and to deeds of daring. When we were far enough from them, we sat down and took our lunch, which we had provided before setting out. We rested under a walnut tree during the hour of noon, and did not reach the Talibîyeh till three o'clock, where we were anxiously awaited, for the Gaza road is not considered a very safe one. In the arched recess at the back of the house, figs from Urtâs, strung together, were hanging in the sun to dry. One of the servants, sitting in the shade, was busy stripping off the flag-like envelopes of large ripe ears of Indian corn, or maize. She told me that she was going to make a mattress of the dried husks for one of the men-servants; and added that poor people, who can not afford to buy cotton wool, make their beds of the outer skins of onions, thoroughly dried and sweetened by exposure to the sun, and sewed up in coarse linen cases.
On the following day, my brother returned from Hebron, and was at last free to leave Jerusalem and start for his vice-consulate at Hâifa. A few days were spent in making preparations for the journey. I engaged Katrîne, a widow of Bethlehem, as my attendant. She was highly recommended to me as a faithful and affectionate woman, but with the serious drawback that she was subject to fits of mental derangement. In the year 1834, when her native town was the scene of rebellion, her husband and little sons were murdered in her presence in their beds, and alarm and despair disordered her mind.[1] (Who can calculate how much harm of this nature will be the result of the late massacres in the Lebanon and Damascus, and how many weakened intellects will be transmitted to succeeding generations? Men survive the sight of open war fare on the battle-field; but who can wonder that women become mad with rage and terror, who see their sons and fathers murdered in their homes?)
In a day or two Katrîne was quite at home with me. She had known my brother for years, and fancied that he
- ↑ See note, page 60.
