But for a long time, lying there in the darkness, I dreamed with my eyes wide open. Dreamed of the forty years wandering in the wilderness while one generation passed and a new one was born. Dreamed of the kings and the prophets, of David hunted like a wild thing through the desolate hills and caves, of captives marching across the sands to Babylon. Dreamed of the Man who, with weary feet, in the heat and the dust _walked_ about the Jordan Valley, through Jericho, walked up the long, long hills even to Jerusalem with men and women following, always _seeking_, only a few sharing. Dreamed of the demand that He made upon all who did have the courage to share—that they love God—and the challenge that they love their fellow men as He loved them, ... dreamed of the day when the challenge would be answered and the other man’s welfare would become each man’s passion. I GO TO BETHANY _I tell you when I looked upon these fields, And stony valleys,—through the purple veil Of twilight, or what time the Orient sun Made shining jewels of the barren rocks,— Something within me trembled; for I said: This picture once was mirrored in His eyes; This sky, that lake, those hills, this loveliness, To Him familiar were; this is the way To Bethany._ —_Richard Watson Gilder._ I GO TO BETHANY One afternoon when we were driving about the busy semi-modern streets that lie outside the walls of Jerusalem we suggested to Jamil, our guide, that some afternoon we walk to Bethany. He answered briefly that it was too far and turned to call our attention to the well-equipped postoffice, the modern looking shops, the Italian hospital, the well-built hospices of the French, Italians and Russians which before the war were thronged at the feasts with devout pilgrims. There was an atmosphere of western life about the outer city. Signs over some of the shops looked amazingly like New York’s East Side. Books, pictures and maps, school supplies, men and boys’ clothing of every sort, girls and women on the streets dressed in European fashion, together with Cairo papers in French and English, helped us to see the trend of the new, growing city without the walls. The streets were wide and well kept. The church of St. George was an artistic, beautiful reminder of the reason why the word of the capture of the Holy City had been received with solemn joy in every English household. We passed the dignified Damascus Gate and the Sheep Gate before which camels knelt grunting and little groups of sheep huddled close each around its shepherd; lorries passed us on the road, then a motor taking General Storrs to confer with the High Commissioner on important business. We stopped to visit the British High School for girls, doing its work against great odds in a former