first time what is distinctively known as the land of Patriarch,
Prophet, Priest, and King--the land of my Redeemer's earthly
pilgrimage--the world's best Holy Land! After some time spent in
viewing that almost matchless scene, and in gathering mountain
lilies, we began our descent into the most remarkable depression
in the world--the great Ghor of the Jordan. The next few hours
afforded little of pleasure. Careful attention had to be given to
our horses as we wound about among the rocks. The horses of both
my dragoman and muleteer fell on this trip, but without serious
results to either horses or riders. It was quite wearying to
proceed thus, so when we finally reached a large sloping rock
under which was a kind of stagnant pool--the only water we had
seen since leaving Coefrinje--I was glad to know that there we
would lunch, even though I could not drink of the water.

This rocky wady is like a prison-house to me. But while eating I
hear sweet strains of music somewhere on the mountains--it is from
a shepherd's pipe. Scanning the heights I see far above me
shepherds with their flocks of sheep and goats, and the music that
I hear is from their reed-harps which they play as they lead the
way over rugged mountain paths to find greener pastures and better
waters.

We tarry here only a little while. Not long after lunch we pass a
grotto of small size in the hill-side. Evidently the carven ruins
are the remains of an ancient temple that stood here in the days
when a pagan people held possession of the land; and I feel sure
that a fountain must exist here a good part of the year, though
now it is dry.