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Rh sured that the scene was unusually animated for the time of the year, but the plain is more busy and cheerful-look ing in harvest time.

We passed two small villages, the lawless-looking inhabitants of which came out to watch us as we went by, while their children shouted in chorus, and their dogs barked savagely. In about one hour and a half we came to Hawara, which is the third village on the way from Nablûs. It is a large, strongly-built place, though unwalled. Its houses are like little castles. The olive-trees and gardens around it were in flourishing order.

Near to this spot the upper and lower roads are united, and just where the two ways meet we paused, and my brother and my Nablûs friends took leave of me, and rode quickly away down the lower road in the plain, while I went on with my little escort, which consisted of three individuals.

Mr. Finn's head kawass, a clever and energetic Moslem, led the way. He wore a scarlet cloth jacket braided with gold, full white cotton trowsers, and a red cloth tarbûsh. He carried a sword and pistols, and was mounted on a fine black horse, of which he was very proud.

Mohammed, our faithful Egyptian groom, who had charge of the luggage, was dressed in a long hooded drab cloth pelisse, made at Aleppo, and ornamented tastefully with broad black braid. He was riding on his indefatigable little donkey.

Simeon Rosenthal, the Hebrew dragoman of the British Consulate at Jerusalem, was the third. He was born of Jewish parents at Bucharest, but had embraced Christianity, and had lived in Jerusalem nearly thirty years. He spoke English pretty fluently, but with Oriental idioms; in fact, nearly every sentence which he uttered was like a quotation from the Bible. He was a stout, elderly man, with a ruddy face, bushy gray hair, and twinkling gray eyes. He was dressed in European clothes, but wore over them a large white abai or cloak made of goat's hair, and