Vol. XIX 



1919 



] Bernev, Ornilhologist in Egy/>1 and Palestine. ^.^ 



no casualties, the birtls (U'cidcd to rcnKiin, ;uul did not desert, as 

 I expected. It is a pity we have no Partridges in Australia. 

 These Cliukars are fine birds, and very hke the Red-legged 

 Partridge of Euiopc. They have a fairly wide range, extending 

 from Palestine right across India. They appear to like dry 

 country. I saw them many times in the Jud^ean Hills. When 

 disturbed, they put their heads up and ran like Guinea-Fowls. 

 Palm Doves are plentiful everywhere (Egypt and Palestine), in 

 suitable localities, on trees and palms. In Cairo, they, the 

 Hooded Crow, and the Spairow are the most commonly seen birds, 

 to which may be added the Kites. It is rather amusing to hear 

 the soldiers speak of the Kites as " Kitchener's Birds," and to be 

 told that he was the first to introduce them into Egypt. This 

 is, of course, only a fairy story, but as a matter of fact Lord 

 Kitchener (the Zoo people tell me) did interest himself in the 

 useful, insect-destroying birds, and it was largely due to him 

 that a Bird Protection Act was passed. 



In the spring Western Palestine and part of the Judiean Hills 

 are bright with wild-flowers ; and as it is with the birds, so is it 

 with the flowers — so many of them are British : wild roses, black- 

 berries, meadowsweet, poppies, &c. The latter are just the 

 same as the poppies that grow among the wheat in the old country 

 —the same poppy red, but of a depth and richness of colour that 

 is really wonderful. This extremely rich colour is due, I expect, 

 to some mineral in the Palestine soil. Palestine is full of interest 

 on account of its antiquities and old Biblical associations, but 

 one point of interest is almost entirely overlooked — I mean the 

 Jordan Valley and the Dead Sea. In time to come they will be 

 recognized as one of the wonders of the world, and people will go 

 to see them as now they go to the Rockies or the Himalayas, or 

 the huge crater of the Jenncrger, in Java. I have seen at close 

 quarters Mount Everest and Kinchinjunga, the world's highest 

 peaks (28,000 feet), and the spell they work on my senses is akin 

 to the feeUng of fascination that takes hold of me as I sit and 

 watch the Jordan Valley, 1,300 feet below the sea-level, the 

 lowest spot on the earth's surface — the very antithesis of the 

 great peaks. Spread out before you is a broad, flat valley, nine 

 miles across and twenty-five from north to south, which way the 

 Jordan flows — to the south to enter the Dead Sea, while to the 

 north the continuation of the valley becomes hemmed in to half 

 its width between the Judaean Hills and the Hills of Moab — a 

 broad, flat valley bounded by limestone hills, most barren, that 

 rise to a couple of thousand feet on either side. The floor of the 

 valley is deeply scarred by endless wadis, 40 to 60 feet deep, with 

 perpendicular sides, cut by winter rains. On the east side runs 

 the muddy, swift-currented Jordan, while on the west is the 

 Wadi Aujs, a swift-flowing stream, clear as crystal, on a bed of 

 rock and pebbles. Each water-course is bordered by a narrow 

 strip of vegetation, rank weeds, and stunted trees, but these are 

 so dwarfed by the overpowering scene of desolation everywhere 



