Where Elijah Was Fed by Ravens

       Now we are on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. We started out early and crossed the Jehoshaphat valley, which, if it had not been memorable in history and were only now discovered, would excite the admiration of all who look upon it, so deep, so wide, so long, so tunneled with graves, so overlooked by Jerusalem walls. With enough books in my saddle-bags, on a horse sure-footed for the mountain passes, and in good company, and within sight of Mount Olivet, and close by the Garden of Gethsemane, and with the heavens and the earth full of sunshine, we start on the famous road to Jericho. We pass through ravines and gorges, and by dark caves which might be an intrenchment for robbers like those which the man fell among on his way to Jericho along this very road. We have today met several groups of Bedouins, who, judging from their countenances, might be easily turned into bandits. But the supremacy of law, even though it be Turkish law, and our accompaniment of twelve stout men, escorts and attendants, put us out of the danger of being like that previous traveler, stripped and wounded and left half dead. What scenery we are passing through! How any man can be disappointed with the Holy Land I cannot understand. Some of the Palestine tourists have been chiefly impressed with the fleas, the filth and the beggars. To me the scenery, if it had no sacred associations, would be appallingly majestic. There is nothing in America or Europe that surpasses it for a mingling of beauty and grandeur. "What is that ravine?" I cry out to the dragoman. He says, "That is the brook Cherith; here is where the ravens fed Elijah." "Are there any ravens in this region now?" I asked. He answered, "Yes; they are large, in size between the buzzard and the eagle, and could carry a heavy piece of meat if they tried." But how different is the brook Cherith from all my preconceived notions of it. It is like one of the awful gulches in Yellowstone Park. It is six hundred feet from the top to the bank. It has in its sides great caverns, where Bedouins make their home. The brook Cherith when in full force is a silver wedge splitting the mountains into precipices. But behold the valley of the Jordan and the Dead Sea bursting upon our vision, and in an hour we are at the two Jerichos, the one where, at the sound of the poor music played on "rams' horns," the walls crashed, and the other Jericho where short Zaccheus from the gallery of a sycamore tree hailed the Lord, and the Lord hailed him. It was here our Savior so beautifully announced His mission, "The Son of Man is come to seek and save that which was lost." By the warmth of a campfire I sit down to write this, and looking up see the Quarantania, the mountain of Christ's temptation. I am at the foot of that "very high mountain" where Christ was "led up of the Spirit" to be tempted. Neither on the sides of it nor on the top is there a spear of grass or a flower. It is a desert mountain. Its robber dens are here visible. Amid these indentations and on the cold bleak heights, and alone, save when angels came to minister unto Him, Christ stayed in that awful struggle against pandemoniac cohorts which rode up to trouble and baffle and destroy, if they could, the Son of God. As on the top of the city temple Christ battling with temptation illustrated His willingness to sympathize with those who are struggling with city allurements, so by the memory of His contest here in lonely places He is willing to come to the rescue of those who in country places, or alone confront the Satanic. A depression on either side the mountain seems to divide it from the other ranges so that the mountain is itself alone. And now the sun is setting, making the mountains look like balustrades and embattlements of amber and gold, and the moon just above the crests seems to be a window of heaven through which immortals might be looking down upon the scene.

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