The Dead Sea to Mar Sâba.—The direct road from the little peninsula at the north-western corner of the Dead Sea to Mar Sâba can be ridden in about 4 ½ hrs. It first leads for 1 h. across the plain, passing to the right of a jungle of canes and thorn-bushes, nourished by a brackish fountain called ’Ain Jehâir, and winding among a succession of deep furrows and pits, wrought by winter torrents in the white chalk strata, not inaptly compared by Maundrell to a collection of gigantic lime-kilns. Then it mounts, for another hour, the steep and rugged pass of Nukb el-Kuneiterah, where the geologist may pick up fine specimens of calcareous bitumen. But, before entering again the “Wilderness of Judæa,” the biblical antiquary may, perhaps, like to take a distant glance at M. de Sauley’s Gomorrah. It is situated on the lower slope of the mountain, about 1 ½ h. south of the path, and not far from the bold headland called Ras el-Feshkhah, which here terminates the view along the western shore. The nature of the ruins (?) is not such as would arrest the attention of travellers less enthusiastic than the learned Frenchman, and even he will not take upon him to determine whether some of them were originally temples or goat-pens! Still he maintains that he has discovered the long-lost Gomorrah; though he frankly confesses that the grave Abbé, his companion, laughed in his face when he showed him the remains.

The pass of Kuneiterah leads up the southern side of a deep wady of the same name, having here and there the steep mountain-side on the l., and the yawning ravine, into which a breath would almost hurl us, on the rt. As we ascend, the Jordan valley opens up far northward, with the long dark line of verdure winding through its centre, marking the channel of the sacred river. The Dead Sea, too, is now bright and sparkling beneath an unclouded sun, and beyond it are the mountains of Moab, rising from its bosom. The chasm of Zurka furrows them on the S.E., and Wady Hesbân, in which the ruins of Heshbon still lie, is distinctly seen winding down to the plain, just over the northern corner of the sea. On reaching the top of the pass we get a single peep at a Muslem wely, called Neby Mûsa, perched on the summit of a hill, about 2 m. to the rt. Here a Mohammedan tradition has buried the prophet Moses, and hundreds of pilgrims visit the shrine every year. One of the most remarkable passages in De Sauley’s remarkable book is his attempt to transfer Pisgah to this spot. The name of Pisgah will cause every traveller to turn round, and closely examine the ridge of Moab, in the hope of being able to fix his eyes on some conspicuous summit that might answer to that hill from which the Hebrew lawgiver gained his panoramic view of Palestine. But it is in vain—the mountains of Moab are there like a huge wall, and the plain of Moab, where the people encamped, is there, too, at their base, beyond the river, but no one peak can be distinguished which we could identify with Pisgah. (For Pisgah see below, Rte. 19.)

The road now runs across a dreary white plateau, and up a steep grey mountain, till we reach, in another hour, near the summit, a rock-hewn reservoir, half filled with water, which tastes better than it looks. Another ¼ hour brings us to the top of the ridge, where we obtain a most commanding view over the country behind, and the “Wilderness of Engedi” to the southward, rugged, dreary, and bare, affording occasional glimpses at the Dead Sea, through the breaks in the distant cliffs. Descending again over some naked grey ridges, and through some naked grey ravines, we reach in 1 h. from the reservoir the northern side of the Kidron. The wady is here broad, and the sides, though steep, are not precipitous; but just below the point where we cross it, it turns sharply to the south between perpendicular cliffs from 200 to 300 feet high, which look as if an earthquake had separated them. The road is carried up the rt. bank, and then along the very brink of the chasm, partly on a natural ledge of rock, and partly on an artificial cutting. As we advance the ravine becomes deeper and deeper on the l., and the mountains overhead wilder and grander, while here and there the dark openings of caves and grottoes in the sides of the cliffs show that we are entering the haunts of the old anchorites. Assuredly the men had a taste for solitude who scooped out their prison-homes in the rocky ramparts of this awful ravine. At last, after winding along for about a mile, the massive walls and towers of the convent itself burst upon our view, clinging to the rt. side of the ravine, and covering it from top to bottom.