Lepers

Jerusalem, Monday, March 10. 1856. — Rose a little after six, for a farewell walk to Bethany, as we are to leave for the north in the afternoon. The morning was cloudy, but not cold; and though rain threatened, no shower found its way down. Instead of going out at the Jaffa gate, which was the nearest, I turned to the left, keeping within the walls, and passing along the well-paved court of the Armenian Convent, I soon found myself at the houses of the lepers, from which, turning to the right, I made my way out by the Zion-gate, which is hard by these wretched dwellings of disease. These poor creatures are not confined either to their houses or to their special quarter of the city. At whatever hour we might happen to go out at the Jaffa-gate, we were sure to find some of them sitting on the heaps of rubbish that line the road which leads dowrn into the valley. They looked very miserable, ill-THE LEPERS.

clad, and sickly, as well as wasted in face, or foot, or hand. They did seem very loathsome, and often reminded us of the scriptural allusions to this disease, which of all others is the saddest, but fullest type of the infinite evil, SIN. They were certainly in a sense “without the camp” (Lev. xiii. 46); for their huts were against the wall close by the gate, and they in begging alms always sat outside. But there was no covering ol their upper lip; their heads were not bare; their clothes, though ragged, were not exactly “rent and their cry was not, ‘’unclean, unclean,” but “backshish, backshish,” In former times their abodes seem to have been much in the same situation as at present; for in the narrative of the siege of Samaria, we are told “there were four leprous men at the entering in of the gate’ (2 Kings vii. 3) ;* and, in our Lord’s journey to Jerusalem, we read that as he entered into a certain village there met him ten men that were lepers” (Luke xvh 12).

Passing down Mount Zion, and crossing the Kedron near Absalom’s pillar. I was soon the way to Bethany, noticing again on the ngnt the withered fig-tree which had already attracted my eye. I soon reached Bethany, but did not enter it, not wishing to encounter either its dogs or its dirt. My eye wandered over all parts of it, and marked the varied hill-slopes which rise around, as

* Of these four lepers, perhaps Gehazi was one, and the events which followed might bring about his introduction to the king, mentioned in the next chapter. well as the thickly planted fruit-trees in which it is embowered. I have looked on it from all sides now, and seen it in all varieties of light and shade; in sunrise, noon, and sunset; veiled with the cloud or basking in the sun; and in each of these it presents the same aspect of lonely beauty. It is the perfection of retirement and repose. I have seen nothing before or since at all to be compared with it, save Nazareth, which, in some respects, is not unlike it. Before leaving, I went to the old high ruin called the house of Lazarus, and there stood for a little, marking the different parts of the house, and picking up the wild-flowers that grew amid the ruins. Leaving this house, I struck upwards through some fields, or rather orchards, where I gathered a few olive-leaves and almond-blossoms, to preserve, in after years, the memory of the scene. Then, taking a last look of Bethany, I hastened downward and soon struck into the old road. I meant to have made a complete farewell circuit of the different places within reach, going round by Siloam and Gethsemane. But the clouds threatened, and the morning was pretty far advanced. So I contented myself with a distant look, Gethsemane farthest off. Siloam and the King’s gardens nearer at hand. I bade them all farewell, and again ascending the hill, returned, as I went out, by the Zion gate, about half-past eight.

The forenoon was spent in packing and in paying some last visits. Leaving J erusalem is like leaving home.

At three o’clock, Mr Poynder and I were ready to GLOOM OVER JERUSALEM.

start. We set out (Mr Valentiner accompanying us), leaving the others to follow, as we supposed, with the dragoman, and expecting to reach El-Bireh about five, where we are told our tents, which left some hours ago, are to be pitched for the night. We turn our faces northwards, and passing by the tombs of the Kings, we ascend the slope of Scopus.* The afternoon is gloomy, and the sky heavy, but there are no mists to bar the view on any side. Once and again we turn round to gaze on the scene which we are leaving. The sunshine is shut out from it, and it looks sad. The clouds hang thickly over it, not in belts or masses, with blue between, but in one low smothering stretch of curtain, which throws its gloom upon roof and wall, till the city seems more like a grave-yard than the abode of living men, and an air of still melancholy shades the features of the “joyous city,”

