We rode for nearly two hours, in a north-west direction, to the Bedouin village of Rihah, near the site of ancient Jericho.  Before reaching it, the gray salt waste vanishes, and the soil is covered with grass and herbs.  The barren character of the first region is evidently owing to deposits from the vapors of the Dead Sea, as they are blown over the plain by the south wind.  The channels of streams around Jericho are filled with nebbuk trees, the fruit of which is just ripening.  It is apparently indigenous, and grows more luxuriantly than on the White Nile.  It is a variety of the rhamnus, and is set down by botanists as the Spina Christi, of which the Saviour’s mock crown of thorns was made.  I see no reason to doubt this, as the twigs are long and pliant, and armed with small, though most cruel, thorns.  I had to pay for gathering some of the fruit, with a torn dress and bleeding fingers.  The little apples which it bears are slightly acid and excellent for alleviating thirst.  I also noticed on the plain a variety of the nightshade with large berries of a golden color.  The spring flowers, so plentiful now in all other parts of Palestine, have already disappeared from the Valley of the Jordan.

Rihah is a vile little village of tents and mud-huts, and the only relic of antiquity near it is a square tower, which may possibly be of the time of Herod.  There are a few gardens in the place, and a grove of superb fig-trees.  We found our tent already pitched beside a rill which issues from the Fountain of Elisha.  The evening was very sultry, and the musquitoes gave us no rest.  We purchased some milk from an old man who came to the tent, but such was his mistrust of us that he refused to let us keep the earthen vessel containing it until morning.  As we had already paid the money to his son, we would not let him take the milk away until he had brought the money back.  He then took a dagger from his waist and threw it before us as security, while he carried off the vessel and returned the price.  I have frequently seen the same mistrustful spirit exhibited in Egypt.  Our two Bedouins, to whom I gave some tobacco in the evening, manifested their gratitude by stealing the remainder of our stock during the night.

This morning we followed the stream to its source, the Fountain of Elisha, so called as being probably that healed by the Prophet.  If so, the healing was scarcely complete.  The water, which gushes up strong and free at the foot of a rocky mound, is warm and slightly brackish.  It spreads into a shallow pool, shaded by a fine sycamore tree.  Just below, there are some remains of old walls on both sides, and the stream goes roaring away through a rank jungle of canes fifteen feet in height.  The precise site of Jericho, I believe, has not been fixed, but “the city of the palm trees,” as it was called, was probably on the plain, near some mounds which rise behind the Fountain.  Here there are occasional traces of foundation walls, but so