but made our own repast on a rising ground by the roadside, where, with sheltering rock behind, and a smooth sward in front, we watched the picturesque cavalcade (for some mounted on horses and camels mingled with those on foot), which went streaming down to the valley of the Jordan.
But all associations of ordinary pilgrims sink out of sight in the thought of one solitary Traveller. The supreme interest of this road from Jericho is that it was trodden by our blessed Lord when He came up to Jerusalem for the last time. Looking backward and downward, we seem to see a Form slowly ascending, with weary foot, as of one who bore a heavy burden, and on whom already fell the shadow of the cross.
As we advance, these associations thicken upon us, until we come to Bethany, so full of tender and sacred memories. Here we are, as it were, in the very home of our Saviour, almost as much as if we were in Nazareth or Capernaum: for Bethany is only two miles from Jerusalem, and the house of Mary and Martha was His frequent retreat from the great city. We turned our horses into a lane, and rode through the poor village to visit the tomb of Lazarus, which is under ground, and to which we descend by a stair in the rock. We have come to distrust monkish legends so much that we are suspicious of any which rest merely on tradition, unsupported by evidence; yet the bare possibility that here tradition has seized on the right spot, is enough to hush to silence the visitor who gropes into the darkness, and stands, it may be, at the very grave's mouth where "Jesus wept," giving way to a burst of emotion such as overwhelms a mourner who bends over the tomb which has received the object dearest to him on earth. Another spot is pointed out as the place where stood the house of Mary and Martha. Both sites are
