At the little village of El Haram, where we spent the night, I visited the
tomb of Sultan Ali ebn-Aleym, who is now revered as a saint. It is
enclosed in a mosque, crowning the top of a hill. I was admitted into the
court-yard without hesitation, though, from the porter styling me
"Effendi," he probably took me for a Turk. At the entrance to the inner
court, I took off my slippers and walked to the tomb of the Sultan--a
square heap of white marble, in a small marble enclosure. In one of the
niches in the wall, near the tomb, there is a very old iron box, with a
slit in the top. The porter informed me that it contained a charm,
belonging to Sultan Ali, which was of great use in producing rain in times
of drouth.

In the morning we sent our baggage by a short road across the country to
this place, and then rode down the beach towards Jaffa. The sun came out
bright and hot as we paced along the line of spray, our horses' feet
sinking above the fetlocks in pink and purple shells, while the droll
sea-crabs scampered away from our path, and the blue gelatinous
sea-nettles were tossed before us by the surge. Our view was confined to
the sand-hills--sometimes covered with a flood of scarlet poppies--on one
hand; and to the blue, surf-fringed sea on the other. The terrible coast
was still lined with wrecks, and just before reaching the town, we passed
a vessel of some two hundred tons, recently cast ashore, with her strong
hull still unbroken. We forded the rapid stream of El Anjeh, which comes
down from the Plain of Sharon, the water rising to our saddles. The low
promontory in front now broke into towers and white domes, and great
masses of heavy walls. The aspect of Jaffa is exceedingly picturesque. It
is built on a hill, and the land for many miles around it being low and
flat, its topmost houses overlook all the fields of Sharon. The old
harbor, protected by a reef of rocks, is on the north side of the town,
but is now so sanded up that large vessels cannot enter. A number of small