"And then men go to Shiloh, where the ark of God with the relics were long kept ... and after men go to Shechem, formerly called Sichar ... and there is a fair and good city, called Neapolis, whence it is a day's journey to Jerusalem."
Sir John Maundeville, 1322

Those who have undertaken the education of the tourist have instilled into him, among other irresponsible statements, the superstition that one can travel in the Holy Land only during the three spring months of the year, thus leaving the far more agreeable season from September to March for the delectation of the serious student. This conviction, and the absence from our party of pith helmets, white umbrellas, hats invested with floating veils, blue spectacles, superfluous luggage, broken-kneed horses, dragomans, and other impediments to comfort and convenience, made possible the unsportsmanlike start which otherwise might have caused a careless observer to mistake us for the "Personally Conducted."

{179} To drive in a carriage as far as El Bireh, sending our horses in advance, was however a venial sin; for the ride to Nabl?s was before us, the first three or four hours being along a highroad of very moderate interest; and, at best, we could not hope to get in before nightfall, in spite of our start at six o'clock on a December morning.

We were a very attenuated party—only the Lady and the Doctor remaining of our former group. We were reinforced, however, by the Artist, a lady whose saddle-bags were weighty with cameras and sketching-blocks; and by another learned doctor, who, on account of his association with a celebrated guide-book, we designated "Baedeker." Sitting in a carriage is not inspiriting, and even the sight of the Holy City in the sunrise, viewed from Mount Scopas, as purple in the morning as it is pink in the evening, failed to arouse our conversational powers. The tribe of Benjamin welcomed us coldly on the broad plain assigned to it, and we could think only with some dejection, of the bygone days when this plucky little people could afford to lose twenty-five thousand men in a single battle (Judges xx.), and when the six hundred who held out on yonder hill of Ramah, {180} repudiated by all their neighbours, possessed themselves of wives in the good old Sabine fashion, and made a fresh start in their frontier colony. Fifteen Moslem families now inherit the traditions of former glory; and, indeed, the population hereabouts is very thinly scattered. It is whispered that some of the villages have so evil a reputation that the neighbouring districts now, as two or three thousand years ago, are wont to say: "There shall not any of us give his daughter unto Benjamin to wife"—the women already established there not being desirable associates for those otherwise brought up.

At El Bireh our vehicle drew up in front of the khan or village inn, where there is a good deal of accommodation for horses, and a single small room for man. There we breakfasted, while our steeds were collected and our saddle-bags dispersed. We had no baggage-horses, and had all our personal belongings, as well as fodder for the beasts, to distribute as best we could, so that we were unable to accede to the characteristically Oriental request of a Greek priest that we would relieve him and his horse of a part of their burden. We had been at El Bireh before, and so did not linger to see the {181} ruins of the very fine Church and Hospice of the Knights of St John, which testify to its former renown. The church, which is of the same ground-plan as that of St Anne at Jerusalem and that of St Cleophas at Qoubeibeh (probably Emmaus), had three naves, terminating in a triapsidal chancel. It was rebuilt by the Crusaders, who had here a fortress and stronghold. The tradition which it commemorates, is that it was here, a day's journey from Jerusalem, that the child Jesus was missed by His parents, who returned to seek Him. There is also a further tradition that it was here that, seated under a palm-tree, the prophetess Deborah judged Israel. The palm-trees remain, with many other signs of the fertility produced by the presence of an excellent spring.

