for the possession of the Promised Land. It was a
furious conflict, the hordes of footmen against the squadrons of
horsemen; but the shrewd command that came from Joshua decided it:
"Hough their horses and burn their chariots with fire." The Canaanites
and the Amorites and the Hittites and the Hivites were swept from the
field, driven over the western mountains, and the Israelites held the
Jordan from Jericho to Hermon. (Joshua xi:1-15.)

The springs that burst from the hills to the left of our path and run
down to the sluggish channels of the marsh on our right are abundant and
beautiful.

Here is 'Ain Mellaha, a crystal pool a hundred yards wide, with wild
mint and watercress growing around it, white and yellow lilies floating
on its surface, and great fish showing themselves in the transparent
open spaces among the weeds, where the water bubbles up from the bottom
through dancing hillocks of clean, white sand and shining pebbles.

Here is 'Ain el-Belata, a copious stream breaking forth from the rocks
beneath a spreading terebinth-tree, and rippling down with merry rapids
toward the jungle of rustling reeds and plumed papyrus.

While luncheon is preparing in the shade of the terebinth, I wade into
the brook and cast my fly along the ripples. A couple of ragged,
laughing, bare-legged Bedouin boys follow close behind me, watching the
new sport with wonder. The fish are here, as lively and gamesome as
brook trout, plump, golden-sided fellows ten or twelve inches long. The
feathered hooks tempt them, and they rise freely to the lure. My
tattered pages are greatly excited, and make impromptu pouches in the
breast of their robes, stuffing in the fish until they look quite fat.
The catch is enough for a good supper for their whole family, and a
dozen more for a delicious fish-salad at our camp that night. What kind
of fish are they? I do not know: doubtless something Scriptural and
Oriental. But they taste good; and so far as there is any record, they
are the first fish ever taken with the artificial fly in the sources of
the Jordan.

The plain of Huleh is full of life. Flocks of waterfowl and solemn
companies of storks circle over the swamps. The wet meadows are covered
with herds of black buffaloes, wallowing in the ditches, or staring at
us sullenly under their drooping horns. Little bunches of horses, and
brood mares followed by their long-legged, awkward foals, gallop beside
our cavalcade, whinnying and kicking up