farce, but the arrangement is winked at by
the Pasha, who, of course, gets his share of the 100,000 piastres which
the two scamps yearly levy upon travellers. The shekhs came to our rooms,
and after trying to postpone our departure, in order to attach other
tourists to the same escort, and thus save a little expense, took half the
pay and agreed to be ready the next morning. Unfortunately for my original
plan, the Convent of San Saba has been closed within two or three weeks,
and no stranger is now admitted. This unusual step was caused by the
disorderly conduct of some Frenchmen who visited San Saba. We sent to the
Bishop of the Greek Church, asking a simple permission to view the
interior of the Convent; but without effect.

We left the city yesterday morning by St. Stephen's Gate, descended to the
Valley of Jehosaphat, rode under the stone wall which encloses the
supposed Gethsemane, and took a path leading along the Mount of Olives,
towards the Hill of Offence, which stands over against the southern end of
the city, opposite the mouth of the Vale of Hinnon. Neither of the shekhs
made his appearance, but sent in their stead three Arabs, two of whom were
mounted and armed with sabres and long guns. Our man, Mustapha, had charge
of the baggage-mule, carrying our tent and the provisions for the trip. It
was a dull, sultry morning; a dark, leaden haze hung over Jerusalem, and
the _khamseen_, or sirocco-wind, came from the south-west, out of the
Arabian Desert. We had again resumed the Oriental costume, but in spite of
an ample turban, my face soon began to scorch in the dry heat. From the
crest of the Hill of Offence there is a wide view over the heights on both
sides of the valley of the Brook Kedron. Their sides are worked into
terraces, now green with springing grain, and near the bottom planted with
olive and fig trees. The upland ridge or watershed of Palestine is
cultivated for a considerable distance around Jerusalem. The soil is light
and stony, yet appears to yield a good return for the little labor
bestowed upon it.

Crossing the southern flank of Mount Olivet, in half an hour we reached
the village of Bethany, hanging on the side of the hill. It is a miserable
cluster of Arab huts, with not a building which appears to be more than a
century old. The Grotto of Lazarus is here shown, and, of course, we
stopped to see it. It belongs to an old Mussulman, who came out of his
house with a piece of waxed rope, to li