smoked while we enjoyed the cool air, the wild scenery and the sunset.

One or two chose cosy bed-rooms to sleep in, but the nomadic instinct

prompted the rest to sleep on the broad divan that extended around the

great hall, because it seemed like sleeping out of doors, and so was more

cheery and inviting. It was a royal rest we had.

When we got up to breakfast in the morning, we were new men. For all

this hospitality no strict charge was made. We could give something if

we chose; we need give nothing, if we were poor or if we were stingy.

The pauper and the miser are as free as any in the Catholic Convents of

Palestine. I have been educated to enmity toward every thing that is

Catholic, and sometimes, in consequence of this, I find it much easier to

discover Catholic faults than Catholic merits. But there is one thing I

feel no disposition to overlook, and no disposition to forget: and that

is, the honest gratitude I and all pilgrims owe, to the Convent Fathers

in Palestine. Their doors are always open, and there is always a welcome

for any worthy man who comes, whether he comes in rags or clad in purple.

The Catholic Convents are a priceless blessing to the poor. A pilgrim

without money, whether he be a Protestant or a Catholic, can travel the

length and breadth of Palestine, and in the midst of her desert wastes

find wholesome food and a clean bed every night, in these buildings.

Pilgrims in better circumstances are often stricken down by the sun and

the fevers of the country, and then their saving refuge is the Convent.

Without these hospitable retreats, travel in Palestine would be a

pleasure which none but the strongest men could dare to undertake. Our

party, pilgrims and all, will always be ready and always willing, to

683

The Innocents Abroad