travellers.
Some of the party went bathing. We all had our several luncheons, some smoked, all got into shady nooks by the water-side; and I, with my heart full, lay meditating on the journey we had hitherto made.
At length I had been permitted by God’s good providence to traverse the territory of Moses and the chosen people antecedent to the writing of the Pentateuch, when they were warring upon Ammon and Moab. How solemn are the sensations derived from pondering upon periods of such very hoar antiquity—a time when the deliverance at the Red Sea, the thunders of Sinai, the rebellion of Korah and Dathan, the erection of the tabernacle, and the death of Aaron, were still fresh in the memories of living witnesses; and the manna was still their food from heaven, notwithstanding the supplies from the cultivated country they were passing through, (Josh. v. 12.) Elisha did well in after times on the banks of Jordan, when he cried out, “Where is the Lord God of Elijah?” And we may exclaim, in contemplation of these marvellous events of the still more remote ages, “Where is the Lord God of Moses, who with a mighty hand and stretched-out arm”—“redeemed His people from their enemies; for His mercy endureth for ever!” Nations and generations may rise and pass away; phases of dominion and civilisation may vary under Assyrian, Egyptian, Hellenic, and Roman forms, or under our modern modifications; yet all this is transitory. The God of creation, providence, and grace, He lives and abides for ever. His power is still great as in the days of old, His wisdom unsearchable, and His goodness infinite. Ay, and this dispenser of kingdoms is also the guide of the humble in heart, and He cares for the smallest concerns of individual persons who rest upon Him.
Strengthened by these and similar reflections, with ardent aspirations for the future, I rose up and pursued my journey, as Bunyan’s pilgrim might have done, under the heartfelt assurance that “happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help.”
We were now leaving behind us much of the Old Testament country—not exclusively that of the Mosaic era, but the land which had been trodden by the patriarchs Abraham and Israel on their several removals from Padan-aram to Canaan. But, while looking back upon the grand landscape outline with an intense degree of interest, it may be well to remark that, among all our company, there was a feeling of uncertainty as to the geographical boundaries of the lands possessed by the old people of Ammon, Moab, and Bashan. Probably there had been some fluctuations of their towns and confines between the time of the exodus and the prophecies of Isaiah and Jeremiah.
One thing is certain—that we all, with one heart, were confident that God spake by Moses and the prophets; and that, with the incidents, the people and the local names we had lately passed among, we might as soon believe in the non-existence of the sun and stars, as that the books called “The Law of Moses” are not in every word a record of infallible truth.
We had now a different journey, and a different set of scenes before us, entering into the half tribe of Manasseh.
Ascending the steep mountain-sides with two of the guides, I preceded the rest of the party, and even the baggage mules. In perhaps half an hour, (it may be more,) I came to a triumphal arch, the commencement of Jerash. One of the guides told me that they call this the Ammân Gate of the old city; for that, in ancient times, there were two brothers, one named Ammân, and the other Jerash. Each of them built a city, and gave it his own name; but called the gate nearest to his brother’s city, by the name of that brother.
At this gateway I observed the anomaly of the columns on each side of the principal opening, having their capitals at the bottom of the shafts, and resting on the pediments, though in an upright position. It was very ridiculous. When could this have been done—at the original erection of the gate, or at a later rebuilding, after an earthquake had shaken the pillars? It would seem to me to be the former, as they are posted against the wall, and this is not disturbed or altered. The columns and the curve of the portal are gone, so that it cannot be seen whether originally they had capitals on the heads also of the columns. It is most probable that those remaining are not the true capitals, inasmuch as they have no volutes.
Passing by inferior monuments of antiquity—such as a sepulchre, a single column, a sarcophagus, and then a square elevated pavement in good condition, upon which are several sarcophagi, some of them broken, and all with the lids displaced—I came to a large circus of Ionic columns, almost all standing, and joined to each other at the top by architraves. Thence holding on the same direction forwards due north, our way was between a double row of grand Corinthian columns with their capitals, and occasional temples to the right and left. At the termination of this, but without continuing the same line, between columns of another Grecian order, I turned aside, at a vast Roman bath, to a spring of water, the commencement of a running stream, in a small meadow of tall grass and thorns, intending to pitch my tent there; but soon changed my mind, and got myself established within a wing of the Roman bath, which stood on higher ground, and had a good roof upon it.
The other gentlemen on coming up, adopted the choice of their dragomans and muleteers, near the water, after having the thorns and thistles cleared away. A fresh afternoon breeze that sprang up was peculiarly grateful to men and cattle.
After some rest, I proceeded to stroll about—first of all to the great Temple of the Sun, on a rising ground to the west of the great colonnade, which, besides the columns along all the sides of the edifice, has a conspicuous portico in front, consisting of twelve magnificent Corinthian columns, a few of which are fallen. Thence I walked to the Naumachia, near the southern extremity of the city, (that by which we had arrived,) and found this in good condition, with the seats remaining, and the channel well defined which conveyed water for the exhibitions from the above-mentioned spring. The form is a long oval, flattened at one end.
In passing once more between the double line of Corinthian columns, I counted fifty-five of them standing, besides fragments and capitals of the missing ones lying on the ground.
From this I diverged at right angles, through a street of small public buildings, towards the bridge over the stream, (and this I called Bridge Street—part of the pavement still remains, consisting of long slabs laid across the whole width from house to house;) then upon the bridge, as far as its broken condition would allow, and returned to my home—everywhere among scattered fragments of entablature; numerous altars entire, and sculptured with garlands; also broken buildings, with niches embellished inside with sculptured ornament. In all my exploration, however, I found no statues or fragments of statues—the Mohammedan iconoclasts had long ago destroyed all these; but there were some remains of inscriptions, much defaced or worn away by the work of time.
The natural agencies by which the edifices have come to ruin seem to be—first, earthquakes; then the growth of weeds, thorns, and even trees, between the courses of stone, after the population ceased; or rain and snow detaching small pieces, which were followed by larger; also sometimes a sinking of the ground; and besides these common causes of decay, there comes the great destroyer—man.
Yet nature is always picturesque, even after the demolition of the works of human art or genius; and it is pleasing to see the tendrils, leaves, and scarlet berries of the nightshade playfully twining among the sculptured friezes which are scattered about in every position but straight lines; or other plants between the volutes, rivalling the acanthus foliage of the classic capitals.
Sunset: a beautiful landscape all around; and a pretty view of the travellers’ tents, the Arabs, and the cattle below me.
After dinner I walked by starlight along the Ionic colonnade, which is a further continuation northwards of the Corinthian, and found nearly the whole length, with the intermediate pavement, remaining, consisting of squares about two feet in length, laid down in diamond pattern.
At night there were flickering lights and varieties of human voices below; the frogs croaking loud near the rivulet; and the rooks, whom I had dislodged from their home within the Roman bath, had taken refuge on the trees about us, unable to get to rest, being disturbed by our unusual sights and sounds.
Wednesday, 16th.—A visitor came early—namely, Shaikh Yusuf—with two of his people from Soof. The old man exhibited numerous