Farther on is the grain market, consisting of many great vaulted chambers one or more of which belongs to each merchant. The vaults are filled with piles of wheat, corn, barley, oats, and millet spread out on the floor. The grain is sold by measure. I saw a Bedouin come in to buy two bushels of oats. It was dipped out by the peck, the merchant shaking the measure to make the grain solid, and then heaping up the top with his hands so that the oats formed a cone. This was the “good measure pressed down, shaken together, and running over,” as mentioned in St. Luke. The people here never buy grain by the sack, for they want to see it measured out before their eyes. But I am told that the grain sellers are sometimes able to impose upon those who purchase, making them think they get more than they really do. Much of the grain of the Holy City is ground at home and a great deal of that of Palestine is made into flour with hand mills. Some flour is imported and some is ground in mills worked by camels or donkeys. In baking bread the dough is kneaded at home and brought in great lumps to the public ovens to be found in almost every street. They are cave-like vaults running down below the street level. At the back of each vault is the oven with a sort of well before its open door. In the well stands the baker with a long paddle in his hand upon which he puts in and takes out the loaves. I have seen many bakeries of this kind. The fuel is olive wood, and the oven floor is marked out in blocks, so that the baking of each family may be put on a separate block. The loaves are about an inch thick and the size of a tea plate. Each has a hole in the centre. The baker gets a few cents for each half-dozen loaves, or he may instead take a toll of one loaf for each dozen. Before starting the baking he greases the floor of the oven with olive oil. The reason for these public bakeries is the great cost of fuel. The Arabs have a proverb showing that such baking is the cheapest. This runs: “Send your bread to the oven of the baker even though he should eat the half of it.” I frequently see boys carrying dough to these bakeries, or bringing bread home from them. They use trays which they bear on their heads. Ancient Jerusalem had its Bakers’ Street, for we read that King Zedekiah put the prophet Jeremiah into the court of the prison and commanded that they “should give him daily a piece of bread out of the Bakers’ Street.” During my stay in Jerusalem I have enjoyed the salad which is served at the hotel with an olive oil dressing. This is a land of olives and the oil is delicious. It is as clear as honey with a tint like the green of chartreuse. I say I have enjoyed it, but I doubt whether I shall enjoy it hereafter. Why? I have seen how it is made.