A A 8 2 8 3 3 9 i i THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES I V EL-KHUDS, THE HOLY; OR, GLIMPSES IN THE ORIENT. BY WM. MASON TURNER, B. Ph., M. D., OF PETERSBURG, VIRGINIA. PHILADELPHIA: JAMES CHALLEN & SON, No. 25 South Sixth Street. 1861. russ, in ili'' yeai 1 60, by .! Wll - CHALLEN & SON, ■ in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. ■iI'ERS. ' 18HMEAD, PRIMES. TQS% TO COL. JNO. R. CHAMBLISS, SR., OF EASTERN VIRGINIA, AS A FEEBLE TOKEN OF HIGH ESTEEM, Cjjis Mumt IS MOST CORDIALLY DEDICATED, BY HIS FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. r> *~> PREFACE. INE more book of travels is thrust upon the reading world ! Thanks to the publishers, however, this can appear in a seemly garb — a garb which many, I have no doubt, will prefer to the skeleton which it so richly bedecks. However, be that as it may! . . . On a cold winter night, not very long ago, in the bril- liant capital of Louis Napoleon, a gay group of medical students had assembled in a snug room in the far-famed Latin Quarter. While the raw wind crept through the deserted thoroughfares, and the heavy clock in Notre Dame ticked audibly in that chamber, and struck in sono- rous clangings the passing hours, nought but song and laugh and jest enlivened the. time of the students. Moet and Burgundy flowed freely, and under their elevating stimulus our spirits arose in corresponding ratio. It was a separation night ; on it, three of this band of students, (5) PR] l LCI lU: i\ firom republican America, were to say good- to their good-hearted confreres. The morrow's Bunsei would see them in "Belgium's Capital." I formed one of that hand, and one of t he mTtk . bid so, when two months have rolled round, and you have finished the Continent, I suppose 1 ma\ expect you In in old La Charite, following Velpeau once more," a friend to me. So, not so soon," T answered. "After journeying : Germany, Prussia, and the Continent in general, I expect, God willing, to sail from Naples, via Malta, for T> rra Santa." "The deuce you do!" replied my friend. "And now I wish all the more that /could be along. But will you 30 kind as to think of poor me occasionally — of my continual tram]) to the Midi and the Hotel Dieu — and when 3 mything which interests you particularly, jot it down and bring it to me ?" This request at once suggested something higher. I will keep a Journal, I said to myself. "Yes, Charles, I will do as you wish," I replied to my friend. The race of this work is that Journal, beginning, after finishing up Europe, at Naples, or rather on the Mediterranean, between Naples and Messina. Studiously oily, I kept my Journal. Days, weeks, and month- rolled hy. and yet my Journal was never neglected. night, wherever I was — on field, mountain, or plain PREFACE. Vll — on rail, on sea, or on horseback, my pencil always scrib- bled something in my little cahier, which I purchased of an aveugle at the Font Royal, by the Tuileries. I deem it useless to remark, however, that I have much deve- loped this Journal, in preparing it for the press. It was necessary, and was consistent with my original design. The work is intended, without egotism, to amuse, inte- rest, and instruct. Within its lids will be found all that is necessary for the tourist of pleasure, the pilgrim to the shrines, and the curious traveller. Much attention has been paid to passports, moneys, rates of exchange, climate, &c. ; and the Author would here gratefully express his warmest obligations to Dr. Porter, the learned author of " Five Years in Damascus ;" and to the elegant writer, Mr. Stanley, for many useful facts gleaned from their respective works — facts which the Author's limited expe- rience did not call for. Wherever these writers have been quoted, they are duly accredited. In justice to myself and readers, I would say that the stories interspersed through the work are original — with myself only. The one related by S., at Valetta, has fact for basis, but it is the only one. It was suggested to the Author, to interlard dry details with fiction. This has been done to a limited extent by the stories. Of course, the references made by certain members of the party to the stories of each individual, are imaginary, and the "read- P R l P \ i B. - Indulffence" is craved for them, as well as for the w ork in general. Ami now 1 would beg Leave to Bay, thai 1 was not im- portuned bj "man} friends" to publish the work; in fact, some of Baid friends said it was unwise — ntmsermcal, even — to do so, in consideration of the greal number of works on travel now in print. But the book has been published, nevertheless; and in so far, the Author's fancy, or whim, perhaps, has been followed. As he is beholden to no man for the publication, if the work turn out a fail- ure — why, his l» ih> loss, alone! Ajs to tin' merits of the book, it does not befit me to Bay one word. There will be yeas and nays concerning any work, do whatever we may; it were indeed impossible otherwise. To those, therefore, who have been pleased with tin- perusal of my random thoughts, scribbled at odd times and in odd places, I would say I feel myself flattered heir task ; to those who pickout the faults of the volume, 1 would say that I am sorry it is so; and I am equally . y to admit, as long as it cannot be helped, that — / ,/,,,,' i , ,i r> .' Wm. Mason Turner. V i.. An::. 24, 1*00. TABLE OF CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE Turkish coins— Rates of exchange— Bakhshish— Post-Office— Couriers- Paseports 13 CHAPTER II. Custom-House— Dragomen— Changeahleness of climate— The Syrian au- tumn—Suitable clothing— Shoes— Learning the language— Means of loco- motion— Arabian saddles— Weapons— Moral effect of arms . . .21 CHAPTER III. Means of insuring health— Sketch of Palestine— Damascus— Syrian history —Descendants of Canaan— Israelites take possession— Reign of David- Kingdom of Israel— The wars of Israel— End of the Israelitish monarchy —Siege of Tyre— Alexander spares Jerusalem— Jerusalem pillaged by Apollonius— The Roman conquest— The Mohammedan conquest — The Crusades— Capture of Jerusalem by Saladin— Tamerlane— Selim I.— Ibrahim Pasha 33 CHAPTER IV. Inhabitants of Palestine— Arab politeness— Fondness for titles— Independ- ence of the Arab— Religions in Syria— The Turks— The .Jews— The Christians— The Greek Church— The Maronites— The Mohammedans— The Ansairiyeh— The Druzes— Syria and Palestine— Sharon— The Great Valley— The Jordan— The Orontes— The Pharpar . ... 54 (9) \ rABLE OF CONTENTS. C II A IT I. R \ . P m.i: l'ln- Quirinal Sea siokness- The Cala Hotel ' lold winds -Herr l. [uipmenta for the East — An II. -ri- Montag's storj Ippearanoe of Malta Citta Vec English Boldiera \ oraafa -A raoe lanufactures Thoughts of home -A saunter . . 7ri- - • inn of hoatmen — Dangers to baggage— The Macedonian — jail 103 C II A I'T ER V I I. ' adria — laffa in sigh! — Reminiscences — Landing "English Hotel" — Custom-houBe officials — The American 3— The orange groves House of Simon the tanner — torj Syrian mail service — An Ame- Biblical events in JaflFa — Massacre at Jaffa — Poisoning Plain of Sharon — \ decayed tower — An accident — A pretty i; unleh 135 f 11 A PTB R VIII. • arly an accident — Missing wine — II man implicated — Kirjath-jearim— Abu Ghaush — Samuel's birth-place rerusalem — Within the walls — The Prussian Hospice — I»r Barclay — Piral aighl in Jerusalem ....... 172 I II A I'T K R 1 X. ■ w— An adventure— Miss Barclay Mount of Olives — The i ■• Bazaars— Knights of St. John Ichre it a loss Recollection of an adventure meat— The Golden Gate — The .Judgment- dom's Pillar — Tomb of the apostle / I imbofthe Virgin Mary — (iitrden of Geth- Bethany — Tomb of Lazarus — En-Rogel tin of the Virgin — A trial of speed- -A race for ii tht gate ...... 185 TABLE OF CONTENTS. XI CHAPTER X. PAGE Church of the Sepulchre— Full description and history — Chapel of the Ap- parition—Chapel of Helena— Crown of thorns— The stocks— Golgotha- Greek and Latin Chapels— Erection of the church — Destroyed by fire— The church rebuilt — The holy fire— A good dinner 225 CHAPTER XI. Pool of Hezekiah— Cheapness of gold— Deniss, the photographer— Church of St. James— Sprinkled with rose-water— Toothache— Bargaining for curiosities — View from Mount Olivet — A keen trader .... 245 CHAPTER XII. Manufactory of ornaments— Esslinger's story— Leave Jerusalem — Trip to Jordan— Ain-el-Haud— Wady-el- Kelt— The brook Cherith— Fountain of Elisha — The camping-ground — Ruins of Jericho— History of Jericho . 258 CHAPTER XIII. Ride in the Valley of Jordan— Lebanon — Mount of Temptation— Banks of the Jordan— The Jordan— Bathing in the Jordan — The Dead Sea— Tomb of Moses— Mar Saba— Masada— Return to Jerusalem . . . .281 CHAPTER XIV. Tree of Judas — Convent of Mar Elias— Church of the Nativity— Place of the Saviour's birth— Belief in holy localities— Bethlehem— Women of Bethle- hem A tragedy — David and Orpheus — Solomon's Pools — Casa Nuova — Approaching departure — Our plans 302_ CHAPTER XV. Last visits— Visit to Gethsemane— Photograph of party in Gethsemane— Montag's second story 318 CHAPTER XVI. Ancient topography of Jerusalem— Hill of Evil Counsel — Bezetha— Mount of Olives— Mount Moriah— Ophel— Akra— Zion— The Tyropseon— The brook Kidron — Hinnom • 33Z II OF CON TEN TS. ii a P i • i: i; \ \ i i. f 161 i pod's Palaoe The Beoond wall The \ iti Modern walla Modern ii torj of Jerusalem .... 867 • ii a pt i: i: XVIII. item continui I Eteli D oussion of an import- rhe holy fire— The Temple ( ii a pt i: i; x i x. mlum— Tombs of the Prophets— Tombs of the of the Judges— Grotto of Jeremiah— Via Dolorosa— The ............ 403 CHAPTER XX. Journal continued -Departure from Jerusalem — Parting with Montag — ; imleh — Jaffa again — On board — Mar Elias and Mt. Carmel — ,i — Balls in Beirut — Sail for Alexandria — On the Mediterranean — At i — Africa in sigh! — A dilemma — India Family lintel — Swarms rild fowl in the Nile valley — Arrival at Cairo — Donkey riding — Sight- -Heliopolis — A weary day — Leave Cairo — Rival boat com- \ battle— On board the Laconia 419 GHi PT E R XXI. in— Different paths — A stormy passage — Arrive 3tromboli by night — Off Naples — -A ride in \ parting meal — Civita Vecchia— Memories of Leghorn — An in- Ma -A troublesome official — Flattering remarks — \ rude Frenchman — Journey to Paris — Arrival at I friende F irewell ...... 445 EL-KHUDS, THE HOLY. CHAPTER I. JO no coin in the world," as an able writer happily remarks, " can the appellation of filthy lucre be fp more aptly applied than to that of Turkey." Of all the wretched and base-looking metallic curren- cies manufactured from precious or base metals, we cer- tainly do see the most wretched in that country ; and I must say the writer aforesaid told simply the plain, unvar- nished truth. Yet he does so in a manner far too mild to express the miserable, dirty coins which act as the cir- culating medium throughout Palestine, Syria, and the Levant in general. Such as it is, however, and intended for such creatures, perhaps it is but in accordance with their natures, and is as fitted for them as the napoleon is for the French, the sovereign for the English, or the eagle for us of America. I have travelled in most of the Continental countries of Europe, and have been per- plexed over and often with the currency, respective va- lues of moneys and rates of exchange ; but nowhere have I suffered such decided inconvenience, — have I learned but to unlearn, and forgotten but to learn again, — (13) II RKISB I I RR1 \n. as in Syria and in Egypt. In Turkey, too, fco add to other evils respecting this currency, miserable and detest- able as it is, there is not hall* enough to satisfy the de- mand for it. This, of course, tends to aid in the free circulation of the coin of almost every other country, which indeed is rated at a higher value than Dative cur- rency. In one locality we have a certain value on a certain piece of money, and in a different section we have ano- ther value; of course this adds much to the embarrass- ment of the tourist. This we found the case in Jaffa on the coast, and in Jerusalem, only some thirty-seven miles distant. At the former [dace, the piastre is worth about three and one-third cent-; in Jerusalem it is valued at four cents. Learning the currency should be a study prepara- to a visit to many lands, and especially to the Holy Land. It is like thoroughly mastering the text in Greek or < rerman — once learned, much labor is saved, and in our present case, many shillings retained, which would other- form a continual bakhshish, or tribute of ignorance. 1 would strongly recommend, then, any who anticipate »ur to these far-off sacred regions, to study and master the currency and rates of exchange; in fact to pay more attention to it, than, as many do, to providing especial clothing, and laying in often a stock of medicines, both of which, unless riiditly -elected, are -ood for naught, and er "nK one purpose — to encumber. The most commonly in circulation, and to the valuable uses of which a traveller has much reason to TURKISH CURRENCY. 15 testify, — especially in regions where bakhshish is in much demand — and that part of Syria in which such is not the case remains yet to be discovered by some geographer — are the piastre and the para, or the ghersh and the nusaryeh in Arabic. The former is valued at two-pence sterling, or at about four cents American money ; the latter at one- fortieth of a piastre, and, by-the-by, the most insignifi- cant and filthy of these filthy coins. I saw while in Syria only one native coin of gold ; that was a piece worth nearly twenty-three piastres, and denominated a ghdzeh. The most useful coin of the country, however, is the kmnary, worth about a penny sterling ; it is most needed in case of bakhshish (a great item in the East), and though small goes a long way. As a convenient coin, however, of some size and value and surety of passing, I think, without any doubt, the napoleon of the French should be chosen. According to my observation and experience, it is more freely circulated than the sovereign, or the Russian ruble. When I drew on my bankers, Bergheim & Co., in Jeru- salem, I was paid in francs, and did not pay a discount at all, owing of course to the value of my letter of credit from John Monroe & Co., of Paris. Turkish gold, how- ever, it must be remembered, is as good as any, but it is difficult to procure it. And here let me remark in pass- ing, and for fear of forgetting it, that the traveller will find it much to his advantage, should he come by Jaffa, to change several large gold pieces into the change of the country, or even do it when he arrives at Jerusalem, if he cannot before — should he intend prosecuting his journey 16 ii RKISH CI i; R 1' N I J further; in many, in fact in mosl of tin' small villages of the H0I3 Land, it is extremely difficult to gel even a aapoleon changed ; ami 1 know some of my readers, readers, Bhould thej afterwards travel through this wild hut Interesting country, will thank me for the above hint. The following table of Turkish and foreign coins is as correct and a- dear as : 1 1 1 \ 1 could procure. It is the one followed by Dr. Porter in his admirable hand-book on Syria and Palestine — a magnificent and most complete work recently published. < lOLD. Gold. Par, Plant. Par. L08 20 117 20 Half Lira 54 Id Half Sovereign . . . 58 30 22 93 20 BalfGhftzeh . . . . 11 Half Napoleon . . . 46 30 Silver. Russian Ruble . . . . 95 '•i 22 Austrian Ducat . . . 55 30 Half Mejfdeh . . . . 11 Silver. (Quarter Mejideh 5 20 Spanish Dollar . . . . 26 l'» w Mi r \i.. Five-Franc Piece . . . 23 30 Besblik 5 Austrian Dollar . . . 25 30 1 -hlik . . . . 2 20 Silver Ruble . . . . 19 < i • j «'• r - h 1 20 Turkish .•..in-. I The above are foreign coins. the Turkish coins are valued only nominally, as Been above, and, as Dr. Porter remarks, their intrinsic valve ■- them to be not current in any other country; a fact u hich I more than once remarked. The word " bakhshish" has been already written several times, and perhaps it is as well to say more con- cerning it now. and be done with it. The word means BAKHSHISH. 17 " gift," and it is the first we hear when landing in Pales- tine or in Egypt — and it is the last Arabic dissyllable which sounds on our ears as w r e leave the shores of these countries. As we debarked and climbed upon the crowded quay at the apology for a custom-house in Jaffa, " Bakh- shish Hadji !" was heard grating on our tympanum until we had beaten a safe retreat into " Blattner's ;" and the supplication is accompanied by such a gesture, and given in such a voice, that it seems more like an official, exact- ing tribute, than a mendicant humbly entreating — in fact, it is essentially the former. The Arabs regard it as a general tax to be levied on every broad-cloth Hadji, and especially on Milorclos, under which class they rank kingly John Bulls and republican Jonathans alike. In many parts of the Holy Land, especially north of Jerusalem, and east of Jordan, they first ask this tribute, then demand it, and terminate matters by taking it. An example of this, and a forcible one — speaking loud the power which the Bedaween exert — is the fact that we are compelled to pay an enormous — bakhshish they term it, but tax is the better word — in going from Jerusalem to Jericho. We pay for the privilege of passing through this wild country, in the desert places and mountain gorges of which are seen to this day the " black tents" of the days of Solomon. Bakhshish, then, is the first word in Arabic we learn, and, if repetition aids in fixing it in the memory, it is the last we forget. Whatever our scruples are, and however much and firmly we are deter- mined otherwise, we must give bakhshish. Your drago- man, himself, will tell you that this is all necessary. 2 1 v poS P-OFFICE. 1 well remember how pertinaciously I was followed by a little decrepid girl, in crossing the Plain of Sharon, with my party to Jaffa. She must have dogged me for more than two mileSi I purposely withheld bakhshish, being curious to see to what extent her powers endurance and begging-perseverance would lend her; and when I threw some coins to her — amounting in all, perhaps, to four cents — she gathered them up. and with a look of satisfaction — not of the door (it was at our hotel), and then emphatically glancing towards the / /, /„ hoot! The hint was taken — but no bakhshish A dragoman — more correctly turgoman — the word means interpreter — is an artich more essential to the traveller in the East, than the courier on the Continent. to those unlucky wights who are silly enough to go to travel in other lands, understanding no lingo save their own home vernacular. A. dragoman you must have. JI»' is your good and evil genius; he is — yourself, almost, and is mon than yourself, to all intents. He talks for you; he bargains for yon: fights for yon; and renders yon many other services — at the same time very often, un- fortunately, he deceives yon. and steals from you by making a large percentage on everything bought. The fact is, dragomen, as a class, are faithless and knavish. Kindness but strengthens this disposition, and one must rery careful to avoid being openly "fleeced." Towards dragomen a firm, decided, dignified, composed, and, above all, an unflinching demeanor is the grand feature of conduct to he aimed at and adopted. Dragomen, like many other fellow-mortals following different vocations, i feel tic pleasures of laziness, yet. nt the same time, like to "make hay" in spite of this laziness. Very often. when the traveller wishes to go to some interesting locality which may. perhaps, deviate from the general way, the dragoman, although when he first presented his humble self to you for patronage, he was overflowing DRAGOMEN. with courage— had, like Brown's Yuseph, slain many in battle, and wished the merry pastime of slaying — in spite of all this, I repeat, should the traveller mention some place which he desired to visit, for instance Mar Saba — the journey to which, from any point, is rough and tedious —the dragoman raises his hands in holy horror, and swears by Allah and the venerable beard of his holy prophet, that just a few days before, a most horrible murder was perpetrated in that very identical region — and advises strongly that even the wish to go, be aban- doned at once. In such a case — rely on it — it is a sham. Assert your right— compel the man to do his dut}^, or deduct immediately and largely from his wages. This will generally produce a satisfactory result. I do not say this is always the case — far from it ; but the occur- rence is now so frequent that what was an exception, is fast becoming a general rule. The tourist should be warned also to rely on his own reading — on his own information gathered from trust- worthy guide-books, as to the history and antiquities of places — and not to trust to dragomen. Beyond a few localities in the beaten track of travel, dragomen know nothing, though they often endeavor to satisfy your inquiries by manufacturing some wild monkish legend, extempore — which they are unable to repeat themselves. A great many travellers come into Palestine by the Short Desert and Sinai. To these I would say it is far better to procure a guide in Cairo, and make engage- ments with him for the entire trip — the dragoman to furnish everything, including animals, food, tents, and •J I DRAGOMEN. (don't forget it) bakhshish. This will be the cheapest in the end, and the tourist, by following this plan, will be saved much trouble and expense. When the agreement is made, it should be drawn up in writing, and a copy deposited with your banker or consul — this is an induce- ment to be faithful. When 1 was in Syria, travelling thus, cost aboul $5.50 per day, for each person. Above all things, do not submit yourself entirely to the nu'iv\ of your dragoman. You will fare all the worse. as your confidence will be sadly abused. Another cau- tion 1 would give: beware of the dragoman who brings too many testimonials. Remember, they are easily manu- factured. 1 was besieged in .Malta by a surly fellow, who wished to become my dragoman, though as yet a thousand miles from Canaan. Nay, he even insisted that I should take him — that he suited me and my party exactly; but 1 am glad to say 1 did not take him, and warn all travel- Ins to beware of Maltese guides, wherever they mat/ be found. 1 have had cause, myself, to rue their guardian- ship. You can not be worsted by taking a dragoman when yon arrive in the Holy Land. Jaffa, Beirut, and Jerusa- lem -warm with them; and they are far superior to any guides who claim .Malta as their abiding-place. I take ■t pleasure in recommending a young native Jew by the nam<- of Ibrahim Mordecai. Ibrahim was our drago- man to Jericho and Jordan. A noble-hearted fellow he is — a- brave as a lion, and ever willing to serve you in an;, way. What is another great item, he keeps a most liberal cuisine, and moreover speak- English and Italian well. He can be heard of from Dr. Gorham, at the Ame- rican ( Consulate in Jerusalem. CHANGEABLENESS OF CLIMATE. 25 It is difficult to say which season is the best for visiting Syria and the East; and any one who knows much of the climate of the country can of course judge for himself. In no region of the globe is the climate as changeable as in the Holy Land; and places distant not a geo- graphical degree from each other, show a difference in temperature which is unaccountable. The lofty ridges of Mt. Lebanon and the distant line of the " hill country of Judea," as well as Jerusalem, situated on an elevation as it is, are decidedly cool and bracing. The air around Beirut is particularly fine, so said, and on that account the heights "form excellent winter residences for invalids." In regions near Jordan and the Dead Sea, where there is a great natural depression, and along the entire seaboard, the air is warm, oppressive, and sultry. There is never rain of any moment in Palestine from the middle of April to the middle of September; the consequence is, that during the intervening months there is a drought and a heat which parch up the soil, and render travelling not only uncomfortable but decidedly hazardous. The rains commence about the last of October, and fall intermit- tingly until March. In some regions I learn there is thunder and lightning, as in the Lebanon neighborhood, but I never experienced it in my sojourn there. While in Jerusalem, we had snow as many as five times, although a reliable author writes : " But in Palestine frost is seldom seen, and the cold is not severe." I suffered as much, huddling near the small stove in the Prussian Hospice, as I ever did " down Bast" in America, on our Atlantic board. I might as well remark here, although from what has nil SYRIAN a i i I M N. already been said it has perhaps been anticipated, that tin- crops are mature at different times, and harvestings commence at differenl periods in differenl portions of the Hoh Land. Thus, in the Jordan valley the wheat har- vest begins tin' firsl of Ma\ ; while in the •• hill country" it commences one month later; ami on the Lebanon range it is nearly a month later still. From what has now been said relative to the climate, the tourist will see that, of all the seasons, spring and autumn are left to hi- 'particular choice — and both present their respective advantages. 1 cannot speak experiment- ally <>f them, but a favorite author says: "The autumn, perhaps, is more uniformly 'fair' than the spring; but then nature wants its bloom. The autumn in Syria is charming. Nothing can surpass the balminess of the air: and dwellers in tents may laugh at the thoughts of damp. There is no danger of muddy roads or swollen river-: but 1 would recommend the wayfarer to carry a water-bottle at his saddle, for it is a thirsty season. Au- tumn has another charm — it is the vintage season; and where is tic man who does not long to taste the grapes of • Lebanon 9 and pluck the bunches of 'Eshcol?" (Mir party was there in the spring, and I must say I was '/"I>i\ folds of white muslin or calico may be advan- tageously wound around the exterior. Lightness and protection from the sun arc the grand requisites. A pair of drab leather gloves and wire 'goggles,' with fronts of en glass, will complete the costume. Many throw «>\ er the whole a \\ bite Arab barnus of very thin material, and this affords additional protection against both heat and dust." From the above paragraph we may gain a full and comprehensive idea of all that is required. Our party. however, went just according to circumstances, and chiefly with a due regard to the existing state of each person's wardrobe — following this general rule, however, — wear flu worst wt had. Lei me say this, however, as a warn- ing to those who may wish to become oriental at once — beware of adopting the nativi costume. To one especially who is ignorant of the language, such a procedure is simply ridiculous, and calls forth quiet laughter from Mohammedan, Turk, and dew. An Englishman, fresh from the fogs of London, or the fields of Yorkshire; or an American, raw in republican manners, from the dust of New Xork, or from the plantations of Georgia, appears in eastern regalia much about the same as the long-eared animal of the fable in the skin which once covered the king of beasts. Xburown dress is a safeguard to you, as in it you will be submitted to no embarrassing position on account of lang and moreover it coupled with a courteous yet firm demeanor, which, 1 am glad to say, SHOES LEARNING THE LANGUAGE.. 