.^^^XRvWPRINCf^. 
 
 ^^vli^OGICALSE*^^ 
 
SACRED FOUNTAIA^S: 
 
 OR 
 
 (DlistrbatioDs Jllistorical anb^racfHal 
 
 ON TIIK 
 
 STREAMS, LAKKS AXD FOUNTAINS 
 
 Of T II K 
 
 HOLY LAND, 
 
 BY II EV. DAVID WILSON, 
 
 uF p:in.A:ii:i,i>iii.v. 
 
 T ]] I 11 D I:: D I T I X 
 
 J.\0. T. SllKVOCK, r ITTS i;r !lt; 1! 
 
 WES r E 1! \ ri: n L' s ! ! !■; :; . 
 1 j.j'J. 
 
L'STEUtP, ACCOKM.NG TO AcT OF ColVGRESS, l.\ IU£ VEAR 1803, 
 
 By DAVID WILSON, 
 
 In the Clekk's Oitice ov iue District Court, for tbe ■VVestirm Disteict 
 
 OF rENXSVLVA.MA. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 rnEPACE, ... - - Page 5 
 
 Ab^na — A River, 7 
 
 Betuesda — A Pool, - - - - 14 
 
 Bered— A Well, 20 
 
 Beersheba — A Well, - - - - 26 
 
 BEiULEHEii — A Well, - - - . 32 
 
 Besor — A River, 42 
 
 CiiERiTii— A Brook, ... - 48 
 
 Chebar — A River, - - - - bS 
 
 Dead Sea, 05 
 
 Euphrates — A River, - - - 76 
 
 Enrogel — A Fountain, - - - 88 
 
 Fountain of Elisua, . . . . 07 
 
 Fountain of the Apostles, - - - 104 
 
 Fountain of Jezreel, . - . lOO 
 
 Fountain of the Yiruix, - - - 115 
 
 Gallilee— A Sea, - - - - 121 
 
4 
 
 contents. 
 
 
 
 Gad — A River, 
 
 . 
 
 - Rage 
 
 i-30 
 
 IIarod — A River, 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 130 
 
 Jacob's Well, 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 143 
 
 Jordan— A River, 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 149 
 
 KiDRON — A Brook, 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 157 
 
 KisDON— A River, 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 IGI 
 
 Kan All — A Brook, 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 105 
 
 SoREK — A Brook, 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 100 
 
 The River Nile, 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 174 
 
 The Red Sea, 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 17 U 
 
 The River of Life, 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 1S7 
 
 The Great Sea, 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 193 
 
 The Immortal Fountain, 
 
 - 
 
 203 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The following sketches were written several years 
 ago, in connection with the ordinary duties of the 
 Pastor. They were prepared solely with a view of 
 publication in some of the religious newspapers. Ac- 
 cordingly a few of these papers appeared in several 
 journals in the Middle and Southern States. It was 
 suggested to the author, at the time, to publish the 
 whole series in book form. Various reasons, not 
 necessary to name, prevented a compliance with 
 these kind requests. 
 
 In the meantime, an American publisher announ- 
 ced a British work, of an almost synonymous title, 
 written fifteen months after several of these articles 
 were made public. An examination of the book has 
 shown that they are not at all similar, and that the 
 author has failed to do what I desired to accomplish. 
 Without saying aught in disparagement of Mr. 
 Grosse's volume, it will be proper to state that his 
 work is much more on the order of a narrative, and 
 contains sketches of but a few of these Pools and 
 Fountains. 
 
G PREFACtJ. 
 
 Had we deferred the prcpration of the work, we 
 would'probably have written it in a slightly different 
 style ; it might not have been prepared more care- 
 fully and acceptably. We designed simply to sug- 
 gest themes for profitable pious reflection. To the 
 youth of our Churches and Sabbath Schools, whose 
 studies embrace the field of Sacred Geography and 
 History, we would commend this volume. The au- 
 thor is quite conscious that whatever interest it may 
 possess, is in part attributable to his Sabbath School 
 
 studies and researches. 
 
 D. W. 
 
ABANA-A RIVER. 
 
 Among the first if not the most important of those 
 streams which claim the attention of the Biblical 
 student, is that Avhose name is placed at the head of 
 this page. Issuing from the base of JSIount Hermon, 
 or the beautiful range of Anti-Libanus, it flows 
 around the suburbs of Damascus, coursing its way 
 through beautiful vales, until its waters are lost in 
 the sands of the desert, some four or five leagues to 
 the North East of the citj. Known to the ancient 
 Greeks, by the name of Chrysorrhoas ; it has now, 
 however, lost its scriptural and classic designation, 
 and is only known by the name of Barrady. Like 
 many of the rivers and pools of Scripture history, 
 it receives its distinction from its historical reminis- 
 cences, and from the famed Damascus, whose gar- 
 dens and reservoirs are supplied from its pure and 
 abundant waters. Damascus and Abana, are one 
 and inseparable. Like the life current, which gush- 
 ing from the heart to the extremities, until the pulse 
 beats strong, indicative of health and vigor, prepa- 
 ring us for active, mental and physical exertion; so 
 this river sending its limpid and health-sustaining 
 
O ABANA. 
 
 current through the reservoirs of the city, imparts 
 energy, activity and importance to the political and 
 commercial interests of the ancient capital of Sama- 
 ria. The river and not the city is the probable 
 object of interest and safety, -which even no^v, indu- 
 ces the Mohammedan Pilgrims, to the number of 
 fifty thousand, to congregate from the northern por- 
 tions of Asia, preparatory to their journey to the 
 tomb of the Prophet; of the engrossing trade carried 
 on in the goods and riches of India, received through 
 the port of Mecca. Damascus thus becomes the 
 chief northern depot. This in fact, is now the great 
 mart of trade, v/hich has existed from the earliest 
 ages, ?tnd the which channel of communication, 
 partly overland, and parly by the A^rabian Gulf and 
 Red Sea, was anciently through the cities of Baby- 
 lon, Palmyra, Tyre, Sidon, Alexandria, and even 
 Jerusalem. The source of health, wealth and beauty, 
 we need not be surprised in being informed that the 
 city thus bouutifully supplied with water, should 
 have continued amid surrounding desolation, a place 
 of considerable importance. It is a somewhat singu- 
 lar and striking coincidence, that this city, so uni- 
 versally famed for its wealth and mercantile power, 
 should be noted as the birth place of the steward of 
 Abraham, (Gen. 15 : 2,) so that the management and 
 
ABANA. 
 
 acquisition of property, appears inseparably associ- 
 ated with its earliest history, Remarkable for being 
 the only city of equal antiquity, which sustains to 
 the present day, a high degree of eminence ; the 
 Turks and Arabs, from this circumstance, believe it 
 to have been the original Paradise, and that it has 
 not its equal ou earth. 
 
 Environed and fertilized by the bright liquid 
 waters of the Abana, which winding amid groves of 
 dates and palm, reflects the bright image of peerless 
 Btars. Tradition asserts, that Mahomet coming in 
 sight of the city, was so charmed with the exceeding 
 beauty and richness of the place, that he resolved 
 not to enter it, fearing he should be tempted to 
 resign the Heavenly Paradise to which he aspired, 
 for the Paradise of earth which he saw before him* 
 The Syrian kingdom of Damascus, is supposed to 
 have originated during the reign of David. It con- 
 tinued to be of much importance, until subject to 
 Tiglath — Pileser, the Assyrian King, who took it 
 and killed Regin the King, about 740 years before 
 Christ. One of the most important and interesting 
 circumstances in connection with this beautiful river, 
 is the cleansing of Naaman, "captain of the hosts" of 
 one of the kings of the latter empire. It appears 
 that a little Jewish maid, taken by gome predatory 
 
XO AHANA. 
 
 "band from her native country, liad been sold into the 
 family of this distinguished officer. Having been 
 instructed as was the duty of her parents (Deuter- 
 onomy 28 ; G,) in the character and requirements 
 of the ceremonial law, she is supposed to have been 
 conversant with its regulations concerning the plague 
 of leprosy. Hearing that her master was the victim 
 of this foul (and as far as human instrumentality 
 was efficient) incurable malady, she ventured to sug- 
 gest to her mistress, an application to the Prophet 
 in Samaria, with whose name and fame she was ac- 
 quainted. This intelligence, communicated by her 
 mistress to Naaman was made known to the king, who 
 wishing to preserve the life of his faithful General, 
 Bat him down, and addressed a letter, to be carried 
 by Naaman. to the king of Israel. On a bright 
 and beautiful morning, arranged in his military dress, 
 and accompanied by his servants, with costly pres- 
 ents for the king, Naaman's chariot rolled through 
 the streets to the gates of the city, and drove be- 
 neath the dripping reservoirs, filled with water from 
 the ever-rolling and beautiful Abann. Filled with 
 thoughts, whilst on his journe}'', of the courteous 
 manner, in which he should be received, and his 
 presents accepted by the King of Israel, imagine 
 his surprise, when, having read the letter, the kinj: 
 
ADAiNA. 11 
 
 refused hiin audience, tliinking in view of the impos- 
 sibility of his performing the cure, that the whole 
 affair was intended as a pretext for a quarrel. The 
 Prophet Elisha hearing of the event, sent and re- 
 quested Naaman to come to him, that he "might 
 know there was a Prophet in Israel." As yet un- 
 humbled, Naaman's Chariot rolled to the door of 
 the Prophet, who, without coming down, directed 
 him to "go and wash in Jordan seven times," and he 
 should be healed. Incensed at the suspicions of the 
 king, and the seeming discourteous manner in which 
 he had been treated by the Prophet, ho became 
 angry, and went away, saying, "Behold I thought 
 he would surely come out to me, and stand, and call 
 on the name of the Lord his God, and strike his 
 hand over the place, and recover the leper. Are 
 not Ahana and Pharpar rivers of Damascus, better 
 than all the wafers of Israel ? May I not wash in 
 them and he clean ?" 
 
 Alas for human pride ! Alas for human prejudice ! 
 Abana might be a beautiful river, and wind round 
 a magnificent city, the seat of wealth and power. 
 It migh: pour its silver current into a thousand arti- 
 ficial ducts until filled, its surplus waters run down 
 in a thousand crystal streams, gleaming like icicles 
 in the sun, and yet it might not recover the leper. 
 
J 2 ABA\A. 
 
 Jordan was the stream ; the appointed means of res- 
 toratioD) and declared in this instance to be of more 
 value, than "all the waters of Damascus." The 
 captain was finallj prevailed upon, by the entreaty 
 of his servant, to test the remedy, when according 
 to the word of the Prophet, he was healed ; carrying 
 with him the wholesome instruction of the seer, he 
 returned changed in mind, and healed in body. 
 
 Often, doubtless, after this important event, as he 
 drank the waters of Abana, from the cisterns in the 
 city; or drove his chariot along the banks of the 
 ever-gliding river, beneath the spreading branches of 
 the rustling Palm, he would recur to that moment of 
 folly, when his pride and inordinate love of the beau- 
 tiful river rolling before his vision, had well nigh 
 caused him to neglect the only available means of 
 restoration. We will not stop to describe at length 
 the other important and Scriptural events, which, 
 though not relating to the river, are yet connected 
 with the city of Damascus. About half a mile dis- 
 tant, and as is supposed by some, near the Abana, 
 is shown the place of Saint Paul's vision and mirac- 
 ulous conversion. The street called "stt-aigJit," yet 
 exists, (Acts, 9 ; 11,) whilst the place where Paul 
 was restored (Acts 9 ; 17) to sight, and was after- 
 wards let down (Acts 9 : 25,) in a basket, together 
 
ABANA. 13 
 
 ^vith the house of Judas, "with Avhom St. Paul lodged; 
 and the house and tomb of Annanias are yet shown. 
 
 A medal has been recently shown, representing 
 Damascus, on the upper part of which is a temple 
 and below a grotto, in which a female figure, holding 
 in her right hand ears of corn, and in her left a cor- 
 nucopia, resting on an urn, from vfh'icli flows a stream 
 of water. 
 
 So it would appear that Abana, made sacred from 
 its association with Bible history, can never be for- 
 gotten. 
 
 / 
 
BETHESDA-A POOL. 
 
 Among the most remarkable antiquities yet shown 
 in Jerusalem, and its neighborhood, is the Pool of 
 Bethesda. In such condition as yet to be recognized 
 by modern travellers as the place where one of 
 Christ's miracles was performed, it continues to be 
 an object of interest to the oriental student. Unim- 
 portant as some may suppose its existence to be, it 
 -was regarded by all pious Jews as a token of God's 
 good will, and an indication that, though as a nation 
 they had been long without prophets, and miracles, 
 and had lost their independence, he had not cast 
 them off. The history of this noted pool is involved 
 in considerable obscurity. According to a conjec- 
 ture of Dr. Lightfoot, it is supposed to be the same 
 with the upper pool, (Isa, vii: 3:) and the old pool, 
 mentioned, (Isa. xxii : 11 :) and which were used for 
 washing from ceremonial pollutions. That which 
 most concerns us, however, is the history of its sana- 
 tive properties, which distinguishes it as a place of 
 interest in Scripture history. Mineral and medici- 
 nal waters, which contribute so much in our own 
 day to the health and happiness of mankind, viewed 
 as a provision of God's bounty, (Rev. xiv: 7:) are 
 
BETHESDA. J 5 
 
 special objects of thankfulness. And from the 
 character of those "who, for 3'ears together, lay 
 bcn>?ath the shade of the porticos •\vhich surrounded 
 the pool, we are assured it was an oly'ect of aiTcc- 
 tionatc regard to the multiti.dc of impotent folk, 
 ■who waited there continually for the troubling of the 
 waters. Wo may readily suppose, that its being 
 frequented by the poor and diseased, was but the 
 natural appreciation of its name and virtue, Bcthes- 
 da, house of mercy. "What place so befitting the 
 resort of the poor and diseased? Destitute of the 
 means of support, and afiiicted with incurable mal- 
 adies, they came to this sacred fountain, in depend- 
 ence on Him, from whom alone, through tho 
 instrumentality of these waters, they hoped for res- 
 toration. \Ye will not stop to examine the unnatural 
 supposition, that the virtue of the water was owing 
 to a mineral property, or had been communicated by 
 the blood of the sacrifices, which is entirely refuted 
 by the scriptural account of the cures performed 
 through its agency. Among the most remarkable 
 circumstances in the history furnished by St. John, 
 is the fact, that there were periodical visits made to 
 its waters "by an angel of the Lord," after which 
 the person who first stepped in, was made whole, of 
 "whatsoever diseases he had." Showing that tho 
 
16 RETHr.SDA. 
 
 healing property of the water vfiis not natural, but 
 one with which it Avas miraculously endowed. An- 
 other peculiarity is, that while natural and artificial 
 baths are, in many cases, more hurtful than useful, 
 this Avas a specific in every malady. The celebrated 
 traveller, Maundrel, observes — " That which they 
 now call the pool of Bethesda, is about one hundred 
 and twenty paces long, and forty broad, and at least 
 eight deep, but destitute of water. At its west end 
 are some old arches, which were shown as the re- 
 mains of the five porches, three of which only 
 remain." Those who have recently visited it, accord 
 in the main, with the description given by Mr. Maun- 
 drel. There is no spot, perhaps, near or in the city 
 of Jerusalem, if we except Mount Calvary, and the 
 vale of Gethsemane, possessing more interest. 
 
 A memorial of God's remembrance of his people, 
 a type of the Messiah, of the "fountain opened" 
 for sin and uncleanness, and the place of one of his 
 most notable miracles, it is at once an object of 
 enthusiastic regard. Our Bavior, coming up to the 
 feast of the Passover, observed by his piescient eye, 
 one among the multitude of diseased, who had an 
 "infirmity thirty and eight years," and being ten- 
 derly inquisitive concerning the desires of those who 
 are in affliction, he said to this peculiar object of 
 
BKTHi:SDA. 17 
 
 charity, "Wilt thou be made whole? ' Upon \vh:ch 
 the sick man, not thinking of any other means of 
 restoration, than the pool, raised his eyes to the face 
 of Jesus, and imploringly exclaimed — 'SS7r, IJiavc no 
 man to put me into the pool.'' No one is interested 
 forme; no friend is near at the "troubling of the 
 waters," to aid me in availing myself of its curative 
 properties. How eloquent that appeal? An appeal 
 which the Son of God, ih.Q friend of sinners, could 
 not withstand. Whereupon, surrounded by persona 
 set to watch his conduct, yet standing in the dignified 
 majesty of his God-head power, he exclaims, in a 
 voice of mingled majesty and compassion — "Rise, 
 take up thy bed and Avalk." Immediately feeling 
 the movings of new-born energy, he arose with joy- 
 ful surprise, not dreading who blamed or threatened 
 him, and employed his restored powers in the work 
 of magnifying the ability of the Savior. 
 
 It was the Sabbath morn. No sound was heard 
 ill or around the temple, but the slow, measuied 
 tread of the pilgrims coming up to the morning 
 service. The sun, just risen o'er the summit of Olivet, 
 was pouring the first flood of rays on the burnished 
 roof of the temple, until the atmosphere, above and 
 around, was illumed with the reflected glory. All 
 nature was surpassingly lovely: and to the Israelite, 
 
IS Bi: Tilt: SI) A. 
 
 just anivc<l from the more remote portions of the 
 goodly land, Jerusalem, so sacred and beautiful, 
 appeared then his chief joy. What feelings of grati- 
 tude must that Jew have felt, who in the midst of 
 such glory had just been bidden "to walk," and to 
 whom no place in Jerusalem had any special interest, 
 for "thirty and eight years," save the poolof Bethesda! 
 We will not stop to notice the enmity of the Jews, 
 aroused against Jesus, in consequence of performing 
 the miracle , nor remark concerning their silly and 
 hypocritical zeal for the sanctity of the Sabbath; 
 nor comment upon the unreasonableness of objecting 
 to Christ, at having relieved the public of the poor 
 man's support. W^e may observe, however, the 
 strange coincidence, that this pool of mercy should 
 be near the sheep market. May we not ventue to 
 conjecture, that there was something symbolic in 
 this? Christ himself, the true "Lamb" of God, 
 may have been s'gnified by this. He too was 7ica7- 
 the pool when the poor man was restored. This 
 pool is the supposed type of the Savior and our 
 redemption: and the waters by which the pool was 
 filled, signified the kingdom of David, and of Christ, 
 his "Greater Son," and most fitly represents the 
 sovereign vii'tue of his blood. (Isa. viii : 6.) What 
 important practical admonitions are furnished by the 
 
history of this miracleV How many reflections press 
 upon the mind, as suitable to be recorded? "The 
 power of miracles succeeds vhcn the power of nature 
 succumbs." The angel stirred the water, but left 
 the diseased to place themselves in the pool. So 
 the same Deity, who would have us healed of our 
 spiritual maladies, has put virtue into the Scriptures 
 and ordinances ; but if we do not employ them at 
 the right time, and in the right way, they will not 
 avail in our behalf. If we earnestly desire, we shall 
 be healed. We do not know accurately, when this 
 extraordinary virtue was communicated to the waters 
 of Bethesda; or when it ceased. But we do know 
 that the fact of its location near the temple, and 
 the history of the miracle, is a standing monument 
 to the memory of Ilim who is the "fountain of life;" 
 the which fountain, as was the water of Bethesda, 
 shall be ever ellcctual in the cure of all spiritual 
 maladies. 
 
 9 
 
BERED, OR THE WELL OF LAHAI-ROI. 
 
 Not far from the supposed site of the ancient 
 city of Gaza, in a most wilderness country, the 
 traveller is shown the well of Lahai-roi, or fountain 
 of Him that lives and sees me. Few, perhaps none, 
 of the ancient historical portions of the Bible pos- 
 sess greater interest than the story of Hagar and 
 Ishmael. Associated with the venerable character 
 and history of the "Father of the faithful," the 
 narrative of their singular and providential banish- 
 ment from his family, will stand through unnumbered 
 ages, a monument to the truthfulness of the Mosaic 
 record. 
 
 How often, in our youthful fancies, have we wan- 
 dered back through the lapse of centuries, to the 
 wilderness of Shur, to the spot where the infant 
 Ishmael lay; and seating ourselves on the crisped 
 leaves beside him, have looked on his sorrowful 
 countenance, Avhilst the silent, involuntary tear 
 coursed its way through the half-opened eyelid, and 
 dropped on the ground? And then, as our heart 
 beat responsive to his suppressed breathing, have 
 
BERED. 21 
 
 felt the blood congeal in our veins, as the -wail of 
 Hagar's sorrow, from the thicket beyond, sounded 
 loud and piercing on the car ; when looking above 
 and around, we have pictured in the hazy atmos- 
 phere, the burnished form of the celestial messenger, 
 •who, pointing the anxious eye of Hagar to the bub- 
 bling fountain, announced promises of blessing and 
 protection ! 
 
 To the contemplative mind there is much to inter- 
 est the feelings and excite the curiosity, in the 
 account furnished of the rearing and banishment of 
 Ishmael from his father's house, and the scenes and 
 associations of his boyhood pastimes. We all know 
 how strong and indissoluble are the associations and 
 ties of kindred, and with what tenacity we cling to 
 the home of our youth, and the place of the heart's 
 best and purest affections. How sweet, when retired 
 to the old family mansion, between whose sloping 
 Avail of stone clumps of boxwood, bramble, and tufts 
 of moss spring up, to spend hours with parents, 
 brothers and sisters, in the solitude and silence of 
 the winter night, in conversing, without witnesses, 
 and at our pleasure, of the most sweet emotions of 
 our own souls ! Every object, whether artificial or 
 natural, within sight of our dwellings, being associa- 
 ted with our infant days, becomes an object of 
 
22 BERED. 
 
 interest and pleasure. The mountain summit, spark- 
 ling in the distance, on the verge of the horizon, or 
 the sky, whose warmth and serenity we have often 
 breathed, and whose bright image Ave have viewed, 
 as mirrored on the smooth surface of the stream 
 which winds around through our home meadows, are 
 all sacred. How the thought of parting forever 
 from these fond scenes, oppresses the heart! and 
 despite, perhaps, of a pre-conceived determination, 
 makes us desire to repose in death beneath these 
 consecrated shades ! If it be hard thus voluntarily to 
 leave the place of our birth, and to sever forever the 
 strongest and most endearing relationships, how, think 
 you, should we feel if driven away, and that too by 
 direction of a father whom we have tenderly loved, 
 and to whom we look for counsel and support ? This 
 was Ishmael's condition. Not being the " child of 
 promise," at the birth of Isaac, the jealousy and 
 contention of the respective mothers, Hagar and 
 Sarah, grew so violent as to pain the heart of the 
 venerable father, and even to call for divine interpo- 
 sition. Often, doubtless, until this ensued, the heart 
 of this faithful man was much distressed at these 
 unpleasant altercations. It being revealed to Abra- 
 ham that Ishmael should become the father of a great 
 nation ; that he should be a wild man, and that his 
 
BERKD. 2-3 
 
 hand should be against every man. and every man's 
 hand against him; he no longer hesitated, but sent 
 them away into the wilderness. This was a great 
 grief; but he had learned what God required, 
 he would give strength to perform. Often, methinks, 
 after the banishment of his wife and son, would 
 Abraham retire to his humble tent, and lay him 
 down at night, with thoughts of sadness ; when 
 nerving himself for the trial, he would brush away 
 the silent tear, and recount in consolation the prom- 
 ses; hearing all the time the breathings of the 
 promised child and mother, until growing more sub- 
 dued and low, they died away in vague and monot- 
 onous murmurs. At the request of Sarah, Abraham 
 had taken the mother of Ishmael as his wife. He had 
 long wished and prayed for a son who should inherit 
 his property, bear his name, and transmit it to pos- 
 terity, until it had become the absorbing thought 
 of his life. When, therefore, Isaac, the child of 
 promise, Avas born, he became the single link on 
 Avhich everything rested, and in whom was garnered 
 all the love and hopes of his noble, faithful heart. 
 Still he loved Ishmael, and sorrowed at parting 
 forever from the chiM of his early memories. But 
 the command to banish them was given ; and in this 
 instance, the faithful performance of the requirc- 
 
 0* 
 
24 BERED 
 
 ment, and the perpetuation of domestic tranquility, 
 ■was more important than to preserve an unbroken 
 family, in which strife only could exist. 
 
 Hagar and Ishmael, "on whose pure spirit young 
 hopes lay like morning dew-drops, to whom life was 
 fresh, joyous and radiant," were banished from that 
 domestic circle, which, but for her insubordination, 
 would have reflected every trait of moral excellence 
 and beauty. Ishmael, though expatriated from his 
 father's family, did not resent the injury ; but 
 quietly relinquishing home and wealth to Isaac, 
 united with him, at their father's death, in perform- 
 ing the rights of sepulture. This shows, though a 
 wild man, and the father of the ever unconquerable 
 Arab, we have no authority for saying a father's 
 prayers and instructions were lost upon him. 
 
 Many reflections occur on this interesting story. 
 Our limits will admit but one or two. Faith, religion 
 is necessary to the regulation of every family, to 
 aid in making those sacrifices of feeling ^to duty, 
 which are ever occurring. Domestic felicity is par- 
 amount to every sacrifice made in its attainment. 
 Happy is he on whom is conferred the blessing of 
 having sprung from a good and pious family. This 
 is the chief blessing of his lot. The future fate of 
 the child depends upon the home in which he is born. 
 
BERED. 25 
 
 Our mother's look is a portion of the soul, -vvhicli is 
 nourished, and grows, above all, by the impressions 
 which are left on our memory. Who among us, 
 then, on seeing that look, even in a dream, does not 
 feel a something descending on his soul, which 
 soothes its trouble, and diffuses serenity around it ? 
 Long as the deeds and acts of Abraham shall be 
 told, shall the memory of the well Bered, and of 
 Hagar and Ishmael never be forgotten. 
 
BEEHSHEBA-A WELL. 
 
 On the southern extremity of Canaan, and within 
 the place marked on the map, as apportioned to the 
 tribe of Simeon, is shown the place where the city 
 of Berzimnia, or Bessabe, once stood. To the eye 
 of the traveller unlearned in the sacred history of 
 Judea, there is not much of interest in the spot, save 
 the somewhat wild and strangely picturesque scene- 
 ry. One, however, to whom the quiver of a leaf, 
 the rock all overgrown with moss, or the trunk of an 
 old tree, blackened by the storms of ages, furnishes 
 matter of reflection, will not be uninterested as his 
 footsteps linger around this consecrated place. If 
 the history of Abraham, be but the embryo history 
 of a nation, wc may ''sojourn" with him, and in 
 imagination, let down our pitchers to draw from the 
 crystal surface of the tvell of tlic oatli^ the natural 
 emblem of truth, equity and mercy. We need not 
 to have been thus particular in soliciting the readers 
 attention, if our excursion led us to visit some sub- 
 lime or graceful object, such as a beautiful sheet of 
 water dashing down in cascades, Avhilst all around 
 
BEERSHEBA. 27 
 
 the mountain summit, gleaming in the last rays of 
 lovely sunset, are groped clouds of unusual shape 
 and color. Dazzled with the spray and foam, we 
 would scarce need to be directed to take advantage 
 of the grandeur and novelty of the impression in 
 aiding us to raise our souls to the author of all these 
 wonders ; and to place us in communication with 
 Him. And yet, what object within the range of 
 vision is better calculated to raise our thoughts, 
 than a fellow mortal in converse with Jehovah. 
 When the shadow of the mountain, stealing o'er the 
 plain, until our dwelling be already wrapped in the 
 twilight of the closing day ; when all the wandering 
 aspirations and feelings of the day are turned inward, 
 and the thoughts called home ; the natural language 
 of the heart is to hold communion with Him who 
 forms our surest solace and support. 
 
 And yet an oath is a prayer, a direct appeal to 
 God, before whom, as knowing our inmost thoughts, 
 without mental reservation, or for the sake of per- 
 sonal friendship or advantage, or from fear of per- 
 sonal inconvenience, we promise to speak or perform 
 that which the contracting party has a right to ex- 
 pect. If prayer "ardent opens heaven" the ear and 
 presence of Deity are to be distinctly acknowledged 
 on so important an occasion. If truth as an oath 
 
28 BEERSUEBA. 
 
 for "afiSrmation" is usually an "end of all strife;" 
 so it may be considered, whenever assumed, that the 
 uplifted hand, the kissing of a Bible, or as in this 
 instance, the naming of a fountain of water, is a 
 sublime commentary on the Divine omniscience. 
 Often, as the firmament rolls out before our vision, 
 "with its myriads of stars, have we fancied we could 
 hear the responsive aflEirmations of Abraham and 
 Abimelech, echoing in deep low murmurs above and 
 around us, resembling the regular ebb and flow of 
 the feelings of the heart, breaking on the shores of 
 life, and sending up their voice to the ears of the 
 Creator, Such were the sounds to which the plants, 
 the leaves, the trees and God listened. 
 
 It is recorded of the Pagan nations of antiquity, 
 when they erected a new temple on the site of an 
 old one ; they were wont to introduce into the new 
 edifice, a column, if not all the materials of the old 
 one, in order that there might be something ancient 
 and sacred in the new building ; and that even the 
 masonry, gross and clumsy as it was, might have its 
 worship for the heart, among the other things with 
 which they deooratcd the house of their gods. 
 
 Without commending this superstition, or referring 
 to human instincts ever the same, if possible, would 
 it not have an important influence, to incase in some 
 
BEERSHEBA. 29 
 
 conspicuous portion of the walls of our modern tem- 
 ples of justice, a simple stone from this well, as a 
 memorial of the fidelity, Avith which Abraham and 
 Abimelech perfoi'med the covenant. When from the 
 height of a promontory, we see a vessel glide slowly 
 in the shadow of the shore, we loose our solicitude 
 for the safety of the mariners ; so when friends long 
 estranged, and tossed on the billows of strife and 
 contention, with becalmed feelings, glide smoothly 
 along the shore of reason, from which the soft 
 zephyrs of forbearance and love, steal softly o'er the 
 smooth surface of the once angered billows, we hope 
 that the danger of a second tempest is forever past. 
 So calmly and sweetly did the oath at the tvaters of 
 Beersheba, becalm excited feeling, and induce the 
 servants of the respective parties to confide in the 
 security of this perpetual bond of harmony. How 
 strangely associated are the incidents of life ! With 
 what rapidity alternate seasons of sorrow and joy 
 succeed each other ! Sometimes we lay down to 
 sleep, beneath a sky all clear ; lulled by the sound 
 of the wind through the trees, and the waves on the 
 shore, with the trembling moonbeams playing on our 
 pallet ; when we awake, the sky all smooth and pol- 
 ished as crystal before, is overcast with clouds ! 
 The sacred proverb, that sorrow may continue for 
 
30 BEERSHEBA. 
 
 a night, but joy comoth in the morning, seemed in 
 the history of Abraham, about to be reversed. The 
 calm peace felt by the christian, after having dis- 
 charged his duty, had been realized by this man of 
 God, after the ratification of the covenant at the 
 well of Beersheba ; and he might now, judging from . 
 the calm of his once agitated bosom, have anticipa- 
 ted a season of repose. As in the natural, so in the 
 moral world ; the storm always succeeds the calm, 
 arising in this instance with redoubled fury. While 
 he sojourned at this well, he was commanded to take 
 his only son to the land of Moriah, and offer him for 
 a burnt sacrifice. The Patriarch's fear had come 
 upon him ; and he turned to his tent with an unusu- 
 ally dark cloud on his soul. Each successive morn- 
 ing after, his tent disappeared in the distance, until 
 the last object visible, "all broke clear and beautiful, 
 inviting him to stay his progress," and not attempt 
 obedience to that which might have been esteemed a 
 rash command. He who could make and keep his 
 covenant with man, was not the one to lose confi- 
 dence in the covenant and oath of Jehovah. In 
 leaving the idolatry of his father's house and kin- 
 dred, the resolution was taken, to keep and obey the 
 Divine commands. Faith triumphed ! the gold was 
 tried and found pure, tlie son too was spared. 
 
