t the other, after
giving us some deliciously cold water, got upon a pile of rubbish, and
stood regarding us with open mouth while we took breakfast. So far from
this being a cause of annoyance, I felt really glad that our presence had
agitated the stagnant waters of his mind.

The day was hazy and sultry, but the panoramic view from Mount Tabor was
still very fine. The great Plain of Esdraelon lay below us like a vast
mosaic of green and brown--jasper and verd-antique. On the west, Mount
Carmel lifted his head above the blue horizon line of the Mediterranean.
Turning to the other side, a strip of the Sea of Galilee glimmered deep
down among the hills, and the Ghor, or the Valley of the Jordan,
stretched like a broad gash through them. Beyond them, the country of
Djebel Adjeloun, the ancient Decapolis, which still holds the walls of
Gadara and the temples and theatres of Djerash, faded away into vapor,
and, still further to the south, the desolate hills of Gilead, the home of
Jephthah. Mount Hermon is visible when the atmosphere is clear but we were
not able to see it.

From the top of Mount Tabor to Tiberias, on the Sea of Galilee, is a
journey of five hours, through a wild country, with but one single
miserable village on the road. At first we rode through lonely dells,
grown with oak and brilliant with flowers, especially the large purple
mallow, and then over broad, treeless tracts of rolling land, but
partially cultivated. The heat was very great; I had no thermometer, but
should judge the temperature to have been at least 95 deg. in the shade. From
the edge of the upland tract, we looked down on the Sea of Galilee--a
beautiful sheet of water sunk among the mountains, and more than 300 feet
below the level of the Mediterranean. It lay unruffled in the bottom of
the basin, reflecting the peaks of the bare red mountains beyond it.
Tiberias was at our very feet, a few palm trees alone relieving the
nakedness of its dull walls. After taking a welcome drink at the Fountain
of Fig-trees, we descended to the town, which has a desolate and forlorn
air. Its walls have been partly thrown down by earthquakes, and never
repaired. We found our tents already pitched on the bank above the lake,
and under one of the tottering towers.

Not a breath of air was stirring; the red hills smouldered in the heat,
and the waters of Genesareth at our feet glimmered with an oily
smoothness, unbroken by a ripple. We untwisted our turbans, k