29 generally characterizes English and American travellers, will insure you a respect which it were otherwise difficult to command. A great many travellers in the East — but only those who stay there for a considerable length of time — provide themselves with overshoes, to slip off when they enter a mosque in Egypt or a church in Syria. You never tread with the same boots, which you have worn in the streets, on the costly carpets of an Eastern dweller ; for these carpets the Muslem touches with his lips not less than three times a day, as he pays his orisons at the shrine of Allah. In going into the little chapel which covers the so-called tomb of Jesus in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, we are requested to take our boots off, whether or not we wear overshoes ; in our case, however, we did not incommode ourselves at all. We were, on that account, the cynosure of all eyes. For my part, I was sorry that we had omitted to follow this observance to the strictest letter. Many ill feelings are thus engendered by foreign travellers, and I always prefer to respect and pay heed to certain social and national habits — whereby I am sure much w r ould be saved and nothing lost. We wished to carry out the observance, but our guide insisted that it was not necessary with us. It is foolish, for one who simply designs a tour through the country, to attempt to learn the language either before they commence the journey or after they arrive in Syria. They will find it a difficult undertaking — a few words in common speaking may be as well picked up when you are once in the country as before. In any case, you are compelled to get a dragoman, on whom you MEANS OF LOCOMOTION. throw the whole burden of language. Those who ran travel Palestine without a dragoman, can do the same, and with less inconvenience, withoul language. Syriac, the ancient tongue of the land, is now almost obsolete, being retained only as the ecclesiastical tongue among the Maronitea and Dimes, who dwell amid the crags of the Lebanon range. A more necessary item, however, inasmuch as it con- cerns the traveller's personal comfort, should be his manner or means of locomotion; and hire the choice is not extensive, nor the selection large. Yon have at your disposal — a donkey and a /t<>r*> . A good donkey is better than a /«/ surfeiting — in fact, a well devised, though modernl) invented, addition to inquisi- torial racks. I must say, in all candor, never, in all my ARABIAN SADDLES — WEAPONS. 31 life, was I more deceived — and never more rapidly dis- appeared ominous misgivings from any man's mind than from mine, as I eased gradually down in my Arab seat in Jaffa, and — found a most delightful saddle under me. The stirrups can be lengthened to suit each particular rider, without the trouble of dismounting ; and to any one who, like myself, for example, has been accustomed to all manners — conveniences and inconveniences of horse- back riding with the American and Spanish saddles, and even bare-back — I am sure the Arab seat cannot prove disagreeable. On the whole, I will say, do not distress yourself concerning saddles : the supply — of good ones, too — is equal to the demand. As many parts of Syria are not altogether unfrequented by banditti — or rather, robbers in the shape of roving Bedaween, who take up their avocation and drop it at any moment — it might be perhaps highly important to carry visible weapons of defence. In many cases personal safety is dependent on arms, and throughout Syria their well-known power awakens a moral effect which adds much to your respect and enhances tenfold your prowess. Do not pay any particular attention to your arms when you are on the road or in the presence of Arabs ; they may determine that you are not accustomed to them, and will surely attempt to play off a " scene" on you, which, unless you meet it promptly, may lead to something worse. I would recommend a large Colt's revolver, navy size. It is a showy weapon, and in case of danger an ever-constant friend. This pistol is well known in Syria MORAL EFFECT OF A 1; M S. for its deadly accuracy, but it La seldom possessed h\ the nath es. To show the moral effed of arms. 1 will relate an instance. One day, while in Jerusalem, I chanced to the Place of Wailine, on the site of Solomon's Tern- pie. With my companions, 1 was duly impressed with the place and the hallowed associations its presence awoke — and wishing a souvenir, 1 struck a small piece from an ancienl flag-stone. A Jew who saw the act rushed up towards me very fiercely, and commenced jabbering something of which I was most blissfully ignorant. To this 1 replied nothing; but when 1 saw the fellow handle the haft of his knife very suspiciously — glance at it signi- ficantly, and then at me — I understood him perfectly. Throwing open my coat, which had been buttoned, I showed him the butt of a heavy pistol in my belt, and looked as bold as circumstances would allow. It was sufficient ; the poor fellow started back as if in surprise; and. after eyeing my pistol for a moment curiously and lily, he made a profound salaam, and retired. CHAPTER III. WOULD advise the traveller journeying through Syria to lay in simply a small package of medicine. The changes in temperature may produce chills and fever; and differences in air, diet, water, and heat of the sun often produce a distressing diarrhoea. But the most frequent and most troublesome affection is Eastern ophthalmia. Many writers have spoken of this, and many medical men have attempted to explain its cause particu- larly ; but, as Desmarres of Paris says, " like others of a former day, we are acquainted with very little concerning this disorder." Some nitrate of silver and sulphate of zinc should be taken along for this disease; the former to be used in a solution of one and a half grains to the ounce of water — apply to the globe and lids of the eye three times a day. If that should fail, take the whites of two eggs and a wineglass of water — stir well together, and add twenty grains of sulphate of zinc finely powdered. With this wash the eye repeatedly throughout the day. These remedies will be found efficacious. Of other medi- cines, one might carry sulphate of magnesia, tincture of catechu or kino, paregoric elixir, and some powdered rhubarb; these will be found sufficient. The diarrhoea may be treated thus : first, thoroughly cleanse the bowels 3 (33) ; 1 MEANS OF I N sr R i \<; I! K A l, Til. by a lull dose of sulphate of magnesia or rhubarb, or both combined (tablespoonful of former — twelve grains of lat- ter) ; then give tincture catechu or paregoric. I think Syria — or thai pari of the Holy Land, 1 should Bay, towards Jerusalem, and beyond from the sea-coast — is far from being unhealthy; a stay amid those craggy mountains, exposed to the bracing atmosphere of the hills, would tend to strengthen the invalid's frame and fasten his hold on life. While our party remained in the lh»l\ Land, we enjoyed the best of health, which was improved during our entire sojourn. I am confident that the exercise I underwent in the East was the means of sat ing my life. Riding exposed continually to the rays of the miii. however, which are generally, and especially at midday, overpowering, of course tends to induce disease. The use of the Turkish bath, too, in all its perfection, also has a tendency to heighten capillary circulation, and, in- somuch, to occasion irruptions, such as boils, prickly heat, &c.; yet, with a meagre eye to what is prudent, this can all be avoided. Experimentally, I cannot condemn the bath : but, arguing from general principles, and supported by good authority, I am induced to believe as above stated. A history of Syria and Palestine, of course, it is beyond my province to write. I do not feel that I possess the ability to add anything to the works of Josephus or to those of other authors on the subject. A short historical sketch would not be amiss here, however, and I avail myself of an excellent article on the subject by the justly celebrated author of ;i Five Years in Damascus." Nothing SKETCH OF PALESTINE. 35 original can be said ; and what I may present, or what other writers could add, would be nothing more than a repetition of facts couched in different words. The Bible is perhaps the best history of Syria and Palestine ; Jose- phus gives us the best history of the Jews and their wars. Two verj' fine works, however, which will well repay perusal, can be consulted by those who wish to add still more to their historical knowledge of the Holy Land — " Prideaux's Connexion of the Old and New Testaments," and " Jahn's Hebrew Commonwealth." In studying the history of this favored as well as accursed of all lands, we will find an uniqueness not only as regards the country itself — its unparalleled geographical and geological pecu- liarities — but we also notice the same uniqueness as regards the country as a theatre of action. This land was the chosen of God to be the stage whereon all the trying scenes of man's redemption were to be enacted. It was in this land that Jehovah twice gave religion unto a sinning world — first, when Moses received the written tablets amid the thunderings on Mount Sinai — and secondly, when, the world was reeking with sin and degradation, God gave his only-begotten Son, a propitiation for the errors of others. It was here lived every prophet who foretold what afterwards was accomplished through Jesus Christ. It was here amid the hills of Palestine that the light of science shed its first glare abroad. It was here emanated that religion at one time opposing Assyrian superstition and idolatry, and at a later period Roman voluptuousness and effeminacy — which has Chris- tianized mankind — which has spread its blessings over 36 dam a son s. the broad prairies of America, and amid the deep jungles of Farther India ami China. Here lived the purest specir m< i< of the man, in the very fullest 'perfection — and here dwell at this moment sonic of the vilest representatives of the great human family. ••The Saviour himself was horn in Bethlehem, was brought up in Nazareth, dwelt in Capernaum, was baptized in the Jordan, raised Lazarus from the dead in Bethany, was crucified in Jerusalem, and ascended to heaven from the Mount of Olives." Such is this holiest of Holy Lands! — how replete with interest — how overwhelming in associations! History tells us that long before Greece had a name, or Koine a written record, the Phoenicians were famed in the arts and in commerce. Their mariners sailed over the "great sea." and were the first sailors who ever made the sea-faring life a calling. They won for their small country the title which England now peacefully enjoys — th<- "queen <>t' the sea." The former splendors of Tyre and Sidon, and the wasteful extravagance of beautiful Damascus, well attested, in by-gone days, what Phoenicia, and tin- subjacent region of Syria, then was. Damascus ha- '>•>,■ remained << city. Four thousand years ago, it was founded by Aram, a grandson of Noah; it speedily grew to magnificence. To-(.f(iy, it is one of the fairest Bpots on earth, and serves as the connecting link between patriarchal and modern times. The former power and gaudy pomp of Jerusalem — long before it fell by the warring hand of Titus — with its many gates and splendid edifices — among them, one, the most glorious and magnifi- cent work of man's creative genius — Solomons temple — SYRIAN HISTORY. 37 all show, more strongly than pen can write, what this land and city was. Alas ! what is Jerusalem now ? " Reft of thy sons, amidst thy foes forlorn, Mourn, widowed Queen — forgotten Zion, mourn ! Is this thy place, sad city — this thy throne — Where the wild desert rears its craggy stone?" " The earliest notices of Syrian history are found in the Bible, which is, at once, the most ancient and the most authentic of all histories. The whole land appears to have been divided, by the nature of its first settlement, into two sections. The first, extending from the plain of Bashan, to the heights of Amanus, was colonized by the family of Aram, the son of Shem, and called by his name, Aram. But, as the possessions of this tribe included also the plains of Assyria, on the east, the western division was named Aram-Damesk, ' Aram of Damascus' (2 Sam. viii. 6). In every passage of the Old Testament scriptures, where the word ' Syria' appears, the Hebrew is 'Aram :' (See Jud. x. 6 ; 1 Kings x. 29 ; xi. 25, &c.) . Damascus was the first capital of the province. Subsequently, the province was subdivided ; and thus, in the days of David, we find ' Aram-Maachah' — a district around the fountains of the Jordan, at the base of Her- mon (1 Chron. xix. 6 ; 2 Sam. x. 6-8) ; ' Aram-Zobah' — a district most probably extending from the right bank of the Orontes, towards Aleppo and the Euphrates (2 Sam. x. 6 ; viii. 3-5). Both these, however, were included in ' Aram-Damesk,' so that, as Isaiah says, the 'Head of Aram is Damascus' (vii. 8). To this, corres- ponds also the Syria Damascena of Pliny and the Roman 38 DESCENDANTS OF CANAAN. ;raphers, Aram-Damesk formed, for a long period, a irate kingdom, which, under the royal line of Badad, often waged successful wars against the Israelites (2 Chron. xxiv.). It was finally overthrown by the As- syrians, under Tiglath-pileser, in b. c. 750 (2 Kings xvi. 9). Tlic name * Syria' is, probably, derived from'Tsur' or • Sur" (Tyre). The Greeks first became acquainted with that ancient city, and then applied its name some- what indefinitely to the country . •• The second division of the country, including Gilead, all Palestine west of the .Ionian, and the mountain-range northward to the mouth of the Orontes, was colonized by the descendants of Canaan, the son of Ham. They never appear to have been united under one chief, or to have acknowledged the pre-eminence of one royal city; but were divided into a number of tribes or clans, not unlike those of the Scottish Highlands. On the south, were the Anakim, -a people great and tall' (Deut. ii. 10;) and probably related to these, were the Emims and other _ jrantic races on the east of the Jordan (Id.). The Amorites, who came in, or rose to power, at a later period, conquered, and finally exterminated, these giants. Besides these, then- was a host of petty tribes scattered r the land, from the Jebusites on the south, to the Hamathites and Arvadites on the north. The Philis- tine.-, also descendants of Ham. emigrated from Egypt at a later period, and settled in the plain along the coast, on the Bouth-west frontier. The}- were enterprising and warlike, equally feared and hated by the Israelites. They obtained a firm hold of a section of the country, THE CANAANITES. 39 and gave to it a name which it retains to our day — Palestine. " Of all the aboriginal inhabitants of this country, the Phoenicians — or Canaanites, as they are called both in the Bible (Jud. i. 31, 32), and on their coins — were the most remarkable alike for their independence, their power, and their enterprise. The principal part, if not the whole, of this people were descended from Sidon, the oldest son of Ham ; and the city of Sidon was the first centre and seat of their power. From it colonies went out to Tyre and Arvad ; both small islands, and thus well adapted for commerce. The whole coast, from Casius to Carmel, soon became subject to them ; and from hence they extended their influence and commerce along the shores of the Mediterranean, and through the islands that dot its surface. Carthage, the rival of Rome, was a Phoenician colony ; and so also was Cadiz, on the shores of the Atlantic. They had commercial intercourse with every kingdom of the known world. From every coun- try they imported its peculiar products to be manu- factured or bartered in their rich marts. They visited Persia and India, Africa and Russia, Italy and Spain ; and a few hardy adventurers even penetrated to that little isle of clouds and terrors — the far distant Britain. The Phoenicians and Damascenes long held between them the whole northern part of Syria. Phoenicia attained its greatest power about b. c. 1050 ; and it enjoyed uninter- rupted prosperity for full 500 years. It was at last forced to submit to the sceptre of Alexander the Great. " In the 15th century before the Christian era another l SB \ l l.i i ES l - \ K i: POSSESSION tribe or nation appeared upon the stage of Syrian history, and totally changed the state of affairs in Palestine. The Israelites, having completed their weary term of wander- ing through the wilderness of Sinai. Suddenly descended from the mountains el' Moab to the banks of the .Ionian, more than half a million strong. The lame of their exploits and miraculous deliverances had long preceded '.hem; and the Canaanites. though inured to Avar, trembled at the thought of this Heaven-led foe. The Israelites themselves came on in confidence, feeling that God would assuredly give them the • Promised Land.' Gilead and Bashan on the east were first taken; then the waters of the Jordan were miraculously opened for them, and they entered Palestine. A war of extermination was waged, and the people were soon settled in their new possessions. The • Land of Promise' extended from the Arabian plain to the 'Great Sea.' and from the Desert of Sinai to the 'entering in of Hamath' (Num. xxxiv. ; Ez. xlvii.) ; but Land of Possession' was more limited — it was com- monly and correctly described as reaching from 'Dan to sheba' (Jud. xxi.) Both Philistines and the Phceni- ,- remained in possession of the maritime regions. •• From ih'' time the Israelites entered Palestine till the appointment of Saul, their first king, their government i pure Theocracy. God was their leader in all their war of conquest, when the guilty Canaanites were exter- minated or expelled. In peace, the judges were God's representatives; in war they were His lieutenants. Their appointment was generally communicated to them by an express message from heaven; their great victories were REIGN OF DAVID. 41 gained by miraculous or superhuman interposition ; their councils were directed by visions and revelations from on high. Their enemies felt and acknowledged this; and were often compelled to admit that the God of Israel was greater than all the gods. I would only allude for illus- tration and proof to the histories of Samson, of Gideon, of Deborah, and of Samuel (Jud. xvi., iv., and v. ; 1 Sam. vii.) " But the Israelites demanded a king ; and in the year b. c. 1095 Saul, a Benjamite of Gibeah, was elected. After his melancholy death on Gilboa, David, ' the man after God's own heart,' was called to the throne. When he had reigned seven years in Hebron, he captured the stronghold of the Jebusites on Mount Sion, and thence- forth Jerusalem became the seat of government and the capital of Palestine (b. c. 1045). His kingdom being firmly established, he turned his attention to foreign con- quests. The Philistines, the hereditaiy enemies and oppressors of his people, were completely subdued. The warlike tribes that dwelt amid the mountains of Sinai and Edom, and that roamed over the plateaus of Gilead and Bashan, were made tributary. His garrisons occu- pied the chief towns of Syria; and every prince, from the borders of Egypt to the banks of the Euphrates, was forced to acknowledge his rule. The Phoenicians were the only exception. They excelled in the arts of peace. Their merchants and mariners brought the riches of the east and west to their marts, and carried their manufac- tures to foreign lands. David was wise as he was power- ful. He could gain little by conquering their maritime 42 KINGDOM OF tSKAEL. territory ; but by entering into friend!} treaties he could ire the most important advantages to his own nation. He therefore made a treaty with Hiram king of Tyre; and Hiram's workmen built his palace on Zion (2 Sam. Phoenician architects, carpenters, and goldsmiths afterwards erected and adorned the Temple of Solomon (1 Kings v.. vii.). Tyrian seamen navigated the fleets of [srael to Spain, Africa, and India (Id. ix. 21; x. 11). The power and influence which David had acquired by his arms, Solomon employed for the acquisition of wealth and the advancement of commerce. He built fleets at Ezion-geber on the Red Sea. to establish a communication with the eastern coast of Africa and the southern shores of India (Id. ix. 26); and lie founded 'Tadmor in the Wilderness' to facilitate the overland traffic with Assyria and Persia (2 Chron. viii. 4). "The building of the temple at Jerusalem made that city the religious as well as the civil capital of the whole land; but unfortunately the vices of royalty soon divided the kingdom. Rehoboam, the son of Solomon, retained only two tribes under his sceptre; while the remaining ten elected Jeroboam, an Ephraimite, as their ruler. To wean the people's affection from Jerusalem, and to pre- vent the probability of reunion on religious grounds, the latter - el up two 'calves,' one at Dan, the other at Bethel, as symbols of Jehovah, to which his subjects might resort for worship (1 Kings xii. 28, 2 ( .»). These ibola were borrowed, as that in the wilderness had been, from the mythology of Egypt; and, in accordance with a custom of the Bame country, he united the ponti- THE WARS OF ISRAEL. 43 ficate of the new establishment with the crown ; thus at once assuming both royal and priestly power (Id. 31-33, and xiii. 1). Jeroboam fixed upon Shechem (now Nabu- lus) as the seat of his government. After the murder of his son, Baasha the third king intended to remove to Rainah, as a convenient place for carrying on an aggres- sive war against Judah ; but he was compelled to give up this plan (Id. xv. 17-21). Omri, the fifth from Jero- boam, with an ambition not uncommon in the founder of a new dynasty, built Samaria, which was thenceforth the capital of the kingdom of Israel (Id. xv. 24). " The wars carried on between Israel and Judah need not here be alluded to; but I shall just glance at those with other nations. " The great rival of Israel was Damascus. Mutual interests at first united them ; but jealousies arose, excited by Judah, which led, under Hazael, to the almost complete subjugation of Israel. But on the death of Hazael, Syria began to decline, and Israel regained its independence. The same power, however, which ' took away the kingdom from Damascus,' proved fatal to Samaria. It was captured by the Assyrians (b. c. 721), and the people carried away captive. The conqueror introduced colonies in their place from Babylon, Hamath, and other cities. The colonists practised their own idolatries ; and the country being infested with wild beasts, they thought, according to the prevailing idea among heathen nations, that their ignorance of the local deity was the cause. An Israelitish priest was accord- ingly sent to instruct them in the Jewish faith, which 11 END OF THE [SRAELITISB HON A RGB V they appear to have, in a greal measure, adopted (2 Kings \\ii. 24-33). Such was the origin <>(* the Samari- tans, well known in the New Testament, from our Lord's interview with the woman at Jacob's Well. A few families of them still exist in Nabulus. "The kingdom of Judah survived that of Israel 133 years; ami then it, too, fell before an eastern monarch. \ buchadnezzar, kin- of Babylon, took Jerusalem, after an eighteen months' siege, sacked and destroyed the city, and led the people captive to the hanks of the Tigris. Zedekiah, the last of David's royal line, after losing his - at Riblah, was carried in chains to Babylon {'2 Kings xxv.i. Thus ended the Israelitish monarchy, after having existed more than five hundred years. The i pie of Solomon fell with the city, and its sacred jsels were afterwards used in the idolatrous banquets of the conquerors. In the year B. c. 536, Cyrus, having Mired Babylon, restored the Jews to liberty, and, in twenty years more, the second temple was dedicated. From this time till Grecian power became paramount in Western Asia, Syria and Palestine were governed by a Persian satrap, resident in Damascus. The Jewish high- priest was made deputy at Jerusalem, and thus a large amount of liberty was there enjoyed. Phoenicia was the only province thai rebelled against the foreign yoke; but the Persian power was too great to be resisted by a com- mercial state. The satrap laid siege toSidon; and the inhabitants, to avoid falling into his hands, burned the city, their treasures, and themselves (b. c. 350). This SIEGE OF TYRE. 45 was enough to cause the other towns to yield without a struggle. "The battle of Issus (b. c. 333) was fatal to the Persian empire, and brought Western Asia under the dominion of a new dynasty and new race. Syria, Phoenicia, and Palestine yielded to Alexander the Great, with the excep- tion of Tyre and Ascalon. The siege of the former city was one of the most remarkable operations of the Grecian conqueror. Built on an island, four hundred fathoms from the main land, encompassed by lofty walls, and having a fleet to provide supplies for the garrison, it was deemed impregnable. But Alexander, with the rubbish of the ancient city, which stood on the shore, constructed a causeway to the island, and, in seven months, took the place by storm. Alexander's causeway converted the island into a peninsula, and thus it still remains. Jerusa- lem had, in the mean time, been summoned to surrender ; but the high-priest replied that he had sworn fealty to Darius, and could not violate his oath. Alexander, enraged at the reply, threatened soon to leave the city in ashes. Accordingly, after the capture of Tyre, he turned to Jerusalem. But when he had reached the mountain brow commanding the city from the west, he was met by a solemn and strange procession. The high-priest, arrayed in his gorgeous pontifical robes, attended by a throng of priests, in the habits of their order, and by a number of the citizens in white, presented himself to the astonished monarch. When he saw the high-priest, he immediately advanced, saluted him, and adored the sacred name inscribed on his mitre. This singular conduct he Ml \ \N mi i; SPA RES •! ERUSA LEM. thus explained to his followers: •! adore no1 the man, l>ut the God with whose priesthood In' is honored. When 1 was at Dios, in Macedonia, pondering how to Bubdue Lsia, 1 Baw this figure in a dream, and lie encouraged me to advance, ami promised that In- would give me the Persian empire. I take this as an omen, therefore, that 1 have undertaken the expedition by a divine command, I that 1 Bhall completely overthrow the empire of Persia.' Tin' .lews then received many important im- munities. The Samaritans were not so fortunate, for, in consequence of an aci of cruelty, they were expelled from their ancient capital, and forced to take refuge in Shechem, where they still dwell. "On the death of Alexander his vast empire was thrown into confusion: and his generals, left without a leader, desired, each by himself, to wield the sceptre of the con- queror. After twenty years of war, something like order was restored, and four new kingdoms were established. With two of these only are we concerned — that of the Ptolemies in Egypt, to whom Palestine and Coelesyria e assigned; and that of the SeleucidaB, who obtained N it hern Syria. Seleucus, the first monarch of the latter dynasty, founded the city of Antioch, which for a few centuries supplanted Damascus as capital of Syria. This royal line retained their sovereignty for two hundred and lilt rs, and then fell before the power of Rome. Qnder the mild and encouraging rule of the Ptolemies, the inhabitants of Palestine lived for more than sixty years. Then, however, as wars were waged between the - eucidse and the Ptolemies, this unfortunate province JERUSALEM PILLAGED BY APOLLONIUS. 47 became the theatre of every contest, and alternately the prey of each dynasty. Near the close of the third cen- tury b. G. it was wrested from the feeble hand of the infant king of Egypt by the Syrian monarch ; and the change was fatal to the peace, and almost to the existence of the Jewish nation. In the year b. c. 170 Antiochus Epiphanes plundered Jerusalem, and defiled the Temple. Two years afterwards, when the Jews had been driven to rebellion by cruelty and murder, he sent his general Apollonius to complete the work of destruction. He arrived at the Holy City ; but his fearful errand was not suspected. He remained quiet until the Sabbath, on which day, it was known, the Jews of that age would not fight even in self-defence. The soldiers were then let loose, and scoured the streets, slaughtering all they met. The women and children were spared — to be sold into slavery. Every street of the city, every court of the Temple, flowed with blood. The houses were pillaged, and the city walls laid prostrate. Having strengthened the fortifications of the citadel on Zion, Apollonius placed his garrison there to hold the Temple under command. Neither priest nor layman was permitted to approach the sacred precincts. Then, for a time, ' the sacrifice and oblation ceased,' and Jerusalem was left desolate. A decree being shortly afterwards promulgated that all under the sway of Antiochus should conform to Greek idolatry, the Temple was dedicated to Jupiter Olympius, and the altar of God polluted by sacrifices offered to an idol. " But the savage cruelty and mad policy of the Syrian {^ Til i: BOM A N 0ONQ1 EST. monarch at last roused the .lews to revenge. The priestly family of the Asmoneans headed a aoble band, who resolved to drive from their country the murderers o( their kindred, and the blasphemers of their Cod, or die in the attempt. For twenty-six years the contest continued; and within that period Judas Maccabaeus and his brothers succeeded in establishing the independence of their country, and the supreme authority of their house, after destroying more than two hundred thousand of the best troops of Syria. Accordingly, with the year B.C. L43 the Jews commenced a new era, which is used by Josephus, and in the first book of Maccabees. This independence, however, must be considered more as the enjoyment of their own faith and laws under a native chief, than as perfect freedom from foreign control. It was 1 1 « » t so much for absolute independence as for liberty of conscience the Jews had fought. The disturbed state of the Syrian empire, and the wars of rival monarchs, contributed much to the tranquillity of Judsea, and ena- bled its warlike princes to extend their territory. At the conclusion of the reign of Alexander Jannseus the king- dom of Judaea included the whole of Idumaea, Gadara, Gaulonitis, and a part of Ituraea; while on the north it extended to I 'armel, Tabor, and Scythopolis. In this Btate the Jews remained until the conquest of the whole country by the Romans, when they were made to pay a heavy tribute, still, however, retaining their own rulers. In the year B. c. 34 the last prince of the Asmonean line - murdered by the Roman prefect of Syria, and Herod tin- Great made king of the Jews. In a. d. G Judaea was THE MOHAMMEDAN CONQUEST. 