Kitabı oku: «The International Monthly, Volume 2, No. 4, March, 1851», sayfa 6

"He is not supposed to appear among them 'grasping in his hand ten thousand thunders,' but endued with an equal power, the result and expression of perfect virtue and rightful authority. His triumph is attributed neither to natural, nor to supernatural power; but to moral superiority, evincing itself in His aspect, and exercising its omnipotence upon the soul and conscience. That in the conception of a great Christian poet, His appearance among the rebel angels in Heaven was distinguished by the former attributes, is due, perhaps, to the heroic prejudice of a mind thoroughly imbued with the spirit of pagan writers, and of the Hebrew Scriptures."

The volume opens with this noble invocation, in which there is fit recognition of Dante and Milton, whose lips aforetime for such song had been touched by the divinest fire:

 
Thou of the darkness and the fire, and fame
Avenged by misery and the Orphic doom,
Bard of the tyrant-lay! whom dreadless wrongs,
Impatient, and pale thirst for justice drove,
A visionary exile, from the earth,
To seek it in its iron reign—O stern!
And not accepting sympathy, accept
A not presumptious offering, that joins
That region with a greater name: And thou,
Of my own native language, O dread bard!
Who, amid heaven's unshadowed light, by thee
Supremely sung, abidest—shouldst thou know
Who on earth with thoughts of thee erects
And purifies his mind, and, but by thee,
Awed by no fame, boldened by thee, and awed—
Not with thy breadth of wing, yet with the power
To breathe the region air—attempts the height
Where never Scio's singing eagle towered,
Nor that high-soaring Theban moulted plume,
Hear thou my song! hear, or be deaf, who may.
 
 
And if not rashly, or too soon, I heed
The impulse, but have waited on my heart
With patience, and its utterance stilled with awe
Oh what inspired it, till I felt it beat
True cadence to unconquerable strains;
Oh, then may she first wooed from heaven by prayer
From thy pure lips, and sympathy austere
With suffering, and the sight of solemn age,
And thy gray Homer's head, with darkness bound,
To me descend, more near, as I am far
Beneath thee, and more need her aiding wing.
 
 
Oh, not again invoked in vain, descend,
Urania! and eyes with common light
More blinded than were his by Heaven's hand
Imposed to intercept distracting rays,
Bathe in the vision of transcendent day;
And of the human senses (the dark veil
Before the world of spirit drawn) remove
The dim material hindrance, and illume;
That human thought again may dare behold
The shape and port of spirits, and once more
Hear voices in that distant, shadowy world,
To which ourselves, and this, are shadows, they
The substance, immaterial essence pure—
Souls that have freed their slave, and given back
Its force unto the elements, the dread
Manes, or the more dread Archetypes of men:
Like whom in featured reason's shape—like whom
Created in the mould of God—they fell,
And mixed with them in common ruin, made
One vast and many-realmed world, and shared
Their deep abodes—their endless exile, some,—
Some to return to the ethereous light
When one of human form, a Savior-Man
Almighty, not in deity alone,
But mightier than all angels in the might
And guard of human innocence preserved,
Should freely enter their dark empire—these
To loose, o'er those to triumph; this the theme,
The adventure, and the triumph of my song.
 

