Dead Sea

We were four hours going to the Dead Sea. On some lofty hill, about half-way there, we had a fine view of that wild and desolate region. Stretching off on our right to the southeast, rugged, dreary and bare, is the “wilderness of En-gedi.” Before us lying low in its bleak bordered back, is the Sea of Death, now with dark shadow flitting over it, and then sparkling with sun light gleaming through the clouds. Down to its eastern shore come the dark, wall like mountains of Moab, stretching far to the North, and bordering the vale of the Jordan.
The real tomb of Moses is among those mountains yonder, east of the Jordan, “in a valley in the Land of Moab, over against Bethpeor; but no man knoweth his sepulcher.”
About an hour before reaching the Dead Sea, we descended the steep hills to the barren plain. --------------- Over the light-brown parched and crusty plain, with scarcely and vestiges of vegetation, we are approaching the northeaster shore of the Dead Sea. We reach the water’s edge and dismount amidst pebbles of nearly all colors, many being black and pitchy or bituminous, and dead branches of trees, which have come down the Jordan, and been thrown upon the beach. What a strange place to stand upon to look abroad and around from— and to silently meditate! Every spot the age rests upon, near and far off, has some Scripture account or scene connected with it; and what thrilling accounts and tremendous scenes. Lift the curtain of history and what a succession of events come and go— changeful,