KKKIi.SIIKhA. 31 
 
 When kneeling with the spared "scion," in over- 
 whelming gratitude before the altar of sacrifice, he 
 rejoiced in the inviolate oath and promise of his God. 
 Beersheba will exist in history, as an illustration of 
 the case, with which the difficulties of our own and 
 our family's making, may be settled. Though the 
 grove planted by Abraham, and beneath which cool- 
 ing shade he worshipped, has long since disappeared, 
 the covenant, the offering of Isaac, and the well of 
 Beersheba, with the important lessons furnished in 
 
 their history will be perpetual. 
 8 
 
BETHLEHEM-A WELL. 
 
 If there be one city in the Holy Land more en- 
 deared to the heart of the christian than any other, 
 that place is Bethlehem; situated on the declivity of 
 a hill, six miles South of Jerusalem ; it is chiefly 
 honored in being the birth place of Jesus. 
 
 As its next distinction, that which makes the city 
 illustrious, is in being also the birth place of King 
 David, from whom the Saviour descended, according 
 to the flesh. The country around, abundant in 
 grapes, figs and other fruits, furnishes a most inter- 
 esting and delightful prospect. Here the "youthful 
 shepherd" spent his boyhood days. The recollection 
 of whose joys are so vivid and touching, amid the 
 woes and strugdes of decrepitude and age. Often 
 memory calls us back to the fields where we once 
 played, where the waters and trees sparkling and 
 waving before the eye, appear to reproach us for 
 having abandoned what was so peaceful and pure. 
 Our early memories are the most tender and sacred. 
 On them, when old age oppresses us with its cares 
 and sorrows, we dwell with the fondest recollections. 
 :;? when looking into that newly invented optical in- 
 
BKTHLEHt':M. 33 
 
 strument, every backward turn of the kaliedescope 
 of life, presents objects of more new and singular 
 attraction, until brought back to our most infant joys 
 and recollections. When we turn our contempla- 
 tions to the history of others, we are still presented 
 with objects of pleasing admonition. Such is espe- 
 cially the case in the study of scripture history. 
 Here history is not a mere register of facts, such as 
 are commonly those of eminent men, but selections 
 of facts, suitableness for purposes of instruction hav- 
 ing regulated the choice. Most frequently, those 
 are selected, which symbolically represent something 
 connected with the scheme of redemption ; on which 
 account it has found a place in the sacred volume. 
 It is not unusual for the recorded fact to answer both 
 these descriptions ; being instructive in itself, and 
 serving also as an emblem of truths, which were then 
 taught only by shadows and types. In the study of 
 our own, and the characters presented in sacred his- 
 tory, we ought to be careful that we content not our- 
 selves with apprehending the facts, but study dili- 
 gently what leasons they convey. Thus, like dew- 
 drops hanging on the petal of a flower, which are 
 supposed as a focus, in which every ray of the sun 
 is converged, and every tint of color reflected ; the 
 record of spiritual truth will furnish material for 
 
34 BETHLEHEM. 
 
 instruction, which ivill give histories the nature of 
 homilies, and show us in the events of an individual's 
 life, prophetic things, in which the whole world ha;s 
 interest. Such is the character of an event which 
 forms the basis of our observations, and associated 
 with the illustrious names and character of the 
 "Shepherd King," has made memorable and sacred 
 the well of Bethlehem. On the west side, and but 
 little distant from the modern village of Bethlehem, 
 is shown the well of David, so called from being sup- 
 posed to be that, whose waters he so passionately 
 desired, (2 Sam. 23 : 15.) 
 
 David was a man of war from his youth. Reared 
 in the capacity of a shepherd, and reclining with his 
 flocks beneath a sky ever beautiful, on the sloping 
 hills around the home of his childhood and the city 
 of his fathers, one would suppose he would have a 
 perfect loathing for the scenes and associations of the 
 camp and the field. Strangely in contrast is his 
 eventful history. Chosen by God, after the rejection 
 of Saul, to govern the kingdom of Israel, he was 
 constrained by a singular Providence, to fight both 
 for internal and national supremacy. A man of 
 astonishing courage, when brought before Saul, after 
 relating in a simple and artless manner one of his 
 achievements, he fearlessly assured ' "' that " ^ 
 
MKTIFl.KHKM. 3.V 
 
 uncircumcised Philistine should be an one of them, 
 seeing he had defied the armies of the living G-od. 
 
 From the whole history, it would appear that he 
 was not only the greatest captain of the age, but had 
 the peculiar faculty of but few eminent Generals, of 
 attaching the hearts of his followers to himself. 
 Distinguished by this kindness of disposition, which 
 is the grand secret in ruling the hearts of men, it is 
 not at all surprising, after an exhibition of such ex- 
 traordinary courage and daring, when compelled to 
 flee the country on account of the cruel jealousy of 
 Saul ; a number of men alike courageous should at- 
 tach themselves to him, and resolve to follow his for- 
 tunes. The determined patriot : his soul was ever 
 disquieted, so long as the footprints of the uncircnm- 
 cised were seen in the land. In dependence on his 
 faithful band, he had struirgled long and repeatedly, 
 to exterminate the enemies alike of Israel and of 
 God. Now fatigued and probably overcome with 
 heat, he was compelled to lay him down on the par- 
 ched ground, with the host of the Philistines in vie^v, 
 between him and his native city ; reposing in fiend- 
 IbIi triumph on the fields of his boyhood pastimes. 
 
 What a theme for the poet I What a. scene for the 
 
 painter ! Every one is fi miliar with th? story of 
 
 the great English warrior, who mortally wounded. 
 8* 
 
36 BETHLEHEM, 
 
 anrl parcled with the death thii'st, received a cup of 
 ■water, but observing as he raised it to his lips, the 
 eye of a dying soldier rest wishfully upon it, handed 
 it to him and bade him drink it, as needing it yet 
 more than himself. But this is anticipating. We 
 remark, this story is one of these narratives in sacred 
 history, which are ever likely to be read and admired, 
 not po much for the value of the lessons, as for the 
 beauty of the facts. How strong its hold on the 
 imagination ! having about it that air of chivalry and 
 romance, which so captivates and dazzles the fancy. 
 It is just such a story which we can hardly read, and 
 i\ot have before us all the scenery of the tented field, 
 with the m-iiled champions, and the floating banners. 
 In imagination, we picture before us, the royal war- 
 rior, David ; who having been in the thick of the 
 struggle with the foe, is now faint with thirst, and 
 lies exhausted in the midst of his champions. In 
 this, his extremity and languor, he is heard to 
 breathe a passionate wish for water from the well of 
 Bethlehem, between which and himself lay the Phil- 
 istine army. Singular indeed, that such a wish 
 should have then found utterance. True, there were 
 men all round attached as intrepid, and capable of 
 attempting impossibilities at his bidding. But the 
 complying with such a wish would be like rushing on 
 
BETHLEHEM. 37 
 
 to destruction. What can courage and strength 
 avail against a multitude. And then should they 
 succeed in forcing a passage to the "well, exhausted 
 and overborne, they will never be able to return. 
 However, acting upon the spirit of the adage "where 
 there is a will there is a way," and hearing the wish 
 though not given in the spirit of a command, three 
 of his most intrepid warriors, in dependence on Di- 
 vine aid, and without pausing to count the peril, 
 rushed against the foe, resolved to force a passage. 
 There they go ! You can trace their course by the 
 stir, the tumult and the crash ; the enemy fall in 
 heaps before and around them until they leach the 
 well, when, without waiting to quench their thirst, 
 they dip their helmet 'neath the mirrored surface of 
 the water, and return again to a renewal of the con- 
 flict. Arduous and severe was the struggle to save 
 and advance with the priceless contents of that war- 
 riors cup; but the long loud shout of the troops, fal- 
 ling like the lulling cadence of the harp upon the 
 anxious ear of David, announces the safe return of 
 his undaunted warriors. Excite<l, faint and weary, 
 he holds the helmet in his hand, and as his thirsty 
 lips are pressed to the edge of the cup, his eye grows 
 sad and wild ; the color leaves his cheek ; when turn- 
 ing hi^ head away, he pours the water on the ground 
 
38 BETHLEHEM. 
 
 and exclaims ; '''■shall I drink the blood of these men 
 that put their lives in jeopardy^ for with jeopardy 
 of their lives they brought it.'" 
 
 What a multitude of observations, suggestive, press 
 themselves upon our attention I Gladly would we 
 in fancy, linger around this consecrated spot ; and 
 whilst surveying David and his host, record such les- 
 sons of instruction and wisdom, as are furnished by 
 the scene. It is not the heroism of David in acting 
 thus, which we propose for your imitation, or to 
 which we intend inviting your attention. This, of 
 itself, however, would furnish as fine a picture of 
 forbearance and greatness as human story can give. 
 We would rather request you to contemplate and 
 pattern after the principle of kindness so forcibly 
 exhibited in this occurrence. Not only of kindness 
 between the governor and the governed, but in all 
 the relations of social and domestic life. Kindness 
 between parents and children, husbands and wives, 
 masters and servants, is the grand secret of govern- 
 ment and the source of happiness. What an exam- 
 ple is here set by these warriors to every man who is 
 called for obedience, whether to man as subordinate, 
 or God as Supreme. Whether we engage in the ser- 
 vice of man or of Deity, who \«iould not do well, first 
 to stop and ponder their example, and consif^ler 
 
BETHLEHEM. 39 
 
 whether he is not yet far below such a model. 
 He who consults wishes as well as commands, will 
 feel his whole aim to be, to "act for the employer as 
 the employer would act for himself;" so that a des- 
 cription of their conduct, like that of the servants of 
 David, will include singleness of purpose, diligence 
 and faithfulness. Whether those warriors, prompted 
 by the royal wish, were justified in running such a risk 
 of life, we cannot now determine. "There was certain- 
 ly a point at which obedience to God, would have 
 forbidden obedience to their King ; but we have no 
 means of judging, whether in this case this had been 
 reached. Be it right or wrong, the path was cut 
 through the host of the Philistines to the waters of 
 Bethlehem ; and that upon the mere expressed wish 
 of David. We have read tales of the devotion of 
 domestics to the wishes and interests of their masters; 
 but none have been found to exhibit such strangeness 
 of devotion and singleness of purpose, as those who 
 bore water from the well of Bethlehem. We cannot 
 commend so highly, the conduct of the monarch. 
 Knowing the devotedness of his followers, their at- 
 tachment to his person, and their uncalculating bra- 
 very in his cause, he should not have given utterance 
 to a wish which had not been well weighed ; and 
 with which he did not desire a literal compliance. 
 
40 BETHLEHEM. 
 
 We can but commend Lis conduct, however, after 
 having seen the consequence of giving utterance to 
 the natural, though inconsiderate desire, in pouring 
 the water upon the ground, as at once, an oflfering toi 
 the Lord, and a memorial of his folly. He could 
 not partake of the fruit of his own transgression. 
 '"''An act of self-denial must he the punishment for 
 a want of self-command." "If a man have grown 
 rich by dishonesty, he ought, we believe, to become 
 poor through repentance." We shall not speak of 
 the symbolic meaning of the circumstance, other than 
 to remark in the language of another, "We need not 
 long in vain for water from the well of Bethlehem. 
 The host of the mighty has been broken through ; 
 a stronger than the strong has unlocked for us the 
 flowings of the river of life ; but oh ! if Ave would 
 take of the stream and live forever, we must ac- 
 knowledge it as the blood of Him, who went on our 
 behalf against principalities and powers ;" and who 
 finding the springs of human happiness dried, filled 
 them from his own veins, and they gushed with im- 
 mortality. "Who would not press through difficulty 
 to obtain such a draught?" 
 
 "Eternal lil'e is nature's ardent wish," 
 
 "My blood is drink indeed," said he who slept in 
 Bethlehem's humblest manger; of whom and his 
 
BEI'ULEHEM. 41 
 
 birth-place, Ibn Haukal, a Mahometan writer says : 
 "Here Jesus, on whom be peace, was born of his 
 mother." 
 
 Bethlehem's well, consecrated to the memory of 
 David, and a symbol of the " opened Fountain," in 
 the side of Jesus, his lineal descendant, will ever 
 be shown to the passing Pilgrim, as a memorial of 
 the truth of that Scripture in which their characters 
 are described, and their actions recorded. 
 
BESOR. 
 
 When we contemplate the character of any nation 
 of antiquity, we conclude that none were so favored 
 and happy as that of Israel. Occupying a land 
 which yielded a spontaneous subsistence, with a sky 
 ever bright, they needed naught to make them happy. 
 Sensible of these blessings, they cheerfully rejoicT'd 
 in, and devoutly magnified the goodness of God. 
 As a general feeling, the consciousness of security 
 was all that the Jew desired. If he might continue 
 to behold the temple on Moriah, and the palace on 
 Sion, unmolested, if Jerusalem might stretch its 
 streets from hill to hill, '• spreading its gardens in 
 the vales, and hanging its vineyards on the cliffs ; " if 
 he still might descry from afar the tents of the 
 tribes, reposing in peace around the borders of the 
 land ; and hear the murmurs of Jordan, and the 
 roar of the Mediterranean; and see Hermon and 
 Lebanon " waving their glories ; " and feel the cool 
 breezes, that came from them, and swept southward, 
 to refresh the sultry desert ; he was contented and 
 happy. How could such a people be unhappy ? 
 
BESOR. '^ 43 
 
 how be unmindful of Him from whom tliey received 
 these blessings ? Occupying a land whose every 
 breeze was laden with blessings ; where the firmament 
 brightened with joyous promises, it would be anoma- 
 lous did they not realize — 
 
 " We are living, we are living 
 In a grand and awful time, 
 In an age, on ages telling, 
 To be living is sublime." 
 
 Rising up, under the influence of such a sentiment, 
 Moses spake amid the triumph of a glorious antiquity, 
 "Happy art thou, Israel: who is like unto thee, 
 people saved by the Lord! " whilst one of their 
 remoter sons, the "Seraph of prophecy," was com- 
 missioned to say, " Comfort ye, comfort ye my 
 people, saith your God." Yet they forsook God, 
 "the fountain of living waters," and hewed out for 
 themselves cisterns, " broken cisterns which could 
 hold no ivater.'' For these things the Lord had 
 said, "I will raise up against you a nation, house 
 of Israel, saith the Lord, the God of hosts, and 
 they shall afflict you, from the entering in of Hamath 
 unto the river Besor." 
 
 Judging from the description, (Amos, 6th chap.) 
 they were in a most deplorable condition. Once 
 they were honorably, happily and usefully identified 
 
 with the cause and worship of God; theii* names 
 4 
 
44 UHSOR. 
 
 were " written in heaven," registered and attested 
 in the books of grace and of glory. But now they 
 are no more seen on either page. They were not so 
 much blotted as washed out. The tears of the 
 recording angels, both in heaven and on earth, fell 
 upon them, and dissolved the faintest line. Once 
 they were happiest when united with their brethren 
 in gracious devotions and useful efforts; but now 
 they absent themselves entirely from the service of 
 the temple, or when perchance they presented them- 
 selves in the outer courts, they felt like outcasts, and 
 despairing of mercy, looked coldly and censoriously 
 around on their former and more devout companions. 
 Once as a people they exulted in the hallowed con- 
 templations of uplifted prayer, but now their eyes 
 are fastened on the ground ; and yet the shadow 
 that lies in their path, and the lightning that glares 
 at their feet, and the thunder which they can but 
 hear, assure them that the cloud is over them, and 
 the storm is stooping to its terrible task. Well 
 might the guilty Jew tremble at the mention of the 
 name Besor, as comprehending the painful extent of 
 the punishment with which they were about to be 
 visited. From this river of Egypt, on the south, to 
 the entering of Haraath, on the north, his chastise- 
 ment would exTPTid. When 
 
The land uU desolate should lie, 
 Like burning clouds along the sky. 
 
 This visitation was not so much to punish them for 
 their iniquities, as for not having been more fruitful 
 and useful. None can please God, and advance 
 through all the stages of christian experience, from 
 repentance to holiness, without being useful. Un- 
 fruitfulness like the Israelites' is not absolute, but 
 relative; not positive, but comparative. A tree may 
 be good, and yet we may call it unfruitful ; not 
 because it bears no fruit, but a little fruit. A vine, 
 being good, may be called unfruitful for the siLme 
 reason. As on one tree there may be fruit, hanging 
 thinly on all the branches; so on the vine the clus- 
 ters may swell and ripen only here and there ; and 
 both may be called unfruitful for want of plente- 
 ousness. If we consult the welfare of our own souls, 
 the prosperity of the church, and the glory of God, 
 we will take care to have our " fruit unto holiness." 
 Their internal dissentions were the cause of their 
 delinquency. Indeed, it is hard to conceive how 
 the vineyard can bring forth fruit, when the laborers 
 are quarreling about the use of the means, the mode 
 of culture, or of gathering. How many plants may 
 perish in consequence of this division God only 
 knows now; but they who are the cause of it, will 
 
46 BESOR. 
 
 know to their sorrow hereafter. If the woman, by 
 simply touching the hem of the Savior's garment, 
 was made whole, how fearful the crime incurred by 
 those who, by needless, unchristian exactions, repel 
 the lowly applicant for mercy? If christian feuds 
 were removed from the church, who can fail to dis- 
 cern, that the whole sacramental host of God's elect 
 might move more irresistibly on to the world's 
 redemption ? Observation attests, that enough men- 
 tal power is expended every year, by church cham- 
 pions against one another, to convert thousands to 
 the Savior, if more consistently directed. 
 
 The river Besor, on the southern boundary of 
 Canaan, as it indicated the extent of their territorial 
 privileges, also marked the measure of their punish- 
 ment. The capability to enjoy increases, in exact 
 ratio, to the capability to suffer. If the sensitive, cul- 
 tivated mind will be keenly alive to the slightest 
 impressions of mental inaccuracy, and endure mental 
 torture in the contemplation of a scarce perceptible 
 deficiency in literary taste; angels, as superior in 
 mental endowment, and occupying that peerless 
 clime, favorable to the highest developement of the 
 mental and moral faculties, may clearly perceive the 
 vanity of those ideal perfections, that swell the 
 heart of man. Tn illustration of the same thought, 
 
HKSOR. 47 
 
 the sinner, before having his conscience quickened 
 by the Spirit's teachings, will not perceive the enor- 
 mity of that guilt, under a sense of which the 
 awakened sinner will almost despair of obtaining 
 mercy. To the same purport are the lines of Cow- 
 ley— 
 
 " When my new mind bad no infusion kucjwu. 
 Thou gav'st so deep a tincture of thine own. 
 That ever since I vainly try 
 To wash away the inherent dye." 
 
 Rising, as before described, in the mountainous 
 porti<ns of the tribe of Simeon, it flows in a west- 
 erly lirection, and empties into the Mediterranean, 
 near the ruins of Anthedou. It is distinguished in 
 the history of the Jews, as the boundary of their 
 territory; the crossing of which, whether for peace 
 or war, seldom resulted in their advantage. So long 
 as it shall flow, thair punishment, extending from 
 Hamath to this stream, will be remembered by the 
 Jew with humbling penitence. Would God, his 
 displeasure were now removed from that people, 
 who now, 
 
 '•Fioin better habitations spurned, 
 
 Rehictantly dost rove; 
 Or grieve for frieudthips uiireUirni^d, 
 
 Ur unretiHrditl iuve." 
 
 4* 
 
CHERITH-A BROOK. 
 
 If the reader will refer to Mr. Sydney E. Morses' 
 map of Palestine, he will discover near the confines 
 of Ephraim and Benjamin, a dotted line, representing 
 the spiral windings of this little periodical water 
 course. Rising in the Quarantania mountains, it 
 flows eastwardly, until its crystal, silvery-like waters, 
 are lost amid the ever-rolling and muddy waters 
 of the Jordan. Its precise locality is not impor- 
 tant, to make it an interesting object to the stu- 
 dent of sacred Geography. Perhaps, of all the 
 sti-eams and fountains of the Holy Land, none pre- 
 sent more interesting subjects of meditation, than 
 the brook of which Elijah was commanded to drink, 
 whilst being fed by ravens, amid the overhanging 
 rocks and deep shades through which it flows. 
 
 Every thing in connection with this Prophet, is of 
 deep and abiding interest. Early taught the sinful- 
 ness and imperfection of his nature, and the integri- 
 ty of Divine Providence, he Avas ever enabled to 
 thank God for his goodness, whilst he reverently and 
 heroically rejoiced in his commands. "The history 
 of our race furnishes some few men, who are like 
 
CHERITH. 49 
 
 those mountain summits whicli repose in light, whilst 
 all below is a deep shadow, To me, Mosef; indepen- 
 dent of the inspiration he received from heaven, is 
 the grandest man the world has produced. Intellec- 
 tually, he towers above all before and after him. 
 The level ray which should leave his forehead, would 
 gild but few brows on the earth. By it, we might 
 see the faces of Elijah, David and Isaiah; but scarce 
 another, till we came to Paul." Inherently great as 
 are these men, we never seem to attach much impor- 
 tance to their characters; unless they are presented 
 to view, amid the most exciting and bewildering 
 scenes. If Paul be the object upon which we are 
 wont to gaze, we wish to contemplate him from the 
 top of Mars Hill, with the gorgeous city at his feet, 
 with the Acropolis and Parthenon behind him ; or 
 on the deck of his shattered vessel in the intervals of 
 the crash of billows ; or when speaking with a calm 
 and determined tone, from within the gloomy walls 
 of a prison. So in the contemplation of Elijah, we 
 wish to see him on the broad summit of Carmel, 
 where are congregated the Prophets and worshippers 
 of Baal, two thousand feet above the level of the sea, 
 which retiring with reverent ?nurmurs from its base, 
 mirrors out on its billows the host of infatuated wor- 
 shippers. After having in vain sought the attention 
 
•)"* CFiKKiTfi. 
 
 and implored the protection of their dumb deity, 
 they gave up in despair, and were compelled to de- 
 sist from the exciting and tumultuous scene. After 
 which Elijah, praying, when as yet the ardent ac- 
 cents trembled on his lips, there came from the cloud- 
 less heaven, fire, falling like lightning upon the sac- 
 rafice, burned to the consuming altar, sacrifice and 
 all, until the water was licked from the trenches. 
 Then suddenly a murmur, coming up from the pros- 
 trate and awe-struck multitude, swelling louder and 
 louder like the gathering roar of the sea, rolled out 
 on the hazy atmosphere in accents of triumphant 
 adoration. 
 
 Then, when standing by a gloomy cave on Horeb, 
 we contemplate him with enthusiastic regard, whilst 
 the hurricane's resistless blast, strews the mountain 
 sides all round with wreck and chaos. Repressing 
 the feeling of wonder, we may find more to admire, 
 when through the deep quiet and breathless hush that 
 succeeded the earthquake and the storm, there came 
 a still small voice, the lulling cadence of which had not 
 ere then fallen upon mortal ear ; and which, though 
 small and still, thi'illed through the Prophet's frame 
 with electric power, and rose so clear and sweet, 
 
 • Tiiat all iu heavfu and eurih uiiglil hear. 
 It spoko 1)1" peace — it spoke of love; 
 ll 8|)oke as aiif^eis speak above'." 
 
CHERITH. 51 
 
 We retire to the banks of the Jordan, where the 
 brook Cherith pours its little compliment of -water, 
 to aid in swelling the life current of the Holy Land. 
 The whole scene, far as the eye can scan the desert, 
 is wild and terrible. Dead silence reigns, interrup" 
 ted only by the cry of the bittern. No human foot- 
 prints are seen. We will, in imagination, enter the 
 thicket, where no pathway opening to our view, we 
 commence our advance, measured by Jordan's mur- 
 murs. Through one thicket and another; through 
 rocky and narrow passes, we onward tread, until 
 reaching a deep narrow glen, the winding brook by 
 which we have ascended, comes murmuring along, 
 and pours down upon us through the rocky masses. 
 We stand at the base of the rock, over which the stir- 
 ring water dashes its silver spray. The brook seems 
 to speak in prophetic murmurs of other waters, 
 which God would pour upon the thirsty land; and of 
 springs which should break forth in the desert. 
 Here, as the evening shades advance, throwing their 
 lengthened forms around the spot, we lift our eyes, 
 and casting a glance to the opposite side, see a ven- 
 erable form covered with a coarse hairy mantle, 
 sitting in the attitude which bespeaks calm holy 
 reflection. Oppressed with the deep solitude, and 
 weary with travel, we need not hesisate, in recogni- 
 
52 CHERITH. 
 
 zing the form of the Prophet. As a punishment for 
 the sins of Israel, and as an illustration of his zeal 
 for the honor of God, he had prayed that it might 
 not rain. The answer was, that it was according to 
 the will of God. In a country like that of Israel, 
 where the "former and latter rain" were indispen- 
 sable, it was a severe punishment. The land became 
 desolate. The rays of that sun which before diffused 
 a smile over the face of nature, nOw gleamed upon 
 the earth with its scorching beams. The withering 
 and unknown Sirocco dried up every rivulet and 
 fountain. Plants ever green, and trees which hith- 
 erto waved at the fanning of the breeze, dropped 
 their leaves and withered away. Wild beasts moaned 
 in the forests, and bleating flocks, and living herds, 
 explored in vain for food. Amid all this desolation, 
 there stood the Prophet of Israel, like some ancient 
 venerated column, within the shadow of which all 
 that is fresh and green, alone can exist. And yet, 
 like Sampson, standing in the temple of Dagon, in 
 calling down destruction upon his own and his coun- 
 try's enemies, he seemed about to perish in the gen- 
 eral ruin. The prayer once offered and accepted, 
 could not be recalled when its answer involved the 
 Divine honor. The match with which the vengeanee 
 of Jehovah was to be kindled to explosive fury, was 
 
("HKKITH. :)') 
 
 already thrown, and none were able to bring it back. 
 Nothing now remained to him, in common with the 
 wicked, by whom he was surrounded, but the convic- 
 tion that God had made the heavens to gleam like 
 sapphire, as a means of just and vindictive punish- 
 ment. And now, though sad and ready to repent of 
 such a prayer, his heart can do nothing but mourn 
 and complain ; or as a means of solace, reflect upon 
 his former cheerful emotions. With the Prophet, we 
 often realize, when imminent dangers encompass, or 
 the waves of trouble come suddenly around us, that 
 the watchword "Master, awake we perish," is suffi- 
 cient to secure the Divine attention, and enlist in 
 our aid his Omnipotent power. Often, by some 
 external help, or by some spiritual testimony and 
 assurance of his grace is given us as an evidence of his 
 complacent regard. We are at once enabled to bear 
 our temporal burdens, and rejoice in anticipation of 
 future trials. These seasons of desolation, like that 
 experienced by Elijah, are often intended to make us 
 appreciate more joyfully, those blessings which he 
 intends to bestow upon us. For after the endurance 
 of sorrow, nothing can be more soothing and grati- 
 fying, than the visitation of Divine love. The voice 
 of Christ never sounds with such enrapturing melody 
 as when in seasons of ti-ouble, doubt and privation. 
 
64 OHEKITH. 
 
 he unexpectedly knocks at our door, and gives us 
 evidence that he regards us with complacency. The 
 Prophet was not long left to his sorrowful musings, 
 in the sad and solitary condition in which we observe 
 he was placed. If the heavens were dark to all else, 
 there was a bright, clear open space above the head 
 of Elijah ; around which the bow of promise and 
 protection gleamed hopeful and beautiful, as when 
 spanned around the soft bright cloud of summer. 
 
 "The word of the Lord came unto him, saying, 
 get thee hence, and turn thee eastward, and hide 
 thyself by the brook Cherith, which is before Jordan 
 and it shall be, that thou shalt drink of the brook ; 
 and I have commanded the ravens to feed thee." 
 Singular as was this command, it was sufficient to 
 induce him, who was afterwards borne up above his 
 troubles in a fiery chariot, surrounded by angels, to 
 accept the command, and depart for the place of 
 safety. There we found him in our imaginary excur- 
 sion, after having endured near twelve months con- 
 finement, amid the solitary gloom of that deep, dark 
 wilderness. 
 
 Often, when reading this interesting account of 
 the Prophet at the brook Cherith, we have pictured 
 him, depressed and wearied with his exile, bending 
 his face to the earth, amid the deep solitude by 
 
^ 
 
 CMSiKITH. 55 
 
 which he was surrounded. Hard as would have beeu 
 his fato to have perished in the general famine, thia 
 m'ght seem to have been a more cruel affliction. 
 But God sees not as man seeth; his ways are not as 
 ours. Amid the gloom of the wilderness, his bliss- 
 ful presence is found. Fear not Elijah ! Lift up 
 thine eye and look to the rock neath the dark 
 shadow of which thou art now fallen, and let it speak 
 of the "rock" on which thy hope doth rest. Let the 
 trees, neath the dependent branches of which thou 
 dost repose, speak of the waving palm and the tree 
 of life, in whose shade thou shalt rest, and from 
 whose bending branches, shall be furnished thee an 
 everlasting supply. 
 
 Thoughts of these things, served to raise the bowed 
 form of the Prophet, who, looking encouragingly up, 
 saw the bright forms of many cheerful songsters, 
 perched on the swinging branches, whilst their carol 
 vespers rolled out on the evening air, like the song 
 of spirit voices, causing him to feel, 
 
 "If in this lipart, a hope be dear, 
 That sound shnll charm it forth again; 
 If in these eyes there lurk a tear, 
 'Twill flow and cease to burn my brain." 
 
 Then when the morning dawned in Cherith's rocky 
 vale, the cry of innumerable ravens, reflecting the 
 5 
 
66 CHERITH. 
 
 first beams of the rising sun, on their dark pinions, 
 was heard aloft amid the trees, bearing the days pro- 
 vision to the Prophet of God. Loosing the natural 
 voraciousness of their species, these creatures com- 
 ing and going on their heavenly mission, to and from 
 the Prophet's retreat, in denying their own appetites 
 performed a most interesting office. "He who pro- 
 videth for the raven his food, when his young ones 
 cry unto God, and wander for lack of meat" em- 
 ployed them to minister to the necessities of his 
 servant. Every four.tain exhausted; every forest 
 stream dried up; one stream — the brook Cherith, 
 continued clear and fresh, and full, as though Jordan 
 still poured o'er its rocky bed ; whilst the whole land 
 was parched, and crisp, and dry, one spot — the 
 Prophet's vale — continued fresh and green, and cool. 
 Adhering, as we steadfastly hope to do, to the doc- 
 trine of God's providence, we rejoice in the "Lord 
 God of Elijah." The Prophet long since made his 
 exit from Cherith and Israel, in a chariot all brilliant 
 with glory. 
 
