 Chapter 8 of A Visit to the Holy Land, Egypt and Italy, Part I, by Ida L. Pfeiffer. On the 2nd of June I rode in the company of Counts Berktold and Salem Riferscheit and Potter-Paul to Bethlehem. Although on account of the bad roads we were obliged to ride nearly the whole distance at a foot pace, it does not take more than an hour and a half to accomplish the journey. The view we enjoy during this excursion is as grand as it is peculiar. So far as the eye can reach it rests upon stone, the ground is entirely composed of stones, and yet between the rocky interstices grow fruit trees of all kinds, and grapevines trail along, besides fields whose productions force their way upwards from the shingly soil. I had already wondered when I saw the karst near Trieste and the desert region of Gorse, but these sink into insignificance when compared to the scenery of the Judean mountains. It is difficult to conceive how these regions can ever have been smiling and fertile. Doubtless they have appeared to better advantage than at the present period when the poor inhabitants are ground to the bone by their pashas and officers, but I do not think that meadows and woods can ever have existed here to any extent. On the way we pass a well surrounded by blocks of stone. At this well the wise men from the east rested, and here the guiding star appeared to them. Midway between Jerusalem and Bethlehem lies the Greek convent dedicated to the prophet Elijah. From hence we can see both towns, on the one hand the spacious Jerusalem, and on the other the humble Bethlehem, with some small villages scattered round it. On the right we pass Rachel's grave, a ruined building with a small cupola. Bethlehem lies on a hill, surrounded by several others, with the exception of the convent it contains not a single handsome building. The inhabitants, half of whom are Catholics, muster about twenty-five hundred strong. Many live in grottoes and semi-subterranean domiciles, cutting out garlands and other devices in mother of pearl, etc. The number of houses does not exceed a hundred at the most, and the poverty here seems excessive. For nowhere have I been so much pestered with beggar children as in this town. Hardly has the stranger reached the convent gates before these urchins are seen rapidly approaching from all quarters. One rushes forward to hold the horse, while a second grasps the stirrup, a third and a fourth present their arm to help you dismount, and in the end the whole swarm unanimously stretch forth their hands for bucksheesh. In cases like these it is quite necessary to come furnished either with a multiplicity of small coins, or with a riding whip, in order to be delivered in one way or another from the horrible importunity of the diminutive mob. It is very fortunate that the horses are perfectly accustomed to such scenes, where this not the case they would take fright and gallop headlong away. The little convent and church are both situated near the town, and are built on the spot where the Saviour was born. The whole is surrounded by a strong fortress wall, a very low, narrow gate forming the entrance. In front of this fortress extends a handsome, well-paved area. So soon as we have passed through the little gate we find ourselves in the courtyard, or rather in the nave of the church, which is unfortunately more than half destroyed, but must once have been eminent both for its size and beauty. Some traces of mosaic can still be detected on the walls. Two rows of high, handsome pillars, forty-eight in number, intersect the interior, and the beamwork, said to be of cedar wood from Lebanon, looks almost new. If the high altar of this great church is the grotto in which Christ was born. Two staircases lead downwards to it. One of the staircases belongs to the Armenians, the other to the Greeks. The Catholics have none at all. Both the walls and the floor are covered with marble slabs. A marble tablet with the inscription, Hic de Vergen Maria Hesu Christus Natus est, marks the spot whence the true light shone abroad over the world. A figure of a beaming sun, which receives its light from numerous lamps kept continually burning, is placed in the background of this tablet. The spot where our savor was shown to the worshipping Magi is but a few paces distant. An altar is erected opposite, on the place where the manger stood in which the shepherds found our Lord. The manger itself is deposited in the Basilica Santa Maria Magiore in Rome. This altar belongs to the Roman Catholics. A little door, quite in the background of the grotto, leads to a subterranean passage, communicating with the convent and the Catholic chapel. In this passage another altar has been erected to the memory of the innocents slaughtered and buried here. Moving along the passage we come upon the grave of Saint Paula and her daughter Eustatia on one side, and that of Saint Heronimus on the other. The body of the latter is, however, deposited at Rome. Like the Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, this great church at Bethlehem belongs at once to the Catholics, the Armenians, and the Greeks. Each of these sects has built for itself a little convent adjoining the church. After spending at least a couple of hours here we rode two miles farther towards Mount Hebron. At the foot of this mountain we turn off to the left towards the three cisterns of Solomon. These reservoirs are very wide and deep, hewn out of the rock and still partially covered with a kind of cement, resembling marble in its consistency and polish. We descended into the third of these cisterns. It was about five hundred paces long, four hundred broad, and a hundred deep. Not one of these cisterns now contains water. The aqueducts which once communicated with them have entirely vanished. A single rivulet across which one may easily step flows besides these giant reservoirs. The region all around is barren in the extreme. On returning to our convent at about two o'clock to partake of our frugal but welcome meal, we were surprised to find that another party of travelers, Franks like ourselves, had arrived. The newcomers proved to be Count Zeishi and Count Vratislav, who had traveled from Vienna to Cairo in company with Counts Berkthold and Sollum Reiferscheit. At the last mentioned place the Voyagers parted company, one party proceeding to Jerusalem by way of Alexandria, Damietta, and Japa, while the other bent their course across the burning sands of Africa towards Mount Sinai, and thence continued their journey to Jerusalem by land. Here at length they had the pleasure of meeting once more. A great and general rejoicing in which we all joined was the consequence of this event. After dinner we once more visited all the holy places in company of the newcomers. We afterwards went to the so-called milk grotto, distant about half a mile from the convent. In this grotto there is nothing to be seen but a simple altar, before which lights are continually burning. It is not locked and every passer-by is at liberty to enter. The place is held sacred not only by the Christians but also by the Turks, who bring many a cruise of oil to fill the lamps after they have cleaned them. In this grotto the holy family concealed themselves before the flight into Egypt, and the Virgin for a long time nourished the infant Jesus with her milk, from which circumstance the grotto derives its name. The women in the neighborhood believe that if they feel unwell during the time they are nursing their children they have merely to scrape some of the sand from the rocks in this grotto and to take it as a powder to regain their health. Half a mile from this grotto we were shown the field in which the angel appeared to announce the birth of the Redeemer to the shepherds. But our newly arrived friends were not able to visit this spot. They were feigned to content themselves with a distant view as it was high time to think of our return. St. John's On the fourth of June I rode out, accompanied by a guide to the birthplace of St. John the Baptist, distant about four miles from Jerusalem. The way to this convent lies through the Bethlehem Gate, opposite the convent of the Holy Cross, a building supposed to stand on the site where the wood was felled for our Savior's Cross. Not far off the place was pointed out to me where a battle was fought between the Israelites and the Philistines, and where David slew Goliath. Situated in a rocky valley, the convent of St. John's is, like all the monasteries in these lands, surrounded by very strong walls. The church of the convent is erected on the spot where the house of Zacharias once stood, and a chapel commemorates the place where St. John first beheld the light. The ascent to this chapel is by a staircase, where a round tablet of stone bears the inscription, Hic Precursor Dominic Christi Natus Est. Many events of the prophet's life are here portrayed by sculptures in white marble. About a mile from the convent we find the grotto of visitation, where St. Mary met St. Elizabeth. The remains of the latter are interred here. On the very first day of my arrival at Jerusalem I had made some observations during a visit to the church of St. Francis, which gave me anything but a high opinion of the behavior of the Catholics here. This unfavorable impression was confirmed by subsequent visits to this church, so that at length I felt obliged to tell Father Paul that I would rather pray at home than among people who seem to attend to anything rather than their devotions. My Frankish costume seemed to be such a stumbling block in the eyes of these people that at length the priest came to me and requested that I would make an alteration in my dress, or at any rate exchange my straw hat for a veil in which I could muffle my head and face. I promised to discard the obnoxious hat and to wear a hanker shift round my head when I attended church, but refused to muffle my face, and begged the Reverend Gentleman to inform my fellow worshipers that this was the first time such a thing had been required of a Frankish woman, and that I thought they would be more profitably employed in looking at their prayer books than at me, for that he whom we go to church to adore is not a respecter of outward things. In spite of this remonstrance their behavior remained the same, so that I was compelled almost to discontinue attending public worship. On great festival days the high altar of the Church of St. Francis is very profusely decorated. It is, in fact, almost overloaded with ornament and sparkles and glitters with the most dazzling brilliancy. Enumerable candles display the luster of gold and precious stones. Foremost among the costly ornaments appear a huge gold monstrance presented by the King of Naples, and two splendid candelabra, a gift of the Imperial House of Austria. I happened one day to pass a house, from within which a great screaming was to be heard. On inquiring of my companion what was the matter, I was informed that some person had died in that house the day before, and that the sound I heard was the wail of the mourning women. I requested admission to the room where the deceased lay. Had it not been for the circumstance that a few pictures of saints and a crucifix decorated the walls, I could never have imagined that the dead man was a Catholic. Several mourning women sat near the corpse, uttering every now and then such frantic yells that the neighborhood rang with their din. In the intervals between these demonstrations they sat comfortably regaling themselves with coffee, after a little time they would again raise their horrible cry. I had seen enough to feel excessively disgusted, and so went away. I was also fortunate enough to visit a newly married pair. The bride was gorgeously dressed in a silk undergarment, wide trousers of peach blossom satin, and a caftan of the same material, a rich shawl encircled her waist, and on her feet she wore boots of yellow Morocco leather the slippers had been left according to the Turkish fashion at the entrance of the chamber. An ornamental headdress of rich gold brocade and fresh flowers completed the bride's attire. Her hair, arranged in a number of thin plates and decorated with coins, fell down upon her shoulders, and on her neck glittered several rows of dukets and larger gold pieces. Costumes of this kind are only seen in the family circle and on the occasion of some great event. Seldom or never are strange men allowed to behold the ladies in their gorgeous apparel, so that it is fruitless to expect to see picturesque female costumes in the public