The Fine Arts

Leutze's Washington Crossing the Delaware.—Our readers are aware of the accident by fire which happened some months since to Leutze's nearly-finished picture of Washington Crossing the Delaware, in consequence of which he abandoned it to the underwriters, intending to commence the work anew for the party from which he had received the order to paint it. The underwriters have accordingly paid the insurance, and are now exhibiting the picture in its incomplete state to the public of Cologne, where it meets with high approval. The Kölnische Zeitung says of it: "In this picture the artist has depicted the events of the hour in which the destiny of the Free States of North America was decided for centuries through the boldness of their courageous and prudent leader. The means of continuing the war were almost exhausted; the army threatened in a few days to dissolve itself; the cause of freedom for that continent, with its inestimable consequences for ancient Europe, would have been postponed, no one can tell how long, perhaps for ever. Then the great mind of Washington conceived what the morally debased, reposing enemy thought impossible. He crossed the Delaware with his army in the night, amid masses of floating ice, and, in the twilight of morning, assailed the inactive camp on the other side. The picture reproduces the moment when the great general,—ahead of the mass of the army, which had also just embarked, and part of which are passing off from the shore, and part already struggling with the driving ice,—is steering to the opposite shore in a small boat, surrounded by eleven heroic figures, officers, farmers, soldiers, and boatmen. The tall and majestic form of the man in whose hands at that hour lay the fate of millions, rises from the group, standing slightly bent, forward, with one foot on the bottom of the boat, the other on the forward bench. His mild yet serious and commanding glance seems seeking to pierce the mist of the farther shore and discover the enemy, while intimations of the future grandeur of his country rise upon his mind. Nothing of youthful rashness appears in the expression of this figure, but the thoughtful artist has depicted the 'heart for any fate' of the general and statesman in noble, vigorous, and faithful traits. And what an impulse moves through the group of his companions! Their thought is, 'Forward, invincibly forward, for our country!' This is expressed in their whole bearing, in every movement, in the eyes and features of all. Under the influence of this thought they command the raging elements, so that the masses of ice seem to dissolve before the will and energy of these men. This is a picture by the sight of which, in this weary and exhausted time, one can recover health and strength. Let none miss a draught from such a goblet of nectar. And while we are writing this, it occurs to us that it was at this very hour seventy-four years ago, in the ice-cold night, Washington crossed the Delaware. And amid the ominous concatenation of events which the weak mind calls accident, but which the clear spirit, whose eye rests on the whole world, regards as the movement of nature according to eternal laws, there rises from our soul the ardent prayer that Germany may soon find her Washington! Honor and fame to the artist whose production has power to work upon the hearts and inflame the spirits of all that behold it!"

Messrs. Goupil & Co. have purchased the duplicate of this work, to be completed on the first of July, for seven thousand dollars. The picture described was unfinished, and has been exhibited by the underwriters, to whom it was given up after the fire.

An Italian picture dealer in London named Campanari, lately bought for a trifle a portrait which has proved to be a genuine Michel Angelo. It represents the famous Vittoria Colonna, wife of the Marchese Pescara, the General of Charles V. She was herself distinguished as a poetess as well as by the impassioned love and adoration of the great painter, who not only took her portrait, but left behind him several sonnets in her honor. Campanari, though himself confident of the genuineness of the picture, could not procure it to be recognized in England. Accordingly he sent it to Rome, where the Academy of San Luca, with Minardi at its head, unanimously decided in its favor. In fact, it contains a grandeur and sublimity which could be ascribed to nobody but the author of the prophets and sibyls of the Sistine Chapel. An antique repose is displayed in the whole work, perfectly agreeing with the character of the lady as described by Michel Angelo, and which suits the advanced age at which she is painted. The execution is like that of the picture in the Florentine Tribune, in the wonderful facility of its execution. In the coloring a carnation hue is remarkable, like that in Michel Angelo's Roman works. The hands of the figure are thought to be by some other artist. Only the head and part of the person seem to be by the author. The picture has suffered little from time, some parts having apparently been repaired by a later pencil. It is valued at $30,000.

The Munich Art-Union gives to its subscribers for the next year a galvanograph of Rubens' Columbus. This is the first time that galvanography has been applied to such a purpose. The plate from which the print is taken has been copied by the galvanoplastic process, so that it can serve for other art-unions also. For 1851 the Munich Union has decided on engraving four Greek landscapes by C. Rottman. These plates will also be copied by the same process, and may be had at much less than the cost of original plates.

GOETHE'S OPINION OF BYRON, SCOTT, AND CARLYLE

Mr. John Oxenford, who has shown remarkable capacities for appropriation, in the use he has made of the labors of William Peter, Parke Godwin, and others, in his various "translations" from the German, has recently fallen in with Margaret Fuller d'Ossoli's version of the Conversations of Goethe with Eckermann, published many years ago by Mr. Ripley in his "Specimens of Foreign Literature;" and the result is two volumes, embracing, with what Margaret Fuller translated, the great poet's conversations with Soret. Among the chief notable men who existed at the time of the conversations, and to whom reference is made, are Scott and Byron. The first, whose Fair Maid of Perth is read as a new book, is praised for his "objective" qualities. The second is pronounced the greatest modern poet of England, but censured for his polemic tendency. Goethe's rapture is kindled when he speaks of him:

