ABSTRACT
Rukleh is a curious place, and not like any other. When all the country is parched and blasted with the summer sun, white lines of snow streak the head of Hermon. The little lake of Kefr Kuk soon attracted attention in the journey from Rukleh to Rasheya, for the surrounding hills were complicated in their watersheds, and it was necessary to be on the qui vive for the very first streams that enter the Jordan. A climb up the highest hill on the west had shown clearly all the Hasbany vale. The Litany rises not far from the Abana, and runs south as if trying to find an exit that way. In the great storm of 1839, in Britain, a small bell-tent, pitched on a gentleman’s lawn, near Belfast, was swept off by the wind, and was carried a distance of nearly fifty miles.
