cause to cease from the cities of Judah the voice of mirth, and the voice of gladness, the voice of the bridegroom, and the voice of the bride: for the land shall be desolate." A string of camels and a few horsemen were hastening across the country, and now and then we caught sight of them. Here and there a few black tents were pitched and flocks were feeding, but there was nothing else to give life to the landscape.
The wind, which had been gradually rising, now blew so violently that we could scarcely stand against it. The cloud which had overshadowed Jerusalem was whirled far away, and unless we had known exactly where to look, and what to look for, we could not possibly have distinguished the hill on which the city stands from the rocky hills which encircle it. We were reminded of the words of Carlyle: "The eye only sees that which it brings with it the power of seeing." We rode down into the valley for shelter, but we were presently tempted to ascend the opposite hill, for we saw some square black tents among the low trees and bushes. We rode up to the encampment and dismounted, and were soon surrounded by a group of dusky Arabs. They had cultivated a little patch of ground with barley and beans, and a few wild olive-trees grew at the base of the hill. Their half-naked little children were playing with the goats, jumping from rock to rock and rolling on the ground; the elder ones were gathering wood for the fire. The women were attending to a caldron of rice, which was suspended gipsy-fashion over a wood-fire in the open air. They clustered round Mrs. Finn and me, examining us with curiosity, especially wondering at our gloves and boots. They all looked rather languid and fatigued—the effect probably of the daily fasting, for they were very rigid Moslems of Bethlehem origin. We asked them how long they intended to remain there? They replied, "We shall remain here till Ramadan is past."[1]
From the top of the hill the flash of the "mogarib," or
- ↑ See note, page 60.
