d with the statement that it was steadily and
miraculously rene wed; that, though the cattle of the region licked its
surface, it never grew smaller. Again a thrill of joy went through the
monasteries and pulpits of Christendom at this increasing "evidence of
the truth of Scripture."

Toward the end of the thirteenth century there appeared in Palestine
a traveller superior to most before or since--Count Burchard, monk of
Mount Sion. He had the advantage of knowing something of Arabic, and his
writings show him to have been observant and thoughtful. No statue of
Lot's wife appears to have been washed clean of the salt rock at his
visit, but he takes it for granted that the Dead Sea is "the mouth of
hell," and that the vapour rising from it is the smoke from Satan's
furnaces.

These ideas seem to have become part of the common stock, for Ernoul,
who travelled to the Dead Sea during the same century, always speaks of
it as the "Sea of Devils."

Near the beginning of the fourteenth century appeared the book of far
wider influence which bears the name of Sir John Mandeville, and in
the various editions of it myths and legends of the Dead Sea and of the
pillar of salt burst forth into wonderful luxuriance.

This book tells us that masses of fiery matter are every day thrown up
from the water "as large as a horse"; that, though it contains no living
thing, it has been shown that men thrown into it can not die; and,
finally, as if to prove the worthlessness of devout testimony to the
miraculous, he says: "And whoever throws a piece of iron therein, it
floats; and whoever throws a feather therein, it sinks to the bottom;
and, because that is contrary to nature, I was not willing to believe it
until I saw it."

The book, of course, mentions Lot's wife, and says that the pillar of
salt "stands there to-day," and "has a right salty taste."

Injustice has perhaps been done to the compilers of this famous work
in holding them liars of the first magnitude. They simply abhorred
scepticism, and thought it meritorious to believe all pious legends.
The ideal Mandeville was a man of overmastering faith, and resembled
Tertullian in believing some things "because they are impossible"; he
was doubtless entirely conscientious; the solemn ending of the
book shows that he listened, observed, and wrote under the deepest
conviction, and those who re-edited his book were probably just as
honest in adding the later stories of pious travellers