To the right, the far ridges of Moab looked like hills of sackcloth, and the nearer mount of Olives more disconsolate than ever. To the left, Nebi Samuel rose in spectral isolation, and to the south, Rephaim stretched away in gloomy level, half-hid by the battlements of the city. The ridge of Mar Elias of course shut out Bethlehem, but we

* We had meant to visit Lifta or Lifteh, not far off, as the map shews. This is generally identified with Nephtoah (Josh. xv. 9). I rather look on it as the ancient Eleph, mentioned in connection with Jerusalem, Josh, xviii. 28. “Zelah, Eleph, and Jebusi.” Zelah may be the modern Selam (Wady) near Anata. This assumes no greater transformation of name than that of Shi’.oh into Seiiun, or Jezreel into Zerin. could guess where it lay, not far out of sight. It might be that our feelings threw a double shadow over the scene; but the day was of that silent dulness which could not fail to give a peculiar aspect to each object around.

Here we stood in silence, taking our last look of the wondrous city. We were Gentiles from a far land gazing on the desolations of a Jewish city. Yet where were the tokens of its J ewish origin? Nowhere. Cupolas and minarets, churches and mosques, all spoke of the Gentile, not of the Jew. Not a trace of Israel was there. No banner of any of the tribes floats yonder. “Overthrown by strangers,” is the doom written upon its walls. (Isa. i. 7.)

Over these walls the Jew from the far land comes to mourn; nor is he too proud to shew his grief; or rather his grief is too great to be hidden. Besides, he can afford to humble himself thus publicly, for the very humiliation is the witness of mighty days and deeds, as well as the anticipation of things mightier still. Other nations hide their grief, and try to forget their calamities. Assyria has buried hers, for disasters are not written on her cylinders or obelisks. Egypt has done the same. They cannot afford so to humble themselves. Israel only keeps public record of his darkest reverses; and the fatal “ninth of Ab” is celebrated as duly, as if it were the anniversary of some noble victory.*

* The ninth of Ab or tenth of August is said to be the day of the destruction of the temple by Nebuchadnezzar, the day of its destruction by Titus, the day of the slaughter of 600,000 Jews by Hadrian. See Hebrew Keview, vol. ii. p. 288; vol. iii. p. 88.

SCOPUS iND ITS BATTLES.

But the day is far spent, so we must move on. Yet this seems hard to do. Another and another look! “The eye is not satisfied with seeing.” At last we turn round, and ride slowly down the slope that hides J erusalem from view.

No man who has visited Jerusalem will ever forget his first look of it or his last.

We now passed into the large hollow on the other side of Scopus. How well fitted for the encampment of a mighty army! It is spacious, and defended by rising grounds. On many accounts it is just such a spot as a skilful general wTould fix upon for his legions. How often in the course of our stay in Jerusalem, had we gazed upon this hill and tried to imagine the scenes of skirmish and battle that had taken place upon its side or at its foot! Up and down its grey slopes the waves of war had flowed and reflowed, month after month, reddening the soil. Never had Rome found such a vigour of endurance and resistance; never had a nation shewed such desperate strength of will, and such appalling bravery. Famine, faction, and the sword, had weakened, divided, decimated them; yet not a foot was yielded, and not a cheek grew pale. Walls fell, towers were sapped, ramparts were scaled, the legions poured in like the full tide; yet, in the midst of fire, and smoke, and ruin, and blood, stood the gaunt remnant; and the unmailed Jew, weary with fight and watching, wasted with famine and woe, once and again cleared the breach of the foe, and swept back, as with the rush of the hurricane, the mailed legions of Italy to their camp upon the wellrknown hill, till even the hardiest general spoke of raising the siege, and retiring before a race of men so reckless of life and so devoid of fear.