places of the East. After the marriage ceremony, which is always performed during the forenoon, the young wife is compelled to sit for the remainder of the day in a corner of the room with her face turned towards the wall. She is not allowed to answer any question put by her husband, her parents, or by any one whatever. Still less is she permitted to offer a remark herself. This silence is intended to typify the bride's sorrow at changing her condition. During my visit the bridegroom sat next to his bride, vainly endeavouring to lure a few words from her. On my rising to depart, the young wife inclined her head towards me, but without raising her eyes from the ground. End of Section 15. In Jerusalem almost all the women and girls wear veils when they go abroad. It was only in church and in their own houses that I had an opportunity of fairly seeing these hoories. Among the girls I found many an interesting head, but the women who have attained the age of twenty-six or twenty-eight years already look worn and ugly, so that here, as in all tropical countries, we behold a great number of very plain faces, among which handsome ones shine forth at long intervals like meteors. Thin people are rarely met with in Syria. On the contrary, even the young girls are frequently decidedly stout. Not far from the bazaar is a great hall, wherein the Turks hold their judicial sittings, decide disputes, and pass sentences on criminals. Some ordinary-looking divans are placed around the interior of this hall, and in one corner a wooden cell, about ten feet long, six feet wide, and eight feet high, has been erected. This cell, furnished with a little door and a grated hole by way of a window, is intended for the reception of the criminal during his period of punishment. Throughout the thirteen days I passed at Jerusalem I did not find the heat excessive. The thermometer generally stood in the shade at from twenty degrees to twenty-two degrees, and in the sun at twenty-eight degrees, rimmer, very seldom reaching thirty degrees. Fruit I saw none, with the exception of the little apricots called mish-mish, which are not larger than a walnut, but nevertheless have a very fine flavor. It is a pity that the inhabitants of these countries contribute absolutely nothing towards the cultivation and improvement of their natural productions. If they would but exert themselves, many a plant would doubtless flourish luxuriously. But here the people do not even know how to turn these gifts to advantage which nature has bestowed upon them in rich profusion, and of superior quality, for instance, olives. Worse oil can hardly be procured than that which they give you in Syria. The Syrian oil and olives can scarcely be used by Europeans. The oil is of a perfectly green color, thick and disgusting alight to the smell and taste. The olives are generally black, a consequence of the negligent manner in which they are prepared. The same remark holds good with regard to the wine, which would be of excellent quality if the people did but understand the proper method of preparing it, and of cultivating the vineyards. At present, however, they adulterate their wine with a kind of herb, which gives it a very sharp and disagreeable taste. On the whole the neighborhood of Jerusalem is very desolate, barren and sterile. I found the town itself neither more nor less animated than most Syrian cities. I should depart from truth, if I were to say, with many travelers that it appeared as though a peculiar curse rested upon this city. The whole of Judea is a stony country, and this region contains many places with environs as rugged and barren as those of Jerusalem. Birds and butterflies are rarely seen at the present season of the year, not only in the neighborhood of Jerusalem, but throughout the whole of Syria. Where indeed could a butterfly or bee find nourishment, while not a flower nor a blade of grass shoots up from the stony earth? And a bird cannot live where there are neither seeds nor insects, but must soar away across the seas to cooler and more fertile climes. Not only here, but throughout the whole of Syria, I missed the delightful minstrels of the air. The sparrow alone can find sustenance everywhere, for he lives in towns and villages wherever man is seen. A whole flock of these little twittering birds woke me every morning. I was as yet much less troubled by insects than I had anticipated, with the exception of the small flies on the plane of Sharon and of certain little sable jumpers which seemed naturalized throughout the whole world, I could not complain of having been annoyed by any creature. Our common houseflies I saw everywhere, but they were not more numerous or more troublesome than in Germany. To travel with any degree of security in Palestine, Phoenicia, et cetera, it is necessary to go in large companies, and in some places it even becomes advisable to have an escort. The stranger should further be provided with cooking utensils, provisions, tents, and servants. To provide all these things would have been a hopeless task for me. I had, therefore, resolved to return from Jerusalem as I had come, namely via Joppa, and so to proceed to Alexandria or Beirut, when luckily for me the gentleman whom I have already mentioned arrived at Jerusalem. They intended making several excursions by land, and the first of these was to be a trip to the banks of the Jordan and to the Dead Sea. I ardently wished to visit these places, and therefore begged the gentleman through Father Paul to permit my accompanying them on their arduous journey. The gentlemen were of the opinion that their proposed tour would be too fatiguing for one of my sex, and seemed disinclined to accede to my request. But then Count Vratislav took my part, and said that he had watched me during our ride from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, and had noticed that I wanted neither courage, skill, nor endurance, so that they might safely take me with them. Father Paul immediately came to me with the joyful intelligence that I was to go, and that I had nothing to do but to provide myself with a horse. He particularly mentioned how kindly Count Vratislav, to whom I still feel obliged, had interested himself in my behalf. The journey to the Jordan and the Dead Sea should never be undertaken by a small party. The best and safest course is to send for some Arab or Bedouin chiefs, either at Jerusalem or Bethlehem, and to make a contract with them for protection. In consideration of a certain tribute these chiefs accompany you in person, with some of their tribe, to your place of destination and back again. The Counts paid the two chiefs three hundred piestras, with the traveling expenses for themselves and their twelve men. At three o'clock in the afternoon of the seventh of June our calvocade started. The caravan consisted of the four Counts, Mr. Bartlett, a certain Baron Vrade, two doctors and myself, besides five or six servants, and the two chiefs with the bodyguard of twelve Arabs. All were strongly armed with guns, pistols, swords, and lances, and we really looked as though we sallied forth with the intention of having a sharp skirmish. Our way lay through the Via de la Rosa and through St. Stephen's Gate, past the Mount of Olives over Hillendale. Everywhere the scene was alike barren. At first we still saw many fruit trees and olive trees in bloom, and even vines, but of flowers or grass there was not a trace. The trees, however, stood green and fresh in spite of the heat of the atmosphere and total lack of rain. This luxuriance may partly be owing to the coolness and dampness which rains during the night in tropical countries, quickening and renewing the whole face of nature. The goal of our journey for today lay about eight miles distant from Jerusalem. It was the Greek convent of St. Saba in the waste. The appellation already indicates that the region around becomes more and more sterile, until at length not a single tree or shrub can be detected. Throughout the whole expanse not the lowliest human habitation was to be seen. We only passed a horde of Bedowins who had erected their sooty black tents in the dry bed of a river. A few goats, horses, and asses climbed about the declivities, laboriously searching for herbs or roots. About half an hour before we reach the convent we enter upon the wilderness, in which our savior fasted forty days, and was afterwards tempted of the devil. Vegetation here entirely ceases, not a shrub nor a root appears, and the bed of the brick cedron is completely dry. This river only flows during the rainy season, at which period it runs through a deep ravine. Majestic rocky terraces piled one above the other by nature with such exquisite symmetry that the beholder gazes in silent wonder overhang both banks of the stream in the form of galleries. A silence of death brooded over the whole landscape, broken only by the footfalls of our horses echoing sullenly from the rocks, among which the poor animals struggled heavily forward. At intervals some little birds fluttered above our heads, silently and fearfully as though they had lost their way. At length we turn sharply round an angle of the road, and what a surprise awaits us! A large, handsome building surrounded by a very strong fortified wall, pierced for cannon in several places, lies spread before us near the bed of the river, and rises in the form of terraces towards the brow of the hill. From the position we occupied we could see over the whole extent of wall from without and from within. Fortified as it was, it lay open before our gaze. Several buildings, and in front of all a church with a small cupola, told us plainly that St. Saba lay stretched below. On the farther bank, seven or eight hundred paces from the convent, rose a single square tower, apparently of great strength. I little thought that I should soon become much better acquainted with this isolated building. The priests had observed our procession winding down the hill, and at the first knocking the gate was opened. Masters, servants, Arabs, and Bedouins all passed through, but when my turn came the cry was, Shut the gate! And I was shut out, with the prospect of passing the night in the open air. A thing which would have been rather disagreeable considering how unsafe the neighborhood was. At length, however, a laybrother appeared, and pointing to the tower gave me to understand that I should be lodged there. He procured a ladder from the convent, and went with me to the tower where we mounted by its aid to a little, low doorway of iron. My conductor pushed this open, and we crept in. The interior of the tower seemed spacious enough. A wooden staircase led us farther upwards to two tiny rooms, situated about the center of the tower. One of these apartments, dimly lighted by the rays of a lamp, contained a small altar, and served as a chapel, while the second was used as a sleeping room for female pilgrims. A wooden devan was the only piece of furniture this room contained. My conductor now took his leave, promising to return in a short time with some provisions, a bolster and a coverlet for me. So now I was at least sheltered for the night, and guarded like a captive princess by bolt and bar. I could not even have fled had I wished to do so, for my leader had locked the creaking door behind him and had taken away the ladder. After carefully examining the chapel and my neatly furnished apartment in this dreary prison-house, I mounted the staircase and gained the summit of the tower. Where I had a splendid view of the country roundabout, my elevated position enabling me distinctly to trace the greater part of the desert, with its several rows of hills and mountains skirting the horizon. All these hills were alike, barren and naked, not a tree nor a shrub, not a human habitation could I discover. Silence lay heavily on everything around, and it seemed to me almost as though no earth might hear nourish a green tree, but that the place was ordained to remain a desert, as a lasting memorial of our Savior's fasting. Unheeded by human eye the sun sank beneath the mountains. I was perhaps the only mortal here who was watching its beautiful declining tints. Deeply moved by the scene around me, I fell on my knees to offer up prayers and praise to the Almighty, here in the rugged grandeur of the desert. But I had only to turn away from the death-like silence and to cast my eye towards the convent as it lay spread, out before me, to view once more the bustle and turmoil of life. In the courtyard the Bedouins and Arabs were employed