grandeur, wholly unexpected, and such as we had never seen; and the associations which at the moment rushed upon our minds, were almost overwhelming. As we went on, new points of interest were continually opening to our view. On the left of Horeb, a deep and narrow valley runs up S. S. E. between lofty walls of rock, as if in continuation of the S. E. corner of the plain. In this valley, at the distance of near a mile from the plain, stands the convent; and the deep verdure of its fruit-trees and cypresses is seen as the traveller approaches,-an oasis of beauty amid scenes of the sternest desolation. At the S. W. corner of the plain the cliffs also retreat, and form a recess or open place extending from the plain westward for some distance. From this recess there runs up a similar narrow valley on the west of Horeb, called el-Leja, parallel to that in which the convent stands; and in it is the deserted convent el-Arba'în, with a garden of olive and other fruit-trees not visible from the plain. A third garden lies at the mouth of el-Leja, and a fourth further West in the recess just mentioned. The whole plain is called Wady er-Râhah; and the valley of the convent is known to the Arabs as Wady Shu'eib, that is, the Vale of Jethro. Still advancing, the front of Horeb rose like a wall before us; and one can approach quite to the foot and touch the mount. Directly before its base is the deep bed of a torrent, by which in the rainy season the waters of el-Leja and the mountains around the recess, pass down eastward across the plain, forming the commencement of Wady esh-Sheikh, which then issues by an opening through the cliffs of the eastern mountain,-a fine broad valley affording the only easy access to the plain and convent.-As we crossed the plain our feelings were strongly affected, at finding here so unexpectedly a spot so entirely adapted to the Scriptural account of the giving of the law. No traveller has described this plain, nor even mentioned it except in a slight and general manner; probably because the most have reached the convent by another route without passing over it; and perhaps too because neither the highest point of Sinai (now called Jebel Mûsa), nor the still loftier summit of St. Catharine, is visible from any part of it.1 As we approached the mountain our head Arab, Beshârah, became evidently quite excited. He prayed that our pilgrimage might be accepted, and bring rain; and with great earnestness besought, that when we ascended the mountain, we would open a certain window in the chapel there, towards the South, which he said would certainly cause rain to fall. He also entreated almost with tears, that we would induce the monks to have compassion on the people, and say prayers as they ought to do for rain. When told that God alone could send rain, and they should look to him for it, he replied: "Yes, but the monks have the book of prayer for it; do persuade them to use it as they ought." There was an earnestness in his manner which was very affecting, but cannot be described. Just after crossing Wady esh-Sheikh, we passed at the mouth of Wady Shu'eib, a burial-ground much venerated by the Arabs. Here Beshârah repeated a few 1) Monconys appears to have come by the same route in A. D. 1647, par un chemin très rude, où les chameaux travaillaient beaucoup." He says the convent is seen from the top of the ascent, "dans le fond d'une grande campagne verte qui commence en cet endroit. Elle a une lieue et demi de long, et un grand quart de lieue de large." Tom. I. p. 214. Morison describes the plain as being "d'une lieue de longueur, mais d'une largeur peu considerable;" Relation Historique, p. 91. These notices, although exaggerated, are the most distinct mention of the plain that I have been able to find. Of Shaw's account I can make nothing; p. 314, 4to. 2)They [the Arabs] are persuaded, that the priests of the convent are in possession of the Taurât, a book sent down to Moses from heaven, upon the opening and shutting of which depend the rains of the peninsula." Burckhardt, p. 567. words of prayer; the first time we had known him or any of our Arabs pray since leaving Cairo. From the Wady esh-Sheikh to the convent is a distance of twenty-five minutes, by a difficult path along the rocky bed of the narrow valley. We had come on in advance of the loaded camels, and reached the convent at half past 5 o'clock. Under the entrance were many Arabs in high clamour, serfs of the convent, who were receiving a distribution of some kind of provision from above; we did not learn what. The only regular entrance at present is by a door nearly thirty feet (or more exactly 28 feet 9 inches) from the