For a mile we rode along the wady, seeking vainly an easy descent for the horses. Every cleft was starred with flowers; over the ledges melon plants trailed, making caves of tiny crevices haunted by lizards and spiders. Down a steep track we rode carelessly, letting our eyes dwell on blossoms and giving the horses free rein. We won to the other side safely, then on again through flower-land, with the white tents of the Camel Corps gleaming afar at Shellal. A long, glad ride from dawn till dusk across the plains in spring. When we carried war to the Judean hills we found wild beauty there; flowers among the terraced hills and olive trees in the valleys. Pink hollyhocks grew on the heights along the Jerusalem road. The valleys were gardens. Gehenna’s goat-tracks, winding among old tombs, were bordered with scarlet poppies. Wild flowers are Palestine’s glory. No one has named them all. From Dan to Beersheba, among the hills of Moab and Judea, on the wide plain of Esdraelon, on Hermon and Tabor, in Gilead and Bashan; everywhere in Palestine Spring casts down her kindling buds. We have seen them all in our long campaign, and out of the shining company have chosen two for remembrance: the little red poppy (symbol of sleep), and the lily that grows by the sea. CHARLES BARRETT. [Illustration] Farming in Arcady Up in fanatical, uncorrupted old Hebron, where, happily, the cheap tourists are afraid to venture, you see the rude but expert craftsman making the plough. Seated in his gloomy little recess, hewn out of the stone of the hillside, he works swiftly with toes and fingers. Seizing a rough bent branch of an olive tree, he stands it up and grasps the lower end firmly with his deft and supple toes. The pieces fly. Slashing and turning, he lops the smaller limbs, hacks it here and prunes it there, and, in a few minutes, flings it aside complete, except for the steel tip which plays the part of the share. For a few shillings the plough is bought by the Bedouin. The selection of the land for cultivation is equally simple. Over most of the Palestine we covered, there is little regularity in the tenure of the small holder. The Sheik of the village has a loose control over a wide area, for which he pays tribute and taxes in grain to the Turk. The Bedouin is granted a plot the size of which is according to his capacity to cultivate and his inclination to work. He is rarely ambitious, and always lazy. If he has more than one wife, or has children of a working and a hungry age, he will extend his area. But, like the piece of glass bottle in Grimm’s fairy tale, he loves best just to lie about and glitter in the sun. That is better than any exceptional success as a farmer.