 Formed by the Architpct tlml biiiit the skies," 
 
 From the time its burning wheels rested on the 
 "Mount of God," century after century rolled away, 
 and whilst walking with the "harpers" through the 
 
CHERITH. 57 
 
 rich meadows, and by the flowing fountains of the 
 upper Paradise, the remembrance of Chcrith had 
 been almost lost amid its glories. At length, 
 standing amid the "celestial worthies," he was sum- 
 moned away with Moses, to witness the transfigura- 
 tion of Him, whom angels "delight to worship." 
 Enveloped with the same cloud which displayed the 
 glories of their Master, Peter, James and John, 
 might well exclaim, as they look up, '■Ht is good to 
 be here; let us build three tabernaeles ; one for 
 Christ, one for Moses, and one for Ellas." 
 
 Well did the disciples say, "it is good to be here," 
 it is good to be on the Mount of Christian enjoyment, 
 where Avithout a dimming veil, our eye may joyful 
 view the "Mount of God." It is good too, in sea- 
 sons of distress, and as preparatory to "scale" that 
 Mount, to sit down in hopeful complacency, and 
 drink of the murmuring brook. 
 
CHEBAR-A RIVER. 
 
 We may be led to conclude, from a superficial 
 view of the nature and design of propecy, that the 
 evidence of the inspiration from which it professes 
 to be derived, will rise in precision and importances 
 in proportion to the clearness of the revelation. This 
 supposition might, indeed, be correct, were it not 
 reserved for human agents to carry into effect the 
 event predicted ; and were not the evidence of the 
 divine intention, which prophecy conveys, intended to 
 produce a rational conviction of their truth. Thougl^ 
 prophecy might be so far involved as to leave 
 those who were instrumental in carrying it into effect, 
 60 wholly unfettered in their freedom as to be uncon- 
 scious of the purpose achieved; it should yet possess 
 a precision, that when carried into effect, the observer 
 could have no reason to doubt that the prediction so 
 far agreed with the event, as not to assimilate with 
 any other. These observations have been made in 
 view of the seeming obscurity with which many of 
 the prophecies have been invested. They are, how- 
 ever, not so greatly hidden as will, in any essential, 
 impair their harmony or importance. In the inter- 
 
pretation of prophecy, as of all Scripture, the only 
 safe and proper method, is by collation of the seve- 
 ral parts ; like the sun's rays converger! in the water 
 drop, every tint jf moral excellency ami beauty will 
 be reflected from this consecrated focus of love and 
 wisdom. Concentrating in this Avay the burthen of 
 all prophecy, whether of more remote or later reve- 
 lation, we feel assured to say, the terms in which, 
 God's purposes, on the introduction of the Iraelites 
 into Canaan, are revealed, are not more explicit than 
 those in which his intentions are declared to be 
 fulfilled, in the introduction of the spiritual Israel to 
 their everlasting rest. 
 
 We hope these remarks will be borne in mind, as 
 we contemplate the scene on which such singularly 
 important visions were revealed to the prophet Eze- 
 kiel. 
 
 The river Chebar takes its rise in the mountain 
 ranges south of Arrarat, flowing first south, and then 
 west, until it empties into the Euphrates, near the 
 town of Charchoraish. Like t'^e streams of the 
 Alps, rising in gorges covered by eternal snow, the 
 deep roar of mountain torrents furnishes an inex- 
 haustible supply to this river, hallowed in the annals 
 of prophecy. This river, like the "junction" of the 
 Arve and the Rhone, seems to be a concentrated 
 
60 CHEBAiR.. 
 
 object of contemplation. Both are the emblems of 
 mysteries deep and unutterable. It is A'ain for man 
 to embrace the -wide- spread scenes of eaith in his 
 gaze, "when nature appears thus centered in two or 
 three cherished spots, around which he may ever 
 fondly linger. It is vain to perplex ourselves in 
 the study of the deep and unutterable mysteries of 
 Bible history, when there are two or three bright 
 promises, clear and plain, on which we can fix our 
 hope and attention, and repose on forever, with feel- 
 ings of ecstacy and joy. Sometimes our mind, 
 without an effort, rests like a sumir.er cloud on the 
 mountain summit, drinking up the bright sunshine 
 beneath; and then again, floating here and there, is 
 driven like some maddened spirit before the storm. 
 There are scenes and associations capable of holding 
 in abeyance the mind's wildest imaginings. The 
 heart that loves us is its strongest tie; which, like our 
 home of affection by the side of some beautiful bay, 
 is a point peeping amid the dark green foliage of the 
 trees, from which our eyes will not turn, though the 
 boundless ocean of ligbt and waves glitters in the 
 sun beneath our vision. This is natural. 'Tis pro- 
 per to love those whose home of affection exists only 
 in our bosom. To refuse affection to those who love 
 us, is unjust to those to whom we owe our regard 
 
CHEBAR. 61 
 
 Strip life of the heart that loA'es you, and what 
 remains? Blot out the locality and the house that 
 form the home of your heart, and all is a dazzling 
 blank, into which we look, without finding love or 
 repose. 
 
 This river, the scene on which such strange and 
 mysterious visions were shown, was also the place 
 where the prophet learned to truly love his people. 
 Here was revealed the force of that spirit-stirring 
 sentence, " Should not the shepherd feed his flocks." 
 Here his heart throbbed with the glory of the prom- 
 ise — " I will sprinkle clean water upon the nation, 
 and ye shall be clean : a new heart also will I give 
 unto you, and a new spirit will I put within you, and 
 I will take away the stony heart which is within you, 
 and give you a heart of flesh. (Ezek. xxxvi : 25, 26.) 
 'Twas by Chebar's waters that the idea of seeing the 
 captives restored, and Jerusalem again the joy of 
 the land, was first conceived. 
 
 Here he contemplated that delightful union of 
 heart and life, between the children of his people, 
 which diff'used such soft and radiant light through 
 his soul. We may suppose this feeling was vague 
 and indefinite, until when by the banks of the river, 
 the cloud of vision was lifted up from his soul. After 
 this, he was so forcibly impressed with God's love 
 
62 CHEBAR. 
 
 for the people, that the teachings of the vision, stri- 
 king forcibly upon his heart, vibrated to its inmost 
 chord. Here, after the retiring of the heavenly vision, 
 that certain calmness which is always produced in 
 the agitated mind, after the cessation of doubt, took 
 possession of his soul, inspiring obedience to Him to 
 whose service he had been called. 
 
 There are many things in nature tending to in- 
 spire hope and joy. Our heart follows the objects 
 of attachment, like light on the sea, which gives the 
 undulating waves an oscillating movement, and pro- 
 longs the vessel's dazzling track, until it disappears 
 on the horizon. These brilliant objects of life please 
 us much, and serve to lull to sleep those useless, 
 feverish emotions of the soul, which waste away both 
 mind and imagination, before that period when our 
 destiny and duty summon us to take an active part in 
 the busy world. The ideal, visionaay world, the world 
 of soul nnd sentiment, has perhaps a still greater influ- 
 ence than all other causes, in formation of our char- 
 acters. Music and poetry are but the themes upon 
 which each one r uses up his own feelings and actions. 
 Nature itself, that from which all music and poetry 
 derive their power, will be still more powerful and 
 permanent in its impressions ; so that a few wreaths 
 of sunshine, streaming through the clouds which 
 
CHEBAR. 63 
 
 float in eddying vapors around our mountain home, 
 can never be eifaced from the mind. If, when on 
 the bank of an undulating river, coursing its way 
 . through a deep valley, wrapped in a covering of fog, 
 we look up with awe, reverence and affection, to 
 some lovely rainbow in the mist ; how, think you, 
 the mind of the prophet was impressed, when on the 
 banks of the Chebar, there was revealed to him, 
 amid the eddying clouds with which the vale was 
 enveloped, such sights as mortal eye had iie'er 
 beheld ! Like the supposed scene, though more sub- 
 limely terrific, were some of the visions of the 
 1 1 prophet. Yet, as the appearance of the bow that is in 
 i ! the cloud, in the day of rain, so was the appearance 
 ! of the brightness round about. This ivas the appear- 
 ; ance oj the likeness of that glory of the Lord. And 
 \ ' when I saw it I fell upon my face, and I heard the 
 I voice of one that spake, saying, whether the house 
 ) of Israel hear or whether they forbear, be not afraid 
 of them or of their words, though briers and thorns 
 be Avith thee, and thou dost dwell among scorpions, 
 be not afraid of them or their looks." As the 
 i3cenes, teachings and associations of early years 
 Ihaunt us, from spot to spot, like the murmuring of 
 jsome insect, called into existence neath a loving 
 summer sky, so this vision of the prophet, ever be- 
 
64 CHEBAR. 
 
 fore him, filled his mind with its remembrance, and 
 aided him in the task of moral reformation. 
 
 So Saint Paul, with his eje placed on regions 
 beyond the ken of ordinary mortals, and kindling 
 on the glories it was not permitted him to reveal, 
 presses forward to a fadeless kingdom and incorrup- 
 tible crown. This was that which, when repelling 
 the sneer of the haughty Tertullus, before Felix, 
 caused him to forget his bonds, the noble audience 
 before him, and the coming fate ; whilst nought but 
 "the Tlirone of Judgment," before which were gath- 
 ered all nations, as the Archangel's trump, pealing 
 the knell of time, revealed the resurrection morn. 
 As a priest, to Ezekiel, the mystic breast-plate, 
 gleaming with oracular jewelry, was a symbol of 
 of majesty and power, trivial in importance when 
 compared with the vision of the "four beasts with 
 wings;" of a "wheel in the middle of a wheel;" or 
 the mystic hand gleaming through the cloud, hold- 
 ing that fearful roll, "written within and without, 
 with lamentations, and mourning, and woe." Ever 
 after these visions, he reproved the Jews, and others 
 to whom he speaks, with a fearlessness and zeal, 
 which well comport with the holiness of God, the 
 iniquities of the people, and the tremendous conse- 
 quences resulting from it. Long as prophecy shall 
 
DEAD SEA. 65 
 
 be fulfiling, shall the visions of Chebar be esteemed 
 sacred. 
 
 DEAD SEA. 
 
 It may appear a desecration, to associate with the 
 sacred fountains of the Holy Land the dark waters 
 of the Lake Asphalites ; a lake concerning which 
 the common, though erroneous tradition is, that no 
 living creature can exist in its saline and sulphurous 
 waters. But as our purpose is to speak of those 
 waters, and only those, which are in some way asso- 
 ciated with important events in Bible history, we 
 could not overlook the sea, with which our j^outhfui 
 fancy was wont to associate a scene of most terrific 
 grandeur. We could perhaps forget some of the less 
 important water courses; we might even fail to 
 remember the particulars connected with the pool of 
 Bethesda, and the Fountains of Elislia ; but to for- 
 get the lake which rolls its dark waters o'er the 
 desolate and wicked cities of the plain, would be as 
 impossible as to blot from the divine record, the 
 
66 DEAD 8EA. 
 
 luminous page on which their fearful doom is in- 
 scribed. 
 
 The names and fate of these places were treasured 
 in our earliest recollections; and we learned to speak 
 of them in our infant prattle. As we grew in years 
 and stature, those wicked acts which rendered them 
 present and perceptible to the soul, were exhibited, 
 time and again, to our excited fancy. And when 
 the evening family vespers were sung, and our 
 mother's knee became our familiar altar, at which 
 time the countenance of the mother, ever sweet, 
 beams with a gentler lustre, we have summoned all our 
 strength, and clinging to her with a tenacity made 
 strong by excited feeling, have implored protection 
 from the fate of Sodom. This sea, remarkable as 
 the covering beneath which are buried the obscured 
 ruins of cities, renowned as objects of»special vindic- 
 tive vengeance, is situated on the east of the land of 
 Canaan, of which those on the east or Arabian side 
 arc the most rocky. All round, far as the vision 
 extends the region bears an aspect of the utmost 
 sterrility, showing neither vegetation, nor the habi- 
 tation of man or beast; indicating that a country 
 which was so wicked as to require the exterminating 
 hand of God to cleanse it, should bear in all agea 
 the marks of his displeasure. And surely, that pro- 
 
DKAl) SKA. 67 
 
 fanation of self, that suicidal destruction of worth 
 and beauty, and all that was worth preserving, was 
 enough to send the daily pang to the soul of "righte- 
 ous Lot," and render them fit subjects of divine ven- 
 geance. Surely the casket will be little valued, vrhen 
 robbed of its most precious and valuable jewel. So 
 man, stript of his virtue, integrity and honor, de- 
 serves to sink into oblivion ; where the ensnaring 
 and delusive lustre of his fatal example will be 
 forever obscured. Man, without piety, is deprived 
 of that life, which will enable him to move among 
 the community in such a way as will promote his 
 own happiness and their good; and is like the leper, 
 whose unsightly and offensive person is an object to 
 be justly shunned. The laws of society and nature, 
 intended to be promotive of the general good, wisely 
 remove the lifeless body from " our sight. " Shall 
 man, in matters which merely concern his present 
 happiness, act more wisely than the God whose prov- 
 idence is our hope and stay ? Pointing to the dark- 
 rolling of these waters, which for ages have covered 
 the place of His abhorrence, we have an abundant 
 refutation of this almost impious conjecture. There 
 where the moonbeam falls, but to reflect darkly the 
 ripple of these waters, which have beaten for ages 
 
 against the shore, we seem to hear the spirits of the 
 6 
 
68 DEAD S5EA. 
 
 abandoned dead, pouring on the cheerless ear, the 
 lone sound of lamentation and woe; appropriate em- 
 blem of those dark waters which beat around the 
 soul, when steril and unfruitful, it is deprived of all 
 light and hope ; and like the moonbeam on the sur- 
 face of this dark sea, it sinks beneath the swelling 
 wave, and is lost forever. 
 
 How often, sitting down in the evening twilight, 
 as the dark shadows stole around our early home, 
 have we tried to realize the kindly visits of those 
 angels who, coming in the evening to Sodom, warned 
 Lot of his danger, and announced its fearful doom. 
 I seemed to be with them ; and entering the streets 
 with hesitating steps, trembled lest I myself should 
 not escape the impending doom. Then, too, have 
 seemed to see the devoted cities, as the first streak- 
 ings of the dawn broke on the morning sky; when 
 the footsteps of the servants, long echoing through 
 the houses, answered but the caroling of the feath- 
 ered songsters, perched on the pending vine branches 
 encircling their dwellings. In one house only, was 
 the sound of preparation and prayer. True all that 
 affectioa could do, all that faithful entreaty could 
 accomplish, was done, to induce the sons-in-law of 
 Lot to abandon tne place. All was vain ; and with | 
 a sad heart Lot turned him away, solicited, pressed 
 
DEAD SEA. 69 
 
 to escape for his life. What, what! was to be- 
 come of those endeared objects, borne in his bosom 
 and cradled under the paternal roof? Those children 
 for Avhom he had cared, and who were the image and 
 reflex of all save the internal nobility of the father, 
 were about to linger and perish. A portion of that 
 family, who were but his second self, and of whom he 
 hoped they Avould transmit his own character and 
 feelings to succeeding generations, and who often 
 assembled in the little family group, displayed that 
 union of hearts which linked them to each other and 
 rendered vi'jible their feelings, were now doomed to 
 destruction. It must not, could not be. Still he 
 pressed, still they lingered; until, laying hold of the 
 grieved and sorrow-stricken father, they tear him 
 from his home and kindred. Ere this he had many 
 sorrows; but he was like one of that race of oaks, 
 which vegetate and renew their existence until the 
 day the axe is laid at their roots. A patriarch and a 
 servant of God, he hoped for nothing but to spend the 
 evening of his days amid the domestic enjoyments and 
 the retiracy of his home; until his holy example 
 should at least secure the salvation of his family. 
 Having lost none of his children, he fondly hoped, 
 in closing his eyes forever, that the heavens had ex- 
 hjiusted its storms for a long period, and that life 
 
70 DEAD SEA. 
 
 ■would prove more peaceful to those to •whom, when 
 leaving his home, he bequeathed it. 
 
 "The sun had risen upon Zoar, " when Lot en- 
 tered the adjacent grove of this the monumental city 
 of his faith and prayer. The least of the five cities, it 
 was probably less criminal than the others. Stripped 
 of all his property, and doomed forever, from the 
 force of his afflictions, to an ignoble retiracy, it was 
 still natural he should cling to the least remnant of 
 departed glory. Pride and evil associations, the 
 great sources of his unhappiness, still seemed to 
 have their influence on his character, and he left 
 with regret the scenes of a residence he should have 
 avoided with abhorrence. 
 
 I have pictured for my profit, this man, torn from 
 his residence, only to be saved that he might behold 
 the tragic end of his wife, and reflect with feelings of 
 sorrow on the fearfully calamitous event. Like some 
 new-fledged bird, with a heart unable to endure its 
 weight of anguish, he had fallen from his nest, made 
 warm with the tenderness of a family, upon the 
 cold, damp ground of adversity. On the first night 
 after his departure, would the soul of this sorrow- 
 stricken father burn with an unspeakable desire for 
 the meadows in which his flocks were wont to roam, 
 and for that home, which once the object of solici- 
 
DEAH SKA. 71 
 
 tude, was now obscured by the smoke of the ruined 
 cities, ascending up until the top vapors grew pale 
 and thin on the arch of the moonlit heavens. And 
 when retired to his cave, he would seize in the sigh- 
 ing of the wind, the song of the vesper bird ; or in 
 the rustling of the leaves, those memories of the ear, 
 which awakened reminiscences in his home but yes- 
 terday, all happy. Sad was his heart, and deep was 
 his regret of that strange infatuation, which, in lea- 
 ving Abraham, induced him to "pitch his tent toward 
 Sodom." Yet, these /ormer joys now forever blight- 
 ed, were destined to form for him, that family of 
 the soul, to which, though he owed not his life, he 
 would owe all of that happiness, which ever after, 
 was to form a portion of the bliss which is mercifully 
 granted to sufferers in the most destitute condition. 
 But, then, when we view Lot in this sad condition, 
 we can but see the vanity of those riches and honors 
 which first induced him to sacrifice the approbation 
 of his God, for the poor paltry prize of worldly ad- 
 vancement. These phantoms of the imagination, 
 pursued with so much vigor, and in the possession of 
 which, we hope to deri\'e so much pleasure, are ob- 
 served all round the sea, neath the roll of whose 
 wave the city is forever obscured, and like sentinel 
 spirits, linger around the grave of the loved and lost. 
 
72 DEAD SEA. 
 
 The covetousness of Lot's wife, which caused her to 
 "look back" as they were leaving the valley while 
 evidencing her base ingratitude, at the kindness 
 shown in sending angels to deliver, was also just 
 cause why God's anger Avas so hot as to deprive her 
 of life, and make her an everlasting monument of 
 sordidness and shame. After this, the cities of the 
 plain were immediately destroyed by fire and brim- 
 stone, when the whole adjacent country sunk below 
 its former level, and the place was covered with water. 
 An obscured cave, high up on the side of some 
 neighboring mountain, held the family and posses- 
 sions of him, who, preferring great wealth, and its 
 increase to the society of Abraham, was now depri- 
 ved alike, of that which he sought, and that which 
 he despised. The turbid waters of the Jordan, 
 winding amid steep and fallen banks, and dark thick- 
 ets, which in many places renders it inaccessible to 
 the traveller, flows into this stagnant lake, Avhich 
 having no visible outlet, its waters are lost forever. 
 Its waters in general, are shallow toward the shore, 
 but rises and falls with the seasons, and the quan- 
 tity of water carr-ied into it by the Jordan and other 
 streams. It also appears to be either on the increase 
 or to be lower in some years than others ; which 
 makes it probable that those travellers are to be 
 
DEAD SEA. 73 
 
 credited, who assert that they have beheld the ruins 
 of cities, either exposed or engulphed beneath its 
 waters. Two aged and respectable inhabitants of 
 Jerusalem, told Mr. Maundrell, the traveller, that 
 they had once been able to see some parts of these 
 ruins ; that they were near the shore, and the water 
 80 shallow at the time, that they, together with some 
 Frenchmen, went into it and found several pillars 
 and fragments of buildings. Josephus says, he per- 
 ceived traces or shades of the cities on the banks of 
 the lake. 
 
 When then, we suppose that at the first, these 
 guilty cities were not entirely overwhelmed with the 
 waters, but remained partially exposed to view, as 
 monuments of the judgments of God, these authori- 
 ties will not be despised. The specific gravity of 
 the water, has ever been a fruitful subject of specu- 
 lation. The analysis of the waters by Dr. Marcet 
 of England, would seem to confirm the most exagc- 
 rated estimate. As Dr. Durbin the recent American 
 traveller, declares he waded into the water carefully, 
 to test the oft-repeated statements of the great spe- 
 cific gravity of this tluid, and repeated the experi- 
 ment several times; the uniform result was, that 
 when the water rose above the armpits, but not over 
 his shoulders, his body was balanced, and he could 
 
74 DEAD SEA. 
 
 not touch the bottom, hut his feet tended strongly 
 to rise, and his head to descend ; "on the surface he 
 hay still as a knot of wood." We might multiply our 
 observations to an indefinite extent, as suggested by 
 this singular and important sea. We direct atten- 
 tion to the following, leaving to the spirit, the work 
 of personal application. In "pitching" his tent 
 toward Sodom, we see manifested upon the part of 
 Lot, a preference of mere temporal prosperity, to 
 the spiritual well being of himself and family. This 
 was a most dangerous manifestation of selfishness. 
 When we prefer houses and lands, wealth and honor 
 to the salvation of the soul ; when we prefer evil 
 associations, and forsake permanent good for antici- 
 pated pleasure, we imitate the example of Lot, and 
 may be considered as having ^^pitched our tent to- 
 ward Sodom.'' The commencemeyit of an evil course 
 is always dangerous. As to commence the work of 
 christian obedience, is but receiving the interest in 
 advance of our inheritance above. So the com- 
 mencement of a course of crime is but receiving the 
 interest on the magnitude of future evil ; and in 
 truth, is but paying the advance on that contract 
 which results in our everlasting undoing. The trav- 
 eller who may visit this spot ages hence, will doubt- 
 less find the surface of this sea, as desolate and un- 
 
DEAD SEA. 75 
 
 frequented as at the present hour. No country 
 thickly dotted with villages, farms and vineyards, 
 each provided with its reservoir of water, drawn 
 from the Jordan for the purpose of constant irriga- 
 tion, and yielding in Eden-like abundance, all the 
 luscious and delicate products of the temperate and 
 equatorial zones will ever be shown, for the molten 
 lake, but dimly mirroring peerless stars, shall con- 
 tinue as evidence of God's displeasure. 
 
EUPHRATES-A RIVER. 
 
 Perhaps there is no subject upon which there has 
 been more frequent and absurd conjectures, than 
 upon the probable situation of the garden of Eden. 
 Each one has had a favorite situation, which he has 
 seen fit to defend with a zeal and an earnestness 
 commensurate with the presumed importance of a 
 correct decision. In all of these conjectures, we find 
 as great disagreement as on an occasion when man, 
 similarly presuming to elevate his knowledge above 
 that which would be beneficial, had their language 
 confounded, so that they could no longer understand 
 or communicate their thoughts to one another. All 
 reasoning and conclusions upon this subject, natural- 
 ly appears unsatisfactory ; when we reflect that the 
 surface of the earth must have been broken up and 
 convulsed by the universal deluge, which in many 
 instances, altered, if it did not obliterate the courses 
 of many rivers. Maiiv other changes in the face of 
 the country, produced as the obvious consequences of 
 the general desolation, Avould make it difficult at any 
 period, to determine its precise locality. Most prob- 
 ftblv, after tho expulsion of our first parents from 
 
EUPHRATES. 77 
 
 the garden, God chose to blot out this beautiful spot 
 from his creation, and so destroy, both the scene and 
 the memorial of man's transgression. The learned 
 Huetius and others, suppose Eden to have been pla- 
 ced in the southern part of Babylonia, not far from 
 the Persian Gulf, where they conjecture the Tigris 
 and Euphrates joined, and afterward separated ; 
 others supposing the Euphrates to have been the 
 same with the Hinmend or Hindmend, think Eden 
 must have been situated somewhere in the eastern 
 part of the Persian Empire, or in the country now 
 called Cabulistan, between Persia and Hindoostan. 
 These conjectures however, do not well accord with 
 the description given, from which we would suppose 
 the most probable idea, concerning the situation of 
 Paradise, would be to place it in or near Armenia. 
 All agree, that to the rivers Euphrates, Hiddekel, 
 Pison and Gihon, we must look alone for data, upon 
 which to found a conclusion respecting the location 
 of Eden. The former of these, we have alone selec- 
 ted, as important to be placed with the sacred rivers 
 of the Bible. Not, but that the others might be 
 fruitful of interest, but because this alore bears a dis- 
 tinctive character in the more modern history of the 
 Bible. With the exception of the Pison, Avhich 
 encompassed the laud of Havillah, a region aboun- 
 
7b EUPHRATES. 
 
 ding in gold, our conjectures could be but vague and 
 uncertain. Yet, to me, the study of this portion of 
 Scripture history, gleaming with the spirit of poesy, 
 when fancy picturing the retired shades and airy 
 walks of Eden ; canopied with trees ever verdant, 
 from which the evening vespers of innumerable 
 birds, rolling out on the still air their note of praise, 
 has ever been delightful. The moment when the 
 infant mind, is directed to the contemplation of this, 
 the first and most interesting locality of Bible his- 
 tory ; the serene warmth of soul which induces his 
 attention, can never be extinguished during after 
 years of study, toil and care. Then, the young 
 mind realizing itself as introduced into the treasure 
 house of the human heart, where divine love, defi- 
 cient in the intoxication and raptures of a sensual 
 passion, has a counterpoise in the infinity and eter- 
 nity of the Being, who is the object of adoration. 
 Alas ! when reviewing the past, we are all constrained 
 to admit, how many false gems of affection have 
 fallen little by little to us, accompanied by disen- 
 chantment and disgust, in place of the wonders and 
 delights of that affection, then and there existing. 
 Even now, the christian turns from the contempla- 
 tion of the brief history of Eden, with more sorrow- 
 ful regret than would a traveller, who had looked for 
 
EUFHRATES. 79 
 
 the last time upon the uioutitaia.s, the turreut:^, the 
 water-falls, the ruins perched upon the rocky sum- 
 mits, or the chalets peeping from beneath the pine 
 and beach groves of the Alpine regions. Then, but 
 not now, our whole life centered in the dreams of 
 childhood, when the enthusiasm of our youth al- 
 lows us to wander amid scenes in intellect and nature 
 of ever-variegated bliss ; we are fully prepared to 
 enter into the spirit, and appreciate the beauty of 
 scripture narratives, being freed from that open de- 
 pravity which brutalizes the imagination, and is the 
 "parody of physical and moral beauty." Filled 
 with the most passionate admiration of the romantic 
 and wisely restrained by parental authority from 
 perusing those dangerous and enchanting works 
 which inspire disgust for real life; with what potency 
 will the more than personified and ideal images of 
 scripture narrative strike upon the infant mind. 
 Then, when enveloped in the shade of the sanctuary, 
 our sports and our friendships are forgotten, in a 
 kind of meditative concentration of look and fea- 
 tures, as the scenes of Bible history, with their aU 
 ternate lights and shadows, are placed before us by 
 the venerable minister. And so susceptible is the 
 infant mind of pious impressions, that these scenes 
 will arrest the fancy, Avith the singular prominenco 
 
80 EUPHRATES, 
 
 of an island bathed in light emerging from the sea, 
 towering aloft into the blue heavens, and breaking on 
 the sight like the dream of a poet, during the "sleep 
 of a summer night." We listen to these instructions 
 with that species of rapture, as the boatman to the 
 sonorous drip of the Avater which falls in measured 
 harmony from his oars. Even now, though steeped 
 in the crimes of adult years, the effort to rejuvinate 
 our moral sensibilities by a recurrence to these 
 sacred associations, would be beneficial, when the 
 gem of infant piety, viewed through the vista of 
 years, and enlivened by the Spirit, appears like a 
 floating spark upon the summit of the waves, now 
 for the moment unseen, ever about to be extinguished 
 and then enkindling with greater lustre. These vis- 
 ions of Paradise, like the dew-drop from the flower, 
 have been shaken from the soul by the winds of ad- 
 versity, and the storm-passion, but their remem- 
 brance, like the Euphrates of Eden, shall continue 
 a perpetual memorial of our bliss. 
 
 This river rising in the mountains of Arminia, 
 running south-west and south-east, through the fron- 
 tier of Capadocia, Syria, and Arabia Deserta on the 
 West, and Mesapotamia on the East, passes through 
 Chaldea or Babylonia, and empties by several out- 
 lets into the Persian Gulf. The waters with which 
 
EUPHRATES. 81 
 
 it unites some sixty miles above its mouth, passes 
 out in the same channel. If Poets forsaking the 
 domain of affection, seek for genius afar off, and 
 amid the inspiring memories of the past, where could 
 a more sublime field be presented, than amid the de- 
 serted ruins of the country, through which this river 
 winds its solitary way. Time quickly effaces every 
 object, but time, though destroying the traces of the 
 mighty cities which stood upon its banks, can never 
 obliterate the impressions their history has made on 
 succeeding nations. What scenes have here been 
 enacted! What gorgeous visions of empire and 
 glory, have rested like a summer cloud on the mar- 
 gin of the streams, until wafted by the winds of 
 heaven, they rolled into some distant mountain gorge 
 to rest in obscurity and gloom. What sad hearts, 
 captives of other lands have gathered on its banks, 
 where, hearing the ripple of the waves, as they threw 
 a slight fringe of spray around the rocks, whilst ad- 
 jacent hills bathed in the soft purple twilight, seemed 
 like huge floating shadows of their own distant clime. 
 Even now, though ages intervene, fancy pictures the 
 "captive Jews," as arm in arm they wend their tear- 
 ful way, whilst their long shadows blended into one, 
 like living shrouds, track their footsteps before the 
 time. Saddened by the successive departure] of 
 
82 EUPHRATES. 
 
 friend after friend, under the fearful pressure of 
 unequalled woe, driven from their country, doomed to 
 an eternal bereavement of the heart, and forsaken 
 by the world ; they sat them down in sadness, whilst 
 the throbbing of their bosoms spoke but too plainly, 
 that the contact of those warm hearts but dissolved 
 the thoughts that froze within them, as the dew of 
 night ever congeals on plants which are most expo- 
 sed. Oppressed by former ingratitude, overwhelmed 
 with present calamity, the tears of penitence min- 
 gled with the ardent supplication, that they might 
 once more fieast their eyes with a look on the heights 
 of Zion, or that the last sigh which would efface from 
 their minds forever, the dark and doubtful future, 
 might die upon the slight ripple of the closing wave. 
 God did not so determine. When in other lands, 
 the broad Nile reflected the prostrate form, and 
 echoed out on its waters the wail of their fathers' woe; 
 deliverance with an "high hand and stretched out 
 arm," was wrought for them. So now, their dreams 
 and gestures, looks and words of happiness, which 
 were spoken with the fear that the spring-time of 
 their deliverance would never bloom, had now come 
 up as a " memorial before God." Bidding them turn 
 to the evening breeze to dry their tears, required 
 in a voice like the softest notes, that the speechleg? 
 