"'Lord Byron,' said Goethe, 'is to be regarded as a man, as an Englishman, and as a great talent. His good qualities belong chiefly to the man, his bad to the Englishman and the peer, his talent is incommensurable. All Englishmen are, as such, without reflection, properly so called; distractions and party spirit will not permit them to unfold themselves in quiet. But they are great as practical men. Thus, Lord Byron could never attain reflection on himself, and on this account the maxims in general are not successful, as is shown by his creed, 'much money, no authority,' for much money always paralyzes authority. But where he will create, he always succeeds; and we may truly say that with him inspiration supplies the place of reflection. He was always obliged to go on poetizing, and then every thing that came from the man, especially from his heart, was excellent. He produced his best things, as women do pretty children, without thinking about it or knowing how it was done. He is a great talent, a born talent, and I never saw the true poetical power greater in any man than in him. In the apprehension of external objects, and a clear penetration into past situations, he is quite as great as Shakspeare. But as a pure individuality, Shakspeare is his superior. This was felt by Byron, and on this account he does not say much of Shakspeare, although he knows whole passages by heart. He would willingly have denied him altogether, for Shakspeare's cheerfulness is in his way, and he feels that he is no match for it. Pope he does not deny, for he had no cause to fear him. On the contrary, he mentions him, and shows him respect when he can, for he knows well enough that Pope is a mere foil to himself.'…

"Goethe seemed inexhaustible on the subject of Byron, and I felt that I could not listen enough. After a few digressions, he proceeded thus: 'His high rank as an English peer was very injurious to Byron; for every talent is oppressed by the outer world,—how much more, then, when there are such high birth and so great a fortune. A certain middle rank is much more favorable to talent, on which account we find all great artists and poets in the middle classes. Byron's predilection for the unbounded could not have been nearly so dangerous with more humble birth and smaller means. But as it was, he was able to put every fancy into practice, and this involved him in innumerable scrapes. Besides, how could one of such high rank be inspired with awe and respect by any rank whatever? He spoke out whatever he felt, and this brought him into ceaseless conflict with the world. It is surprising to remark,' continued Goethe, 'how large a portion of the life of a rich Englishman of rank is passed in duels and elopements. Lord Byron himself says, that his father carried off three ladies. And let any man be a steady son after that. Properly speaking, he lived perpetually in a state of nature, and with his mode of existence the necessity for self-defence floated daily before his eyes. Hence his constant pistol-shooting. Every moment he expected to be called out. He could not live alone. Hence, with all his oddities, he was very indulgent to his associates. He one evening read his fine poem on the Death of Sir John Moore, and his noble friends did not know what to make of it. This did not move him, but he put it away again. As a poet, he really showed himself a lamb. Another would have commended them to the devil.'"

Yet Goethe had a curious theory in respect to criticism, and believed it possible for a foreigner to understand the achievements of a language not his own better than those to whom it is native—in which we think he was partially correct. In the following he criticises Carlyle.

"'Sit down,' said he, 'and let us talk awhile. A new translation of Sophocles has just arrived. It reads well, and seems to be excellent; I will compare it with Solgar. Now, what say you to Carlyle?' I told him what I had been reading upon Fonqué. 'Is not that very good?' said Goethe. 'Aye, there are clever people over the sea, who know us and can appreciate us?… We are weakest in the æsthetic department, and may wait long before we meet such a man as Carlyle. It is pleasant to see that intercourse is now so close between the French, English, and Germans, that we shall be able to correct one another. This is the greatest use of a world-literature, which will show itself more and more. Carlyle has written a life of Schiller, and judged him as it would be difficult for a German to judge him. On the other hand, we are clear about Shakspeare and Byron, and can, perhaps, appreciate their merits better than the English themselves."

Carlyle is frequently referred to, and always thus. The clear-sighted, great old man, already perceives how much his fame will owe to such an apostle and preacher of his faith—for he sees also what Carlyle himself will become. The mention of Lockhart is also very interesting.

"I asked about Lockhart, and whether he still recollected him. 'Perfectly well!' returned Goethe. 'His personal appearance makes so decided an impression that one cannot easily forget him. From all I hear from Englishmen, and from my daughter-in-law, he must be a young man from whom great things in literature are to be expected. I almost wonder that Walter Scott does not say a word about Carlyle, who has so decided a German tendency that he must certainly be known to him. It is admirable in Carlyle that, in his judgment of our German authors, he has especially in view the mental and moral core as that which is really influential. Carlyle is a moral force of great importance. There is in him much for the future, and we cannot foresee what he will produce and effect.'"

