In going through the Valley of Sharon, we saw orange and lemon groves, and fruits of all kinds. It was a lovely valley, but all of a sudden we struck into the most desolate country I had ever seen--a mountain, a desert, a wilderness of rocks, ravines and cañons. There were rocks to the right, rocks to the left, and rocks everywhere. My dragoman had a mule and I a donkey. One of these mules had irreverently been named Christ and the other Jesus. To the perfect horror of the clergyman--until he understood that the men could say nothing else in English--the names of the donkeys were spoken with every crack of the whip all the way to Jerusalem. The lashing of those donkeys became a medley of seeming profanity. A few weeks before, several people had been killed by the Bedouins on the desert. Every one was talking about the dangers of the journey. After we got over this wild district, through the Valley of Jehoshaphat, we came upon a plateau and saw Jerusalem in the distance. Beautiful is that city for situation. Said my companions, at the same instant, "There are the Bedouins!" A half dozen horsemen were coming from the direction of Jerusalem. We feared danger, but Abram the dragoman showed no fear. These men were really not dangerous, being only "barkers" for the hotels of Jerusalem. Neither my companion nor myself had any idea that they were employes of that kind. One asked if we would go to "Smith's" near Mount Calvary, to "Jones's" near the Via della Rosa, or to another house on the site of Solomon's Temple. MacFarlane said, "Don't notice these people. Leave it to the dragoman." He decided that we should go to Smith's. From that time, until we left, for three days, I saw nothing but humbug and tinsel, lying and cheating, ugly women, sand-fleas and dogs, from Joppa through Ramlah. The one lovely place was an oasis where we stopped for luncheon. Of course this was a long time before Mark Twain went there and wept over the tomb of Adam. In going through the Valley of Jehoshaphat, up the Mount of Olives, of course I was impressed with what survived of my Biblical education. New England training was still strong in me. The women of Bethlehem, carrying baskets on their heads, with flowing robes of calico, were very beautiful and healthy-looking; but when I got to Bethlehem, and with my farm and cattle experience looked for stalls and mangers, I was, of course, disgusted at being taken down two flights and shown an old wet cave as the place where the Saviour was said to have been born. I have kept the morals of the old Methodists, I hope, but my superstitious notions were disappearing every minute I spent in Jerusalem.