son of Aaron; but this does not coincide with the fact that the Samaritan Pentateuch is different from that of the Jews.  It is, however, no doubt one of the oldest parchment records in the world, and the Samaritans look upon it with unbounded faith and reverence.  The Pentateuch, according to their version, contains their only form of religion.  They reject everything else which the Old Testament contains.  Three or four days ago was their grand feast of sacrifice, when they made a burnt offering of a lamb, on the top of Mount Gerizim.  Within a short time, it is said they have shown some curiosity to become acquainted with the New Testament, and the High Priest sent to Jerusalem to procure Arabic copies.

I asked one of the wild-eyed boys whether he could read the sacred book.  “Oh, yes,” said the priest, “all these boys can read it;” and the one I addressed immediately pulled a volume from his breast, and commenced reading in fluent Hebrew.  It appeared to be a part of their church service, for both the priest and boab, or door-keeper, kept up a running series of responses, and occasionally the whole crowd shouted out some deep-mouthed word in chorus.  The old man leaned forward with an expression as fixed and intense as if the text had become incarnate in him, following with his lips the sound of the boy’s voice.  It was a strange picture of religious enthusiasm, and was of itself sufficient to convince me of the legitimacy of the Samaritan’s descent.  When I rose to leave I gave him the promised fee, and a smaller one to the boy who read the service.  This was the signal for a general attack from the door-keeper and all the boys who were present.  They surrounded me with eyes sparkling with the desire of gain, kissed the border of my jacket, stroked my beard coaxingly with their hands, which they then kissed, and, crowding up with a boisterous show of affection, were about to fall on my neck in a heap, after the old Hebrew fashion.  The priest, clamorous for more, followed with glowing face, and the whole group had a riotous and bacchanalian character, which I should never have imagined could spring from such a passion as avarice.

On returning to our camp, we found Mentor and Telemachus arrived, but not on such friendly terms as their Greek prototypes.  We were kept awake for a long time that night by their high words, and the first sound I heard the next morning came from their tent.  Telemachus, I suspect, had found some island of Calypso, and did not relish the cold shock of the plunge into the sea, by which Mentor had forced him away.  He insisted on returning to Jerusalem, but as Mentor would not allow him a horse, he had not the courage to try it on foot.  After a series of altercations, in which he took a pistol to shoot the dragoman, and applied very profane terms to everybody in the company, his wrath dissolved into tears, and when we left, Mentor had decided to rest a day at Nablous, and let him recover from the effects of the storm.