in ministering to the wands of their horses, bringing them water and food. Beyond these a group of men was seen spreading out mats on the ground, while others, with their faces bowed to the earth, were adoring, with other forms of prayer, the omnipotent spirit whose protection I had so lately invoked. Others again were washing their hands and feet as a preparation for offering up their worship. Priests and lay brethren passed hastily across the courtyard, busied in preparations for entertaining and lodging the numerous guests, while some of my fellow travelers stood apart, in earnest conversation, and Mr. B. and Count Salem Reiferscheit reclined in a quiet spot and made sketches of the convent. Had a painter been standing on my tower, what a picture of the building might he not have drawn as the wild Arab and the thievish Bedouin lent quietly beside the peaceful priest and the curious European. Many a pleasant recollection of this evening I have borne away with me. I was very unwilling to leave the battlements of the tower, but the increasing darkness at length drove me back into my chamber. Shortly afterwards a priest and a lay-brother appeared, and with them Mr. Bartlett. The priest's errand was to bring me my supper and bedding, and my English fellow traveler had kindly come to inquire if I would have a few servants as a guard, as it must be rather a dreary thing to pass a night quite alone in that solitary tower. I was much flattered by Mr. Bartlett's politeness to a total stranger, but summoning all my courage replied that I was not in the least afraid. Thereupon they all took their leave, I heard the door creak, the bolt was drawn, and the ladder removed, and I was left to my meditations for the night. After a good night's rest I rose with the sun and had been waiting some time before my water appeared with the coffee for my breakfast. He afterwards accompanied me to the convent gate, where my companions greeted me with high praises. Some of them even confessed that they would not like to pass a solitary night as I had done. CHAPTER IX. At five o'clock in the morning we departed, and bent our course towards the Dead Sea. After a ride of two hours we could see it, apparently at such a short distance that we thought half an hour at the most would bring us there. But the road wound betwixt the mountains, sometimes ascending, sometimes descending, so that it took us another two hours to reach the shore of the lake. All around us was sand. The rocks seemed pulverized. We ride through a labyrinth of monotonous sand heaps and sand-hills, behind which the robber tribes of Arabs and Bedouins frequently lurk, making this part of the journey exceedingly unsafe. Before we reached the shore we ride across a plain consisting like the rest of deep sand, so that the horses sink to the fetlocks at every step. On the hull of our way we had not met with a single human being, with the exception of the horde of Bedouins whom we had found encamped in the riverbed. This was a fortunate circumstance for us, for the people whom the traveller meets during these journeys are generally unable to resist the temptation of seizing upon his goods, so that broken bones are frequently the result of such meetings. The day was very hot, thirty-three degrees, reamer. We encamped in the hot sand on the shore, under the shelter of our parasols, and made our breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, a piece of bad bread, and some lukewarm water. I tasted the sea water, and found it much more bitter, salt, and pungent than any I have met with elsewhere. We all dipped our hands into the lake, and afterwards suffered the heat of the air to dry them without having first rinsed them with fresh water. Not one of us had to complain that this brought forth an itching or an eruption on our hands, as many travellers have asserted. The temperature of the water was thirty-three degrees reamer. In color it is a pale green. Here to shore the water is to a certain extent transparent, but as it deepens it seems turbid, and the eye can no longer pierce the surface. We could not even see far across the water, for a light mist seemed to rest upon it, thus preventing us from forming a good estimate of its breadth. To judge from what we could distinguish, however, the dead sea does not appear to be very broad. It may rather be termed an oblong lake, shut in by mountains than a sea. Not the slightest sign of life can be detected in the water. Not a ripple disturbs its sleeping surface. A boat of any kind is, of course, quite out of the question. Some years since, however, an Englishman made an attempt to navigate this lake. For this purpose he caused a boat to be built, but did not progress far in his undertaking. A sickness came upon him. He was carried to Jerusalem, and died soon after he had made the experiment. It is rather a remarkable fact that, up to the present moment, no Englishman has been found who was sufficiently weary of his life to imitate his countryman's attempt. Stunted fragments of driftwood, most probably driven to shore by the tempests, lay scattered everywhere round. We could, however, discover no fields of salt. Neither did we see smoke rising or find the exhalations from the sea unpleasant. These phenomena are perhaps observed at a different season of the year to that in which I visited the Dead Sea. On the other hand I saw not only separate birds, but sometimes even flights of twelve or fifteen. Vegetation also existed here to a certain extent. Not far from the shore I noticed, in a little ravine, a group of eight acicular-leaved trees. On this plain there were also some wild shrubs bearing coppers, and a description of tall shrub, not unlike our bramble bearing a plentiful crop of red berries, very juicy and sweet. We all ate largely of them, and I was the more surprised at finding these plants here, as I had found it uniformly stated that animal and vegetable life was wholly extinct on the shores of the Dead Sea. Five cities, of which not a trace now remains, once lay in the plain now filled by this sea. Their names were Sodom, Gomorrah, Adema, Zeboan, and Zona. A feeling of painful emotion mingled with awe took possession of my soul as I thought of the past, and saw how the works of proud and mighty nations had vanished away, leaving behind them only a name and a memory. It was a relief to me when we prepared, after an hour's rest, to quit this scene of dreary desolation. For about an hour and a half we rode through an enormous waste covered with trailing weeds towards the verdant banks of the Jordan, which are known from a distance by the beautiful, blooming green of the meadows that surround it. We halted in the so-called Jordan Vale, where our savior was baptized by St. John. The water of the Jordan is of a dingy clay color, its course is very rapid. The breadth of this stream can scarcely exceed twenty-five feet, but its depth is said to be considerable. The moment our Arab companions reached the bank, they flung themselves, heated as they were, into the river. Most of the gentlemen followed their example, but less precipitously. I was feigned to be content with washing my face, hands, and feet. We all drank to our heart's content, for it was long since we had obtained water so cool and fresh. I filled several tin bottles, which I had brought with me for this purpose from Jerusalem, with water from the Jordan, and had them solid down on my return to the holy city. This is the only method with which I am acquainted for conveying water to the farthest countries without its turning putrid. We halted for a few hours beneath the shady trees, then pursued our journey across the plain. Suddenly a disturbance arose among our Arab protectors. They spoke very anxiously with one another, and continually pointed to some distant object. On inquiring the reason why they were so disturbed, we were told that they saw robbers. We strained our eyes in vain, even with the help of good spy-glasses we could discover nothing, and already began to suspect our escort of having cried wolf without reason, or merely to convince us that we had not taken them with us for nothing. But in about a quarter of an hour we could dimly discern figures emerging one by one from the far, far distance. Our better ones prepared for the combat, and advised us to take the opposite road while they advanced to encounter the enemy. But all the gentlemen wished to take part in the expedition, and joined the better ones lusting for battle. The whole cavalcade rode off at a rapid pace, leaving Count Berktold and myself behind. But when our steeds saw their companions galloping off in such a fiery style, they scorned to remain idly behind, and without consulting our inclinations in the least, they ran of a pace which fairly took our breath away. The more we attempted to restrain their headlong course, the more rapidly did they pursue their career, so that there appeared every prospect of our becoming the first instead of the last among the company. But when the enemy saw such a determined troop advancing to oppose them, they hurried off without awaiting our onset, and left us masters of the field. So we returned in triumph to our old course, when suddenly a wild boar, with its hopeful family, rushed across our path. Away we all went in chase of the poor animals. Count Votislaw seceded in cutting down one of the young ones with his saber, and it was solemnly delivered up to the cook. No further obstacles opposed themselves to our march, and we reached our resting place for the night without adventure of any kind. On this occasion I had an opportunity of seeing how the Arabs can manage their horses, and how they can throw their spears and lances in full career, and pick up the lances as they fly by. The horses, too, appear quite different to when they are traveling at their usual sleepy pace. At first sight these horses look anything but handsome. They are thin and generally walk at a slow pace, with their heads hanging down. But when skillful riders mount these creatures, they appear as if transformed. Lifting their small graceful heads with the fiery eyes, they throw out their slender feet with matchless swiftness, and bound away over stock and stone with a step so light and yet so secure that accidents very rarely occur. It is quite a treat to see the Arabs exercise. Those who escorted us good-naturedly went through several of their maneuvers for our amusement. From the valley of the Jordan to the sultan's well in the veil of Jericho is a distance of about six miles. The road winds from the commencement of the valley through a beautiful natural park of fig trees and other fruit trees. Here, too, was the first spot where the eye was gladdened by the sight of a piece of grass instead of sand and shingle. Such a change is doubly grateful to one who has been traveling so long through the barren, sandy desert. The village lying beside the sultan's well looks most deplorable. The inhabitants seem rather to live under than above the ground. I went into a few of these hollows. I do not know how else to designate these little stone-heap houses. Many of them are entirely destitute of windows, the light finding its way through the hole left for an entrance. The interiors contained only straw mats and a few dirty mattresses, not stuffed with feathers but with leaves of trees. All the domestic utensils are comprised in a few trenchers and water jugs. The poor people were clothed in rags. In one corner some grain and a number of cucumbers were stored up. A few sheep and goats were roaming about in the open air. A field of cucumbers lies in front of every house. Our Bedowans were in high glee at finding this valuable vegetable in such abundance. We encamped beside the well under the vault of heaven. From the appearance of the valley in its present state it is easy to conclude, in spite of the poverty of the inhabitants and the air of desolation spread over the farther landscape, that it must once have been very blooming and fertile. On the right the naked mountains extend in the direction of the dead sea. On the left rises the hill on which Moses completed his earthly career and from which his great spirit fled to a better world. On the face of the mountain three caves are visible, and in the center one we were told the Saviour had dwelt during his preparation in the wilderness before undertaking his mission of a teacher. High above these caves towers the summit of the rock from which Satan promised to give our Lord the sovereignty of all the earth if he would fall down