ground; the great door having been walled up for more than a century. On making known our arrival, a cord was let down with a demand for our letters; and we sent up the one we had received from the branch-convent in Cairo. This proving satisfactory, a rope was let down for us; in which seating ourselves, we were hoisted up one by one by a windlass within to the level of the door, and then pulled in by hand. The Superior himself, a mild-looking old man with a long white beard, received us with an embrace and a kiss, and conducted us to the strangers' rooms. While these were preparing, we seated ourselves in the adjacent piazza, upon antique chairs of various forms, which have doubtless come down through many centuries; and had a few moments of quiet to ourselves, in which to collect our thoughts. I was affected by the strangeness and overpowering grandeur of the scenes around us; and it was for some time difficult to realize, that we were now actually within the very precincts of that Sinai, on which from the earliest childhood I had thought and read with so much wonder. Yet, when at length the impression came with its full force upon my mind, although not given to the melting mood, I could not refrain from bursting into tears. We were soon put in possession of our rooms, and greeted with kindness by the monks and attendants. The priests and pilgrim who passed us on the way, had arrived some hours before us. Almonds were now brought, with coffee and date-brandy; and the good monks wondered when we declined the latter. Our servants and baggage arrived later; and having been drawn up in like manner, the former were installed in the kitchen near our rooms, under the auspices of an old man of more than eighty years, our chief attendant. Supper was prepared in an adjoining room, chiefly of eggs and rice, with olives and coarse bread; the Superior making many apologies for not giving us better fare, inasmuch as it was now Lent, and also very difficult to obtain camels to bring grain and provisions from Tûr and elsewhere. Indeed such had been the lack of rain for several years, and especially the present season, that all food and pasturage was dried up; and camels were dying of famine in great numbers. Beshârah, on the way, heard of the death of a dromedary of his at home; and the one which we left behind on the road, died a few days af terwards. It was well that we were to stop some days at the convent; for our camels were nearly worn out, and quite unable to go on. Yet it was for a time somewhat doubtful, whether we should be able to procure others in their stead. The rooms we occupied were small and tolerably neat; the floor was covered with carpets which had once been handsome, though now well worn; and a low divân was raised along three sides of the room, which served as a seat by day and a place to spread our beds at night. Here all travellers have lodged, who have visited the convent for many generations; but they have left no memorials behind, except in recent years. The inscriptions pasted upon the walls, which Burckhardt mentions in 1816,' commemorating the visits of Rozières, Seetzen, and others, no longer remain; for the walls have been since painted or washed over, and all traces of them destroyed. Instead of them an album is now kept, which does little credit to some of those, whose names figure in it most conspicuously. Father Neophytus, the Superior, came to us again after supper; and as my companion could speak modern Greek with some fluency, we found peculiar favour in the eyes of the good old man, to whom the Arabic was almost an unknown tongue. We had been furnished with a letter of introduction in Arabic from the agent of the convent in Suez, one of the brothers Manueli, and now presented it; but they were obliged to send for the Ikonomos, who deals with the Arabs, to read it. When he came, it was only to say, that as we spoke Greek it was useless to read an Arabic letter. The geographical position of the convent, as determined by Rüppell in A. D. 1826, is Lat. 28° 32′ 55′′ N. and Long. 31° 37′ 54′′ E. from Paris, or 33° 58′ 18′′ E. from Greenwich.2 The elevation above the sea, according to Schubert's observations, is 4725. 6 Paris feet; according to Russegger, 5115 Paris feet. The number corresponding to Rüppell's other measurements, would be about 4966 Paris feet.3 Saturday, March 24th. a place of rest for a time. els had dispersed to their 1) Page 552. 2) Rüppell's Reisen in Nubien, etc. p. 292. Berghaus' Memoir zu seiner Karte von Syrien, pp. 28, 30. 3) For Schubert's measure We felt as if we had now Our Arabs with their camhomes; and Beshârah was ments, where not specified in his |