water, beside a square pile of masonry, upon which sat two Moslem dervishes.  This, we were told, was the Tomb of Joseph, whose body, after having accompanied the Israelites in all their wanderings, was at last deposited near Shechem.  There is less reason to doubt this spot than most of the sacred places of Palestine, for the reason that it rests, not on Christian, but on Jewish tradition.  The wonderful tenacity with which the Jews cling to every record or memento of their early history, and the fact that from the time of Joseph a portion of them have always lingered near the spot, render it highly probable that the locality of a spot so sacred should have been preserved from generation to generation to the present time.  It has been recently proposed to open this tomb, by digging under it from the side.  If the body of Joseph was actually deposited here, there are, no doubt, some traces of it remaining.  It must have been embalmed, according to the Egyptian custom, and placed in a coffin of the Indian sycamore, the wood of which is so nearly incorruptible, that thirty-five centuries would not suffice for its decomposition.  The singular interest of such a discovery would certainly justify the experiment.  Not far from the tomb is Jacob’s Well, where Christ met the Woman of Samaria.  This place is also considered as 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.