It is plain, even from the account of Josephus, who does not favour nor flatter his countrymen, that the Roman soldiers were thoroughly terrified by the bravery of the Jews, and that, had it not been for Titus, they would have fled from Jerusalem again, as they had already done sometime before, under Cestius.

As we moved slowly onwards, we saw ruins in several places; to our left, the village of Shafat (which perhaps may be Mizpeh), with old relics scattered round, and further on, to our right, a hill called, like many places both in Syria and the desert, “the hill of beans,” Tuleil el-Ful, on which there is a mound of rubbish, the remains of some old buildings. This seems to be Gibeah of Benjamin, called also Gibeah of Saul, as being the birthplace of that king and the seat of his government; at least it corresponds with the position which history gives to Gibeah; but the non-coincidence of the names rather puzzles one.*

Had not the lateness of the hour hindered, we should

* See Robinson, vol. i. 577, 573. Dr Stewart gives Dr Barclay as the suggester of this site. Tent and Khan, p. 359, 360. At p. 359 Dr S. has overlooked the Hebrew word for “carnages,” (in Isaiah x. 28), which does not refer to chariots but baggage, or literally, “vessels.” We remember many years ago noticing Rae Wilson’s similar oversight in regard to Acts xxi. 15. The “carriages” of Isa. xlvi. 1 are “loads” or” packages,*’ See the original; and also Alexander on the passage.

KHAN AND WELL.

have taken on our way, both Tuleil el-Ful, and, a mite and half eastward of it, Anata, Jeremiah’s city, “poor Anathoth” (Isa. x. SO). A little farther north, we might have seen Er-Ram, the ancient Ramah of Benjamin (Josh, xviii. 25).*

We came, about half-past five, to a ruined khan, with a reservoir beside it; one of the many wells or cisterns which have given name to the place for which we are making. Here we find a portion of the American party, Mr and Mrs Prime, and Mr Whitney. They have been waiting for the arrival of their dragoman and Mr Righter,-f- and are glad now to proceed without delay to El-Bireh, where they, as wTell as we, expect to rest for the night.

For some little time we had seen before us, on the top of the ridge, the village of Bireh or d-Bireh, that is “the well,” where we expected to find our tents. Thinking ourselves in good time to reach them long before dark, wre made no haste; and a little before sunset we found ourselves ascending the rocky slope which the white village crowns. A few minutes more brought

* In Dr Robinson’s map of the environs of Jerusalem, within a mile of el-Bireh is a place marked ez Zuweikeh, which in another place he calls Suweilceh, (vol. i. 575). It may be asked, is not this, perhaps, the Sechu mentioned 1 Sam. six. 22,” the great well that is in Sechu V Shechu is not necessarily the same as Socoh or Shocoh, as is generally supposed; and it is mentioned in connection with Ramah. The only difficulty is as to which Ramah is meant y

f Mr Righter was an American missionary at Constantinople. He died some months after at Diarbeker. He was a man that won our esteem at once, by his Christian simplicity find unfeig-ned piety. us into Bireh, where we found less than the usual amount of dogs, and children, and gazing fellahin. Its height perhaps keeps it cleaner, and gives it a purer air. It is well placed both for strength and beauty, commanding no inconsiderable range of view. It was the Beevoih of the ancient Gibeonites ;* the most eastern of their four cities; and though inferior to Gibeon, the capital of that wily tribe, it must have been a place of no mean importance and strength. Besides riding through it, I rode up to what seemed the highest part, where, free from the interruption of houses, I got a view, not only of the village, but of the surrounding country. There is no other village in sight, and Jerusalem is shut out by the intervening ridges. Yet the valley beneath looks well, though treeless and stony, save in the neigbourhood of the village, where cultivation shews itself. The afternoon had been brightening since we left Jerusalem, and the setting sun, disengaging itself from the masses of western cloud, was in some measure relieving the bleakness that hung over these forsaken heights. Still the general tinge was a melancholy one, j3roduced, in part perhaps, by the chill shadows of the evening. Crowds of worshippers going up to the passover had once been seen crossing this height; Assyrian and Roman armies had filled that hollow; but now there is not one stray villager or traveller, as far as the eye can stretch.

