brother out at the Yâfa Gate, and along the valley of Gihon. We made our way quickly down to En Rogel, the source of the stream. It is south-east of Jerusalem, and called by the Arabs "Bîr-Eyûb"—the Well of Job. We were surprised to find that not only had the spring below the well bubbled up as usual, but the force of the body of water was so great, that it had risen up and overflowed the ancient shaft, which is one hundred and twenty five feet deep. A large concourse of people were already assembled there.
Groups of Moslems sat under the olive-trees, close to the stream, smoking narghilés, drinking coffee, playing with their rosaries, and looking supremely happy. Boys were going about selling sweetmeats and cakes, which they carried on round trays made of reeds. There were several rival purveyors of coffee and pipes. One would have thought that it was fair-day at En Rogel. All sorts of skins, jars of all shapes and sizes, and other vessels had been brought down to the stream, that they might be filled there. Women in white sheets sat in groups on the sun-dried rocks, apart from the men, enjoying pipes and sweetmeats, and children were swinging on ropes tied to the tree-branches. Many of the European residents of Jerusalem were strolling about with their little ones, and the newly-arrived English travelers watched the scene with evident interest and delight.
"Shall we follow the course of the Kedron, and see how far it goes?" said my brother. I readily assented. So we left the noisy but picturesque crowd, and made our way down the valley under the olive-trees—now splashing through the murmuring musical waters, where they passed between the low stone-wall boundaries of fruit and vegetable gardens—now rising on to the sloping hill-side, and returning to the stream whenever there was a practicable path in it, or near it. The rugged rocks around were garlanded with green, thorny creeping plants, and within the niches and in the caverns of the limestone cliffs masses of
