From the long hill beyond the Tombs, we took our last view of Jerusalem, far beyond whose walls I saw the Church of the Nativity, at Bethlehem.  The Jewish synagogue on the top of the mountain called Nebbee Samwil, the highest peak in Palestine, was visible at some distance to the west.  Notwithstanding its sanctity, I felt little regret at leaving Jerusalem, and cheerfully took the rough road northward, over the stony hills.  There were few habitations in sight, yet the hill-sides were cultivated, wherever it was possible for anything to grow.  The wheat was just coming into head, and the people were at work, planting maize.  After four hours’ ride, we reached El Bireh, a little village on a hill, with the ruins of a convent and a large khan.  The place takes its name from a fountain of excellent water, beside which we found our tents already pitched.  In the evening, two Englishmen, an ancient Mentor, with a wild young Telemachus in charge, arrived, and camped near us.  The night was calm and cool, and the full moon poured a flood of light over the bare and silent hills.

We rose long before sunrise, and rode off in the brilliant morning—­the sky unstained by a speck of vapor.  In the valley, beyond El Bireh, the husbandmen were already at their ploughs, and the village boys were on their way to the uncultured parts of the hills, with their flocks of sheep and goats.  The valley terminated in a deep gorge, with perpendicular walls of rock on either side.  Our road mounted the hill on the eastern side, and followed the brink of the precipice through the pass, where an enchanting landscape opened upon us.  The village of Yebrood crowned a hill which rose opposite, and the mountain slopes leaning towards it on all sides were covered with orchards of fig trees; and either rustling with wheat or cleanly ploughed for maize.  The soil was a dark brown loam, and very rich.  The stones have been laboriously built into terraces; and, even where heavy rocky boulders almost hid the soil, young fig and olive trees were planted in the crevices between them.  I have never seen more thorough and patient cultivation.  In the crystal of the morning air, the very hills laughed with plenty, and the whole landscape beamed with the signs of gladness on its countenance.

The site of ancient Bethel was not far to the right of our road.  Over hills laden with the olive, fig, and vine, we passed to Ain el-Haramiyeh, or the Fountain of the Bobbers.  Here there are tombs cut in the rock on both sides of the valley.  Over another ridge, we descended to a large, bowl-shaped valley, entirely covered with wheat, and opening eastward towards the Jordan.  Thence to Nablous (the Shechem of the Old and Sychar of the New Testament) is four hours through a winding dell of the richest harvest land; On the way, we first caught sight of the snowy top of Mount Hermon, distant at least eighty miles in a straight line.  Before reaching Nablous, I stopped to drink at a fountain of clear and sweet