* Jush. ix 17; xviii. 21, 25. There is no proof that it was the Deer to which Jotbam fled, Judges ix. 21.

In vain we looked round for our tents. Nowhere can they be found. We began to blame ourselves for leaving the city without our dragoman, or rather to blame our dragoman for remaining behind, on business or pleasure of his own. Still, as we had Abd el-Atih, the dragoman of our American friends with us, we were not much troubled, and resolved to push on, hoping to find our tents at Beitin (Bethel), a few miles off.

The road gets very rocky after leaving Bireh; or rather there is no road at all. You have to leave your surefooted horse to pick his steps among stones and boulders, without number, and of all sizes. Sometimes we went over one of the rock-strewn eminences, then we went down into a hollow, then we wound round the shoulder of a hill, then we passed along a more level but equally rocky surface. Jacob certainly would be at no loss for a pillow here.

We soon reach the ruins of Beitin, the ancient Bethaven or Bethel,; and, somewhere on the road, we must have passed the site of the palm-tree of Deborah, where she judged Israel, and which was “between Raman and Bethel in Mount Ephraim,” (Judges iv. 5). The last rays of twilight are still lingering to shew us the fields of debris on our right, with the old castle, the Burj -Beitin, rising like a sepulchral monument out of the midst of them, and planted gloomily in relief against the dim blue of the eastern horizon. We could not see clearly; but we had sufficient light to shew us the wild and stony desolation that spreads itself over these old mountain-heights, which are associated in our minds with so man of the histories of Scripture, both the evil and the good, both the true worship and the dark idolatry of the nation. To the natural wildness of the scene, the darkening twilight added a gloom, not unsuited to the place, and its ages of varied remembrances. Ai, Migron, Ophra, and “the rock Rimmon,” all lay near at hand, each with a story of its own to add to the crowd of memories that cover the spot.* As we wind our difficult way amid these grey blocks, the twilight passes into moonlight, and the stars wake up one by one, according to their brightness; for the moon is but in her first quarter, giving us a sufficient measure of light, yet not obscuring her fellows, as her fair crescent glides along the hill-tops that rise up on our left. Moonlight upon Bethel! Nothing could have better suited the story of these old ruins, with their mingled light and shade. They seemed like islands of silver in a sea of gloom.

Here we had certainly expected to find our tents. But no light appears, no gleam of canvas in the moonshine. We shout, but no answer comes. We are weary,

* A little way eastward of Beitin is Makhrun, which is not unlikely to be the Migron of Isa. x. 28; and also of 1 Sam. xiv. 2. In this latter passage it is said to be in the “uttermost part of Gibeah,” or “the extremity of the mountain,” in which or near which was a famous pomegranate- tree in Migron. From this pomegranate-tree (Rimmon) the rock Rimmon, I suppose, took its name; so that Migron and the rock Rimmon must have been near each other. Dr Robinson finds Rimmon in Rummon, a few miles east of Beitin. vol. i. p. 440.

WANDERING IN SEARCH OF TENTS.

and it is getting late; but we must move on. We fear that we may have passed them. But Abd-el-Atih is satisfied that we have not, and leads us on. Up hill and down we went, the road not improving. We passed the village of Ain-Yebrud; dogs barking, and a light or two faintly gleaming on the slope above us. The country now gets very rich, and we longed for daylight to shew us fully the noble groves of olives, figs, sycamores, and pomegranates through which we were passing, and with which hill and dale seemed clothed; for the region, though fruitful, continued as hilly as before. Having descended into a beautiful grassy hollow beyond Ain Yebrud, covered with large olives, and apparently well watered, we looked about for our tents, for it was just such a place as we might have expected to find them in. But no tents are here. Abd-el-Atih takes it very quietly, and moves on, comforting us with the assurance that we shall find them at the next station, which is only an hour distant. An hour! But it is now half-past eight; the moon has set; the road gets worse; and we have not dined, nor had anything to eat since we left Jerusalem. We begin to fear that we have really passed our tents by the way, or that they have gone on to Nablus, and that we shall have either to follow them right on till four in the morning, or take shelter under some of the rocks upon our way. Unfortunately our wrappers are with our tents, so that we shall have a hard bed and a thin covering, with perhaps enough of dew to drench us well. Yet, after all, it did not seem so very hard a lot to lie down and sleep where Jacob had done the same, and to rest for a single night upon such sacred ground, and beneath the curtain of these benignant heavens.