EUrilRATE3. 83 
 
 agony of their hearts be forever forgotten, and the 
 "remembrance of Zion," as the treasure of hope, 
 should evermore be cherished. For the time had 
 now come, when the memory of all they had endured, 
 like the hated crime from which the sinner turns in 
 the hour of deepest penitence, would but appear in 
 the past, as the leafless tree shown on the dark back- 
 ground of the river's shore. The disposition to 
 oppress, (than which no disposition so well deserves 
 the execration of the wise and good,) now received 
 its just and fearful rebuke. Dark and fearful was 
 the night, when the bachanals' song and shout rang 
 through the crowded streets of Babylon. Around 
 her ancient towers the multitudes reel, while the 
 infamous hosanna to their pagan gods rolls out on 
 the midnight air, like the loud roar of wave "impel- 
 ling wave." Like water from the fountain, flows 
 the intoxicating draught, while lust and revelry 
 walked the streets unchecked. Looking upon the 
 massive walls, which, while the clouds seemed to 
 rest on their summit, ten horsemen could securely 
 drive amid the ethcrial mists, they feared not dan- 
 ger, though surrounded by a besieging foe. As the 
 eye of the besieged, from some interior elevation, 
 swept round the circuit of the walls, fifty miles in 
 
 circumference, and saw their hundred gates of bras.«! 
 
 7* 
 
84 EUPHRATES. 
 
 flashing in the sunheamis, and the hanging gardens, 
 loaded with shrubs, whilst sparkling fountains leaped 
 from beneath gayly decorated arches, he might weJl 
 exclaim, in despite of the "captives'" prayers, will 
 Belshazzer ^^ exalt his throne amid the stars of 
 heaven! " At that moment, in a retired hall of the 
 intoxicated monarch, apart from the tumultuous 
 crowd, might be seen princes, and nobles, and their 
 wives, all arrayed as for an occasion of mirth. The 
 gay, the voluptuous, and the proud are there ; men 
 of high renown, and women whose beauty out-daz- 
 zled the splendor by which they were surrounded ; 
 whilst amid archways and corridors, and statues, an 
 endless profusion of ornaments are exhibited; all 
 which combine to form a scene of such dazzling 
 splendor, that the spectator is bewildered and lost 
 in the midst. Ever and anon bursts of music came 
 swelling aloft amid the columns, and then died away 
 in soft and lulling cadences. From the consecrated 
 vessels of the Hebrews' temple, they drank confu- 
 sion to the God of Israel, and '■^ praised their gods 
 of gold and silver, and brass and stone.'' 
 
 In the midst of their revelry the music stopped 
 its joyous burst, whilst the shriek of the fainting, or 
 the tumultuous sigh of fear, reigned throughout the 
 apartment. The sudden flash of an illuminated 
 
EUPHRATES. 85 
 
 hand came forth and wrote upon the plaster of the 
 wall, which when the dread line was finished, the 
 quivering monarch, letting fall the untasted goblet, 
 gazed on the mystic finger, which seemed to say to 
 his guilty soul, "reacZ thy doom'' 
 
 Astrologers vainly attempted to solve the myste- 
 rious writing. Then Daniel, one of the long ne- 
 glected Hebrew captives, being sent for, and coming 
 into the king, with his finger pointed above to the 
 God whom the king had scorned, and looking stead- 
 fastly on the palid monarch, read aloud his doom, 
 written in letters of fire on the walls of his palace — • 
 "God hath numbered thy kingdom and finished it," 
 for " thou art weighed in the balances, and art found 
 wanting. Thy kingdom is divided and given to the 
 Medes and Persians." We may not repeat the tale 
 of woe, of carnage, and death. How that scarce 
 had the footsteps of the retiring prophet died 
 along the silent corridors, when the shout of the 
 foe broke, like the sound of bursting billows, over 
 the city. How that entering underneath the ponde- 
 rous gates, which closed over the channel of the 
 Euphrates, they were pouring in countless numbers 
 through the streets, to the gates of the palace, where 
 the fragment of the royal army, making their last, 
 desperate stand, were overborne by the might of 
 
86 EUPHRATES. 
 
 the Medean warrior. Or yet, how the king, throw- 
 ing himself amid his guard, to make the last brave 
 effort for his life and his kingdom, at last vanquished 
 and trampled under foot, expired in the midst of his 
 dying followers. Over the sickening scenes of that 
 terrible night we would draw the veil of oblivion. 
 There are some scenes which, though recorded "for 
 our learning," are yet of so fearful and horrifying a 
 nature, that they can serve no purpose but to inspire 
 a disgust for the actors, and a hatred to the princi- 
 ples by which they were inspired. Of this kind are 
 the events recorded as here transpiring. Sin, wher- 
 ever displayed, whether by the king on his throne, 
 or the beggar in the dust, is to the christian alike 
 disgusting. No elevation to which men ordinarily 
 attain, can secure them from the reproaches of the 
 virtuous and good; especially if subjected to their 
 wicked and iniquitous government. Neither the wis- 
 dom of rulers, the strength of fortifications, nor the 
 might of armies, are a security against the just 
 judgments of the Almighty. Whilst the virtuous, 
 though weak and defenceless, are conscientiously 
 secure against the calamities of life, the wicked, en- 
 vironed with nought but the work of his hands, shall 
 exclaim in the hour of distress — " Ye have taken 
 away my gods, and what have T more?" From the 
 
EUPHRATES. 87 
 
 history of the Jews, in connection with the train of 
 providences by which they were delivered, teaches 
 that " G-od hath sworn ly two immutable things^ in 
 the which it was impossible for G-od to lie, ive might 
 have strong consolation, who have fted for refuge to 
 lay hold upon the hope set before us." 
 
 We would remark in confirmation, that the present 
 desolation of Babylon was predicted by Isaiah, two 
 hundred years before its signal overthrow. Seeing 
 his people carried away captive, the holy temple 
 plundered of her treasures, the God of his fathers 
 held in derision, his soul takes fire ; when looking to 
 the future, he sees the day of vengeance, and by a 
 train of poetry never equalled, a chorus of Jews are 
 caused to sing their astonishment at the overthrow 
 of the oppressor. Babylon has fallen, and her glory 
 gone forever. In a few years a magnificent pile of 
 ruins was all that remained of her former splendor. 
 Her strong towers and battlements slowly crumbled 
 back to their original dust, and silence and desola- 
 tion reigned where once the hum of a mighty popu- 
 lation had sounded. The dust of the desert has 
 long^since covered the ruins ; but neither time nor 
 the sirocco can divert from its channel that river, 
 alike a memorial of Paradise and Babylon, heaven 
 and hell. 
 
ENHOGEL, OR FOUNTAIN OF SILOAM. 
 
 Enrogel, or Fountain of Siloam, is one of those 
 fountains which, while possessing interest of them- 
 selves, is still more fruitful of sacred reminisences. 
 Setting aside conjecture as to its location, in common 
 with the more respectable authorities, we suppose it 
 to have been that pool, whose only waters, flowing at 
 the base of Mount Moriah, gladdened Jerusalem 
 with its murmuring ripple. The history and remi- 
 niscences of this sacred stream has been strangely 
 interwoven, like a thread of silver, into the garments 
 and ceremonial of the ancient priesthood. And 
 now, though the top of Moriah, no longer crowned 
 with the white wall and golden roof of the temple? 
 has been idolatrously supplied by the mosque of St. 
 Omar, and the worship of the Koran ; still this brook, 
 babbling at the mountain's base, runs free and clear, 
 as when 
 
 "Siloa's brook did flow, 
 Fast by the oracles of God.'" 
 
 In the fearful desolation of the city, and the ruin 
 which ensued on the rejection of Him who himself 
 was both the oracle and the fountain, this whispering 
 brook, exhaustless in its flow, murmured out from its 
 
ENKOCRI,, 89 
 
 rocky covering; the only thing whose life-breathings 
 found an echo amid the surrounding desolation. 
 Lulled by the melodious murmur of its flow, the 
 sound of which seemed to contain treasures of love, 
 hope and melancholy, touching the vandalism of 
 pagan hearts, repressed their thirst for blood. Its 
 sound was the living lyre of nature; dreamy as night, 
 brilliant as day, true as the heart, and simple as the 
 untutored thought — which rolling out on the ear of 
 the victor, repressed the work of destruction, and 
 charmed away the serpent-like nature of his soul. 
 Looking back to the period when Jerusalem, "encom- 
 passed" by a victorious foe, was doomed to destruc- 
 tion, we wonder why even heathen hearts did not 
 relent in the work of indescriminate carnage — why 
 their vague dreams of shining exploits, of stirring 
 destiny, of captor sti-iving with captive, and then 
 rising in strength and power, as the besieged lie 
 dead at his feet, were not relented at the sight of so 
 much sorrow. But then God hath reserved influences 
 which can melt the heart, when the sight of blood 
 and death leave us in a state of brutality and stupor. 
 The lulling sound of the summer wave, striking in 
 long and distant measures on the shore, the murmur- 
 ing winds of autumn, sighing through the trees, or 
 the still, soft ripple of the fountain, are at times 
 
90 ENROUEL. 
 
 sufficient tu revive the memory of better and purer 
 days, and to repress the work of death. Nature's 
 eloquence is not ordinarily addressed to reason, as 
 the faculty which is to enlighten and disperse myS- 
 teries; but striking upon the heart, leads us to 
 communion with God, whose presence amid his works, 
 like the fanning of gentle zephyrs, stirs the inmost 
 fibre of our souls. He wills that the majestic soli- 
 tude, which, peopling with spirit forms and voices, 
 shall, like the flow of "'Siloa's brook," sound a living 
 murmur, which will aid in subduing the unloved 
 propensities of our nature, and whilst surprising us 
 by the pleasing change, loaves us to wonder in the 
 silence of nature, at the light and life he has shed 
 upon our souls. From which we infer, that the 
 breath of love and prayer is ordained to flow out 
 from His wondrous works, to be continually inspired 
 and heard, that man by listening to their voice, 
 should be constantly subdued in love, and by their 
 teaching participate in the ordering of his own des- 
 tiny. Fountains in the East are well nigh as immu- 
 table as mountains. To them the inhabitants repair, 
 as well from motives of necessity as piety; whilst 
 modern travellers repair to them, at the season when 
 the villagers coming to procure water, exhibit most 
 pleasingly their personal peculiarities of dress an(} 
 
ENKOGUL. 91 
 
 manners. Not uufrequently, us in uur cliurches, 
 they can accurately determine, by the modesty of 
 demeanor, the strength of piety in those who come 
 to procure water. At times this inspection is as 
 satisfactory and pleasing as that of the servant of 
 Abraham, who meeting the modest and courteous 
 Rebecca at the well, was immediately enamored 
 of that beauty, which founded his solicitation for 
 her union with his master. It was also at a Avell 
 the Savior conversed with and estimated the charac- 
 ter of the "woman of Samaria," and where meeting 
 so wise and distinguished a stranger, she was made 
 happily instrumental in bearing the tidings of the 
 Redeemer's mission and presence to her neighbors. 
 Whether we would approach any of these aacred 
 fountains in the hope of beholding some distinguished 
 visiter, or a poor damsel lamenting over the frag- 
 ments of her jar, broken in the frequent scuffle to 
 procure water, we should feel on our return, the 
 trouble and toil of the visit amply repaid in the 
 enjoyment of the increasing stock of wisdom. The 
 memory oi thebright, sunny days of youth, when 
 
 " Beside the brook, 
 With OHO sweet sister, and my all on earllj, 
 A gleelul boy, our changeful course we took, 
 And woke the echos of the hills wiih mirth," 
 
 Would again be ours, should more sacred associations 
 
 8 
 
92 ENROUEL. 
 
 not disturb the natural revery. But to the Jew, 
 what holy recollections, what saddening reflections, 
 are awakened at the sight of this fountain, as it 
 bubbles up from the base of the mountain on which 
 stood the temple, the home of his fathers' hearts, 
 and the pride and glory of the nation. The holy 
 lessons learned by him, as in imagination he sat 
 within its consecrated walls, could never be forgotten, 
 though the light which cnce shone on Salem's 
 temple tower, falls but faintly and sadly where 
 "mockery sits" on sacred ground. To us there can 
 be no place more sacred in our recollections, than 
 the church where our first religious impressions were 
 made and strengthened; which, though it rise not 
 in stately grandeur, in the midst of a populous town 
 or city, yet points its spire heavenward, from the 
 trees that hold their strife with the mountain storm. 
 There the wholesome instruction and pious counsel, 
 received in communion with hearts unaccustomed to 
 religious sophistries and hollow pretensions, shall 
 not be forgotten ; but visiting us in trial and in sor- 
 row, with a chastening and holy influence, will impart 
 super-human fortitude and heavenly consolation. 
 From whose consecrated walls there ever seemed to 
 ascend the fervent prayer, the sweet song, and swel- 
 ling anthem, moving the soul in its hidden depths, 
 
ENROGEL. 93 
 
 and bidding it give answer to the mysterious impul- 
 ses within and around it. Yet how much more vivid 
 and intense the memory, the love, the ancient Israelite 
 bore for the temple and its splendid and incompara- 
 ble service ! Then, too, when we look back to that 
 spiritual Siloam, that sacred fountain, whichjpoured 
 its healthful stream around the altar of our infant 
 memories, we seem to feel that our spiritual blessings 
 in the past, have been so wonderfully real, as to have 
 accumulated others for the present. Not so the Jew; 
 for him the visions of national glory, with the day- 
 beams of his devotion, converging in the temple, 
 have long since gone out ; and the evening shadows, 
 with their sombre faces, close round the land of his 
 ancient joy. True, we hope the deep thunder-clouds 
 of God's vengeance, having exhausted their treas. 
 ured desolation, will now roll away into the distance, 
 and send back their farewell signs in successive play- 
 ful, hopeful flashes, which being less vivid, will give 
 promise, as they expire, in trembling, effluent beauty, 
 that the "outcasts" of Isael may again return to 
 their worship, and to that land of beauty und gran- 
 deur, where nature speaks with her strong voice lifted 
 high, declaring the works and wonders of the crea- 
 tor of all. Hitherto there appears to have been 
 reserved to the Israelite, nothing but a succession of 
 
94 ENROGEL. 
 
 sentiments, vain regrets, hallowed recollections, ideal 
 enjoyments, hopes and despondency, until deeply 
 obscured in the valley of shadows, he was seen no 
 more on earth. For them we constantly supplicate 
 the aversion of God's vengeance, and would fain 
 pray that their future condition may be as peaceful 
 and prosperous, as their former was grievous. Sym- 
 pathizing as we do, with the wandering children of 
 Jacob, as christians, we can but humbly hope they 
 may soon have a national convocation around the 
 heights of Zion, and hear again, as they recline at 
 eventide on the slopes of Moriah, the murmuring 
 ripple of the fount of Siloam, gushing out, clear and 
 free, and beautiful as ever. 
 
 And when its waters gushing forth, shall but 
 image that stream of gratitude and piety, which 
 springing forth from the hearts of a redeemed people, 
 shall be the instantaneous and solitary expression of 
 their love ; then Mount Moriah, like a promontory 
 of love, combining with the shade of the valley, the 
 sacred silence of which will leave the ear of the 
 worshippers undisturbed by the sounds of earth, will 
 be consecrated without priest or temple, as a spot 
 from which redeemed spirits can wing their way to 
 the horizon of a brighter world. Where, too, their 
 children's children, having crossed the threshold of 
 
ENROGEL. 95 
 
 Canaan with gladness and joy, will feel that gracious 
 spirits linger over the mountain heights; that hal- 
 lowed associations cluster around it ; that here intel- 
 lectual, political and moral freedom, finding an 
 abiding place in the past, will send out their holy 
 influences, to live forever in the future. A church 
 was formerly erected over this pool, but it has now 
 gone to ruin. A number of rude huts appear to 
 hang on its rocky covering, behind which are sepul- 
 chral chambers, all forming the wretched abode of 
 miserable Arabs. The living have cast out the dead, 
 and in the sacrilegious occupation of these huts and 
 tombs, have sought to perpetuate an immortality of 
 wretchedness, by giving this miserable collection of 
 tenements the enduring name of the pool which 
 bursts forth in their midst. Many are its associated 
 scenes, from which much moral instruction may be 
 obtained. The "eighteen" souls upon whom the 
 "tower inSiloam fell," of which mention is made 
 by the Savior, and the moral instruction derived 
 therefrom, should ever be impressed upon our minds 
 Though they were sinners, we also, bearing the same 
 character, must expect a like punishment. And 
 had we been dealt with according to our sins, accord- 
 ing to the iniquity of our holy things, our blood had 
 
 long ere this been mingled with our offerings. These 
 
 8* 
 
96 ENROGEL. 
 
 judgments, and others, should loudly call upon us to 
 repent, as the only way to escape perishing ; and so 
 ^^ iniquity shall not be our ruin." But the pool and 
 the temple, associated in the history of Israel, gives 
 it sacred prominence. While ever a Jew shall turn 
 with longing, toward his beloved temple, to "rest" 
 with his fathers on the declivity of Moriah, this 
 pool will be remembered. 
 
FOUNTAIN OF ELISHA, 
 
 One day while visiting the house of a friend, in a 
 most beautiful country neighborhood, wearied with 
 the confinement of the house, I took my Bible from 
 my port-manteau, and strolled out alone to enjoy the 
 delightful scenery of his valley home. Wending my 
 way amid sweet odors, and far oif sounds, which came 
 mingling with the breeze which breathed gently 
 around me, I hastened to the border of the remnant 
 of a wide old wood, where was presented to the eye 
 a scene of exquisite beauty. Underneath the spread- 
 ing branches of a large tree, and opening out upon 
 a rich tract of cultivated country, lay a little spot of 
 mossy and carpet-like verdure. 
 
 A low bank of earth spread with the same delicate 
 covering, rested against its huge base. Flowering 
 vines trailed to the ground from the intermingling 
 boughs of neighboring trees, and with their lighter 
 and more graceful trunks, formed long avenues, 
 leading away into the depths of the woodland, till 
 the eye was lost in the dimness. Before it, rolled on 
 a shining river, and within the view were distant;^ 
 mountains, green fields, groves of trees, rural homes, 
 
98 FOUNTAIN OF ELISHA. 
 
 and the confines of a beautiful village. All nature 
 appeared new and beautiful, whilst the sudden 
 transition from the bustle and conversation of the 
 mansion, seemed to rob me of the power of expres- 
 sion, and I remained passive and silent. Yet, whilst 
 gazing on trees of singular foliage, and flowers of 
 new hues, or upon the same kind and hue. to which I 
 was accustomed. I seemed irresistably led back to 
 the days of happiness and hope. How delightedly I 
 traced the windings of the stream, till distance, or 
 some intervening object, hid it from my view. How 
 eagerly my eyes ran up to the summit of the hill; 
 how familiarly it peered into the thicket ! how my 
 heart thrilled at the ripple of the wave, and echoed 
 back the song of the bird ! The sun had sunk be- 
 hind the shadow of the foliage at the western point 
 of the landscape, and as I sat down by the trunk of 
 an old tree, with .the open Bible in my hand, a single 
 gleam struggled through and glanced horizontally 
 upon the open page of the Holy Word. There 
 might have been a revelation in that ray, for it fell 
 gently on the page, which speaks of the waters in 
 the fountain of Elisha, becoming ^^naugJit and the 
 ground barren.'' We are certain, never did a verse 
 of Holy writ, look so beautiful, as when the flicker- 
 ing sun ray trembled on the page- We would not 
 
FOUNTAIN OF ELISHA. 99 
 
 wish to awaken superstition, or an unhealthy senti- 
 mentality, which would darken beauty by the shadow 
 of its smiles. In referring to this incident, we would 
 but wish to express, there is nothing insignificant in 
 all the universe, to him who has faith in the work 
 and wisdom of God. The slightest incident, if the 
 heart pulsates, 'neath the breathing of the spirit, 
 may be changed into a minister of wisdom, mercy, 
 and reconciliation. All will aid us in visiting the 
 past, in endeavoring to penetrate that which has been 
 produced ; what tributes have imparted to the stream 
 that run clear or turbid ? what is now pouring into 
 them, and what their course will probably be. Poetry 
 and the beautiful is not the only language used by 
 these occasional, though mysterious beamings of the 
 sun. They speak in words of lofty meaning ; when 
 the heart appears even broken, by the fierce contest 
 of the heavenly with the earthly, but like the smile 
 of Jesus at the opened sepulchre, shine like a holy 
 light burning clear and pure. These are prophecies 
 which we ought not to mistake for dreams, and crea- 
 tions, which, while they please, are at least more 
 serviceable, than the gem islands thought to have 
 been found, which when examined by the navigatior, 
 are seen to be but clouds and mists, suspended by 
 t.hf> winds and painted by th^ sun beams. Inatten- 
 
lOO FOUNTAIN OF ELISHA. 
 
 tion to passing events, which while it shows us to he 
 blind to the beautiful hand-writing of God all around 
 us, prevents our hearing but few strains of Nature's 
 everlasting hymn, that blends in harmony all sounds 
 from the breathing of the growing flower, to the 
 rushing and wheeling of stupendous worlds. As we 
 wake from this criminal indifference, we look with a 
 clearer vision upon all the works of God, as they 
 rise from simplicity to sublimity. Thus, in the con- 
 templation of the page on which the sun beam lin- 
 gered, the natural ray, as if having the power to 
 attract, drew spiritual instruction from the familiar 
 chapter, and awakened a lively sense of that never 
 failing spell, which opening the human heart, unfolds 
 its infinite treasures, and reveals the actual of our 
 affections. The brilliant radiance of the ascension 
 of Elijah, falling with his mantle upon the shoulders 
 of his successor, animated him with a new being, 
 and while inspiring reverence taught the sons of the 
 prophets to exclaim, "the spirit of Elijah doth rest 
 on Eiisha." The city of Jericho was pleasant, but 
 the water was scarce and the ground poor ; two cir- 
 cumstances which would have forever retarded its 
 growth. The impatient inhabitants, ambitious per- 
 haps, to rival other places, in wealth and importance, 
 solicited the aid of the Holy Seer to resuscitate the | 
 
FOUNTAIN Of EI.ISHA. 101 
 
 waters. For the promotion of the Divine honor, and 
 to inspire respect for the power and authority of 
 Him, who not only bestows, but sanctifies mercies 
 already received; the Prophet, connecting a natu- 
 ral agent, with the communication of Divine power, 
 healed the waters. Reading this event, under the 
 circumstances before described, I seemed instinctively 
 to cast my eyes around for the site of the city which 
 stood hard by the fountain, whose walls fell down at 
 the shout of Israel, and where was afterward a school 
 of the prophets, which our Lord repeatedly honored 
 with his presence. It is probable, the more modern 
 city of the Romans, the one not encompassed by the 
 Israelites, was built at the foot of the hill, distant 
 from the fountain, as would seem to be indicated by 
 the ruins of acqueducts, which still remain. But 
 even these are so scarce, as will not admit of a satis- 
 factory conjecture, as to the precise location of the 
 ancient city. Having been employed or removed in 
 the successive reconstruction of the city out of the 
 former ruins, thus mutilating, reducing and trans- 
 porting them. "Satisfied," says Dr. Durbin "with 
 the rapid survey of the scene before us, Ave descend- 
 ed the mountain, bore north-east across the plains, 
 and in forty minutes pitched our tents on the edge 
 of the flourishing forest of small trees and shrubs 
 
102 FOUN'IAIN l)F ELISHA- 
 
 close by the clear and rapid stream of Ain es Sultan, 
 or fountain of Elisha, which boiled up from the lime- 
 stone rocks, two hundred yards above us. It is 
 one of the most copious springs I have ever seen, 
 supplying volumes of sweet water, which runs off 
 through the plain, at first in a stream twenty feet 
 wide, and from eighteen inches to two feet deep, and 
 afterwards divides into many little rivulets, which 
 irrigate and fertilize only a small portion of the 
 vast plain." 
 
 But that which we most desire to see, in an excur- 
 sion to this fountain, that which invests it with sacred 
 importance, the "School of the Prophets," the un- 
 pretending nursery of learning and piety, in which 
 were trained the successive prophets of Israel, who 
 more than writing their names on "fields of air," 
 
 '•Trod on the chambers of the sky; 
 
 E'en read the stars, and grasped the flame, 
 
 That quivers round the Throne on high," 
 
 Now no more greets the expectant gaze. But why 
 lament, when departed greatness, the illumination of 
 genius, and the ardor of piety, withers and dies ? 
 " The prophets, do they live forever?" "Your fath- 
 ers, where are they?" They are gone! Their 
 virtues but faintly gleaming in the dim twilight of a 
 sinful world, have accompanied the celestial charriot, 
 and shone with increasing brilliancv as it rolled 
 
FOUNTAIN Ol ELISIIA. 103 
 
 higher and higher amid the concave heavens. Their 
 
 memory, like that of Elijah and Elisha, shall never 
 
 die. "They rest from their labors, and their works 
 
 do follow them." For he ^ho, like Elisba, casts 
 
 salt into the waters, becomes a savor of grace to the 
 
 hearts of men, shall be kept in perpetual i-i mem- 
 
 brance by the works he hath wrought. Their woi'k 
 
 shall endure forever. Reverent were the seers of 
 
 the olden Jewish time, as they looked upon the stsi^s, 
 
 and read lessons of hope and fear from the mystic 
 
 character of the illuminated page. Their mouth 
 
 was the oracle, and men marvelled as they h?ard its 
 
 utterances. Let us, however, remember whilst we 
 
 behold the woods and the fountains, the depths of the 
 
 ocean and the realms of air, wrought into seeming 
 
 life by the beauty and grace of the Divine Spirit, 
 
 our admiration of them is another feeling than that 
 
 of worship for the true God, with the children of the 
 
 Patriarchs in the prophetic rites of the law, or of 
 
 Christianity, which descending from heaven, made 
 
 luminous the path of christian duty. 
 9 
 
FOUNTAIN OF THE APOSTLES. 
 
 There is but one thing which discourages the 
 traveller in visiting the scenes of our Savior's pres- 
 ence and ministry. This is the doubt and mystery 
 in which the precise location of these places is obscu- 
 red ; often, when his judgment and history would fix 
 to his own satisfaction the location of some sacred 
 spot, an officious and unclerical looking ecclesiastic, 
 will confidently determine the object of our search, 
 and evince surprise at our want of devotion, as 
 though we ought to venerate that which we believe 
 to be fiction. This but teaches us anew, that even 
 the spirit of enquiry, has many departments to con. 
 suit, and can only be guided by science and history, 
 in exploring that which is purely ideal. For then 
 only, we shall perceive the capability of facts to set 
 aside, and even transcend fictions in the matter of. 
 gratifying wonder, or indulging the passion for the 
 grand and the sublime. Fact is more wonderful, 
 more satisfying than fiction. As what God has pro- 
 duced, is far more grand than what man can invent. 
 Marvels before which we stand appalled, which make 
 us feel our littleness, and yet exalt us, by drawing 
 
FOUNTAIN OF THE APOSTLES. 105 
 
 upon and increasing the mightiest energies of thought, 
 lifting up our whole being, as we realize the posses- 
 sion of those capacities ty which we circle worlds, 
 comprehend the motions of systems, and the charac- 
 ter of Him whom we confess and adore is the work 
 of truth, and not of fiction. 
 
 The study of truth has driven superstition from 
 her thrones, and triumphantly answered her mythol- 
 logical books ot magic power. Whilst the ideal 
 must be confessed, and her beauty be admired, as in- 
 vested in gorgeous robes of splendor, she walks 
 .abroad, enshrouded in mystery, until the music of 
 her enchanting tales and songs vibrate in the breast 
 and fills the soul with terror and ecstacy. Yet, truth 
 is that which can make all bright, and whilst awaken- 
 ing us to the realization of beauty and bloom around 
 us, gives an eternal reality to that existence which 
 unfolds an eternity in the bosom of hope. The 
 province of superstition and imagination, is to con- 
 ceal truth, to reveal which, makes the latter powerful 
 in its loftiest elevations, as the shadow of the oak is 
 more majestic, as the tree towers to the heavens and 
 spreads out its branches. This is that which shows 
 why a soul is more precious than a retinue of worlds, 
 and as preached by Christ and his Apostles, exhibi- 
 ted the plan of our redemption, and dissolved the 
 
106 FOUNTAIN OF THE APOSTLES. 
 
 vapory falsehoods that had hidden man's highest 
 glory. To know as God knoAvs, to love as he loves, 
 is the effect of Christianity, which is the great initi- 
 ator in the paths of truth. As "truth is the view 
 which God takes of things," and imparts to our 
 vision, abiding strength, so, to look as he looks, is to 
 behold beauty, grandeur and glory, transcending 
 romance, and eclipsing all fiction. As Christ and 
 his Apostles stood among men, and amid the show of 
 their age, spake with •authority, the authority of 
 truth, equity and love ; felt and acted in all the rela- 
 tions of life, it becomes our imperative duty to listen 
 to their instructions. Receiving their teachings, and 
 transformed by their doctrine, we shall find to what- 
 ever part of the universe we turn, the light of truth 
 will shine, and reveal what He has written in char- 
 acters of love. It will show us beauty everywhere. 
 It will make a rainbow of even human tears, and 
 throw a smile on the stern features of death. Thus, 
 the Apostles at the beginning, and the faithful 
 preacher now, are needed, to aid humanity as it 
 grapples grimly and doubtfully, with the falsehood 
 of life. We need them, to rise, and preach, and 
 sing, and toil, to show us the truth, to strip off th 
 cerements of error, to call us to duty, to er.courage 
 our hopes, to deliver us from our wrongs, to nerve us 
 
FOUNTAIN OF THK APOSTLES. J 07 
 
 to our labor, and to the accomplishment of our des- 
 tiny. Truth is ever needed, which, whether to direct 
 us in the search of a "sacred fountain," or of the 
 "well-spring" of eternal joy, comes in such warm 
 sweet, and stirring accents, as cheers the desolat3 
 and mourning, and breathes upon the ear of sympa- 
 thy, the Avhisperings of unchanging complacency. 
 
 Returning from this seeming digression, we may 
 remark, that the fountain at which the Apostles, 
 the ^nt^//-bearing messengers of Jesus refreshed 
 themselves, is by the road side, near the ancient 
 village of Bethany, and in sight of which is shown 
 the residence of the redeemed and grateful Mary 
 Magdalene. The location of this fountain, near 
 Bethany, is of itself, sufficient to impart interest to 
 the place, and make it even unseen to us, a most 
 sacred memorial, sweet in leed are the associations 
 which cluster around the village and fountdn. Mary 
 Magdalene and the Apostles, Lazarus and "the 
 sisters," Christ and the power of his weeping, come 
 up to our recollections, and whilst inspiring love for 
 their memory, teaches us, as we gaze upon the spark- 
 ling fountain which laves at our feet, to look Avith a 
 hriglit philosophy on the Providences of Heaven. 
 From the vicinity of this fountain, the excited mul- 
 titude accompanied the Savior ; "spreading their 
 
108 FOUNTAIN OF THE APOSTLES. 
 
 garments" in the way, ^vhilst songs, rejoicings and 
 hosannalis made the hills and olive groves re-echo 
 with their mighty voices. The road from Jerusalem 
 winding around the base of the hill to the East, and 
 running near the fountain, is still shown, as that on 
 which the Saviour trod at sunset, on his way from 
 Jerusalem, to rest with his friends at Bethany ; and 
 in the morning on his return to warn and instruct 
 the devoted city. Near this, was the grave, at which 
 "Mary and Martha" wept for a departed brother, 
 subsequently raised by the power of Jesus, and here 
 delivering his last commission to his disciples, the 
 Redeemer, wrapped in the thin drapery of a cloud, 
 and attended by a convoy of angels, passed away 
 into his natal heaven. The Divine visitation has 
 faljen as heavily on Bethany as on Jerusalem. "The 
 soil is swept from the hills around her, once clad in 
 verdure, but now rock paved and desolate ; and the 
 pleasant villages of Bethpage and Bethany have 
 dwindled into a miserable hamlet, of some twenty 
 stone huts, and a few black tents, inhabited by as 
 many families ui' suurtliy Arabs, who flock around 
 you, and urge you to drink water from their coarse 
 earthen jars, in the hope of obtaining money, which 
 they indeed demand before the refreshing draught 
 blesses your lips." (Dr. Durbin.) Few things remain 
 
FOUNTAIN OF JEZREEL. 109 
 
 unchanged; the form of the everlasting hills, the 
 fountain of the Apostles, and the generous and ben- 
 ificient olive-tree, which has adorned the hill-side 
 from time immemorial. 
 
