A desolation is here that not even imagination can grace with the pomp of life and action.
We reached Tabor safely, and considerably in advance of that old iron-clad swindle of a guard.

We never saw a human being on the whole route, much less lawless hordes of Bedouins.

Tabor stands solitary and alone, a giant sentinel above the Plain of Esdraelon.

It rises some fourteen hundred feet above the surrounding level, a green, wooden cone, symmetrical and full of grace--a prominent landmark, and one that is exceedingly pleasant to eyes surfeited with the repulsive monotony of desert Syria.

We climbed the steep path to its summit, through breezy glades of thorn and oak.