Our horses have not yet failed us, nor have they once stumbled, in spite of the darkness, and the roughness of the wray, though they seem plunging over mounds or through hollows of loose debris, which crackles beneath their flat iron hoofs, and into which they sink at every step above the fetlock. We are now evidently in a valley, and our road is the bed of a torrent, thick-laid with rounded stones, great and small. It is hard toil this, both for man and beast, specially in the darkness of night. Yet, through the preserving mercy of Him who slumbers not, we are borne safely along, — till at a bend of the wady, a gleam bursts upon us. Is it another village, or our tents? Five minutes of suspense are all. The gleams multiply and move about. In a few minutes our servants are at our sides with the fenusses. Gladly we leap from our ponies, stiff and chill. Our resting-place is A in-el-Haramiyah. Comfortable did our tents seem that night; and how pleasant it was to give thanks to our protecting God. It was now a little after nine; and in less than half-an-hour, Mr Poynder and I sat down to our late dinner; neither Mr Wright nor Mr Beddome having arrived. After waiting a little, we concluded that they had remained in Jerusalem all night, and meant to join us next day at Nablus. We were wrong. They had set out and

MR BEDDOME’s NARRATIVE.

were benighted. But it will be best to let them tell their own story, which Mr Beddome has so well done in the following pages, that I gladly insert it here, both because of its interest, and also tp complete the narrative of this night’s adventures.

Monday, 10th March. — This was the day of our departure from Jerusalem, and the morning was occupied in preparations for the journey, and taking leave of our friends on Mount Zion.

About two o’clock in the afternoon our servants were sent forward with the tents and baggage, with orders to encamp for the night at Beeroth. Dr Bonar and Mr Poynder followed soon afterwards, leaving Mr Wright and myself, with the dragoman, to finish our packing.

After various delays, Hadji Ismael came to tell us that he could not complete his arrangements till the next day, and proposed that we should go on with two of the muleteers, and that he would join us at Xablous, our next encampment. We did not like the prospect of travelling alone with these guides, but the dragoman assured us there was no danger, and that we should soon overtake the rest of our party.

It was about an hour before sunset when we passed out of the Bethlehem gate, and struck into the road which winds along the eastern slope of the upper Pool of Gihon. One of the muleteers, a tall powerful Arab, named Assaad, now took the lead, mounted on a mule; the other a Nubian, followed behind us, driving a donkey laden with some of the baggage. Leaving on our left the road which leads to the ancient Gibeon, we took a north-easterly direction, and for rather more than half an hour, Jerusalem was still in sight. Again, and again, we turned our horse’s heads to gaze, as for the last time, upon the city. It was an impressive sight, and one never to he forgotten. The white domes of the houses, now gilded by the rays of the setting sun, stood out in hold relief against the dark background of hills; and far in the distance was stretched the long blue range of Moah. But night was drawing on, and we must proceed. Yellah, Yellah, (get on), (get on), shouted our Arab guide, and turning into the path again, we soon lost sight of Jerusalem. After three hours, Beeroth was to be seen on a high ridge of hills before us, and in an hour more, Ave were climbing the steep and rugged path which leads to the village. It was now quite dark, and we could see no tents. I was about to fire off my pistol as a signal to our friends, when Assaad placed his finger on his lips, and made signs that we should proceed; so, thinking that they had gone to Bethel, about two hours further, and hoping to find the tents there, we rode on again, Assaad leading the way as before. The path was now very rocky, and strewn with large stones, so that in the dark we had great difficulty in guiding our horses, and were often obliged to dismount, and lead them. The moon was up, and shed its welcome light on our path.

