ever insignificant now, it must then have been a place of strength. Before the waters of Megiddo the right wing of Sisera's army took up its position at the great battle above described.

At a subsequent period, Megiddo witnessed a conflict which ended with a very different result. In the reign of Josiah, Pharaoh-nechoh, King of Egypt, proclaimed war against the King of Assyria. His way to the east lay through Palestine. Josiah, for some mysterious reason, resolved to prevent him. Pharaoh, having no quarrel with the King of Judah, counselled him not to interfere-"What have I to do with thee, thou King of Judah? I come not against thee this day, but against the house wherewith I have war; for God commanded me to make haste; forbear thee from meddling with God, who is with me, that He destroy thee not." Josiah spurned the advice. Assembling his troops, he advanced on the Egyptians at Megiddo, and there this good prince was mortally wounded and carried dead to Jerusalem. Considerable portions of the plain, here, were under cultivation. The soil was reddish, but good, and now and again we crossed grassy swamps indicating the presence of moisture. Fellahs, all armed, were variously employed-ploughing, watering, cutting down green crop, &c. If they are "bad men," as Moses called them, they have equally bad neighbours. Every year hordes of Ishmaelites, with their camels, horses, and herds come across the Jordan, just as the crops become usable, and eat up every green thing. Being lawless banditti, owning no authority, travellers are exposed to great risks at their hand. Few, indeed, succeed in crossing Esdraelon without either being plundered or paying a heavy backsheesh, amounting to much the same thing, and the least show of resistance is as certain to end in something worse. We saw the "black tents of Kedar" in scores, dotting the margin of the plain, and met several parties of their bronzed proprietors. Their dress was scant and peculiar, consisting of a turban which almost concealed the face, a striped camel-hair blanket round the shoulders, bare legs, and sandals on their feet. Some of them were mounted on beautiful Arab steeds and heavily armed. On passing, we took care promptly to offer the accustomed salaam, which, to our comfort, was in every instance politely returned. The day was excessively hot-probably not under 130 degrees-and as Moses, in bis anxiety, hurried us along, we rode twenty miles without a pause.

About midway in the plain, close to the mountains of Samaria, stands Tell Kaimon, indicating the site of some ancient town. On its western side is Wady el-Milh, or the "Salt Valley." This wady is the boundary line between Carmel and Samaria. Some of these places, however, were scarcely distinguishable from the plain, and the unvarying scene for so many miles rendered the road, in a painful degree, mono

tonous.

Towards the other extremity of Esdraelon we came to a large sycamore tree, the only tree in the district, and having been in the saddle for six hours, we were glad to rest and lunch in the shade of its branches. There were beautiful wildflowers growing near by, and tired though I was, I set out to botanize and secure some trophies. A fine plant of the Tritomi species grew from a rocky fissure. I was anxious to remove it with the root, and while trying to dislodge it, ran some risk of being bit by a serpent which was coiled up in the hole. Resuming the march, a short ride brought us to the roots of Carmel, and to what was more agreeable, for the time, a fountain of excellent water. This was the fountain es-Sa'adeh, one of the tributaries of the Kishon.

Mount Carmel, and "that ancient river, the river Kishon," are a history of themselves! The Kishon is small during the hot season; but from its numerous tributaries, and the deep bed it has scooped in the plain, we could see that at other seasons it must be a powerful stream. Its liability to a sudden and great rise, from the near mountain torrents when rain falls, is evident. Elijah warned Ahab when he saw that rain was coming, "Prepare thy chariot, and get thee down, that the rain stop thee not." And to the same cause, humanly speaking, is to be attributed the sudden destruction of a great part of Sisera's army. Farther west, the main channel of the Kishon touches closely the base of Carmel. This, in all probability, was the place where Elijah slew the prophets of Baal. After demonstrating to Ahab the existence of the true God, and that the worshippers of Baal, whom he countenanced, were idolaters, he said "Take the prophets of Baal; let not one of them escape. And they took them, and Elijah brought them down to the brook Kishon, and slew them there."

