josephus), and is probably the Caphar Hittia of the Talmud, but I find no mention of the Hattin ruins in the memoirs of the Palestine Exploration Fund, nor of the Cufic inscription which I found. The way to Irbid lies across the plain, on which a collection of seven basalt stones in a ring are called the “Hajaret en Nusara,” or “stones of the Christians,” because tradition has it that it was here that Christ performed the miracle of the seven loaves and two fishes.

The plain was now waving with grain, nor would it be possible to imagine a more fertile or luxuriant upland. On its margin, where it breaks off abruptly into the marvellous gorge of El-Hamam, with its precipitous sides rising twelve hundred feet sheer up from the little stream which trickles at their base, are the ruins of Irbid, interesting as containing the remains of the oldest Jewish synagogue probably to be found in Palestine.

The steep hillside which slopes down to the edge of the cliff is very rocky, and numerous sarcophagi are carved on the surfaces of the natural slabs. The largest measure from six feet to six feet five inches long, and one foot ten inches deep, being round at the head and square at the foot, which is slightly deeper. There was a ledge cut round to receive the stone cover, and a channel made to keep the surface water from running in. They were of all sizes, some, evidently, for small children and babies. But the most remarkable tomb was one which opened out of a deep, rock-cut chamber, which appeared to have been in connection with a wine-press. The antechamber formed a sunk court, about twenty feet by ten, and contained a sarcophagus. It opened into a tomb containing six loculi. My guide was the Jew who had entertained me in the garden, and who was well versed in local traditions.

He informed me that here were supposed to be buried four of the sons of Jacob, he did not know which, and Jochabed and Dinah. He also pointed out to me the tomb of the Rabbi Nitai, who was supposed to have built the synagogue I had been examining, and who was a native of the place, and lived about two hundred years B.C.; also a mound of stones covering apparently a rock tomb, which he declared was the burial-place of Seth, the son of Adam; but, although from much habit I am accustomed to swallow a fair amount of traditional information, I was unable to push my credulity thus far. It is described, however, by the Rabbi Gerson, A.D. 1561, as being in a cave with a spring to which a flight of steps led down. The tombs of Zerah and Zephaniah were also pointed out. Indeed, there are few places in Palestine where in the same limited area such a number of distinguished personages of sacred history are buried as in the neighbourhood of Arbela, or Irbid. I do not now include the tombs of the numerous rabbis whom the Jews hold sacred. If it has a character for sanctity, it must at one time have had a reputation for strength. From its position it must always have been a military stronghold. Josephus tells us, in his “Life,” that when he was Governor of Galilee he fortified it, and laid up stores of grain here; and it is without doubt the Casale Ardelle of the Teutonic knights (1250 A.D.), the d being an error for b, as it is mentioned in connection with Tiberias and Beisan, both places not very distant.

The only Biblical reference to this place is that made by Hosea, when he says, “Therefore shall a tumult arise among thy people; all thy fortresses shall be spoiled, as Shahnan spoiled Beth-Arbel in the day of battle.” As we stand here we can almost look into the caverns with which the face of the opposite cliff is perforated, while the one on the edge of which we stand is literally honeycombed with these subterranean abodes. They are of immense extent, and are placed over each other in different stories; some are walled up, leaving doors and windows. Some idea of the extent of this singular natural fastness may be formed from the fact that it is capable of containing six thousand men. The caves communicate with each other by subterranean galleries. These are the fortified caverns mentioned by Josephus in connection with Arbela. Bachides, the general of Demetrius, the third King of Syria, when he invaded Palestine, encamped at Arbela and subdued those who had taken refuge in the caves. This event is narrated in Maccabees, where the caves are called “stories.” It was here, also, that Herod the Great had his famous fight with the robbers who had made their dens in the caves, letting down his soldiers in baskets, and fighting them in mid-air.

I was determined to push my explorations to the summits of the rocky crests which frowned above, and are called the Horns of Hattin. Scrambling up the steep, rocky hillsides, we found ourselves at last obliged to leave our horses and make our way on foot over the huge blocks of basalt which are thickly strewn around these singular peaks. On reaching the top we found that they had been artificially superimposed one on the top of another, so as to form a rocky rampart of immense solidity. Both crests had, at some period of remote antiquity, been thus fortified. Beneath one of them were the foundations and ruins of an ancient town which the inhabitants call “Medinet el-Inweileb,” or “the ruins of the long tower.” At the southeast of the hill is an oblong cavern cut in the rock and eased with cement, which may formerly have been a cistern; and not far from it are the foundations of a building which the natives say was a Christian church before the conquest of the country by the Mohammedans, who subsequently converted it into a mosque. Nothing could be more striking than the view from the summit of the highest horn. Immediately beneath us, some six or seven hundred feet below, I looked down into the gloomy gorge, with the white walls of the Neby Schaib contrasting with the black basalt rocks, its terraces covered with groups of brightly costumed Druses, their songs as they danced in circles reaching us on the still air of evening, and beyond, the modern village of Hattin, surrounded by orange-groves and fruit-gardens of the most brilliant green. Stretching away on all other sides were vast uplands of waving grain, till they either sunk away into valleys or terminated at the base of hills which rose abruptly above them. To the northeast the precipitous sides of the Wady Hamam, honeycombed with caves, formed a vista through which appeared in the distance a green strip of the plain of Genesareth; beyond it the waters of the Sea of Galilee, seventeen hundred feet below us, gleamed in the setting sun. From its eastern margin rose the steep cliffs above which is the vast plateau of Jaulan, once the grazing lands of the flocks and herds of Job, while a line of conical volcanic peaks, backed by snow-clad Hermon, closed the prospect.

[THE JEWISH FEAST OF THE BURNING AT TIBERIAS.]

Haifa, July 8.—In the early days of May there is annually celebrated at Tiberias a festival in honour of the Rabbi Mâir, at the large shrine built above his tomb, within a few hundred yards from the sulphur baths. Thither, having terminated my visit to the Druses, I determined to repair to witness the nocturnal ceremonies.

I was escorted to the extremity of the village of Hattin by a band of young Druses, firing guns and singing complimentary odes, who thus sought to speed with honour the parting guest, and soon found myself crossing the plain and entering upon the steep descent that leads to the shores of the lake. It was a soft, balmy evening, about sunset, when I reached Tiberias, and found the whole population in movement.

The distance from the town to the tomb of the rabbi is about a mile and a half along the lake shore, and the road was crowded with merry groups of Jewish men, women, and children in gala dress, all flocking to the place of meeting. The two or three boats of which the lake can boast were even put into requisition, and were slowly drifting down, their large sails hardly filled with the gentle breeze, and packed to overflowing with women and children. Tiberias contains between three and four thousand Jews, and certainly more than half that number must have turned out, to say nothing of those attracted from Jerusalem, Safed, and other places. As those who inhabit Tiberias are nearly all Sephardim, or Spanish Jews, the men wear the Oriental dress, while the women indulge in a costume in which the Western fashions seem grafted on those of the East. The visitors, who were for the most part Ashkenazim, or German Jews, could easily be distinguished, as they always appear in the clothes to which they are accustomed in eastern Europe. It must be confessed that the flowing robe of Asia is preferable to the long coat or gabardine of Russia and Roumania.