49 placed under the government of a Roman procurator ; but the Herodian family continued to exercise royal authority over a part of Central Syria until the time of Agrippa, the last of the line, when the Jews revolted against Rome, and brought upon themselves that fearful war which ended in the capture of their city, the final destruction of their Temple, and the slaughter of more than a million of their race. Judaea was now attached to the province of Syria ; and soon afterwards the whole of Syria and Palestine was placed under the direct domi- nion of a Roman prefect, Antioch being the seat of government. " In this state, the country continued under the Roman and Byzantine empire, until its conquest by the Moham- medans in A. d. 634. The only circumstances worthy of notice, in a sketch like the present, which is chiefly intended to illustrate the historical geography, are the establishment of Christianity under the first Constantine ; and the temporary conquests of the Persians under Chos- roes II. in the beginning of the seventh century. Christi- anity had spread widely over the land before its establish- ment as the religion of the empire ; and the extent, wealth, and architectural taste of the church subsequent to that period may still, to some extent, be seen from the splendid ruins of the sacred edifices in the cities, towns, and villages of Syria. " The Arabs, under the generals K haled and Abu Obeidah, first invaded Syria in 633 ; and only five years afterwards the whole country was conquered, and every city in it garrisoned by their troops. In sixteen years 4 50 r HE c i; I s.\ DES. more Damascus was made capital of the Mohammedan empire, which then extended from (lie shores <>f the Atlantic to the confines of India. Syria was densely populated. Her cities scarcelj yielded t<> any in the world in wealth, extent, and architectural splendor. Antioch. Damascus, Palmyra, Heliopolis, Apamea, Bostra, A.scalon, and Caesarea, were almost unequalled, as provincial cities, in the wide extent of the Roman empire: but under the withering influence of [slam their grandeur laded, and their wealth was eaten up. Of these, five are now completely deserted; two are mere villages; Antiocli. the capital, is little more; and Damascus alone remains prosperous. •• In the year 7o<> the dynasty of the Abassides was tstablished, and the Khalifate removed first to Cufa and then to Baghdad. Henceforth Syria became a mere province of the Mohammedan empire. It remained Bubject to the Khalifa of Baghdad from this period till the middle of the tenth century, when it was taken by the new rival dynasty of the Fatimites in Egypt. Toward- the (dose of the following century Syria was invaded by the Seljukian Turks, and converted into a division of their empire. The cruelties perpetrated by the fanatics on the poor Christian pilgrims that thronged to Jerusalem roused the spirit of Western Europe, and i Christian nations to the first 'Crusade' against the [nfidels. In a short time the mail-clad barons of Prance and England, headed by Godfrey, were seen winding through the valleys and traversing the plains of i. The fierce warriors of the Crescent could not CAPTURE OF JERUSALEM BY SALADIN. 51 withstand the steady valor of the ' red-cross knights.' Jerusalem was taken by storm; and the cruelties the Mohammedans had perpetrated on the Christians were now amply avenged (a. d. 1099). " When the slaughter had ceased, and the Crusaders had soothed their feelings by acts of devotion in the holiest places of a holy city, the necessity of forming a regular government became apparent. Godfrey was at once elected first Christian king of Jerusalem. Bohemond reigned at Antioch; Baldwin, Godfrey's brother, at Edessa; and the Count of Toulouse at Tripoli. Thus was the country parcelled out into Christian principalities, and ruled by the bravest knights of Western Europe. Da- mascus, however, withstood every assault of the Crusa- ders ; and it is still the boast of the proud Moslem, that its sacred precincts have never been polluted by the feet of an infidel ruler since the day the soldiers of Moham- med first entered it. " This is not the place for a history of the Crusaders, nor even for a sketch of the changing fortunes of the several cities and provinces the Franks held in this coun- try. I shall only add that they sustained a severe check from Nur-ed-Din, a Tartar prince, who seized Damascus and some neighboring cities. But his successor, Saladin, was by far the most formidable opponent the Crusaders ever encountered. After gaining a decisive victory over the Christian army at Hattin, near Tiberias, he captured Jerusalem (1187), and drove the Franks out of almost every town and fortress of Palestine. Jerusalem was not regained for more than forty years ; and even then it was 52 i \ M ERL \ n E. — ski.i m I. only acquired by treaty. Soon afterwards Syria was invaded by the Bhepherd-soldiers of Tartary, under Hola- gou, tlic grandson ofGengis Khan, and the whole Christ- ian population of Jerusalem massacred. But after the death of this chief, Bibars, better known in Arabian his- torj as Melek ed-Dhaher, brought Syria under the sceptre of Egypt, and drove the Tartars beyond the Euphrates. His victories were fatal to tin* declining power of the Crusaders. Almost all their strongholds in Palestine wire captured, and Antioch itself soon yielded to his arm-. The remaining history of the Crusades is one con- tinued tale of misfortunes. At last, in 1291, Acre was taken by the Mamluke sultan of Egypt; and thus termi- nated the dominion of the Crusaders in Syria. •• For more than two centuries after this period, Syria was the theatre of fierce contests, carried on between the shepherd-hordes of Tartary and their brethren, the Tar- tar-slave .sovereigns of Egypt. The most fearful ravages, however, were committed by Timiir (Tamerlane), who invaded the country in the year 1401. Antioch, Emesa, Ba'albek, and Damascus were soon reduced to ashes, and their unfortunate inhabitants either murdered or sold into slavery. ••In lol". Syria and Palestine were conquered by Sul- tan Selim I. ; and from that time until our own day, they have formed part of the Ottoman empire. During this period, though the country has been visited by few strik- ing vicissitudes, it has steadily declined in power, wealth, and population. The greater part of its people, oppressed by foreign ruler-, who take no interest in commerce or IBRAHIM PASHA. 53 agriculture, have sunk into the condition of helpless and hopeless slavery. What little energy and spirit remain, are exhausted in party feuds. In 1832, Ibrahim Pasha conquered the country for his father, Mohammed Aly. The iron rule of that wonderful man did much to break down the fanatical spirit which had for ages been a curse to the people. In 1841, through the armed intervention of England, Syria was restored to the Porte." CHAPTER IV ^TT HE present inhabitants of Palestine present a queer VJ) specimen of a race — a mongrel population, in fact — ;l commingling, to a greater or less extent, of the early Syrians of the infant years of Christ- ianity and the wild Arabs who came in invading armies under their mighty leaders, the wealthy "Khalifa of the East." These latter intermarried, and the present modern Inhabitant of Syria bears traces to this day of that amal- gamation. This intermarriage, however, could not have existed to a great extent, for the Christian and the Mo- hammedan Arab differ scarcely at all in feature, but owe their distinctive mark to their dress; the original type of the nation is but Blightly altered, and is in all cases dis- cernible. In travelling through Syria, the tourist must be struck with the ease, grace, and uobleness of manner observable in the Arab — the wild, untutored son of the desert. Go wherever you may in the Holy Land, and these peculiar traits of character yon will always see; they are inherent, and uone the less valuable qualities. Eowever unlettered },j„ mind — however vagrant his associations and associ- ates — however barbarous his tribe and however desolate or barren his desert or his mountain home — the Beddwy (54) ARAB POLITENESS. 55 is ever noble in bearing — ever easy in the presence of others higher in social life, and always assiduously polite to all who may chance to cross his path. Never more was I struck with this, than when our good Sheikh, an illiterate but not ill-mannered Beddwy, visited us in Jeru- salem at the Prussian Hospice. We invited him to par- take of breakfast with us, wishing to see for curiosity's sake how he would behave himself, and to what purpose he would apply his knife and fork ; for with these he was not burdened at home in his black goat-skin tent. I made it my especial business to watch him. He accepted our invitation, after a little urging, in a most polished and courtly manner — showing himself, immediately, as one of " Nature's noblemen." Before he seated himself, he scru- pulously washed his hands; and having most devoutly said his prayers, he took his seat with as much quiet and as little awkwardness as if he had, for many years, loitered in the palaces of the rich and the powerful. I saw him regard his knife and fork with a quizzical look, and then cast a quiet, quick glance around the table, as if seeking information. Having satisfied himself how the inconve- niences were used, he handled them with an ease and skill that would have done credit to an experienced caterer. Nothing is more impressive than Arab politeness, espe- cially when shown in their salutations. The right hand laid first on the heart, then on the lips, finally on the forehead, speaks in a language more eloquent than tongue can articulate — the Language of Gesture. Sometimes, when high esteem is felt for a person, they press the lips to the hand ; and in some cases of extreme reverence, ■»l» AK A B POL] I 1 :n esL thr\ kiss the feet ks regards American travellers, or foreigners generally, it is besl courteously yet firmly to forbid this, giving, for refusing this testimonial of respect, the best reasons of which you arc master. The fact is, they Beldom expect that you will permit this ceremony, though they are apparently willing to show the extent of their esteem by this significant method. If the truth must be told, however. Arab politeness, ready and native as it may be, is made up of meaningless expressions, just as the civilities of other nations — the French, par example, which are in such general use that we may well consider them stereotyped. And, in the same manner, all Ins un- bounded offers of kindness and extravagant manner of giving you any and everything he has simply for the love >f you, and not for money, are empty protestations. As an example : the Arab merchant, when asked the price of a most costly article, frequently replies, nothing, if you desire it — for others, however, he would demand such and Buch (naming a most exorbitant price) — but you can have it for love — it is not the money that he requires of you. /£ wan of such ae these j do not take these lying venders at their word, or you will rue it. One old fellow, from whom I was endeavoring to buy a narghileh, offered me nut only the lmrghileh. but his entire stock in trade, his -hop. his dwelling-house, half of his hareem, all of his money, and. in addition, promised to be my slave/or ever .' but. before I left he had recanted — sold me the uarghileh — and — cheated me out of eight francs ! There are a certain class of bigoted old fellows — Muslems — however, who are not guilty towards Chris- FONDNESS FOR TITLES. 57 tians — I mean, now, foreigners from any country — of any politeness at all. The Muslem of this class is plain and straightforward ; he can not smother his disgust for an " Infidel" or a " Frank dog," which are but synonymes, in these far-off lands, for "Christian." Woe be unto the unlucky traveller who, priding himself on his knowledge of Arabic, scanty or ample, should say to one of these stiff-necked, prejudiced Orientals, " Saldma '' 'Aleikum /" (peace be with you) . A Christian has no right, in their eyes, to invoke even peace on one of the Chosen of the Faithful — and such an expression will call forth a wrath, which is often unappeased with the tongue, as the only weapon. Those, therefore, who wish a smooth sea, had better nurture this hint, and avoid the offending expres- sion. It is well, too, perhaps, to remember that this expression must not be returned by a Christian, should he chance to be addressed by one of these of the particular kind. He must choose something more suitable from his vocabulary, if he can command it. If he fail here, a profound salaam — a mumbling of some words, in which " Allah" might be advantageously distributed more than once — and a sanctified revolution of the eyes in the socket, will be sufficient. Another point very noticeable in regard to these specimens of mankind, is the tendency to titles. It breaks somewhat strangely on the foreigner's tympanum to hear, in the narrow streets of Jerusalem, " Your Ex- cellency" — "Your Highness," (in Arabic, of course) so often spoken. Turning around to behold his "Excel- lency," one's surprise is often greatly increased at the l \ i>i PE n I'l !N I I "i T ii r. Ia i; \ B. Right of a sqnalid Beddwy, in rags and tatters, who carries ;m old long-barrelled gun on his shoulder — and his com- panion as squalid as himself— being the representatives of 3 our highnesses. The traveller Is always addressed as " Saadatak,' which, translated, means"your Highness." As 1 have said before, and it might as well be impressed — an Arab's expression of politeness mean as much spoken to you, as they do gibbered at the moon — nothing. They are used For the occasion, and just in strict accordance to circum- Btances. They are forgotten as soon as uttered, and their meaning unknown, when spoken. It is well the traveller should hear this constantly in mind — else he may be guilty of some gross blunders — blunders which will make him repent the day he ever saw a bazaar. There is one remarkable trait, observable in the Arab, and one which we must admit is to he much admired — their fearlessness, and when fully aroused, their noble independence. Von cannot force an Arab to do your bidding, by any menace of which you are master — yet you can lead these wild denizens of the desert with a Bilken cord. And it needs no coaxing — it is as difficult to move them in this way, as by threats. A kind, gentle, yel dignified and firm demeanor, I repeat again, is the all necessary element for a correct course of conduct. >ve all tilings, if you would not rouse the sleeping lires. of an Arab's anger, avoid high words and menacing looks — hut. while you are kind and lenient, never allow an undue familiarity. The Arab resembles in this respect many of tic slaves of the Southern United States; they RELIGIONS IN SYRIA. 59 think any appearance of familiarity with them betrays weakness of mind, and they are far from being slow at seizing the opportunity to impose on you. The inhabitants of Syria, all, possess a religion ; it is their chiefest and oftentimes only inheritance ; regarding which, they are generally proud and fanatical. Each religionist is known by some peculiarity in dress — or rather, more properly speaking, almost every region is represented by a different garb, and these different garbs generally indicate different faiths. Thus the wild Beddwy goes about almost unprotected. He has simply a large loose abba thrown over his shoulders, while his head is covered with a flowing cloth called the hufiyeh, which is bound in its place with a rope of camel's hair. The gentleman inhabitant of the city sports long flowing robes of silk, a snow white turban, and red slippers ; the mountaineer of the Lebanon Range wears stout short trowsers, gathered just below the knee, and a closely fitting and light turban, &c, &c. The religions of the land are various, and may be stated as follow — first, Mohammedan— second, Christians — third, Druzes — fourth, Jews — and fifth, Turks; all are repre- sented and all have devoted followers, each equally proud and confident concerning his particular faith. Many indeed are the wrangles consequent upon this bigoted state of belief. I will briefly glance at each of these sects, and first will consider, in inverse order, the Turks. These in my humble opinion form the very dregs of the land. Weak physically and morally, effeminately timid, low, base, and dishonest (unless poor) cowardly, avari- T 11 r I 1 R K s. cious, extortionate — thej are indeed to be despised of all ; ami ye\ these are the despots of the land, who grind down with an iron heel the poor subject — the few nobleT man ! — the rude Beddwy. Office-holding in Syria is but a name — and a fearful narru ii is. The Turk of course (ills this office; he who is richesl gets the Pashalic, and then lie is at liberty to extort what he nia\ from those under him. The pom- creatures have no one to whom they can flee for protection — no law is there to spread over them its guardian wing; and it is to be much wondered at, that a revolution lias not long since broken forth and hurled down the tyrannical rulers from their thrones. Indeed, it is \et to he hoped that this will he an event which shall not lie postponed an hundred years. Singular indeed that some potent Protestant power of Europe does not take this mighty question of man's thraldom into considera- tion. Whenever the Turk is poor or kept from office — the former sure to be true unless the latter be the case — then he i- honest and more to be respected. Indeed the best traits of character in Syria are found among the lower orders of society. Fortunately the rule of any pasha is short — some one will outbid him, and then he falls a, vic- tim to the bowstring or dagger. But while he is in office his gains are inordinately great, no matter through wdiat channel, or by what instrumentality obtained. It will be aeeil then, such being the state of affairs socially and politically, that the Turk is not overburdened with love for country ; bo that his own ends an; advanced, he cares not for the weal or woe of the empire, unless indeed that THE JEWS. 61 weal or woe involves him. The necessary consequence of this feeling is that nowhere do we see anything like the work of internal improvement — the development of natural resources — nor even a feeling manifested to that end. Everywhere dilapidation and decay mark the country and offend the eye ; the squalid streets of Jeru- salem, the filth of Bethany, the poverty of Jaffa, attest the truth that Syria is of all lands the " curst." There is only one redeeming city, that I know of in Syria, pos- sessing a higher grade than the generality of cities of the Holy Land — but it is elevated by the presence of foreign dignitaries and trade from abroad. The English and American element has done much, morally speaking, particularly towards elevating in the social scale beautiful Beirut. Even in the streets of this, what might be justly esteemed the capital of Syria, are many disgusting fea- tures which time, aided by foreign influence, must and will sooner or later expel. The Jews form an interesting feature of remark in Palestine and Syria. Nearly nineteen hundred years ago they were driven forth from their native soil, and since that time the peculiar cast of countenance characteristic of this clown-trodden people has been observed in every land be- neath the sun. How strikingly true is prophecy ! The poor Jew yet clings to Jerusalem — his mother — with astonishing affection ; and the many rude slabs that scar the sides of Mount Olivet, tell piteous and mournful tales, far more pathetically than words can portray. About twenty-five thousand Jews inhabit Syria and Palestine, yet they are very different among themselves in customs and manners ;. PHE CHRIST] A N S. those inhabiting Jerusalem, Tiberias, Safet, and Hebron, lie all foreigners, who have wandered back to the bomes of their ancestors, thai their dusl might repose beneath the turf of their Long-lost and once happy land. They number between eight and nine thousand, and are as abject as they well can be. But many .lews living in Damascus and other places of Syria, arc Arabs in every- thing — in dress, occupation, customs — except in religion. They are natives of the land, and many enjoy the highest influence, especially as moneyed men. Yet a cruel for- tune — a fortune incident to the race — seems to follow en them; a Jew maybe to-day a millionaire (in Syria) — to-morrow he may be, not only penniless, but — a, dead man. Singular is that curse, and more strangely true — if indeed we can wonder at the workings of the Divine Hand — is that curse fulfilled. A case in point I find recorded in a work (in the East which I here give. "The head of the chief Jewish family in Damascus was, in the beginning of 'he present century, the banker and prime minister of the notorious Jezzar, Pacha of Acre, lie was for a time the actual ruler of a large seel ion of Syria; but the scene - soon changed. He first lost an eye because he was proud--- then the nose because he was handsome — then the head because he did not please his master." The Christians of Syria and Palestine are composed chiefly of the members of the Greek church, and of Papal divisions called i he (; reek-Catholic and Syrian- Catholic schism. The Greek church predominates con- Biderably; it numbers one hundred and sixteen thousand — the entire Christian poj ulation amounting to three THE GREEK CHURCH. 03 hundred and twenty-four thousand souls. They possess the finest churches, and their ceremonies are the most imposing of any sect in the Holy Land. The Greek chapel in the Church of the Sepulchre, in Jerusalem, is really a beautiful and costly chamber, and compares well with those of Rome, Florence, and other Italian cities. They have neither statues nor images, as we see in the churches of Italy and of Continental Europe generally. I did not even see a common wooden crucifix ; but they possess many paintings, and some of the rarest style of art. The clergy possess no college for the education of their members, and the simple ordination is all that is required. They have several fine schools, however, and their course of instruction is of a high grade ; one of the best of these schools is located about a half mile west of Jerusalem; the building used is the old Convent of the Cross, rejuvenated. Russia, to whom the church looks as its grand protectress, has showered on it many kind- nesses in the well-appearing shape of yellow gold ; it is, indeed, that country which erects the public buildings, and supports the schools of the Greek Church. There is one singular condition upon which, together with certain other requisitions, a member from the laity becomes one of the clergy — he must marry. The Greek Church is* simply Greek in name — Greek, merely because its members profess *the Greek or Oriental faith ; for almost every man is a native Syrian, as I have taken pains to learn. The higher clergy, however, are nearly all foreigners, and are but little acquainted with the Arabic language. The Greek portion of this church i'» I I' ll E M k RON! TES. and the Greek-Catholic of the Papal schism, are the only Beets in Western Asia which have services in their own tongue; it is considered a greal privilege. The Greek Church has two patriarchites — one a1 Jeru- salem, which "includes the whole of Palestine and the country east of the - Ionian, and lias under it the follow- ing bishoprics: Nazareth. 'Akka (Acre), Lydda, Gaza, Sebaste, Nabulus, Philadephia, and Petra. Among these, the bishop of "Akka is the only prelate who resides in his diocese; all the others in Jerusalem. The patriarch generally resides at Constantinople." The other patri- archite is at Antioch, the patriarch of which usually resides at Damascus — and "includes (in Syria) the eight bishoprics of Beirut, Tripoli, Akkar, Laodicia, Hamah, Hum-. Saidnaya, and Tyre." These two patriarchites are under the jurisdiction of the Primate of Constantino- ple. The ritual of the Greek Church differs (in Syria) from the Romish, " in the calendar — the procession of the Holy Spirit — rejection of a purgatory — communion in both kinds — exclusion of images from sacred buildings, ami tie- marriage of the secular clergy" — making a num- ber of Bix articles of difference. It is in the Greek Church, i seel — as the reader will find farther on in this work, that the miserable farcy deception of the holy fire is per- formed. The best informed men of any Christian sect in Syria, may he found among the followers of John Maron, who founded the order of the Maronitea ; this sect originated about the latter part of the sixth century, I believe, and increased greatly in numbers in a very short space of time. THE MAROKITES. 