Nearly all the wells of the olden times remain, and are pointed out by the dragomans. One can drink from the well where Christ met the Samaritan woman, and from many cisterns scattered over the country. Most of them are shaped like great pears. When the pools of Solomon were connected with Jerusalem it was thought that they would supply the city with water. These pools are on the highlands between Bethlehem and Hebron. They are cut out of the solid rock, and it is said that they originally held about forty million gallons. There are three of them, ranging in height from three hundred and eighty to five hundred and eighty feet. They lie in terraces one above the other, being of varying widths. The depths are from twenty-five to fifty feet. If they were in good condition they could supply a vast deal of water, but as it is, the aqueducts which Solomon built to Jerusalem have gone to ruin, and there is now only a four-inch iron pipe running from them to the city. The pipe comes in near the Dung Gate and goes from there to the temple platform. I stumbled over it the other day. I am told that the water is used almost altogether for the Mosque of Omar, although it is connected with the fountains of the city, which are only occasionally allowed to play. In addition to these pools there are many others in and about Jerusalem. The Pool of Hezekiah is in the heart of the city, not far from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre; and the Pool of Siloam, where Our Lord sent the blind man to wash, is in the valley of Jehoshaphat, outside the walls. Just now the Holy Land is suffering from drought and the people are praying for rain. We have had one or two showers in the last few days, but more is needed or the crops will fail. Most of the inhabitants of Jerusalem are great believers in prayer, and Mohammedans, Christians, and Jews are all holding services at which they ask the Lord to send water. We had a slight rain yesterday and more is expected. The people evidently think their prayers will be answered. As I walked through David Street I heard two Mohammedans talking. Their language was Arabic, but my dragomans told me that one had just said to the other: “How good God is, after all. We have prayed for the rain and, lo, it has come.” When the first shower began to fall I was standing in a doorway. A little girl, perhaps eight years old, passed by with a platter of bread on her head. The rain was pouring down upon it and she was wet to the skin, but nevertheless she was singing. I asked my guide the words of her song. He replied: “She cries: ‘Praise God for the rain! Praise God for the rain! Praise God for the rain!’” CHAPTER VI JERUSALEM IN THE TWENTIETH CENTURY