The Tomb of Rachel.-First View of Jerusalem.-Falling among Thieves. -Potent Sway of the Pacha.-A Turkish Dignitary.-A Missionary.- Easter in Jerusalem.-A Little Congregation

GIVING a last look to the Valley of the Shepherds, we were soon on the mountain's side; and very soon all the interest with which I had regarded Bethlehem was lost in the more absorbing feeling with which I looked forward to Jerusalem. My muleteer had gone on the night before; my Arnaout knew nothing of the holy places on the road, and we took with us a Christian boy to point them out. The first was the tomb of Rachel, a large building, with a whitened dome, and having within it a high oblong monument, built of brick, and stuccoed over. I dismounted and walked round the tomb, inside and out, and again resumed my journey. All that we know in regard to this tomb is, that Rachel died when journeying with Jacob from Sychem to Hebron, and that Jacob buried her near Bethlehem; and whether it be her tomb or not, I could not but remark that, while youth and beauty have faded away, and the queens of the East have died and been forgotten, and Zenobia and Cleopatra sleep in unknown graves, year after year thousands of pilgrims are thronging to the supposed last resting place of a poor Hebrew woman.

The boy next conducted us to a stony field, by which, as be said, the Virgin once passed and asked for beans; the owner of the field told her there were none; and, to punish him for his falsehood and lack of charity, the beans were all changed into stones, and the country had remined barren ever since. Paul had been twice to Bethlehem without seeing this field; and he immediately dismounted and joined the boy in searching for the holy petrifactions. "It was wonderful," said Paul, as he picked up some little stones as much like beans as anything else; "and see, too," said he, "how barren the country is." In about an hour we came to the Greek monastery of St. Elias; a large stone building, standing on an eminence, and commanding a fine view of Bethlehem. Stopping to water my horse at a fountain in front of the monastery, I turned to take a last look at Bethlehem; and my horse moving a few paces, when I turned again I saw in full view the holy city of Jerusalem. I did not expect it, and was startled by its proximity. It looked so small, and yet lay spread out before me so distinctly, that it seemed as if I ought to perceive the inhabitants moving through the streets, and hear their voices humming in my ears. I saw that it was walled all around, and that it stood alone in an extensive waste of mountains, without suburbs, or even a solitary habitation beyond its walls. There were no domes, steeples, or turrets to break the monotony of its aspect, and even the mosques and minarets made no show. It would have been a relief, and afforded something to excite the feelings, to behold it in ruins, or dreary and desolate like Petra, or with the banner of the Prophet, the blood-red Mussulman flag, waving high above its walls. But all was tame and vacant. There was nothing in its appearance that afforded me a sensation; it did not even inspire me with melancholy; and I probably convict myself when I say that the only image it presented to my mind was that of a city larger and in better condition than the usual smaller class of those within the Turkish dominion. I was obliged to rouse myself by recalling to mind the long train of extraordinary incidents of which that little city had been the theatre, and which made it, in the eyes of the Christian at least, the most hallowed spot on earth. One thing only particularly struck me-its exceed- ing stillness. It was about midday; but there was no throng of people entering or departing from its gates, no movement of living creatures to be seen beneath its walls. All was as quiet as if the inhabitants were, like the Spaniards, taking their noonday sleep. We passed the Pools of Hezekiah, and came in sight of the Mount of Olives; and now, for the first signs of life, we saw streaming from the gate a long procession of men, women, and children, on dromedaries, camels, and horses, and on foot; pilgrims who had visited Calvary and the holy sepulchre, and were now bending their steps towards Bethlehem.

At every moment the approach was gaining interest; but in a few minutes, while yet about an hour distant from the walls, my attention was diverted from the city by the sudden appearance of our muleteer, who had left us the day before in a pet, and gone on before us to Jerusalem. He was sitting on the ground alone, so wan and wo-begone, so changed from the spruce and well-dressed muleteer who had accompanied us from Hebron, that I scarcely recog- nised him. Every article of his former dress was gone, from his gay turban to his long boots; and in their stead he displayed an old yellow striped shawl, doing duty as a turban, and a ragged Bedouin gown. Late in the afternoon, while hurrying on to get in before the gates should be closed, he was hailed by four Arabs; and when he attempted to escape by pushing his donkey, he was brought to by a musket-ball passing through the folds of his dress and grazing his side. A hole in his coat, however, did not save it; and, according to the Arab mode of robbery, they stripped him to his skin, and left him stark naked in the road. From his manner of telling the story, I am inclined to think that the poor fellow had not conducted himself very valiantly; for though he did not regard the scratch on his side or the risk he.had run of his life, he mourned bitterly over the loss of his garments. Arrived in the Holy Land, I had thought danger of all kinds at an end; and I could not help recognising the singular good fortune which had accompanied me thus far, and congratulating myself upon the accident which had detained me at Bethlehem.

We were soon approaching the walls of Jerusalem, and seemed to be almost at their foot; but we were on one of the mountains that encompass the city, and the deep Valley of Jehoshaphit was yet between us and the holy city-the sacred burying-ground of the Jews, the "gathering-place of nations." Crossing this valley, we ascended on the other side, and in a few moments were on one of the seven hills on which the city is built, and entering at the Bethlehem gate. It was guarded by a Turkish soldier, and half a dozen more lay basking in the sun outside, who raised their heads as I approached, their long mustaches curling as they looked at me; and though they gave me no greeting, they let me pass without any molestation. On the right was the citadel; a soldier was on the walls, and a small red flag, the standard of Mohammed, was drooping against its staff. In front was an open place, irregular, and apparently formed by clearing away the ruins of fallen houses. As in all Turkish cities, the stillness was unbroken; there was no rattling of wheels over the pavements, nor even the tramp of horses.

We wound around the walls, and dismounted at the only asylum for strangers, the Latin Convent. I presented myself to the superior; and, after receiving from him a kind and cordial welcome, with the usual apologies for meager fare on account of its being Lent, went to the room assigned me; and had just sat down to dinner, when my poor muleteer entered in greater distress than ever.

