A Plague of Dogs.

       On the following night we encamped where I, for the first time, understood why the Bible writers have such dislike for dogs. The dogs of Palestine are an idiosyncratic race of curs. I am fond of dogs and like to pet them, but upon these I could not think of bestowing a friendly pat of the hand or an inviting whistle. First of all, they seem afflicted with parasites. They carry about with them insectile colonies. These unseen invaders, without right of lease or any kind of permission, make the poor dog a plateau for perpetual residence, and though the canine serves on them writ of ejectment they will not go. They fear neither bite nor growl nor scratch. They have made up their mind that the dog owes them a living. They enjoy his perturbation. They ask him what he intends to do about it. They particularly delight in ensconcing themselves where neither his tooth nor nail can touch them. They seem to have measured the distance and secured the exact spot. They play hide and seek with his nose. To take revenge for their tormentors these Arab dogs make the night hideous. I am writing this at midnight, because the) 7 will not let me sleep. Near my tent a dog began with a deep bass and that waked up a whole choir of voices on all keys. They let off whole volleys of racket. One would think that they would get hoarse or exhausted. But, no; when they stop it seems that the music required that they rest a few notes. But they come in a little further on, no more tired than a cornet that is being shaken and wiped while the performer is waiting for his next turn. But now they all come in together. This is the full band. This must be the chorus, voices deep, voices shrill, voices snappy, voices a-growl, voices defiant. Only those can fully appreciate my meaning who have encamped for the night in the outskirts of a Palestine village.

       Next day we arrived at Gideon's Fountain, where the men lapped the water as they crossed. Out of an archway of rock the water bubbles. Yonder is Mount Gilboa, where Saul and his two sons died. This is the valley of Jezreel, through which Jehu drove furiously. To-day we are in sight of Mount Carmel. It looks like rain, after a drought; clouds larger than a man's hand drifting across the top of Carmel. From a great height the mountain, first precipitately, then gradually, declines into the Mediterranean Sea.

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