expedition I shall never cease to lament the unlucky ignorance which induced me to shorten our halt at Sebbeh, notwithstanding the impossibility of procuring water. If ever chance conducts me to the spot again, I shall not do as I have done this time, but, at whatever cost, I will bring back from Masada all that I can collect together in the shape of plans and drawings.

Now that I have digressed to the expedition of Flavius Silva, let me revert to the more pacific enterprise of which I happened to be myself the leader. Leaving our encampment in our rear, we direct our course towards the right bank of the large chasm which divides us from the mountain of Sebbeh. The ascent is steep, and the rocky fragments roll under our feet; but, everything considered, we have seen worse roads before. After some minutes' progress, the path becomes more difficult, and goats alone might be content with it, supposing they were not over-difficult to please. There can be no doubt we are moving on the perilous ledge called by Josephus "the Snake;" but I avouch, and my companions will scarcely gainsay me, that the historian of the Jews has described it in too flattering colours. It is one continual scaling-ladder, several hundred feet in perpendicular height, which increase when we think they are exhausted. If you venture a glance to the left, while on this picturesque ascent, beware of the vertigo, and a bottomless abyss which threatens you with a kind of fatal fascination. We determine, therefore, to look only to the right as we go up; going down we shall have the variety of looking to the left, which will be some consolation. Loysel

soon finds this kind of promenade rather unpleasant; he therefore sits down quietly on a rocky point, lights his pipe, and enters in his note-book, "January 11th.— Excursion to Sebbeh." Papigny joins him, and it is only a few hundred feet higher up, when we venture to cast a look behind us, that we become aware that two of the troop have parted company, without even wishing us bon voyage.

Edward, Belly, Rothschild, and Philippe are the only members of our band who have persevered, and we follow, panting and out of breath, our three Bedouins, who seem to be treading a royal high-road. Pride will not permit us to yield to difficulties which seem trifles to these iron savages of the desert, and we rush recklessly forward. At last we reach a platform, preeminently rugged and narrow at first, rent by a chasm bearing away to the north-west. But the area soon

becomes wider, and we find ourselves encircled by fragments of walls, and heaps of other ruins, unquestionable evidences of ancient habitations.

To our left the crest of the precipice is protected by a wall of dry stones, heaped up without order, and this wall dips rapidly, with the rock that bears it, to the bottom of the chasm, on the northern side of which we have left our camp. There is no mistaking the locality; it is the spot which Josephus calls Leuké. To our left begins the Snake, the path we have just followed, leading down to the Dead Sea. Behind us must be the western path, with the tower which intersected it, as both roads met at this point. Unfortunately, our time is limited, and the remains of Silva's camp (placed on

this very spot, and on the ruins of the lower town, where Simon, the son of Joras, resided), conceal from our sight the vestiges of this tower, situated most likely much further down, as well as the path itself, which we have no intention of investigating.

When facing eastward, we have before us the perpendicular rock of Masada, two hundred feet in height, on the smoothly scarped side of which appear a few excavations, resembling those of a necropolis, and placed about fifty feet below the summit, without any protuberant stones or steps by which we might be enabled to reach them. There could have been no access but by subterraneous passages from the interior of the fortress.

A ridge, as narrow as the blade of a knife, leads along the top of an artificial causeway, made of light earth. This causeway, uniting Leuké to the side of the rock of Masada, is all that remains of Silva's mound. The platform by which it was surmounted has crumbled down by the action of time and the rains on the soft soil which formed the foundations. The stones have all rolled over into the precipices on either side, and there remains now no passage but this dangerous ridge before us, which we must adventure on like rope-dancers, without even the advantage of a balancing-pole.

In a few seconds we have crossed the abyss, and here we are, hanging on to the side of the rock of Masada. Another desperate escalade is before us, and fifty feet higher up we reach the remains of a flight of stairs, on the side of the precipice, and on the ruins of a buttress, built of fine freestone.

At last we gain the summit, and a small remnant of

a path, enclosed between the precipice on one side and the ruins of a free stone wall on the other, leads us to a well-preserved gate of beautiful workmanship, with an ogival (pointed) arch. The invention of this form

of arch is thus carried back to the epoch of Herod the Great, or at the very latest, to that of Titus and the destruction of Masada. On the stones of this gate have been scratched, with some sharp instrument, at a period impossible to determine, crosses, signs resembling the symbol of the planet Venus 9, and Greek letters, such as A and T. Are these the marks of the stonecutter? I doubt it; because, though rudely executed, they have not a very ancient appearance, and their light colour is not accordant with the darker tint of the stone. But as some are upright, whilst others are inclined, and even reversed, this may seem to corroborate the opinion that they are merely to be considered as the symbols of the builders. For myself, I leave the question to the decision of others.

Beyond this gate, a level space appears before us: it is the platform of Masada. Thank Heaven! we have reached it with sound limbs, and as we have not halted on the way, fifty minutes have sufficed to bring us from the camp to the spot on which we stand.

The crest we have attained, I mean the western one, is furnished with buildings looking towards the platform, and resting against the surrounding wall. These structures are mostly square cells, in tolerable preservation, with many small apertures, disposed angularly, like the holes in a pigeon-house. Before us, within a hundred yards, is a ruin, which resembles a church with a circular apsis. Our Bedouins inform me that this is the Qasr, or Palace. I hasten to examine it. The principal chamber is terminated by this oven-like apsis, with one small round window. The whole is constructed of fine freestone, elaborately worked; the supporting walls are covered with a very hard plaster, inlaid with mosaic work of a novel description.* It consists of thousands of small red fragments of broken pottery fixed in the mortar, and forming regular designs. These are the only ornaments of this hall. Some small detached cubes of red, white, and black stone induce me to suppose that the hall is paved with real mosaic; I therefore tempt my Bedouins with the promise of a bakhshish, and whilst I am drawing the plans of the different apartments, and Belly is engaged in taking a sketch of this extraordinary ruin, the rubbish

*This kind of mosaic is seen nearly everywhere in eastern countries,I mean in the large cities, and is of very ancient use. Only, instead of broken pottery, the mosaic work is generally made of pieces of looking-glass, or of earthen and china vessels, quite whole, of all sizes and descriptions, firmly stuck into the wall; for instance, in the Sheesh or China Muhuls of the natives of India.-TRANSLATOR.