 FOUNTAIN OF JEZREEL. 
 
 The accession, reign, and decease of a monarch, 
 are deemed to be events of great importance, and 
 worthy of serious attention. Liberal as are the 
 sentiments of those who, reared to respect a popular 
 government, have no sympathy with aristocratic 
 orders, still such a circumstance, affecting, as it often 
 does, the political destiny of a nation, can but be im- 
 portant. Under whatever form a state is controlled, 
 that government, whilst sustained, however obnox- 
 ious, is the only "support" and "ornament of 
 virtue's cause." Despite the opinion of him who, 
 to gratify an unhallowed ambition, advocated agra- 
 rianism, the people, in olden time, looked upon the 
 governor as coming from God, and him as guilty of 
 the greatest ciiiuo, who would make use of the 
 
LIO FOUNTAIN OF JEZREEL. 
 
 natural power of the people, for the purpose of 
 destruction and convulsion. And to them, none 
 were to be so much pitied, as they who supposed 
 themselves capable, by the tricks of an empty and 
 vain politics, of leading the people entirely according 
 to their OAvn selfish purposes and desires. With no 
 nation was this feeling more fully developed than 
 that of Israel. Born the natural inheritors of a 
 clime, than which sun never shone on any more 
 brightly, nor fruits grew with such exuberance, they 
 were little inclined to sympathize with any move- 
 ment, having a tendency to interrupt the harmony 
 of such delicious quietude. With them the element 
 of revolution could not be found. The novelty of 
 change was supposed not to compensate for the bles- 
 sing of established rule. Whilst under the govern- 
 ment of the Judges, they may have occasionally 
 forgotten the meaning of those revelations which 
 gleamed on the mystic and oracular jewelry of the 
 High Priest's breast-plate. Yet all that was hal- 
 lowed in religion, sacred in memory, or powerful in 
 dignity, was afterwards supposed to centre in, and 
 emanate from him, on whose head had been poured 
 the oil of anointing. In politics and literature, 
 other nations appear to have been governed by that 
 strange passion which leads us to fasten upon every 
 
FOUNTAIN OF JEZREEL. ill 
 
 new and great addition to our inheritance ; as if that 
 alone were more worthy of attention than the whole 
 of our former possessions ; or pursuing these with 
 restless avidity, forget in their admiration everything 
 beside, and become blind to all but one point. Yet 
 sad experience has taught them, when the ferment 
 of extravagance subsided, and things at last found 
 their level, that imperfections and tyranny in gov- 
 ernmental rule, when without attempting to conceal 
 the fact, new things took their place among the old. 
 The Jew's heart taught him, he owed the perfec- 
 tion of his virtues, and the purity of his loveliness, 
 to the knowledge received from the light of his 
 nation's sanctuary and laws. It was as the mingling 
 of the realities and dreams of life together. It was 
 a blending of the rural melodies of home, with the 
 heart and joy of the nation. The power to charm, 
 to soothe and to satisfy, like gems and flowers which 
 reflect the light of a spring landscape, seemed only 
 to come from the mysterious union of the spiritual 
 sense with the material power of the nation. The 
 patriotism of the Jew was a sweet and pure philoso- 
 phy, which, separated from all that was false, was 
 made applicable to the purposes of life, and practi- 
 cal by its active energies. It was a kind of invisible 
 chain, which, while it bound him to earth, ascended 
 
112 FOUNTAIN OF JEZREEL. 
 
 up to the immaculate and eternal, permitting him to 
 enjoy dreams of happiness, pure as the moon-lit 
 palace of the frost-king, and rich as the cloud- 
 wrought drapery of the summer sunset of his lovely 
 clime. Contrasted with the patriotism of Sparta 
 and Rome, in their boasted days of glory, that of 
 the Jew is as eminently superior, as the source from 
 whence it sprung. The transition from the feeling 
 of Grecian patriotism, to that of the Jew, would 
 have been like the revelation of truth made to the 
 mind of the believing Areopagite, when he heard the 
 eloquent Apostle proclaim — "The God that made 
 the world and all things therein, is not worshipped 
 in temples made with hands." The which rev- 
 elation seemed like peering the mind from a long 
 night of immensity of darkness and silence, and 
 throwing it through wreathing mists of glory, to ride 
 with the spheres, on their nicely ordered round of 
 changing seasons, to listen to that wondrous music, 
 whose chords are so skilfully attuned, that it might 
 be deemed a chorus of the Seraphim. 
 
 Christianity has ever been the nursery of freedom 
 and patriotism. The history of a pure Christianity, 
 is but the history of men struggling against every 
 kind of oppression and wrong. It is this feeling 
 which makes it no delight for the christian to dwell 
 
FOUNTAIN OF JKZKEEL. ] 13 
 
 on deeds of wickedness, but prompts a complacency 
 for the good and the mighty ; which has placed him 
 with the multitude, as with a single arm, only in 
 their deeds of perilous enterprise, and their struggles 
 for right and truth, which makes him sing with the 
 Israelites, their song of deliverance; or go to Ilium, 
 with the princely avengers of the wrongs of Atrides, 
 and in imagination to re-enact, with the steel-clad 
 knight, the scenes of battle for the tombs of Pales- 
 tine. Such was the feeling which animated the 
 youthful shepherd-king to engage the armies of the 
 murderous Saul; which prompted him to lay low the 
 proud defier of the armies of Israel ; and which 
 bound to his fortunes and his cause, the strong-armed 
 warriors of the soil. 
 
 With the deeds and fortunes of Saul this fountain 
 is in singular association. From hence, sad and for- 
 saken of God, he had, under cover of the night, 
 crossed the deep valley of Jezreel, northward to 
 the little Hermon, which he scaled, and descended to 
 visit the witch of Endor, through whom he obtained 
 the terrible interview with the departed Samuel, 
 who said to him — "To-morrow shalt thou and thy 
 sons be with me." Here he and Jonathan had en- 
 camped on the night before the fatal battle, in which 
 they fell down slain, on a neighboring mountain. 
 
114 Fountain uf jezrkel. 
 
 Throughout the entire valley, extending from the 
 Jordan on the east, to the Mediterranean on the 
 west, and from the mountains of Samaria on the 
 south, to those of Nazareth on the north, there is 
 scarce connected one pleasing association, recalling 
 little else than stories of ambition, avarice, cruelty, 
 revenge and war. "Around this fountain," says 
 Dr Durbin, "have encamped the armies which have 
 contended for Palestine, from the time of Gideon to 
 that of the crusaders ; and all over the great plain, 
 from Bethshan on the banks of the Jordan, where 
 the Philistines exposed the headless body of Saul, to 
 the sacred river of Kishon, v/hich swept the host of 
 Sisera, along the base of Mount Carmel, into the 
 Mediterranean, have the hosts of Asia, Africa, and 
 Europe, for the last three thousand years, pitched 
 their tents, and unfurled their banners in battle." 
 The Assyrian, the Persian, the Egyptian, the Sara- 
 cen, the Turk, the Arab, the Druse, the Crusader, 
 and the Frenchman, each in his turn have draAvn 
 their sword, and bathed it in blood on the battle-field 
 of nations. A fountain which, while pouring out 
 the sparkling beverage of life, has also been the 
 receptacle of the life-blood of slaughtered thousands, 
 will forever flow as an emblem of the blending of 
 happiness and wo, life and death. 
 
FOUNTAIN OF THE VIRGIN. 
 
 The sun had just gone down, but his footprints 
 
 yet lay on the clouds of his pathway, as beautiful and 
 
 as glorious as the memories that remain when the 
 
 noble and the good have passed beyond our m?)rtal 
 
 vision. A soft shadow was stealing over tree and 
 
 river, as twilight gathered around. The warm tints 
 
 of the decaying leaf, the blue of the atmosphere, 
 
 and the bending sky, were melting into its sombre 
 
 hue. The first chills of early autumn were ou the 
 
 landscape, and the foliage had already been stricken 
 
 by the hand that throws beauty over decay, yet the 
 
 stars came out one by one, and the heavens grew 
 
 bright. I had watched the parting sun rays, with 
 
 the seemingly unconscious hope, that I might track 
 
 their viewless flight, until they tremulously vanished 
 
 amidst the calm of the serenest skies, when a silent 
 
 tear coursed over my cheek at the failure of my 
 
 efforts. A long train of mournful reflections came 
 
 a'ooping over my mind; and as the twi-light deepened 
 
 the shadows fell heavily on my spirit, whilst the stars 
 
 growing more distinct and beautiful, seemed to chain 
 
 me to the gaze, while lacking the power to disperse 
 10 
 
lib Fountain up thk virgin. 
 
 the gloom of my mind. It was an hour when raau 
 leans not on life ; when life is the shadow and eter- 
 nity the real; and when the cares and toils which 
 fill up the day, dwindle into their own insignificance, 
 in the presence of the thoughts that wander on the 
 Btar-beam, and traverse the hushed and holy air. 
 An hour when the wildest throbbing of feeling 
 becalmed before the intellect, which, then majestic 
 and unmoved, looked down on the tumultuous throb- 
 bings of the heart. Sitting on a rural seat in the 
 yard of my humble home, I seemed to sympathize 
 with nought, save the stars, whose very brilliance 
 threatened to extinguish their lustre, and leave the 
 night in darkness. My breathing was hushed and 
 still, and no sound was heard, save the shiver of the 
 willow, as the light breeze wafted its rustle to the ear 
 of the passing pedestrian, whose foot-falls fell invi- 
 tingly on the hard pavement, occasionally the night 
 wind murmured among the trees with a stronger 
 sway, which caused the rustling leaves to interrupt 
 my sacred communion with Nature, and imparted the 
 momentary desire to leave my retreat. Following 
 these impulses, I unconsciously strayed to a spot on 
 the suburbs of the town, associated with all that was 
 dear of hopeful, youthful memories. Here, at early 
 morn, I had engaged in the free wild sports of boy- 
 
FOUNTAIN OF THE VIRGIN. 1J7 
 
 hood, when neither care nor sorrow disturbed the 
 uninterrupted harmony of my joys. How changed 
 was I ! How changed the place ! Scarce ten years 
 had passed since the merry laugh of infancy echoed 
 long and loud, through the wood which skirted the 
 common. Here the skies seemed to glow with the 
 same soft, mellow brightness, which inspired the 
 feeling of loneliness, Avhen sitting under the willow. 
 I paused on reaching the retreat, when impressed 
 with the vivid recollections of earlier years, and the 
 beauty of the solitude and the scene, sank down upon 
 a little elevated knoll. I had been seated here but 
 a few minutes, when looking up, I saw a man reeling 
 to and fro, in the direction of a small house, which 
 stood farther out on the common. It required but 
 the glance to see he was in a state of bestial intoxi- 
 cation. As he stumbled on toward the door,^ I 
 instinctively rose and walked slowly after, keeping 
 at such distance, that my foot-falls should not attract 
 his attention. The door was placed at the end of 
 the building, so that making a diversion to the right, 
 I approached the house, at an angle from the line of 
 his advance, and toward a window, through which 
 occasional gleams of light, were but faintly seen. 
 Upon arriving at the entrance he raised his clenched 
 fist, and struck the door with such violence, as well 
 
118 FOUNTAIN OF THE VIRGIN. 
 
 nigh severed it from the hinges, muttering in loud, 
 though indistinct syllables, a horrible imprecation 
 on his wife. Mj first impulse Avas, to go to the door 
 and see that no further insult or violence were offered. 
 Recollecting the probable imprudence and danger of 
 the attempt, I walked direct to the window, through 
 which, I had a view of all that passed within. The 
 fiend, as I supposed him to be, staggered toward the 
 hearth, at which his wife was sitting, over a few 
 smoking embers, which she occasionally stirred, in 
 the hope of boiling a few potatos for her evening 
 meal. Alarmed by the threat of her husband, she 
 sprang from the fireside, and addressing him by name 
 exclaimed, "Oh do not kill me, for heaven's sake do 
 not kill me ! " and then ran to the opposite side of 
 the room. Her husband, (for such I now knew him 
 to be,) stood with his glaring bloodshot eyes fixed 
 upon her, for the moment, whilst his wife in great 
 fear, partially concealed herself behind an old broken 
 cupboard. Then raising a chair, hurling it around 
 his head, and vociferating a dreadful oath, my ear 
 instinctively waited to catch the sound of the maimed 
 or lifeless body of his wife falling upon the floor. 
 When my eye glanced toward the wall from which 
 she hastily jerked down a picture, when kissing it, 
 she ran toward her husband, and falling at his feet 
 
FOUNTAIN OF THE VIRGIN. 119 
 
 with tears exclaimed, "for the sake of our holy 
 mother, the blessed Virgin Mary, spare my life." 
 Instinctively, the arm of the drunken man lowered, 
 when the chair fell down with a crash upon the floor. 
 Standing mute for the moment, he staggered heavily 
 over the floor, and threw himself down in the 
 chimney corner. Altogether, it was a scene difficult 
 to be described. The drunken, murderous, phren- 
 zied husband ; the alarmed, weepi..^ and sorrow 
 stricken wife, pressing to her heart the picture of the 
 Virgin Mary, by an appeal to whom, her life had 
 been spared, formed a scene for a painter, and one 
 of the most graphic occurrences I have ever beheld. 
 I returned home silent and thoughtful, without giv- 
 ing intimation to any, what I had witnessed. The 
 next morning, I accidentally picked up a book of 
 travel, when turning over the pages, I noticed a 
 sketch of the scenery and situation of the ^^Foun- 
 tain of the Virgin,'' upon which I involuntarily ex- 
 claimed, I too, have seen the Fountain of the Vir- 
 gin in those tears which flowed from the eyes of the 
 poor woman, last night, which I believed to have 
 been equally efiicient in the preservation from dan- 
 ger, as that of the Virgin itself. Though certainly 
 not as potent as the plea of the condemned sinner, 
 
 who, in shrinking behind the cross, exclaims, 
 
 10* 
 
120 FOUNTAIN OF THE VIRGIN. 
 
 " 'Tis just the sentence should take place, 
 'Tis jusf, but O I thy Son has died." 
 
 This memorable fountain is just without the north- 
 west portion of the present town of Nazareth. All 
 the inhabitants, as in former days, come here to pro- 
 cure water, and travellers say it is always thronged 
 as you approach it. 
 
 Though the stream runs steadily, it is yet slow, so 
 that maidens collect and wait for their turn, or else 
 engage in a most "unmaidenly contest," as to who 
 shall first get water. The large marble trough 
 which holds the water, is supposed to have been a 
 sarcophagus. 
 
 It is very probable that the mother of our blessed 
 Lord, in the days of her youth, repaired to this foun- 
 tain with the damsels of the village, to procure water, 
 distinguished here as elsewhere, by the purity of her 
 manners, and the modesty of her demeanor. 
 
 To us, the occurrence narrated, and the fountain 
 of the Virgin, are inseparably connected. Hallow, 
 ed by the presence of Christ, and of Mary, and 
 endeared to all by these pious recollections, this 
 "fountain" can never be torn from the heart and 
 mind of the christian. 
 
GALILEE-OR SEA OF TIBERIAS. 
 
 Bright are the rays of the beaming sun, soft and 
 clear are the notes of the feathered songsters, echo- 
 ing from the forest grove. Hope smiles in every 
 eye, and joy beams bright in every heart. Glitter- 
 ing pearls are seen sparkling on the bosom of the 
 smooth sea ; while nature, as if about to assume her 
 richest garb, sent forth from every hill and vale, a 
 tribute of praise to the high and lofty One. Such, we 
 are informed by a recent tourist, was the character of 
 the morn on which his eyes first caught a view of 
 the bright and gently ^undulating surface of the lake 
 of Gencssareth. 
 
 Somehow, we always associate the idea of an eter- 
 nity of happiness with this sea, so fruitful of holy 
 and pleasing reminiscences. Often when awake, in 
 the calm and stillness of the midnight hour, this 
 sacred sea moves on in undisturbed repose before our 
 imagination, with scarce a ripple on its surface. 
 Veiled in the deep and dark obscurity, concealed in 
 the darkness from every mortal eye, this inland 
 ocean of unuttered beauty, lies spread before us, un- 
 til its swelling waves of sympathy and of love, one 
 
122 GALILEE. 
 
 after auother, in quick succession, burst upon our 
 enraptured gaze. And then, as we seek to wander 
 around its silent shore, Our feet unconsciously stray 
 to the edge of the water, whilst the eye searches 
 amid the darkness, for that Form, which in ancient 
 days walked over its shining billows. How often 
 we have wished for some aerial car, which, swift as 
 thought, would convey us to its delightful shore, just 
 where the dripping branches of the fig-trees, depend- 
 ing over some projecting rock, were enveloped in a 
 slight fringe of spray, thrown against them by the 
 rippling of the silver wave? When blessed in its 
 repose and shelter, we would pray to remain un- 
 known to men; where none might envy us as the 
 fortunate possessor of this sacred retreat, and where, 
 visited only by the birds of the lake, the soft south 
 wind and sunshine could only pierce our hiding amid 
 trees and water. These hopes, though fond, are 
 vain only in the impossiblity of their realization. 
 Yet the time may come in which we shall look back 
 with pleasure to the hallowed memories of these 
 sleepless hours, with feelings of transport and ecsta- 
 cy, in the actual contemplation of that which we had 
 hoped to enjoy. How singularly interesting and 
 excitino; are all the event's which mark the Savior's 
 pilgrimage ! Whether we view him sitting by the 
 
GALILEE. ]23 
 
 humble mechanic, at the table of the peasant, or 
 stopping at some lowly inn, hungry, weary and slum- 
 brous like other men, he startles us as much by his 
 words as by his actions and his destiny. From the 
 time when the star arose on the manger where he 
 lay cradled, and where as a babe, sages bent over 
 him in reverent worship, until the radiant heavens 
 received him to glory, his every [act alike proclaims 
 him Creator and Redeemer. A strange, unearthly 
 influence surrounded him; a light never before seen 
 flashed from his eye, and drew the crowds by which 
 he was ever surrounded. Yet now, as we seem to 
 hear the words which fell from his lips, and the ut- 
 tering of those new truths, which startled the soul 
 of man, like a trumpet call, we cease to be surprised. 
 No wonder, whether sitting by the way-side, where 
 the dust of the carriage wheels of the proud man 
 passing by, was perchance cast over his weary limbs, 
 or where, assuming the more elevated character of 
 his mission, he preached on the mountain side, the 
 multitude still hung on his lips, and the people 
 thronged about him. 
 
 We have often wished to call up the moving 
 pathos of his discourses, in which simplicity was 
 powerful, and where fire and purity combined, like 
 light and transparency in a diamond. What sensa- 
 
124 GALILEE. 
 
 tions were produced on the multitude of minds around 
 him, by the tones and ardor and accent of his inex- 
 haustible effusions ! There would be the sense of 
 sadness, recurring like the unexpected notes at the 
 end of an air ; caressing words, which seemed to 
 fan the brow, like the breath of a fond mother bend- 
 ing over her child; a melodious lulling of half- 
 whispered words, and hushed though thrilling sen- 
 tences, which wrapped his auditory in light and mur- 
 murs ; which falling upon the still deep of the soul, 
 led them by soft and soothing syllables to the repose 
 of love. Unencumbered in his delivery, by the rules 
 of the rhetoricians, the unveiled soul stood forth 
 upon his lips, so that in the announcement of his 
 heart-breathed words, nothing would evaporate, as in 
 tho slow and dull transition of the feeling to the 
 word on the lips of an ordinary teacher. Rising 
 from the impassioned depths of the concealed divin- 
 ity, his speech woke itself to life and power, and 
 falling in exhuberant beauty from his lips, was adored 
 and admired ere consciously expressed. The modern 
 name of this lake, which is probably a corruption of 
 the ancient name Chinnereth, sounds harsh and un- 
 musical, and is one, of which we are not much enam- 1 
 ored. Its breadth, according to Josephus, from 
 East to West, is about six, and the length from 
 
GALIl.EK. 125 
 
 North to South, full eighteen miles. 'J'lie country 
 around it, anciently fruitful and well cultivated, 
 spread populous cities around its pure and whole- 
 some waters, even down to the smooth gravel washed 
 by its silent waves. Not distant from this sea was 
 the birth place of Jesus, and where resigned to the 
 obedience and charm of his childhood years, he kept 
 away from the dissipating influences of earth, and 
 whilst in the midst of a busy population, wrapped 
 himself in silence, solitude and reserve, until the 
 commencement of his public ministry ; where, when 
 unoccupied in the duties of his reputed father's trade, 
 he would retire to meditate beneath the half-stripped 
 trees of the garden, where the shade of the vine- 
 leaves and the rays of the sun played and chased 
 each other alternately over his benignant face. 
 And from Gallilee as a centre, and the place of his 
 stated abode, the Savior practically illustrated that 
 glorious system of pastoral theology, which showed 
 that the shepherd's crook could be used with a Bish- 
 op's skill. From place to place, from cottage to 
 cottage, to the abode of wretchedness and spiritual 
 destitution, he went on his mission of love, teaching 
 the burdened spirit to repose upon himself, and 
 directing the sin-sick soul to the balm in Gilead, and 
 the physician there, for health and eternal life. On 
 
126 GALILEE. 
 
 the shore of this lake, that notable miracle, the feed- 
 ing of five thousand was enacted. From the city, 
 the hamlet, the farm house, and the hovel, they had 
 come, bringing on litters the sick, whilst the blind 
 groping their toilsome way, by the sound of rushing 
 footsteps, endeavored to get near the vessel that 
 wafted Jesus of Nazareth around the shore. Pain 
 and weariness were forgotten in the deep anxiety to 
 be restored by the man of fame and wonder. A 
 poor man without family, property, or education, he 
 nevertheless claims to have the power to forgive sins 
 and heal the sick. Half incredulous, yet having 
 heard his miracles attested, they watch the progress 
 of that frail bark, as though it carried their destiny. 
 The waves scarcely stirred by the summer winds, 
 bears but slowly over the sunlit wave, the weary 
 Son of Mary. As he casts his eye over the broad 
 bosom of the sea, the distant beach is crowded with 
 men and women, who, while watching the progress 
 of the vessel, make the shore echo with their solici- 
 tations and prayers. His heart swelled at the sight, 
 and as the vessel touched the strand, his more than 
 placid voice, lifted up above the murmur of the 
 waves, poured forth such unutterable truths, that 
 hours flew unconsciously by ; as with upturned faces, 
 they drank in the messages of love and kindness. 
 
UAi.ii.Kt;. 127 
 
 As night began to come down on the sea, the last 
 beam of expiring day fell upon nothing, save the 
 multitude betokening life, amid the universal desola- 
 tion. These following him from afar, as if involr.ii- 
 tarily attracted by some superior principle, coming 
 to a consciousness of their situation, found them- 
 selves destitute of bread. The Disciples filled with 
 tender sympathy, besought Jesus to send them away 
 to procure sustenance and lodging for the night. 
 Not so could He do, Avhose great office, was to feed 
 the hungry, and comfort the distressed. The Sa- 
 vior's Omniscient eye, saw a lad, in the midst of the 
 multitude, on Avhom were found "five barley loaves 
 and a few small fishes," taking them, having given 
 thanks, he broke them before the people, with which 
 the multitude were fed, without the least diminution 
 of the lad's supply. Then, methinks, as the benedic- 
 tion or dismissal fell from his lips, the encompassing 
 heavens bent nearer his brow, whilst the wild scone 
 around them, was illumed in greater brilliancy by 
 the blaze of the setting sun. The scene is now 
 ciiangcil. The hum of the subdued vOiCes of the far 
 parting multitude have long since died aAvay, whilst 
 He, who a few brief hours gone by, was surrounded 
 by hundreds, was now solitary and alone. The moan 
 
 of the sea, now being lashed into a tempest, and the 
 11 
 
128 GALILEE. 
 
 solitude of the desert scene, were strangely in keep- 
 ing with the sadness which oppressed his soul. The 
 shadows of night, and now darker than the forebo- 
 dings that gather around his spirit, induce hira to 
 turn his footsteps towards a lonely mountain to pray. 
 Where kneeling under the thickening clouds, in sweet 
 submission and tender sympathy, he kept hallowed 
 interview with his Father in heaven. Now rising 
 from prayer, he slowly and thoughtfully retraced his 
 steps to the shore. Dark thunder clouds were hov- 
 ering over its bosom ; the wind sweeping by, in 
 angry gusts, lashed it into fury ; while the frail Ibark 
 struggled for life amid the angry billows. By the 
 flashes, which ever and anon rent the gloom, the 
 plunging vessel was seen dividing the waves, as the 
 strong wind hurried it along the distracted waters- 
 Though the scene was terrible, the Savior calmly 
 and serenely stepped upon the billows, and moved 
 out upon the watery waste, as it rolled and crumbled 
 at his feet. Proceeding toward the vessel, the Dis- 
 ciples with straining eyes watch the fast approaching 
 spectral form, and start back in greater dread than 
 at the sound of the tempest. Yet no sooner than 
 the expression, "it is I, be not afraid," had fallen 
 upon their ears, from the well known accent of the 
 Redeemer's voice, than fear and horror gave way to 
 the wildest joy. 
 
4 
 GALILEE. 129 
 
 *' So still thy while roljps fell — no brt^ntli of air, 
 " Within iheir long and slumbrous folds had sway, 
 
 # • * w » • • 
 
 •* Dark were the heavens above the Savior ; dark 
 "The gulf's Deliverer! round the straining bark, 
 "But thou! o'er all thine aspect and array 
 " Was poured one stream, of pale broad silvery light. 
 "Thou werl the single star of thit all-shrouding night." 
 
 This sea was subsequently the place to which our 
 Lord resorted after his resurrection, and by whose 
 shore the Apostles found " fire and coals and fish 
 laid thereon, and bread." Calling most, if not all 
 of his ministers from Galilee, it was but natural they 
 should frequently return to, and labor in the country 
 of their birth. Our Lord, and through him, the 
 Apostles were but complimented by the expression 
 of his adversary, the dying Julian, who being cut 
 off from prosecuting his purposes against Christianity 
 exclaimed in the hour of death, Vicisti Grdlilee! 
 thou hast conquered, Gralilean ! The Savior's 
 feet having pressed upon the bosom of this inland 
 sea, immortal will be the echo of its sounding surge. 
 
GAD-A RIVEE. 
 
 It is not unfrequently observed, that names and pla- 
 ces are used interchangeably by the inspired authors. 
 If in the name of an individual, we have sometimes 
 the sir-name, and at others, his name coupled with 
 the town of his birth, or some distinguished action 
 or occurrence of his life. This does not make the 
 inspired record more obscure, but introduces a great 
 variety of pleasing reminiscences, which can but be 
 interesting to the student of Bible localities. How 
 tender and pleasing are these associat^'ons ! The 
 name of David inseparably connected with the city 
 of Bethlehem, would doubtless awaken in the mind 
 of the "Shepherd King" many of the most holy 
 and tender recollections. Here lived his revered 
 parents; here was his natal hour; here was the the- 
 atre of his boyhood sports ; and on its moon-lit hills 
 he watched his father's flocks, when sent for to be 
 anointed king of the nation. The same feeling that 
 afterwards prompted the psalmist to exclaim — " If I 
 forget thee, Jerusalem, let my right hand forget 
 her cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my 
 mouth, if I remember not .Ternsalem above my chief 
 
GAD. 131 
 
 joy," with but little abbi'eviation in thought or feel- 
 ing, could have been applied to Bethlehem, the city 
 of Christ and David. With what feelings of un- 
 speakable and, at times, melancholy pleasure, after 
 a long absence, do we view the scenes and associa- 
 tions of our earlier years ? The interminable vista 
 of trees, which surround the natal village; the mea- 
 dows and winding brooks; the side-walks which 
 echoed the tramp of our noisy infant feet; and the 
 church, in which were heard the well remembered 
 tones of the revered minister's voice, all seem holy 
 and sacred as when its tones, in measured melody, 
 fell upon our ears in days forever gone. Amid such 
 scenes the cares and sorrows of the world are for- 
 gotten. Affections which have long lain dormant, 
 are awakened to new life. We begin to feel and 
 sympathise with those in this humble and cheerful 
 sphere, and almost repine that our lot had not been 
 cast forever with them. If these reminiscences are 
 80 strong, how pleasant to be associated with that 
 which is ever dear and lovely, and thus have our 
 name, like the ivy and the oak, inseparably transmit- 
 ted to posterity? 
 
 The river of which we now propose to write, is 
 supposed to have been the same with the Arnon, 
 
 which, rising in the mountains of Gilead, east of 
 11* 
 
132 GAD. 
 
 Jordan, flowing first toAvard the south, and then 
 toward the west, empties into the eastern side of the 
 Dead Sea. After the Ammonites had been dispos- 
 sessed of the country on the east of the Jordan, by 
 the Amorites, this river was the division between the 
 latter people and the Moabites; and later still, after 
 the Israelites had conquered the country of the 
 Amorites, the Arnon was the boundary between the 
 tribe of Reuben and the land of Moab. It is called 
 the river of Gad, (2 Sam, xxiv: 5; 2 Kings, x: 33;) 
 being the eastern boundary of that tribe. The in- 
 terchangeable use of the names. Gad and Arnon, in 
 the mind of him conversant with sacred history, 
 may induce the remembrance of the eventful history 
 of one of the tribes of Israel, in connection with 
 the unfortunate and criminal origin of the Ammon- 
 Hes and Moabites. It would appear from the book 
 of Judges, that the country east of Jordan, from 
 the river Jabbok, as fiir south as the river Gad, was 
 the land of the Ammonites; yet it is certain that 
 the southern portion, toward the Arnon, was form- 
 erly inhabited by the Moabites. This tract of coun- 
 try they still continued to possess, after being dis- 
 possessed of the Jordan by the Amorites. The 
 Moabites possessed the country north of the Arnon, 
 SB ako a tract south of that river, between Edom 
 
r. A D . 133 
 
 to the west, and Midian to the south and east. This 
 latter portion they held after being stripped of the 
 former possessions by Sihon, king of the Amorites. 
 From the prophecies recorded against this people, 
 it would seem that they were wicked to an unpar- 
 donable degree, proving that the iniquities of a pro- 
 genitor may be entailed upon all who may come 
 after. The melancholy fate of Sodom will be for- 
 ever associated with the people of Ammon and 
 Moab. The simple narrative which details their 
 origin, with no other adornment than the truth 
 itself, cannot prove less interesting to the reader 
 than either poetry or romance ; for it is one of those 
 events in which truth is "stranger than fiction." 
 But recently the history of these interesting tribes 
 was awakened in my mind, by a jocose and some- 
 what singular observation, made by one whose 
 /riendship and minute acquaintance with scripture 
 geography we highly appreciate. We were on a 
 pleasant excursion to a beautiful mountain elevation 
 the scene of a wonderful and appalling catastrophe, 
 the memory of which throws a deep melancholy over 
 the retired mountain height. We were winding our 
 way among the bases of high mountains, springing 
 up from the level on which we stood, and burying 
 their lofty peaks in the clouds, which hung in dark 
 
134 GAD. 
 
 and heavy masses above thein. The mist, thinner 
 than the dense clouds that filled the upper air, was 
 curling upward and downward along the lower levels 
 of the many hill sides, in wreaths of fantastic shapes, 
 displaying in succession a series of the most pictu- 
 resque lanscapes. In the midst of the general 
 admiration excited by this scene of varied beauty 
 We became aware of our near approach to a point, 
 which we had been told, at our last stopping place, 
 we should find one of the most interesting in our 
 whole journey. The dark hill-sides, bounding our 
 view on either hand, were deeply indented with the 
 paths that many mighty avalanches had traversed. 
 We had come to a sudden turn among the hills, and 
 found ourselves entering a broad circular valley, at 
 the base of the wide mountain range, which rose 
 amphitheatrically all around us, as far as the eye 
 could reach. At the foot of the highest and most 
 corrugated of the hills, my friend pointed out a spot 
 where history and tradition had fixed the enactment 
 of a most fearful and bloody tragedy, as preparatory 
 to the commencement of a series of most deplorable 
 depredations upon occasional travellers. 
 
