DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.12665#0268
252 INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL.
I had seen every thing in Jerusalem that it
was the duty of a traveller to see. My time
was now my own, for idling, lounging, or strolling,
in the luxurious consciousness of having nothing to
do. In this humour I used to set forth from the
convent, never knowing where I should go or
what I should do; and whenever I went out with
the deliberate intention of doing nothing, I was al-
ways sure of finding enough to occupy me. My
favourite amusement in the morning was to go out
by St. Stephen's Gate, and watch the pilgrims as
they began their daily round of visits to the holy
places. Frequently, if I saw a group that inter-
ested me, I followed them to the Garden of Geth-
semane and the Mount of Olives; sometimes I
stopped in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and, sitting
down on the grave of an Israelite, watched the
Jewish pilgrims. One morning, I remember, Paul
and I were together; and we saw a young girl
kissing the tomb of Zachariah, and weeping as if
her heart would break. Paul asked her, rather
roughly, what she was crying about; and the poor
girl, looking at him for a moment, burst into a flood
of tears, and told him that she was weeping over
the tomb of the blessed prophet.
But there are few things connected with my
journeying in the Holy Land which I look back
upon with a more quiet satisfaction, than my often
repeated and almost daily walk around the walls of
Jerusalem. It was a walk of between three and four
miles ; and I always contrived, about half an hour
I had seen every thing in Jerusalem that it
was the duty of a traveller to see. My time
was now my own, for idling, lounging, or strolling,
in the luxurious consciousness of having nothing to
do. In this humour I used to set forth from the
convent, never knowing where I should go or
what I should do; and whenever I went out with
the deliberate intention of doing nothing, I was al-
ways sure of finding enough to occupy me. My
favourite amusement in the morning was to go out
by St. Stephen's Gate, and watch the pilgrims as
they began their daily round of visits to the holy
places. Frequently, if I saw a group that inter-
ested me, I followed them to the Garden of Geth-
semane and the Mount of Olives; sometimes I
stopped in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and, sitting
down on the grave of an Israelite, watched the
Jewish pilgrims. One morning, I remember, Paul
and I were together; and we saw a young girl
kissing the tomb of Zachariah, and weeping as if
her heart would break. Paul asked her, rather
roughly, what she was crying about; and the poor
girl, looking at him for a moment, burst into a flood
of tears, and told him that she was weeping over
the tomb of the blessed prophet.
But there are few things connected with my
journeying in the Holy Land which I look back
upon with a more quiet satisfaction, than my often
repeated and almost daily walk around the walls of
Jerusalem. It was a walk of between three and four
miles ; and I always contrived, about half an hour