Single file we proceed from Coefrinje along a narrow path with the bushes and briars brushing the sides of our horses and wetting us with dew.  It is not long until we begin to ascend a high ridge.  Here there are no paths whatever, and at times our horses can scarcely move on because of the steepness of the ascent.  But a few minutes before nine o’clock, after a toilsome struggle, we reach the summit of the ridge, and here I get my first panoramic view of the west-Jordan country.  It is entrancingly beautiful.

When we had reined up our horses I said to my dragoman, “Tell our attendants to be still until I have finished speaking; I want to explain the scene before us.”  And then while he listened, and looked as I directed, I said:  “That towering height far to the north is Mount Hermon; the sheet of water some miles on this side is the Sea of Galilee; to the west of the Sea of Galilee is Hattin, the Mount of Beatitudes; that white spot southwest of Hattin is Nazareth; that great plain south of Nazareth is Esdraelon, the ‘battle-field of Palestine’; these rounded mountains here in the eastern part of the Valley of Esdraelon are Tabor, Little Hermon, and Gilboa;—­on the north is Tabor, at whose base Napoleon fought; the next is Little Hermon, where lived the witch of Endor; and the one south of Little Hermon is Gilboa, where Saul and his sons were slain; that range of mountains forming the southern wall of Esdraelon is Carmel, where Elijah held his trial with the priests of Baal; here below us, winding in its serpentine course, is the Jordan in its great trough or Ghor; in the center of the picture are the mountains of Samaria, with Ebal and Gerizim; to the south are the mountains of Judea, where lies Jerusalem; and that broad expanse of water beyond all these is the Mediterranean, the ’great sea toward the going down of the sun.’”

Then I waited for his criticism.  He said, “You are right in every point, but how did you know?” I said, “It is just like the Palestine of my childhood’s fancy that I located in the field back of the barn on my father’s little farm in western Pennsylvania, and with that picture I have been familiar from the days of my early youth.”  It is impossible for me to express what were my feelings at this supreme moment of my life, as I viewed for the first time what is distinctively known as the land of Patriarch, Prophet, Priest, and King—­the land of my Redeemer’s earthly pilgrimage—­the world’s best Holy Land!  After some time spent in viewing that almost matchless scene, and in gathering mountain lilies, we began our descent into the most remarkable depression in the world—­the great Ghor of the Jordan.  The next few hours afforded little of pleasure.  Careful attention had to be given to our horses as we wound about among the rocks.  The horses of both my dragoman and muleteer fell on this trip, but without serious results to either horses or riders.  It was quite wearying to proceed thus, so when we finally reached a large sloping rock under which was a kind of stagnant pool—­the only water we had seen since leaving Coefrinje—­I was glad to know that there we would lunch, even though I could not drink of the water.