and worship him. Baron Vreda, Mr. Bartlett, and myself were desirous of seeing the interior of one of these caves, and started with this intention. But no sooner did one of our Bedowans perceive what we were about, than he came running up in hot haste to assure us that the whole neighborhood was unsafe. We therefore turned back, the more willingly as the twilight, or rather sunset, was already approaching. The light in these latitudes is of very short duration. At sunrise the shades of night are changed into the blaze of day as suddenly as the daylight vanishes into night. Our supper consisted of a rather smoky pilau, which we nevertheless relished exceedingly, for people who have eaten nothing throughout the day but a couple of hard-boiled eggs are seldom fastidious about their fare at night. Besides we now had beautiful fresh water from the spring and cucumbers in abundance, though without vinegar or oil. But to what purpose would the unnatural mixture have been? Whoever wishes to travel should first strive to disencomber himself of what is artificial, and then he will get on capitally. The ground was our bed, and the dark blue ether with its myriads of stars our canopy. On this journey we had not taken a tent with us. The aspect of the heavens is most beautiful here in Syria. By day the whole firmament is of a clear azure, not a cloud sillies its perfect brightness, and at night it seems spangled with a far greater number of stars than in our northern climes. Count Zishi ordered the servants to call us, be times in the morning, in order that we might set out before sunrise. For once the servants obeyed, in fact they more than obeyed, for they roused us before midnight and we began our march. So long as we kept to the plane all went well, that whenever we were obliged to climb a mountain one horse after another began to stumble and to stagger, so that we were in continual danger of falling. Under these circumstances it was unanimously resolved that we should halt beneath the next declivity, and there await the coming of daylight. June 9. At four o'clock the revelry was beaten for the second time. We had now slept for three hours in the immediate neighborhood of the Dead Sea, a circumstance of which we were not aware until daybreak. Not one of our party had noticed any noxious exhalation arising from the water. Still less had we been seized with headaches or nausea, an effect stated by several travelers to be produced by the smell of the Dead Sea. Our journey homewards now progressed rapidly, though for three or four hours we were obliged to travel over most formidable mountain roads and through crooked ravines. In one of the valleys we again came upon a Bedouin's camp. He rode up to the tents and asked for a draft of water, instead of which these people very kindly gave us some dishes of excellent buttermilk. In all my life I never partook of anything with so quinoa relish as that with which I drank this cooling beverage after my fatiguing ride in the burning heat. Count Vichy offered our entertainers some money, but they would not take it. The chief stepped forward and shook several of us by the hand in token of friendship. For from the moment when a stranger has broken bread with Bedouins or Arabs, or has applied to them for protection, he is not only safe among their tribe, but they would defend him with life and limb from the attacks of his enemies. Still, it is not advisable to meet with them on the open plain, so contradictory are their manners and customs. We were now advancing with great strides towards a more animated, if not a more picturesque landscape, and frequently met and overtook small caravans. One of these had been attacked the previous evening. The poor Arabs had offered a brave resistance and had beaten off the foe, but one of them was lying half-dead upon his camel with a ghastly shot wound in his head. Nimble long-eared goats were diligently searching among the rocks for their scanty food, and a few grottoes or huts of stone announced to us the proximity of a little town or village. But thankful were we to emerge safely from these fearful deserts into a less sterile and more populous region. We passed through Bethany, and I visited the cave in which it is said that Lazarus slumbered before he came forth alive at the voice of the Redeemer. Then we journeyed on to Jerusalem by the same road on which the Saviour traveled when the Jewish people showed their attachment and respect for the last time by strewing olive and palm branches in his way. While soon was this scene of holy rejoicing changed to the ghastly spectacle of the Redeemer's torture and death. Towards two o'clock in the afternoon we arrived safely at Jerusalem, and were greeted with a hearty welcome by our kind hosts. A few days after my return from the foregoing excursion I left Jerusalem forever. A calm and peaceful feeling of happiness filled my breast, and ever shall I be thankful to the Almighty that he has vouched saved me to behold these realms. Is this happiness dearly purchased by the dangers, fatigues, and privations attendant upon it? Surely not. And what indeed are all the ills that checker our existence here below to the woes endured by the blessed founder of our religion? The remembrances of these holy places, and of him who lived and suffered here, shall surely strengthen and console me wherever I may be, and whatever I may be called upon to endure. by Ida L. Pfeiffer. My gentlemen protectors wished to journey from Jerusalem to Beirut by land, and intended taking a circuitous route by way of Nazareth, Galilee, Canaan, etc., in order to visit as many of these places as possible, which are fraught with such interest to us Christians. They were once more kind enough to admit me into their party, and the eleventh of June was fixed for our departure. Quitting Jerusalem at three o'clock in the afternoon, we emerged from the Damascus Gate and entered a large, elevated plateau. Though this region is essentially a stony one, I saw several stubble fields and even a few scanty blades of grass. The view is very extended. At a distance of four miles the walls of Jerusalem were still in view, till at length the road curved round a hill, and the holy city was forever hidden from our sight. On the left of the road an old church, said to have been erected in the days of Samuel, stands upon a hill. At six in the evening we reached the little village of Beir, and fixed our halting-place for the night in a neighboring stubble field. During my first journey by land, I mean my ride from Joppa to Jerusalem I had already had a slight foretaste of what is to be endured by the traveler in these regions. Whoever is not very hearty and courageous, and insensible to hunger, thirst, heat, and cold, whoever cannot sleep on the hard ground, or even on stones, passing the cold nights under the open sky, should not pursue his journey farther than from Joppa to Jerusalem. For as we proceed the fatigues become greater and less endurable, and the roads are more forbiddable to endure. As this the food is so bad that we only eat from fear of starvation, and the only water we can get to drink is lukewarm and defensive from the leather and jars in which it is kept. We usually rode for six or seven hours at a time without alighting even for a moment, though the thermometer frequently stood at from thirty degrees to thirty-four degrees reamer. Afterwards we rested for an hour at the most, and this halt was often made in the open plain, where not a tree was in sight. Refreshment was out of the question, either for the riders or the poor beasts, and frequently we had not even water to quench our burning thirst. The horses were compelled to labor unceasingly from sunrise until evening, without even receiving a feed during the day's journey. The Arabian horse is the only one capable of enduring so much hardship. In the evening these poor creatures are relieved of their burdens, but very seldom of the saddle. For Arabs assert that it is less dangerous for the horse to bear the saddle day and night than that it should be exposed when heated by the day's toil to the cold night air. Britals, saddles, and stirrups were all in such bad condition that we were in continual danger of falling to the ground, saddle and all. In fact this misfortune happened to many of our party, but luckily it was never attended with serious results. The night was very chilly, although we slept in a tent. Our thick cloaks scarcely suffice to shield us from the night air. In the morning the fog was so dense that we could not see thirty paces before us. Towards eight o'clock it rolled away, and a few hours later the heat of the sun began to distress us greatly. It is scarcely possible to guard too carefully against the effects of the heat. The heads should in particular be kept always covered, as carelessness in this respect may bring on coup de soleil. I always wore two pocket-hanker-chips round my head, under my straw hat, and continually used a parasol. From Beer to Jabrud, where we rested for a few hours, we traveled for six hours through a monotonous and sterile country. We had still a good four hours ride before us to Nabilis, our resting place for the night. The roads here are bad beyond conception, so that at first the stranger despairs of passing them either on foot or on horseback. Frequently the way leads up a hill and down Dale, over great masses of rock, and I was truly surprised at the strength and agility of our poor horses, which displayed extraordinary sagacity in picking out the little ledges on which they could place their feet safely in climbing from rock to rock. Sometimes we crossed smooth slabs of stone, where the horses were in imminent danger of slipping. At others the road led us past frightful chasms, the sight of which was sufficient to make me dizzy. I had read many accounts of these roads, and was prepared to find them bad enough, but my expectations were far surpassed by the reality. All that a traveler can do is to trust in providence, and to abandon himself to fate and to the sagacity of his horse. An hour and a half before we reached the goal of this day's journey we passed the grave of the patriarch Jacob. Had our attention not been particularly drawn to this monument we should have ridden by without noticing it, for a few scattered blocks of stone are all that remain. A little farther on we enter the Samaritan territory, and here is Jacob's well, where our saviour held converse with the woman of Samaria. The masonry of the well has altogether vanished, but the spring still gushes forth from a rock. Nablus, the ancient Sitchum, the chief town of Samaria, contains four thousand inhabitants, and is reputed to be one of the most ancient towns in Palestine. It is surrounded by a strong wall, and consists of a long and very dirty street. We rode through the town from one end to the other, and passed the poor-looking bazaar, where nothing struck me but the sight of some fresh figs, which were, at this early season, already exposed for sale. Of course we bought the fruit at once, but it had a very bad flavour. A number of soldiers are seen in all the towns. They are Arnauts, a wild, savage race of men, who appear to be regarded with more dread by the inhabitants than the wandering tribes whose incursions they are intended to repress. We pitched our tents on a little hill immediately outside the town. Few things are more disagreeable to the traveller than being compelled to Bivouac near a town or village in the east. All the inhabitants, both young and old, flock round in order to examine the European caravan, which is the most unusual sight for them, as closely as possible. They frequently even crowd into the tents, and it becomes necessary to expel the intruders almost by main force. Not only are strangers excessively annoyed at being thus made a gazing-stock, but they also run a risk of being plundered. Our cook had the good fortune to obtain a kid only three or four days old, which was immediately killed and at once boiled with rice. We made a most sumptuous meal, for it was seldom we could get such good fare. June 13. The morning sun found us already on horseback. We rode through the whole of the beautiful valley at the entrance of which Noblis lies. The situation of this town is very charming. The valley is not broad, and does not exceed a mile and a half in length. It is completely surrounded with low hills. The mountain on the right is called Ebo, and that on the left Grissom. The latter is celebrated as being the meeting-place of the twelve tribes