Beyond the Pools the country rapidly improved in fertility and beauty. Though hilly, the land was not mountainous; and though the relative position of hill and valley was not regular, yet this confusion added interest to the scene. The vales were green with grains and grasses; the hills were covered with groves of fruit-trees; and along the highway were wells and fountains of cool water. As we advanced the scenery became picturesque. Now the valleys ran tortuously between the mountains; now ridges of Jura limestone rose on either hand; now dwarfed oaks and wild flowers covered hill and vale, while every where were visible ancient terraces and ruined towers, the evidence of former cultivation and of a larger population. But the pleasures of the journey were lessened by the condition of the roads, which were crooked and uneven, broken and stony. Sections of the old Roman highway remain, but by the neglect of twelve centuries this once famous road, over which the Roman chariot rolled, has been so damaged that those “royal road-makers” would now disown it as the work of their hands. Yet even an inconvenience so great was forgotten in the recollection that over this same road Abraham had passed with Isaac to the Land of Moriah, Jacob had fled from the face of Esau, David had ridden in triumph to Jerusalem, and the Holy Family had hastened to Egypt to escape the murdering minions of Herod. The day was far gone as we neared the home of the Patriarchs. The sun was fast sinking into the blue waters of the Mediterranean; the Hebron Hills were casting their lengthening shadows over the vineyards of Eshcol, and the wild flowers, blooming along the path, were closing their tiny petals “beneath the kisses of night.” It was such an hour and such a scene as the plaintive bard has embalmed in immortal verse: “The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. * * * * * “Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds.”[342] Illustration: HEBRON. A solitary light shone from the minaret of Hebron as we entered its ancient portal. “Strangers in a strange land,” we sat down upon the stone pavement, waiting the return of our dragoman, whom, in the absence of a hotel, we had dispatched to search for lodgings in a private dwelling. Weary and hungry, we waited till nine o’clock for his return, being closely watched by the Hebronites, and, in turn, we watched the progress of a little courtship between a pretty Jewess and a young Israelite――she coquettishly peeping through a latticed window, he standing beneath it, catching the smiles and accents of love.