 "This deep cavern" — into which we were then 
 looking — said my friend, "seems to have been like 
 the cave to which Lot retired, in which, and out of 
 
GAD. 135 
 
 which came nothing but corruption and destruction." 
 Simple as was the remark, it subserved the purpose 
 of fixing this scriptural event indelibly upon ray 
 memory. Since which, this cave of the assassin, 
 from whence he never emerged but to perform the 
 work of destruction, has ever been singularly asso- 
 ciated with the evil and ignominy of that cave to 
 which Lot and his daughters retired. It has also 
 induced the recurrence of other scripture localities, 
 from their supposed resemblance in history or in 
 fact, to any other places I have since beheld. Sim- 
 ple as is the history of an individual passing his life 
 in comparative obscurity, there are yet many occur- 
 renc3S, which, if properly treasured up, would fur- 
 nish an interesting fund of instruction and reminis- 
 cence for the contemplation and reflection of after 
 years. There is just as much philosophy in the 
 shock which the cottage receives, trembling under a 
 sudden concussion of air, as in the vibration of a 
 palace at the shock of distant thunder. The river 
 Gad, forming the boundary line of the two tribes of 
 Israel, and in this way associated with the history of 
 Ammon and Moab, can never be forgotten. 
 
HAROD.-A WELL. 
 
 The Jew's singular attachment for the city and 
 country of his father's has been a fruitful theme of 
 an inadversion during all periods of his history. 
 Amid the most oppressive calamities, and the most 
 severe and lengthened subjugation in foreign lands, 
 that disposition which caused them to exclaim on a 
 memorable occasion, "how can we sing the Lord's 
 song in a strange land," was ever apparent. Six 
 times have they witnessed the destruction of Jeru- 
 salem, yet still armed with courage, they turn their 
 looks upon Zion, from which nothing can divert them. 
 Slaves and strangers in their own land, they continue 
 to dwell near the temple, of which there does not 
 remain one stone upon another ; awaiting under a 
 most cruel and despotic government, a king who is 
 to work their deliverance. While the Persians, 
 Greeks and Romans, have disappeared from the face 
 of the earth, this small people, whose origin is much 
 more ancient than these mighty nations, still survive 
 amidst the ruin of their country, without an altera- 
 tion of manners, or mixture of foreign blood. Here 
 too, in reality and in imagination, will they ever lin- 
 
HAKOD. 137 
 
 ger, with the pertinacity which has always iormed 
 one of their strongest characteristics, bewailing the 
 desolation of Judah, and waiting for the time when 
 God shall "renew their days of old." 
 
 Here tooj the christian's delighted imagination is 
 fixed ; not only on account of its Old Testament as- 
 sociations, but because the Son of God accomplished 
 the work of human redemption, or still yet, that the 
 spark was here kindled, which shall enlighten all 
 nations, but because here, a constellation of prophe- 
 cies have been fulfilled in such manner as to carry 
 conviction to every mind, of the solemn truth of 
 Revelation. So without invalidating these truths, 
 the Jew bowing beside the christian on the same 
 consecrated spot, will worship the same God, with 
 feelings of widely dissimilar devotion. One mighi 
 infer, that a people so devoted to their country, 
 would never have wanted those sentiments of patri- 
 otism, which induced the hazard of life in its defence. 
 Sometimes, however, we have reason to believe they 
 neglected to cultivate this, their laudible and truly 
 national characteristic. This memorable well, is 
 associated with an important event, exhibiting Israel 
 on account of the oppression to which they had been 
 so long subjected, or more probably, from a con- 
 sciousness of guilt, to have been deprived of their 
 
138 HAKob. 
 
 courage. The Midianites had long and severely 
 oppressed them, so that reduced to the alternative of 
 making a desperate effort, to weaken their foes, or 
 submit to increased and unconditional oppression, we 
 might have supposed, under the circumstances, 
 greater effort would have been made to concentrate 
 such numbers as would have given their enemies a 
 signal defeat. With the most desperate exertion 
 upon the part of Gideon, he could collect and con- 
 centrate, but thirty-two thousand men, which was 
 numerically inferior to the host by which they were 
 opposed. With this number, their distinguished and 
 disciplined leader, was fearful to encounter the op- 
 posing host. In the midst of his anxious solicitude, 
 as to the result of the contemplated engogemont, 
 and when bewailing the indifference of his followers, 
 the Lord communicated to his ears the strange intel- 
 ligence, that the people whom he had collected by 
 the most untiring exertion, were too many for the 
 Lord to give the Midianites into their hands. Lest 
 Israel "vaunt themselves against me, saying, mine 
 own hand hath saved me." Strange and unusual as 
 was this announcement, Gideon preferred to submit 
 to the Divine determination, rather than aggrandize 
 his military reputation, at the cost of the Sovereign 
 complacency. He was directed to inform those who 
 
HA ROD. 159 
 
 were fearful, to depart early from Mount Gilead, the 
 place of the encampment, as they, above all others, 
 who had acted cowardly on former occasions, would 
 be most likely, after the obtainment of victory, to 
 take the honor from God, and appropriate it to 
 themselves. Singular must have been the feelings 
 of those twenty-two thousand Israelites, who under 
 such circumstances, could desert their standard and 
 their God. On Mount Gilead, might have been seen 
 the remaining ten thousand, in the midst of deserted 
 banners, whilst "arms" without the men to use them 
 were thrown in indiscriminate confusion all around. 
 Sorrowful were they, who, left behind, gazed with 
 mingled feelings of pity and contempt, upon the 
 retiring crowds, as they crossed the deep valley and 
 disappeared behind trees and mountain heights. 
 The air was clear and bracing as the early part of 
 autumn, when the freshness of summer having scarce 
 passed into the "sere and yellow leaf," like the bright 
 sun in an unclouded evening, leaves its softest beauty 
 and brilliancy behind it. The beams of the rising 
 sun were shining brightly amid the few remaining 
 flowers, and undecayed herbage of Mount Gilead, 
 and brightening the long shadows cast forth from 
 tree and biush, when the faint sound of half-suppres- 
 sed disapprobation echoed along the ranks of the 
 12 
 
14U HAROD. 
 
 few thousand of Israel, who yet remained. The 
 high summit of the opposite mountain, was covered 
 with the tens of thousands of the Midianitish host, 
 displaying the ensigna of war, as preparatory to the 
 combat around the camp in the valley below. An- 
 other battle must be fought; one desperate as power- 
 ful, must be fought and won, by the many and the 
 mighty, against the few. The dread 'standard of 
 oppression,' is for the last time flung to the breeze ; 
 and its followers swarm around it for its triumph or 
 defeat. A crisis has arrived; and the period to 
 which they had come, was that in which their desti- 
 ny as a nation, would be determined. The sun, as 
 if blushing at the event, had sunk behind an angry 
 cloud, which overcast the heavens a short time after 
 the withdrawal of the thousands of Israel's treops; 
 and was now throwing the lighter and fleecy clouds 
 around it, as a mighty ship casting the snowy sprays 
 from its path, through the midnight Avaters. The 
 mind of Gideon, the captain of Israel, seemed to 
 loose itself in intense and painful thoughts. Amid 
 feelings so peculiar, he was commanded to bring his |j 
 soldiers to the well, or to the stream which issued 
 from it, and there at a given sign, select those, 
 whom God had chosen to go up against the camp of 
 Midian. Three hundred only, of the remaining ten 
 
 J 
 
HAROD. 141 
 
 thousand, lapped the water like dogs, which indica- 
 ting haste and impatience, were alone deemed com- 
 petent to go up against the foe. It must have been 
 a severe trial to the faith and courage of Gideon, 
 when God bade him let all the rest of the people, but 
 those three hundred "go, every man to his place." 
 Thus strangely was the already diminished army of 
 Gideon, purged and reduced, and that too, as prepar- 
 atory to the anticipated rencounter. It can but be in- 
 teresting, to see how this little despicable regiment, 
 on which the stress of the action must lie, were 
 equipped for the singularly important combat. The 
 cashiered regiments leaving their trumpets behind ; 
 these were directed to be employed as weapons of 
 war, which with the stratagie of the pitchers and 
 lights, (Judges, vii: xvi, xxii,) were the only means 
 employed by Jehovah, for the rescue of his people. 
 That same night, by direction of God, Gideon and 
 Phurah his servant, went down disguised to the camp 
 of the Midianites, and whilst there, heard a soldier 
 tell his fellow, that he dreamed a ^^cake of harley- 
 hread tumbled into the host of Midian, and came 
 unto a tent, and smote it that it fell.'' Encouraged 
 by this unmistakable evidence of the Divine aid, he 
 returned to his camp, and aroused the three hundred 
 warriors for the combat. As decerniined, with lights 
 
142 IIAROD. 
 
 concealed, and trumpets unblown, they were to enter 
 stealthily into the camp of their foes, and at the 
 signal blast of his trumpet, in the midst of the camp, 
 the pitchers w"ere to be broken, the lights revealed, 
 and the trumpets sounded, as they rushed to the 
 onset, "whilst the watchword, "the sword of the 
 Lord and of Gideon," rang out beneath the stillness 
 of the midnight heavens. Scarce were the words 
 uttered, when a blaze of fira flashed through the 
 tented encampment, lighting up the whole valley 
 around. The encampment was completely environed 
 by three hundred watch fires, by each of which re- 
 flected in the glaring light, stood the tall erect form 
 of one 01 the "men of Gideon." It is impossible 
 to conceive the startling and thrilling eff"ect, which 
 this sudden illumination — as if by magic — produced 
 upon the bold and terrified enemies of Israel. 
 Their horses stood still, paralized with affright, and 
 before them, behind them, and on every side, their 
 eyes rested upon the deadly sword, pointing mena- 
 cingly towards their breasts. It is impossible to 
 describe the carnage of that dreadful night. Israe* 
 victorious, routed and pursued the enemy, from which 
 defeat they never recovered. The memory of thi 
 fearfully glorious night, and the well of Harod are 
 "one and inseparable." 
 
s 
 
JACOB'S WELL. 
 
 There is perhaps no country of the Holy land, 
 more fruitful of interest to the student of scripture 
 history, than that of Samaria. Receiving its name 
 from the city of Samaria, formerly the capital of 
 the Kings of Israel, which built by Omri, was prob- 
 ably founded about the year A. M. 3085. Scarce 
 any city, with whose history we are familiar, has 
 been more frequently subjected to a change of civil 
 authority, or been the theatre of more dreadful car- 
 nage. Besieged by Benhaddad, king of Assyria, it 
 was reduced to great extremity, but was miraculously 
 delivered, according to the prediction of the prophet 
 Elisha. It was, however, afterwards taken by Sal- 
 amaneser, king of Assyria; who, after a siege of 
 three years, carried away the ten tribes, and in their 
 stead sent a colony from divers nations, who incor- 
 porating their superstitions with the truths of Juda- 
 ism, made a most spurious religion. Laid in ruins 
 by one of the family of the Maccabees, it was thus 
 found by Herod the Great, who being pleased with 
 its situation, re-built it in a stately manner, adorning 
 it with fine marble pillars and other sculpture. 
 
 12* 
 
144 Jacob's well- 
 
 Agrippa obtaining the city of Caligula, the inhabi' 
 tants took part with the Romans, under the Emperor 
 Vespasian, by which they avoided the calamities vhich 
 fell upon the country in consequence of the war. 
 Afterwards, however by adopting other politics, they 
 with the Jews, were exterminated from the the coun- 
 try by Adrian ; since which the city has gone into 
 decay. At present, few in number, there are still 
 some of this people resident in the inconsiderable 
 town of Naplous, the site of the ancient Samaria; 
 who, retaining their priests and their religion, still 
 offer sacrifices, observe the Sabbath, and keep the 
 law of Moses, with much strictness, as they yet 
 claim to be of the family of Aaron. 
 
 There is perhaps no event occurring in the life of 
 the Savior, concerning which so much has been spoken 
 and written, as his interview with the woman at the 
 well of Samaria. An event marked by the concur- 
 rence of as many important circumstances as any of 
 which we can form a conception. Precious and 
 important as was every moment of the Savior's time, 
 he still might improve the season of weariness to 
 enlighten and instruct a poor woman who greatly 
 needed his advice. As v/omen were, in his time, 
 treated as in every respect inferior to the opposite 
 sex, it would seem he embraced every opportunity 
 
JACon's WKUh. 145 
 
 to elevate their condition and improve their morals. 
 
 It is probable, that the first idea of a universal 
 and permanent provision for the poor and destitute, 
 as inclusive of the moral and mental elevation of 
 the female constitution, originated with Christ and 
 his Apostle, and that it continued a work of the 
 church, and not at all of the state, down to a com. 
 paratively recent period. Here we see the christian 
 dispensation becoming the basis of a new and benig- 
 nant social order, excluding fraud and wrong, discord 
 and opposition, and where the highest attainable 
 good is striven for and secured. The undoubted 
 experience of ascetic communities has attested the 
 comparatively developed truth, that there is no longer 
 a necessity, if indeed an excuse, for social evil. 
 
 Though the example of our Savior has been but too 
 imperfectly followed, we are induced to hope that 
 time of social degradation is at an end; whilst the 
 effort and knowledge of an improvement in this par- 
 ticular, will soon linger only as a fearful tradition. 
 The well of Samaria, being inseparably associated 
 with the important and interesting conversation of 
 Jesus with the woman who came to draw water, may 
 be viewed as a practical illustration of his views on 
 the ''sphere and duties" of the sex. He whom 
 angels worship and archangels adore, thought it not 
 
146 jagob'h well. 
 
 unworthy the high position of the world's benefactor, 
 to converse, at this opportune moment, with an 
 obscure female, for even the vien of whose nation 
 the Jew had the most singular contempt. We can 
 but admire that mind, which, while it scaled the 
 universe and read the stars, could thus stand above 
 and beyond the farthest verge of man's resarch, and 
 hear aloft the remotest strains of music which swells 
 through the heavenly spheres, and yet have a heart 
 which could sympathise with all the phases of indi- 
 gent humanity. So that in his solitary communings 
 beneath the midnight heavens, he appeared to have 
 been but qualifying himself to mingle with the every- 
 day multitude, and proclaim to the clogged ear and 
 heart of the desolate and mourning, in tones warm 
 and sweet as the hope of pardon, that the chord of 
 sympathy could be reached only by the voice of Jesus. 
 From the mountain top, where he sat in the kind- 
 lings of the morning; from the watch-tower, where 
 he had gazed into the serene heavens, he came down 
 into the dusty, trampled highway, where encounter- 
 ing the rushing crowd, the various anxious faces, the 
 selfish, hollow, husk religion of the world, he sent 
 forth from every fibre of his soul the gladsome 
 tidings of pardon and salvation. On such mission 
 was he engaged, when arriving with his disciples at 
 
Jacob's well. 147 
 
 the mouth of the "side valley," before the city, 
 Jesus being wearied with his journey, sat down by 
 the well, whilst they " went away into the city to 
 buy meat." The simplicity of the evangelist's nar- 
 rative is striking and peculiar; opening with the 
 observation, '•Hhere came a tvoman of Samaria to 
 draiv water." From this request to drink, sundry 
 inquiries were suggested, eliciting answers the most 
 singularly appropriate, by which she was convinced 
 of the important dignity and wisdom of the stranger. 
 If we except perhaps the allusion made to the spir- 
 ituality of God, and the necessary correspondence 
 of his proper worship, there is no portion of his 
 recorded conversation, so remarkable and consolatory 
 as the promise, '''•whosoever drinketh of the water 
 that I shall give him, shall never thirst, but the 
 water that I shall give him, shall be in him a well of 
 water springing up unto everlasting life;" at the read- 
 ing of which we have often closed the book, and 
 exclaimed with a gush of unutterable joy, 
 
 '' Spring up, O well, I ever cry, 
 Spring up within my soul ' " 
 
 The shadows of the Savior's destiny even then 
 began to fall around him, whilst a glance at the great 
 picture of life, confirmed in him what is since sug- 
 gested to the christian, that self-denial could but be 
 
148 Jacob's well. 
 
 remunerated in the eternal consciousness of a high- 
 minded discharge of those duties, which produce in 
 their own reflections, an adequate recompense, in 
 the form of that peace the world cannot give, or 
 take away. A few shifting scenes, a succession of 
 sentiments, vain regrets, ideal enjoyments, and the 
 time-serving pretender to divine illumination has 
 entered the deep valley of shadows to be seen no 
 more in these walks below. How different was the 
 language and doctrine of the Savior, as he sat in 
 conversation with the woman on the arched chamber 
 of Jacob's well! The spirituality of God, and of 
 his worship, was an important truth which she was 
 unaccustomed to hear. 
 
 However cheering its revelation to some, to us no 
 truth is so unspeakably precious, as the thought that 
 he who drives along the chariots of the countless 
 hosts of the sky, dwells with the lowliest of his 
 creation on this dim earth. Whenever we recur to 
 our Savior's visit to this sacred well, let us pray that 
 we may realize these truths, as we first think of our 
 comparative nothingness, and then our positive con- 
 nection with universal life and intelligence. Jerome 
 chose to live in this valley, that the sight of these 
 places might aifect him the more with scripture sto- 
 ries. We may, in imagination, choose to frequent 
 
JORDAN. 149 
 
 this place, to be reminded that there ia but one 
 source of divine beauty and joy. 
 
 JORDAN-A RIYEK. 
 
 It was a lovely morning in June , the rising sun 
 was just tinging the summits of the rocky cliffs, 
 which, like giant fortresses, studded at frequent in- 
 tervals, the green shores of the beautiful Delaware. 
 Here and there a truant ray rested on the lofty spire 
 of some towering dome, and reflected from its gilded 
 cross, gleamed forth through the morning mist, like 
 a beautiful but solitary star, pausing to gaze on the 
 glories of the morning landscape. A sabbath still- 
 ness, broken only by the sweet and fitful warblings 
 of the wild-wood songsters, or the thoughtless hum- 
 ming of the loitering pedestrian, reigned over the 
 green hills and broad vales surrounding the populous 
 city. On such a morning as this, a few brief sum- 
 mer? gone by, a man, habited in the peculiar style of 
 the clerical profession, whose garb somevrhat soiled, 
 indicated the neglect or absence of the tcilet, sat 
 
150 JOKDAN. 
 
 leaning against the stern of one of those small boats 
 which are constantly seen upon every considerable 
 river, and which manned by a couple of boatmen, are 
 occasionally employed in conveying passengers from 
 quarantine to port. He was apparently a traveller, 
 and on the occasion referred to, seemed to be en- 
 grossed whilst being conveyed ashore, by no earthly 
 occupation, but to watch the sparkle of the waves, as 
 the oars dipped lazily into the water, only starting 
 from his dreamy attitude, as the boat struck the 
 wharf, when the boatmen looking in each others 
 faces, appeared surprised at his delay in quitting 
 their aquatic vehicle. Looking round him for the 
 moment, he seemed to wonder at the numerous glance 
 of familiar faces, who coming hither to welcome his 
 safe return to his native land, were standing in 
 amaze at his singular inattention to their presence. 
 A sudden emotion, too strong to be resisted, chained 
 his advancing step, when, turning once more to 
 fflance at the river, over whose smoothe surface he 
 had been silently borne, he paused as if summoning 
 strength to quit the vessel, when a little gleeful 
 voice, coming from amid the crowd, broke upon his 
 
 ear, with the exclamation, "Dr. A has been 
 
 to the river Jordan." Yes, he had visited this river, 
 antl now that he quitted its banks forever, he could 
 
JOHl>A.\. l^J 
 
 but revert to the scenes of thrilling adventure, 
 through which he had passed, as the murmuring 
 ripple of his native river fell in sacred harmony upon 
 his ear. Often, in his solitary journeyings on his 
 native soil, and in his brief sojournings in the crowd- 
 ed cities of other lands, did the image of this noble 
 river, winding along over mossy stones, beneath the 
 trunks of prostrate trees, and between its wild banks, 
 mingle in the visions of his midnight slumbers. Ri- 
 sing in the mountains of Lebanon, in the northern 
 extremity of Canaan, the Jordan, after running six- 
 teen o; eighteen miles, spreads out into a flat marshy 
 place, forming the lake Semechon, called in Scripture, 
 the waters of Merom. Leaving this lake, and running 
 about fifteen miles further, it enters the Sea of 
 Galilee, or Tiberias, from the southern end of which, 
 it again issues, and after a course still South, of 
 about one hundred and fifty miles further, it finally 
 empties into the Dead Sea. Though the river an- 
 ciently overflowed its banks in the spring, when the 
 snows were melting on Mount Lebanon, it appears 
 from the accounts of modern travellers, that these 
 floods are now less, and more unfrequent. Covered 
 as the banks are, with trees and weeds, under which 
 lions and other wild beasts hide, the allusion to their 
 being driven out by the rise in it* waters, by the 
 
152 JORDAN. 
 
 prophet Jeremiah, is not among the least of its most 
 pleasing reminiscences. Below the Sea of Tiberias, 
 travellers describe the river as being generally, but 
 twenty or thirty yards wide, passing through a plain 
 which according to Josephus, was one hundred and 
 fifty miles long, and fifteen wide. Within this en- 
 circled valley, many of the most important events of 
 Jewish history are said to have transpired. Events, 
 which, when they occurred, thrilled the nation with 
 alternate pulsations of sorrow and joy. Here were 
 enacted scenes, strangely in contrast with each other, 
 and our conceptions of what should have formed an 
 appropriate association with this sacred stream. 
 Scenes, which among its banks and winding shores, 
 shall continue to thrill alike the heart of the Jew 
 and the christian, to the most distant generations of 
 time. 
 
 The retired timidity \thich seemed to characterize 
 the speculations of the learned among the Jews, 
 which like a ray of moonlight peering through the 
 crevice of closed curtains, upon some object within, 
 was now scattering itself, and was being spread over 
 the indistinct personifications of prophecy, like an 
 angel's wing, as the visible promise of protection to 
 the redeemed. The expectant Israelite, happy in 
 the increased creation of spiritual sunshine within, 
 
JORDAN. 153 
 
 seemed now to feel an overflowing fountain of con- 
 solation springing up within his soul. The cedars of 
 Lebanon assumed a holiday dress of perpetual ver- 
 dure ; the golden sheaves stood up in the fields, 
 whilst the flowering shrubs and twining vines, appear- 
 ed flaunting proudly in their gorgeous tinge of purple 
 and gold. The crumbling arch, not of a ruined cas- 
 tle, or time-worn tower, but that which supported 
 the ancient and venerable tower of his spiritual edi- 
 fice, was decaying to the fall. Resting in antiquated 
 glory, on the spot consecrated by the offering and 
 faith of Abraham, he began but indistinctly, to hear 
 the murmur of "Siloa's brook," which leaping up 
 from its concealment beneath a ledge of gray rock, 
 made but a dreamy, though delicious melody. The 
 anticipated time, when he who had said, "he would 
 come and would not tarry" had arrived. The nation 
 diffidently attempting to peer through the thick clouds 
 which obscured the stream of prophecy, Avere thrilled 
 only by the falling of its current over the mysterious 
 and rocky elevations of accumulating centuries. In 
 the midst of this hesitating, though general expecta- 
 tion, a voice unlike that they were accustomed to 
 hear, rang out over the wilderness of Judea, in ac- 
 cents singularly emphatic, "Prepare ye the way of 
 the Lord, make his paths straight. ' Standing on 
 
154 JORDAN. 
 
 the banks of the Jordan, the mysterious being, from 
 whom came this singular announcement, looked 
 abroad over the hills and valleys, to greet the sound 
 of approaching footsteps, and to show his true and 
 tender heart, was impatient to drive away the dense 
 shadows, that he might glorify God for the appear- 
 ance of the rising sun. Crowds from city and ham- 
 let, town and country, attracted by this strange and 
 mysterious personage, came pouring down the steeps 
 which, like giant watchers, overlooked the "flashing 
 jewelry" of Jordan's waves. Labor, business, pleas- 
 ure was forsaken in the eager desire to obtain an 
 audience with the "Elias" of prophecy. In the hazy 
 light of morn, as also when twilight shadows obscu- 
 red the last lingering sunbeam, myriads waited on 
 the ministry of John. The thousands of Israel 
 paused in glad astonishment, on the banks of this 
 noble river, in hourly anticipation of the fulfilment 
 of his prophecies. The time fixed, as the consum- 
 mation of their wishes had now arrived.. The long 
 promised Savior was to be revealed. Angels had 
 already sung their song of congratulation over the 
 heights of Bethlehem, until their echoing chorus 
 awaked the throbbing sympathies of an expectant 
 world. Hitherto, they had but roamed its green 
 margin, with zealous ardor, and radiant human coun- 
 
JORDAN, 165 
 
 tenances, to deliver their encouraging messages. 
 Henceforth, in garments of dazzling whiteness and 
 glittering crowns, they were to attune their golden 
 harps by the banks of the crystal river of life. The 
 spiritual atmosphere of the world, within the deli- 
 cious haze of which spirits might sink away in 
 dreamy slumber, was now assuming an increasing 
 glow, as if mingling with floods of celestial glory. 
 The spell of heaven, causing men to wonder amid 
 Beeming delights, awaked the voice of pleasure, 
 which heard in one continuous strain, sounded on 
 grand and anthem-like, as from the sea of life to the 
 shore of eternity. 
 
 Amid such scenes, and under such circumstances, 
 He, of whom "all the prophets bare witness," was 
 presented to John's enrapt and expectant auditors. 
 Knowing the impjjbpriety of two great rivals remain- 
 ing on earth, to divide the attention, and induce 
 feelings of partisan rivalry, he appeared impatient 
 to close his own ministry, that every degree of con- 
 fidence might be placed on the Redeemer. As the 
 moon still lingering at opening dawn, conceals itself 
 in the brighter atmosphere, by which it is surrounded 
 so this eminent prophet, who only shone in the ad- 
 vancing scintillations of the sun of righteousness, 
 
 re-iavested his exit with the light of that day, on 
 13* 
 
 >-'-'*6 
 
156 JORDAN. 
 
 which it rose full orbed on the world. Coming down 
 from the mountains, greeted by cheerful sounds, 
 swelling out far and wide around him ; he stood amid 
 dense and enveloping mists, through which the clear 
 river flashed like lightning amid parting clouds ; he 
 was pointed out to the expectant gaze of countless 
 thousands, as the "Lamb of God which taketh away 
 the sin of the world. Breathing the pure air of his 
 native mountains, he descended to the multitude, 
 beneath its preserving and expansive influence, en- 
 circled in such clouds of Holy light, as will be for- 
 ever sufficient to invert his Disciples in its folds of 
 celestial radiance. Divided by the advancing hosts 
 of Israel, and successively by the prophets Elijah 
 and Elisha, and the theatre of the respective initia- 
 tory ministrations of "the Baptist" and of Christ, 
 this river can but be interesting to the pious of every 
 age and clime. Emblem of death, of triumph and 
 of sorrow, of deliverance and of captivity, the cross- 
 ing of its "billows," whether in life or death, will 
 ever be an event of singular importance. 
 
KIDRON-A BROOK. 
 
 A glance at the great picture of life will show, 
 that while the duties of self-denial, and the sacrifice 
 of passion to principle, are but seldom rewarded, 
 that the internal consciousness of a high-minded dis- 
 charge of our duty, produces in our own reflections 
 an adequate recompense, in the form of that peace 
 which the world cannot give or take away. When 
 we gaze upon the vast panorama of sorrow, we are 
 prepared, in affection and pursuit, to look with a, 
 bright philosophy on the providences of Heaven. 
 Through its influence, we will cherish a love of those 
 true and beautiful revelations, which teach us we 
 have little more of life's wealth to ask, and few of 
 its privations to fear. As we approach the period of 
 dissolution, when long trains of mournful reflections 
 come trooping over our minds, it is but natural we 
 should inquire, whither goes the soul when the last 
 gleam hath faded from the eye, and the stern gray 
 twilight of the grave hath settled on each quiescent 
 feature. With such reflections we instinctively real- 
 ize the condition of the soul when, wrapped in un- 
 consciousness, its physical organs refuse any longer 
 
158 KIDRON. 
 
 to be the interpreters of its will. We appear to 
 realize the dawning of a areat day, which shall give 
 another embodiment to the newly awakened spirit. 
 
 The conten^plation of that period, when we shall 
 be called upon to quit the world, with all its stirring 
 interests and warm companionships, its high promi- 
 ses and lofty deeds, for a state that has never yet 
 had one ray thrown into its darkness, makes us feel 
 the impenetrable clouds in which we are wrapt ; 
 whilst our heart-strings, like the harp, vibrating to 
 viewless fingers, trembles with a thrill of strange, 
 unwonted melody. Think not that disembodied in- 
 telligences never commune with those still fettered 
 to the dust. Our eyes may not see them, nor the 
 ear reveal their presence; yet, when the chains of 
 clay are falling from the soul, and, fluttering on its 
 unpractised pinions, it seeks to elevate its affections, 
 upbuild the holy purpose, and strengthen the pure 
 resolve, they hover round, to cheer, teuch and up- 
 lift us. 
 