Again:

"'It is pleasant to see,' said Goethe, 'how the earlier pedantry of the Scotch has changed into earnestness and profundity. When I recollect how the 'Edinburgh Reviewers' treated my works not many years since, and when I now consider Carlyle's merits with respect to German literature, I am astonished at the important step for the better. In Carlyle,' said he, 'I venerate most of all the mind and the character which lie at the foundation of his tendencies. The chief point with him is the culture of his own nation; and, in the literary productions of other countries, which he wishes to make known to his contemporaries, he pays less attention to the arts of talent, than to the moral elevation which can be attained through such works. Yes,' said Goethe, 'the temper in which he works is always admirable. What an earnest man he is! and how he has studied us Germans! He is always more at home in our literature than ourselves. At any rate we cannot vie with him in our researches in English literature.'"

MR. KELLOGG'S EXPLORATION OF MT. SINAI

The last volume of Bohn's Illustrated Library (published in New-York by Bangs & Brother), is "Scripture Lands, Described in a Series of Historical, Geographical, and Topographical Sketches," by John Kitto, D.D., F.S.A., the well-known author of the Dictionary of the Bible, &c. It embraces, in a convenient and condensed form, results of the most important recent investigations by travellers and scholars in the countries sacred for their connection with the history of true religion. With other things by Americans, Dr. Kitto gives a prominent place to Mr. Miner K. Kellogg's account of Mt. Sinai, which we reprint below; and we cannot let the opportunity pass unimproved, of expressing a hope that Mr. Kellogg will prepare for the press the voluminous notes which we know him to possess of his various and interesting travels in the ancient world, which he saw with the eye of an artist, the head of a scholar, and the heart of a Christian. If he would, he might give us a most delightful and instructive book upon the East, and one that would be eminently popular, though Asia has been of all the continents the most frequently described. Dr. Kitto says:

"At the foot of the pass which leads up to the sacred shrine beneath the awful mount, from whose summit Jehovah proclaimed his law to the trembling hosts of Israel, Dr. Robinson says,—'We commenced the slow and toilsome ascent along the narrow defile, about south by east, between blackened, shattered cliffs of granite, some eight hundred feet high, and not more than two hundred and fifty yards apart, which every moment threatened to send down their ruins on our heads. Nor is this at all times an empty threat; for the whole pass is filled with large stones and rocks, the débris of these cliffs. The bottom is a deep and narrow water-course, where the wintry torrent sweeps down with fearful violence. A path has been made for camels, along the shelving rocks, partly by removing the topmost blocks, sometimes in the manner of a Swiss mountain-road. But though I had crossed the most rugged passes of the Alps, and made from Chamouni the whole circuit of Mont Blanc, I had never found a path so rude and difficult as that we were now ascending.'

"After toiling along for nearly two hours, our travellers continue their narrative:

"'Here the interior and lofty peaks of the great circle of Sinai began to open upon us—black, rugged, desolate summits; and, as we advanced, the dark and frowning front of Sinai itself (the present Horeb of the monks) began to appear. We were gradually ascending, and the valley gradually opening; but as yet all was a naked desert. Afterwards, a few shrubs were sprinkled round about, and a small encampment of black tents was seen on our right, with camels and goats browsing, and a few donkeys belonging to the convent. The scenery through which we had now passed reminded me strongly of the mountains around the Mer de Glace in Switzerland. I had never seen a spot more wild and desolate.

"'As we advanced, the valley still opened wider and wider with a gentle ascent, and became full of shrubs and tufts of herbs, shut in on each side by lofty granite ridges, and rugged, shattered peaks, a thousand feet high, while the face of Horeb rose directly before us. Both my companion and myself involuntarily exclaimed, "here is room enough for a large encampment!"

"'Reaching the top of the ascent or watershed, a fine broad plain lay before us, sloping down gently towards the south-south-east, inclosed by rugged and venerable mountains of dark granite, stern, naked, splintered peaks, and ridges of indescribable grandeur; and terminated, at a distance of more than a mile, by the bold and awful front of Horeb, rising perpendicularly in frowning majesty, from twelve to fifteen hundred feet in height. It was a scene of solemn grandeur, wholly unexpected, and such as we had never seen; and the associations which at the moment rushed upon our minds were almost overwhelming.'

"They subsequently ascended the frowning summit of Horeb, and sketched the scene from that point:—'The whole plain, er-Rahah, lay spread out beneath our feet, with the adjacent wadys and mountains; while Wady esh-Sheikh on the right, and the recess on the left, both connected with and opening broadly from er-Rahah, presented an area which serves nearly to double that of the plain.