It was past nine o’clock when we began to toil up the steep ascent to Bethel; soon we could plainly hear the barking of dogs, a sign that the village was near. For a short time we had lost sight of Assaad, who had gone on in front, as we began to ascend the hill; now, he met us at the top, saying, Mafeesh, mafeesh, (nothing), (nothing). Certainly there were no tents to be seen; and we began to feel some alarm. It seemed unlikely that our friends should have gone beyond Bethel. We remembered now the mysterious signs made by Assaad, as we were passing Eeeroth, and we

MR BEDDOME’S NARRATIVE.

began to suspect that he had some design in leading us away from the tents. We dismounted, and sat down, thinking what to do next, when Assaad suddenly left us, and rode towards the village. In about a quarter of an hour he returned, and after some conversation with the Nubian, (which we could not understand), made signs that we should go further. We had now lost all confidence in our guides, and were inclined to return to Beeroth; but, thinking that Assaad had perhaps obtained information about our friends in the village, after much hesitation, we decided to place ourselves under his guidance. So, mounting our horses, we turn into the rocky path again. Assaad leads, and we follow, the Nubian coming behind. We begin to feel very tired and hungry. It is past ten o’clock, and as the moon has gone down, it will not be easy to guide our horses in such a road without its light.

As we rode on in silence, how often our thoughts went back to that time, when a solitary traveller from Beersheba, weary with his journey, lay down to rest on these hills, and anxious as we were about our safety that night, it was pleasant to think of those days, and that scene; and to remember that we too were cared for by Jacob’s God.

After about an hour, Assaad, who had been quickening his pace, suddenly stopped, and turning his mule, began to lead us back again; we were not able to ask the reason of this, “yellah,” “yellah,” (get on), (get on), shouted the Arab: we had no choice but to follow him. Soon he struck into another path leading off to the left of that by which we had come, and again pushed on in front. The Nubian now makes signs for us to stop, which we do, and in a short time Assaad returns with the same dreary intelligence as before, >: mafeesh,” “mafeesh.” We now give up all hope of finding the tents; it is nearly midnight, and quite dark, as

MR beddome’s narrative. 351

the moon lias long gone down. Our guides sit down on the ground, and seem to have lost all their energy. But something must he done, and we try by signs to let Assaad know that we want his advice. He seems to understand, and, pointing first to the ground, at the same time laying his head on his hand, and then to the sky, says “Nahlous bookrah,” (to-morrow). This evidently means that we are to sleep on the ground, and go on the next day to Nablous. However, we cannot make up our minds to do this. Then it is proposed to ride on all night to Nablous; but we had already been eight hours on the road, and nine more was almost too much for man and horse without food. At last we determine, if possible, to get shelter for the night, as we knew, by the barking of dogs, at frequent intervals after leaving Bethel, that we had passed several villagers.

We make signs to Assaad again, and he points to the hills before us, saying, “Ain Yebrucl Fellahin tayib,” by which we understood that we were near to the village of Ain Yebrud, and that the villagers were friendly. So mounting once more, we tell our guide to lead the way to the village. Our path now winds round the base of a steep hill, thickly wooded to the top with olive and fig trees. In about half-an-hour we ascend another hill; and in a few minutes more, Assaad stops before the door of a small hut in the village of Ain Yebmd. It is the house of the Sheikh; and here we are to find shelter for the night. Assaad dismounts, and begins shouting and knocking by turns for admission. ,Soon the Sheikh comes forward, and after some conversation with Assaad from within, the door is slowly opened, and he makes signs for us to enter. A small oil lamp is burning on the wall, by which we are able to take a hasty survey of the house and its inmates. A large mud floor, with a small recess at one side for the females, present

MR beddome’s narrative.

at one view the whole interior; the family had evidently retired to rest for the night; the Sheikh and his wife, who had risen to speak to our guide, were standing at the entrance; while from all parts of the floor, little faces are to he seen, staring in great astonishment at the “howajis”

Now. to our dismay, Assaad began driving the horses and donkeys in after us; we were going to remonstrate, but were relieved to see them driven into a lower chamber; then the Sheikh spread a mat in one corner of the room, and made signs that we should lie down; but we pointed to the smouldering fire and to our mouths, meaning that we were cold and hungry.