Afraid of the very thing that happened, he had started immediately on his return to Hebron, and at the gate his mules were seized by a soldier for the use of the government. It was in a spirit of perfect wretchedness that the poor fellow, still smarting under the loss of his clothes, almost threw himself at my feet, and begged me to intercede for him. I was, of course, anxious to help him if I could, and immediately rose to go with him; but Paul told me to remain quiet, and he would settle the matter in five minutes. Paul was a great admirer of the pacha. Wherever his government was established, he had made it safe for the traveller; and Paul's courage always rose and fell according to the subdued or unsubdued state of the population. In the city of Jerusalem the wind could scarcely blow without the leave of Ibrahim Pacha; and Paul had mounted on stilts almost as soon as we crossed the threshold of the gate. He had already been at his old tricks of pushing the unresisting Arabs about, and kicking them out of the way, as in the miserable villages on the Nile; and, strong in the omnipotence of the firman, he now hurried to the gate; but he came back faster than he went. I have no doubt that he was very presuming and impudent, and richly deserved more than he got; but, at all events, he returned on a full run, and in a towering passion. The soldier had given him the usual Mussulman abuse, showering upon him the accustomed "dog" and "Christian;" and, moreover, had driven him to the verge of madness by calling him a "Jew," and threatening to whip both him and his master. Paul ran away from what I am inclined to believe would have been his share, as the Arabs had taken part against him; and, burning with the indignity of being called a Jew, begged me to seek redress of. the governor. I was roused myself, not so much by the particular insult to Paul, as by the general intention of the thing, and the disconsolate figure of my poor muleteer; and leaving my unfinished meal, with my firman in my hand, and Paul and the muleteer at my heels, I started for the palace of the governor.

Old things and new are strangely blended in Jerusalem; and the residence of the Turkish governor is in the large building which to this day bears the name of Pontius Pilate. Paul told me its history as we were ascending the steps; and it passed through my mind as a strange thing, that almost the first moment after entering the city, I was making a complaint, perhaps in the same hall where the Jews had complained of Christ before Pontius Pilate, having with me a follower of that Christ, whom the Jews reviled and buffeted, burning under the indignity of being called a Jew. The governor, as is the custom of governors in the East, and probably as Pontius Pilate did in the time of our Sa- viour, sat in a large room, ready to receive everybody who had any complaint to make; his divan was a raised platform, on an iron camp-bedstead, covered with rich Turkey rugs, and over them a splendid lion-skin. His face was noble, and his long black beard the finest I ever saw; a pair of large pistols and a Damascus sabre were lying by bis side, and a rich fur cloak, thrown back over his shoulders, displayed a form that might have served as a model for a Hercules. Altogether, he reminded me of Richard in his tent on the plains of Acre. At the moment of my entry he was breathing on a brilliant diamond, and I noticed on his finger an uncommonly beautiful emerald. He received me with great politeness; and when I handed him the pacha's firman, with a delicacy and courtesy I never saw surpassed, he returned it to me unopened and unread, telling me that my dress and appearance were sufficient recommendation to the best services in his power. If the reader would know what dress and appearante are a sufficient recommendation to the best offices of a Turkish governor, I will merely mention that, having thrown off, or rather having been stripped of, most of my Turkish dress at Hebron, I stood before the governor in a red tarbouch, with a long black silk tassel, a blue roundabout jacket buttoned up to the throat, gray pantaloons, boots splashed with mud, a red sash, a pair of large Turkish pistols, sword, and my Nubian club in my hand; and the only decided mark of aristocracy about me was my beard, which, though not so long as the governor's, far exceeded it in brilliancy of complexion. The few moments I had had for observation, and the courteous demeanour of the governor, disarmed me of my anger; and coffee and the first pipe over, I stated my grievances very dispassionately. Paul's wrath was still dominant, and I have no doubt he represented the conductof the soldier as much worse than it was; for the governor, turning to me without any further inquiries, asked if he should have him bastinadoed. This summary justice startled even Paul; and feeling a little ashamed of my own precipitation, was now more anxious to prevent punishment than I had before been to procure it; and begged him to spare the soldier, and merely order him to release the mules. Without another word he called a janizary, and requesting me to wait, ordered him to accompany Paul to the gate wbere the scene took place; and when Paul returned, the muleteer, with a thankful heart, was already on his way to Hebron. I had the satisfaction of learning, too, that the officers were on the track of the robbers who had stripped him, and before morning the governor expected to have them in custody.

Several times afterward I called upon the governor, and was always treated with the same politeness. Once, when I was walking alone outside the walls, I met him sitting on the grass, with his janizaries and slaves standing up around him; and the whole Turkish population being out wandering among the tombs, he procured for me a respect and consideration which I think were useful to me afterward, by calling me to a seat beside him, and giving me the pipe from his own mouth. Some months afterward, at Genoa, I saw a brief article in an Italian paper, referring to a previous article, giving an account of a then late revolution there, in which the governor was on the point of falling into the bands of the insurgents. I have never seen any account of the particulars of this revolution, and do not know whether he is now living or dead. In the East life hangs by so brittle a thread, that when you part from a man in power, in all probability you will never see him again. I can only hope that the Governor of Jerusalem still lives, and that his condition in life is as happy as when I saw him.

It was Saturday afternoon when I arrived at Jerusalem. I had a letter of introduction to Mr. Thompson, an American missionary, and the first thing I did was to look for him. One of the monks of the convent gave me the direction to the American priest, not knowing his name; and, instead of Mr. Thompson, I found Mr. Whiting, who had been there about a year in his place. Like the governor, Mr. Whiting did not want any credentials; but here, being among judges, it was not my dress and appearance that recommended me I was an American, and at that distance from home the name of countryman was enough. In the city of Jerusalem such a meeting was to him a rare and most welcome incident; while to me, who had so long been debarred all conversation except with Paul and the Arabs, it was a pleasure which few can ever know, to sit down with a compatriot, and once more, in my native tongue, hold converse of my native land.

Each of us soon learned to look upon the other as a friend; for we found that an old friend and schoolmate of mine had been also a friend and schoolmate of his own. He would have had me stay at his house; but I returned to the convent, and with my thoughts far away, and full of the home of which we had been talking, I slept for the first night in the city of Jerusalem.

The first and most interesting object within the walls of the holy city, the spot to which every pilgrim first directs his steps, is the holy sepulchre. The traveller who has never read the descriptions of those who have preceded him in a pilgrimage through the Holy Land, finds his expectations strangely disappointed, when, approaching this hallowed tomb, he sees around him the tottering houses of a ruined city, and is conducted to the door of a gigantic church, This edifice is another, and perhaps the principal, monument of the Empress Helena's piety. What authority she had for fixing here the site of the Redeemer's burial-place I will not stop to inquire. Doubtless she had her reasons; and there is more pleasure in believing than in raising doubts which cannot be confirmed. In the front of the church is a large courtyard, filled with dealers in beads, crucifixes, and relics; among the most conspicuous of whom are the Christians of Bethlehem, with figures of the Saviour, the Virgin, and a host of saints, carved from mother of pearl, in all kinds of fantastic shapes. It was precisely the time at which I had wished and expected to be in Jerusalem- the season of Easter-and thousands of pilgrims, from every part of the Eastern world, had already arrived for the great ceremonies of the holy week. The court was thronged with them, crowded together so that it was almost impossible to move, and waiting, like myself, till the door of the church should be opened.