"'Our conviction was strengthened that here, or on some of the adjacent cliffs, was the spot where the Lord "descended in fire," and proclaimed the law. Here lay the plain where the whole congregation might be assembled; here was the mount that could be approached, if not forbidden; and here the mountain brow, where alone the lightning and the thick cloud would be visible, and the thunders and the voice of the trump be heard, when the Lord "came down in the sight of all the people upon Mount Sinai."

"'We gave ourselves up to the impressions of the awful scene; and read, with a feeling that will never be forgotten, the sublime account of the transactions, and the commandments there promulgated, in the original words as recorded by the great Hebrew legislator.'"

"Other travellers have explored a valley on the southern base of Sinai, which was shut out from the view of Dr. Robinson in his ascent by a long ridge of rocks, and which has been found, by measurement of Krafft and Strauss, and others, to be even greater than the valley of er-Rahah on the north. This, it is supposed by Ritter and others, may have been occupied by the Israelites at the giving of the Law. The locality of this tremendous scene may perhaps be determined by future researches.

"An American artist and scholar, Mr. M. K. Kellogg, has lately given an interesting account of this valley, which appears to be much more extensive than er-Rahah, and better suited for the accommodation of the immense camp of Israel. To reach this station, the Israelites must have continued their march much further down the coast than on the other supposition, and turned at a bolder angle up into the mountains near the modern town of Tur or Tor. Dophkah, Alush, and Rephidim, must also, on this supposition, be transferred to other localities corresponding with this supposed line of march.

"If there be such a valley at the southern base of Sinai, it seems very extraordinary that it should have escaped the notice of travellers. It must be visible from the summit of Sinai (Jebel Musa); but, seen only from that lofty summit, and running in an irregular line at the very base of the mountain, they must have overlooked it in their brief survey of the scenery, so grand, so gloomy and peculiar, which there engaged their contemplation. The subject, however, is so curious and interesting, that we insert in some detail the narrative of the American traveller to which these remarks refer.

"'Having read a letter which appeared in the Literary World⁶ of the 20th November, from Dr. Ritter to Dr. Robinson, in which it is said that Laborde, in his Commentary "has now for the first time established the plain of Wady Sebaiyeh at the southern base of Sinai;" and that this "furnishes an important point for the elucidation of the giving of the Law," I have been induced to submit to the consideration of the public, some of the notes from a journal which I kept during my travels in that region in the spring of 1844.⁷

"'Although I have not yet seen the Commentaries of Laborde, and therefore cannot judge of their correctness in regard to this plain, yet I am happy in being able to furnish some testimony as to its existence and extent. Within the last few years a question has arisen as to the existence of a plain in front of Mount Sinai, capable of containing the multitude of Israelites who were to receive the commandments.

"'Dr. Robinson is the first, I believe, who has attempted to prove that no such plain exists. In his Researches he finds a plain at the north-east extremity of the mountain called er-Rahah, which he says was "the plain where the congregation of Israel were assembled," and that the mountain impending over it, the present Horeb, was "the scene of the awful phenomena in which the Law was proclaimed."

"'He says he was satisfied, after much inquiry, "that in no other quarter of the peninsula, and certainly not around any of the higher peaks, is there a spot corresponding in any degree, so fully as this, to the historical account, and to the circumstances of the case." Starting upon the hypothesis that there is no other plain than the one he describes, he has been obliged to give the name of Sinai to one of the peaks which overlook this plain, in order that the Israelites might witness the awful ceremonies attending the promulgation of the Law which took place upon the holy mountain. If this hypothesis is founded on truth, then tradition is at fault, which has given to another part of this region the name of Sinai, and a capacious plain beneath it; we must throw aside all our faith in such tradition, and commence investigations which shall elicit the whole truth upon the subject.

"'As many late travellers have been led into error respecting the topography of this district, by adopting, without investigation, the conclusions of Dr. Robinson, I feel it to be a duty to lay before you such facts as may be of service to those who shall hereafter journey into the wilderness of Sinai.

