THE day was all that the most romantic tourist or thoughtful traveler could have desired, when, at three o’clock on Monday afternoon, in the month of April, we left Jerusalem for the last time, on our long tour through Northern Palestine. Passing out of the Damascus Gate, I ascended the rocky ridge over the grotto of Jeremiah, and looked down upon the Holy City with the fondness of one bidding adieu to the scenes of his childhood. A gentle breeze was blowing from the Western Sea, and the flag of our country floated from the summit of Zion. The clattering of horses’ hoofs on the pavements below told me my companions were coming, and, turning to the northwest, the “City of the Great King” faded forever from my view. Crossing the hill Scopus, we were soon on the great caravan route leading from Egypt to Damascus. For half an hour our path lay through an open and undulating country, when it passed between two conical hills――Shâfât on the west, and Nob on the east. Less than a mile beyond the latter is Gibeah, the birthplace of King Saul.[435] Called by the Arabs Tuleil el-Fûl――“the Hill of the Beans”――it resembles a perfect cone when viewed from a distance. Rising from a rich plain, it is an object of universal attraction. Terraced from base to summit, it presents to the eye a beautiful appearance, as the green circles of corn mingle with the white limestone soil. On the summit are the remains of a tower or palace, fifty-six feet long and forty-eight wide, and by some unknown force the huge blocks of stone have been thrown together in a form not unlike a pyramid.