The holy sepulchre, as in the days when all the chivalry of Europe armed to wrest it from them, is still in the hands of the infidels; and it would have made the sword of an old crusader leap from its scabbard to behold a haughty Turk, with the air of a, lord and master, standing sentinel at the door, and with his long mace beating and driving back the crowd of struggling Christians. As soon as the door was opened a rush was made for entrance; and as I was in the front rank, before the impetus ceased, amid a perfect storm of pushing, yelling, and shouting, I was carried almost headlong into the body of the church. The press continued behind, hurrying me along, and kicking off my shoes; and in a state of desperate excitement both of mind and body, utterly unsuited to the place and time, I found myself standing over the so called tomb of Christ; where, to enhance the incongruity of the scene, at the head of the sepulchre stood a long-bearded monk, with a plate in his hand, receiving the paras of the pilgrims. My dress marked me as a different person from the miserable, beggarly crowd before me; and expecting a better contribution from me, at the tomb of him who had pronounced that all men are equal in the sight of God, with an expression of contempt like the "canaille" of a Frenchman, and with kicks, cuffs, and blows, he drove back those before me, and gave me a place at the head of the sepulchre. My feelings were painfully disturbed, as well by the manner of my entrance as by the irreverent demeanour of the monk; and disappointed, disgusted, and sick at heart, while hundreds were still struggling for admission, I turned away and left the church. A warmer imagination than mine could perhaps have seen, in a white marble sarcophagus, "the sepulchre hewn out of a rock," and in the fierce struggling of these barefooted pilgrims the devotion of sincere and earnest piety, burning to do homage in the holiest of places; but I could not. It was refreshing to turn from this painful exhibition of a deformed and degraded Christianity to a simpler and purer scene. The evening before, Mr. Whiting had told me that religious exercises would be performed at his house the next day; and I hastened from the church to join in the grateful service. I found him sitting at a table, with a large family Bible open before him. His wife was present, with two little Armenian girls, whom she was educating to assist her in her school; and I was not a little surprised to find that, when I had taken my seat, the congregation was assembled. In fact, Mr. Whiting had only been waiting for me; and, as soon as I came in, he commenced the service to which I had been so long a stranger. It was long since I had heard the words of truth from the lips of a preacher; and as I sat with my eyes fixed upon the Garden of Gethsemane and the Mount of Olives, I could not help thinking of it as a strangely-interesting fact, that here, in the holy city of Jerusalem, where Christ preached and died, though thousands were calling upon his name, the only persons who were praising him in simplicity and truth were a missionary and his wife, and a passing traveller, all from a far-distant land. I had, moreover, another subject of reflection. In Greece I had been struck with the fact that the only schools of instruction were those established by American missionaries, and supported by the liberality of American citizens; that our young republic was thus, in part, discharging the debt which the world owes to the ancient mistress of science and the arts, by sending forth her sons to bestow the elements of knowledge upon the descendants of Homer and Pericles, Plato and Aristotle; and here, on the very spot whence the apostles had gone forth to preach the glad tidings of salvation to a ruined world, a missionary from the same distant land was standing as an apostle over the grave of Christianity, a solitary labourer striving to re-establish the pure faith and worship that were founded on this spot eighteen centuries ago.

CHAPTER XI.

DURING my stay in Jerusalem a day seldom passed in which I did not visit the Church of the Holy Sepulchre; but my occupation was chiefly to observe the conduct of the pilgrims; and, if the reader will accompany me into the interior, he will see what I was in the habit of seeing every day.

The key of the church is kept by the governor of the city; the door is guarded by a Turk, and opened only at fixed hours, and then only with the consent of the three convents, and in the presence of their several dragomen; an arrangement which often causes great and vexatious delays to such as desire admittance. This formality was probably intended for solemnity and effect, but its consequence is exactly the reverse; for, as soon as the door is opened, the pilgrims, who have almost always been kept waiting for some time, and have naturally become impatient, rush in, struggling with each other, overturning the dragomen, and thumped by the Turkish doorkeeper, and are driven like a herd of wild animals into the body of the church. I do not mean to exaggerate a picture, the lightest of whose shades is already too dark. I describe only what I saw, and with this assurance the reader must believe me when I say that I frequently considered it putting life and limb in peril to mingle in that crowd. Probably it is not always so; but there were at that time within the walls of Jerusalem from ten to twenty thousand pilgrims, and all had come to visit the holy sepulchre.

Supposing, then, the rush to be over, and the traveller to have recovered from its effects, he will find himself in a large apartment, forming a sort of vestibule; on the left, in a recess of the wall, is a large divan, cushioned and carpeted, where the Turkish doorkeeper is usually sitting, with half a dozen of his friends, smoking the long pipe and drinking coffee, and always conducting himself with great dignity and propriety. Directly in front, surmounted by an iron railing, having at each end three enormous wax candles more than twenty feet high, and suspended above it a number of silver lamps of different sizes and fashions, gifts from the Catholic, Greek, and Armenian convents, is a long flat stone, called the "stone of unction;" and on this, it is said, the body of our Lord was laid when taken down from the cross, and washed and anointed in preparation for sepulture. This is the first object that arrests the pilgrims on their entrance; and here they prostrate themselves in succession, the old and the young, women and children, the rich man and the beggar, and all kiss the sacred stone. It is a slab of polished white marble; and one of the monks, whom I questioned on the subject as he rose from his knees, after kissing it most devoutly, told me that it was not the genuine stone, which he said was under it, the marble having been placed there as an ornamental covering, and to protect the hallowed relic from the abuses of the Greeks. On the left is an iron circular railing, in the shape of a large parrot's cage, having within it a lamp, and marking the spot where the women sat while the body was anointed for the tomb. In front of this is an open area, surrounded by high square columns, supporting a gallery above. The area is covered by a dome, imposing in appearance and effect; and directly under, in the centre of the area, is an oblong building, about twenty feet long and twelve feet high, circular at the back, but square and finished with a platform in front; and within this building is the holy sepulchre.

