Is gone, and naught, alas! is left
Save memory to me.
G. K. M.
“ALL MY INFANT SORROWS SOOTHED.”
FROM LONDON TO DAMASCUS.
PART V.
THE END OF OUR PILGRIMAGE.
On the 4th of April we left Jerusalem for Hebron, travelling in an ancient vehicle driven by a merry bright-eyed youth, who at intervals would put his head under the hood of the carriage, and inquire, “Are you happy, O ladies?” On this journey we dispensed with the services of our dragoman, Miss B. kindly undertaking for us the distracting business of payments and bargaining, for the coinage of Palestine is as perplexing as its language.
You can never be sure of the value of Turkish money in this country. Every village, though circulating the same coins, puts a different value on them; this is most embarrassing to the European. I do not remember meeting either a native or an English resident, who could give you off-hand the accurate cost of a few trifling purchases. Before you can get near it, mysterious calculations have to be worked out on paper; these must be illustrated by pieces of English, French and Turkish money, accompanied by such profuse explanations that you soon begin to doubt your own sanity. Lucky indeed is the English traveller who survives, and goes forth with a serene countenance, believing that he comprehends the system of accounts as practised in Palestine.