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our camp with the sail spread. Large flights of aquatic birds as usual flitting and diving about the lake, and the fish abundant, rising and splashing at the surface.

      For an hour or two before starting on my way southwards, I lay on the beach contemplating the lovely scenery, and collecting my thoughts, both as to the past and for the future. The principal object of meditation was of course the placid lake itself—

      “Dear with the thoughts of Him we love so well.”

      Then the noble old mountain of Hermon, crowned with snow, now called Jebel esh Shaikh; which the Sidonians called Sirion; and the Amorites called Shenir, (Deut. iii. 9.)

      Next the ever-celebrated Jordan, with its typical resemblance to the limit dividing this life from the purchased possession of heaven—recalling so much of bright images of Christian poetry employed to cheer the weary pilgrim, in anticipation of the time when

      “We’ll range the sweet fields on the banks of the river,

       And sing of salvation for ever and ever!”

      Gratefully acknowledging the providence which had brought us happily so far, the present writer then girded up his mental loins, and returned to Jerusalem; but on the way occasionally glancing towards the eastward range of mountains—the land of Gilead—now called Belka and ’Ajloon, lately traversed; and with a feeling unknown since the verses were first echoed in childhood, the words involuntarily issue from the lips:

      “Sihon, king of the Amorites,

       For His mercy endureth for ever,

       And Og the king of Bashan,

       For His mercy endureth for ever!”

      Having learned that ’Akeeli Aga el Hhâsi was encamped on the Jordan side, at no great distance, I resolved to visit this personage, who has since then become much more famous as a French protégé, being an Arab of Algeria, but at this time only noted as having been the guide of the United States Expedition to the Dead Sea in 1848, and as being at the moment commissioned by the Turks as a Kaimakam of the district, seeing that they could not hold even nominal rule there without him.

      At my starting there came up from his post a messenger, Hhasan Aga, the Bosniac officer of Bashi Bozuk, to conduct me to the tents. The Aga was dressed in a crimson silk long coat, over which was a scarlet jacket embroidered in gold, and on his legs the Albanian full kilt, or fustinella, of white calico; his saddle cloth was of pea-green silk with a white border, and yellow worsted network protected the horse’s belly from flies, also a rich cloth with tassels lay over the horse’s loins.

      Proceeded southwards, and passed the broken bridge before mentioned. Harvest everywhere in progress, and the produce being carried home on asses to the village of ’Abadîyeh, adjoining to the houses of which were square and flat tents made of palm-leaf matting as residences of the Ghawârineh Arabs.

      Came to the ruins of a wretched little village called Belhhamîyeh, formerly under the patronage of the ’Adwân; and thence appeared in full view upon the hill above the great castle of the Crusaders called Belvoir, but now named Cocab, or Cocab el Hawa. Upon the plain by the river side was the encampment scattered about, and several European tents among the others denoted the presence of Turkish soldiers.

      We could see the Jis’r el Mejâma’a, the bridge leading across to the land of Gilead.

      Rode up to ’Akeeli’s tent, and found with him the formidable Shaikh Fendi el Faiz of the Beni Sukh’r, and a musician with his rebâbeh. A slave was making coffee on a fire of dried camel’s dung, although it was in the fast of Ramadân. We conversed guardedly about Dëâb and the rest of the ’Adwân, and the camp at Dahair el Hhumâr. ’Akeeli then had brought in for his amusement a wild beast called a fahh’d, differing from a panther in being larger and in having black stripes down the face; it seemed wild enough, but was confined by a rope, the pulling of which, and alternately patting the creature was the amusement or occupation of the Aga. They brought me some coffee and water to drink, whereupon ’Akeeli called for some too, and said to me—“These fools of Mohammedans are keeping Ramadân, but I am a Frenchman,” he then drank off the water. This man, whom Lynch, the American commander, styles a “magnificent savage,” was savage enough in manners, and dirty, and half-naked. He has since, however, made his influence felt, and may perhaps do so again.

      Altogether, my reception was not one in accordance with my notions of Arab hospitality. Perhaps he did not wish me to espy what was going on about him in company with Shaikh Fendi el Faiz, so I took my leave, riding towards Cocab. At an Arab encampment we got some Leben Sheneeni, (soured fresh milk, most delicious in hot weather,) and drank almost a pailful of it between myself, the kawwâs, and the muleteer. The heat was prodigious. In the camp were only women and children at home: the former employed in weaving and dyeing woollen trappings for horses—serving to keep off the plague of flies—of which articles we bought two.

      ’Akeeli had sent an escort to accompany us as far us the castle. One of the men was a care-worn old fellow from the far north, wearing a very heavy sheepskin coat with wide sleeves, to keep out the scorching heat of the sun, and his face covered with a mandeel or cotton handkerchief, to protect him from reflection from the ground; his venerable musket terminated in a rusty bayonet.

      We went southwards until opposite the bridge, then turned westward to the hills, and forded the water of Wadi Berreh. The ascent was difficult and long, during which our escort carried on a conversation in the Arnaout language.

      At the summit I sent on the servants and baggage to Jeneen, there to pitch the tents for us—the sheepskin man, the kawwâs, and I turned aside to survey the old castle at Cocab el Hawa. It has been a large and noble erection in a strong natural position; the trench and sloping walls are pretty perfect, the stone-work being still sharp-edged; the portion of the defences looking towards the Jordan consists of large stones rabbeted, equal to any work in Jerusalem or elsewhere, which must be an indication of a fortress long before the time of the Crusaders—though the stones are not of dimensions equal to those of the Jerusalem Temple wall.

      All the masonry, except the rabbeted work, is constructed from the dark basalt which abounds in that district. All the space within walls, not remaining entire, and part of the trench, is occupied by miserable hovels, forming a sort of village, with patches of tobacco cultivation attached to the dwellings.

      But what can one say in description of the glorious prospect from that eminence? It seemed to me to exceed the wonders of Nebi Osha: the principal objects in view being the Lake of Tiberias, the river Jordan, Tabor, Duhy, Beisân, Carmel, Hermon, a stretch of the Hauran, and the cleft of the Yarmuk. One thing surprised me, which was to see how far South Cocab is from Tabor, it had never appeared so before from the direction of Jeneen or of Nazareth. It was due east from Duhy; the best way of getting at it from Nabloos is across the plain of Jezreel. It is distinguishable from a great distance by means of a white-washed tower standing in the midst of the castle.

      Forwards we went through a village called Kifereh. As usual the ride over the plain is very tedious and tiring to the limbs—a hilly country in moderation is much more comfortable. We reached Shutta, then the tents of the Shiûkh Arabs close under hills, and beneath a hill called Nooris, and at a mill called Jalood, we were overtaken by rain late in the year, being the 19th of May.

      The sun set a good while before our arriving at Zer’een (Jezreel); the road was not straight, for a détour was necessary in order to ensure firm ground among the marshes; stagnated water abounds, that has been poured down from the hills of Gilboa. We passed the natural cavern from which the Jalood water issues on the side of a hill. A large cistern is formed at the place. The inhabitants—such as we saw occasionally—were very unhealthy in appearance.

      Night came on, and dew with it, to which we had been long unaccustomed. The storm cleared off, and we travelled several hours by moonlight. Then we saw abundance of fire-flies flitting across our way.

      Overtaking our luggage, we all jogged on slowly together, very tired and silent, till a horseman appeared, who galloped off on our inquiry, “Who goes there?”