Spring, is the site of the
oldest Jericho, which Joshua conquered and Hiel rebuilt. The spring,
which is probably the same that Elisha cleansed with salt (II Kings ii:
19-22), sends forth a merry stream to turn a mill and irrigate a group
of gardens full of oranges, figs, bananas, grapes, feathery bamboos and
rosy oleanders. But the ancient city is buried under a great mound of
earth, which the German _Palaestina-Verein_ is now excavating.

As we come up to the mound I pull out my little camera and prepare to
take a picture of the hundred or so dusty Arabs--men, women and
children--who are at work in the trenches. A German _gelehrter_ in a
very excited state rushes up to me and calls upon me to halt, in the
name of the Emperor. The taking of pictures by persons not imperially
authorised is _streng verboten_. He is evidently prepared to be abusive,
if not actually violent, until I assure him, in the best German that I
can command, that I have no political or archaeological intentions, and
that if the photographing of his picturesque work-people to him
displeasing is, I will my camera immediately in its pocket put. This
mollifies him, and he politely shows us what he is doing.

A number of ruined houses, and a sort of central temple, with a rude
flight of steps leading up to it, have been discovered. A portion of
what seems to be the city-wall has just been laid bare. If there are any
inscriptions or relics of any value they are kept secret; but there is
plenty of broken pottery of a common kind. It is all very poor and
beggarly looking; no carving nor even any hewn stones. The buildings
seem to be of rubble, and "the walls of Jericho" are little better than
the stone fences on a Connecticut farm. No wonder they fell down at the
blast of Joshua's rams' horns and the rush of his fierce tribesmen.

We ride past the gardens and through the shady lanes to our camp, on the
outskirts of the modern village. The air is heavy and languid, full of
relaxing influence, an air of sloth and luxury, seeming to belong to
some strange region below the level of human duty and effort as far as
it is below the level of the sea. The fragrance of the orange-blossoms,
like a subtle incense of indulgence, floats on the evening breeze.
Veiled figures pass us in the lanes, showing lustrous eyes. A sound of
Oriental music and laughter and clapping hands comes from one of the
houses in an inclosure hedged with acacia-trees. We sit in the door of
o