On leaving this place to resume our journey across the plain, we not only suffered dreadfully from the heat, which had reached 30 degrees Reaumur, but were further persecuted by a species of minute gnats, which hovered round us in large swarms, crept into our noses and ears, and annoyed us in such a manner that it required the utmost of our patience and determination to prevent us from turning back at once.  Fortunately we only met with these tormentors in those parts where the corn had been cut and was still in the fields.  They are not much larger than a pin’s head, and look more like flies than gnats.  They are always met with in great swarms, and sting so sharply that they frequently raise large boils.

The vegetation was at this season already in so forward a state that we frequently passed stubble-fields, and found that the wheat had in several cases been already garnered up.  Throughout the whole of Syria, and in that part of Egypt whither my journey afterwards led me, I never once saw corn or vegetables, wood or stores, carried in wagons; they were invariably borne by horses or asses.  In Syria I could understand the reason of this proceeding.  With the exception, perhaps, of the eight or ten miles across the valley of Sharon, the road is too stony and uneven to admit the passage of the lightest and smallest carts.  In Egypt, however, this is not the case, and yet wagons have not been introduced.

A most comical effect was produced when we met long processions of small donkeys, so completely laden with corn, that neither their heads nor their feet remained visible.  The sheaves seemed to be moving spontaneously, or to be propelled by the power of steam.  Frequently after a train of this kind has passed, lofty grey heads appear, surrounded by a load piled up to so great a height, that one would suppose large corn-wagons were approaching rather than the “ship of the desert,” the camel.  The traveller’s attention is continually attracted to some novel and curious object totally dissimilar to any thing he has seen at home.

Towards ten o’clock we arrived at Ramla, a place situate on a little hill, and discernible from a great distance.  Before reaching the town, we had to pass through an olive-wood.  Leaving our horses beneath a shady tree, we entered the coppice on the right:  a walk of about a quarter of a mile brought us to the “Tower of the Forty Martyrs,” which was converted into a church during the time of the Knights Templars, and now serves as a dwelling for dervishes.  It is a complete ruin, and I could scarcely believe that it was still habitable.

We made no stay at Ramda, a place only remarkable for a convent built, it is said, on the site of Joseph of Arimathea’s house.

The Syrian convents are built more like fortresses than like peaceful dwellings.  They are usually surrounded by strong and lofty walls, furnished with loopholes for cannon.  The great gate is kept continually closed, and barred and bolted from within for greater security; a little postern is opened to admit visitors, but even this is only done in time of peace, and when there is no fear of the plague.