d black, as the shadows or sunshine crossed it, and only the long lines
of roaring foam, for ever changing in form, did not vary in hue. A
fisherman stood on the beach in a statuesque attitude, his handsome bare
legs bathed in the frothy swells, a bag of fish hanging from his shoulder,
and the large square net, with its sinkers of lead in his right hand,
ready for a cast. He had good luck, for the waves brought up plenty of
large fish, and cast them at our feet, leaving them to struggle back into
the treacherous brine. Between Acre and Haifa we passed six or eight
wrecks, mostly of small trading vessels. Some were half buried in sand,
some so old and mossy that they were fast rotting away, while a few had
been recently hurled there. As we rounded the deep curve of the bay, and
approached the line of palm-trees girding the foot of Mount Carmel, Haifa,
with its wall and Saracenic town in ruin on the hill above, grew more
clear and bright in the sun, while Acre dipped into the blue of the
Mediterranean. The town of Haifa, the ancient Caiapha, is small, dirty,
and beggarly looking; but it has some commerce, sharing the trade of Acre
in the productions of Syria. It was Sunday, and all the Consular flags
were flying. It was an unexpected delight to find the American colors in
this little Syrian town, flying from one of the tallest poles. The people
stared at us as we passed, and I noticed among them many bright Frankish
faces, with eyes too clear and gray for Syria. O ye kind brothers of the
monastery of Carmel! forgive me if I look to you for an explanation of
this phenomenon.

We ascended to Mount Carmel. The path led through a grove of carob trees,
from which the beans, known in Germany as St. John's bread, are produced.
After this we came into an olive grove at the foot of the mountain, from
which long fields of wheat, giving forth a ripe summer smell, flowed down
to the shore of the bay. The olive trees were of immense size, and I can
well believe, as Fra Carlo informed us, that they were probably planted by
the Roman colonists, established there by Titus. The gnarled, veteran
boles still send forth vigorous and blossoming boughs. There were all
manner of lovely lights and shades chequered over the turf and the winding
path we rode. At last we reached the foot of an ascent, steeper than the
Ladder of Tyre. As our horses slowly climbed to the Convent of St. Elijah,
whence we already saw the French flag floating over the sho