65 Several centuries later, however, they swore allegiance to the Pope, and have been his warmest and most faithful friends and adherents ever since. Yet they differ in some important points with the Latin ritual : their saint's name cannot be found in the calendar ; any candidate for the priesthood can marry ; and their ecclesiastical language is Syriac. The Maronites, although inhabiting many small and several large towns in Syria, yet may be said to have their dwelling-place chiefly in the Lebanon range, which, however rough and craggy, owing to the industry and skill of this sect, may be justly styled the "Garden of Syria." In the deep and romantic dells, and on the lofty and beetling brow of the flinty precipices, this bold moun- taineer-sect lives and rears its convents and institutions of mercy. Their Patriarch resides in the mountain gorge of Kadisha, not far from the celebrated " Cedars." The Maronites, in proportion to numbers, it is said, possess more convents than any other known sect. Their bitter- est foes seem to be the Druzes, who, though considerably less in numbers, are far more warlike than their agricul- tural neighbors. In Syria they hesitated not to say that this order — the Druzes — is instigated to acts of violence by the under-hand deviltry of the Turkish government — what end to gain I am ignorant. Gregory XIII. founded a college (the Holy See) in Rome for the education of the chosen of the Maronite youth ; and two brothers, whose joint fame alone is sufficient to raise the intellectual standard of their church, here received their learning 5 66 T UK MOHAM M EDA X S. .1. A. and .1. S. A.ssemans were Maronites, and were two ;>t' the most celebrated scholars and authors in the Orient. There is a native college or high school belonging to this order situated in the districl of Kisrawan in the Lebanon, at a place called, if I mistake not. Win Warkah, or. as sometimes spelt) simply Warkah. It stands well a- a native institute. The entire number of Maronites in the Kast rises to the figure of 220,000. There is yet another small sect which, on account of the paucity of its numbers, and of the insignificant rank it holds among the other more powerful faiths, it is almost out of place to mention; vet what there is of these people, they are known to be a brave and industrious (lass. I refer to the Jacobins of Syria, w r hose stronghold is in a small town not far from Damascus, the name of which has escaped me. Their Patriarch, who is their head, resides in Mesopotamia; their ecclesiastical lan- guage is Syriac, which is understood to a greater or less extent among the people; from this fact they sometimes style themselves Syrians. The Mohammedans, or the real rulers of the land, form the largest portion of the community. Their faith leads them to look down with disdain on all other sects — to be proud, fanatical, and overbearing. The upper class of Mohammedans, or those inhabiting cities, are generally effeminate and weak, physically and morally — attribut- able perhaps to precocious marriages or excessive animal indulgences. The Mohammedan inhabitant of the coun- ts;/ is a different person alb gether, save in religion; he is strong, active, energetic, and worthy of a better position THE ANSAIRIYEH. (*,' in life. There is one good feature observable in respect to this sect — Mohammedans, of all classes, are very hos- pitable; their offers of kindness are generally sincere, too. Mohammedans are divided into several sects, chief among which is the orthodox Mohammedan, or Sonnites (Traditionists), "that is, in addition to the written word of the Koran, which they acknowledge with all others, they recognise the authority of the Sonna — a collection of traditional sayings and anecdotes of the prophet, which is a kind of supplement to the Koran, directing the right observance of many things omitted in that book." Besides the orthodox Mohammedans, there are at least three other divisions or branches, all claiming to be the followers of Mohammed — namely, the Metawileh, the Ansairiyeh, and the Ismailiyeh ; the first reside in the dis- trict of Ba'albeck, near the village of Hurmul, on the west bank of the river Orontes, and on the southern slope of Lebanon. They believe in Aly as the true Khalif, and reject the Sonna, and are particularly scrupu- lous as regards cleanliness. Their ceremonial observances are very rigid. Too much familiarity gives decided offence ; a dignified, upright course of conduct should be aimed at. Our ends will be thus more readily gained. It is said by some who are well acquainted with their habits, that they will for ever throw aside a cup which has been used by one of another faith — fancying contamination, of course. Relative to the Ansairiyeh, some doubt has existed whether they may be classed as disciples of Mohammed or not ; — but by the Assemanns it is stated that they are THE DRUZ I S. it balf Mohammed, and balf Christian. They are a race more to he feared than liked — as their hands are often stained with blood. They live north of the Lebanon range near to A.ntioch. "The^ believe in the transmi- gration of souls; and observe in a singular, perhaps idolatrous manner, a few of the ceremonies common to the Eastern Church." Their religion, In fine, to say as much as we know of it. is a mystery. The same can be I of the [smailiyeh. They are the remainsof what was known in the time of the Wars of the Cross as Assassins. ir capital or -rand rendezvous for the clan — for it is no- thing more nor less — is in the mountains west of Hamah. Druzes (el-Deruz, in Arabic) are the most import- ant people, representing any faith, in Syria. They are the pretended allies of England, and promised that nation, some years ago, to become Christians. It was simply, however, to gain the national protection of that power. They are known to be Bcheming, and will use truth and mendacity alike, as regards their interest and convenience. They are quite a warlike people, and are noted for their xi-thirstiness, especially when urged on by revengeful motives. They occupy the southern portion of the I. tanon range, and are represented to a small extent in D aascus and Beveral small villages. The Druzes are divided religiously into the 'Okkal and the Jukkal, or the initiated and the uninitiated. The former are by far the most influential ; the secrets of the order, the holy books, . are kept by them only. They superintend the secret meetings of the fraternity — which secret meetings indeed are now thought to he Less of a religious, than of THE DRUZES. 69 a political nature. They hate the Maronites, and arc willing to wage war on them to the knife. One Hakim, a notorious Egyptian of the Fatimite dynasty, it is said first propagated the faith of the Druzes, before the tenth century. He was followed by a wild fanatical Persian at a still later date, who proclaimed the views of Hakim with uncommon ardor — so much so, in fact, that his raving fanaticism drove him from Egypt to the far off Mt. Hermon, where in time he became the actual founder of the Druze faith. Of this faith, mode of worship, and tenets, we know almost nothing. De Lacy accidentally obtained a few of their books, from which he gleaned the following facts as regards their confession of faith — to wit : — " 1. The Unity of God, and his manifestation of Him- self to men, in the persons of several individuals, the last of whom was Hakim. " 2. Five superior spiritual ministers always existing. These have also appeared in the persons of men at various periods. The chief of them were Hamza and Christ. " 3. The transmigration of souls. The souls of men never pass into animals. " 4. The belief in a period when their religion shall be triumphant — Hakim shall reign, and all others be subject to him for ever. " 5. The seven points of Islam are set aside, and the following substituted: — 1. Veracity (to each other). 2. Mutual protection and aid. 3. Renunciation of all other religions (implying persecution of others). 4. Profession of the unity of Hakim (as God). 5. Con- 70 SYRIA AND PALESTIJS E. bentment with his works. 6. Submission to his will. 7 Separation from those in error and from demons.' It is observed that the Druzes build their monasteries .Hid houses of worship in retired places, though always ispicuously, as on high hills — to gain complete privacy I suppose. Their numbers amount to nearly 80,000. What we mean by Syria and Palestine is that grand section of country lying on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean Sea. extending from the peninsula of Sinai on the south to far off Asia .Minor in the north — the Great Arabian Desert bounding its eastern border; or it lies between 31 30' and 37° north latitude. Its greatest length thus being 360 geographical miles, its breadth 50 to LOO, and possessing an area of 28,000 ire miles. The surface formation of the country is generally simple, though its different sections present widely varying and different scenery. For example. among the mountain ranges of the north, in the deep dingles and yawning chasms of Lebanon, the landscapi hold, striking, and grand ; while the low, flat, sand}- dis- tricts of the south — the Plain of" Sharon for instance — uninviting and barren in scenery. A mountain range made of divers chains runs throughout the entire length of the country; and uear the "entering in of Hamath." not far from Beirut, -tern and awe-inspiring Lebanon lifts it-elf up 10,000 feet above tin- sea, and frowns down in sullen grandeur on those once fair and famed, hut now sunken cities of the Plain — Tyre and Sidon, Gebal and Berytus. What a change and a contrast these places must now present to their magnificence and splendor long SHARON. 71 buried beneath the wreck of rolling centuries ! It is mournful to contemplate the miserable debris of what these cities once were ; their glory has departed, and, withers now beneath the curse of offended Deity, they moulder away in the shadow of haughty Lebanon. Grouped by themselves, solitary and completely alone, on the highest terrace that graces the craggy slopes of Lebanon, are the far-famed " Cedars." Their number is now small, and the rude blasts which howl through their white arms tell us, they too, soon will be gone. As we come down towards the south, Philistia is spread before us, and the broad and fertile Sharon — stretching from the base of the southern section of the Lebanon range for the space of one hundred and fifty miles — opens its vast and pleasing panorama to our view. I never saw a sterner scene of beauty than is presented in the extended champaign of Sharon; the soil here, must even now teem with qualities indicative of the highest fertility. Its broad bosom sparkling with ten millions of beautiful and many-colored flowers, presented the grandest sight I ever beheld — truly it was the mammoth floral carpet of nature. The ridge of the Anti-Lebanon commences twenty-five miles east of Lebanon, and runs parallel with the latter. Its general height is not so great as Lebanon, yet snow- capped Hermon, belonging to the chain, rivals in grandeur any peak in Syria. It is generally conceded that this range terminates about eight or nine miles north of the Sea of Tiberias. Besides these there are other mountains of note and size — those of Gilead lying along the east of Jordan, which join the Moab mountains in the region of in 1: t. i; i \ r \' ami y. the Dead Sea. It was through these cliffs the Israelites marched ow their way to the Promised Land — and it was from Nebo, belonging to this range, thai Moses beheld those broad Gelds and stretching plains which he was not permitted to enter — the land •■ flowing with milk and honej ." V<'t another group of mountains deserves atten- tion — that iA' Jebel Hauran, bordering on Bashan, a Long WaV to the east of the Sea of Galilee; — on the slopes of these mountains are many magnificent ruins, some in the finest state of presers ation. But without doubt the grand physical feature of the country is the great valley running from north to south. It seems to he the result of some grand geological convul- sion. Antioeh. Hamath, and Emesa stood in it; and from it went forth much of the enlightenment of those days far gone. As far down as the valley of Coelesyria this immense gorge actually forms the bed of the river ates. In this valley also rests the Dead Sea — the mystery of mysteries — whose history and correct expla- nation of its singular phenomena have puzzled the wisest of men. In this connection 1 am proud to say our own country has done more towards enlightening the public mind relative to this waveless sheet, than any other nation the globe. ( >n the far oil' shores of this desolate sea our vernacular has been spoken, and our banner has here floated on the breezes of Palestine. But its broad folds covered none hut a body of working men — men who, by sanction of their government, had gone to that distant (dime to ;iid in distributing a quota of knowledge to the rid concerning this wonderful handiwork of nature's THE JORDAN. 73 God. Lieutenant Lynch and his indefatigable party have won for themselves an enviable fame for the eminent ser- vices they rendered to mankind, by delving into this desolate secret of far away Judea. Chief among the rivers of Palestine stands of course the God-consecrated Jordan. In its waters Jesus of Nazareth was baptized, and over it passed the hosts of the Israelites. One of the most striking jDhysical features of the Jordan is the fact that its level is far below that of the Mediterra- nean. It has in reality three sources — one near the ancient Caesarea — Philippi, on the south side of Her- mon — the second near the western base of this mountain, and the third on the plain of Huleh. They all three coalesce in one, and empty into the " waters of Merom" of the Bible. It takes its course through the little Sea of Galilee, and continues down the great valley, of which w r e have spoken, towards the Sea of Tiberias and the Dead Sea ; between which two localities — a distance of sixty miles or thereabout — there is a fall of over six hun- dred feet. Throughout its greater length the Jordan has two separate and distinct banks, and lower down towards its farther end it has three. Lieutenant Lynch, writing in this connection, says — " The high alluvial terraces on each side were everywhere shaped by the action" of the winter rains into numbers of conical hills, some of them pyramidal and cuneiform, presenting the appearance of a giant encampment, so perfectly tent-like were their shapes. * * * * The banks were fringed with the laurus- tinus, the oleander, the willow, and the tamarisk ; and further inland, on the slope of the second terrace, grew a 71 THE ORON rES. small species of oak and the cedar. The arbutus was mingled with the flowersofthe plain." The total Length, air-line. o[' the Jordan is ninety-six miles — though should we reckon eacb meandering, the distance would be increased to over two hundred miles. The Litany is a beautiful stream, and of considerable importance. In regard to its name, some contention has existed; some say it should be, not Litany, hut Leontes Dr. Porter, whom I take to be the best authority on Syria and Palestine, prefers Litany, and 1 have so recorded it. The river has its source somewhere near the site of ruined Ba'albek, flows its rugged way through a wild gorge in Lebanon, and finally empties into the Mediterranean. fifty miles from its source. The Orontes is a fine river, and if superiority in size should give it priority of notice, it should have been men- tioned before the Litany: it is next in size to the Jordan. This Btream apparently runs backwards, and hence the Arabs call it el-Maklub (tht inverted). From the far-off fool of the Anti-Lebanon it rises, and after turning on itself once or twice, and running throughout its length a most singular course, it finally and abruptly falls into the Mediterranean Sea near Seleucida. It is longer than the Jordan or the Litany, being about two hundred miles from Lrce to mouth. The fourth river is the most beautiful, and, it is said. the most useful Btream in Syria. It is the Abana of Scripture, or, more properly, the Barada of the Arabs. It arises in the Anti-Lebanon, courses through the moun- tains to the plain of Damascus, runs through this plain. THE PHARPAR. 75 and finally empties into the lake el-Kibliyeh. Its course is through a fertile and prosperous country (compara- tively), and many villages border on its banks. The Pharpar (or rather, those streams making this river) arises at the base of Mt. Hermon, runs almost due east, and, after a wild and picturesque course through the Plain of Damascus, tumbles into the lake of Hijaneh. It is a beautiful stream. Well might the haughty Naa- man interrogatively reply to the prophet : " Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel ?" (2 Kings v.) With the end of this chapter is finished all that I think necessary to give, in such a brief introduction as has been spread before the reader in the preceding chapters. Chapter V. commences my journal, to which reference has been made in the preface. CHAPTER V. At sea, Mediterranean, French ship Quvrindl. Monday Eve, February L4th, L859. A /7'- BIS Journal is written on the heaving bosom of the \JL) Mediterranean. Once again my foot has left "the dry land." and I am embarked on the wide waste of waters! God protect me in my wanderings! The day has been spent by me in various places and modes. Early this morning I made final arrangements with my passport — had it visaed — settled my bill at the locanda — and was cheated by my rascally courier, Peti- nelli. out of some thirty carlini, relative to my pistol purchased for my Syrian tour. These guides are a cun- ning set of fellows ; and. to avoid being badly imposed od by them, the traveller must keep his eyes open and wits about him. A few days since, I called near the Palais Royal, at a gunsmith's, and decided to take a hand- some pistol. Petinelli told me that I had better leave the weapon at tin- shop until the morning I should sail, as without a government permit I could not take the pistol with ni" while I resided in Naples. I consented to be guided by his advice, and deposited two Neapolitan pias- . for bonne confiance. Never mistrusting any rascality, ! called this morning at the gunsmith's, on my way to the (76) FAREWELLS. 77 steamer. What was my surprise, when I was told that Petinelli had been there, according to my orders he said. and taken my two piastres, alleging I wished not the pis- tol ! The rascal had bid me good-bye in the morning, before I arose, saying he had to leave early with an American family for Capri, and had to say farewell then. But I will remember him when I return to Naples. So much for misplaced confidence ! I left a card of good-bye for my dear old friend — of Paris memory, who is stopping at the Hotel d' Angleterre — and then continued up the Chiaia, and laid in a stock of medicines likely to be needed in the East. But the hours wore on, and finally the time for sailing drew near; our party said good-bye to Naples, and repaired to the wharf. Here we were again cheated by an official, who wished to examine our trunks. S. was quite angry, and came near tossing the fellow into the bay ; but at last we shoved off, and after a long pull, for the sea was rough and angry, we reached the steamer. Here my good friend. Frank G., who had accompanied us to the gangway, bade us a sorrowful adieu, and kept his seat in the boat. Poor fellow ! he hated to part with me, very much ; and loth was I to say good-bye to him. We have been together now so long — have traversed France, Belgium, Prussia. Germany, and Italy together — and, moreover, he and my- self were the first movers in this Holy Land expedition. But it could not be helped ; a hard squeeze of the hand — a long embrace — a smothered " God bless you !" and he • tore himself away. 1 am in hopes he will join us at THE QUIRINAL. Valetta, in Malta, where u-< will be compelled to tarry eight days. ******* Ami bo 1 have once again turned my " anxious prow" ards a more distant land, and my back is still on my republican country, far towards the sunset. Yes. America has been left, the continent of Europe has sunken from my sight, and 1 am wandering yet on the face of the deep. The ruins of buried Herculaneum and of exhumed Pom- — the y the port of Marseilles, and while in that city he stumbled over a German ; a nice old fellow he is. S. found out, in speak- in- to him in his native Deutech, that Meinherr was hound on ;i pilgrimage to the far-off Holy City — Jerusa- LEAVE MESSINA. 81 lem. The two immediately became confreres. Meinherr delights in the name of Johannis Montag, and is from Berlin. So we three make the party, and a right sociable one it is. It would be more so, were it not that Mein- herr is profoundly ignorant of every language save his own ; but as S. and myself both understand a smattering of the lingo of Vaterland, we get along well enough. On the boat, to-day, I made the acquaintance of a Mr. G., from Texas. He is an agreeable young fellow, and was acquainted with my brother-in-law at the West Point Military Academy. He, his wife, and cousin are, like myself, journeying ultimately to Syria, Palestine, and Egypt. We sailed from the harbor of Messina this after- noon, at four o'clock. In spite of our wishes that the storm at sea would lull, it has continued ; and directly we were free from the shelter of the harbor, we knew that the weather was rough. At the hour I write (nine, p. m.) it is yet rougher, and has every inducement, and promises every indication, of becoming more so. Meinherr and S. have both succumbed to stress of weather, and by unload- ing their stomachs, are endeavoring to " right ship." I am fearful myself of soon being laid low ; and I will take Mr. G.'s invitation, and indulge in a rough-and-tumble promenade on what may noiv be most properly called the hurricane deck. Malta Cross Hotel, Valetta, Malta. | Wednesday, February 16th, 1859. J After a most awful stormy, squally night, during the long hours of which I heard more than one " Ach ! mein Gott T from Meinherr, we arrived safely, this morning 6 82 TH I M \ IT A C ROSS HOT EL. hi ten v. m.. in the harbor of Valetta. Malta. And here we had to disembark. The trouble of arranging our port- habits and Backs \\ as soon through \\ ith, and having slipped Borne pauls into the hand of our good Bteward, Baptiste, we took a boat, and. being thoroughly wetted by the flying spray, finally landed on this bleak island, mid- way between Europe and Africa. Climbing the high bluff along the shore. 1 uever enjoyed a Lovelier, or rather grander sighl than that which the rough, angry, dark and white chopped sea presented, stretching out as far as the eye could reach. I gathered some flowers which were blooming plentifully around, and was struck by their -wet odor. Under the guidance of Michele Pisanni, alter climbing the steps in the street of Santa Lucia, we entered this — the Malta Cross Hotel, kept by the indi- vidual mentioned. After much wrangling between us, all three being determined to frown down cheating of every description, for which we were warned native Maltese are noted, we finally concluded to take rooms. We are now most comfortably fixed, and, as Meinherr, ed over the other side of the spacious hearth, mutters something about " Gott in himmel!" 1 suppose he is return- a thanks to the A 11- Wise, and agrees with us that it is more pleasanl here, with the odor of a oice siipper steal- ! through the closed door, than it was in the wet cabin <>!' the pitching Quirinal. Even already, our future destination is known, and we have been bored and vexed very much hy guides who wish us to take them as drago- men, to Berve US in our Syrian trip, and we fourteen hundred miles from Jaffa! Completely ignorant, how- COLD WINDS. 83 ever, as }^et, how to proceed, and not believing a single word they say, we are undecided how to act. In looking over the recommendations of one of these fellows, I was surprised to see the name of J. H. S., Philadelphia, — a gentleman I know well, at sight. This is no spurious recommendation, at all events. I have sent to Mr. G., of Texas, who has stopped at a different hotel, to see if he will unite with our party in taking said dragoman. At last we are started, and fairly too, on our expedition — nothing, now, can turn us back. It is my haven of travel- ling desire, at all events, to stand under the shadow of the Temple, and walk the streets of the City of the Great Kinsf. 'Tis singular — ha ! what is the matter ? S. insists it is time to retire to our chambers, and Meinherr simply ejaculates, though he knows nothing of English, under- standing S. by intuition, I suppose — "Ja, ich bin sehr schlafrig also — Gott in him m el /" and so I must close, though I feel like scribbling more, inasmuch as Morpheus has not yet claimed me as his subject, and I am seated by a most genial fire. The cold winds that creep up the narrow street out there, seem inconsistent with the gay flowers blooming on the beach, and with the ripe fruit — oranges that fill the fruit-stands in the streets. Another most decided and prolonged twanging yawn from Mein- herr's capacious jaws, once more reminds me that soon it will be time to sleep. Malta Cross Hotel. Thursday, February 17th, 18-59. The close of this day finds me once again at my Jour- nal. It is often my solace and only comfort ! s I HERR MONT AG. A.nd so we have spent one whole day in Malta! Wo com- menced operations this morning, or rather operations were commenced by S., who awoke me, saying I was talking rets in my sleep. 1 thanked him, and arose. We descended to breakfast, much refreshed by our slumber, and soon, Meinherr, who had risen long before we had. and had attended matins, came in, his lace radiant with rosy tints. gained bj exposure to the frosty atmosphere, and wreathed with smiles — the effect of the pleasant sight of the Ejood meal before us. Herr Montae is a strict religionist in his peculiar faith, Roman Catholic, and never Lets an opportunity pass unimproved when he can bend his knee to the Holy Virgin. He is travelling to Jerusalem, he it known, for the .sole purpose of devotion during the coming Easter holidays, when the Holy City i- thronged with palmers from every land. Some two months ago. Meinherr fell sick, and came nigh unto death. His sixteen years of huzzar life, in camp and field, had tended to estrange his thoughts from his Maker, and Meinherr sagely inferred his sickness was a Providential visitation, and made a sacred vow, should he be spared this time, he would do penance for his evil deeds, in the Church of the Boly Sepulchre in Jerusalem, lie is on his way to fulfil that vow now. and it will remain to me, I hope, to record in this journal that good Meinherr lived up to his vows. Having finished a mosl substantial breakfast, we sallied out to lake ;i look ;it the fine old town of Valetta, called after the gallant Templar, who so nobly defended it from the Turkish forces in L565. We were MALTA. 85 much struck with the means of defence in the shape of fortification on fortification, rising on each other, until nothing is seen from a short distance but the dark mouths of cannon with which the ramparts bristle. Malta, geographically, is situated finely for an insular and commanding fortress. Gibraltar is the key to the entrance of the Mediterranean ; but Malta, accessible easily to " three quarters of the globe, and having its situation in the cen- tre of the Middle Sea,''' is the key to the sea itself, and the shores of the rich countries bordering thereon. Its harbors, particularly those at Valetta, are very fine, and afford safe anchorage to largest class ships. The soft nature of the stone which abounds to a great extent in the island favored much the erection of the giant fortifi- cation — the largest artificial protection in the world — that frowns on all sides of the island. As Major Porter of the British army well says, the fortifications of Malta are not the work of one man — one ruler in the band of brothers who made it their home — but rather it is a mighty patch- work to which every Grand Master, zealous in the cause of the Order, and desirous of leaving behind him some substantial monument to perpetuate his name, added a patch. Thus it grew up successively. It may be as well to mention here that St. Michael and St. Elmo were the first forts erected on this island. Could the rude rocks and their many crannies and deep indentations into which the sea rolls its incessant thunder speak, what a tale could Malta tell — more graphic, thrilling, more touching and pathetic than that told by the historian. The cry of war and the clash of steel have often echoed 86 m \ 1. 1 \. over tin- little speck in the ocean. The Turkish scimitar has here reflected the flash of the knight's beav^ sabre; the cresceni has waved alongside the white cross banner of the Christian soldiers of St. John of Jerusalem; and the shout of Allah and the Prophet has been answered h\ the Templar's battle-crj — " The one and the true God !" Of course .Malta is invested with interest in the eyes of historians and readers, as being the long abiding-place and final resting-spol of thai noble band of men who won for themselves a name in the far-off times of the Cru- sade- — the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, and the Knights Templars. Here the white cross flag waved its last time. .Malta has sustained one of the most terrific sieges on record — that by brave La Valetta against the Ottoman army, headed by Mustapha, in 1505, but which was ter- minated — although St. Elmo tell, and with it every one of its noble defenders — b) the withdrawal of the Turkish army, and in the victory of the brave Grand Master. The island was first and for ever lost to the Older of St. John in L798, when Napoleon Bonaparte treacherously ■red the city of Valetta, which was not '>/■■" called ;it the -| x ci ii< <1 time, and it was not com- iii'ikxI. After three successive times thai I had darkened the door of the shop, each time propounding the terse AN EVENING STROLL. 89 question — "That strap done yet?" I received said article, and was charged exactly double what I was told would be the price. I took care not to pay it. Late in the afternoon we took dinner at a miserable restaurant, styling itself " Hotel Minerva." Miserable, indeed, was the fare; for fear of faring worse, we all three offered up a vow not to go within a square of the place again, and we will not. Late this afternoon, or rather early after dusk, we took a stroll along the bastion by the sea. It was a wild scene ; and we watched long the beautiful moon hanging over the rough, seething sea, while the spray dashed over us, although sheltered by the thick ramparts. We have now returned, have just partaken of tea in our room, and are seated snugly around the glowing grate. I would fain think of those loved ones far away, but Meinherr is no respecter of such feelings — being " sixteen years a huzzar," they are withered and wilted in him. He is preparing to spin us a yarn of a haunted castle in far-off Deutschland, and, nolens volens, I must lend an ear. * * * * Malta Gross Hotel, ) Friday, February 18th, 1859. J At an early hour, despite the fact that we retired very late last night, we arose this morning. By we I mean S. and myself; for Meinherr is astir by the time it is fairly light ; and when we turn over for our first morning nap, the good old fellow is on his way to his church. He is a genuine devotee to his faith, and has won much on my affections. May he long live to tell his listening friends 90 11 ERR moni \<;'s s roR s in his distant German home, h\ the Black Forest, of his adventures, and the Bights he saw on this eventful tour. r>\ the bye, he bold us rather a thrilling story lasl night; the one he was about to commence, when, to give him Mii.