Leaving for a moment the throng that is constantly pressing at the door of the sepulchre, let us make the tour of the church. Around the open space under the dome are small chapels for the Syrians, Copts, Maronites, and other sects of Christians. who have not, like the Catholics, the Greeks, and Armenians, large chapels in the body of the church. Between two of the pillars is a small door, opening to a dark gallery, which leads, as the monks told me, to the tombs of Joseph and Nicodemus, between which and that of the Saviour there is a subterranean communication. These tombs are excavated in the rock, which here forms the floor of the chamber. Without any expectation of making, a discovery, I remember that once, in prying about this part of the building alone, I took the little taper that lighted the chamber and stepped down into the tomb; and I had just time to see that one of the excavations never could have been intended for a tomb, being not more than three feet long, when I heard the footsteps of pilgrim visiters, and scrambled out with such haste that I let the taper fall, put out the light, and had to grope my way back in the dark. Farther on, and nearly in range of the front of the sepulchre,is a large opening forming a sort of court to the entrance of the Latin Chapel. On one side is a gallery, containing a fine organ; and the chapel itself is neat enough, and differs but little from those in the churches of Italy. This is called the chapel of apparition, where Christ appeared to the Virgin. Within the door, on the right, in an enclosure, completely hidden from view, is the pillar of flagellation, to which our Saviour was tied when he was scourged, before being taken into the presence of Pontius Pilate. A long stick is passed through a hole in the enclosure, the handle being outside, and the pilgrim thrusts it in till it strikes against the pillar, when he draws it out and kisses the point. Only one half of the pillar is here; the other half is in one of the churches at Rome, where may also be seen the table on which our Saviour ate. his last supper with his disciples, and the stone on which the cock crowed when Peter denied his master!

Going back again from the door of the chapel of apparition, and turning to the left, on the right is the outside of the Greek chapel, which occupies the largest space in the body of the church; and on the left is a range of chapels and doors, the first of which leads to the prison where, they say, our Saviour was confined before he was led to crucifixion. In front of the door is an unintelligible machine, described as the stone on which our Saviour was placed when put in the stocks. I had never heard of this incident in the story of man;s redemption, nor, in all probability, has the reader; but the Christians in Jerusalem have a great deal more of such knowledge than they gain from the Bible. Even Paul knew much that is not recorded in the sacred volume; for he had a book, written by a priest in Malta, and giving many particulars in the life of our Saviour which all the evangelists never knew, or knowing, have entirely omitted.

Next is the chapel where the soldier who struck his spear into the side of the Redeemer, as he hung upon the cross, retired and wept over his transgression. Beyond this is the chapel where the Jews divided Christ's raiment, and "cast lots for his vesture." The next is one of the mo'st holy places in the church, the chapel of the cross. Descending twenty-eight broad marble steps, the visiter comes to a large chamber eighteen paces square, dimly lighted by a few distant lamps; the roof is supported by four short columns with enormous capitals. In front of the steps is the altar, and on the right a seat on which the Empress Helena, advised by a dream where the true cross was to be found, sat and watched the workmen who were digging below. Descending again fourteen steps, another chamber is reached, darker and more dimly lighted than the first, and hung with faded red tapestry; a marble slab, having on it a figure of the cross, covers the mouth of the pit in which the true cross was found. The next chapel is over the spot where our Saviour was crowned with thorns; and under the altar, protected by an iron grating, is the very stone on which he sat. Then the visiter arrives at Mount Calvary.

A narrow marble staircase of eighteen steps leads to a chapel about fifteen feet square, paved with marble in mosaic, and hung on all sides with silken tapestry and lamps dimly burning; the chapel is divided by two short pillars, hung also with silk, and supporting quadrangular arches. At the extremity is a large altar, ornamented with paintings and figures; and under the altar a circular silver plate, with a hole in the centre, indicating the spot in which rested the step of the cross. On each side of the hole is another, the two designating the places where the crosses of the two thieves were erected ; and near by, on the same marble platform, is a crevice about three feet long and three inches wide, having brass bars over it and a covering of silk; removing the covering, by the aid of a lamp I saw beneath a fissure in a rock; and this, say the monks, is the, rock which was rent asunder when our Saviour, in the agonies of death, cried out from the cross, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" Descending, to the floor of the church, underneath is an iron grating which shows more distinctly the fissure in the rock; and directly opposite is a large monument over the head of--Adam.

The reader will probably think that all these things are enough to be comprised under one roof; and, having finished the tour of the church, I returned to the great object of the pilgrimage to Jerusalem-the Holy Sepulchre. Taking off the shoes on the marble platform in front, the visiter is admitted by a low door, on entering which the proudest head must needs do reverence. In the centre of the first chamber is the stone which was rolled away from the mouth of the sepulchre-a square block of marble, cut and polished; and though the Armenians have lately succeeded in establishing the genuineness of the stone in their chapel on Mount Zion (the admission by the other monks, however, being always accompanied by the assertion that they stole it), yet the infatuated Greek still kisses and adores this block of marble as the very stone on which the angel sat when he announced to the women, "He is not dead; he is risen; come see the place where the Lord lay." Again bending the head, and lower than before, the visiter enters the inner chamber, the holiest of holy places. The sepulchre "hewn out of the rock" is a marble sarcophagus, somewhat resembling a common marble bathing-tub, with a lid of the same material. Over it hang forty-three lamps, which burn without ceasing night and day. The sarcophagus is six feet one inch long, and occupies about one half of the chamber; and one of the monks being always present to receive the gifts or tribute of the pilgrims, there is only room for three or four at a time to enter. The walls are of a greenish marble, usually called verd-antique, and this is all. And it will be borne in mind that all this is in a building above ground, standing on the floor of the church.

If I can form any judgment from my own feelings, every man other than a blind and determined enthusiast, when he stands by the side of that marble sarcophagus, must be ready to exclaim, "This is not the place where the Lord lay;" and yet I must be wrong, for sensible men have thought otherwise; and Dr. Richardson, the most cautious traveller in the Holy Land, speaks of it as the "Mansion of victory, where Christ triumphed over the krave, and disarmed death of all its terrors." The feelings of a man are to be envied who can so believe. I cannot imagine a higher and holier enthusiasm; and it would be far more agreeable to sustain than to dissolve such illusions; but, although I might be deceived by my own imagination and the glowing descriptions of travellers, I would at least have the merit of not deceiving others. The sepulchre of Christ is too holy a thing to be made the subject of trickery and deception; and I am persuaded that it would be far better for the interests of Christianity that it had remained for ever locked up in the hands of the Turks, and all access to it been denied to Christian feet.

But I was not disposed to cavil. It was far easier, and suited my bumour far better, to take things as I found them; and in this spirit, under the guidance of a monk and accompanied by a procession of pilgrims, I wandered through the streets of Jerusalem; visited the Pool of Bethesda, where David saw Bathsheba bathing; the five porches where the sick were brought to be healed; the house of Simon the Pharisee, where Mary Magdalene confessed her sins - the prison of St. Peter; the house of Mary the mother of Mark; the mansion of Dives and the house of Lazarus (which, by-the-way, not to be skeptical again, did not look as if its tenant had ever lain at its neighbour's gate, and begged for the "crumbs which fell from the rich man's table"); and entering the Via Dolorosa, the way by which the Saviour passed from the judgment-hall of Pilate to Calvary, saw the spot where the people laid hold of Simon the Cyrene, and compelled him to bear the cross; three different stones on which Christ, fainting, sat down to rest; passed under the arch called Ecce horno, and looked up at the window from which the Roman judge exclaimed to the persecuting Jews, "Behold the man."

