You would have laughed to have seen us bathing this morning. We bobbed about on the water like so many corks. It is impossible to sink in it; so you see there is never any danger of being drowned. I was delighted with the sport at first, but was soon glad to scramble out of the water much quicker than I got in. It pricked my skin like hot needles; and my eyes felt as if camphor had been poured in them; the water got into my mouth, and tasted like wormwood tea with salt in it, and drew my lips together like green persim mons. Last night I sat for a long time on the shore, close to the water, and looked down, far down into the clear, green depths, hoping I might see the tops of houses, the domes of temples, and long lines of shining streets, as they say such things can be seen in some of the South American waters which cover buried cities. But then I remembered that these cities were destroyed by fire from heaven, and that probably not a vestige of them remains. I think, Harry, I never felt such a horror of sin, and such a dread of the judgments that God will surely visit upon it, as when I sat on the barren and dreary shore of this awful sea. Do you remember a pretty song Caroline used to sing: "What are the wild waves saying?" It kept coming into my mind last night, and I repeated to myself, "What are the still waters saying?" And, in the midst of the awful stillness and desolation, I could almost fancy I could hear "the voice of the Great Creator' answering from the depths: "For I, the Lord thy God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me." But I must close now, for I see everything is prepared for departure. I will write to you again from Jerusalem, to which city we are to return by the way of Hebron. Your affectionate friend, PHILIP. XV. JERUSALEM, April 11, 18—. MY DEAR HARRY: Directly after finishing my last letter, we left the shores of the Sea of Death, and travelled in a northwesterly direction towards Hebron, which was to be our first stopping-place. Nothing of any interest occurred in the way, except that I saw women grinding corn with a hand-mill. I had seen the operation before, but always at a distance. I rode up to an Arab tent, and asked for a drink of water, in order to be near the women who were grinding. There were two of them, seated on a large piece of sackcloth. They were facing each other, and each had hold of the handle, which turns the upper stone, and pulled it back and forth. It seemed to be hard work. One threw in the grain through a hole in the upper stone. There are two stones, an upper and lower, or "nether" mill-stone. Women always do this work, and some of them must be forever at it, for |