The scenery here rapidly changed from the plain open country to hill and dale, the fountain and the flood. On our left rose abruptly the variegated ridges and wooded heights of Carmel. The hills of Galilee, covered with oak trees and underwood, fell down in graceful slopes on our right, leaving a narrow vale between, through which the Kishon flows, and our path lay. Immediately in front was the stirring town of Haifa, and beyond it the plains of Akka or Acre and the Mediterranean sea. Near to Haifa the country was positively beautiful. Large stretches of fine grassy sward; oaks, which looked as if they had seen a thousand winters pass; gardens well stocked with fruit trees and vegetables, and protected by hedges of the prickly pear; and small flocks of sheep and goats herding themselves. In most other places few females were to be seen, but here they predominated. Groups of ladies, as I should name them, for they were evidently of the better sort, sat under these magnificent oaks chatting, and enjoying their pipes and coffee. They were mostly dressed in pure

white flowing robes, after the fashions of Cairo, excepting the veil. Our path lay close by some of these groups of smoking beauties, and we could see that they had open European countenances, black glossy hair, perfumed, no doubt, with mutton suet, and sparkling, speaking eyes. Their supposed descent from the crusaders may account for their western complexion and features. The town of Haifa, which contains some two thousand inhabitants, is prettily situated, and looks white and clean at a distance. But no town in Palestine more belies its exterior. Built on the extremity of a long sandy beach, fortified by a rickety, broken-down wall, with two or three rusty cannon lying about in the mud, and many of the houses mere hovels, it has a most miserable appearance. Entering by the eastern gate, which in itself was a labyrinth, and politely hailed by a sentinel in petticoats, we were ushered at once into the so-called bazaar. Here we saw the place to advantage. The principal street was about nine feet wide. Each side was lined with small spaces about six feet square, innocent of roof or covering, in which haughty Moslems sat among handfuls of silk scarfs, printed cottons, tobacco and pipes, oranges and onions. So narrow was the passage, that at some places these followers of the prophet had to draw in their tawny legs to allow us room to pass. The centre of the street, if street it may be called, was a ditch containing at least six inches depth of liquid filth. Our horses' feet stirred up this common sewer, and the stench was terrible. So bad, that all the stinks we had encountered in Egypt, though mixed and shaken together, would have been weak in comparison. With no feeling of regret, therefore, we escaped through another gate on the west into a purer atmosphere.

We had arranged to quarter for the night in the Latin Convent on the summit of Carmel. Half-an-hour from Haifa brought us to the foot of the mountain staircase leading to the convent. This was a heavy climb of seventeen hundred feet. The stair is cut out of the rock on the mountain side. The steps are high, and at many parts about as perpendicular as those of the great pyramid. We had that day ridden, under a blazing sun, some thirty-five miles, which rendered this last stage sufficiently trying to nerve and muscle. There was no alternative, and once on the ascent we found we dared not attempt to rest, as none of the steps were large enough to hold a horse's four feet at a time. We had therefore to struggle on, and my own feeling was, that I would never reach the top. As in other instances, the fatigue was amply repaid. We reached the convent in time to witness from its lofty balcony, before the sun went down, one of the grandest sights the eye could rest on. North-east, the sharp, spear-like peaks of Hermon seemed to pierce the cloudless sky; directly north rose the snowy crowns of "that goodly mountain Lebanon;" far below, on our right,

lay the lovely bay and city of Acre, famed in modern European history; before us spread out the whole expanse of the Mediterranean; and as we looked on the magnificent scene, the sun, like a blazing fire, plunged into the waters of the Great Sea.

CARMEL by the sea, or the "Fruitful Tree," is one of the most interesting and beautiful of Bible mountains. It is intimately associated with both the prosperity and the desolation of the Hebrew nation. "Uzziah," we read, "had vine-dressers in Carmel," indicating its fertility." As symbolising the glory of Christ's kingdom, Isaiah declares that "the glory of Lebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel and Sharon, they shall see the glory of the Lord;" and Solomon, adopting the same object as prefiguring her beauty, bursts out—“ Thine head upon thee is like Carmel, and the hair of thine head like purple; the King is held in the galleries." Warning the Israelites of coming judgments, Amos was commissioned to announce -"The Lord will roar from Zion, and utter His voice from Jerusalem; and the habitations of the shepherds shall mourn, and the top of Carmel shall wither." And Isaiah describes their actual accomplishment in touching and emphatic terms-" The earth mourneth and languisheth: Lebanon is ashamed and hewn down: Sharon is like a wilderness; and Bashan and Carmel shake off their fruits."