But if the stranger leaves the walls of the city, his faith is not so severely tested; and, for my own part, disposed to indemnify myself for my unwilling skepticism, the third day after my arrival at Jerusalem, on a bright and beautiful morning, with my Nubian club in my hand, which soon became the terror of all the cowardly dogs in Jerusalem, I stood on the threshold of St. Stephen's Gate. Paul was with me; and stopping for a moment among the tombs in the Turkish burying-ground, we descended towards the bridge across the brook Kedron, and the mysterious Valley of Jehoshaphat. Here I was indeed among the hallowed places of the Bible. Here all was as nature had left it, and spared by the desecrating hand of man; and as I gazed upon the vast sepulchral monuments, the tombs of Absalom, of Zachariah, and Jehoshaphat, and the thousands and tens pf thousands of Hebrew tombstones covering the declivity of the mountain, I had no doubt I was looking upon that great gathering-place, where, three thousand years ago, the Jew buried his dead under the shadow of the Temple of Solomon; and where, even at this day, in every country where his race is known, it is the dearest wish of his heart that his bones may be laid to rest among those of his long-buried ancestors.

Near the bridge is a small table-rock, reverenced as the spot where Stephen the Martyr was stoned to death; but even here one cannot go far without finding the bandiwork of the Lady Helena. A little to the left is the tomb of Joseph,and Mary. Descending a few steps to a large marble door, opening to a subterraneous church, excavated from the solid rock, and thence by a flight of fifty marble steps, each twenty feet long, we came to the floor of the chamber. On the right, in a large recess, is the tomb of the Virgin, having over it an altar, and over the altar a painting representing her deathbed, with the Son standing over her, to comfort her and receive her blessing. This is an interesting domestic relation in which to exhibit a mother and her son; but rather inconsistent with the Bible account of the Virgin Mother being present at the crucifixion of our Lord. Indeed, it is a singular fact, that with all the pious homage which they pay to the Son of God, adoring him as equal with the Father in power and goodness, and worshipping the very ground on which he is supposed to have trodden, there is still among the Christians of the East a constant tendency to look upon him as a man of flesh. In a community like ours, governed by a universal sentiment of the spiritual character of our Saviour, it would be regarded as setting at defiance the religious impressions of the people even to repeat what is talked of familiarly by the people of the East; but, at the risk of incurring this reproach, it is necessary, to illustrate their character, to say that I have heard them talk of the Saviour, and of every incident in his history, as a man with whom they bad been familiar in his life; of the Virgin nursing the "little Jesus;" of his stature, strength, age, the colour of his hair, his complexion, and of every incident in his life, real or supposed, from his ascension into heaven down to the "washing of his linen."

At the foot of the hill, on the borders of the Valley of Jehoshaphat, beneath the Mount of Olives, we came to the Garden of Gethsemane. Like the great battle-grounds where kingdoms have been lost and won, the stubborn earth bears no traces of the scenes that have passed upon its surface; and a stranger might easily pass the Garden of Gethsemane without knowing it as the place where, on the night on which he was betrayed, the Saviour watched with his disciples. It was enclosed by a low, broken stone fence, and an Arab Fellah was quietly turning up the ground with bis spade. According to my measurement, the garden is forty-seven paces long and forty-four wide. It contains eight olive-trees, which the monks believe to have been standing in the days of our Saviour, and to which a gentle. man, in whose knowledge I have confidence, ascribed an age of more than eight hundred years. One of these, the largest, barked and scarified by the knives of pilgrims, is reverenced as the identical tree under which Christ was betrayed; and its enormous roots, growing high out of the earth, could induce a belief of almost any degree of antiquity. A little outside the fence of the garden is a stone, reverenced as marking the hallowed place where Christ, in the agony of his spirit, piayed that the cup might pass from him; a little farther, where he "sweat great drops of blood;" and a little farther is the spot to which he returned, and found the disciples sleeping; and no good pilgrim ever passes from the Garden of Gethsemane to the Mount of Olives without doing reverence in these holy places. In company with a long procession of pilgrims, who had been assembling in the garden, we ascended the Mount of Olives. The mount consists of a range of four mountains, with summits of unequal altitudes. The highest rises from the Garden of Gethsemane, and is the one fixed upon as the place of our Saviour's ascension. About half way up is a ruined monastery, built, according to the monks, over the spot where Jesus sat down and wept over the city and uttered that prediction which has since been so fearfully verified. The olive still maintains its place on its native mountain, and now grows spontaneously upon its top and sides, as in the days of David and our Saviour. In a few moments we reached the.summit, the view from which embraces, perhaps, more interesting objects than any other in the world ; the Valley of Jehoshaphat, the Garden of Gethsemane, and the city of Jerusalem, the Plains of Jericho, the valley of the Jordan, and the Dead Sea.

On the top of the mountain is a miserable Arab village, in the centre of which is a small octagonal building, erected, it is said, over the spot from which our Saviour ascended into heaven; and the print of his foot, say the monks, is still to be seen. This print is in the rock, enclosed by an oblong border of marble; and pilgrims may at any time be seen taking, in wax, impressions of the holy footstep; and for this, too, they are indebted to the research and bounty of the Empress Helena.

Descending again to the ruined monastery, at the place where our Saviour, more than eighteen hundred years ago, wept over the city and predicted its eternal ruin, I sat down on a rough stone to survey and muse over the favoured and fallen Jerusalem. The whole city lay extended before me like a map. I could see and distinguish the streets, and the whole interior to the inner side of the farther wall; and oh! how different from the city of our Saviour's love.

Though even then but a mere appendage of imperial Rome, it retained the magnificent wonders of its Jewish kings, and, pre-eminent even among the splendid fanes of heathen worship, rose the proud temple of the great King Solomon. Solomon and all his glory have departed; centuries ago the great temple which lie built, the "glory of the whole earth," was a heap of ruins; in the prophetic words of our Saviour, not one stone was left upon another; and, in the wanton spirit of triumph, a conquering general drove his plough over its site. For years its very site lay buried in ruins, till the Saracen came with his terrible war-cry, "The Koran or the sword;" and the great mosque of Omar, the holy of holies in the eyes of all true believers, now rears its lofty dome upon the foundations of the Temple of Solomon.

