CHAPTER XXXIX. 
JOURNEY TO NAZARETH. 
From Tiberias we ascended by a mountain-pass toward 
Nazareth. It was a day of deadened sunshine ; sallow in 
its light, but not cloudy; so still that the hum of life rose up 
from the valley and followed us to the height, where we 
turned to look back upon the sacred waters. On the right, 
over on the mountain, lay the ruins of Safed. 
Years ago, I forget how many, occurred the great earth¬ 
quake that laid it desolate. It was a scene of terror well- 
remembered by the survivors and by the inhabitants of Tibe¬ 
rias. I stopped awhile to trace out the sad havoc that had 
been made there; and, while I gazed upon its mouldering 
vestiges, the past seemed to rise before me in all its terrible 
reality. 
A murky gloom hung over the shores of Gfalilee. No gleam 
of sunshine rested upon the sacred waters. The hot air was 
stagnant upon the mountains, and the valley of Genesareth 
lay parched in the stillness. Its groves of olives were with¬ 
ered ; its herds were motionless ; its ruined temples without 
shadow. From the heights of Safed down into the pulseless 
waters below there was a hush of life; for the presage of Doom 
was spread abroad. A death-pall lay upon the blanched earth. 
Then there came a low sighing out of the gloom, but none 
knew whence it came. Fear smote upon the hearts of the 
people, and they fell prostrate and prayed. There was a 
feverish trembling of the earth, and it w T as still again; and 
again it trembled and moaned, and again it was still. The 
hour was come; it came not with a sudden shock, but with 
the slow certainty of fate. A deep, sad wail of death rose 
