loaded of their burdens than the poor tired beasts were turned loose to wander by the brookside and drink at will, and to crop the herbage that grew somewhat luxuriantly in the valley. Our tents had been pitched on the margin of the stream, the very sight of which was cooling to eyes that had rested so long only on burning rocks and sands. The change was a relief both to body and mind, for the mind too had been under a constant tension, which needed to be relaxed. And so, when we came within the circuit of these hills, and under the shade of these palms, we said, This is our rest, for we have desired it. We felt the strain of the week taken off, and began to unbend, and soon sank down into delicious and undisturbed repose.
And when the morning broke, with returning consciousness came the blissful thought that we had not to stir this day. No voice from the desert whispered, Rise and march. That alone was enough to quiet our nerves; the heart beat regularly, and the blood flowed smoothly in our veins. Today, at least, no mortal care should seize our breasts; these long, golden hours were reserved for tranquil thoughts and sweet communings with our own hearts, with nature, and with God.
The Sabbath had come. We knew it as soon as we opened our eyes. Not by the unaccustomed stillness which in populous cities or in villages marks the change from the days of the week, for the silence of the desert is so profound that it cannot be deepened. But there was something which was not silence: it was Peace. There was something in the deep blue heavens that were bending over us, that seemed to say, This is the day that the Lord hath made. To enjoy it to the full, we sought for greater retirement than that of our tent. Dr. Post, looking round for the natural features of the oasis in which we were camped, espied across the stream a solitary tree, an