From the place where I sat, the mosque of Omar was the only object that relieved the general dulness of the city, and all the rest was dark, monotonous, and gloomy; no spires reared their tapering points to the skies, nor domes, nor minarets, the pride and ornament of other Turkish cities, All was as still as death, and the only sign of life that I could see was the straggling figure of a Mussulman, with his slippers in his hand, stealing up the long courtyard to the threshold of the mosque. The mosque of Omar, like the great mosque at Mecca, the birthplace of the Prophet, is regarded with far more veneration than even that of St. Sophia, or any other edifice of the Mohammedan worship; and to this day the Koran or the sword is the doom of any bold intruder within its sacred precincts. At the northern extremity of the mosque is the Golden Gate, for many years closed, and flanked with a tower, in which a Mussulman soldier is constantly on guard; for the Turks believe that, by that gate, the Christians will one day enter and obtain possession of the city-City of mystery and wonder, and still to be the scene of miracles! "It shall be trodden down by the Gentiles until the time of the Gentiles be fulfilled;" and the time shall come when the crescent shall no longer glitter over its battlements, nor the banner of the Prophet wave over its walls.

Returning to the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and passing along its eastern side, we came to the great burying-ground of the Jews. Among its monuments are four, unique in their appearance and construction, and known from time immemorial as the tombs of Absalom, Jehoshaphat, St. James, and the Prophet Zachariah. All are cut out of the solid rock; the tomb of Absalom is a single stone, as large as an ordinary two-story house, and ornamented with twenty-four semi-columns of the Doric order, supporting a triangular pyramidal top. The top is battered and defaced; and no pilgrim, whether Jew or Christian, ever passes through the Valley of Jehosbaphat without casting a stone at the sepulchre of the rebellious son. No entrance to this sepulchre has ever been discovered; and the only way of getting into the interior is by a hole broken for the purpose in one of the sides.

Behind the tomb of Absalom is that of Jehoshaphat, " the King of Judah, who walked in the ways of the Lord." It is an excavation in the rock, the door being its only ornament. The interior was damp, the water trickling from, the walls, and nearly filled with sand and crumbling stones. The next is the tomb of St. James, standing out boldly in the side of the mountain, with a handsome portico of four columns in front, an entrance at the side, and many chambers within. After this is the tomb of Zachariah, like that of Absalom, hewn out of the solid rock; and like that, too, having no known entrance. Notwithstanding the specific names given to these tombs, it is altogether uncertain to what age they belong; and it is generally considered that the style of architecture precludes the supposition that they are the work of Jewish builders.

Leaving them after a cursory examination, we descended the valley; and, following the now dry bed of the Kedron, we came to "Siloa's Brook, that flowed fast by the oracle of God," which, coming from the foot of Mount Zion, here presents itself as a beautiful stream, and runs winding and murmuring through the valley. Hundreds of pilgrims were stretched on its bank; and a little above is the sacred pool issuing from the rock, enclosed by stone walls, with a descent by two flights of steps. "Go wash in the Pool of Siloam," said Christ to the man who was born blind; and, like myself, a number of pilgrims were now bending over the pool and washing in its hallowed waters. Passing by the great tree under which the Prophet Isaiah was sawed asunder, I turned up towards the city, and in a few minutes was standing on Mount Zion.

The Field of Blood.-A Traveller's Compliment.-Singular Ceremony.- A Ragged Rascal.-Ostentatious Humility.-Pride must have a Fall.- An Ancient Relic.-Summary Legislation.

ALL that is interesting about Jerusalem may be seen in a few days. My health compelled me to remain there more than three weeks, during which I made two excursions, one to the ancient city of Joppa, and the other to the Dead Sea. As soon as I could do so, however, I visited all the places, to see which is the business of a pilgrim to the holy city. The fourth morning after my arrival I went out at the Bethlehem Gate, and, crossing the valley of the sons of Hinmon, on the side of the opposite mountain I came to the Aceldama, or field of blood, the field bought with "the thirty pieces of silver," which to this day remains a public burying-place or potter's field. A large chamber excavated in the rock is still the charnel-house of the poor and unhonoured dead of Jerusalem. The fabulous account is, that the earth of that field will in forty-eight hours consume the flesh from off the bones committed to it.

Leaving this resting-place of poverty and perhaps of crime, I wandered among the tombs on the sides of the mountain; tombs ornamented with sculpture, and divided into chambers, the last abodes of the great and rich of Jerusalem; but the beggar, rudely thrown into the common pit in the potter's field, and the rich man laid by pious hands in the sculptured sepulchre of his ancestors, are all alike.

Outside the Damascus Gate, and about half a mile distant, is what is called the Sepulchre of the Kings of Judah. This sepulchre is hewn out of the rock, and has in front a large square excavation, the entrance to which is under a small arch. To the left, on entering, is a large portico, nine paces long and four wide, with an architrave, on which are sculptured fruit and flowers, much defaced; and at the end, on the left, a hole, filled up with stones and rubbish, barely large enough to enable one to crawl through on hands and knees, leads to a chamber eight paces square; and from this chamber there are three doors, two directly opposite and one to the right. Entering that to the right, we found ourselves in another chamber, on each of the three sides of which was a large door, with smaller ones on either side, opening to small receptacles, in each of which were places for three bodies. The door of this chamber, now lying on the floor, was a curious work. It had been cut from the solid rock, and made to turn on its hinges or sockets without having ever been removed from its place. On the right, a single door leads down several steps into a dark chamber, where we found the lid of a sarcophagus elegantly carved. The other doors opening from the great chamber lead to others inferior in size and workmanship. On coming out of one of them, at the very moment when I extinguished my light, the bole of entrance was suddenly darkened and stopped up. I had left a strange Arab at the door; and remembering the fearful thought that had often come over me while creeping among the tombs in Egypt, of being shut up and entombed alive, my first impulse was to curse my folly in coming into such a place, and leaving myself so completely in the power of a stranger. But I was taking the alarm too soon. It was only the Arab himself coming in. He, too, had his apprehensions; and, from my remaining so long within, began to fear that I had crawled out some back way, and given his bucksheesh the slip.

But enough of the tombs. I leave the abodes of the dead and turn to the living; and among the living in Jerusalem there are few who live better than the monks. Chateau- briand, in his poetical description of his pilgrimage to the Holy Land, gives an exceeding interest to the character of these monks. "Here reside," said he, " communities of Christian monks whom nothing can compel to forsake the tomb of Christ; neither plunder, nor personal ill treatment, nor menaces of death itself. Night and day they chant their hymns around the holy sepulchre. Driven by the cudgel and the sabre, women, children, flocks, and herds, seek refuge in the cloisters of these recluses. What prevents the armed oppressor from pursuing his prey, and overthrow- ing such feeble ramparts? the charity of the monks. They deprive themselves of the last resources of life to ransom their suppliants," &c.