-ntion. I was obliged to close my Journal. As well as 1 could understand Meinherr, speaking altogether in his musical Teutonic language, the following is about the sub- stance of his story. Be it understood. Meinherr was a participator in the mysterious affair of which he told us -. i gravely. On the wooded banks of the far-off Neckar, in a small village, not far from Heidelberg, where Herr Montag first siw the light of life, was an old castle, or rather there were the ruins of an ancient chateau, for nothing re- mained save a small tower, which was much decayed, a large heap of rubbish, and two flanking walls all over- grown with ivy, and looking the very picture of decay and melancholy. Around this old site, its tower and rub- bish, hung many a terrible tale, and over the ruins every old house-wife in the village had woven her particular tale; always of mystery and horror. What the castle was, to whom it formerly belonged, none knew, as its present State of wreck and destruction dated hack far beyond the mory of the oldest inhabitant. This, they all knew, however, thai from those ruins on calm and cold moon- light nights, or nights when made dark by the overhang- ing curtains of clouds, and terrible by the down-rushing rain, and thunder- and lightnings, any one, curious enough to listen, might, al little expense of personal con- venience, h«'ar unwonted and supernatural sounds; some- HERR MONTAG'S STORY. 91 times — particularly on cold, calm nights — there could be heard, issuing as from the bare, gray stones themselves, silver tones of sweetest music, or clear and liquid laughter, as from lips and throats only angelic ; and on the crumb- ling battlements of the ramparts could be heard the regu- lar pace, as of a sentinel, and the clink of his musket, as he sometimes trailed it after him over his stony beat. But on dark and stormy nights, when the raging ele- ments were at war, — the wildest and most unearthly shrieks could be heard, and wild gibbering of demoniac laughter swept about on the wings of the wind, while the crunching tread of the airy sentinel, and the hoarse chal- lenge from his mysterious throat, could be distinctly heard. Such were some of the tales rife about this old ruin on the banks of the Neckar. It was drawing near to Christmas, which, all over Germany, is the great holiday of the year, — and the busy, thrifty appearance of the village — the churches decked in holly bushes, the laughing faces of frau and fraulews, and the abundance of good things and other articles more substantial, were sufficient testimony that the approach- ing holiday would be inferior, in gaiety, to none of its predecessors. The eventful time came around — all was joy, fun, and hilarity, and the village rang from one end to the other with merry laughter and telling jest. On one particular night of this festive week, a large company had .uathered in a good dame's house, to witness the ceremony of marriage, at all times pleasing, but now, doubly so, owing to the auspicious season, and the abund- ance of goodly feeling, and, what is better, good things II l.K b montag's STOB V around. But, the oighl in question was wild, stormy, and dark w ithout, and nought of the tower and the ruins, which stood quite near tin- good dame's house, could be seen, save the dim and broken outline, around winch the 1 trees -hook their while arms, and the wind piped instrangelj hollow tones. Bui the companj was large at the -ddd mother's, and the house comfortable. The rain and hail and wind pattered down and swept by unheeded. Meinherr, then quite a young man. was present, and enjoyed, with the rest, the festivities of the occasion. It was fast growing late, and yet the dancers still clattered away to the twanging notes of a harp, struck by a spy old harper, and it seemed as if nought could disturb the joy of the occasion. Suddenly, a shrill and protracted unearthly shriek echoed through the apartment, and then another and another — and all was still. The room with its merry company was. in a moment, as silent as death. They all knew — their pale faces spoke it — that those demon-like notes came from the haunted ruin. The new-made bride clung to her swain, who did not look as valiant just then, as he often had on other "occasions," not quite so "trying" — the old harper was now wide awake, and had pushed into the crowd, as far as possible from the door. Not many moments of this awful silence lasted, before these dreadful cries com- me: in; it seemed as if fifty devils were fighting with as many other devils, and fifty thousand whirlwinds had broken Loose, and a thousand cannon had discharged their thundering content-. The spell of fear which had compelled the company to remain still, was broken, and iierr montag's story. 93 the crowd, rushing to the door, beheld a most terrific sight. The old tower and the decaying and ivy-grown ramparts were aglow with a lurid and brilliant light — every stone of the ruin was perfectly distinct. Mein- herr could well see the indentations in the rocky sides of the tower. On the ramparts, human forms in fantastic dresses were seen hurrying to and fro, while all above in mid air, there seemed to be some terrible conflict going on. This lasted but a moment, yet long enough for all to see the strange sight, when all at once a most un- earthly report shook the village, even to the surrounding mountains. There was a sudden propulsion in the air, of the old tower, ruins, and all — then a heavy crash — then came total darkness, and all was perfectly still, as the rain pattered down, as ever. Next morning, Mein- herr went on to state, he, with many others, repaired to the spot, but the tower and flanking walls had completely disappeared, and nothing was there more than usual, save a great number of tracks, evidently made by cloven feet, and a barrel, which was blackened and begrimed like soot, and which the neighbors concluded had been the punch-bowl from which the bogles had drunk their infernal potations. Meinherr left the village soon after, and has never since been there. S. showed some signs of wonder as Meinherr con- cluded, and I, to humor the " old huzzar," asked a question or two, as if he had gained my credulity. Just then, I noticed a peculiar twinkle about the old fellow's eye, which showed, plainly, he thought he had drawn the wool over our eyes, and that he was enjoying it hugely. IPPEARANC1 OF M \ LTA. We have Bpent quite a delightful day in this good old city. Having previously determined on thai line of conduct last evening, we proceeded, to-day, to hire a carriage for the purpose of seeing something of the island. After much wrangling, offers and refusals, and accept- ances, Meinherr, S.. and self took our scats in a real comfortable open vehicle, drawn by two quick-footed, ited grays, and. waving a temporary adieu to those al the hold, we dashed up the steep Strada Santa Lucia, and then emerged at the northern gate, into the country. A- we passed out over the draw-bridge, and left the last fortification behind, I looked back at the many defences of the city. It seemed impossible that any force could carry those formidable walls, and well pleased was I that my olivt branch of peace was here more efficacious than ten thousand muskets. Away we dashed — all in good humor, even to cocker, who is generally sulky on happy :asions. I never saw better roads in my life — as hard as flint, and. in many places, as level as a railway. The island of Malta, the country part of it, presents a most singular appearance to one who has seen the inter- minable forests and equally interminable prairies of our western country. No tree raises its head on this rocky island, to give -hade to the weary or relief to the land- Nothing but white, blistering, glaring rocks, aished, it may be, in some places, with the scantiest of shrubbery, greets the eye. And yet there are some spots on this island, which, in richness, luxuriance, and overburdening verdure, are Eden-like in beauty. I refer to the gardens, of which there are several. I think that CITTA VECCHIA. 95 of St. Antonio, which was first visited, one of the loveliest spots I ever beheld. Oranges, lemons, and many other kinds of fruits fairly obstructed our way, and hung about our heads in incredible quantities. As we sauntered down one of the walks in the garden, it really seemed to me as if I was a participator in some Eastern scene, and was perambulating the private garden of some grand old khalif of Arabian Nights memory. We visited several other gardens, all gorgeous, but none equal to St. Antonio. We continued our ride, and finally drove into the old town of Citta Vecchia. This is an interesting spot, being the first place torn from the French rule, before the island finally succumbed to the British. It boasts a fine old cathedral, and extensive catacombs. We were bored to death by vendors of all kinds of antique coins, and singular souvenirs of the underground vaults. It required our utmost indifference and stolidity to restrain from buying, in self-defence. Good man Montag, while our backs were turned, was swindled out of several shillings. Near Citta Vecchia, in a bold bay, which stretches in a considerable arc, we saw the reputed place of the Apostle Paul's shipwreck. There is an immense undertow here, and the meeting of this with the inward swells from the north, makes a considerable commotion over the shoals. This is what, perhaps, the Apostle meant by " two seas." " And falling into a place where two seas met, they ran the ship aground, and the forepart struck fast and re- mained immovable, but the hinder part was broken with the violence of the waves" (Acts xxvii. 41). From this point, a most beautiful view can be obtained. The long S( in i: OF ST. I* A r L'S SB I l'\v R ECK. Line of rugged fortifications, the swelling undulations of the beach, and the broad expanse of watery waste, make an agreeable picture It was on tins island, and near this place thai St. Paul, having escaped from the dangers of shipwreck, came among the "barbarous people who showed u- no little kindness; for they kindled a lire and received us every one, because of the present rain, ami because of the cold." This is a high recommendation, and one t«> he trusted, coming as it does from such autho- rity as St. Paul; hut nearly two thousand years have elapsed since that time, and the Maltese — to their discre- dit he it said — have deteriorated sadly. This island then, according to our sacred authority, was called " Melita." I notice on the seal of the superintendent of police the words. --.Melita Renascens," and the same motto on the fly-leaf of several hooks. Some persons, however, have denied that Malta is the ancient Melita. Among them is Lord Lyndsay. But at the time he wrote his puling let- ter-, he was a mere school-hoy, and wrote it, seemingly. -imply to differ with others — to fill up his sheet — or, to Bay best, at random; for he said that Malta was not the old Melita. and without giving one single reason for it. Such authority doe- not go far with me. I look upon Mr. Murray's guide-books as better authority on travel, ami what is to he seen, than any others extant. He agrees with the majority, and calls Malta the old Melita, in his work on ••Southern Italy and Malta." After a mosl plea-ant. and it is to be hoped, in- structive ride to all of us, we returned leisurely at a late hour in the afternoon. I don't believe I ever ENGLISH SOLDIERS. 97 enjoyed a more pleasant two hours than I did this afternoon, as we rode along the bold indentations of the rugged coast. As we approached the large open space, near the Floriana, we saw a body of English soldiers on drill. Having a desire to witness the evolutions of these men, against whose ancestors our grandfathers perhaps fought for the precious boon of liberty, we ordered the coachman to stop his breakneck pace. We watched the manoeuvres with much interest for over an hour. I can scarcely make up my estimate of a British soldier. I came to this conclusion, that they are inferior to Austrian or French. They do not appear so martial, by any means, as the Austrian particularly, and their evolutions compared to the Gent Garde, or even the common light infantry at Paris, were really clumsy. We finally returned to the hotel, and all agreeing to it, we took a long stroll. We saw the church of San Giovanni, or St. John, where the tombs of four hundred knights form one of the finest floors in existence, and, where many grand masters, among them La Valetta, repose in the silence and sanctity of death — but of this splendid edifice, more anon. I have not seen it, save the exterior, thoroughly as yet. S. purchased a hat, and looks not at all improved by it. We partook of a hearty dinner, at which we had much fun at Meinherr's expense. It is now dark, and we are snugly seated around a grateful fire, and are enjoying a good laugh — Meinherr, as usual, being the exciting cause. The good " huzzar" was seated very comfortably just now, by the grate, and the silent twirling of his moustache, and the upward and A CRASH. gentle expression of his clear graj eyes, showed well thai his thoughts wore engaged most pleasantly in wandering back to bis mountain home. S. had warned the old fellow of the uncertain foundation on which he was seated. for the old chair had evidently borne the brunl <>f many years' hard usage, and now Bhowed manifest infirmity of ripening age. An unguarded twist to make himself more comfortable, unequally distributed Meinherr's heavy weight. Result — a quick crash, and some confusion, in the midst of which Meinherr's large hoot was conspicu- ously elevated high above surrounding objects. "Ach! an in QoUT was all he said, as he good-naturedly recovered himself and looked around. S. being a sort of workman, has taken upon himself the responsibility of mending said chair, and is now busily engaged in sef/i/i;/ the broken limb, though he much fears, he avers — -false- joint * :i: * * ::: ::: * * * * Finally S. has finished, and order once more reigns; though S. insists on telling some stories, which in vivid- i 36 excel even Meinherr's of last evening. S., however, is in dead earnest, and vouches most sacredly for the truth of what he says. II<- has just commenced a thrill- ing narrative of personal experience relative to ghosts. whether in rivalry to Meinherr's Haunted Castle, I can- not say. yet he positively asserts that every word is true; and knowing his character for veracity, and his contempt for believers in witches and bogles, I must say his story ickfi strongly of the marvellous — so strongly and Btrangely, indeed, that I now lay aside my journal to listen A RACE AFTER A HAT. 99 An hour has elapsed, and S. has finished. Truly mar- vellous and intensely thrilling ! I am sure I will dream to-night of all kinds of ghosts. Malta Cross Hotel. "| Saturday, February 19th, 1859. J We arose quite late this morning, and slowly and in silence took our way to the breakfast-hall, where we as slowly and as silently despatched our meal. Not even the appearance of good John Montag minus his hat, which the wind had taken from him on his way from church, could enliven us. I could not help thinking of S.'s re- markable vision, of which he told us the previous even- ing ; and the sad recollections of the event clouded his brain. But the cloud gradually wore off; and Meinherr, who had not understood one word of the narrative, con- tributed to our amusement by telling of his downhill race after his treacherous hat, the last of which he saw when it was high in the air, performing several somersaults over the bastions near the landing-place. Its probable fate was — "drowned at sea." If I don't forget it, I will re- cord the remarkable sightseeing of which S. was guilty, in some future journal, when I feel more like writing than just now. It is good enough to keep, and, with some slight varnishing, might create a sensation in print. I wrote several letters to-day to the dear ones at home, and, among them, one to my mother. Mother ! how sin- gularly charming does that word break on my ear ! Sin- gular the emotions created by that one word breathed in your presence ! Go where you will, be surrounded by LOO M \ LTESE M \ \ I FAC i T RES. whatever company you may, the heart still throbs with a kinder beat, as that holy oame recalls to you your boy- hood's bowers, among which, in days "lang syne," you used to dream awaj your happy existence, unrecking of the sterner realities of manhood, on whose verge you then stood. Many, very many things bave I forgotten, yet my heart will be callous indeed, when I forget the sainted image of her who gave me birth. We walked over the town a good deal to-day, and exa- mined particularly the shops where the Maltese lace is manufactured. I purchased some at a triile, compared to the price for the same in America. Almost every house in Valetta has this lace for sale. I was particularly struck with the gold and silver filagree work, of which we see here a great quantity. Some of the most intricate little contrivances mad" from these metals, formed into chains. brooches, pendants, &c, are presented to your gaze. Some so delicate and tiny that the meshes, contorted in ten thousand different manners, are just perceptible. The favorite form into which this particular kind of work is made is the Maltese-cross. Some of the shawl-pins, pen- dant-. &c., are really superb. We see much fine coral, also, some lava, and some singular-looking and rather shallow cameos. Yet the shell is very pretty, having the rich, velvety appearance indicative of a genuine cameo. Strange to say, these cameos are all mounted in silver, or argent dore (silver gilt), showing conclusively that they are not in much demand. There are several other kinds of bijouterie, but none of much importance. In wandering about to-day, endeavoring to -'drive dull THOUGHTS OF HOME. 101 care away," we partook of an iced sherbet; and really, it was so good, and so refreshing, that it deserves a mention in my journal. It seems rather strange to be speaking of sherbet, and that iced, and it is now one of our coldest winter months ; yet, so it is ; and it was with genuine surprise, on yesterday, I beheld and ate a fine cantelope at our hotel. Before the summer of the present year wanes, I hope to eat cantelopes in my own dear home in the West. Meinherr's eyes sparkled with pleasure as he leisurely sipped the cooling compound, and his speedy demand to be replenished was proof positive he was satis- fied with the mixture. And so the day wore on apace. Malta Cross Hotel. | Sunday, February 20th, 1859. J This, the Lord's day, has at length dragged its slow length away. I say dragged, because I have been racked throughout the last twenty-four hours with bodily pain, which has been sufficient to cloud my mind also, and make me think too much and too fondly — for my peace of mind — of those dear ones in America. But as I had nothing to do, not being able even to go to church, I was compelled to let my imagination " unfettered" run riot. And sad havoc it has played with my feelings. More than seven years have sped their unseen way to the shades of the past since I could fairly say I was home- sick : yet to-day that word does not give the full force of that intense yearning, I have experienced in the last few hours for home. It is simply because I cannot occupy my mind. To-morrow it will be gone, and its existence will L02 A SA l N PER. cot even find a place in my memory. Bui as the sound of Sabbath bells comes faintly through my closed door, and echoes gently on my ear, 1 cannot ward off the Bad- uess which Bteals over me on this bleak and raw eve oi February. 1 have heard the sound of these Bacred bells in main a city of the world, but now 1 suppose I bid farewell to all for a time. Whither 1 now go, the Chris- tian tocsin is drowned by the Muzzim cry, and the fol- lowers of Mahomet and a second Messiah crush out the devotees of Jesus, the Bethlehemite. Day after to-morrow is our last, for the time, in Malta. and then again we trust our lives to the dangers of the deep. 1 wish the day was here; vet, to-day, late in ih<- afternoon, for exercise, 1 sauntered down to the -hore; and. as I stood on the frowning bastions, and gazed far out over the rolling waters, it was rather a chill- Lng feeling that crept over me as 1 remembered how many miles oi' briny danger I would have to cross and re-cross before I Btood hen- again. I returned late, and found Mr. G. of Texas in my room, who came to return my guide- iks. From conversation I learn G. was a West Point Cadet, and was a classmate with my brother-in-law. Singular how we meet and make acquaintances! CHAPTER VI. Malta Cross Hotel. 1 Monday, February 21st, 1859. J ?WO months ago to-day we left the Chemin-de-fer du Nord, in far-off Paris, en route towards the seat of " Belgium's Capital." How much have we seen, learned, forgotten, and admired, since that eventful afternoon, when, port-habits in hand, we stood in the gare, and bought our billets, which would insure our passage to Brussels, while we turned our backs on Napoleon's fair capital, which had so long afforded us a gay and happy student-home ! Since our nostrils breathed the air of the Boulevards and the Faubourg St. Honore, our feet have wandered over the field of Waterloo, where was fought the Battle of Nations ; we have coursed the Rhine from mouth to source ; have delved through the rocky glens of Switzerland ; have glided over the placid waters of Lac Leman ; have overcome Mt. Cenis's frozen summit ; have laughed away our cares and troubles through Piedmont's sunny plains ; have shot over the water streets, and stood on the Bridge of Sighs in silent Venice ; have loitered blissfully in the Pitti palace at Florence ; have roamed by moonlight tne once-bloody arena of Rome's grand old Coliseum ; have written our (103) HI ANTICIPATION AND R E A Li r v. names on Tiber's yellow sand; have climbed Vesuvius's ed sides; trod through the exhumed streets of long- buried Pompeii ; stood in the underground chambers of Herculaneum's once thriving town — and this day, we stand in British Malta, far away! It is pleasant, ye1 un- pleasant, to note the changes in life, and in the condition dt' men, wroughl by the fickle hand of time. Pleasing to recall the brighl associations which cluster in brilliant cohorts over our back-wandering brain, and make' our minds happj now in the recollection, as then in reality: unpleasant when we shake off the sweet dreaming of the hour, and recollect those joys are gone forever — that we are left to eke out our allotted existence — that we are but driving Fancy's shining car — that we are but work- horses in the present race-course of life. The question, often disputed, whether in anticipation or reality exists most pleasure, has many times, almost unwittingly, too, i discussed in my mind. It is true, the realization of Borne long-cherished object affords joy of a grade some- times almost ethereal, and the ecstasy its final achieve- ment and glorious accomplishment generates, can scarcely equalled by any other emotion of the mind. How et the thoughts arise over my soul in this spot, far away from my own sod — thoughts which rush over my thinking being, like the trooping sweep of giant winds — thoughts of my own dear home, and its dearer inmate-, far " o'er the lea," toward the red sunset ! Sweet, indeed, the anticipation of my distant meeting with friends and kinsmen, and sweeter yet may he the time when I in those loved ones to my exiled bosom,, and breathe ANTICIPATION AND REALITY. 105 in their ears words of steadfast affection. Bat there can be no doubt, but that the picture, our recalling memory paints, and hangs up in the halls of imagination — of bright things dead, almost forgotten — of bright things rendered still brighter by the magic touch of association's wand — in point of v/nchanging beaut}- and interest, charms our souls the longest, and affords the richest enjoyment of which the mind and soul, and senses are capable. Years ago — not any great many, it is true, but enough to warrant the expression — when I wandered amid the bowers of my happy boyhood, how sad the feeling which clouded my whole being, when the word college was pronounced in my hearing ! No joyous emotions coursed through me then, and no anticipated joys lessened the pang of parting with those at home. The bright associations of childhood and riper boyhood flashed in a million of gorgeous rays through my mind, and it was with heartfelt reluctance I stretched forth my backward hand to give and take the farewell grasp — that hand which in this unwilling act was the first to strike at the root of that youthful tree, on whose branches clustered the joys and follies of boy- hood. And heavy was my step which trod away from home, and heavier the heart which sighed "o'er and oft" " for joys that we've tasted." And yet, changed is the picture in the halls of my memory. The bright, ever bright images of my college life, which float and flicker like will-o'-wisps through some long, dark vista, flash into light, and by their flash envelope themselves in a darkness ten times more impenetrable than before. Ay, well do I remember those loved forms ! some are now in L06 r ii E i'A sspo R r sv s r i. \i. high walk-- ni" life, honored and known among men; others are tenants of the Last long home. 5Tet with what u melancholy and sad. vet doublj Bweet pleasure, 1 think, mi this cold eve in stinging February, in .Malta's rocky Limits, do 1 recall each and everj incident, accident, and event which marked my educational course in the halls of my dear old Alma Mater! 1 mvst lav aside my pen. and thinh\ :i: :;: :;: * Well — two mouths ago to-day, and I stood in Paris, a trusty friend on either hand. One loiters now amid the deep glens of Sicily, and listens with pleasure to the thrilling wind of Calabrian horn; — the other, ere this, dashes his watery course towards the far-off west, towards Columbia's boast, and every freeman's pride. I, am here, and sad \i\\ heart too, as I think of the French capil the lading form of the noble Plad de la Concorde, the spreading avenues and groves of the Champs ElysSes, and the dark walls and turrets of frowning Notre Dame. Well — two months will yet wing their numbered days to uns< shades, before my foot treads again amid the tramp and hustle of Parisian life — and SO it must be — and so I am content it is. Among other things our present party arranged to- day, was our passports, allowing us passage on the French steamer, and permitting us to pass unmolested. in the different port- of the Levant. It is an arbitrary arrangement, this passport system, I think, for several reasons, especially as regards their nice viseevng, as is required in the French steamers' Bervice. This strict surveillance owex passports, is not local, — in Genoa the law THE PASSPORT SYSTEM. 