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II.

JERUSALEM: THE HOLY SEPULCHRE.

It appears to be the custom to say that Jerusalem is disappointing. As my own experience leads me to a directly contrary conclusion, I must assume that this is due to the fact that the first aspect of the city is not so impressive as one would expect, or perhaps wish it to be. Wherein appears a fresh instance of the good fortune which continually befriended me. Our journey, being only from Ramleh, was certainly not a very formidable one; but still, many hours' jolting in a cramped position over what, being as yet ignorant of Palestine, we considered an indifferent road, will produce fatigue, and may account for the otherwise disgraceful fact that, on arriving in sight of Jerusalem, I was asleep. Being abruptly roused from slumber by well

meaning friends, I had not composed my feelings into a fitting frame of mind to look at any view till I found myself standing on the terrace of the Mediterranean Hotel, with all Jerusalem before me. I should recommend other travellers to adopt something of the same plan; the preliminaries need not be exactly similar.

The view that I speak of embraced almost all that is of real interest in Jerusalem. Almost at our feet lay the Pool of Hezekiah, a rather turbid-looking piece of water, built in on all sides, the houses running sheer down into the water without any kind of path or bank between. Beyond this came the most conspicuous object, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, with its two domes and the old square roofless tower of the belfry, backed by low green hills, one of them being Mount Scopus, from which Titus looked down of old on the beautiful city which he was to destroy. Farther away to the right comes the great open space of the Haram-esh-Sherif, the site of Solomon's Temple, with the mosques of Omar and El Aksa. The Mohammedan feast of Moses is held at the same time as the Christian Easter, and the broad expanse of greensward

which occupies the place of the Court of the Gentiles was dotted with picturesque figures of pious Moslems, who spend their whole existence for the time within the precincts of the mosque. As a background for the Mosque of Omar, we have the Mount of Olives, somewhat spoiled by the hideous steeple erected on the top by a pious Russian lady. The rest of the view is chiefly made up by an infinity of tiny domes, which are merely the roofs of ordinary houses, interspersed with a few minarets-very few for a city of the size of Jerusalem-some larger domes of churches and synagogues, and in one or two places a little foliage. The moderate extent of the city contributes to give it an air of greater completeness and uniformity. Beyond the limits of the last wall, modern improvement has done its ugliest to spoil the landscape; but within there is fortunately little room for new buildings, and the long line of domes and terraces stretches away unbroken except by the small dark clefts that mark here and there the intervention of one of the narrow, winding streets. The mouth of one of the most frequented lay just below us, where the street of David de

It

bouches on the open place in front of the citadel. was, like most Eastern streets, a seething mass of humanity, their garments in every conceivable variety of shape and colour,-sober, Christian Syrians in a kind of semi-European attire, with their lower extremities encased in a curious baggy garment, half pantaloons, half petticoat; Jews with shaven heads, all but the two long ringlets in front, and battered soft black hats-except in this respect, they are often magnificently dressed; wild-looking Bedouins in their striped burnouses, from the further shores of the Dead Sea or the desert of the South; and here and there, to increase the variety of the picture, some largelimbed Russian peasant-pilgrim, in the same long caftan, fur cap, and high boots that he wears at home, shouldering his way through the crowd to make some purchase for his scanty evening meal. We had little to find fault with in our first sight of Jerusalem.

A great proportion of this motley crowd are probably attracted here by religious motives— either their own or those of others. For the most pious pilgrims must eat and drink, and even for those who have free quarters at the

Greek, Latin, or Armenian monasteries, food of some kind must be obtained and paid for by some one. Then, of course, among the Christians there is a lavish trade in rosaries, sacred pictures, and the like, by which many worthy persons live and prosper. The motives of this latter class can only be regarded as very indirectly pious. But the quantity of people who have really come to settle here with no other motives than those of religious enthusiasm and love for the holy places of their creed, without any professional inducements or the least touch of ecclesiasticism, is astounding to the inhabitant of a respectable Christian country, where men of business go to church on Sundays and idle people on other days also. These religious motives extend to several creeds, each of which has its special objects of veneration, and each of which also naturally regards the other sects as intruders. The times are long gone by when the Psalmist could describe Jerusalem as a city which was at unity with itself. Nowadays it is a place of much contention and jealousy, where the Latin Christian hates his Greek brother, and the Greek Catholic