 We would not commend a perpetual reference to 
 the future, as alone possessing the elements of satis- 
 faction. This would effectually blind our vision to 
 the beautiful revelations of Deity, everywhere ex- 
 hibited. Our ear, only attuned to the soft melody 
 of unearthly strains, would catch but the faint whis- 
 
KIDRON. 159 
 
 perings of nature's everlasting hymn, which blends 
 in the harmony of founds, from the soft breathing 
 of the growing violet to the rushing of the wheelings 
 of stupendous worlds. When greatly oppressed, we 
 may not keep along the uninstructive path of human 
 sorrow, wrapped up in the selfishness of conscious 
 suiFering. Then ours is the duty and privilege to 
 tread on the silvery embroidery of the wide-spread 
 canvass of space, on which the love of God will be 
 alike exhibited in the tint of the rainbow, as in the 
 smile which illumines the stern features of death. 
 This disposition will convert the universe into a 
 temple, arcled with the sparkling jewelry of the 
 heavens; so that, whether we retire to the place 
 where the "Lord lau,'' or look from Kidron's vale 
 to the heights of Olivet, and from thence gaze 
 adoringly on the serene sky above, we shall encour- 
 agingly hope for deliverance from wrong, as we 
 receive strength to labor in the accomplishment of 
 our destiny. 
 
 Amid the fierce conflict of sorrow atid passion, 
 we shall see through the veil of twilight, which, 
 while filling our spacious temple, will permit us to 
 behold the coming of a more bright and blissful 
 morning. Thus did our Savior. Retiring to the 
 hrook Kidron, which, winding on the eastern sid^ 
 
160 KIDRON. 
 
 of Jerusalem, through the valley of Jehoshaphat, 
 echoed its soft and dreamy melody amid dark groves 
 of the rustling palm; there, when the shadows of 
 his destiny began to linger about his pathway, he 
 held sweet, sustaining communion with the spirit 
 world. Though comprehending within the range of 
 his vision the extended amplitude of that universe, 
 with which he held strange Snd mysterious converse, 
 he yet chose to retire to this secluded spot, where 
 hia active energies, instead of being lulled to slumber 
 with the malody of those chords within, that ever 
 thrill to the beautiful and sublime, received wisdom 
 from the soft-breathed air. 
 
 Thou soft gliding Kidroii, by thy silver sireams, 
 The Savior at uidnight, when Cynthia's pale beams 
 Shone bright on the vi'aters, would frequently stray, 
 And loose in thy murmurs the toils of the day. 
 
 The vale of Kidron, the retiracy of which sympa- 
 thized strangely with the Redeemer's sorrow, from 
 whose shades he came but to depart to familiar skies, 
 must ever continue an object of special interest to 
 the sorrowing disciple. 
 
KISHON-A RIVER. 
 
 It has been frequently remarked, that a character 
 of a high and lofty stamp is degraded, rather than 
 exalted, by an attempt to reward virtue with temporal 
 prosperity. From which it is supposed to be dange- 
 rous to teach, that either rectitude of conduct and 
 of principle are either naturally allied with, or ade- 
 quately rewarded by the gratification of our passions, 
 or the attainment of our wishes. Passion and pref- 
 erence may induce the performance of deeds which, 
 while they extort the applause of men, can never 
 suborn the harmonious testimony of reason and 
 conscience. To secure the felicity of their concurrent 
 approbation, we must subordinate the impulse of will 
 to the decision of a truthful and enlightened judg- 
 ment. The subjection of our lives to the impulse of 
 passion is, in reality, persuading ourselves that fiction 
 is to be preferred to fact — that to feel, is better than 
 to enjoy. The government of our lives, on principles 
 contrary to reason and religion, Avill subject us to 
 great inconvenience, from having a distorted view of 
 those objects upon which we place our affections. 
 Not so, hoAvever, with the individual with whom 
 
1(J2 KISHON. 
 
 conscience and reason are supreme. He mistakes 
 not the dream for the reality, the shadow for the 
 substance, the mere parhelion for the luminous sun 
 of righteousness, whose beams of light and love are 
 reflected, full -orbed, on the meridian sky. 
 
 The mission of reason, distinct from passion, has 
 reference to all the powers Avithin ; and whilst sanc- 
 tifying all the relationships of life, is eminently 
 serviceable to the social feelings in awakening the 
 sympathies and endearing the humanities of a chari- 
 table cireer. Religion aids us in reviewing the past, 
 in endeavoring to solve the mystery — how that 
 which has been is produced, what tributes have 
 imparted fullness to the streams that run clear or 
 turbid, what now is pouring into them, and what 
 their course will probably be. Her presence is 
 observable in the conduct of the good and great of 
 every age, whenever there were duties to be rendered, 
 and wherever the good, the true and the useful were 
 struggled for and obtained. Heed we then the 
 admonitory voice of conscience and duty, which 
 will cause our souls to speak out the solemn and 
 gracious accents of pardon ; and, like Jesus standing 
 amid the vanities of Israel, our example will speak 
 with the authority of truth, equity and love, fejt and 
 acted in all the relations of life. 
 
There never was a time, in ull probability, in the 
 history of the world, when there was less respect 
 shown to practical piety, than in the days of the 
 prophet Elijah. From the prince to the peasant, 
 from the palace to the cot, the unrestrained prosti- 
 tution of their powers in idol worship, appears to 
 have produced a general contempt for true and 
 spiritual worship. The eye of the prophet, pained 
 by the universal neglect of the altars of God, seemed 
 ever intent on beholding the dense shadows and nox- 
 ious mists ; whilst, from want of faith, ho lacked 
 the ability to peer through the clouds, and glorify 
 God for the mission of the rising'sun. Influenced by 
 the light of revelation, accustomed in all liis ideas 
 to associate religion and morality, adopting the 
 divine will and oath as the guide of his conscience 
 and the standard of his practice, the prophet could 
 not sympathize with the transplanted though fabled 
 powers of Jupiter, the eternal jealousies of Juno, 
 the craft and stratagem of Mercury, or the corrupt 
 licentiousness of Venus. Discouraged in the com- 
 parative failure of repeated attempts at moral refor- 
 mation of the nation, he seemed disinclined to a 
 renewal of his efforts ; forgetting that such men as 
 he were needed to strip off the cerements of error, 
 
 to preach the truth, to call the nation to duty, to 
 14 
 
164 KISHON. 
 
 encourage the hopes of the desponding, and deliver 
 the oppressed from those wrongs which interfered 
 in the accomplishment of their destiny. 
 
 Mount Carmel, near the base of which flows the 
 river Kishon, was the theatre on which confusion 
 was brought upon the enemies of God. Upon the 
 banks of the one the men of Israel, at the command 
 of Elijah, had slain the prophets of Baal, mingling 
 their blood with its waters ; and on the summit of 
 the other God had sent down fire, to consume the 
 sacrifice, to the justification of the prophet. These 
 occurrences have naturally magnified this river in 
 our estimation, which will carry along with its cease- 
 less flow the memory of these great and important 
 achievements. 
 
 This stream will ever perpetuate the truth, that 
 the "servant of the Lord," coming from the forests 
 where he has communed Avith nature and with God, 
 is but being prepared to come forth into the dusty, 
 trampled highway, where mingling with the rushing 
 crowd, he is prepared to rebuke the selfish striving, 
 the hollow friendships, and the dry-husk religion of 
 the world. 
 
KANAH-A BROOK. 
 
 Everything is interesting, that relates to the 
 history of Israel. A people retaining their distinc- 
 tive and peculiar character, under sad reverses of 
 fortune, and in a state of exile from their "father 
 land," will ever be a marvel in the history of the 
 world. Whilst nations in point of grandeur and 
 political importance, more renowned than they, are 
 extinct, and nought, but a few remains of architec- 
 tural beauty exhibit their former splendor ; the 
 Hebrew retains that character and feeling, which 
 distinguished him in the days of his country's glory. 
 Retaining the creed and worship of his fathers ; 
 wherever found, he has the same attachment for the 
 rites and ceremonies of the ancient ritual. Unlike 
 Christianity, which, when the seat of govermient 
 was removed by Constantino from Rome to Constan- 
 tinople, gave a sensible preponderance to the Gre- 
 cian districts of the Empire, and caused the ecclesi- 
 astical determinations of the Greek Church to be re- 
 ceived with respect and submission. Judaism always 
 respected the memory of its capital, and subjected 
 all to its authority, though "trodden down of the 
 
166 KANAH. 
 
 Gentiles." In every act of devotion, under what- 
 ever circumstances performed, tlie Jew was wont to 
 imagine the splendid architecture of the temple, as 
 encircling him to catch the fervent breathings of his 
 saddened soul. Turning to the land of his fathers, 
 he prom.ises to himself a time, when delivered from 
 his oppressors, he shall again be reinstated in the 
 home of his heart, the Jerusalem of his joy, where 
 he shall be doomed ho more to 
 
 " IVrinder icithering by, 
 
 In other lands to die.'''' 
 
 Sad as is their condition now, they were formerly 
 chargeable, with carelessness or cowardice, in defence 
 of their country's rights and interests. The re- 
 proach of God rests upon the Ephraimites, that they 
 did not drive out the Canaanites from Gerar, but 
 foolishly hoped to satisfy the law by putting them 
 under tribute. This capital error, instead of res- 
 training them from idolatry, as the seqael shows, in- 
 duced them to fall into it themselves. The practical 
 and important lesson furnished by their conduct, 
 should be heeded by all christians, who hope by a 
 compromise with their adversaries, to secure undis- 
 turbed repose. Strange indeed, was their forgetful- 
 ness. Strange, that with the memory of the Divine 
 command, and almost within view of that Sinai, from 
 
KANAH. 167 
 
 whence the Spirit of liberty proclaimed — "Thou 
 shalt no longer bow the knee to kinglj idols," they 
 should have forgotten their pre-eminence and the 
 commanding mountain eminence, replete with sub- 
 lime historical recollections. 
 
 Their history reminds us, that whilst oblivious of 
 their faults, we may recall their virtues, which hav- 
 ing become visible, shine with radiant lustre in this, 
 the dark night of their history. Hearts broken, 
 doomed to insult and injury, these generous Hebrews, 
 the world knew not, ever shunning the public gaze, 
 were received among the habitations of men, like 
 "angels unawares." When Judah and Ephraim 
 shall no longer "envy and vex each other," we may 
 hope that Palestina so full of natural beauty, is des- 
 tined to be rendered doubly beautiful by the adorn- 
 ment of Art. Every decoration which taste can 
 suggest, or love bequeath, under the Divine superin- 
 tendence, whether they be the flowers of infancy, 
 or the sturdy oaks of age, shall be speedily planted, 
 while to and around them, will ever cling with per- 
 petual freshness, the green vines of love and memory. 
 
 The brook of which we are now writing, formed 
 *thc western boundary of this tribe, and as such, is of 
 interest to us. Discriminating between acts attribu- 
 ted to the nation under this title, and the tribe of 
 14* 
 
168 KAINAII. 
 
 Epliraim, we may enumerate within its borders, the 
 residence of a Seer, or the scene of some importanis 
 event. In it was Samaria, long the capital of the 
 dingdom of the ten tribes. Here too, was Ramah, 
 Samuel's city, called in the New Testament, Arima^ 
 thea. From hence was Joseph, Avho, when the moon 
 in tranquil brilliancy, shed a soft spiritual light upon 
 the picturesque environs of Jerusalem, went to per- 
 form the rites of sepulture, to the body of Jesus. 
 Thither he repaired as a lone sad w^atcher, whilst no 
 sound but the musical murmurs of the sighing trees, 
 falling on the ravished ear, like the undulations of 
 some fairy minstrelsy, broke sadly the intensity of 
 the silence, as ever and anon, the measured tread of 
 the sentinel on the tower, came ringing on the ear 
 with startling emphasis. 
 
 Leaving these watchers at the tomb of Jesus, we 
 close the sketch by asking, can such a scene, or the 
 Ephraimite Joseph, whose land was encircled by this 
 brook, ever be forgotten. 
 
SOREK-A BROOK. 
 
 Two events recorded in the Bible, occurring &t 
 the interval of centuries, have quite a resemblance 
 one to the other, if indeed the first did not typify 
 the last more remarkable and important occurrence. 
 We refer to the respective and luminous announce- 
 ments of the birth of Samson and Christ. Both 
 mothers were informed of the event, by an "angel of 
 the Lord," and both, 'A'hen born, were the appointed 
 instruments of deliverance and salvation. Both 
 events were opportune, and both as far as their mis- 
 sion was concerned, exhibited a singular, most re- 
 markable and important career. Bound by a super- 
 stition which had prevailed in all ages, Manoah sup- 
 posed they would surely die, having seen a vision of 
 God. It was reserved for a fuller manifestation, to 
 convince him of the erroneous impression. At his 
 request, the heavenly visitant again appeared. Set- 
 ting near the edge of one of their fields, just where 
 the shadows from the circling wood, stretched out in 
 indication of declining day, the Avife of Manoah, 
 looking up amid the dark branches of the trees, 
 tinged with occasional gleams of sunlight, beheld an 
 
170 SOREK. 
 
 object clad in white, and luminous with celestial 
 glory, skimming the tree tops in a chariot of gold. 
 Astonishing, though familiar was the sight. This 
 was that which had before communicated the tidings 
 of a promised Son. Soon speeding to her husband 
 with the joyful intelligence, he returned, and inter- 
 rogated that which he now knew to be a messenger 
 of love and not of feir. Tendering hospitality to 
 the celestial visitant, it was declined ; but at his sug- 
 gestion, a sacrafice was offered to the Lord, which, 
 when the red light and flame of the offering glared 
 in the dusky twilight, it was made the chariot, which, 
 while enshrouding his person, bore him aloft to his 
 native of heaven. No more did friend or angel come 
 but in the "fulness of time" the promised child was 
 born. We now change the scene. Years have gone 
 by. Oppression's iron heel, every heavy, bore down 
 with peculiar power on the "tribes." The insolent 
 enemies of Israel have waxed fat on the spoil of the 
 people. Family after family have been massacred. 
 The midnight heavens glared with the assassins torch 
 and echoed the shriek of the dying babe and mother. 
 The oppressive monotomy of despair, sank the spir- 
 its and unnerved the nation's mighty arm. The wail 
 of oppression echoed so long from the neighboring 
 hills, that the sound but faintly repeated the myriad 
 
SOREK. 171 
 
 voices of their woe. Dark as was the scene, there 
 yet was hope; change we yet again the scene. 
 
 'Twas one of those delicious evenings, which occa- 
 sionally interrupt the oppressive heat of the summer 
 months. A cooling shower from the west had laid 
 the dust, which floating in clouds through the air, 
 diffused its refreshing influence around ; while the 
 soft wind, laden Avith fragrant odors, regaled the 
 senses, and bathed the fevered temples. The rain 
 drops sparkling like tears over the gladdened earth, 
 were soon absorbed in the smiles of the sun, as he 
 emerged in splendor from the brilliant shadows that 
 enveloped him. Soon as the clouds dispersed, and 
 nothing was visible above, but the arching bright 
 blue sky, a young w*oman just blooming into the ful- 
 ness and maturity of virgin loveliness ; whose every 
 look and action, awed while it charmed, might have 
 been seen moving gracefully beneath a shaded grove, 
 through which, winding amid verdant banks, mur- 
 mured the quiet roll of the ancient brook Sorek. A 
 short distance from this retired walk, where the 
 green valley abruptly terminated, at the base a slo- 
 ping liill, might have been seen a man, slowly advan- 
 cinf>; toward the maro-in of the stream. That man 
 was Sampson, the child of angelic vision, and paren- 
 tal hope ; the judge of Israel and the strength of 
 
172 SOREK. 
 
 the nation. A man whom all supposed was the 
 master of his passions, and from whose history we 
 learn he was distinguished in earlier years for the 
 active and ennobling qualities of a superior nature. 
 Alone, he was a pillar, connected with the destinies 
 of this deceitful, artful woman ; he was as defence- 
 less as the grass, to which the wind setting fire, 
 leaves only the impress of the burning wherever it 
 has passed. Turning upon the majestic stranger, 
 the look of mutual recognition, gave place to the 
 animated fever of her eyes, which dilated with as- 
 tonishment, and languid with love, shone fixedly like 
 two stars. That look sealed his fate ! And contem- 
 plating that profanation of self, that suicide of his 
 nation's interests, and his own happiness, to the de- 
 ceitfulness of a heathen damsel's smile, seems now 
 to raise the cup of bitterness to memory's satiated 
 taste, and veil our eyes with a robe of mourning. 
 
 Yet with the golden chalice of love came also the 
 cup of hatred. Ensnared by the light of "woman's 
 eyes," and subjected to the tortuous pleasure of her 
 passions, he conceived that deep rooted hatred to 
 her people, which led to such acts of secret and 
 signal vengeance. Though the instruments with 
 with which they sought to work upon his passions 
 were gay, and their attitudes were those of joy, 
 
SOREK. 173 
 
 their slow and long drawn notes of deception stirred 
 his saddened soul, causing the hidden chords to 
 vibrate to its depths. " Thus when stripping him of 
 his wife, the offer of the younger daughter produced 
 the withering rebuke which ho gave the Philistines, 
 who to appease hira burnt the father and wife with 
 fire. 
 
 Never did the craft and artifice of men work their 
 own destruction, so effectually as in the case of the 
 "lords of the Philistines." On that memorable day, 
 when they engaged in the performance of their ob- 
 scene orgies to Dagon, Sampson, in obedience to the 
 anxiously solicited divine permission, bowed against 
 the temple's massive pillars, which, falling with 
 thunder-crash, buried thousands beneath its ruins. 
 Remarkable in life, singular in the manner of his 
 death, a type of Him whose "arm" brought salvation, 
 the brook Sorek, connected with his history, will be 
 memorable as one of the "Sacred Fountains " of the 
 Holy Land. 
 
THE lUYER NILE. 
 
 We did not intend to leave the territory of Ca- 
 naan, to describe any of those streams or fountains 
 that have only a historical association with the Holy 
 Land. There is one river, however, which we can- 
 not pass by, without lingering amid the hallowed 
 and venerable reminiscences Avhich cluster on its 
 banks. Historically we cannot enter the confines of 
 Israel, without first viewing the lofty pyramids and 
 obelisks of Egypt — monuments which probably they 
 assisted in erecting — and passing thence by " the 
 way" of the Red Sea. We would like to tarry in 
 the land of Goshen, to retrospect the rich scenery 
 of its task-cultured and productive fields, and to 
 meditate with joy and wonder, on the history of that 
 people, whose characteristics are yet much more 
 distinct than their sculptured hieroglyphics. 
 
 There is much in Egypt to interest and instruct, 
 apart from this history. Its tall monuments and 
 stately grandeur, its ancient literary renown, comes 
 up on the classic pages of Grecian and Roman 
 literature. Other historians than Moses have spo- 
 ken of the fame of Ptolemies, of Cambyses and 
 
THE NILE. 176 
 
 Cleopatra. We are not now writing for those, who 
 have heard of the golden-canopied galleys of the 
 queen, in the sometimes stale representations of the 
 tragedian. We cannot think that Shakespeare ira- 
 mortalized Mark Antony, or that Egypt owes much 
 to him, for the tragic coloring with which he has 
 invested the life and exit of her illustrious queen. 
 But what christian traveller visits here without turn- 
 ing away from these melancholy remains of decaying 
 grandeur, to the contemplation of the history of that 
 great people, who once thickly crowded the broad 
 banks of the Nile? The natural characteristic of 
 this stream, its periodical overflowings, impart to it 
 unusual interest. But for this, those ancient colo- 
 nies, who, coming from Babel, subsided on its banks, 
 would have gone westward, and become mingled 
 with those who founded Carthage, and whose de- 
 scendants, scaling the heights of Mount Atlas, after- 
 ward became the more modern rivals and enemies 
 of Spain. 
 
 All the important events in the history and deliv- 
 erance of the Jews from captivity, transpired on its 
 banks. Here, on the promulgation of Pharaoh's 
 cruel edict, Moses was concealed amid the flag 
 branches on the margin, and was taken hence by the 
 
 Princess, to be reared in the family of the King. 
 15 
 
170' TllK NILK. 
 
 And here, when Pharaoh woukl not let " the people 
 go," God transformed its clear current into a stag- 
 nant ocean of blood ; and over its dark waves flapped 
 the broad wing of the destroying angel, as he passed 
 over the blood-besprinkled door posts of the houses 
 of -Israel. With what humble though pleasing recol- 
 lections would the Israelites turn back their thoughts 
 to those terrible visitations with which God "brought 
 them forth?" In after years, when the two nations 
 once more engaged in combat, or, as was sometimes 
 the case, in some unholy alliance, would they once 
 more launch upon the broad bosom of this placid 
 stream. 
 
 What great and terrible events, ancient and mod- 
 ern, crowd upon these annually overflowing shores? 
 We are not now able to recount those which only 
 depend on the uncertain statements of prejudiced 
 cotemporaries, who may have handed down many 
 gross misstatements. Perhaps no nation, retaining 
 many of its ancient peculiarities, has been brought 
 so prominently forth amid the most exciting scenes 
 of modern history. Those great events are rapidly 
 fading away, in the prospective improvements which 
 modern civilization suggests. The day is not distant, 
 may indeed bo at hand, when the narrow, rock- 
 bound valley of the Nile will be thickly dotted over 
 
THE NILE. ]77 
 
 with such substantial evidences of enterprize, as 
 cluster thickly on the banks of the Connecticut or 
 the Thnmes. 
 
 For a Ions; time the sources of the Nile were 
 unknown ; but it is now ascertained to take its rise 
 in the high-lands north of the equator. The laqd is 
 wholly dependent on the periodical inundations of 
 the river. A rise of sixteen fathoms is sufficient to 
 secure the prosperity of the country. " Such, how- 
 ever, is the regularity of nature, and such the faith- 
 fulness of God, that for thousands of years, with 
 but few and partial exceptions, these inundations 
 have, in essential particulars, been the same." Du- 
 ring the overflow the land is literally inundated, and 
 has the appearance of a sea dotted with islands. 
 Wherever the waters reach abundance springs forth. 
 The husbandman has scarcely more to do than to 
 scatter the seed. No wonder that a river whose 
 waters are so grateful, salubrious and beneficial, 
 should in days of ignorance have been regarded as 
 an object of worship, and that it is still revered and 
 beloved. 
 
 We will not stop to speculate longer upon the 
 present condition and prospects of Egypt, its history 
 and polity. Like all those nations in which the 
 Mohammedan bears rule, tlioro is apparent a general 
 
1 78 THE NILE. 
 
 i lattention to the solid domestic refinements and 
 comforts. We look forward with pleasure to that 
 period, when these otherwise amiable people will be 
 devliered from their gross superstitions, and when 
 the gospel shall become to the inhabitants what this 
 river is to the soil; when the parched spiritual 
 ground " shall become a pool ; and the thirsty land, 
 springs of water: in the habitation of dragons, where 
 each lay, shall be grass, with reeds and rushes." 
 
THE RED SEA. 
 
 There is one sea, which, though not numbered 
 among the sacred vratcrs of Canaan, is intimately 
 connected with the early history of the Jews. We 
 refer to that large desert-encircled body of water 
 known as the Red Sea. Were it not that it is so 
 important, the increasing dimensions of the volume 
 would suggest its omission. We do not fear, however, 
 that we shall weary the reader with a subject so full 
 of interest. This great inland sea, lies between the 
 Territories of Egypt and Arabia, and was anciently 
 a part of that great chain of commercial intercourse, 
 which poured the wealth of the Indies into King 
 Solomon's realm. 
 
 It forms the north-eastern boundary of Africa, 
 and may yet be distinguished as the dfrect line for 
 the European transit of oriental trade. We need 
 :iot now refer to this great question, with the view of 
 stating the various conflicting opinions which greatly 
 agitate the rival European and American nations, or 
 which may serve to mystify this somewhat proble- 
 matic subject. We yet think that the day is not dis- 
 tant, when the increasing commercial importance of 
 15* 
 
180 RED SEA. 
 
 the States bordering on the Mediterranean, may 
 suggest some more speedy and commodious means of 
 transportation and travel. This prospective ques- 
 tion, scarce heightens the importance attached to the 
 historical reminiscences of this great body of water. 
 The first thought ever present to the traveller, and 
 to the student of Sacred Geography, is the great 
 miracle of the deliverance and passage of the Israel- 
 ites. Taken altogether, it is the most stupendous 
 event of Bible history ; having about it, that air of 
 the terrible and sublime, with which we are ever 
 wont to view the stirring occurrences in the great 
 panorama of nature. The ocean, vast, boundless, 
 whether in storm or calm, is the great mirror of 
 God, the emblem of power and majesty, and the 
 great wind harp, which chords its tones in tempests 
 and leaves its requium on a thousand shores. 
 
 Always terrible, with what emotion think you, 
 would we view each wave, impelling wave, did we 
 view the direct agency of the Divine hand, lifting 
 up wave on wave, and beating up its wide white foam 
 on the coral reefs of a hundred seas. Language ut- 
 terly fails to describe that sense of grandeur, which 
 must fill the breast of the pious storm-tossed mari- 
 ner. And yet, all these conceptions fall very far 
 short of giving an adequate view of that great deliv- 
 
RED SEA. 181 
 
 erance and overthrow. Egypt was the birth-place 
 of the Jewish nation ; the rough-rocked cradle of 
 their glorious nationality. Like the crucible of most 
 nations, ancient and modern, it served only to refine 
 the increasing materials of opulence and empire. 
 We need not go back to their embryo history, in the 
 family of Jacob, nor to the confines of Canaan, to 
 trace the great events which were afterwards worked 
 out by the infatuated policy of the Pharaohs. They 
 needed just that preparation, and much more, before 
 they were fitted to assume their influential Lycurgan 
 position among the nations. Humanly speaking, 
 with this view, their "three days journey into the 
 wilderness," and their whole previous history, was 
 not to be compared to that Divine lesson, learned in 
 full view of the overthrow of the oppressor. 
 
 There is about this whole history, something which 
 takes strong hold of the imagination ; seizing upon 
 the innate emotions of grandeur, and making the 
 whole scene pass swiftly before us. We have some- 
 times seen the dark clouds gather in the distance, 
 and the whole heavens I'olling out, like wave upon 
 wave, whilst ever and anon, the wayward paths 
 of lightning, were vividly traced on the back ground 
 of the distant sky. The dividing of the waters of 
 the Red Sea, and the quick rush of waves, may have 
 
182 RED SEA. 
 
 been somewhat like this phenomenon, as the dark- 
 crested billows parted hither and thither by the 
 power of God. Nothing can exceed the stately 
 simplicity with which this grand event is recorded. 
 The Israelites had journeyed prosperously, until 
 within sight of the Sea, when they caught the first 
 sad view of the pursuing army. Defiling in, and 
 encamping between two ranges of mountains, there 
 was no possible means of escape, but back through 
 the narrow valley, through which they had passed. 
 In front was the Red Sea, and in the rear the grad- 
 ually increasing host of Pharaoh, filling up every 
 valley, and clustering thickly over every hill. We 
 can scarce Avonder, that they "cried unto the Lord," 
 and that they chided Moses for bringing them for- 
 Avard to the prospect of such immense slaughter. 
 On the whole, however, their conduct was quite irra- 
 tional and unbecoming, unworthy of them, and ex- 
 tremely ungrateful to God. They had not yet any 
 true conception of the dignity of freedom, or of that 
 just contempt, with which mankind generally view 
 every relapse into unresisting subjection. Like 
 many others, they had not yet fully tasted its bles- 
 sings, or realized that happiness which flows from 
 the unrestrained enjoyment of social and religious 
 liberty. We need not enter into a detail of the 
 
RED SEA. 183 
 
 controversy, aa to the precise spot where Moses 
 crossed ; though we confess the subject is not devoid 
 of interest. Mr. Stevens, the illustrious American 
 traveller, thinks he did not cross near Suez, as from 
 that point, to a considerable distance down the gulf, 
 there was a high range of mountains, which it would 
 be necessary to cross, an undertaking which it would 
 have been physically impossible, for six hundred 
 thousand people, men, women and children to accom- 
 plish, with a hostile army pursuing them. He 
 says : "At Suez, Moses could not have been hem- 
 med in as he was ; he could go off into the Syrian 
 desert, or unless the Sea has greatly changed since 
 that time, round the head of the gulf; but here, di- 
 rectly opposite where I sat, was an opening in the 
 mountains, making a clear passage from the desert 
 to the shore of the sea." Here, most probably, he 
 came down with his multitude to the shore, and here 
 finding himself hemmed in, in the manner described 
 in the Bible, with the Sea before him, and the army 
 of Pharaoh in his rear ; it was he who had stretched 
 out his hand and divided the waters ; and probably 
 on this very described spot, the children of Israel 
 had kneeled down to offer thanks to God for his 
 miraculous interposition. At this point, the Sea is 
 about twenty miles across, on the great caravan 
 
184 RED SEA. 
 
 route, from the Raraeseh of the Pharaohs, the dis- 
 tance which that immense multitude, with their 
 baggage could have passed in the space of time men- 
 tioned in the Bible. Here the Israelites crossed 
 over, and in which the "Egyptians assaying to do 
 were drowned." Here the waters' parted "hither 
 and thither," and here when Pharaoh passed in, 
 
 From steep to steep, lond thund'ring billows come, 
 
 A vratery waste in dire commotion all; 
 
 And swords, and spears, and chariots, and plumes, 
 
 And anon, whole brigaxles ot marching troops, 
 
 Unconscious, trusting in their pruud array, 
 
 Are deep beneath the smothering i-uin whelm'd. 
 
 Whilst on this part of our description, which per- 
 tains to the passage of the Red Sea, by the Israel- 
 ites, we may insert a small part of an interesting 
 letter from Bruce, on this subject. The letter is in 
 part a reply to the curious enquiries of the learned 
 Michoelis. 
 
 "I must confess," says the former "however learned 
 the gentleman who proposes these doubts, I did 
 not think they merited any attention to solve them. 
 This passage is told us by Scripture, to be a mirac- 
 ulous one; and if so, we have nothing to do with 
 tiatural causes. If we do not believe Moses, we need 
 not believe the transaction at all, seeing that it is 
 from his authority alone we derive it. Tf we believe 
 
in God, that he /nude the Sea, we must believe he 
 could divide it when he sees proper reason ; and of 
 that, he must be the only proper judge. It is no 
 greater miracle to divide the lied Sea, than to divide 
 the river Jordan." It was here also, that Miriam 
 and her companions, in conformity to the manners 
 and customs of the Egyptians, celebrated the tri-' 
 umph with music and dancing. When we come to 
 such sublime investigations, in the trufliful simpli- 
 city of implicit trust, we will soon discover thvt 
 God's goodness, .ts well as his omniscience, in leavin.^ 
 much of these divine wonders to be matter of faith 
 and not of knowledge, showing us all the while, that 
 each act of faith raises us higher above the sea of 
 doubt, and the tempest of confusion. We may 
 close this description, with one more statement from 
 the distinguished traveller already quoted. 
 
 "I directed Paul to pitch my tent, with the door 
 toward the place of the miraculous passage. I shall 
 never forget that sunset scene. I was sitting on the 
 very spot where the chosen people of God, after 
 walking over the dry bed cf the Sea, stopped to 
 beliolil the divided waters returning to their -place, 
 and swallowing up the host of the pursuers. The 
 mountains on the other side looked dark and porten- 
 tous, as if proud and conscious witnesses of the 
 
18t) RED SEA. 
 
 mighty miracle, while the sun descending slowly 
 behind them, long after it had disappeared, left a 
 reflected brightness, which illumined with an almost 
 supernatural light, the dark surface of the water." 
 Thus may be with us, when we have "pitched our 
 tent on the last sunset shore of life, may it dart 
 back its last radiant faithful scintillations on the 
 divided sea of life; lapsing back forever on the ene- 
 mies of Israel and of God. 
 