107 is the same as in Malta, and it is as rigid throughout the many ports on the Italian coast, as in the above- mentioned localities. Of course they have reasons — the managers of the company — for this scrutinizing vigilance, yet I have made inquiries, and many, from English, Americans, Italians, Germans, and French, for the reasons for this procedure, and I was never able to learn a plausible and truthful iohy. You cannot enter a French steamer bound for any port in the Mediterranean Sea, unless your passport is first signed by nearly every official in the town, and before that passport is accredited and deposited aboard, the ship ; — and you cannot purchase your ticket without your passport; at least this is the fact, in Valetta, island of Malta, in the office of the Messageries Imperiales. Persons forewarned of these troubles, generally imagine themselves forearmed — an error of the most egregious type, and one into which I fell, throughout all my journeyings on the Continent, in Asia, and in Africa. Passports, then, I record in this Journal, present the embodied form of a European tourist's nuisance — a nuisance with which, thank God, we do not suffer in America, and one to which, thank God, we would not submit. Well, I have spent a page on passports, but I like to record my troubles, and my ideas about troubles, so that, perhaps, by a reference to these hastily written pages, in some unborn year, I may post a friend on some of the difficulties which beset his path while strolling amid the flowery fields and glacier peaks of Continental Europe. I was much struck, as I quite modestly asked my \ CIVIL POLICEMAN. passport of the Superintendent of Police, with the rudeness with which he conducted himself towards me particularly, and towards m\ part} generally. The contrast to the polite and efficient French officer in the Prefectwn d< fblia in Paris, was painful. I could scarcely brook the official's insolence, and S. strove not to curh down the spread eagle spirit of Republi- canism which burnt in his soul. Englishmen arc as different in manners and civility, as arc the varied trees of the varied forest, which spread over nature's ample face. By *< Then ienoplact lih home!" Malta < '/os.s Hotel, Tuesday, February ' Vo.s.s Hotel, ) 22d, L859. ( Washington's birthday lias passed, and 1 have spent it in this far-off island, in the " Miltel Meer." Quite agree- ably, too, have the hours flown by. We enjoyed, this morning, a most pleasant stroll beyond the northern gate, toward the public gardens. id John Mon tag and S. enlivened the time, as usual — Montag by committing several laughable blunders among the soldiers on the walls, and S. by relating many anec- dotes of his life, and recounting a number of wild legends, with which his brain seems stocked. We have made the agreement among ourselves, or rather, we made the arrangement in Naples, that we would, each in turn, tell during the long, dull nights which we have to endure on this, our memorable trip, some incident of his own life, or some tale or legend with which he has become ac- quainted. Several have been, in turn, already related, among them, good John Montag's ghost story, which I translated, and recorded several evenings ago. Hence- forth. I shall record them, in substance, when they are told. We find, that by this procedure, our long evenings too shorty that they are gone before the brave "huzzar" gets to the second part of his thrilling story, or S. concludes from which to choose, among his A GHOST STORY. Ill many tales of haunts and hair-breadth escapes. While in this connection, I will record, briefly, S.'s remarkable sight-seeing, to which I referred several days since. It is a narrative of personal experience, and perhaps S. may have some objections to my recording it ; but, as I do it simply to gratify my own desire, I hope S. will not take umbrage, if, should I be so fortunate as to have my Journal " printed," he should see his haunted story in type. S. hails from Savannah, a sunny city of the sunny South. On one afternoon, toward the coming death of the fast- sinking sun, he, with several others, took a stroll towards the outskirts of the town. Their steps gradually and imperceptibly led them near the city cemetery. In this cemetery was buried S.'s oldest brother. " As our party approached the burying-ground," continued S., " I chanced to look towards the last resting-spot of my lamented brother, — and, did my eyes deceive me, or was I dream- ing ! There, before my eyes, as plain as the setting sun, stood the form of my deceased brother ! I stopped — spell-bound — at the sight. We were not thirty yards from the apparition, and there could be no mistaking the figure and features ; they were those of my brother, and were as fresh to my mind as if I had seen him but yesterday. In compliance with my frenzied action, my party gazed in the direction I indicated, but, alas ! saw nothing — for, just as I called their attention to the remarkable appearance, the spectre disappeared from my gaze, and sank into the grave. I knew I was not mis- taken. I was compelled to believe my own eyes. I was I l'J A. GHOST STORY. an unbeliever in ghosts, and now abhor the very idea — yet that one instance is an exception i<> the general rule, and it does nol serve to strengthen my opinion antagonistic to ghosts. My companions laughed at me, and said my imagination was at fault; thai fancy had painted the unburied form of mj brother, before my gaze; but 1 believed my own eyes yet, and persuaded them to consent bo accompany me to the same spot, at the same hour on the following day. Sure enough, about the same hour the next afternoon, we slowly, and rather solemnly, too, started on the prearranged ghostly prome- nade. As we drew near t .e sombre-looking and deeply shaded cemetery, many threw an uneasy glance toward the white -rave-stones. 1 was the only one at all composed. I was composed, because 1 had formed the resolution in my mind, to meet the spirit ; and 1 was confident we n-i.nhl see the vision. How thrilled my heart, then, when a sudden cry from one of my companions burst on my ear — • My God ! boys, yonder stands the haunt!' I look.-d. and in the deepening shade 1 saw the self-same spectre, standing in the same position, on the same spot, motionless as marble, and gazing steadfastly at our approaching figures. Awe-struck and pervaded with rising fear, the young men gradually halted, though never removing their gaze, which was riveted on the supernatural object. 1 advanced alone — determined to for myself — to satisfy my own mind. Nearer and nearer 1 approached — ten yards only intervened — and on 1 Btrode. The face was bloodless, the lips white — the - natural, and fastened on me — the whole person was A GHOST STORY. 113 enveloped in a seamless garment of brown stuff, which floated and fluttered as the gossamer web in the summer breeze — further I did not observe. Nearer and nearer I approached, and now the length of the grave alone separated us. I stopped — my breath came quick and hurried — my respiration was checked, and my heart's circulation seemed to cease its current. I inhaled a long breath, and cried ' Brother !' How quick sweeps the wintry gust over the plain — how suddenly, oft, is heaven's fair face changed ! Like a flash of sunlight bursting through a cloud, glancing a moment on the eye, and plunging away to * outer darkness' — so flashed this spec- tral form from my sight, and no foot-track or bruised blade of grass told of the presence of the spirit. " Many a time, on winter's night, and summer's eve, have I since repaired to that sacred spot, where such a vision had more than once burst upon my view ; but never again did the spectre appear. I don't believe in ghosts — I cannot ; yet that one instance is a host in itself to battle down one's unbelief. There are many now living in my native city in America, who can vouch for this. It was ' passing strange,' to say the least." And such, as near as I can record, was the substance of S.'s remarkable story. Meinherr, whom I had by dint of hard labor kept posted, by my miserable translation, was inclined to raise his martial eyebrows in discredit of the story ; but one look at S.'s open nice restrained him ; that look, however, could not restrain his usual expression " Ach ! mein Gott !" 1 I \ BE I I EF l N G HOSTS. In regard to this subject, as in regard to <-\ sides. people of tins world may be ranked in two grand divisions, believers in ghosts, and unbelievers in ghosts, li is difficult aaj which division possesses the greater number. I mean, of course, these divisions as existing in the ( •hristiam world. In unenlightened and uncivilized parts of earth- dom, where unseen agents are worshipped as gods, and the spirit of the wind is prayed to, by many earnest devotees, it is useless to -a\ thai the In Hirers preponderate. And I think I would not err materially, it' I stated that in the Christian world, believers in spiritual manifestations, in ghosts, witches, bogles, and supernatural agencies gene- rally, far outnumber those whose lives and souls are not enveloped in rappings, signs, and manifestations and wdio do not afflict themselves with had luck and untold evils, because they chance unwarily to step over a broom, or give a knift to a dear friend, or commence some important work on Friday. We may search our society. American or English, high and low, and it is seldom our scrutiny fails to deteel open superstition, or decided taints of belief in supernatural visitations. Few there are. who in childhood learned of "Raw-Head and Bloody-Bones/' do not. when in riper years of manhood, cast a furtive glance over their shoulder, as they tread the public highway near the old burying-ground ; or who do not, in night's late hour, glance uneasily about as they have asion to search for some article, in the far away serted garrel at the top of the house, over whose dusty boards, footfalls seldom tramp even in noonday. This BELIEF IN G PI ST S. 115 feeling — it is but a created emotion of the mind — has clung to me, not that I fear anything outright, but sometimes uneasy qualms and nervous twitchings have passed over my person, as I was situated in some lonely, deserted, and reputedly haunted spot. It is an inheritance of childhood, and is not a natural emotion. I have felt the same feeling flit through my soul, that I experienced when I wandered amid the deep gorges of the Spectral Hartz, as when, benighted by gloom, I have hastened by the negro burying-ground in my fir away Southern home, near the Falling-Run. I have more than once felt a chilling fear steal over me, as some unusual sight startled my vision, and appealed to higher powers than I possessed to be "accounted for." Many an object, quaint and ghostlike, have I seen, and many a sound of supernatural import have I heard. Most of them I have gradually been able to account for, and others remain to this day, as then, wrapt in profound mystery. I generally credit myself with a quota of courage equal to that of most of the dwellers on earth, not that I am boasting, but as Dr. Wayland, my once revered preceptor, says, I am " so constituted" and I am a firm disbeliever in ghosts, and in any and all spiritual manifestations, yet more than once have I breathed for many minutes with suspended breath, expecting momentarily real or imaginary ghosts to fill the scope of my visual range. But my humble adventures I must retain, and pass off some of them, as my tale, which com os next on the docket. We returned this morning from our stroll, about twelve o'clock. Before we reached the hotel, we noticed on this 1 I 6 M R . w l N l HRO P. street a shop in which artificers were working ;i species of ver} beautiful native stone. It resembles in texture and softness the general building-stone in Paris, but it is a finer stone, and changes its texture altogether after hardening. It is very easily wrought, and makes hand- some ornaments. The talenl is native, also, and being MalU -' . it is very creditable. The workmen were busily engaged on the tombstone which was to cover the remains of an unfortunate young American, who died not long ago in this far-away spot, separated from friends and kinsmen, 1 hi t whose presence was cheered to the last with the gene- rous countenance of our consul. It is sad to contemplate the last resting-spol of a fellow-countryman — his grave dug in a foreign sod; and sadder yet is it for us to know, situated as we are at present, that insidious disease is rampant in our systems. Thank God, that enough good blood yet courses through my veins to enable me to reach borne, and there awaiting my appointed time, lay my bones amid the dust of my grandfathers, beneath the green turf of old Virginia ! We were visited shortly after reaching the hotel, by our gentlemanly consul, Mr. Winthrop. We spent several hour- most agreeably. 1 find he knows man)' of my Yankee friends in Providence, where he had the same Alma Mater that once sheltered me beneath her wing. We extended him a very cordial invitation to take dinner with us. and he accepted a- cordially. So. just before six o'clock this afternoon he came down, arrayed in full con- sular dress, lie is a splendid-looking man, and habited a- le- was, in a rich and dashing style, he presented a fine MR. WINTHROP. 117 appearance. Mr. Wirithrop is quite a scholar, and has done more than any living person towards the translation of the old Latin records of the Knights of St. John, and the history of the island and fortifications, compiled and written by different authorities in that order. On account of his proficiency in this particular and arduous branch of learning, Mr. Winthrop has been elected a Literary mem- ber of scientific societies in London, Paris, in Denmark, &c. He stands high in Malta as a gentleman ; and the fact that our government has kept him here for twenty- five years is ample proof of our estimation of him as a con- sular representative. At our dinner, to-day, we enjoyed a genuine, genial, patriotic, American meal ; and Washing- ton, the immortal father of his country and fosterer of American liberty, was duly toasted, and his memory drunk in deep libations. And so the evening wore on. Since I commenced to scribble in this, my Journal, another hour has fled by. It is growing late, and I must close. To-morrow afternoon, we trust to the dangers of the deep once more ************** Wednesday, February 23d, 1859. ****** French ship Meandre, at sea, near Alexandria. ] Sunday, February 27th, 1859. j Four long days have passed since last I put pen to paper, to indite my different thoughts, and the current events of the day, in the leaves of my journal. Time has nevertheless flown swiftly, and has now placed us in an hour's or so steaming of Alexandria, in Egypt. Sin- gular, indeed, has been the metamorphosis in my feelings ! 11^ ALEXANDRIA IN SIGH I '. Last Wednesdaj I stood m Malta, and felt as if / was of crea ion exactly, and far removed from anything like civilization even. Ami yet, cow 1 am many hundred miles nearer heathenism and the "darkness of Egypt" than ever before in my life, and I feel, singular to say, as if I was approching a mon civilized country. But Malta is rock-bound, flinty, and sufficiently contracted to curb one's many ideas of the blessings of civilization or of any- thing else. For four long days, then, we have buffeted the waters of the treacherous Mediterranean; and now, u>day, the fifth since our departure, we are cleaving the waters with buried bow, with our first port — old Eg} ptian Alexandria — full in sight. What a glorious feeling thrills through me, as 1 see the dark line which marks the tar-oil' shores of Egypt, and the swelling domes and toweling minarets and crescenl mosque-caps which rise above the city in the distance ! I almost forget that 1 have yet to recross all the wild waste of wide waters behind me, as 1 stand lost in contemplation. And is this the ancient Egypt of the Potiphars and Pharaohs of olden time? is this the land throughout which Joseph at one t inie dist ributed the vital Staff, :nid to which his old lather. Israel, and his many is, wnt down and dwelt with him? Is this land spread before me. indeed the same, into which Joseph and .Mary and "the young child Jesus" lied for safety from Herod's cruel murder of the innocents'.' Ami Moses, too, saw the light here; and from hence the Israelites wan- dered hark home to their far Judean hills. Well, we know not what tin,' morrow will brine forth. SEA-SICKNESS. 119 Since we left Valetta, we have had alternately good and bad weather ; but all the time, nearly, the wind has been in our favor, and has aided much our rather feeble screw. The Meandre, though slow — most dreadfully so, compared to our North River or Sound boats — is yet a most seaworthy craft, and in tough blows and squalls, which have visited us in the last four or five days, has behaved most nobly, with one exception. She broaches rather bad, causing her to roll like a tub ; but she has not shipped a tumblerfull of water since we started out of Valetta, and we have seen rough weather since. Sea- sickness has had its share of victims, but, unfortunately for my health, 1 have thus far escaped the monster's clutches. I am never sea-sick now-a-days. I well recol- lect the first time I ventured on the wide and deep waters of the Atlantic. It was six years ago, on a short passage from Norfolk to New York. The winds blew and the rain descended, aud the good steamer Jamestown was compelled to lay to ; and, in the tossing, tumbling, rolling, and pitching, /had to lay to also, or rather I had to lay low, and very low I was, or imagined I was. From that day to this, I have not been sea-sick, although I have crossed many miles of sea-water in the long interim. Sea-sickness is no respecter of persons ; yet it does not attack all alike : for I am an individual exception myself. I believe this to be a general rule in regard to this dread- ful sickness ;— persons can become habituated to it, and will soon cease to feel the effects of the motion of the billows. This we see in the case of seafaring men — men who sometimes actually stumble, and get virtually sea- 1 _'• BEA-SIOKNESS, sick on land! Some captains saj thej never were sick from tlic time they trod a plank a1 sea a forecastle boy to the time thej now. master of the quarter-deck, com- manded a ship of their own. 1 believe this much in regard to that : if ihev never were sick — sea-sick I mean — then their systems (either the liver or stomach especially) was deranged. Every healthy organ responds to hurtful agencies. Notice the general effect of to- bacco on beginners. So in regard to sea-sickness. Place a man on ship-hoard at sea — let him have a healthy organization — his abdominal and thoracic viscera in a nor- mal tonic state, and that man must be sea-sick, unless the ia a- smooth as a mill-pond. Concerning the remedies tor the disease, we are taught in our medical schools that the radical cure of all maladies should be directed with an aim 'primarily to remove tht cause. If we can render quiescent and placid the sullen roll or angry pitching of the restless deep, then we can cure at the onset sea-sick- ness; but this we cannot do. According to my individual experience, I found more speedy and grateful relief from a horizontal position on deck, about midships, keeping my eyes clmed 'ill tht time. The latter is especially import- ant, as it is with these organs we can comparatively irmine the pitching and tossing more exactly. All this nonsense — it is nothing more — about citric acid, /. &c., I have found to be a genuine humbug. Be all this as it may. throughout our voyage from Valetta to this fast-nearing port, I have not been sea-sick; so far from it, I have not missed a meal, and 1 attribute it to an A VIRGINIAN. 121 already unsusceptible and debilitated state of the stomach and liver. The first day we came aboard the Meandre, last Wed- nesday evening, 23d hist., while S. and self, arm in arm, were pacing the ample deck of the ship, we observed a gentleman of decidedly a Virginian cast of countenance. I doubted it ; and though we had not heard a word fall from his lips, S. insisted that the gentleman in question was a Virginian, and offered to wager any amount that he was right, and could tell one of my own statesmen better than I could myself. The matter was soon set at rest; the dark-haired gentleman first stepped up to S., and with a graceful bow spoke in our good, sweet vernacu- lar, " this is Dr. S., I believe ;" and before the astonished S. could assure him he was right, he turned to me, with " the hope that he had the pleasure of addressing Dr. T." He then introduced himself; and a nice man turns out to be the Rev. H. R. S — tt, of Lynchburg, Va. Yes ; S. was right, and I gave the palm to him. We were glad enough to grasp Mr. S — tt by the hand ; and soon we were in possession of one another's plans. Mr. S — tt has been of late in Rome — how my heart joyfully throbs, as I think of my sojourn near the old Campus Martius, and the Tiber ! — but his health failing him, he had started on this tour towards the land of the Pyramids. I have been persuading him to go on by Alexandria, and visit Jerusa- lem and its environs, Dead Sea, Jordan, &c, and then return to Egypt ; by so doing he would have company, as that is our idea. I think at present that he will do this, and will return by Greece with me. Besides Mr. S — tt. we of R PLANS. have made the acquaintance of a nice Swiss gentleman from Zurich. His came is Conrad Esslinger ; he is Capitaine d'Etat Major, in his country. Our party, bound to Jerusalem, has swelled considerably, 1 ;>in glad to say. It consists of the following members: my friend from Savannah, S.; the good "huzzar," Johannes Montag; Conrad Esslinger; the Rev. 11 R. S— it ; a fal Franciscan friar, who calls himself "Padre Q. da S. G&rmano di Qeru8alemm< :" a German-Jew, and myself, making quite a respectable show of respectable-looking men. We have concluded to land at Jaffa, and proceed direct to Jerusalem. We understand, however, from the cap- tain, that landing at Jaffa is oftener than otherwise out of the question, and that it is always doubtful. The sea, is very frequently quite rough at that sacred port, and breaking over a Ledge of rock lining the coast, raises such a surf thai a boat cannot live in it at all. If such should be our fate, we will be carried to Beirut, farther up the Syrian coast. The only advantage accruing from this would be, that we are quite near to Ba'albeck and Damas- cus and have the Lebanon right at us. 1 hope, however. mosl sincerely, that we can land at Jaffa, as that is my favorite plan. 1 wish soon to be in El-Kvds, the City of Ktcmal Peace. My present plan is, to return with Mr. S — 11 to Egypt, visit the Red Sea. Pyramids, " Le Grand Caire." and then sail direct for Piraeus, in Greece. During our voyage, our evenings down in our cabin were enlivened by several stories, which according to eement had to be told; and thus our time passed mer- rily and happily away. And after the sea-sickness was THE SHIP-SURGEON. 123 somewhat on the decline, nothing could have presented a more snug and comfortable appearance than did our Jeru- salem 'party \ seated around the long table in the cabin of the Meandre, either listening to a comrade's story, or each engaged with the other, on the all-absorbing topic of the wonders and sacred sights awaiting us in the Holy Land. Since we have been aboard the Meandre, we have formed the acquaintance of the ship-surgeon, a very nice old fel- low. He has been quite at ease with our party, owing to the fact, perhaps, that he finds two of his brother meds. in the crowd. Be that as it may, he has contributed more than his quota to our amusement and comfort. He has ordered beer a good many times ; and the lavish hand which he shows when he orders it, is convincing proof that when he " treats," he treats by wholesale. At our solicitation, several days ago, he promised us a story ; though he seemed rather surprised when we made the singular request of him, for it is not a Frenchman's forte to spin yarns. But, nevertheless, he consented ; and, in accordance with his promise, he proceeded to relate to us a rather singular, and yet a very thrilling story of Paris life; a story which was a story but in name, as he, the worthy surgeon, was well acquainted with the parties which figured in the romantic narrative. Out of respect to the narrator, and a wish specially to hear Monsieur le Docteur's story, all of us were at his appointed hour in the cabin, and awaited in respectful silence for the appearance of the Doctor. He was not long in showing us his good-humored countenance, as he saw us awaiting his arrival. Without ado — as he affirmed he had some 1 • J I \ ST0R1 OF PARIS LIF1 writing in hand before he got into Alexandria, and intended doing sonic that night — he proceeded immedi- ateh with his Btory, which 1 will here record as correctly AS 1 can recall it. "You know. Messieurs," said the Doctor, ••that I am a native of our capital, Paris: and always resided, while in that -a\ city, in what is known as the ' Qu artier Latin.' It is in that portion of the city, a- you well know, that medical students generally congregate; and many a happy day have I whiled away on the Rue tie Seine, in the magnificent garden of the Luxembourg, or in the holy precincts of St. Sulpice, St. Genevieve, or St. Germain de Pivs. While I was a student, gentlemen, and when I attended the cliniques at La Charito. and at the Hotel Dien. before Velpeau had won a name, and before Paul du Bois was a Doctor of Medicine, I very frequently met in my rounds in the hospitals a tall, lair-haired, pale-com- plexioned. \ et very intellectual-looking young man. He was a genuine student, as we could well determine from his conduct. He made his appearance in the wards as daily, rain or shine, and more punctually than did the agrSgS who hail the malades here under his charge. Quiet and unobtrusive, yet ever attending to his business, and endeavoring very ardently to stock his brain with knowledge — always cordially but not studiously polite, he Boon hecame a favorite with all who were accustomed to meet him. Edward Lagautier was a scholar and a gentle- man ; and I. after many vain attempts, had the pleasure of :i personal acquaintance with him. 1 was not slow in following up fchifi acquaintance. Somehow or other I A STORY OF PARIS LIF?:. 125 always felt an attraction toward his sweet and smiling face — this attraction was the occasion of my acquaint- ance. Only a few weeks elapsed before I had formed a firm attachment toward the young student, and the time rapidly approached when we unbosomed our secrets fully to each other; and each had for the other, a confiding: ear. I had not known him for any length of time before he related to me several incidents of his life — a life which had been checkered with many cares and troubles. When quite young, in his native town of Pau, he lost his father by some untoward accident ; and thus he, his two sisters, and his mother were cut off from the support which such a prop as father and husband afforded. Death did not cease his doings : his two sisters fell sick and died, and his mother followed in rapid succession. At the demise of the latter every sous passed from the family ; and when that dear form was hid beneath the earth, a lonely feel- ing crept in that lone son's bosom — a feeling which none can describe, and a feeling which had been more or less fostered since that time. This accounted for his melan- choly, quiet, and brooding appearance. But Edward went on and confided to me another tale — one of sweeter import — it was the tale of love. Yes, he told me that, while in Lyons, a year or so previous to the period of this narrative, he had met in that beautiful city a gay young creature who had laid siege immediately to his heart, and had taken the citadel of his soul by fierce assault. I could proceed to narrate touching incidents in the lover- life of these two young people, but time will not per- mit me. L26 \ STORl OF PARIS l.l I'K. "Edward told me that this fair fairy, who ruled bis actions and even thought, was now in the city, and awaited anxiously the time he was to graduate in his pro- sion ; at which time he would claim her as Ids bride. Dearly he loved thi< bright-eyed one— his inamorata — and often spoke to me in glowing terms concerning her; but Love is blind, and 1 did nol credit bis half-crazed enco- miums. Time wore on. and the examination-days were fast approaching; thrice anxiously did Lagautier look forward to their arrival ; for on their advent, or rather at their expiration, he would be a happy man. and he would find one who would supply to him mother, father, and Bister. Alas! we cannot delve into futurity, and bring out its hidden revelations; and perhaps it is better so, as otherwise there are few in this world who would drink at all from pleasure's intoxicating cup. Edward and his fair Marie were one daw arm in arm. strolling along the beau- tiful avenue des Champs Klysees. talking of love, and breathing love's sweetest atmosphere. Each possessed most fully the secrets of the other's heart, and not a shadow of distrust or suspicion had ever for a moment rested on their minds. Edward urged Marie to confide to him her former life, a subject she had ever studiously avoided: and to Edward her early history was as un- known as the mountains in the moon. Once again she asked him not to request this of her. telling him that when they were married he should know all. This did nol the young man; and tin- question he had first asked in trifling curiosity, he now pressed with vigorous earnestness. Hut she would sav nothing, and so the sub- A STORY OF PARIS LIFE. 127 ject dropped. For many days subsequently, Edward sougi 1 1 in vain the presence of his Marie. He inquired for her at her lodgings, but " Mdlle. Marie est toujours sortie' — yes, she was never in ; and finally he was told, much to his astonishment, that the young lady had very suddenly on yesterday left the premises, and had moved perhaps to another portion of the city ; but none knew positively whither she had gone. This was unpleasant news, and thrice deep it plunged Edward into the abysses of melan- choly. Yet he was as regular as ever at the hospitals. One day, and I shall never forget that day, arm in arm, Edward and myself slowly took our way toward the Hotel Dieu. We crossed the river over the Pont Royal, and continued up the west bank of the river. Slowly we took our way amid the human stream that flooded by, mere powerful than the waters of the Seine over the walls which skirted along the bank. Edward seemed to be in a gayer mood than ever — that is, for the last week — and I knew not to what to attribute it. He laughed and talked, but never referred once to Marie, the cause of his late vexations of mind. Suddenly he said very ear- nestly — ' Gustave, something will happen this morning which will make me henceforth a gloomy man or a happy man !' ' And why think you so, Edward ?' I queried. 