We folded our tents in the morning, to pitch them at night twenty miles away, by the side of a flowing fountain, in the midst of an olive grove and amongst blooming oleanders. There was beauty, there was poetry, in this place. It was so sweetly calm and serenely beautiful, that we were strongly tempted to “lengthen the cords and strengthen the stakes” of our tents and remain here a few days. But we were blessed with perfect weather, and therefore thought best to press towards “that summer land of the vine and fig tree.” Next morning “Amnon,” the reliable, the sure-footed, was pronounced “ready.” I vaulted into the saddle and rode away. Evening brought us to Caesarea Philippi, now called Banias. Little—practically nothing—remains of the stupendous temple that Herod the Great built here. The guide-book says, and the pilgrims believe, that this was the precise place where Christ said: “Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church.” But turning to Matt. 16:13, I read, “When Jesus came unto the coasts of Caesarea Philippi, He asked His Disciples,” etc. Again, Mark 8:27, “And Jesus went out, and His disciples, into the towns of Caesarea Philippi, and by the way He asked His disciples saying: ‘Whom do men say that I am?’” From this we see that Caesarea Philippi was a district containing more towns than one. True, this was the principal city of the district, but no man has the moral right to select a certain town and say, “_This is the place_.” Nor do I care to know the precise spot. It is enough for me to know that Peter said: “Thou art the Christ.” Jesus replied: “Thou art Petra (a rock), and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” There is no passage in all the Bible that is so much discussed as this one, for this scripture is claimed as the foundation of the Romish Church. True, the “gates of hell” have not prevailed against “papal power,” but the _power of God_ will prevail against it, and the world shall yet know that Christ, and not Peter, is the chief “corner stone;” that Christ, and not Mary, is the sinner’s Savior. One hour from Banias brings us to the fountain of the Jordan—the birth place of the sacred river. The spring is large, the water deep and beautifully clear. We could not resist the temptation; we had to bathe in the “fountain of the gods.” We could count the pebbles in the bottom of the swiftly flowing stream. With our eyes we could follow its windings through the fertile valley, by noticing the flowers and green bushes fringing its banks. Near this fountain we rode close upon a herd of buffaloes before they saw us. There were twelve in the bunch and a dozen of them got away—we killed the others.