There is one thing I must not forget about Jaffa, and that is that here was born the modern sewing bee, I might almost say the Woman’s Missionary Society. You have all heard of Dorcas, the queen of the needle, who was raised from the dead by St. Peter. She was noted for the garments she had made for the poor, and at her funeral the people gathered round and showed specimens of the needlework she had sewed and hemmed and stitched for them. Dorcas lived two or three miles outside Jaffa on a hill which has a commanding view of the country for miles around. It overlooks the sea and land, including thousands of acres of orange groves and gardens containing all kinds of fruits. The site of her house is now occupied by a Russian Greek Catholic Church and a tomb has been erected over her grave hard by. I drove out to the place in a carriage, winding my way in and out through orange groves and up the hill to the church. Here I met a Russian priest, who was acquiring merit by guarding the bones of the saint in whose honour prayers are said daily. It was with him that I visited the tomb. It is of stone and is roofed by a dome, the whole being covered with plaster. There is a door at the front, and by descending several steps one can see the piece of mosaic which covers the spot where Dorcas lies. There are catacombs to the right and left containing the bones of saints, and over the whole rise magnificent trees. CHAPTER IV BY RAILWAY TO THE LAND OF JUDEA Take a seat with me this morning in the railroad car which is just about leaving the seaport of Jaffa to go to Jerusalem. The distance by rail is only fifty-four miles, but it will take us more than four hours. Crossing the rich plains of Sharon, the road winds its way up the hills of Judea until it brings us to the Holy City, about twenty-five hundred feet above the sea. The cars are comfortable, but we have had to fight with the tourists and pilgrims for our seats near the windows. A German and a Greek on the opposite side of the coach are still quarrelling for places, using language not that of brotherly love. The German has just called the Greek a swine, while the Greek has retaliated by simply calling the German a dog. But now they are quiet and we can enjoy the scenery as we go on. Leaving Jaffa we ride for some miles through orchards. There are orange groves loaded with blossoms and fruit. There are orchards of olives, pomegranates, and figs, and many gardens surrounded by cactus hedges twice as high as our heads. Next we enter the rich plain where the Philistines lived. The soil is brown and so fat that you have only to tickle it with the plough and it laughs with the harvest. You do not wonder that the Philistines fought for this fertile land.