So, the horses having been attended to, and the baggage brought in, we all sit round the fire. Meanwhile, the Sheikh’s wife has brought out a large wooden bowl, and placing it in the centre of the room, begins kneading some flour. This was interesting to us, as an illustration of a Scripture custom. We had observed in the deseit, and afterwards in Palestine, that the people never keep their corn ground; and I was often reminded of Abraham’s charge to Sarah, when the angels arrived at his tent at Manire, i: Make ready three measures of meal.” It w.as now past midnight when our hostess had to go through the tedious operations of grinding and kneading, to provide for the wants of her unexpected guests.

Soon the children, who had been scanning us from all parts of the room, gather courage, come nearer and nearer, and at last sit down at the fire. One of the boys brings some wood, and throwing it on the hot ashes, we soon have a cheerful blaze. Our hospitable Sheikh now places before us some Arab bread and eggs; all that he has to offer, but very acceptable to us hungry travellers. An animated conversation ensues between the Sheikh and our guide, in the course of which we gather that our host and his family arc natives of Bethlehem. We had been previously struck by the beauty of the children, and their resemblance in features to those we had seen at Bethlehem.

After sitting about an hour, the Sheikh rises, and making signs that we should retire, he points to a mat in one corner of the room; on this we lie down, and he throws an Arab cloak over us, rather an unwelcome addition this, we thought, but we did not choose to give offence by refusing it.

We were not without fears, among such strange people, and in such a strange place. We doubted whether it would be safe to sleep; but there was something in the simple open manners of this villager of Bethlehem, which inspired us with confidence. I doubt, too, if, tired as we were that night, we had much will in the matter; so, placing our loaded pistols at hand, and committing ourselves to the care of One who never sleepeth, we were soon in a sound slumber.

As soon as the streaks of dawn came through the chinks of the roof, and the one solitary window, all the family were astir. The little Bethlehem boys came crowding round us, and wre were soon very good friends together. Mr Wright’s .skill as a Hakim seemed to be known, for one poor boy, whom we had not seen before, and who was afflicted with some cutaneous disease, was now brought to us by his mother. Mr Wright gave her some medicine, for which she seemed very grateful.

Before six o’clock our horses were brought to the door, and Assaad came to say that he was ready to start. We were anxious, if possible, to find our friends before the tents were struck; and it became necessary first to decide in what direction we should commence our search for them. Assaad insisted, for some time, that we should go on to Nablous;

MR BEDDOME’S NARRATIVE.

and, as it afterwards proved, we should have done well to have trusted implicitly to his guidance; but, being under a strong impression that we had passed the tents in the night, after some hesitation, we decided to retrace our steps to Beeroth.

Quitting Ain Yebrad, we took a more direct route to Beeroth than that by which we had come in the night. Soon we entered a deep valley or gorge in the hills; the road appeared to have been cut out of the solid rock, and it wras so smooth, that my horse fell more than once. It was about nine o’clock, wThenwe reached Beeroth, but there were no tents there, nor could w-e get any information about our friends from the villagers. We rested about an hour at the khan of the village, and obtained such refreshment as the Arabs could give. Now we had nine hours journey before us to Xablous, and as this was as much as we could accomplish before nightfall, we were soon in our saddles again. About mid-day we passed Ain Yebmd on our left, and descending the hill by a steep path, we halted at a well about a mile from the village. Many women had come down to the well; some were washing clothes by beating them with sticks on large stones; others were filling their earthen pitchers with water, and raising them to their heads by the help of their companions. It was a scene full of interest to us, as calling up many an incident of patriarch allife. The country immediately surrounding this village is in a high state of cultivation now. During the morning wTe passed through many olive and fig plantations, and saw the vines growing luxuriantly on the hillside. There was an air of active industry about the people in the villages of this district, which I observed no where else in Palestine. The ancient terraces which are to be seen on almost every hillside between Hebron and Galilee, and which are g?nQrally

MR BEDDOMF/S NARRATIVE.

lying neglected without any signs of cultivation, were here planted with vines, fig-trees, and olives. Some of these terraces were being prepared for the young trees, at the time we passed through Ain Yebrud. The stones were collected together in heaps, leaving a rich mould of a dark-red colour, very like that to be seen in our own country, in parts of Devonshire.

