“Girt by her theatre of hills, and would reap Her corn, and wine, and oil; and plenty would leap To laughing life, with her redundant horn.” Here and there, scattered over the plain, we see a Bedouin village. Village did I say? Yes, a village; though there is not a log or a plank, or a board, or a shingle, or a stone to be seen. One of these villages consists of 300 to 500 Bedouins, living in 75 to 100 tents huddled together without law or order. The Bedouins take the bark of the papyrus plant and plait or weave it (by hand of course) into a coarse, rough matting with which they make their houses. The same material serves as roof, walls and floor. These sons of the desert hide their nakedness with robes made of camel’s hair, and their children dress as did Adam or Eve before fig-leaf dresses came into fashion. In the southern part of the valley is Lake Huleh, or the waters of Merom. Some years ago the plain surrounding this lake was a bloody battle field. Six or eight kings “went out, they and all their hosts with them, much people, even as the sand that is upon the sea shore in multitude, with horses and chariots very many. And when all these kings were met together, they came and pitched their tents at the waters of Merom to fight against Israel. And the Lord said unto Joshua, be not afraid because of them; for to-morrow I will deliver them up all slain before Israel; thou shalt hough their horses and burn their chariots with fire. So Joshua came, and all the people of war with him, against them by the waters of Merom suddenly and they fell upon them. And the Lord delivered them into the hand of Israel.” Lest some people should suppose that I witnessed that battle, I will state that Joshua lived some 1400 years before Christ. [Illustration: SEA OF GALILEE.] Long before night our tents were stretched on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. This is the most hallowed spot to which we have yet come. No place we have visited is so fraught with holy memories. Arriving here, I dismounted, went into my tent, and there for the first time knelt down and kissed the earth. I knew it was a sacred place. Around this lake our Blessed Lord spent most of His public life. Every thing here wears a holy aspect; every thing is suggestive of the Savior. When I see the men in their row boats, toiling at their nets, I am naturally reminded of the miraculous draught of fishes, of the worldly occupation of those whom Jesus, walking on these very shores, called to follow Him, saying: “I will make you fishers of men.” Probably the ancestors of these half-clad people before me were among the “multitude whom Jesus fed with a few loaves and fishes” on the opposite bank of the lake, or among that other multitude who thronged the beach where I now stand, and, pressing the water’s edge, listened with bated breath to Christ as He spake from Simon’s boat, built, no doubt, like these on the lake.