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 touch glasses and drink health, prosperity and long life to the Convent Fathers of Palestine.
So, rested and refreshed, we fell into line and filed away over the barren mountains of Judea, and along rocky ridges and through sterile gorges, where eternal silence and solitude reigned.

Even the scattering groups of armed shepherds we met the afternoon before, tending their flocks of long-haired goats, were wanting here.

We saw but two living creatures.