"'On the 6th day of March, 1844, my two companions set out from the convent at Mount Sinai, for the purpose of ascending the mountain St. Catharine. I declined going with them, partly through indisposition, and partly because I thought I could spend the day more usefully in making sketches in the neighboring convent. After my friend's departure with the guides, I took a little Arab boy with me to carry my sketch-book and water-bottle, and walked up Wady Shueib, until I came to the little Mountain of the Cross (Neja), which almost shuts up the passage into Wady Sebaiyeh, and where I had, for the first time, a view of the southern face of Mount Sinai. Here opened an extended picture of the mountains lying to the south of the Sinaite range, for I was now some three hundred feet above the adjacent valleys.

"'After much difficulty, I succeeded in climbing over immense masses of granite, to the side of the Mountain of the Cross, which I ascended about five hundred feet on its south-western face, in order to obtain a good view of the peak of Sinai, which I was anxious to sketch. Here, close at my right, arose, almost perpendicularly, the Holy Mountain; its shattered pyramidal peak towering above me some 1400 feet, of a brownish tint, presenting vertical strata of granite, which threw off the glittering rays of the morning sun. Clinging around its base was a range of sharp, upheaving crags, from one hundred to two hundred feet in height, which formed an almost impassable barrier to the mountain itself from the valley adjoining. These crags were separated from the mountain by a deep and narrow gorge, yet they must be considered as forming the projecting base of Sinai.

"'Directly in front of me was a level valley, stretching onward to the south for two or three miles, and inclosed on the east, west, and south by low mountains of various altitudes, all much less, however, than that of Sinai. This valley passed behind the Mountain of the Cross to my left, and out of view, so that I could not calculate its northern extent from where I stood. The whole scene was one of inexpressible grandeur and solemnity, and I seated myself to transfer some of its remarkable features to the pages of my portfolio.

"'I remained at work until nearly sunset, when I discovered people coming towards me through the dark ravine between the mountain of Sinai and the craggy spurs which shoot up around its base. I feared they might prove to be unfriendly Arabs; but, as they came nearer I discovered them to be my companions and their guides, who were returning from Mount St. Catharine. As the shades of evening were approaching, I shut up my portfolio, and descending the hillside, I joined my friends, and we returned together to the convent. After dinner, they desired to see what I had done during the day, and my sketch-book was opened to them. They remarked, on seeing the drawing I had made, that as there was no plain on the southern border of the mountain, I might as well have left out the one seen in the drawing. After my assurance that I had copied what was before me, they laughed, and remarked that none but a painter's imagination could have seen the plain in question, for they had passed entirely around the mountain that day, and could assert positively that there was no such plain. Here was a difference of opinion certainly, and one that I did not relish much, as it might at some future time be the means of creating a doubt as to the faithfulness of my eastern drawings. I begged them, therefore, to accompany me the next day to that side of the mountain, and be convinced of what I told them. They remarked that all authority was against me, and time was too precious to go over the same ground twice.'"

"It seems that one of them, however, accompanied the writer in his further exploration of the ensuing day, for he uses the plural number, and speaks of his 'friend.' We thus condense his statements: One day (7th March) is described as having been spent in Wady es-Sabaiyeh, or the plain before Mount Sinai. After having penetrated into this wady, he says: 'We took our course along the base of Jebel Deir, until we came to a point whence the peak of Sinai was no longer visible, because of the intervening point of Jebel Deir; then striking across Sebaiyeh to the right, keeping Sinai in view, we stopped to contemplate the scene. Here the plain is very wide, and forms one with Wady Sedout, which enters it from the south-east at a very acute angle, and in the whole of which Sinai is plainly visible. These two wadys make a width of at least the third of a mile. The hills rising from the east and south of Sebaiyeh, in front of Sinai, are of gentle ascent, upon which flocks might feed, and the people stand in full view of Sinai. For many miles, perhaps six or more, on the eastern border of this plain, are seen many small plains high up among the hills, from all of which Sinai is plainly visible. Near where we stood, a high, rocky platform of granite arose from the plain, upon which I seated myself, and took a sketch of the valley to its junction with Wady esh-Sheikh on the north, where stands Jebel Fureia, a very conspicuous and singular mountain. At this point, Wady Sheikh turns from its eastern course, after leaving Wady Rahah, and runs north around Jebel Fureia, where it receives Sebaiyeh from the south, and with it forms one unbroken plain for about twelve miles to the north of the place where I was seated. Turning back now to the south, we traversed the plain towards the base of Sinai. The wady grew gently narrower as we approached Neja, whose base projected far into the plain, and whose head shuts off the view of Sinai for a distance of about one-half the width of the plain at its base.