in full bloom — the almond, the cherry, the peach, and the apricot, the olive, and the orange, with a single fine specimen of the carob tree, which yields "the husks that the swine did eat," and which (though its pods be destined to such an ignoble use) is really quite a majestic tree. Around and among these trees were extensive gardens, carefully cultivated, and yielding fresh vegetables in abundance. Was there ever a sight more grateful to the eyes of weary travellers, after a long journey on the desert?
The Convent is a range of buildings grouped in a quadrangle of such extent that hundreds of pilgrims could easily be lodged within its numerous courts, and which thus suggests the idea of a huge Eastern caravanserai, and at the same time of a fortress, for its very construction tells plainly that it was built long ago, in times when it was a post of danger, to be held against attack. Its walls are like ramparts, with port-holes and watch-towers, and a strong gateway like one that opens into a fort. Indeed not fifty years ago strangers who found shelter here were not admitted by an open gate, but were drawn up in a basket, and swung into a window in the third or fourth story. The great rope still hangs outside in token of its former use, and we afterwards amused ourselves by putting it round us and taking a seat as in a swing, while the monks above lifted us from the ground. But this danger has passed away of later years, since Russia has taken the Convent under its protection; and now it has an arched portal, through which a party mounted on camels can ride into an outer court. Into this we rode, and dismounted in front of the heavier and stronger wall of the fortress. Entrance farther is obtained only by a letter from the Greek patriarch at Cairo, which we had brought with us, and sent by an attendant to the Prior of the Convent.
Presently one of the brethren appeared and bade us
