Passing on toward the scene of his death, we turned to the southeast in search of the Valley of Shochoh, where David slew Goliath. A ride of six miles brought us to Beit Nettîf, a small village crowning a lofty cliff. Impelled by curiosity, the people gathered around us in crowds to examine our garments and riding equipage. Compelled to take a guide to the romantic valley, we secured the services of a white-turbaned Arab, who, after tenderly kissing his child and bidding his wife adieu, led us through the town, and, to save a detour, up the roughest, steepest mountain in the Holy Land. Skirting the verge of a dangerous precipice on the north, we turned southward, and in less than an hour entered one of the most picturesque ravines in Southern Palestine. Rising grandly on either side, the rocks were festooned with delicate shrubs, and from a thousand rills the water glided, forming a brooklet below. Midway the ravine there is a fountain gushing out of the mountain’s side, around which are a few Arab huts. The glen contracted as we ascended, and at its terminus the country opened and declined toward the south. Rapidly descending a mountain path, we were soon in the Valley of Elah, where David achieved his celebrated victory. Here, as elsewhere in our travels, we had proof of the harmony existing between the inspired narrative of the event and the topography of the scene of its occurrence. Running north and south, the bed of the valley measures a mile in width, and was covered with grain and flowers. Through its centre extends a torrent bed, lined with smooth pebbles, and fringed with acacia-trees. Though not high, the mountains on either side are bold and well defined. On their summits the contending armies were drawn up in battle array, watching each other’s movements. To make an assault, the intervening valley must first be crossed, which would give to the defense an immense advantage. Unwilling to lose a good position and invite such a fearful slaughter, the armies were disinclined to make an attack. Impatient at the delay, there was one brave spirit among the Philistines who offered to stake the issues of the war upon a single-handed combat. Descending, day after day, for forty days, the left bank of the valley, Goliath of Gath threw down the gauntlet and cried out, “I defy the armies of Israel; send me a man, that we may fight together.” His giant form, his proud, defiant tone, his powerful weapons, sent dismay to the heart of Israel, and neither the once heroic Saul, nor any of his warriors, had the courage to accept the challenge. With all the appearance of an accidental event, David that day reached the camp with provision for his three brethren who were in Saul’s army. Rising above the contempt of Eliab, rejecting the king’s armor, but trusting in that higher power which had led him to the scene and ordained him for the fight, David went forth to retrieve the honor of his country, and vindicate the supremacy of Jehovah over the idol