The first glance at the well-fed superior of the convent of Jerusalem dispelled in my mind all such poetic illusions, though the beautiful rhapsody was fully appreciated by those of whom it was uttered. On my first interview with the superior, an old monk entered the room who was in the convent at the time of the visit of Chateaubriand, and both said that they had read the accounts of several travellers in the Holy Land, and none could be compared with his. I do not mean to speak harshly of them personally, for they were my hosts, and every Eastern traveller knows the comfort of a cell in a convent compared with any other shelter he can find in the Holy Land. Particularly I would not speak harshly of the superior of the convent at Jerusalem, towards whom I have an exceedingly kind feeling, and with whom I was on terms of rather jocose intimacy.The second time I saw him he railed at me with much good-natured indignation for having taken off two or three inches of my beard; and, during the whole time I was in Jerusalem, I was in the habit of calling upon him almost every day. I owe him something, too, on Paul's account, for he did that worthy man of all work a most especial honour.

Since our arrival at the convent, Paul had returned to the essence of his Catholic faith, to wit, the strict observance of its forms. In the desert he had often grumbled at being obliged to go without animal food; but no sooner did he come within the odour of burning incense, than he felt the enormity of ever having entertained so impious a thought, and set himself down like a martyr to the table of the convent. He was, in his way, an epicure; and it used to amuse me, while playing before him the breast of a chicken, to see him turn his eyes wistfully towards me, and choke himself upon pulse and beans. He went through it all, however, though with a bad grace; and his piety was not lost upon the superior, who sent for him a few mornings after our arrival, and told him that a grand ceremony of washing the feet of the disciples was to take place in the chapel, and desired him to officiate as one of them. It was amusing to see Paul's altered manner on his return. With a dignity, and, at the same time, a respect, which he seemed all at once to have acquired from his clear understanding of his relative duties, he asked me whether I could spare him the next afternoon, stating the reason and the honour the superior had done him. I told him, of course, that I would not interfere with his playing such an important part; and as it would be a new character for him to appear in, I should like to be present at the representation. The next day he came to me with his coat buttoned tight across his breast, his boots polished, and hat smoothed to a hair, and told me, with great gravity, that the superior had sent me his particular compliments, and an invitation to be present at the ceremony; and turning away, he remarked, with an air of nonchalance, that a Sicilian priest, who had just left me, and who was arranging to accompany me to the Dead Sea, was to be one of his associates in the ceremony.

Paul was evidently very much lifted up; he was constantly telling Elias, the cook of the convent, that he wanted such and such a thing for to-morrow afternoon; begging me not to make any engagement for to-morrow afternoon; and, in due season, to-morrow afternoon came. I entered my room a little before the time, and found him at rehearsal, with a large tub of water before him, prudently washing his feet beforehand. I was a good deal disposed to bring down his dignity, and told him that it was well enough to rehearse his part, but that he ought to leave at least one foot unwashed, as a sort of bonus for his friend the superior. Paul was a good deal scandalized at my levity of manner, and got out of my reach as soon as he could. Afterward, however, I saw him in one of the corridors, talking with the Sicilian with a greater accession of dignity than ever. I saw him again in the chapel of the convent, standing in line with his associates; and, excepting him, the Sicilian priest, and one monk, who was put in to fill up, I never saw a set of harder-looking scoundrels.

This ceremony of washing the feet of the disciples, in- tended by our Saviour as a beautiful lesson of humility, is performed from year to year, ostensibly to teach the same lesson; and in this case the humility of the superior was exalted shamefully at the expense of the disciples. Most of the twelve would have come under the meaning, though inexplicable, term of "loafer;" but one, a vagrant Pole, was, beyond all peradventure, the greatest blackguard I ever saw. A black muslin frock-coat, dirty and glossy from long use, buttoned tight across the breast, and reaching down to his ancles, and an old foxy, low-crowned hat, too big for him, and almost covering his eyes and ears, formed his entire dress, for he had no trousers, shoes, or shirt; he was snub-nosed, pock-marked, and sore-eyed; wore a long beard, and probably could not remember the last time he had washed his face; think, then, of his feet. If Paul had been dignified, he was puffed up almost to bursting; and the self-complacency with which he looked upon himself and all around him was admirable beyond description. By great good fortune for my designs against Paul, the Pole stood next and before him in the line of the quasi disciples; and it was refreshing to turn from the consequential and complacent air of the one to the crestfallen look of the other; and to see him, the moment he caught my eye, with a suddenness that made me laugh, turn his head to the other side; but he had hardly got it there before he found me on that side too; and so I kept him watching and dodging, and in a perpetual fidget. To add to his mortification, the Pole seemed to take particularly to him; and as he was before him in the line, was constantly turning round and speaking to him with a patronising air; and I capped the climax of his agony by going up in a quiet way, and asking him who was the gentleman before him. I could see him wince, and for a moment I thought of letting him alone; but he was often on stilts, and I seldom had such an opportunity of pulling him down. Besides, it was so ludicrous, I could not help it. If I had had any one with me to share the joke, it would have been exquisite. As it was, when I saw his determination to dodge me, I neglected everything else, and devoted myself entirely to him; and, let the poor fellow turn where he would, he was sure to find me leaning against a pillar, with a smile on my face and my eyes intently fixed upon him; occasionally I would go up and ask him some question about his friend before him; and finally, as if I could not joke about it any more, and felt on my own account the indignity offered to him, I told him that, if I were he, I would not stand it any longer; that I was ashamed to see him with such a pack of rascals; that they had made a cat's-paw of him, and advised him to run for it, saying that I would stand by him against a bull from the pope. He now spoke for the first time, and told me that he had been thinking of the same thing; and, by degrees, actually worked himself up to the desperate pitch of incurring the hazard of excommunication, if it must needs be so and had his shoes and stockings in his hands ready for a start, when I brought him down again by telling him it would soon be over; and, though he had been shamefully treated, that he might cut the gentleman next to him whenever he pleased.

After goading him as long as he could possibly bear, I left him to observe the ceremony. At the upper end of the chapel, placed there for the occasion, was a large chair, with a gilded frame and velvet back and cushion, intended as the seat of the nominal disciple. Before it was a large cop- per vase, filled with water, and a plentiful sprinkling of rose-leaves; and before that, a large red velvet cushion, on which the superior kneeled to perform the office of lavation. I need not suggest how inconsistent was this display of gold, rose-water, and velvet, with the humble scene it was intended to represent; but the tinsel and show imposed upon the eyes for which they were intended.

