342 EXTRACTS FROM 
it again entered the region of olive-trees and neglected 
gardens. 
To the south of the ridge on which Bethlehem and Betsahur 
stand is a deep valley with terraces of olives and vines on both 
sides; among these are crags and rocks like those of the Karst, 
which form clefts, hollows, and caves, and being covered 
with evergreen bushes give a very picturesque appearance 
to the whole scene. The narrow bed of the valley is filled 
up with old walls, cisterns, and stones, and a rocky path 
used by the flocks winds up to the town. Hoyos and I 
were clambering about looking for some partridges that were 
calling among the rocks and olive-trees, when the Grand 
Duke and some of the other gentlemen suddenly appeared on 
the opposite side near the village, and tried to make us 
understand by signs that some game was on foot below us. 
Unluckily the terraced nature of the ground prevented our 
looking down, so we hurried across to our friends, who told 
us that a large jackal had passed slowly along the terrace 
just below us. 
Thereupon we separated and took up different positions to 
wait for the wild animals as they came out at sunset. My 
Hastern attendant said that this was a favourite haunt of the 
“Wawi,” as the Arabs of Palestine call the Jackal, the 
“Talib” of the Hgyptians, and, generally speaking, the 
Arabic of this country differs from that of Egypt so greatly 
as to be unintelligible. 
It was a lovely evening. The sun was just setting, the 
melancholy songs of the picturesque shepherds mingled with 
the tinkling bells of the flocks that they were leading 
past, and the chimes of the Angelus were ringing out 
from Bethlehem. The shadows, too, were deepening, the 
last rosy flush had left the mountains of the Dead Sea, 
and the eagles were flying to their roosting-places, as a 
Jackal glided ghost-like down the valley. It was coming 
