We followed a narrow bridle-path, raised a little above the bed of the valley. This led us to a solitary stone house, built up against the abruptly-rising hill on the right. Here we dismounted, and were kindly welcomed by its occupants—Mr. Meshullam and his family—the present cultivators and shareholders of this favorite spot. They are of Jewish birth, but have become Christians, and are under British protection. We rested under an immense fig-tree, on a divan of rocks and stones, built round its massive trunk, and covered with carpets and cushions. Opposite to us was a wide arched portal or lewan, the approach to the house. A wooden locker, and two stone benches or raised seats, covered with mats, occupied its three sides. It is used as a Summer sitting-room. Above the rude door leading to the inner rooms were a number of badger-skins hanging to dry, and some foxes' tails, and tusks of wild boars—trophies of the courage and skill of the young Meshullams. Bunches of Indian corn, and some large dried gourds of a golden tint and cup-like form, were suspended from the arched roof, with a few captured birds in cages, and a large lantern.
The room within was just as simple. We dined there with Mr. Meshullam and his family, and Mr. Henry Wentworth Monk, who for two years had lived there, almost a hermit's life, his only constant companion a Greek Testament, and his chief intercourse with the world the Times newspaper. He spent nearly all his time in the open air, entering the house only to sleep and to eat. His lifelike portrait, by Holman Hunt, appeared in the Royal Academy Exhibition in 1860.
Our hostess, Mrs. Meshullam, an Italian Jewess, told me she could only give us an Italian peasant's dinner, as she had not expected us that day; but the savory soup of lentils and other vegetables, the dishes of fried beans, the potato fritters, omelettes, and fruit, needed no apology.
After dinner, Mr. Meshullam's sons kindly led us up the rocky hill-side to the ruins of Urtâs. Scattered blocks of