One after the other the disciples came up, seated themselves in the chair, and put their feet in the copper vase, The superior kneeled upon the cushion, with both his hands washed the right foot, wiped it with a clean towel, kissed it, and then held it in his hands to receive the kisses of the monks, and of all volunteers that offered. All went on well enough until it came to the turn of Paul's friend and forerunner, the doughty Pole. There was a general titter as he took his place in the chair; and I saw the superior and the monk who assisted him hold down their heads and laugh almost convulsively. The Pole seemed to be conscious that he was creating a sensation, and that all eyes were upon him, and sat with his arms folded, with an ease and self-complacency altogether indescribable, looking down in the vase, and turning his foot in the superior's hands, heel up, toe up, so as to facilitate the process; and when the superior had washed and kissed it, and was holding it up for others to kiss, he looked about him with all the grandeur of a monarch in the act of coronation. Keeping his arms folded, he fairly threw himself back into the huge chair, looking from his foot to the monks, and from the monks to his foot again, as one to whom the world had nothing more to offer. It was more than a minute before any one would venture upon the perilous task of kissing those very suspicious toes, and the monk who was assisting the superior had to go round and drum them up; though he had already kissed it once in the way of his particular duty, to set an example he kissed it a second time; and now, as if ashamed of their backwardness, two or three rushed forward at once; and, the ice once broken, the effect seemed electric, and there was a greater rush to kiss his foot than there had been to any of the others.

It was almost too hard to follow Paul after this display, I ought to have spared him, but I could not. His mortification was in proportion to his predecessor's pride. He was sneaking up to the chair, when, startled by some noise, he raised his head, and caught the eye which, above all others, he would have avoided. A broad laugh was on my face; and poor Paul was so discomfited that he stumbled, and came near pitching headlong into the vase. I could not catch his eye again; he seemed to have resigned himself to the worst. I followed him round in the procession, as he thrice made the tour of the chapel and corridors, with a long lighted candle in his hand; and then we went down to the superior's room, where the monks, the superior, the twelve, and myself, were entertained with coffee. As the Pole, who had lagged behind, entered after we were all seated, the superior, with the humour of a good fellow, cried out, "Viva Polacca ;" all broke out into a loud laugh, and Paul escaped in the midst of it. About an hour afterward I met him outside the Damascus Gate. Even then he would have shunned me; but I called him, and, to his great relief, neither then nor at any other time referred to the washing of the feet of the disciples.

The reader may remember the kindness with which I had been received by the chief rabbi at Hebron. His kindness did not end there; a few days after my arrival, the chief rabbi of Jerusalem, the high-priest of the Jews in the city of their ancient kings, called upon me, accompanied by a Gibraltar Jew who spoke English, and who told me that they had come at the request of my friend in Hebron, to receive and welcome me in the city of their fathers. I had already seen a great deal of the Jews. I had seen them in the cities of Italy, everywhere more or less oppressed; at Rome, shut up every night in their miserable quarters as if they were noxious beasts; in Turkey, persecuted and oppressed; along the shores of the Black Sea and in the heart of Russia, looked down upon by the serfs of that great empire of vassalage; and, for the climax of misery, I had seen them contemned and spit upon even by the ignorant and enslaved boors of Poland. I had seen them scattered abroad among all nations, as it had been foretold they would be, everywhere a separate and peculiar people; and everywhere, under all poverty, wretchedness, and oppression, waiting for, and anxiously expecting, the coming of a Messiah, to call together their scattered tribes, and restore them to the kingdom of their fathers; and all this the better fitted me for the more interesting spectacle of the Jews in the holy city. In all changes and revolutions, from the day when the kingdom of Solomon passed into the hands of strangers, under the Assyrian, the Roman, the Arab, and the Turk, a remnant of that once-favoured people has always hovered around the holy city; and now, as in the days of David, old men may be seen at the foot of Mount Zion, teaching their children to read from that mys- terious book on which they have ever fondly built their hopes of a temporal and eternal kingdom.

The friends made for me by the rabbi at Hebron were the very friends above all others whom I would have selected for myself. While the Christians were preparing for the religious ceremonies of Easter, the Jews were making ready for the great feast of the Passover; and one of the first offers of kindness they made me, was an invitation to wait and partake of it with them. The rabbi was an old man, nearly seventy, with a long white beard, and Aaron himself need not have been ashamed of such a representative. I would have preferred to attach myself particularly to him; but, as I could speak neither Arabic nor Hebrew, and the English Jew was not willing to play second, and serve merely as interpreter, I had but little benefit of the old man's society.

The Jews are the best topographers in Jerusalem, although their authority ends where the great interest of the city begins; for, as their fathers did before them, they deny the name of Christ, and know nothing of the holy places so anxiously sought for by the Christians. That same morning they took me to what they call a part of the wall of Solomon's temple. It forms part of the southern wall of the mosque of Omar, and is evidently older than the rest, the stones being much larger, measuring nine or ten feet long; and I saw that day, as other travellers may still see every Friday in the year., all the Jews in Jerusalem clothed in their best raiment, winding through the narrow streets of their quarter; and under this hallowed wall, with the sacred volume in their hands, singing, in the language in which they were written, the Songs of Solomon and the Psalms of David. White-bearded old men and smooth-cheeked boys were leaning over the same book; and Jewish maidens, in their long white robes, were standing with their faces against the wall, and praying through cracks and crevices. The tradition which leads them to pray through this wall is, that during the building of the temple a cloud rested over it so as to prevent any entrance; and Solomon stood at the door, and prayed that the cloud might be removed, and promised that the temple should be always open to men of every nation desiring to offer up prayers; where-upon the Lord removed the cloud, and promised that the prayers of all people offered up in that place should find acceptance in his sight; and now, as the Mussulman lords it over the place where the temple stood, and the Jews are not permitted to enter, they endeavour to insinuate their prayers through the crevices in the wall, that thus they may rise from the interior to the Throne of Grace. The tradition is characteristic, and serves to illustrate the devoted constancy with which the Israelites adhere to the externals of their faith.

Returning to the convent, and passing through one of the bazars, we saw an Arab mounted on a bench, and making a proclamation to the crowd around him; and my friend, the Gibraltar Jew, was immediately among them, listening earnestly. The subject was one that touched his tenderest sensibilities as a dealer in money; for the edict proclaimed was one changing the value of the current coin, reducing the tallahree or dollar from twenty-one to twenty piasters, commanding all the subjects of Mohammed Aly to take it at that value, and concluding with the usual finale of a Turkish proclamation, "Death to the offender." My Jew, as he had already told me several times, was the richest Israelite in Jerusalem, and consequently took a great interest in everything that related to money. He told me that he always cultivated an intimacy with the officer of the mint; and, by giving him an occasional present, he always got intimation of any intended change in time to save himself. We parted at the door of the convent, having arranged that I should go with him the next day to the synagogue, and afterward dine at his house.