many as the identical pit into which he was thrown. A stately Turk of
Damascus, with four servants behind him, came riding up as we were resting
in the gateway of the khan, and, in answer to my question, informed me
that the well was so named from Nebbee Youssuf (the Prophet Joseph), and
not from Sultan Joseph Saladin. He took us for his countrymen, accosting
me first in Turkish, and, even after I had talked with him some time in
bad Arabic, asked me whether I had been making a pilgrimage to the tombs
of certain holy Moslem saints, in the neighborhood of Jaffa. He joined
company with us, however, and shared his pipe with me, as we continued our
journey. We rode for two hours more over hills bare of trees, but covered
thick with grass and herbs, and finally lost our way. François went ahead,
dashing through the fields of barley and lentils, and we reached the path
again, as the Waters of Merom came in sight. We then descended into the
Valley of the Upper Jordan, and encamped opposite the lake, at Ain
el-Mellaha (the Fountain of the Salt-Works), the first source of the
sacred river. A stream of water, sufficient to turn half-a-dozen mills,
gushes and gurgles up at the foot of the mountain. There are the remains
of an ancient dam, by which a large pool was formed for the irrigation of
the valley. It still supplies a little Arab mill below the fountain. This
is a frontier post, between the jurisdictions of the Pashas of Jerusalem
and Damascus, and the _mukkairee_ of the Greek Caloyer, who left us at
Tiberias, was obliged to pay a duty of seven and a half piastres on
fifteen mats, which he had bought at Jerusalem for one and a half piastres
each. The poor man will perhaps make a dozen piastres (about half a
dollar) on these mats at Damascus, after carrying them on his mule for
more than two hundred miles.

We pitched our tents on the grassy meadow below the mill--a charming spot,
with Tell el-Khanzir (the hill of wild boars) just in front, over the
Waters of Merom, and the snow-streaked summit of Djebel esh-Shekh--the