of Israel under Joshua. They there consulted upon the means of conquering the land of Canaan. The whole valley is sufficiently fertile. And the hills are in some instances covered to their summits with olive, fig, lemon, and orange trees. Some little brooks, clearest crystal, bubble through the beautiful plain. We were frequently compelled to ride through the water, but all the streams are at this season of the year so shallow that our horses' hooves were scarcely covered. After gaining the summit of the neighboring hill, we turned round with regret to a look our last on this valley. And has it been my lot to behold a more charming picture of blooming vegetation? Two more hours brought us to Sebasta, the ancient Samaria, which also lies on a lovely hill, though for beauty of situation it is not to be compared with Nablus. Sebasta is a wretched village. The ruins of the convent, built on the place where St. John the Baptist was beheaded, were here pointed out to us, but even of the ruins there are few traces left. Two hours later we reached Jenin and had now entered the confines of Galilee. Though this province perhaps no longer smiles with the rich produce it displayed in the days of old, it still affords a strong contrast to Judea. Here we again find hedges of the Indian fig tree, besides palms and large expanses of field, but for flowers and meadows we still search in vain. The costume of the Samaritan and Galilean women appears as monotonous as it is poor and dirty. They wear only a long dark blue gown, and the only difference to be observed in their dress is that some muffle their faces and others do not. It would be no less if all wore veils, for so few pretty women and girls are to be discovered that they might be searched for like the honest man of Diogenes with a lantern. The women have all an ugly brown complexion, their hair is matted, and their busts lack the rounded fullness of the Turkish women. They have a custom of ornamenting both sides of the head, from the crown to the chin with a row of silver coins, and those women who do not muffle their faces usually wear as a headdress a handkerchief of blue linen. Jenin is a dirty little town which we only entered in consequence of having been told that we should behold the place where Queen Jezebel fell from the window and was devoured by dogs. Those window and palace have almost vanished, but dogs, who look even now as though they could relish such royal prey, are seen prowling about the streets. Not only in Constantinople, but in every city of Syria we found these wild dogs. They were, however, nowhere as numerous as in the imperial city. We halted for an hour or two outside the town, beside a coffee-house, and threw ourselves on the ground beneath the open sky. A kind of hearth made of masonry, on which hot water was continually in readiness, stood close by, and near it some mounds of earth had been thrown up to serve as devans. A ragged boy was busy pounding coffee, while his father, the proprietor of the Concern, concocted the cheering beverage and handed it round to the guests. Straw mats were spread for our accommodation on the earth and devans, and without being questioned we were immediately served with coffee and argelae. In the backgrounds stood a large and lofty stable of brickwork, which might have belonged to a great European inn. After recruiting ourselves here a little, we once more set forth to finish our day's journey. Immediately after leaving the town, a remarkably fine view opens before us over the great elevated plain as Drelon, to the magnificent range of mountains enclosing this immense plateau. In the far distance they showed us Mount Carmel and, somewhat nearer, Mount Tabor. Here too the mountains are mostly barren, without, however, being entirely composed of naked masses of rock. Mount Tabor, standing entirely alone and richly clothed with vegetation, has a very fine appearance. For nearly two hours we rode across the plain of Asdrelon, and had thus ample pleasure to meditate upon the great events that have occurred here. It is difficult to imagine a grander battlefield, and we can readily believe that in such a plain whole nations may have struggled for victory. From the time of Nebuchadnezzar to the period of the Crusades, and from the days of the Crusades to those of Napoleon, armies of men from all nations have assembled here to fight for their real or imaginary rights, or for the glory of conquest. The great and continuous heat had cracked and burst the ground on this plain to such a degree that we were in continual apprehension lest our horses should catch their feet in one or other of the fissures and strain or even break them. The soil of the plain seems very good, and is free from stones. It appears, however, generally to lie fallow, being thickly covered with weeds and wild artichokes. The villagers are seen in the far distance near the mountains. This plain forms part of Canaan. We pitched our camp for the night beside a little cistern near the wretched village of Lagan, and thus slept for the third night consecutively on the hard earth. June 14. Today we rode for an hour across the plain of Aztralan, and once more suffered dreadfully from the stings of the minute gnats which had annoyed us so much on our journey from Joppa to Ramla. These plagues did not leave us until we had partly ascended the mountains skirting the plain. On the summit of which we could see Nazareth, prettily built on a hill at the entrance of a fruitful valley. In the background rises the beautiful Mount Tabor. From the time we first see Nazareth until we reach the town is a ride of an hour and a half. Thus the journey from Lagan to Nazareth occupies four hours and a half, and the entire distance from Jerusalem twenty-six or twenty-seven hours. End of section 18. CHAPTER X. OF A VISIT TO THE HOLY LAND, EGYPT AND ITALY, PART I, by Ida L. Pfeiffer. It was only nine o'clock when we reached Nazareth and repaired to the house for strangers in the Franciscan convent where the priests welcomed us very kindly. As soon as we had made a short survey of our rooms, which resulted in finding them very like those at Jerusalem, both as regards appearance and arrangement, we set forth once more to visit all the remarkable places, and above all the church which contains the grotto of annunciation. This church, to which we were accompanied by a clergyman, was built by St. Helena and is of no great size. In the background a staircase leads down into the grotto where it is asserted that the Virgin Mary received the Lord's message from the angel. Three little pillars of granite are still to be seen in this grotto. The lower part of one of these pillars was broken away by the turks, so that it is only fastened from above. On the strength of this circumstance many have avered that the pillar hangs suspended in air. Had these men but looked beyond their noses, had they only cast their eyes upwards, they could not have had the face to preach such a miracle where it is so palpable that none exists. A picture on the wall, not badly executed, represents the annunciation. The house of the Virgin is not shown here, because according to the legend an angel carried it away to Loreto in Italy. A few steps lead to another grotto, affirmed to be the residence of a neighbor of the Virgin, during whose absence she presided over the house and attended to the duties of the absent Mary. Another grotto in the town is shown as the workshop of Joseph. It has been left in its primitive state, except that a plain wooden altar has been added. Not far off we find the synagogue where our Lord taught the people, thereby exasperating the Pharisees to such a degree that they wished to cast him down from a rock outside the city. In conclusion we were shown an immense block of stone on which the Savior is said to have eaten the Passover with his disciples. In the afternoon we went to see Mary's well on the road to Tibereth at a short distance from Nazareth. This well is fenced round with masonry and affords pure, clear water. Hither, it is said, the Virgin came every day to draw water, and here the women and girls of Nazareth may still be daily seen walking to and fro with pictures on their shoulders. Those whom we saw were all poorly clad and looked dirty. Many wore no covering on their head, and, what was far worse, their hair hung down in a most untidy manner. Their bright eyes were the only handsome feature these people possessed. The custom of wearing silver coins round the head also prevailed here. Today was a day of misfortune for me. On the morning when we departed from Legen I had already felt unwell. On the road I was seized with violent headache, nausea, and feverish shiverings, so that I hardly thought I should be able to reach Nazareth. The worst of all this was that I felt obliged to hide my illness as I had done on our journey to Jerusalem for fear I should be left behind. The wish to view all the holy places in Nazareth was also so powerful within me that I made a great effort and accompanied the rest of my party for the whole day, though I was obliged every moment to retire into the background that my condition might not be observed. But when we went to table the smell of the vions produced such an effect upon me that I hastily held my handkerchief before my face as though my nose were bleeding and hurried out. Thanks to my sunburnt skin through which no paleness could penetrate no one noticed that I was ill. The whole day long I could eat nothing, but towards evening I recovered a little. My appetite now also returned, but unfortunately nothing was to be had but some bad mutton broth and an omelet made with rancid oil. It is bad enough to be obliged to subsist on such fair when we are in health, but the hardship increases tenfold when we are ill. However, I sent for some bread and wine and strengthened myself therewith as best I might. June 15th. Thanks be to heaven I was today once more pretty well. In the morning I could already mount my horse and take part in the excursion we desired to make to Taborinth. When Mary's well and a mountain crowned by some ruins, the remains of ancient Canaan, we ride for about three miles towards the foot of Mount Tabor, the highest summit of which we do not reach for more than an hour. There were no signs of a beaten road, and we were obliged to ride over all obstacles, a course of proceeding which so tired our horses that in half an hour's time they were quite knocked up, so that we had to proceed on foot. After much toil and hardship, with a great deal of climbing and much suffering from the heat, we gained the summit, and were repaid for the toil of the ascent, not only by the reflection that we stood on classic ground, but also by the beautiful view which lay spread before our eyes. This prospect is indeed magnificent. We overlook the entire plain of Safid as far as the shores of the Galilean Sea. Mount Tabor is also known by the name of the Mountain of Bliss. Here it was that our Lord preached his exquisite sermon on the Mount. Of all the hills I have seen in Syria, Mount Tabor is the only one covered to the summit with oaks and carob trees. The valleys, too, are filled with the richest earth, instead of barren sand, but in spite of all this the population is thin and the few villages are wretched and puny. The poor inhabitants of Syria are woefully ground down. The taxes are too high in proportion to the productions of the soil, so that the peasants cannot possibly grow more produce than they require for their own consumption. Thus, for instance, orchards are not taxed in the aggregate, but according to each separate tree. For every olive tree the owner must pay a piastra or a piastra and a half, and the same sum for an orange or lemon tree. And heavily taxed as he is the poor peasant is never safe in saying, such and such a thing belongs to me. The pasha may shift him to another piece of land, or drive him away altogether, if he thinks it advisable to do so, for a pasha's power in his promise is as great as that of the sultan himself in Constantinople. Poor cupines are to be met with on Mount Tabor. We found several of their fine, horny quills. From the farther side of the mountain we descended into the beautiful and spacious valley of Safed, the scene of the miracle of the loaves and fishes, and rode on for some hours until we reached Taboreth. A very striking scene opens before the eyes of the traveler on the last mountain before Taboreth. A lovely landscape lies suddenly unrolled before him. The valley sinks deeply down to