1 Because,' he replied, ' I had a vision last night in which an angel stood by my bed, and repeated these very words to me which I have just uttered to you.' ' Nonsense !' I replied ; ' you lower your intellect, Edward, by believing in the awkward fancies of slumber.' ' Well, we shall see,' he answered very decidedly, as if to let coming L28 A ST0R7 ov PARIS LIFE. events decide as to the truthfulness of his predictions. T>\ that time. we had drawn near the far-famed Morgue, of which ever} dweller in Paris has heard. Arrived here, Edward halted, and said in a joking manner,' lift's look in. Gustave, and sec if an\ have been silly enough to allow themselves to be fished up out of the Seine'. But, Gustave, before we go in, 1 speak first for a jvm femaU subject, if any are here as 1 have not done much at the Ecole Pratique of late.' He said this, it seemed to me, in pleasant jocularity — speaking of mortality in the trifling tone customary with students. In we went; I. more to satisfy Edward's desire than to fulfil any cravings of my own. Only the form of one female greeted our gaze; and as the figure was perfectly nude I was struck with the faultless symmetry of the form. It was a f, „,, il, subject of perfect mould. Immediately Edward strode up and cast a glance at the features of the dead woman, lie started wildly hack, and flung his hands high over his head. And such a look as then rested on his face ! My God ! I shall never forget it. Each fea- ture seemed to stand out in the perfect agony of agonized contortion. That look is engraved on the tablets of my memory, and there it will remain until I am no longer a dweller among men. With a sudden hound he grasped lin- by the arm, and dragged me with a giant's force toward- the suicide's plank. 'Look,' he hissed between his teeth, 'and see .MA II IK!' I did look. Just Heaven! and was this hi- Marie? I turned to his distorted fea- tures. 'Why, Edward, I know this woman; she is noto- rious in the Champs Elys6es — she is a common woman!' A STORY OF PARIS LIFE. 120 These words fell rapidly from my lips, but their effect was magical ; what I had uttered was true to the letter. A wild, frenzied cry of anguish burst from poor Edward's lips, and he fell with a heavy groan to the cold stone floor of the Morgue. He was a maddened, gibbering, shiver- ing maniac. But, Messieurs, I must retire and attend to some business more important than this, I esteem it. If I had more time at my disposal, I could tell you further of poor Edward Lagautier; but, as it is, Messieurs, bon soir et clormez bien." And such was the surgeon's story, and such the manner in which we spent one evening on shipboard. Ship Meandre, Port of Alexandria, Egypt. Monday, February 28th, 1859. In one sense it seems surprisingly long since I penned the last day's journal, yet in another view it is equally as short. The first is perhaps occasioned by the fact that when I wrote my last journal, the day had scarcely com- menced to wane, and many hours of sunshine yet remained before night came on. The second, or short view, may be occasioned in this wise — instead of smoke- stack, capstan, compass, cordage, and the wild waste of waters simply to gaze at, we now have under our eye- sight crowds of something new on which to rest our gaze, this something being in the shape of Turks, Arabs, and native " darkies' which swarm around our good old Meandre in boatloads. Well — yesterday, after getting the city full in view, we signalled for a pilot, and lay to, until one arrived. He 1 30 \ \ OR] IN TA I. I'l LOT. w;i- the firsl Oriental native thai nn eyes ever beheld. Be was dressed in the costume of his country — turban, full-flowing browsers, curled-toed red morocco shoes, and nil. He was a tall, spare, wiry, and very humble-looking fellow ; ami his countenance seemed to say, when lie took command »>!' the steamer, ■■ 1 beg thousands of pardons! Allah be praised!" I came near getting myself into trouble, when this all-important personage came aboard. In going into the port of Alexandria, when the quaran- tine laws are in force, it' von intend remaining on the steamer and continuing your journey up the Syrian coast, you are not allowed to return to the steamer if 3-011 one-' go ashore. If this liberty m allowed, then the authorities in the Syrian ports of Jaffa, Beirut, and Tripoli will not allow the steamer to enter their harbors, even. So, in re- maining on the ship, we are watched most scrutinizingly by a special guardian, who sees we touch not the garments, n. of any of the uatives who come aboard. All this trouble is on account of the Pest, which is generally lurk- in-- in the vile dens of Alexandria. Now, when our pilot made his appearance up the gangway of the Meandre, I pushed forward to see him, and get a view of the parti- cular elephant in question. Suddenly a harsh voice seted my ear: "Arr&ez, Monsieur!" and at that mo- ment tin- strong hand of our second lieutenant was laid on my coat collar. lie very quickly explained his inten- tions which, bo tar from being belligerent, were conducive to my own welfare. He had saved me from contact with the Egyptian, which, had I been guilty of, in duty bound. SWARM OF BOATMEN. 131 I would have been compelled to leave the ship and my companions at Alexandria. After many orders given in a tongue profoundly un- known to me, and after much manoeuvring, our worthy Egyptian brought us safely in the rather dangerous har- bor ; and soon our ears were delighted with the joyous rattle and splurging of our heavy anchor. Never before or since have I witnessed such a scene as greeted our eyes then. We had many passengers for Alexandria ; and, as is the case all over Europe, wherever I have been — and the custom is carried to Egypt — they were compelled to land by means of small boats owned by different indivi- duals. Turks, Arabs, Egyptians, Greeks, Englishmen, and " Niggers," crowded in myriads, forming a most mot- ley swarm around our ship. Such yelling, in every known and unknown tongue, I never heard, and such frantic ges- tures for patronage I never witnessed. They fairly took possession of our gangway ; and when a passenger would venture down to get ashore, there ensued a real skirmish over the spoil. Before he had descended two steps down the ladder, he was seized by a dozen brawny, rough hands, and away he went forth from one boat to another, as the tide of victory rested with each particular crew. Some- times the poor traveller, with not a cupful of air in his lungs, beaten, punched, dragged almost in two, and nearly dismembered, was borne high aloft amid contending hands ; and again he would be trampled under foot, while the combatants, dropping mutually " the bone of conten- tion," endeavored to settle the affair vi et armis. It was amusing, yet dangerous. The manner in which the bag- 132 DANGERS TO BAGGAGE. was treated beggars description. Grumblers may speak of the rudeness and smashing habits so peculiar to American railways; bul that peculiar trait, as existing in the United States. i\nc* not. to use a Western expression. "hold a light" to the exploits of a trunk at this Eastern port, and the dangers and vicissitudes of fortunes to which it is here subjected. It is very rare that one everreaches the boat with a sound and healthy top ; and 1 saw, myself, that day, mor< tlian one disappear for ever in the deep l>ln< waU rs "/lit' harbor! Such was the extent to which tic Qoisy fellows carried their tumult, that our first lieuten- ant, to shield the passengers from a danger whieh really threatened them, life and limb, seized an oar, and laid about him most vigorously for several moments. The result was, that the gangway was soon cleared, and some order at last restored. I was particularly struck with the stoicism with which a hardy, venerable-looking old Arab permitted his back and shoulders to receive the lieuten- ant- lusty blows. He seemed willing to endure any- thing, provided that in so doing he ran some chance of gaining patronage. The greater portion of our company debarked here, directly we anchored: and now the ship is really dull and monotonous, to what it has been. A lady and her little daughter are the only passengers now aboard, save our own Jm/suh n> parly. She is bound to Jjcirut. While looking over the ship's side, yesterday afternoon, watching the motley mass of variegated humanity strug- gling for their prey, a row-boal came dashing up with a middy in the stern-sheets. At the stern of the boat THE MACEDONIAN. L33 floated the broad folds of the American flag. What a thrill of patriotism fired our souls as we saw our country's banner! S. immmediately hailed the boat, and was answered by the middy most politely in native lingo. We greeted one another quite cordially ; and the young officer, after receiving a bundle of papers from our captain, gave us a pressing invitation to visit the Macedonian — his ship — and gave orders to " give way." We saw the long high-tierced hull and tall stately masts of the Macedo- nian yesterday morning, as we came into port. I would like very much to tread her decks, and converse awhile with fellow-countrymen in my own tongue, but I fear we will not have that pleasure ; in fact I know we will not, as visiting a ship in port is the same as going ashore. For to-day's Journal I have not much to record, for nothing much has transpired, and scarcely anything worthy the record. As I have previously mentioned, we were not allowed to go ashore, the pest preventing us here ; and, on account of it, the quarantine laws at Jaffa. So we had to make as much out of our shipboard confine- ment as circumstances would allow. - We read we laughed, we promenaded the deck, and had resort to tell- ing tales, which we have of late found to be such an ex- cellent means of passing the dull hours. As it was my turn to-day, or rather to-night, I contributed my humble mite ; and, as is my custom, I will record it when I have more leisure, perhaps in my next Journal. I do not feel like writing further to-night, as I have already been seated under the cabin chandelier for an hour or more. Our crew has been very industrious, so expeditious L3 1 READY TO SA 1 I.. indeed, thai our cargo for this port is already discharged, and we will Bail to-morrow morning at six o'clock. We could Leave to-night, bu1 for the bad harbor. So in three or four davs at most, shall 1 or shall I not stand in the walls of widowed Jerusalem — the city of Eternal Peace? The next Journal I hope to write in a spot far more contiguous to the sacred city. What thoughts thrill my very soul as I know, God willing, that 1 shall soon stand under the shadow of the temple, and that my eyes shall behold the revered brow of Olivet! Sea. 1 159. J CHAPTER VII. French steamer Meandre, Mediterranean Sea. Tuesday, March 1st, 18' ^HIS day has passed most smoothly. Our spirits seem to have glided along with the same oily, easy motion as has the Meandre through the per- fectly calm waters of the sea. Such beautiful weather, in fact, I never saw. A clear sky, a genial tem- perature, a bright sun, and a sea like glass ! Such are the days when one can enjoy sea-faring life. And this wide difference I have often observed and dwelt on with singular delight ; for in the changes of the sea we have a fine comparison with things of lesser life, and their sud- den changes. It is quite common to meet a friend to-day. who has the sunshine of joy gleaming from his face. His tone is cordial, his grasp earnest and well meant, his eyes glowing with the pleasure in his soul, his step buoy- ant, his every action speaking of bliss of mind, and sweet happiness, which only contentment can give. And yet, to-morrow, before twenty-four hours have winged their noiseless flight to the shores of Past Time, mark that same friend as he comes rushing along the crowded thorough- fares. His lips are compressed — the mad fires of anger burn in his soul, and pass out through the windows of the 5] \ CONTRASTS. inner man — his buoyanl step is hard, crushing, vehe- ment — his cordial grasp he locks in his pockel — his every action is the antipode of yesterday's bright being — a won- derful change lias passed over his entire nature, and the fierce storm of angrj contentions howls through every 38 in his boiling bosom. It is pleasant to sail the sea when standing on the deck of a noble craft — when sail after sail bellies to the burst- ing breeze — when the proud craft careers far to the lee- side, as she feels the force of the impelling tide of air heaving her onward in her homebound track. It is pleasant to watch the clipper-bow, curling high the blue waters of the gently-heaving deep — to cast the log, and note the good fact that we are making ten knots an hour, and to hear, in response to the skipper's " up with the spanker," the sturdy and obedient " aye, aye, sir." Yes. this is all pleasant enough; but how different the feeling, when, late on some howling, pitchy night, we stumble like a drunken man up the companion-way, scarcely able to keep our feet, and peep timidly forth into the wild, unearthly, awe-inspiring night ! Many a one, who never tefore used the word, breathes then the name of mighty God. There flies the scudding ship — her snowy canvass, though we cannot see it. is brailed and furled tightly to each yard. One lone storm stay-sail swells to the roaring gale, and keeps the noble craft steady in her demon-like career. The hoarse command of the officer is heard no longer; he has done all he can, and stands lashed to the rigging, while four men man the creaking wheel. 5Tes, quite different is this sight, and far different LEAVE ALEXANDRIA. 137 is the music of the taut-breeze, singing mournfully through the cordage, from the maniac gibbers of the storm-god invading his brother sea-god's vast domain, while his infernal pipers peal forth the sailor's doom in whistling unearthly shrieks through the straining shrouds. I have contemplated both of these scenes, and write from well- earned experience. This morning, before six o'clock, and long before any of us had shaken off the embrace of Morpheus, the Meandre loosed her anchor, and stole quietly out of the port of Alexandria. When I awoke, and came on deck to take a look at things around, we were just dismissing our aforesaid Egyptian pilot, and Alexandria was some distance astern, basking in the early morning sunshine. A most pleasing sight we enjoyed to-day, when our good ship was ploughing the waters at a rapid rate. It was when we crossed one of the mouths of the Nile, at its delta. The water of the Nile is pale cream in color, while that of the Mediterranean is perfectly jetty in its hue. These two waters never mingle — at least, close in — and so well is there a line of separation drawn, that this singular phenomenon can be observed far out at sea. In shine or storm, in calm or blow, these waters remain unmingled, and seem to repel each other, as do the same kinds of electricity. We watched the beautiful sight for several miles. I was under the impression that we were on shoal water, but our lieutenant, explaining the appear- ance of the waves, assured us the depth was many fathoms. Well, thus the day came and went, and late in the evening we assembled in the cabin, to arrange I - JAFFA IN SIG ll T. affairs preparatory to Landing to-morrow, as we hope to get ashore at Jaffa, before twenty hours from this. We held a mock meeting, or a meeting in mock seriousm and elected the following officers: — Esslinger was made captain — m\ friend S., lieutenant — myself, Burgeon — the good •• hu/./ar" and the Jew, baggage tenders — and Padre Germano and Mr. S — tt. chaplains, with equal honors. The latter, with Meiuherr and the Jew, to do any little extra fighting in which our party might be inveigled. We had a merry time — a speech or so being elicited from several members of the Jerusalem 'party. Ship MSandre — port of Jaffa in sight. Wednesday, March 2d, L859 )ht. \ 59. J I must open the leaves of my Journal, and scribble down the passing thoughts which hold sway in my bosom. And such thoughts! Thoughts to which I cannot find adequate expression in words — thoughts which never before flittered through my soul. The hills of blessed Palestine are in full view before me, and those beating- wave.- in the distance lave the shores of the Holy Land. At length my wishes are fulfilled, and the land of Canaan spreads its ample and sacred fields before Singular are the transitions in our life, and more gular yet the change in time, the progenitor of these speedy transitions. It is a circumstance, or rather an existing portion of man's nature, on which 1 have often dwelt, in musing moods. Due year ago, this day, I was in Philadelphia — a student at the old University of Penn- sylvania — frightened out of n>;. senses, in regard to one ■O* .. REMINISCENCES. 139 grand question — " Would I or would I not receive my diploma?" That, then, was the all-important item of my life, and the whole energies of my animal and intellec- tual system were centered on obtaining that prize for whose possession I had several years studied, with much zeal, and striven for with a devotion worthy of the cause or of a better. The crisis came, and the shock of exami- nation's wars fell on my buckler, but that buckler, fortunately, was strong, and the fierce darts fell power- less at my feet. The conflict over, I wondered why I had been such a/ooZ as to be frightened at such an array, and almost wished the contest was to commence again — Commencement came — and my diploma lay quiet in my grasp — I was more than content. Receiving hearty congratulations at home, I turned my back on my native country, and trusted to the dangers of the deep. Since then, varied have been my fortunes — through many- lands I have wandered — and to-day, I am in sight of that sacred port, the key to far more sacred Jerusalem — old Jaffa, the same port where Jonah embarked on his memorable voyage to Nineveh — where the cedar from Lebanon, for the building of Solomon's temple, was floated in — where Tabitha was resurrected from the dead, and where Peter " abode at the house of Simon, the tanner — which was by the sea-side." Well, I must let my thoughts arrange themselves, and spend their novel surchargings, before I write further. * * Since writing the foregoing hasty snatches, many events have transpired, and I am now, as it were, merged into another and a newer era. Since writing some hours 140 LANDING iT JAFFA. Bince, I have trod <>n the sacred soil of the Holy Land! ular baa been the action going on in mv mind, Bince I entered here, the walls of ancient Jaffa. And no wonder, for 1 am now a sojourner in thai land which was the chosen of God — which afforded the stage whereon the grand drama of the Redemption was played, and had for its spectator, the whole world. Here, then, I stand — in the land o[' the old prophets — anion-' the hills of Pales- tine — whence sprang the earliest Light of civilization and enlightenment. Here. Israel and his host of descendants lived — here, Solomon and David and Jesse — here, in the fields of now neighboring Bethany, was enacted the scene of affection between Naomi and Ruth — here, greater than all, was horn the Saviour of mankind — the man- born Son — the divinely-begotten Jesus ; and this sacred sod which now crunches beneath my loot, once received the impress of His blood-stained sandal ! And can it be that I. too. am here, and am surrounded by holy ground? 1 grant me power to enjoy this blessed privilege ! Quite contrary to our expectations, yet in accordance with our fondest hopes, the Meandre was enabled this morning, on account of very excellent weather, to sail quit '-lose in shore. The sea was very favorable to our : ling — and after some delay, and much gibbering among the natives, who came on board, and commenced wrangling for us in a diminutive Alexandrian style, we finally were seated in a small row-boat. But we were once more delayed by Padre Germano, who was somewhere — or anywhere, but in tin; right place. Finally he made his appearance, and rolled his fat, good-humored self, down LANDING AT JAFFA. 141 among us — signified his ease and content, and motioned the boatmen to give way. But lo ! and behold, good John Mon- tag likewise lingered behind. The " huzzar," however, did not keep us long waiting, for he soon rushed to the gangway, and at great risk of going overboard, came tumbling down, and fortunately fell in the boat, while his favorite expres- sion was forced by the shock, from his lips, " Ach ! mein Gott !" Our little boat was crowded to the utmost, and I expected every moment, to see the water come in over its sinking bows, but she bore up well, and our Arab rowers, pushing off boldly from the steamer, bent to their tasks and landed us through the breakers, with ease and safety. As we dashed over the long swell of the waves, we wafted a lasting farewell to the Meandre, and those who trod her planks. At last, we reached a rickety staircase, leading from the water, up over the walls which skirted the shore. Here our crew made fast the boat, and one by one, we ascended the steps. Of all the motley crowds I ever saw, we there made our way through the motliest. We were completely besieged, every miserable, eyeless pauper clinging to you, and motioning frantically, for the privilege to carry your baggage. On all sides we were crowded and jammed — our way blockaded, and the " sanctity of our persons" threatened. While this state of pressure was existing to the outer man, the ear was deafened with continued phrenzied cries, "bakhshish-Hadji! bakhshish. 1 "' which our Jew boy from Blattner's Hotel informed us, meant, " Gift Pilgrim ! gift !" I was much amused during this scene of hubbub, at the alternate shades of dismay, 11- LANDING at J A PPA. .iiid then the Btoic lines of solid indifference which now and then, in turn, possessed the good "huzzar's" Face. He knew not what to do. More than once, he thrust his hand in his pocket lor money, as if ho half-way imagined their wishes, but then some unlucky Aral) would tread on Rieinherr's toes, and in return Tor this, instead of receiving th>' bounteous hand, he would send the offender tumbling ial pares in front of the motive power. We finally got lull under way, however — had dis- tributed our quota of baggage to several aspirants in company, who settled the matter l>\ fighting for the prize, and away we went, with our gallant Swiss as captain. We first proceeded in a solid phalanx to the French consul's, and there obtained our passports. The French consul in Jaffa is also agent for the company of the 1 ssageries hnperiales; in the office we saw our gallant captain of the Meandre, and once more said to him adieu. The consul very kindly gave us some information relative to travelling to Jerusalem — to modes of travel — time occupied — resting-places, &c, &c. for which, coming as it did, almost unasked, we were very grateful. We next, under the guidance of the aforesaid Jew boy, who had met us on the steamer, proceeded to his father's house — the English Hotel. He gave me his card, which 1 here copy, verbatim, punctuation and all. THE "ENGLISH HOTEL." 143 ENGLISH HOTEL by M. BLATTNER !: JAFFA English, Italian, German, and Arabick spoken < fine view of the sea. 5 I I Such is Meinherr Blattner's card. Where it was printed I know not, or who did his English I am at as great a loss to know. Meinherr and his sons could all speak English, but as to writing it correctly — impossible. Be that as it may, we had not been long in this singular hotel before we were most comfortable. This hotel of M. Blattner, let me assure all who should ever read the pages of this blotted Journal, is nothing like what we mean by hotel, or tavern, or inn, or house of entertain- ment, in our acceptation of these words. And when we mention, rather pompously r , it may be — or rather as M. Blattner's card shows it — the name of the " English Hotel," we must not imagine it like our Exchange Hotel in far-off Richmond, Va., like the St. Nicholas, or, on this side of the water, like Morley's in London, or the Louvre in Paris, the d'Angleterre in Frankfort, the Minerva, or d'Allemagne in Rome. No, indeed, such is not the idea to be realized in actual vision. I cannot describe exactly, nor anyways adequately, a hotel in Syria. It is an insti- tution of course peculiar to the country — I mean this species of Hotel of the genus hotel. It, our hotel, pos- Ill in i: •• i NGLISB ii" i 1:1.." sed 011I3 one or two resemblances to American or con- tinental hotels, that was. in having a separate salh <) manger, and in the beds, which bore a faint resemblance to ours. We climbed into our hotel through a narrow ston> cylinder, up which led a staircase, and. after being in these narrow quarters for some time, we emerged into a narrow, contracted court, in which were stable, kitchen, loafing-place for lazy Arabs, (! reeks, and Turks, and grand receptacle for ever} species of filth. An uninvit- ing aspect diil the court present, hut things were changed, and tor the better, when we entered the spacious dining- room. This apartment contained two or three Eastern lounges, a table or so, boasted a iioor of cement, and thick walls of gray granite. The prospect from the win- dow was superb; looking over the tops of the houses (for Blattner's was on the \en summit of the high hill on which Jaffa is built), and far over into the sea, we saw the good Meandre lying at her anchorage-ground, quietly acknowledging the power of the swell. It was quite grateful to stand altogether in this snug and cool apartment, after having arrived sale once more on Terra Firma. ami Terra Santa at that, and view at our ease the pas-in- strangeness of this novel world, by which we were now surrounded. We immediately ordered dinner, for we were as hungry as fish-hawks, our stomachs being in that peculiar snappish condition left generally when a voyage at sea is ended. Our baggage, which had loitered behind, now suddenly hove in sight, accompanied by a consort of about half-a-dozen custom-house officials. When we Landed at Jaffa, we anticipated anything but trouble CUSTOM-HOUSE OFFICIALS. 