piece, we had no further use. On our road down to Jerusalem we had
much chat together, but only one adventure. Those pilgrims, of whom
I have spoken, journey to Jerusalem in the greatest number by the
route which we were now taking from it, and they come in long
droves, reaching Jaffa in crowds by the French and Austrian steamers
from Smyrna, Damascus, and Constantinople. As their number confers
security in that somewhat insecure country, many travellers from the
west of Europe make arrangements to travel with them. On our way
down we met the last of these caravans for the year, and we were
passing it for more than two hours. On this occasion I rode first,
and Smith was immediately behind me; but of a sudden I observed him
to wheel his horse round, and to clamber downwards among bushes and
stones towards a river that ran below us. "Hallo, Smith," I cried,
"you will destroy your horse, and yourself too." But he would not
answer me, and all I could do was to draw up in the path and wait.
My confusion was made the worse, as at that moment a long string of
pilgrims was passing by. "Good morning, sir," said an old man to me
in good English. I looked up as I answered him, and saw a grey-
haired gentleman, of very solemn and sad aspect. He might be
seventy years of age, and I could see that he was attended by three
or four servants. I shall never forget the severe and sorrowful
expression of his eyes, over which his heavy eyebrows hung low.
"Are there many English in Jerusalem?" he asked. "A good many," I
replied; "there always are at Easter." "Can you tell me anything of
any of them?" he asked. "Not a word," said I, for I knew no one;
"but our consul can." And then we bowed to each other and he passed
on.

I got off my horse and scrambled down on foot after Smith. I found
him gathering berries and bushes as though his very soul were mad