me a
catch-all for the off-scourings of the land, people of all creeds and
none, aliens, mongrels, soldiers of fortune, and citizens of the
high-road. It was the strongest fortress and probably the richest town
of Galilee in Christ's day, but so far as we know He never entered it.

After the fall of Jerusalem, strangely enough, the Jews made it their
favourite city, the seat of their Sanhedrim and the centre of
rabbinical learning. Here the famous Rabbis Jehuda and Akiba and the
philosopher Maimonides taught. Here the Mishna and the Gemara were
written. And here, to-day, two-thirds of the five thousand inhabitants
are Jews, many of them living on the charity of their kindred in Europe,
and spending their time in the study of the Talmud while they wait for
the Messiah who shall restore the kingdom to Israel. You may see their
flat fur caps, dingy gabardines, long beards and melancholy faces on
every street in the drowsy little city, dreaming (among fleas and
fevers) of I know not what impossible glories to come.

You may see, also, on the hill near the Serai, the splendid Mission
Hospital of the United Free Church of Scotland, where for twenty-three
years Doctor Torrance has been ministering to the body and soul of
Tiberias in the name of Jesus. Do you find the building too large and
fine, the lovely garden too beautiful with flowers, the homes of the
doctors, and teachers, and helpers of the sick and wounded, too clean
and healthful and orderly? Do you say "To what purpose is this waste?"
Then I know not how to measure your ignorance. For you have failed to
see that this is the embassy of the only King who still cares for the
true welfare of this forsaken, bedraggled, broken-down Tiberias.

On the evening of our arrival, however, all these things are hidden from
us in the dusk. We drive past the ruined gate of the city, a mile along
the southern road toward the famous Hot Baths. Here, on a little terrace
above the lake, between the road and the black basalt cliffs, our camp
is pitched, and through the darkness

'We hear the water lapping on the crag,
And the long ripple washing in the reeds.'

In the freshness of the early morning the sunrise pours across the lake
into our tents. There is a light, cool breeze blowing from the north,
rippling the clear, green water, (of a hue like the stone called _aqua
marina_), with a thousand flaws and wrinkles, which catch the flashing
light and reflect the deep blue sky, an