the Galilean sea, round the shores of which a glorious chain of mountains rises in varied and picturesque terraces like forms. More beautiful than all the rest, towers in snowy grandeur the mighty chain of the anti-Lebanon, its white surface glittering in the rays of the sun, and distinctly mirrored in the clear bosom of the lake. Deep down lies the little town of Taboreth, shadowed by palm trees, and guarded by a castle raised a little above it. The unexpected beauty of this scene surprised us so much that we alighted from our horses and passed more than half an hour on the summit of the mountain to gaze at our leisure upon the wondrous picture. Count S. drew a hurried but very successful sketch of the landscape which we all admired so much, though its mountains were naked and bare. But such is the peculiar character of Eastern scenery. In Europe meadows, alps, and woods exhibit quite a distinct class of natural beauty. In a mountain range of Europe, a sight like the one we were now admiring would scarcely have charmed us so much. But in these regions, poor alike in inhabitants and in scenery, the traveller is contented with little, and little thing charms him. For instance, would not a plain piece of beef have been a greater luxury to us on our journey than the most costly delicacies at home? Thus we felt also with regard to scenery. On entering the town we experienced a feeling of painful emotion. Taboreth lay still half in ruins, for the dreadful earthquake of 1839 had made this place one of the chief victims of its fury. How must the town have looked immediately after the calamity, when even now, in spite of the extensive repairs, it appears almost like a heap of ruins? We saw some houses that had completely fallen in, others were very much damaged, with large cracks in the walls, and shattered terraces and towers. Everywhere in short we wandered among ruins. The four thousand persons, more than half of the entire population, are said to have perished in this earthquake. We alighted at the house of a Jewish doctor, who entertains strangers, as there is no inn at Taboreth. I was quite surprised to find everything so clean and neat in this man's house. The little rooms were simply but comfortably furnished, the small courtyard was flagged with large stones, and round the walls of the hall were ranged narrow benches with soft cushions. We were greatly astonished at this appearance of neatness and order, but our wonder rose when we made the discovery that the Jews, who are very numerous at Taboreth, are not clothed in the Turkish or Greek fashion, but quite like their brethren in Poland and Galicia. Most of them also spoke German. I immediately inquired the reason of this peculiarity, and was informed that all the Jewish families resident in this town originally came from Poland or Russia, with the intention of dying in the Promised Land. As a rule all Jews seemed to cherish a warm desire to pass their last days in the country of their forefathers, and to be buried there. We requested of our young hostess, whose husband was absent, to prepare us without delay a good quantity of pilau and fowls, adding that we would in the meantime look at the town and the neighboring baths at the Sea of Gennisereth, but that we should return in an hour and a half at the most. We then proceeded to the Sea of Gennisereth, which is a freshwater lake. We entered a fisherman's boat in order that we might sail on the waters where our Lord had once bid the winds be still. We were rode to the warm springs, which rise near the shore a few hundred paces from the town. On the lake all was calm, but no sooner had we landed than a storm arose between the fishermen and ourselves. In this country if strangers neglect to bargain beforehand for every stage with guides, porters, and people of this description, they are nearly sure of being charged and exorbitant some in the end. This happened to us on our present little trip, which certainly did not occupy more than half an hour. We took our seats in the boat without arranging for the fares, and on disembarking offered the fishermen a very handsome reward. But these were these threw down the money and demanded thirty piestras, whereas if we had bargained with them at first they would certainly not have asked ten. We gave them fifteen piestras to get rid of them, but this did not satisfy their greediness. On the contrary they yelled and shouted until the count's servants threatened to restore peace and quietness with their sticks. At length the fishermen were so far brought to their senses that they walked away, scolding and muttering as they went. Adjoining the warm springs we found a bathing-house, built in round form and covered with a cupola. Here we also met a considerable number of pilgrims, mostly Greeks and Armenians from the neighborhood who were journeying to Jerusalem. They had encamped beside the bathing-house. Half of these people were in the water, where a most animated conversation was going on. We also wished to enter the building, not for the purpose of bathing, but to view the beauty and arrangements of the interior, which have been the subject of many laudatory descriptions. But at the entrance such a cloud of vapor came rolling towards us that we were unable to penetrate far. I saw enough, however, to feel convinced that in the description of these baths poetry or exaggeration had led many a pen far beyond the bounds of fact. Neither the exterior of this building nor the cursory glance I was enabled to throw into the interior excited either my curiosity or my astonishment. Seen from without these baths resemble a small-sized house, built in a very mediocre style, and with very slender claims to beauty. The interior displayed a large quantity of marble, for instance in the floor, the sides of the bath, etc. But marble is not such a rarity in this country that it can raise this bathing kiosk into a wonder-building or render it worthy of more than a passing glance. I endeavour to see everything exactly as it stands before me, and to describe it in my simple diary without addition or ornament. At eight o'clock in the evening we returned tired and hungry to our comfortable quarters, flattering ourselves that we should find the plain supper we had ordered a few hours before, smoking on the covered table, ready for our arrival. But neither in the hall nor in the chamber could we find even a table, much less a covered one. Half dead with exhaustion we threw ourselves on chairs and benches, looking forward with impatience to the supper and the welcome rest that was to follow it. After after messenger was dispatched to the culinary regions to inquire if the boiled fowls were not yet in an eatable condition. Each time we were promised that supper would be ready in a quarter of an hour, and each time nothing came of it. At length at ten o'clock a table was brought into the room, after some time a single chair appeared, and then one more, then came another interval of waiting, until at length a clean tablecloth was laid. These arrivals occupied the time until eleven o'clock, when the master of the house, who had been absent on an excursion, made his appearance, and with him came a puny roast fowl. No miracle alas took place at our table like that of the plain of Saffid. We were but seven persons, and so the fowl need only have been increased seven times to satisfy us all. But as it was, each person received one rib and no more. Our supper certainly consisted of several courses brought in one after the other. Had we known this we certainly should have soon arranged the matter, for then each person would have appropriated the whole of a dish to himself. In the space of an hour and a quarter nine or ten little dishes made their appearance, but the portion of food contained in each was so small that our supper may be said to have consisted of a variety of tastes. We would greatly have preferred two good-sized dishes to all these kick-shaws. The dishes were a roast, a boiled, and a baked chicken, a little plate of prepared cucumbers, an equally small portion of this vegetable in a raw state, a little pilau, and a few small pieces of mutton. Our host kindly provided food for the mind during supper by describing to us a series of horrible scenes which had occurred at the time of the earthquake. He too had lost his wife and children by this calamity, and only owed his own life to the circumstance that he was absent at a sick bed when the earthquake took place. Half an hour after midnight we at length sought our resting places. The doctor very kindly gave up his three little bedrooms to us, but the heat was so oppressive that we preferred quartering ourselves on the stones in the yard. They made a very hard bed, but we none of us felt symptoms of indigestion after our sumptuous meal. CHAPTER X OF A VISIT TO THE HOLY LAND, EGYPT, AND ITALY, PART II BY IDA-EL FIFER June 16. At five o'clock in the morning we took leave of our host, and returned in six hours to Natharath by the same road on which we had already traveled. We did not, however, ascend Mount Tabor a second time, but rode along beside its base. Today I once more visited all the spots I had seen when I was so ill two days before. In this pursuit I passed some very agreeable hours. June 17. In the morning at half past four we once more bade farewell to the worthy priests of Natharath, and rode without stopping for nine hours and a half, until at two o'clock we reached Mount Carmel. It was long since we had traveled on such a good road as that on which we journeyed today. Now and then, however, a peace truly Syrian and character had to be encountered, probably lest we should lose the habit of facing hardship and danger. Another comfort was that we were not obliged today to endure thirst, as we frequently passed springs of good clear water. One time our way even led through a small oak wood, a phenomenon almost unprecedented in Syria. There was certainly not a single tree in all the wood which a painter might have chosen for a study, for they were all small and crippled. Large leafy trees like those in my own land are very seldom seen in this country. The carob which grows here in abundance is the only handsome tree. It has a beautiful leaf, scarcely larger than that of a rose tree, of an oval form, as thick as the back of a knife, and of a beautiful bright green color. Mount Carmel lies on the seashore. It is not high, and half an hour suffices the traveler to reach its summit, which is crowned by a spacious and beautiful convent, probably the handsomest in all Palestine, not even accepting the monasteries at Nazareth and Jerusalem. The main front of the building contains a suite of six or seven large rooms, with folding doors and lofty regular windows. These rooms, together with several in the wings, are devoted to the reception of strangers. They are arranged in European style with very substantial pieces of furniture, among which neither sofas nor useful chests of drawers are wanting. About an hour after we arrived our reverend hosts regaled us with a more sumptuous meal than any of which I had partaken since my departure from Constantinople. In proportion as our fair had been meager and our accommodation indifferent at Nazareth and Jerusalem, did we find everything here excellent. In an elegant dining-room stood a large table covered with a fine white cloth, on which cut glass and clean knives, forks, and china-plates gleaned invitingly. A servant in European guard placed some capital fast day fair on the table, it was Friday, and a polite priest kept us company, but not in eating, for he rightly considered that such a hungry company would not require any example to fall to. During the whole remainder of our journey through Syria this convent occupied a green spot in our memory. How capitally would a few days rest here have recruited our strength, but the gentlemen had a distant goal before their eyes and forward was still to cry. After dinner we went down to the seashore to visit the large grotto called the Prophet's School. This grotto has really the appearance of a lofty and spacious hall where a number of disciples could have sat and listened to the words of the Prophet. The grotto in which Elijah is said to have lived is situated in a church at the top of the mountain. Mount Carmel is quite barren, being only covered here and there with brambles, but the view is magnificent. On the foreground the eye can roam over the boundless expanse of ocean, while at the foot of the mountain it forwards a resting place in the considerable