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trees, and the brooks, hitherto the modest companions of its tranquil course. *
The moral of the myth of Tithonus is one for all time. Mr. Tennyson has pointed it for ours. He shows us in Tithonus a white-haired shadow roaming like a dream the ever silent spaces of the East; and from this grey shadow, once a man, the wailing utterance of a sad story comes :
I ask'd thee,t“Give me immortality."
from the kindly race of men,
Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears,
THE LOST DEEDS.
A TRADITION OF JUTLAND.
BY WILLIAM JONES.
Such a hubbub and rout at Herlofsholm!
Such running about,
To lead one such dances,
And would seem, when inclined to relax in a freak,
He was heir to the founders,
And firmly declared
Somehow it got wind
Were lost, stolen, or stray'd,
It is strange, passing strange,
Of each building and grange,
Suggested a place,
Not a fragment or trace
I am sorry to add
But the searchers were fagg'd)
Long years had he toil'd for a time-honour'd name,
“Oh, Krolle ! honest Krolle!
Concealing the deeds,
Thus sowing the seeds
“NOW DON'T BE A MUFF!"
The queerest of creatures,
With eyes open’d wider,
For there snug and sure
Lie the parchments secure,
, Pirouettes, although gouty sometimes in the feet, And, forgiving the dame who declared him a muff,
“Hurrah !” he exclaims,
And for Bridget, kind soul!
A FORTNIGHT'S RIDE EAST OF JORDAN.
April 22.-Our ride to-day was for the most part uninteresting; we had got out of the tract of forest land, and the Wady Yabis is a wide valley, and not pretty. We were intent upon finding the site of Pella, but were not quite successful. We were no doubt close to it, but our Souf guides were most troublesome, trying to dodge the right road, and go by paths which they did not know, in order to escape meeting enemies, and they perplexed us and misled us, till at last we had to take a man from a village we passed through, as it was clear the Souf men were not to be trusted. We met two Bedouins in one unfrequented valley, riding splendid mares, evidently of the greatest value. But all the villagers about here have fine mares, whom they would not part with for almost any money.
In the middle of the day we stopped for luncheon in a sandy wady leading down straight into the Jordan valley. Michael sent the mules on with the villager for guide; we kept the untrustworthy Soufites with us. One of them had disappeared, which we thought suspicious. On our way down to the Jordan we scrambled up one or two little hills in our search for Pella, and were struck with the beauty of the view. Right across the river was the embouchure of the great Plain of Esdraelon, with the ruins of Bethshan in the middle distance. Far away on the opposite horizon was the long dark ridge of Carmel. To the left of the plain were the mountains of Gilboa, on the right Little Hermon and Tabor, and the bills between us and Nazareth. Far away northwards was the magnificent ridge of Hermon, snow-capped; and to the right again, the blue spurs of hills south of Damascus. Between Hermon and Tabor, the tops of the Lebanon range where the cedars grow were just visible; the Sea of Tiberias, too, was beautifully apparent. The hills we were descending, are the last spurs of the mountains of Bashan, melting away into the Ghor. The wady by which we entered it was the Wady Seklab. Pella is farther south, and, thanks to the stupidity of our guides, we missed visiting the actual spot. All down the lower slopes of the valley the grass was being burnt to destroy locusts, of which there are legions this year. It was so curious to see the fire running along the ground, licking up grass and locusts, and before it a whole army of the insects were retreating, hopping and scrambling up the flower-stalks and grass blades; they watched with solemn faces the approach of the destroyer, falling with their last fortress as the flame caught it right into the fire. It is quite distressing to see the ravages of the locusts this year. In some places they blacken the ground under your feet, and are literally inches deep on the grass. And the trees they attack are so covered with the swarms, that you cannot see leaf or twig! Whole tracts of country have to be burnt to destroy them. As we emerged into the Jordan valley, we caught sight of a formidable party of Bedouins on a little rising ground about a mile from us. Michael took alarm, as he always does, and the guides were terrified. We were not left long
in doubt as to their intentions, for they instantly detached two horsemen, who came at a swift gallop across the low scrub, with their long lances in rest. Our guides rode on. We four turned to meet them. And, as I anticipated, they were the right sort, well affected to government. They took Michael for a Bashi-Bazouk, and asked for Aghile and the Adwân, and, after a short parley, they turned their handsome mares towards the Jordan and cantered away. It was a picturesque little episode, and worth anything to see the pace they came along to cut off our retreat, if we had meditated anything of the sort. We reached the bridge about five o'clock, and are now close to a camp of Turkish soldiers, on the banks of the river. We dismissed our rascally Souf guides to-night, firmly declining to give any bakshish. The present Scheik, Achmet by name, has a collection of testimonials from English travellers which belonged to his father, Scheik Yussuf, lately deceased. These he shows with great pride, perfectly unaware that they are more truthful than complimentary, and convey to the reader the forcibly-expressed opinion, that Yussuf was the greatest rascal and liar going! He asked for our testimonial, which E. wrote to the following effect—"That Achmet inherited all the virtues of his late father.” The name of the bridge over the Jordan here is Jisr Meyamia. It is not in ruins, as Porter states. The river is clear and swift at this place.
April 23.-Sunday. Our people and mules were glad of a rest. E. and I, accompanied by Michael and a local guide, rode leisurely down the banks of the Jordan to Beth-shan, about seven miles from here--a place full of interest, as a site ; the ruins that now remain are, I confess, disappointing ; the most interesting bit of ruin is the Khan, now turned into a residence for the villagers. It has a very handsome Saracenic arched entrance; the arch is composed of alternate blocks of black basalt and limestone, which has a very excellent effect. The remains of the theatre are nothing worth looking at after Amman and Jerash, and the fort is also a complete ruin. There is the site of the Acropolis, which is, however, interesting. No doubt the ruined foundations of the wall belonged to the ancient Beth-shan. The bodies of Saul and Jonathan were fastened to these walls after the fatal battle of Gilboa, and from there they were taken down by the grateful Jabesh Gileadites. The Acropolis is one of those round, curious-looking mounds, which are so very plentiful in the Ghor. It commands a fine view across the valley, and from it you see Pella most distinctly, or rather the site of Pella, on its long low terrace. Er Rubad is also visible, crowning the distant hill-top. We made out clearly the debouchure of 'Wady Yabis into the Ghor. We found two American gentlemen encamped close to the Khan; one is the consul at Beyrout, the other a resident there- Dr. Thompson. I ought to mention, that from the Acropolis the view is very pretty looking westwards. Gilboa looks quite close on one's left, and the beautiful plain of Esdraelon stretches out before you past the fountain of Ain Jalud, to the very walls of Jezreel. On our return we remarked especially the pretty glimpse we got of the Jordan between its reedy banks, here particularly distinguished by the broad belt of tropical foliage. As we neared the camp, the fine double head of snowy Hermon came in view. To-morrow we are going back to Pella. Close to the bridge here is such a curious patch of black basalt cropping out