Carmel is not simply a mountain, but an extensive range. Its length is about eighteen miles, its breadth nearly five miles, and its highest peak seventeen hundred and fifty feet above the level of the sea. After all that has befallen the country, Carmel retains to this day a large share of its original beauty. On the north, its oak forests, deep dark dells, and vine-clad terraces, fall down on the fertile plain of 'Akka; while its southern side, a combination of the wild, grand, and fertile, descends on the "Vale of Dor." Shrubby brakes of evergreen plants form a pleasant contrast to the more distant and less productive parts, and may be viewed as at once relics of its ancient glory, and earnests of the future when the Lord "will bring Israel again to his habitation, and he shall feed on Carmel and Bashan, and his soul shall be satisfied upon Mount Ephraim and Gilead.”

"One of the sweetest retreats," says Murray, one of the most luxurious resting-places for the weary traveller in all Palestine, indeed in all Syria, is the Convent of Carmel." Pitched on the summit of an almost perpendicular precipice fifteen hundred feet high, jutting into the sea, with the coast of Dor on the south, Phoenicia on the north, and the crown of Carmel at its back, no more grand or romantic position could have been selected. The building is a square block of large dimensions, with tiers of windows, and a dome or cupola springing out of the centre. The site, of course, is a holy spot, and, like all holy

places, has suffered severely at the hands of infidels. When Napoleon Bonaparte besieged 'Akka, the convent was converted into a French hospital, and on his departure it was plundered and ruined by the Turks. Through the perseverance, fanaticism, and zeal, for fourteen years, of a monk called Jean Battista, the building was restored at a cost of more than half-a-million of francs. For this remarkable service to the Church he was canonised, and a record of his deeds inscribed on the floor of the chapel.

In the neighbouring parts of the mountain there are numerous grottos, the retreats of hermits and anchorites of the middle ages. The chief of these is the "Cave of the Sons of the Prophets," and there is nothing against the idea that it may have sheltered Elijah and other pious Israelites from the sword of persecution. Farther up the mountain, behind the convent, is the scene of Elijah's sacrifice. The locality in every respect corresponds with the Bible narrative, and, although there is no building or ruins to establish its identity, the spot has, from time immemorial, been called by the Arabs el-Maharrakah—the "Burning," or the "Sacrifice." Here, then, we may suppose, stood Jezebel's altar to Baal; from that little fountain which perennially bubbles forth its water Elijah filled the trenches of the altar of the Lord before invoking fire from heaven; on this spot the Lord answered by fire the voice of His servant; and from it four hundred and fifty prophets of the idol were hurled down the mountain and slain at the brook Kishon-Nahr Mukutta-the "River of Slaughter." How confounded and ashamed must Ahab have been at the conduct of Elijah ! Having thus disposed of the worshippers of Baal, the prophet again invokes the interposition of the true God. A destructive famine was prevailing over the land from want of rain, and all life, animal and vegetable, was rapidly dying. Casting himself down on the earth, with his face to the ground, Elijah ordered his servant to "go up and look toward the sea." He did so, and returning, said, "There is nothing." The order was repeated, and at the seventh time he announced “a little cloud out of the sea, like a man's hand "—the token of deliverance, an abundant rain.

Whatever views may be taken of monasticism as a system (and the writer has already expressed his on the subject), it is only fair to own that monks, as a rule, are hospitable to strangers. The Carmelites are specially distinguished for this virtue, and the weary traveller, whoever or whatever he may be, is never turned away from their gates. Of this I can speak from experience. On reaching the convent gate we were at once admitted, our horses taken charge of, and ourselves conducted to a large apartment furnished with couches so comfortable that they seemed to have been made on purpose for our wearied limbs. One