RIVER OF LIFE. 
 
 In the preceding sketches, I have confined myself 
 to the description of scenes alone, supposing each to 
 be full of instruction, and designed to be the means of 
 inculcating a great moral lesson. The location and 
 historical association of these streams and fountains, 
 necessarily lead to a definiteness of description. Wo 
 propose, in the following sketch, to depart from the 
 preceding course, so far as to describe that river, 
 ■which, issuing forth from 'neath the Throne Eternal, 
 rolls out on the vast plains of Paradise, flashing and 
 gleaming in the sunlight of heaven. 
 
 Taking our position hard by its source, our eye 
 
 instinctively follows "wave impelling wave," until 
 
 stream and vision are lost amid the golden clouds 
 
 which obscure the far oif o-atline of the arching sky. 
 
 Tracing the stream back again, the flash of its wave 
 
 seems as though the sunbeam, reflected from the 
 
 crystal bed of the river, shone in the drops on the 
 
 surface of the stream, and caused them to gleam like 
 
 a diamond in the sun. 
 
 No marvel, then, that David standing upon the 
 
 heights of Zion, surrounded by oncinies, oppressed 
 10 
 
185 RIVER OF LIFE. 
 
 with trouble and sorrow, exckimed in a transport of 
 devotion — " There is a river, the streams whereof 
 make glad the city of God." Some desponded of 
 help, but to him it was reserved to strike with hope 
 and faith that Ijre, which, thrilling his own bosom, 
 sent throughout his valley encircled city, the trium- 
 phant strain of confiding love. Strengthened by the 
 expression of such hopeful trust, animated by the 
 unfailing promises of Heaven, the Pfealmist,. looking 
 at the history of his people, and then at the provi- 
 dence of God, cast back his vision, which, catching 
 in the amplitude of its range, arid wastes, desolate, 
 barren vales, and the rocky elevations of difficulty 
 and danger; where also his eye rested with delight 
 upon the stream, now partially obscured, there wind- 
 ing, and now again pouring down upon the church 
 its healthful current of salvation and joy. The voice 
 of the Psalmist, in the Old, and the response of the 
 "Revelator," in the New Testament, testifying the 
 one to the other, and echoing aloft amid the heav- 
 ens, proclaims aloud the existence and continuance 
 of this ever blessed stream. David, standing on the 
 heights of Zion, in the Old, and John, standing on 
 the more elevated and spiritual Zion of the New 
 Jerusalem, looking forward and back along the inter- 
 vening crystal stream, were enabled to proclaim their 
 
RIVLR OV LLFB. l^S 
 
 exuberance of joy, in contemplating its existence and 
 continued flow. The Christian, standing on its ver- 
 dant banks, and viewing the windings through years 
 of deep despondcncj'-, feels, as its slightly undulat- 
 ing flow washes around his feet, that its current ever 
 incessant, is ever unvaried in the volume of its deli- 
 cious and limpid joy. What the gentle, dream-liko 
 murmur of Siloa was to Jerusalem, and Jordan's roar 
 to the Holy Land, this river has ever been to the 
 "tribes of the Lord," in every age and clime. In 
 source with God, it has ever been the supply of his 
 church. Whatever blessing, of whatever kind or 
 character; whether of truth to convict, convert and 
 confirm, or oi wisdom to aid in the selection of that 
 which is good and sanctifying, all, all are derivable 
 from this inexhaustible source cf heavenly blessing. 
 Reflecting and mirroring the plumage and counte- 
 nances of "innumerable angels," where issuing 
 from the Throne, it winds through Paradise, like a 
 broad sheet of silver ; thence flowing on down to its 
 junction with the stream of time, reveals on its 
 smooth surface the countenances of the " ancient 
 worthies," gleaming like stars from the cerulean vault 
 of the midnight heavens. 
 
 Unskilful as are some, who, fearful of trusting to 
 its waves, tether themselves by alternate catchings 
 
100 RIVER OF LIFE. 
 
 of the heart, to the shrubs of v<aried worldly beauty, 
 those who resign their fragile bark to its placid cur- 
 rent, feel that they are gently wafted by the odorous 
 air of Paradise, which filling the light and -airy sail, 
 and moving it to and^fro, makes it gleam above them, 
 like moonbeams on the water. And then, perchance, 
 should the season of trouble, of frequent storms 
 arise, when the dip of the faith-oar sounds but faintly 
 responsive to the stirring songs of promise and deli- 
 verance, when from one small cloud upon the blue 
 sky the heavens became suddenly obscured, whilst 
 the wind seizing vpon the frail bark, tosses us like 
 some fairy plaything upon the now foaming waters; 
 and when, from the dread of the thunder's roll, and 
 the lightning, as in sport, flashing and dancing across 
 the angry heavens, we, dreading our skill, fall pros- 
 trate on the deck, invoking the aid of the God of 
 the storm and winds, a boat, at that perilous moment, 
 guided by one single Hand, will then be seen, scull- 
 ing the waters toward our storm-riven vessel ; when, 
 springing " on board," we shall all realize, as we 
 tremblingly cling to Him, with the cry — " Lord, save 
 or we perish," that not a wave of onward-beating 
 trouble shall ever engulf us. 
 
 When the Church, corrupted by tradition, had her 
 light and power obscured, under the accumulative 
 
lUVER OF UFE. 191 
 
 rubbish of Rabbinical teachings, from this clear 
 stream a supply of wisdom and salvation was oppor- 
 tunely derived, in the person of Him *'in whom all 
 tulness dwelt." 'Twas fresh and continual supplies 
 from this stream, which, while enabling Apostles to 
 combat successfully the opposition of men, and the 
 incipient corruptions of the Church, threw out upon 
 the surface, while winding amid the rubbish of cen- 
 turies, such men as Huss, and Luther, and Calvin, 
 and Zwingle ; reformers of the Church, who, thrown 
 up as pearls from the bed of the stream, are to the 
 Christian dispensation what such men as Elijah, Eli- 
 sha, Hezekiah and Ezekiel were to the Old. 
 
 From it the truth, and the men to wield it, have 
 been derived. From it not only comes the promise 
 and the hope of pardon, but the wisdom and ability 
 to apply them to the work of personal salvation. 
 The taste of its waters producing conviction in the 
 sinner, places hope in the heart of the penitent, and 
 inspires the believer with gratitude and joy. The 
 alternate source of healthful sorrow and joy, every 
 successive draught of its more than "Pierian " waters 
 imparts but the increased desire to partake of that 
 everlasting Fountain, whence this broad stream doth 
 ever flow. 
 
 Gladness, with all its peculiar characteristics, is 
 16* 
 
102 lUVER OF LIFri. 
 
 ulone desirable from this river ; which, while erer 
 flowing, reflects on every ripple of its waves, the 
 gunlight of celestial joys. Not those joys which> 
 embedded in the unhealthy stream of human passion, 
 produce but an effervescent and ephemeral pleasure : 
 but, though exhilerating, are joys in which the un- 
 derstanding and conscience can participate. Then 
 the assurance, while partaking of its current, that it 
 will be in us "a well of water springing up isto ever- 
 lasting life," imparts a relish for its crystal drops. 
 
 Like the murmur of Siloa, whilst inspiring a love 
 for our sanctuary-— our "city of God" — its onward 
 flow falls with such loving, melting cadence, as leads 
 us to exclaim — 
 
 "O thai the .a/orld might taste and see 
 The riches of his grace ! '" 
 
 Teaching, preparing and comforticg us, as onward 
 we ascend to its inexhaustible Source, we may ex- 
 claim in joyful transport — 
 
 "Flow on, bright river! from thy source 
 
 Among the Highland founts afar ; 
 Aad wliile rejoicing in thy course, 
 
 May morning sun, and evening star 
 Look down, and ever at thy side, 
 gee life, and strength, and peace abide ! " 
 
THE GREAT SEA. 
 
 The Jewish people, from necessity and inclination, 
 were never destined to great maratime importance. 
 Their comparatively small extent of navigable sea- 
 coast, and their small lakes and riverSj were not 
 adapted to commerce. They were, from their earli- 
 est history, a pastoral and agricultural people ; and 
 the country was happily adapted to their originally 
 retired instincts and pursuits. The wealth of the 
 Patriarchs was in flocks and herds ; and their emerged 
 trans-Egyptian history did not essentially change 
 their original characteristics. The transhipment of 
 the materials with which they assisted in the erec- 
 tion of the pyramids and obelisks, being confined to 
 the sluices of the Nile, did not materially increase 
 their nautical taste and skill. The specimens of 
 Jewish ship -building were not at all equal to those 
 of the Greeks and Romans, and no naval encounter 
 ever occurred in their martial annals. 
 
 Other ancient nations soon became distinguished 
 
 in the simpler arts of navigation; but it was not 
 
 until tlie time of Solomon, that wc have any ac- 
 
 ,c©:a.at of any Jew becoming a voyager. Then w-e 
 
194 THE GREAT SEA. 
 
 read, that "ships" brought gold from Ophir, and 
 that many other materials used in the construction 
 of the Temple, were the benevolent gifts of Tyrian 
 commerce. 
 
 This city was for many years the great seat and 
 source of Asiatic trade, and in this feature of orien- 
 tal grandeur more than surpassed its great rivalis, 
 Nineveh and Babylon. This great city, more than 
 any other circumstance, identifies this continental 
 sea with the history of the Jews. It was for a long 
 time their only medium of communication with the 
 bordering European nations, and is mentioned in 
 their history, as far back as the " times " of Joshua. 
 Josephus, however, fixes the date of the founding of 
 this city not above two hundred and forty years 
 before the building of the Temple of Solomon, which 
 would be A. M. 2760, two hundred years after Jos- 
 hua. 
 
 We understand (Josh, xix : 29,) that this city was 
 allotted to the tribe of Asher, with the other mara- 
 nme cities of the same coast. Homer never speaks 
 of Tyre, but only of Sidon ; and Isaiah calls Tyre 
 the "daughter," or colony of Sidon. It appears 
 'that this city was two-fold — insular and continental. 
 Insular Tyre was most ancient, for this it was that 
 w,aB noticed by Joshua. The continental city, how- 
 
THE GREAT SEA. 195 
 
 ever, being more comin odiously situated, first grew 
 into oonsidoration, and assumed the name of Palee- 
 tyrus, or Old Tyre. Insular Tyre was confined to a 
 small rocky island, eight hundred paces long and 
 four hundred broad, and could never exceed two 
 miles in circumference. We learn from Pliny and 
 Strabo, that Tyre on the opposite coast, about half a 
 mile from the sea, was a city of vast extent; for, many 
 centuries after its demolition by Nebuchadnezzar, the 
 scattered ruins measured nineteen miles around. 
 
 Old Tyre withstood the mighty Assyrian power^ 
 having been besieged in vain, by Shalmaneser, for 
 five years ; although he cut off" tlveir supplies of water 
 from the cisterns, which they remedied by digging 
 wells within the city. It afterwards held out thir- 
 teen years against Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, 
 and was at length taken ; but not until the Tyrians 
 had removed their efiects to the insular town, and 
 left nothing but the bare walls for the victor to de- 
 molish. Alexander afterAvard made use of these mate- 
 rials to build a prodigious causeway or isthmus, above 
 half a mile long, to the insular city, wiiioh revived, 
 as the phoenix, from the ashes of the old city, a^nd 
 grew to great power and opulence as a maratiroo 
 Btate ; and which he stormed after a most obstinate 
 siege of five months. Only eighteen years after 
 
196 THE GREAT SEA. 
 
 this terrible calamity, the city had so far recovered 
 her ancient commerce and opulence, as enabled her 
 to stand a siege of fourteen months, against Anti- 
 gonus, before he could reduce the city. But after 
 this Tyre fell alternately under the dominion of the 
 kings of Syria and Egypt, and then of the Romans, 
 until it was taken by the Saracens, about A. D. 639, 
 re-taken by the Crusaders, A. D. 1124, and at 
 length sacked and razed by the Mamelukes of Egypt, 
 with Sidon and other strong ^towns, that they might 
 no longer harbor the Christians, A. D. 1289. The 
 final desolation of Tyre was thus foretold: "I will 
 scrape her dust from her, and make her like the top 
 of a rock ; it shall be a place for the spreading of 
 nets in the midst of the sea; for I have spoken it, 
 saith the Lord God." "I will make her like the top 
 of a rock; thou shalt be a place to spread nets upon; 
 thou shalt be built no more, for I the Lord have 
 spoken it, saith the Lord Ood." 
 
 Pococke observes, that "there are no signs of the 
 ancient city, and as it is a sandy shore, the face of 
 everything is altered, and the great aqueduct is in 
 many places almost buried in the sand." Thus has 
 been fulfilled the prophecy of Ezekiel — " Thou shalt 
 be built no more, though thou be sought for, yet 
 thou shalt never be found again." (Ezek. xxvi ; 21. 
 
THE GREAT SEA. 197 
 
 The fate of insular Tyre has- been no less remark- 
 able. Maundrel, ■who visited the Holy Land A. D. 
 16i9T, describes it thus: "This city, standing in the 
 sea, upon a peninsula, promises f t a distance some- 
 thing very magnificent, but Avhen you come to it, 
 you find no similitude of that glory for which it was 
 BO reno^yned in ancient times, and Avhich the prophet 
 Ezekiel describes. On the north side it has an old 
 Turkish ungarrisoned castle ; beside which you see 
 nothing here but a mere Babel of broken walls, pil- 
 lars, vaults, &c. there being not so much as one 
 entire house left ! Its present inhabitants are only 
 a few poor wretches, harboring themselves in the 
 vaults, and subsisting chiefly by fishing ; who seem 
 to be preserved in this place by divine Providence, 
 as a visible argument how God has fulfilled his word 
 concerning Tyre, namely, that it should be as the 
 top of a rock, a place for fishers to dry their nets 
 upon." (Ezek. xxvi: 14.) 
 
 The Mediterranean sea was the great cradle of 
 the world's commerce, and remained for ages the 
 only test of the navigator's skill; and the wide area 
 of water, on which was so often and so fearfully 
 arbitrated the adverse interests of belligerent em- 
 pires. Every well read school-boy is versed in the 
 stirring and brilliant naval contests of the Pelopo- 
 
198 THE GREAT SE^. 
 
 ncssian and Punic wars, and with the lives and the 
 great achievements of Hannibal and Scipio; and how 
 the respective fates of Rome and Thebes were some- 
 times suspended on the doubtful issue of a single 
 battle. The contest was at last decided, and Rome 
 became mistress of the world. 
 
 The little republics Sjud stotes, within the small 
 compass of the Grecian Archipelago, were oft-times 
 distiaguished for their naval proAvess, sometimes con- 
 tending for local supremacy, and then again for their 
 undisputed position as masters of the surrounding 
 nations. The Greeks were not less invincible than 
 their Italian neighbors, and sometimes proved them- 
 selves^ more than a match for every oppo^ng enemy. 
 
 It is not our object,- hov^ever, to write in detail 
 concerning these ancient wars, nor to repeat descrip- 
 tiona of the mure modern and familiar, and probably 
 not less brilliant battles of Navarino and the Nile. 
 The nominal independence of Greece has been con- 
 jointly secured by the great European powers, and 
 the oscillating splendors of Napoleon's destiny have 
 been forever obscured in the princely mockery of his 
 tragic fate. The opening events of the present cen- 
 tury give promise that England will not sanction 
 the probable irruptions of the Sultan and the Czar. 
 
 The Bible reader takes much greater interest in 
 
THE GREAT SEA. 199 
 
 Other events, and in such scenes and voyages as 
 marked the early history and progress of the Chris- 
 tian Church. This sea is honored as bearing Paul and 
 Barnabas, the first missionary voyagers, who came 
 down from Perga into Attalia ; "and then- sailed to 
 Antioch." This great work entered early into the 
 plans of the Apostles, and was one in which the 
 Church was deeply interested. 
 
 Since that time many well tried servants of the 
 Church have gone forth, from Europe and from our 
 own country, traversing the same waters over which 
 the Apostles sailed; and many more will yet go 
 forth, to visit the same places, and to preach the 
 same Gospel. St. Paul was the most distinguished, 
 certainly the most devoted, and probably the most 
 useful laborer of the early Church. 
 
 Who that has read his history can ever forget the 
 records of his voyage to Rome, or the "aifecting part- 
 ing" with the brethren, when he went up to Jerusa- 
 lem, all sorrowing, mosL of all that they should "sec 
 his face no moi*e?" See him, in the early part of 
 his ministry, disarming cavillers and conquermg op- 
 position. See him afterwards at Athens, that cen- 
 tre of wisdom and philosophic glory. See him on 
 !Mars' Hill, the central forum of the civililed world, 
 
 with the wisest sages of the age, full of the bitterest 
 17 
 
200 THE GREAT SEA. 
 
 prejudices, for his hearers. See him subdue their 
 haughtiness by his superior reasoning, and pour a 
 flood of light upon their minds, which made converts 
 of the mightiest foes. And, at a still later period, 
 when manacled and unsupported by the presence of 
 friends, he appeared in the courts of haughty prin- 
 ces — "a scoff, a jest, a by-word through the world;" 
 when before Felix he defended himself, and before 
 Agrippa delivered the most eloquent of his speeches, 
 how mighty were the movings of reason in him, and 
 how mighty were the effects his reasoning produced? 
 It is not now possible to paint the great picture, 
 which would furnish an adequate idea, in which he 
 thus stood forth the most unrivalled orator of ancient 
 or modern times. Combining in one great sermon 
 the power and pathos for which all the most eminent 
 modern preachers are separately distinguished. We 
 may not simply speak of this effort as St. Paul's 
 own defence; but rather that great apology and plea 
 on which the after successes of the Apostles, and the 
 fate of Christianity depended. Great men's acts 
 have the one merit, of being the great moral centres 
 on which revolve the events which ever make an in- 
 delibly good or bad impression. 
 
 This great sermon shows that the Apostle thought 
 that Christianity, in its proper use, lay at the foun- 
 
THE GREAT SEA. 201 
 
 dation of all righteous law, government, science and 
 religion. And what was belief in Paul's mind eigh- 
 teen hundred years ago, is it not history now? Go 
 back on the wing of thought, to the auspicious night 
 when the Star of Bethlehem first shed its beams on 
 the hills of Palestine, and thence soar from the Dead 
 Sea westward, over Asia, Africa, and Europe, to the 
 New World, and mark the rise, progress, and de- 
 struction of myriads of nations, down to the present 
 hour; and tell mc if the useful arts have not flour- 
 ished, science advanced, and religion prospered — if 
 good laws have not been perpetuated, and nations 
 been happy, in proportion to their observance of the 
 Gospel of Jesus Christ. 
 
 The most illustrious galaxies of names and nations 
 have clustered thickly through all time, on the shores of 
 this large and inter-continental sea; and their future 
 history may evolve such scenes to be enacted as have 
 had no parallel in modern times. Every moral and 
 physical evil has its antidote; and the storm, wide- 
 spread and devastating, uprooted gigantic trees, 
 which, floating on the surface of the once more tran- 
 quil ocean, suggested the means of transportation. 
 
 Navigation, in the mj^thology of the ancients as- 
 cribed to Venus and Minerva, owes its first invention 
 to Ousous, the Phoenician, who, on the trunk of a 
 
. ] 
 
 202 THE GRKAT SEA. 
 
 tree denuded ^f it brandies, and half excavated T^y 
 fire, boldly pushed from shore, and encountered the 
 untried perils of the deep. Would we view the most 
 beautiful object in nature, we will look to the ocean 
 heaving and swelling in its mysterious undulation, 
 its calm and placid surface checkered with light and 
 S'hade, reflecting the sky above, and the changing 
 aspect of the flying clouds ! We could not pass by 
 this "great sea," in writing sketches of the Streams 
 and Fountains of tlic Holy Land. 
 
THE IMMORTAL FOUNTAIN. 
 
 The idea of vicarious offerings for sin seem om- 
 nipresent and co-eval "vvith the history of almost all 
 the existing tribes and nations of the earth. A few, 
 indeed, may have no very clearly defined perceptions 
 of its origin or import; but all attach to it the grand 
 truth, of the substitution of the innocent for the 
 guilty. It is this great truth which infidels would 
 gladly gainsay; but which, showing the unity of our 
 race, also beautifully illustrates many of th« impor- 
 tant facts and doctrines of the Bible. The physical 
 evidences of the deluge are admitted to exist in the 
 irruptions and fossil deposits observable in the moun- 
 tain elevations of South America and Asia ; but not 
 less satisfactory is this other tradition of the general 
 facts of the fall, and of the promises of final restora- 
 tion. We maintain that these great traditions must 
 have had some such origin as the Bible affords, togeth- 
 er with the manner in which its great truths became 
 disseminated, by the captivities and dispersions of 
 his people. The existence of any g.eat tradition 
 is evidence that some truth existed, and is the 
 shadow from which we can sometimes determine the 
 character, the size and form of the intercepting ob- 
 
204 IMMORTAL FOUNTAIN. 
 
 ject. The "la^Y," sajs St. Paul " \Yas the shadow 
 of good things to come," such things as have been 
 gladly revealed in the fuller light of the Gospel day. 
 To change the metaphor, it was the great mirror 
 through whose transfused and obscured reflections 
 the pious Jew might yet discover that good promised 
 time of Gospel blessing. The great moral light of 
 the Jewish dispensation resembles somewhat the 
 indistinct images fnat tremble and glitter in a semi- 
 summer day, amid the deep tangled wild-wood of the 
 forest ; or the flitting shadow of the summer cloud, 
 as it rests serenely o'er the deep mountain gorge. 
 
 We must not think that the Jews were to be pitied 
 ■for their lack of divine light. They had much more 
 spiritual knowledge than all the cotemporary nations, 
 and they were the only nation with whom God held 
 actual communion. Other nations were left to their 
 unsatisfying philosophic speculations, or to their un- 
 certain and capricious oracles. When we compare 
 the Jew with the Christian, in his conceptions and 
 privileges, we know that the "least in the kingdom 
 of heaven is greater than he;" but when, also, we 
 anticipate the future glory of the Church, in contrast 
 with our own era, we know that the "light of the moon 
 shall be as the light of the sun, and the light of the 
 sun shall be as the light of seven days." To know 
 
IMMORTAL FOUXTAIX. 205 
 
 the exact amount of liglit each era of the Church may 
 have had, we must not only study its own history, 
 but the dispensation and events which immediately 
 succeeded. There is that light in the natural and 
 moral world which makes darkness visible, and there 
 is also that light which can pierce the thick gloom, 
 and open up the cheering irradiations of the coming 
 day. The Jews generally saw the great moral ima- 
 ges of their system, much more through what was 
 past, than what was yet to come; looking, from 
 time to time, much more to Abraham than to Moses, 
 and finally much more to Moses than to Christ. 
 The Apostle said the"Jews required a sign, and the 
 Greeks sought after wisdom ;" but they were such 
 signs as had had theirfulfilment. All nations are 
 in great danger of modeling their destiny by a 
 servile and unmeaning attachment to obsolete insti- 
 tutions and customs, not studying the present, or 
 faithfully looking forward to the probably pressing 
 exigencies of the future. 
 
 It is the peculiar property of unbelief to pro- 
 fess an undue attachment to the past, ever mag- 
 nifying or perverting the great truths which faith 
 only can reveal. The Jews rejected Christ, on their 
 f)wn interpretation of the very promises he claimed 
 
 support of his mission. " He came unto his oivn, 
 
2U(3 IMMORTAL FOUNTAIN. 
 
 and his own received him not;" and none ever did 
 receive him, under either dispensation of law or Gos- 
 pel, but those whom faith empowered to become the 
 "sons of God." There are some simple facts in 
 Jewish history, which illustrate the manner in which 
 their great religious blessings were received. When 
 the "ark" rested in the house of Obed Edom, it was 
 made the inconscious agent of innumerable mercies; 
 and so was it when Rahab hid the spies, and the 
 widow fed the prophet, or when the two disciples 
 were accompanied by Jesus, and whose " hearts 
 burned within them as he talked with them by the 
 way." 
 
 It is no doubt true, that two persons with almost 
 equal tastes and intellectual perceptions, in passing 
 over a beautiful landscape, or in looking at some 
 grand and picturesque mountain, would see objects 
 quite differently, or, indeed, one might see what the 
 other would entirely overlook. It is perhaps so in 
 our spiritual perceptions; the one regaling himself 
 by some hidden fountain of grace, or reclining in some 
 delightful arbor, or basking in the invigorating sun- 
 shine, whilst another gropes his way amid darkness 
 and tears. The great duty of Christian watchful- 
 ness applies equally to churches and individuals, and 
 no doubt all pious people miss many precious seasons 
 
IMMORTAL FOUNTAIN. 207 
 
 of gra<;e, by slumbering in the desert or in the gar- 
 den, and by not heeding the enquiry, "What doest 
 thou here, Elijah." While the "Bridegroom tarried 
 they all slumbered and slept;" and the natural in- 
 ference -vvas, that whilst the soldiers slept, the disci- 
 ples stole away the body of Jesus. It is a significant 
 fact, that it was when Hagar had exhausted all the 
 natural means of sustenance, and hs.d abandoned her 
 son, to retire deep amid the forest in penitence and 
 prayer, that the mysterious angel appeared, and 
 pointed out the bubbling fountain of the well Lahai- 
 roi. God is near to him who is of a "broken and 
 contrite spirit;" and it was to St. John, the meekest 
 of all the Apostles, and not to Peter, that the Savior 
 made known those great and grand truths which 
 "must shortly be revealed." The Jews as a people 
 were the unconscious recipients of unnumbered bles- 
 sings, and many which did not come down through 
 the ordinary means of offerings and ordinances. St. 
 Paul, when speaking in contrast with the gentiles, of 
 their great privileges, enumerates as chiefly among 
 these, that to them was "committed the oracles of 
 God." This was that "unconscious blessing," which, 
 like the sun on their vine-clad hills, shed down upon 
 all classes from all parts of the kingdom its mild and 
 mellow lustre. It was to the whole nation of Canaan 
 
208 IMMORTAL FOUNTAIN. 
 
 what tlie divine presence was in the iivilderness — " the 
 pillar of cloud by day, and of fire by night." The whole 
 order of Scribes and Priests was founded with the 
 view to disseminate this knowledge, and to preach 
 its great truths in the temple and their synagogues. 
 Its influence was perceptible in all departments of 
 society, it was the text-book of the learned, and the 
 manual of the poor; the fount whence prophets 
 drew their imagery and hallowed power, and whence 
 patriot, poet, kings, drew their mild pathos, which 
 tuned the melody of their plaintive lyres. We can 
 trace, in the subsequent writings of each successive 
 author, the influence each preceding book has had, 
 and Christ sometimes announced his sublime truths 
 in the glowing utterances of Ezekiel and Isaiah. 
 
 Jesus Christ was the great central luminary of 
 each revolving dispensation. He is the great origi- 
 nal in the great pictures and images of the Bible, 
 and the great unknown, to whom all the prophets 
 gave heed. He flames with undimmed lustre in the 
 burning bush, engirts himself with lightnings on 
 Sinai, and stands in mysterious grandeur on the slo- 
 ping environs of Jericho, as the mysterious angel, 
 "with a sword drawn in his hand." The Jews Avell 
 knew that their great sacrifices were typical. One 
 sacrifice had not vet been made. God had furnished 
 
IMMORTAL FOUNTAIN. 209 
 
 an unexpected oflfering to Abraham, and the anti- 
 type had not yet been furnished. They could all 
 say, in their mysterious searches, and when reading 
 the prophets, *'of whom doth this man speak?" 
 There was an unknown explanation of all their great 
 services. The High Priest was not "He" of whom 
 Moses spake. Sometimes they caught a glimpse of 
 the on-coming glory, breathed the glad promise and 
 died. It was seen by Moses, in the filmy vision of 
 the Nebo-prospect of the promised land, or in the 
 wild deserts where unknown streams rippled sweetly, 
 amid the uprising verdure of expanding plains. Says 
 the prophet, " In that day there shall be a foun- 
 tain opened in the house of David, and to the in- 
 habitants of Jerusalem, for sin and for uncleanness." 
 It was this great fact, that man is a sinner, which 
 lies at the source of all the great remedial efforts of 
 the Gospel, and which gives such practical value to 
 the death of Christ. The "Fountain in Siloam " 
 did not possess any vital interest but to the impotent 
 and diseased ; and it was the great truth, that it had 
 healed diseases, which induced the "poor man" to 
 be thirty-eight years in the porch of the pool of 
 Bethesda. The same truths give equal efficacy and 
 power to the cross, and constrains each true penitent 
 and believer gratefully to exclaim — 
 
210 IMMOKTaL FOUKTAlJf. 
 
 " E'er eince, by faith. 1 saw the' Blream 
 
 Thy flowing wounds supply, 
 Redeeming love has been my theme, 
 
 And shall be till I die," 
 
 With these views all the great types and symhols 
 of the law have peculiar significaney and meaning, 
 from the great annual sacrifice, whose blood sprinMed 
 the garments of the High Priest, to the meek, votive 
 offering of«turtle doves or two young pigeons. In 
 contemplating the whole wonderful system of the 
 Jews, we discover the great intention of Christ's 
 sacrifice interwoven, not only into the verbal proph- 
 ecies and extraordinary events of their history, but 
 into the ordinary transactions of the lives of selected 
 individuals; and hence Adam was "the figure of him 
 that was to come," (Rom. v: 14:) and Melchisedek 
 was "made like unto the Son of God. (Heb. vii; 3.) 
 
 Some of these types afford intrinsic evidence 
 that the Scriptures which record them are given by 
 inspiration of God ; the others can be proved to 
 exist only by assuming that fact; but all, when once 
 established, display the astonishing power and 
 wisdom of God, and the importance of that scheme 
 of redemption which was ushered into the world with 
 such magnificent preparations. The great fact of 
 Christ's vicarious offering, is the doctrinal test of a 
 rising or falling Church. For, if we preach that he 
 
IMMORTAL FOUNTAIN-. 211 
 
 (lid not (lie, and is risen ngain, our "faith is vain 
 anil we arc yet in our sins." In view of this fact, 
 it may be truly said to every one, and to the whole 
 host of the Christian Israel collectively — 
 
 "Ilore streams of sacrel pleasure rise, 
 
 To case our every pain : 
 Immortal Fountain, full supplie?, 
 
 Nor shall vve thirst in vaid." 
 
 The great truths of redemption take strong hold' 
 of the affections and the imagination, and taking in- 
 to account our somewhat obscured perceptions of 
 moral purity and beauty, rests upon the soul as a 
 "refiner and purifier of silver." In full view of Cal- 
 vary, the world's fine golden pleasures become val- 
 ueless, impalpable dross ; whilst the redeemed Spirit 
 rises up from the realization of its blessings, count- 
 ing all things but loss for the "excellency of the 
 knowledge of Christ Jesus our Lord." 
 
 This last sketch forms, with the description of the 
 "River of Life," the second special illustration of 
 the blessings of salvation, and is an humble attempt 
 to make vitally real the great doctrines of the cross. 
 We close our sketches, ardently hoping that these 
 "Fountains" may one day ripple freshly up before us, . 
 on the plains of the brighter and heavenly Canaan. 
 
BS630 .W74 
 
 Sacred foundations, or, Observations 
 
 Princeton Theological Seminary-Speer Library 
 
 1 1012 00046 1261