town of Haifa, lying in a fertile plain which extends to the base of the high mountains, bounded in the distance by the anti-Libonus, and farther still by the Lebanon itself. Along the line of coast we can distinguish Acre or Ptolemaus, Sur, Tyre, and Sida, Sidon. This morning we sent our poor, overtired horses on before us to Hessa, and walked on foot at midday under a temperature of 33 degrees to Haifa, a distance of more than two miles. Heated and exhausted to the last degree we reached the house of the consul, who is a Catholic, but seems nevertheless to live in quite an oriental fashion. This gentleman is counsel both for France and Austria. Although he was not at home when we arrived, we were immediately shown into the room of state, where we reclined on soft avans and were regaled with sherbet of all colors, green, yellow, red, etc., and with coffee flavored with roses which we did not like. Hookahs, or chibooks, were also handed round. At length the consul's wife appeared, a young and beautiful lady of an imposing figure, dressed in the oriental garb. She smoked her chibook with as much ease as the gentleman. Finally a brother of this lady who understood something of Italian was present, and kindly acted as interpreter. I have never found an oriental woman who knew any language but that of her own country. After we had rested ourselves, we pursued our journey, in a boat to Acre. On my road to Jerusalem I had only seen the outside of this monument of the last war. Now I could view its interior, but saw nothing to repay me for my trouble. Considering how ugly the Turkish towns are, even when they are in good preservation, it may be easily imagined that the appearance of one of these cities is not improved when it is full of shot holes, and the streets and interiors of the houses are choked up with rubbish. The entrance to the convent lies through the courtyard of the Turkish barracks, where there seemed to be a great deal of bustle, and where we had an opportunity of noticing how wretchedly clad and still more miserably shod the Turkish shoulders are. These blemishes are not so much observed when the men are seen singly at their posts. The convent here is very small, being in fact only a dwelling-house to which a chapel is attached. Two monks and a lay-brother form the whole household. Scarcely had I established myself in my room before a very polite lady entered, who introduced herself to me as the wife of a surgeon in the surface of the Pasha here. She stated that her husband was at present absent at Constantinople, and added that she was in the habit of spending several hours in the convent every evening to do the honors of the house. This assertion struck me as so strange that I should certainly have remained dumb had not my visitor been a very agreeable, polite French lady. As it was, however, we chatted away the evening pleasantly together until the supper-bell summoned us to the refractory. All that I saw in this convent was in direct contrast to the arrangements of the comfortable establishment of the Carmelites. The refractory here is astonishingly dirty, the whole furniture consists of two dingy tables and some benches, the tablecloth, plates, etc., wore the prevailing livery, and the fair was quite in keeping with everything else. We sucked at two tables, the gentleman and the reverend father sitting at one, while the French lady and myself occupied the other. June 19. As we were not to travel far today we did not set out until ten o'clock when we started in company of several Franks who were in the Pasha's service. They led us into a park by the roadside belonging to the mother of the sultan. Here the Pasha usually resides during the summer. In half an hour's time we reached this park. The garden is rather handsome but does not display many plans except lemon, orange, pomegranate, and cypress trees. The display of flowers was not very remarkable, for not only could we discover no rare or foreign plants but we also missed many flowers which grow plentifully in our gardens at home. A few kiosks are here to be seen, but everything seemed miserably out of repair. The residents of the Pasha, situated outside the gardens, has a more inviting appearance. We paid our respects to his highness, who received us very graciously and caused us to be regaled with the usual beverages. No sooner had the high ladies in the harem learned that a Frankish woman was in their territory than they sent to invite me to visit them. I gladly accepted this invitation, the more so as it offered an opportunity of gratifying my curiosity. I was conducted to another part of the house, where I stepped into a chamber of middle size, the floor of which was covered with mats and carpets, while on cushions ranged round the walls reclined beauties of various complexions, who seemed to have been collected from every quarter of the globe. One of these women, who was rather elderly, appeared to be the Pasha's chief wife, for all the rest pointed to her. The youngest lady seemed about eighteen or nineteen years of age, and was the mother of a child eight years old, with which they were all playing as with a doll. The poor little thing was handed about from hand to hand. These ladies were dressed exactly like the daughters of the consulate Japa, whose costume I have described. I did not see any signs of particular beauty unless the stoutness of figures so prevalent here is considered in that light. I saw, however, a woman with one eye, a defect frequently observed in the East. Female slaves there were of all shades of color. One wore a ring through her nose, and another had tastefully painted her lips blue. Both mistresses and slaves had their eyebrows and eyelashes painted black, and their nails and the palm of the hand stained a light brown with the juice of the henna. Oriental women are ignorant and inquisitive in the highest degree. They can neither read nor write, and the knowledge of a foreign language is quite out of the question. It is very rarely that one of them understands embroidering in gold. Whenever I happened to be writing in my journal, men, and children would gather round me and gaze upon me in my book with many signs and gestures expressive of astonishment. The ladies of the Harim seemed to look with contempt upon employment and work of every kind, for neither here nor elsewhere did I see them do anything but sit cross-legged on carpets and cushions, drinking coffee, smoking nargile, and gossiping with one another. They pressed me to sit down on a cushion and then immediately surrounded me, endeavoring by signs to ask many questions. First they took my straw hat and put it upon their heads. Then they felt the stuff of my traveling robe, but they seemed to most of all astonished at my short hair, the side of which seemed to impress these poor ignorant women with the idea that nature had denied long hair to the Europeans. They asked me by signs how this came to pass, and every lady came up and felt my hair. They seemed also very much surprised that I was so thin and offered me their nargile besides sherbet and cakes. On the whole our conversation was not very animated, for we had no dregoman to act as interpreter, so that we were obliged to guess at what was meant, and at length I sat silently among these orientals and was heartily glad when, at the expiration of an hour, my friends sent to fetch me away. At a later period of my journey I frequently visited Harims, sometimes considerable ones, but I found them all alike. The only difference lay in the fact that some Harims contained more beautiful women than slaves, and that in others the inmates were more richly clad, but everywhere I found the same idle curiosity, ignorance, and apathy. Perhaps they may be more happy than European women. I should suppose they were, to judge from their comfortable figures and their contented features. Corpulence is said frequently to proceed from a good-natured and quiet disposition, and their features are so entirely without any fixed character and expression that I do not think these women capable of deep passions or feeling either for good or evil. Exceptions are, of course, to be found even among the Turkish women. I only report what I observed on the average. This day we rode altogether for seven hours. We passed a beautiful orange grove for the greater part of the way our road led through deep sand, close by the sea shore, but once we had to pass a dreadfully dangerous place called the White Mount, one extremity of which rises out of the sea. This once past we soon come upon the beautiful, far-stretching aqueduct which I noticed on my journey from Joppa to Jerusalem. It traverses a portion of this fruitful plain. We could not enter the little town of Sur as the goal of this day's journey as it was closed on account of the plague. We therefore passed by and pitched our tents beside a village in the neighborhood of which large and splendid cisterns of water, hewn in the rock, are to be seen. The superfluous water from these cisterns falls from a height of twenty or thirty feet, and after turning a mill-wheel, flows through the veil in the form of a brook. End of Section 20. Section 21 of a visit to the Holy Land. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 11 of a visit to the Holy Land, Egypt and Italy, Part 1, by Ida L. Pfeiffer. June 20. Shortly after five this morning we were in our saddles, and a few hours afterwards arrived at the beautiful river Mishmir, which is as broad as the Jordan, though it does not contain nearly so much water. Next to the Jordan, however, this river is the largest we find on our journey, besides being a most agreeable object in a region so destitute of streams. Its water is pure as crystal. In ten hours we reached the town, and at once prepared to the convent, as not one of these cities contains an inn. The little convent, with its tiny church, is situate at the end of a large courtyard, which is so thronged with horses and men, particularly with soldiers, that we had great difficulty in forcing our way through. When we had at length cleared a passage for ourselves to the entrance, we were received with the agreeable intelligence that there was no room for us. What was to be done? We thought ourselves lucky in obtaining a little room where we could pass the night in a house belonging to a Greek family. Beds were, however, out of the question. We had to lie on the hard stones. In the courtyard a kind of camp had been pitched, in which twelve state-houses of the emir of Lebanon, creatures of the true Arab breed, were bivouacking among the quantity of arnauts. The arnaut soldiers are universally feared, but more by friend than foe. They are very turbulent, and behave in an overbearing manner towards the people. The count, my fellow traveler, was even insulted in the street, not by a peasant, but by one of these military fellows. These ill-disciplined troops are assembled everywhere in order that they may be ready to attack whenever a disturbance occurs between the Druzes and the Maronites. I consider, however, that the arnauts are much more to be feared than either the Druzes or the Maronites, through whose territories we afterwards journeyed without experiencing, in a single instance, either insult or injury. I hardly think we should have escaped so well had we encountered a troop of these wild horsemen. Among all the Turkish soldiers the arnauts are the best dressed, with their short and full white skirts of linen or lawn, and tight trousers of white linen, a scarf round the middle and a white or red spencer, they closely resemble the Albanians. June 21st. This was a most fatiguing day, although we did not ride for more than ten hours, but this ten hours journey was performed without even a quarter of an hour's rest, though the thermometer stood at thirty-three degrees ramer. Our path lay through a sandy desert about two miles in breadth, running parallel with the mountain range from Sayedetube route. The monotony of the step is only broken at intervals by heaps of sand. The surface of the sand presents the appearance of a series of waves, the particles of which it is composed are very minute, and of a fine yellowish-brown color. A beautiful fertile valley adjoins this desert and stretches towards Mount Lebanon, on whose brown rocky surface several villages can be described. This mountain range has a most imposing appearance. White rocks and strata of white sand shine forth from its broad and generally barren expanse like fields of snow. The residents of the late Lady Hester Stanhope