Soon after quittng Ain Yebrud, we overtook a large drove of asses, laden with sacks of corn and fruits, and attended by about a dozen Arabs. Assaad told us they were going to Nablous, with provisions for the Latin convent; and as they seemed to be friendly with our guides, we determined to keep them company the rest of the way. At the same time we were joined by another of our dragoman’s muleteers, who had been sent forward with Mr Graham’s baggage. Our path now became very rugged, and sometimes the horses could hardly keep their footing. We passed many villages, and almost every hill top was marked by ruins as the site of some ancient city.

After about three hours our path descended upon a wide plain called Wady el Lubban. At the north-west end of it, and at a considerable elevation, is the village of Lubban, believed to be the ancient Lebonah of Scripture. “We had just entered the path which descends to this plain, when we became aware that our Arab horseman was following us at full gallop; he pulled up suddenly when he had overtaken the foremost of our party, and kept with us till we had reached the plain, lie was well mounted, and fully armed, carrying the long spear used by the Jordan Arabs. Not a word is spoken, but it is quite evident with what feelings the new comer is regarded. Hitherto the party had been straggling along the path, but now all draw up closely together, and each one takes the precaution of keeping near

MR BLDDOME S NATtEATiVE.

to his neighbour. We had been told at Jerusalem that the tribes east of the Jordan frequently make incursions on the inhabitants of the western bank, at the beginning of barley harvest, in search of plunder. Doubtless the Arab had come to reconnoitre our party, but we were well armed; for which reason, probably on this as on other occasions, we were unmolested. At the bottom of the hill he left us, and galloped quickly away

We had quitted the territory of Benjamin, and were now in that of Ephraim. For more than an hour our way lay across the Wady el Lubban. It is well cultivated; millet and Indian corn being the chief productions. From this valley we were ushered into an extensive plain, reaching eight or ten miles northward, and in breadth three or four, and bounded on either side by ranges of lofty hills. We came upon several villages at the entrance to this plain larger than those we had passed before. Crossing the plain, we made our way close under the western range. We had been nearly twelve hours on horseback, and it was now quite dark; yet we knew by the map that we were still some distance from Nablous. All seemed to feel the fatigues of the day, and we rode on in silence for the next two hours, broken only at intervals by the droning song of the Arabs. At such a time, and in such scenes, one’s thoughts go back to the past, and as I looked on that long line of asses laden with sacks, and driven by old grey-bearded Arabs, I often thought of Joseph’s brethren as they travelled, in just the same way, from Egypt to their home in Canaan.

After about two hours we enter another smaller valley lying east and west; on either side rise the lofty mountains of Ebal and Gerizim; we could not be far now from Jacobs well, but it is too dark to see anything. Proceeding along this valley, about a mile and a half, we enter Nablous, the Sychar of Scripture.

Threading our way through a labyrinth of small streets, we draw up at the gate of the Latin convent. After knocking for some time a door is opened, and our friends pass in one by one with their sacks of corn, and the door is closed again. Assaad now leads the way through the city, and at the other side in a grove of olive-trees, to our great joy, we find the tents. It was indeed a welcome sight to us, who had been fifteen hours in the saddle that day. Our friends were as much surprised as amused to hear of our adventures, having supposed that we had remained with the dragoman at Jerusalem.

It appeared that they had pitched the tents the previous night some little distance beyond Ain Yebmd, so that, had we followed Assaad’s advice, we should have found them before breakfast time in the morning.

However, we had much cause to be thankful in looking back on the events of those two days; and such mishaps, though unpleasant at the time, afford to the traveller a pleasurable retrospect afterwards.