authentic, for the same reasons. If not wholly convincing to
all, there is, at least, so much probability in them that one is freed
from that painful coldness and incredulity with which he beholds the
sacred shows of Jerusalem.

Leaving the Tomb of Joseph, the road turned to the west, and entered the
narrow pass between Mounts Ebal and Gerizim. The former is a steep, barren
peak, clothed with terraces of cactus, standing on the northern side of
the pass. Mount Gerizim is cultivated nearly to the top, and is truly a
mountain of blessing, compared with its neighbor. Through an orchard of
grand old olive-trees, we reached Nablous, which presented a charming
picture, with its long mass of white, dome-topped stone houses, stretching
along the foot of Gerizim through a sea of bowery orchards. The bottom of
the valley resembles some old garden run to waste. Abundant streams,
poured from the generous heart of the Mount of Blessing, leap and gurgle
with pleasant noises through thickets of orange, fig, and pomegranate,
through bowers of roses and tangled masses of briars and wild vines. We
halted in a grove of olives, and, after our tent was pitched, walked
upward through the orchards to the Ras-el-Ain (Promontory of the
Fountain), on the side of Mount Gerizim. A multitude of beggars sat at the
city gate; and, as they continued to clamor after I had given sufficient
alms, I paid them with "_Allah deelek_!"--(God give it to you!)--the
Moslem's reply to such importunity--and they ceased in an instant. This
exclamation, it seems, takes away from them the power of demanding a
second time.

From under the Ras-el-Ain gushes forth the Fountain of Honey, so called
from the sweetness and purity of the water. We drank of it, and I found
the taste very agreeable, but my companion declared that it had an
unpleasant woolly flavor. When we climbed a little higher, we found that
the true source from which the fountain is supplied was above, and that an
Arab was washing a flock of sheep in it! We continued our walk along the
side of the mountain to the other end of the city, through gardens of
almond, apricot, prune, and walnut-trees, bound each to each by great
vines, whose heavy arms they seemed barely able to support. The interior
of the town is dark and filthy; but it has a long, busy bazaar extending
its whole length, and a cafe, where we procured the best coffee in Syria.

Nablous is noted for the existence of a small remnant of the anci