No horses were visible, although we were assured that they had left Jerusalem at two o'clock—a statement we ventured to doubt when they were at length produced, still perspiring, and obviously over-driven. The Arab has little idea of time, and, indeed, Khalil's sense of veracity never permits him to make a promise more definite than: Iumkin inshallah—"Perhaps, if God will"; and his idea of futurity is limited to bookra or ba'ad bookra—literally, "to-morrow," {182} or "after to-morrow," but used as equivalent to "by-and-bye," near or remote. The Arab has no compunction in keeping you waiting; but is equally indifferent to losing time himself, and cheerfully sits down on your doorstep until you are ready to give him attention. "Baedeker," much experienced, had carefully selected his own saddle and bridle, sound ones, the pride of their owner, who had naturally reserved them for the decoration of his stables, and had sent the usual aggregation of unrelated straps, patched leather, and rotten string. Our friend had a fluent command of Arabic and some half-dozen other languages, and he expressed his views on the manners and customs of the country at considerable length to Abdallah, who was no further moved than to ejaculate: Ana baraf? Allah baraf—"Do I know? God knows" when his patron's breath was exhausted, and to pass the palm of his left hand over the back of his right, the palm of his right over the back of his left, in testimony of his personal innocence and irresponsibility.

The Lady was, of course, faithful to her old friend Sadowi; but the horses all knew the Nabl?s road, and, having no desire to better their acquaintance, professed disinclination in {183} various forms. Somewhere about 1900 it was decided to make a road between the capitals of Jud?a and Samaria—Jerusalem and Nabl?s—and all the beasts of both towns are well aware of the undertaking, which has been finished only as far as El Bireh, the remainder, some nine hours' journey, being in various stages of that incompleteness which is so infinitely more discouraging than no road at all. As, however, we could see for some miles ahead of us what bore the aspect of a Sultaniyeh, the Turkish equivalent for the king's highway, some of us weakly proposed to take the carriage farther. This, however, we found impossible, as the road at present is only to be looked at—a wise provision, as we later discovered.

At Beitin, about half-an-hour farther, we passed from the territory of Benjamin to that of Ephraim, from Jud?a into Samaria, from the arid and treeless Jerusalem district into the verdure, the colour, the obviously greater prosperity which one finds anywhere else. Surely every traveller who permits himself to think, unfettered by conventionality and tradition, must continually ask himself why the Jewish people should have taken for their capital a site which, however "beautiful for situation," was, from the {184} point of view of milk and honey, of vineyards and olive-yards, of corn and wine, inferior to almost any other in Palestine; where water must always have been scarce, and the hillsides bare, though, undoubtedly, less arid and desolate than now; where the winter winds and the summer siroccos were more pitiless than anywhere else; where the soil was shallow, and the season of possible cultivation short. So long as one is in the Holy City, under the spell of its influences, of its associations, sacred and profane, its interests, literary and arch?ological, its Babel of tongues, its cosmopolitan population, its immigrants from every corner of the world, so long as one hears the music of its place-names, as one feels the enchantment of its moonlight, sunlight, starlight, of its colouring, of its life—so long is one prepared to echo the vauntings of the Psalmist and the prophets; but one has only to visit almost any other spot in Palestine to ask, from the point of view of common-sense and the practical, why Joshua did not settle in Shechem, or David in his native town of Bethlehem; why Abraham was not satisfied with Hebron, or Solomon with the plain of Sharon; or here at Beitin, assuming it to be Bethel, why {185} Samuel did not remain permanently, instead of returning from his annual visits to his shelterless home, perched on the arid hilltop, north-west of Jerusalem.

In the Middle Ages Bethel was located farther north, near Nabl?s, but later historians identify it with Beitin. It is a miserable village, with only the remains of a crusading church—said to be on the site of Jacob's vision, now a mosque—to recall past prosperity; but there is abundance of water, and everything was looking green and fresh after the early rains. The associations, Jacob's dream, the burial of Rebecca's nurse, Jeroboam's golden calf, Elisha's bears, seemed to diminish in historical perspective when we heard of a circle of stones of probable religious significance and extreme antiquity, and very rare, west of the Jordan; but time would not permit us to examine them. There is a fine reservoir, 300 by 200 feet, which has a spring in the middle; and all about were scattered hewn stones and remains of columns, which one is free to fancy may have belonged, as is said, to the temple of the golden calf. A little beyond lie the pleasant little villages of............