can be seen in the distance on the declivity of the mountain. During our long ride of ten hours we did not pass a single tank, spring, or even pool, and all the riverbeds on our way were completely dried up by the heat. Not a tree could we see that could shelter us for a moment from the glaring heat of the sun. It was a day of torment for us and for our poor beasts. Two of our brave horses sunk from exhaustion and could go no further, though we relieved them from their burdens. We were obliged to leave the poor creatures to perish by the wayside. At three in the afternoon we at length arrived at Beirut. After having bravely encountered, during ten consecutive days, the toil and hardship inseparable from a journey through Syria. The distance from Jerusalem to Beirut is about two hundred miles, allowing for the circuitous route by way of Taborith, which travelers are not, however, compelled to take. From Jerusalem to Nazareth is fifty-four miles. From Nazareth across Mount Tabor to Taborith and back again thirty-one miles. From Nazareth to Mount Carmel, Haifas, and Acre, forty-six miles, and from Acre to Beirut sixty-nine miles, making the total two hundred miles. Our poor horses suffered dreadfully during this journey, for they were continually obliged, either to climb over rocks, stones, and mountains, or to wade through hot sand, in which they sank above the fetlocks at every step. It would have been a better plan had we only engaged our horses from Jerusalem to Nazareth, where we could have procured fresh ones to carry us on to Beirut. We had been told at Jerusalem that it was sometimes impossible to obtain horses at Nazareth, and so preferred engaging our beasts at once for the whole journey. On arriving at Nazareth we certainly discovered that we had been deceived, for horses are always to be had there in plenty, but as the contract was once made we were obliged to abide by it. During the ten days of our journey the temperature varied exceedingly. By day the heat fluctuated between eighteen degrees and thirty-nine degrees rimmer. The nights, too, were very changeable, being sometimes sultry and sometimes bitterly cold. Beirut lies in a sandy plain, but the mulberry trees, by which it is surrounded, impart to the city an air of picturesque beauty. Still we wade everywhere, in the streets, gardens and alleys, through deep sand. Viewed from a distance Beirut has a striking effect, a circumstance I had remarked upon my first arrival there from Constantinople, but it loses considerably on a nearer approach. I did not enjoy walking through the town and its environs, but it was a great pleasure to me to sit on a high terrace in the evening and look down upon the landscape. The dark blue sky rose above the distant mountains, the fruitful valley, and the glittering expanse of ocean. The golden sun was still illuminating the peaks of the mountains with its fair railways, until at length it sunk from view, shrouding everything in a soft twilight. Then I saw the innumerable stars shine forth, and the moon shed its magic light over the nocturnal landscape. And that mind can scarcely be called human which does not feel the stirring of better feelings within it at such a spectacle. Only the temple of the Lord is everywhere, and throughout all nature there is a mysterious something that tells even the infidel of the omnipresence of the Great Spirit. How many beautiful evenings did I not enjoy at Beirut? They were, in fact, the only compensation for the grievous hardships I was obliged to endure during my stay in this town. In the inn I could again not find a single room, and was this time much more at a loss to find a place of shelter than I had been before, for our host's wife had gone out of the town with her children, and had let her private house. So I sat in the fullest sense of the word in the street. A clergyman, whose acquaintance I had made in Constantinople, and who happened just then to be at Beirut, took compassion upon me and procured me a lodging in the house of a worthy Arab family just outside town. Now I certainly had a roof above my head, but I could not make myself understood, for not a soul spoke Italian, and my whole knowledge of Arabic was comprised in the four words, taib, moi, sut, mayfish, beautiful water, milk, and nothing. With so limited a stock of expressions at my command I naturally could not make much way, and the next day I was placed in a very disagreeable dilemma. I had hired a boy to show me the way to church, and explained to him by signs that he was to wait to conduct me home again. On emerging from the church I could see nothing of my guide. After waiting for some time in vain I was at length compelled to try and find my way alone. The house in which I lived stood in a garden of mulberry trees, but all the houses in the neighborhood were built in the same style, each having a tower attached, in which there is a habitable room, and all these dwellings standing gardens planted with mulberry trees, some of them not separated from each other at all, and the rest merely by little sand hills. Flowers and vegetables are nowhere to be seen, nor is the suburb divided into regular streets, so that I wandered in an endless labyrinth of trees and houses. I met none but Arabs, whose language I did not understand, and who could therefore give me no information. So I rushed to and fro until at length, after a long and fatiguing pilgrimage, I was lucky enough to stumble on the house I wanted. Unwilling to expose myself to such a disagreeable adventure a second time, I thought it would be preferable to dwell within the town, and therefore hired the young guide before mentioned to conduct me to the house of the Austrian Consul-General Ehrman A. Unfortunately this gentleman was not visible to such an insignificant personage as myself, and sent me word that I might come again in a few hours. This was a true Job's message for me as far as consolation went. The heat was most oppressive. I had now entered the town for the second time to be sent once more back to the glowing sands, with permission to come again in a few hours. Had I not been uncommonly hardy, I should have succumbed. But luckily I knew a method to help myself. I ordered my little guide to lead me to the house in which the wife of Batista the innkeeper lived. During my previous residence at Beirut I had accidentally heard that a French lady lodged in the same house, and occupied herself with the education of the children. I went to call on this French lady, and was lucky enough to find her, so I had at any rate so far succeeded that I had found a being with whom I could converse, and of whom I might request advice and assistance. My new acquaintance was an extremely cordial maiden-lady about forty years of age. Her name was Pauline Condis. My unfortunate position awakened her compassion so much that she placed her own room at my disposal for the time being. I certainly saw that my present quarters left much to be desired, for my kind entertainer's lodging consisted of a single room, divided into two parts by several tall chests. The foremost division contained a large table at which four girls sat and stood at their lessons. The second division formed a kind of lumber room, redolent of boxes, baskets, and pots, and furnished with a board, laid on an old tub, to answer the purposes of a table. My condition was, however, so forlorn that I took joyful possession of the lumber room assigned to me. I immediately departed with my boy-guide, and by noon I was already installed, with bag and baggage in the dwelling of my kind hostess. But there was no more walking for me that day. What with the journey and my morning's peregrinations, I was so exhausted that I requested nothing but a resting place, which I found among the old chests and baskets on the floor. I was right glad to lie down, and court the rest that I needed so much. At seven o'clock in the evening the school closed. Miss Kay then took her leave, and I remained sole occupant of her two rooms, which she only uses as school rooms, for she sleeps at her brother's house. My lodging at Miss Kay's was, however, the most uncomfortable of any I had yet occupied during my entire journey. For eight o'clock in the morning until seven at night, four or five girls, who did any thing rather than study, were continually in the room. The whole day long there was such a noise of shouting, screaming, and jumping about that I could not hear the sound of my own voice. Moreover, the higher regions of this hall of audience contained eight pigeons' nests, and the old birds, which were so tame that they not only took the food from our plates, but stole it out of our very mouths, fluttered continually about the room, so that we were obliged to look very attentively at every chair on which we intended to sit down. On the floor a cock was continually fighting with his three wives, and a motherly hen, with a brood of eleven hopeful ducks, cackled merrily between. I wonder that I did not contract a squint, for I was obliged continually to look upwards and downwards, lest I should cause mischief, and lest mischief should befall me. During the night the heat and the stench were almost unsupportable, and immediately after midnight the cock always began to crow, as if he earned his living by the noise he made. I used to open the window every night to make a passage of escape for the heat and the foul air, while I lay down before the door, like Napoleon's mum Luke, to guard the treasures entrusted to my care. But on the second night two wandering cats had already discovered my whereabouts. Without the least compulsion they stepped quietly over me into the chamber, and began to raise a murderous chase. I instantly jumped up and drove away the robbers, and from that time forward I was obliged to remain in the interior of my fortress, carefully to barricade all the windows and bear my torments with what fortitude I might. Our diet was also of a very light description. A sister-in-law of the good Pauline was accustomed to send in our dinner, which consisted one day of a thimbleful of saffron-coloured pilau, while the next would perhaps bring the shoulder of a small fish. Had I boarded with my hostess I should have kept five fast days in the week, and have nothing to eat on the remaining, too. I therefore at once left off dining with them, and used to cook a good German dish for myself every day. In the morning I asked for some milk, in order to make my coffee after the German fashion. Yet I think that some of our adulterators of milk must have penetrated even to Syria, for I found it as difficult to obtain pure goat's milk here as to get good milk from the cow in my own country. My bed-stead was formed out of an old chest, and my sole employment and amusement was idling. I had not a book to read, no table to write on, and if I once really succeeded in getting something to read or made an attempt at writing, the whole tribe of youngsters would come clustering round, staring at my book or at my paper. It would have been useless to complain, but yet I could not always entirely conceal the annoyance I felt. My friends must pardon me for describing my care so minutely, but I do so to warn all those who would wish to undertake a journey like mine, without being either very rich, very high-born, or very hearty, that they had much better remain at home. As I happened to be neither rich nor high-born, the council would not receive me at all the first time I called upon him, although the captain of a steamer had been admitted to an audience just before I applied. A few days afterwards I once more waited upon the council, told him of my troubles, and stated plainly how thankful I should feel if anyone would assist me so far as to procure me a respectable lodging, for which I would gladly pay, and where I could remain until an opportunity offered to go to Alexandria. The worthy council was kind enough to reply to my request with a shake of the head, and with the comforting admission that he was very sorry for me, it was really extremely unfortunate. I think the good gentleman must have left all his feeling at home before settling in Syria, otherwise he would never have dismissed me with a few frivolous speeches, particularly as I assured him that I was perfectly well provided with money, and would bear any expense, but added that it was possible to be placed in positions where want of advice was more keenly felt than want of means. During the whole of my residence at Beirut, my countrymen never troubled himself any more about me.