145 in regard to ffettms; through the custom-house ; for we had read in " Murray's Guide-Book for Palestine/' by Dr. Porter, that the custom-house was extremely lax, its officers being accessible by the most trifling bribes, and that " custom-house," in fact, to use his own words, was "but another name for bakhshish." Trusting in this, we found ourselves most disagreeably disappointed, when the guardians of our baggage placed down our doomed port- manteaus, &c, and when the officials stepped up, and demanded in the most uncivil of tones to look in and view our effects. We had nothing on which a duty could be exacted, and told them so, offering at the same time a pretty heavy bakhshish to pass the baggage, as we were tired, and were momentarily expecting something more gratifying from Blattner's larder. What was our sur- prise, then, when in a most impudent manner they spurned the proffered piastres, and rudely seized a trunk, as if about to force it open. The unfortunate property chanced to be that of Meinherr, the " huzzar," who, when he saw the probable fate of his effects, gave utterance to his favorite " Ach ! mein Gott ;" and with anger beaming in his countenance, he threw the uncivil Turk, as if he were a child, to the farther side of the room. Instead of this doughty act of the brave " huzzar" acting against us, and raising a disturbance, which all of us feared would ensue, it had the good effect to make the official more polite. But the scrutiny with which they searched our baggage I have never seen equalled before nor since. Every separate article was overhauled, taken out, well shaken, and then left out for us to rearrange. But they 10 I Hi r 11 i: \ M r i; [C A N OON ST3 L. found nothing for which the} could tax our purse. When they had finished, the impudent rascals had the effrontery to ask of us. bakhshish. It w as all 1 could do to prevent my Georgia friend S. from applying his heavy list to their craniums. As it was, he took them severally by the collar and cast them indignantly out of the door. He could not Btand "adding insult to injury." Another of cur part) also made uul\ demonstrations with his hoot. \\\ about half an hour after this trouble and hubbub had subsided, ami we were congratulating ourselves on the 'imn\ dinner we had just eaten, the gargon of the hotel, the aforesaid Jew hoy, came to the door, and announced, rather pompously, — " The American Consul!" < >ur curiosity, which was thus so lively excited, was im- mediately gratified. As the words left the Jew boy's mouth, in came a splendid-looking young fellow, in a handsome ami most costly Aral) suit, lie was followed, at a respectful distance, by his enwass, or body servant, holding in front of him a large cane, resembling a beadle's stall*, with which he thumped the floor at regular intervals, as hi- master proceeded. At his side he wore a hand- Bome sword, though his superior wore no visible arms. We welcomed our consul as well as we could — but he took the lead of us in good manners, and welcomed us mosl warmly, not only to the comforts of his own home, hut to Jaffa particularly, and to all of Terra Santa generally. I cannot think of the young man's name. \\<- is a native, however — aot a "wilier Awrriran\?) — but none the* worse •• for a' that," and is proud in being o ir representative. The American flag flies pretty con- THE BAZAARS. 147 stantly over his house, the consulate. He little wots, I am thinking, of what a nation he is, in Jaffa, the exponent. Report says he is very rich, and also says that he is a most efficient officer. I think his sister was the wife of the former consul here, who dying, this young man, the brother-in-law, obtained the place. I must say, I do not think it could have been better filled. After taking coffee with us, in the Eastern style, and eating an orange, our representative arose, and having once more pressed on us his offer of hospitality, he left, attended closely by his watchful and richly-attired caiuass. Late in the after- noon, we saw him again. After our arrival in this place, we learned that it was almost impossible to go on to Ramleh this afternoon, on our way to Jerusalem, as horses could not be obtained for love nor money. Well, we could not alter the stern decrees of fate, so we submitted with as good a grace as we could muster. I had wished to sleep in Jerusalem to-morrow night. We have an idea, among ourselves, that Blatt- ner is in some manner instrumental in our detention. But be that as it may, we lost nothing by remaining; on the other hand, our gain, I consider, has been increased. Under the guidance of Blattner's sons, we bent our steps first to the bazaars, and sauntered slowly through them, gazing at the many sights which were unfolded to our republican view. Singular places, or hovels, these bazaars are. The word bazaar is apt to strike an American, or any foreigner, as indicative of something rich in all the gorgeousness of Oriental splendor. Such was the idea / had previously entertained concerning bazaars; and my 1 ! s THE BAZAARS surprise was consequently great, when, impatiently urging on the Jew boy, 1 asked why he did not take us through bo the bazaars; and his reprj was, " Why, you are in the bazaars now." 1 looked around me, through the dim light which struggled down through the roof! The bazaars resemble a covered street, or rather look like an exagge- rated American covered bridge. The coarsest wood-work, framed just strong enough to support itself, and to withstand an occasional blast that conies from the plain, is erected over the street; beneath it are the many little shops forming the bazaars. The owner of the bou- tiqiu sits always cross-legged, while you hear issuing from near him the continual gurgling sound of his scented nar- _ leh. The seat on which he sits, resembles, in my esti- mation, more a blacksmith's forge, as we have it in the country in America, than anything else. They have no counters ; but, when you wish to buy, they bring the articles for your inspection to the end of the little raised platform, and you continue in the street. Here you stand, and go through the many ceremonies and civilities, and try your best to elude the fellow's cheating tricks. And unless you have been well practised in Yankee Land, you are Bure to fall a victim to. the Arab sharper. It would prise an Arab beyond measure if he could be suddenly transported from his own narrow shop to Stewart's palace in New York, or to some of the marble palatial stores in Philadelphia. Greater surprise would be his, I am think- ing, than would be that of our grandfathers, could they from the grave and view the enormous space in the racecourse of Progress, over which we have strode since THE ORANGE GROVES. 149 their troublous day. But in these miserable hovels which are dignified by the name of bazaar, I saw some of the most superb and beautiful articles I ever beheld in any city of America or Europe. The most costly silks, scarfs, and weapons abound. If I was surprised to learn that these miserable buildings were the bazaars, I was more than surprised when I saw a lazy Turk take down roll after roll of the rarest kinds of silks — silks which it seems Damascus alone can boast in all their purity. We were very much struck with some fine old Arab arms. Esslinger endeavored to bargain for them, but he was too well posted in Arab rascality, and got himself skilfully out of a rather extravagant offer he had made on the spur of the moment. We continued our stroll throughout the length of the bazaars, and next took our way toward the orange groves. What luxuriance, what richness and temptations met our eyes ! Oranges, the finest I ever saw, five cents a dozen, and eaten, too, on the hills of Judea ! Lemons, citrons, and oranges exist in the greatest luxuriance, and one becomes so completely habituated to the sight of the large, ripe, drooping clusters, that very soon the appetite seems sated. It was some time, however, spent in vigorous battle with the juicy opponents, before Meinherr and myself yielded. Finally, Meinherr's usual " Ach ! mein Gott !" fell from his lips, and while he complacently stroked his stomach, he continued — " Ich habe genus:!" We saw many apricots of the finest type, and afterwards ate some in a preserved state, at the hotel. Our host told us the apricots came originally from Damascus. We 150 BOUSE OF S 1 M"N Til F. r a N N i;i;. thru slowlj returned toward the city, and were fortunate enough to get a fine view of Arab horsemen practising military evolutions. The troopers were well mounted, but poorly uniformed. The} are surely the most expert horsemen 1 ever saw. Tlnx drop the reins at times, and guide the horse solely by the heel, while they east their long guns high in air, catch them again, and per- form many teats, in fact, which more than astonish even American spectators. As we neared the gate, we saw a great many camels — some standing erect, awaiting the word to go, and obedient to travel. They are veritably ■• ships of the desert," and can withstand the fury of many gales and storms. We think, on the whole, that we have had a pretty I introduction to Eastern life on this, our first day in the Holy Land. The music of the word Holy does not jingle well with the clash of arms, but they are mingled; every person we have met to-day, every native 1 mean, is well armed; and, for protection, and for moral suasion, wi follow the fashion of the day. It can do no harm, and may save us some trouble. Later in the da)', and it was our last exploit in sight-seeing, we visited the house of •• Simon the Tanner." in which ahode the deny- in- apostle. It feels strange to crunch under our heel the same sand on which Peter stood eighteen hundred years ago, and it is with indescribable emotions that I now think of that fact : so it is. The house, it is almost folly to think, has existed since that distant day of pro- phets and apostles; it is, I think, several hundred years old — no more; hut its site is, without doubt, nearly or MEET AN AMERICAN. 151 exactly the same. It is by the "seaside." It stands directly on the sea, on the top of a small bluff overhang- ing the tide-wash. The old well, too, of Scripture memory stands there yet. We then returned to the hotel, and partook of a supper which was equal to the dinner which Blattner with Eastern hospitality had pre- pared. He has everything extremely well cooked — though cooked as it is in a land long forsaken by the light of the gospel and of civilization, and which now withers under God's curse. We were quite agreeably surprised this morning at meet- ing an American. He is a preacher of the Baptist Church, and has often delivered sermons at old Sansom St. Church in Philadelphia. His name is Mr. A s, of New York. He has been travelling latterly up around Jerusalem, and has returned safely to Jaffa, en route for the West. He gave us news of the Rev. J. Wheaton S., who has been travelling in Syria, and to whose splendid discourses I have listened in Philadelphia. Our minister to the court of Russia, Ex-Governor Seymour of Connecticut, and Mr. Johnson, United States Consul at Beirut, are in town also. The American consul here, our native friend, has had the stars and stripes flying all day in honor to them. We have been fortunate enough to engage horses, Moukary (muleteer), &c, to take us to Jerusalem. We pay thirty piastres for a horse, or one dollar and twenty cents, in American money. To-morrow, at 10 A. m., we leave Ramleh ; next day, Ramleh for Jerusalem ; so by Friday night we hope to sleep within the walls of El- Kuds. God grant it. 1 .-J THE A DTHOR S STORY. Roman convent) Ramleh, in tin Plain of Sharon, Thursday March 3d, L859. Before proceeding to speak of our present whereabouts, 1 will write a little more of antediluvian Jaffa, whose dull gray walls now lie far behind us. Last night we retired at quite a late hour; our party had sat up until the small hours hail begun to draw near. I was called upon tor my story, and in substance very briefly told the following : — •• A- haunted stories seem to be in vogue, I will give one which was told me by a friend of mine, who was well acquainted with the facts of the case. My young friend was a college-mate of mine, and among other inci- dent- of his youthful life, he gave me this adventure : — One eold night in February, IS — , a jolly crowd had col- lected in a wayside inn, just out of D., a town in Massa- chusetts. The night was raw, and the winds bleak and wintry, as they came trooping over the cold carpet of snow, and singing around the corners of the old inn in doleful pipings. But within all was gladness and content- ment, for a large wood (ire crackled on the ample fire- place, and spread light, warmth, and joviality through the group. Cider and sweet potatoes were placed in great profusion about the room, and all seemed to he joy and Iness. None thought of the stinging winds without, and none thought how cold the homeward path would be. Lost in the comfort and conviviality of the present moment, they laughed away their cares, and drowned all thought of the chilling robe of snow without in deep potations of the 'apple's primary juice.' Thus the night the author's story. 153 wore on, and none seemed willing to make the first move or take the first step toward breaking up the party, which sat in such an unbroken circle around the fire. The hard thought, they had to go, each would quickly banish from his mind as fast as it arose, and each strove to eke out another half-hour or so by the genial blaze. Stories were told of blood, murder, ghosts, and goblins, and told in such quantity that many of the party had serious doubts arising in their minds if they would not patronize the roadside inn that night, and go home by daylight on the morrow. And some older and more sedate farmers who composed that group, although they had loving wives and several children at the other end of the cold walk, who doubtless w T ere expecting them, and who would give them a warm welcome home — these same farmers, I say, their imaginations somewhat wrought up, and a tale or so of graveyards clogging yet their brains, thought also it was imprudent to turn out on such a night, and concluded, some of them, to stay in the inn also. The company was just about separating, bidding each other good-night and God speed, and wishing, and very heartily too, that many such occasions might be theirs. Suddenly the quick jingle of sleigh-bells, and the grinding crunch of a cutter, were heard distinctly by all those who yet remained in the old inn. It was a late hour, and the night was raw for any one to be about in. The sleigh stopped in front of the large door, and in an instant a step sounded on the stone staircase, and then in the hall — and then in strode a tall, bearded fellow. His dress was in much disarray ; his heavy buffalo-skin overcoat was wide 1 5 I Til i: \ i thor's story. open, his hair hung over hia face, and despite the tem- perature of the outside weather which he had lately Left, drops of perspiration hung in beads on his forehead. Il«' left them not long wondering as to Ids mission. "Landlord, he said in quick uervous tout's, 'have you a horse for love or monej — sa^ yes, for a horse 1 must have. [mpatience seemed to stamp Ids every action. ■■ Before the landlord could reply, the stranger — he was a Btranger there, for none in the company know him — commenced again : 'Think me not strange, gentlemen, in going about my business before I was polite enough to say •-nod evening' to you; but mine is doubly a matter of life and death, and I must appeal to the noble-hearted- ness of some of this party — yet listen to me, and I will tell you the case briefly. In my cutter, which stands at the door, I have a poor sick, dying friend' — 'Let's bring him in by the fire,' spoke quickly the generous landlord, starting off to the door, followed by several of the warm- hearted tanners. 'On no account,' quickly and emphatic- ally spoke the stranger — 'on no account; he cannot bear removal; the sands of his life have nearly run out; to move him would be to murder him. That poor friend of mine, gentlemen, reached Boston from Europe a few days He came home to die. He travelled as far as D. by the trains, and there I met him to convey him to his mother's, the widow II.. who lives some eight or nine miles distant, whom [ suppose some of you know.' Several nod- of assenl greeted his interrogative gaze. 'And so I IiTi the town of I)., intent on my mission of mercy. Jusl as I neared the last toll-gate out yonder, my servant THE AUTHOR S STORY. 155 met me there in great haste, told me by all means to fly with the greatest haste home, that my house had been burned, and it was feared my wife had perished in the flames. This was told me, gentlemen, not ten minutes ago, and here I am, appealing to your kindness and aid. I cannot leave my friend alone ; yet I must relieve this awful suspense of mine in regard to my wife and children. If the landlord can furnish me a horse, and if some kind friend present, who upholds humanity's teaching, will consent to drive my poor friend in the sleigh to his mother's, then all will be well. The latter will be a deed of charity which man nor God can never forget, and, added to this, a suitable recompense I will pay immediately myself.' " The landlord said he could lend him a horse, and as he spoke a young and robust farmer arose and signified his readiness to the stranger to see the sick man, his friend, safe to his mother's, but he did not wish any money for his action — if he could do one good act, that in itself would reward him. The stranger gladly accepted the offer, and after vainly endeavoring to press money on the young man who was so disinterestedly kind, he bade all a hast}^ good-night, mounted the landlord's horse which had been brought to the door, and soon he clattered quickly out of sight, the horse-hoofs ringing over the hard snow-crust, as he rushed at a rapid pace. " The young farmer drew on his overcoat, adjusted his heavy gloves to his hands, and, warming himself with another mug of cider, he bade all a cheerful good-night, opened the door, and strode through the snow to the sleigh. There sat the poor sick man, bolt upright; so 1 56 rHE \ i mow s STOB v cold and rigid, thai the young man at first thought he was frozen. "1 have consented to take you to your mother's, sir, for your friend, and am Borry thai I kept you waiting so Long — hope you are nol very cold, sir.' No replj came from the sick man. The young farmer thought a little Btrange of this, but he fancied he saw the invalid make a Bign of impatience, and, without Baying further, he Bprang into the cutter, arranged the thick robe, and started. The horse in the meantime had rested »d deal, and moved off at a smart trot. •• Some distance was traversed thus, and as yet the sick man had not opened his lips. The young farmer re- marked this, but attributed his silence to averseness to conversation, when he knew his days, nay, his very hours and minutes were numbered, and that he was -training every point to reach his aged mother's lap and then expire. So our young philanthropist said nothing, merely remarking occasionally the beauty and brightness of the moon, and the stinging coldness of the night, or making use of some such casual expressions, •• At last, when about four of the eight miles had been accomplished, and not a word had as yet been deigned in reply to the farmer, the cutter drew near a dark tangled wood, through which it was necessary to pa s nil author's STOK v. oozing. It was an awe-inspired feeling that reigned in the farmer's bosom. Alone with a corpse — with the corpse of a murdered man — on this raw, bleak night, at midnight's hour, and in a sleigh with an exhausted horse! •• I lis feelings were far from being enviable. What should he do? casl oul the body, and endeavor to make his way hack and tell how it realh was. or invent a story to suit circumstances? Of course he would not think of going OH to the Widow 11. s. It was all a well-devised, though atrocious hoax — a method of shifting responsibilities — and to this well-laid scheme he had been made the dupe. lie determined to act the part of an honest man, at all events — to let justice take its way. and to further its ends in all that he could. He slowly turned his horse around, ami silent lv commenced to urge the patient steed toward the roadside inn. •• Before he had gone many miles, he was met by a party of men — going whither he could not divine, at this time of night. They asked him immediately what was the object he had reclining in the sleigh. Imprudently he evaded their questions; and finally told them it was a d'ad man. proceeding at the same time to give a plain, unvarnished statement of the whole affair. They laughed at him — said they saw through it all — said it was fortu- nate they had met him, and ended by telling him they arrested him in the name of the law. " This was a dilemma, indeed ; hut all the farmer could they laughed ;it. The poor man could say nothing; he had no witnesses. I [e was taken from the sleigh and placed behind one of his captors, and thus rode solemnly into the the author's story. 159 town of D., one of the party at the same time occupying the cutter. Well, the former stood his trial for murder ; and being defended by good counsel, and good character, was miraculously acquitted; but the stain of suspicion of murder hung to him, until, a few years after, a pastor was called to see a dying man in Sing Sing Prison ; who, among other things, confessed the murder of the young man in Massachusetts — that he had invented the stories in the tavern, and had succeeded in fixing the guilt of the murder on the wrong individual — and that he had the murderer arrested by a party he sent, having assured them that foul play was going on, on that road. The dying murderer gave all the names, and begged the good priest to give publicity to the facts told him, as he wished to make some reparation to a good man. But the most interesting part of this narrative was, that the young farmer was my young friend's, my college-mate's, father ! 'Many a time,' said my friend, 'did my father beguile his children with this tale of his midnight sleigh-ride with a corpse.' " After I had concluded my story, I looked around to see the effect it had produced. Some were half asleep; others paying a semi-divided attention to me and a plate of sliced oranges ; and I fancied I heard Meinherr, to whom Ess- linger was translating my yarn, give utterance to his usual k 'Ach! inein Gott! Herr T. ist ein ." I could not determine what the remainder was, for Meinherr with- drew with a candle and sought his room. Shortly, all of us followed suit, and sought the sweetest repose of man's life, only to be found in " slumber's pleasing chains." Rev. L60 SYRIAN MAIL SERV [CE. Mr S — tt and myself occupied a nice airy room, over- looking the dark depths of the Mediterranean, and from the windows n\' which we gazed Long on the sleeping Turkish town. Thoughts on thoughts crowded through our minds as we stood 1>\ the humble casement of that Eastern hotel, and recalled things of sacred import, while we Looked on the flat-topped houses of Jaffa. But wearied nature gradually yielded to her own "sweet restorer." and it was with a sigh of satisfaction that wo touched the nice clean sheets which good Blattner had spread for us. The dawn came, and in sport, I fired a percussion cap on my pistol, and awoko my different sleeping companions. We soon descended, and partook heartily of a good meal — another triumph of our Jewish host in the culinary department. We loitered about the town again for an hour or two, and in our ramble we saw a j^ortion of the mail « rrice, as conducted in Syria. This consisted of two genuine Arabs, I should take them, dressed in rather a fanciful, hut very picturesque style. These men bring the mails from Jerusalem to the sea-coast, and return with the mails, they get at Jaffa, to Jerusalem. If I am not misinformed, they travel on foot, too, yet it is said they make better time thus than horsemen do. That is poor encouragement to us, and we Tiave procured horses too ! Our consul called on us again to-day; just after he left, in came the chaplain of the Macedonian, United States ship of war, which we saw lying at Alexandria. He was accompanied by an American missionary, by the name of Sanders, ;i kind, submissive, meek-looking gentleman, AN AMERICAN MISSIONARY. 161 who seemed to be in distressing health. I do not know to what denomination Sanders belongs. He remarked to Mr. S — tt that he received very little spiritual encouragement, and thought his labors as a pastor, and as shepherd of a flock, were far from being blessed. A hard lot that poor man's must be — away out in that heathen port. It is little indeed that he is thought of in his own native land, where the pave is crowded on Sabbaths with satinned shoes — where the rustle of silks grates richly on the ear, and where princely furs protect the fair wearers who go to God's house to advertise some dry-goods establishment. Little indeed think they of his labors. What a contrast is presented ! But both are Christians, and both are sure of heaven's shining crown. The one reaches that happy goal because the money in her husband's coffers can be made into ladders, by which she can climb into paradise ; the other enters more easily — " Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ" is his watch- word — but so wags the world. The chaplain — I think his name is Bixley, or something like it — has been travelling around Jerusalem, but he came away, and forgot a mission with which he had been charged ; so he requested Mr. S — tt to bring him some of the dirt from the Garden of Gethsemane — that was the mission ; and the dirt Mr. S — tt was to deliver to him in Rome, where, the chaplain says, he will be when Mr. S — tt returns. They bade us good-bye, and left with many " God speeds." At last everything was settled up, our bill at Blattner's receipted, and each mounting the first horse he reached,. 11 62 Bl BLIGA l. EVENTS IN J A PPA. we rode bIowVj iii a single UK' cavalcade out of the gates. We presented rather an imposing show, and in fact formed quite a caravan. Bach of us was well mounted, ami .•arli armed with -1111. pistol, or knife. As we gradually left the place, ami wound our way through the saml\ Lanes, bordered by the gigantic cactus, many thoughts of this old city, renowned biblically and historically- Hashed through my willing brain. By reference to '_! Chronicles, we find that it was at this port where was floated in the cedar from Lebanon destined to aid toward the erection of Solomon's magnificenl temple. In the l(>th ver.se of the 2d chapter we read as follows: "And we will cut od out of Lebanon, as much as thou shalt need: and we will bring it to thee in floats by sea to Joppa; and thou shalt carry it up to Jerusalem." The preposition must indicate. I suppose, a rising country; but we will before we reach the city of the Great King. It was in Jaffa that Peter, as he prayed on a house-top, beheld a singular vision — it was there he heard the voice in refer- ence 10 the clean ami unclean beasts, and which bade him eat "what God hath cleansed" (Acts x. 15). It was in Jaffa also that the great Apostle raised "a certain ciple named Tabitha" to life. " But Peter put them cdl forth, and kneeled down and prayed; and turning him to the body said. Tabitha, arise. And she opened her eyes, and when she saw Peter, she sat up" (Acts ix. 40). It was from Jaffa the rebel Jonah, wishing to shun Nine- veh and gel rid of his unwilling mission thither, em- barked to Tarshish, whither he found "a ship going:" ••-« he paid the fare there >f, and went down into it, to MASSACRE AT JAFFA. 1G3 go with them unto Tarshish from the presence of the Lord" (Jonah i. 3d verse). According- to Joshua xix. 46, Jaffa was given to Dan, one of the sons of Israel. It was then called Japho, and has changed very little since then ; as Porter says, " a remarkable instance of the ten- acity of Shemitic names." It is coeval with the flood, and has a history since then which will make one ask the question — "and is it indeed true that /stand in Jaffa?" In its history, I refer to an incident which occurred in Jaffa in March, 1799. It was a deed of blood — a deed which for ever darkens the name of one of earth's greatest heroes. It was here that four thousand human beinscs were immolated on the altar of Napoleon Bonaparte's proud ambition. " On the 4th of March, 1799, Yafa was invested by the French under Napoleon. In two days a breach was made by the cannon and declared practicable. The town was carried by storm, and delivered over to all the horrors of war, which never appeared in a form more frightful. During this scene of slaughter a large part of the garrison, consisting chiefly of Albanians, took refuge in some old khans, and called out from the windows that they would lay down their arms provided their lives were spared ; but otherwise they would fight to the last extrem- ity. Two officers, Eugene Beauharnais and Crosier, Napo- leon's own aides-de-camp, agreed to the proposal, and brought them out disarmed in two bodies, one consisting of 2-100 men, and the other of 1500. On reaching the head- quarters Napoleon received them with a stern demeanor, and expressed his highest indignation against his aides-de- camp for attempting to encumber him with such a body 1 1' I MASSACRE v i .1 \ FFA. of prisoners in the famishing condition of hie army. The prisoners were made to sit down in fronl <>!' the tents, their hands tied behind their backs. Despair was alreadj pictured in every face, for the relentless frown of the general, and the gloomy whispers of the officers, could not be mistaken. Bui no cry was uttered, no semblance of cowardice exhibited. With the calm resignation cha- racteristic of the Muslem spirit and faith, they yielded to their fate. Bread and water were served out to them, while a council of war was summoned to deliberate. For two days the terrible question of life or death was debated. Justice, common humanity, were not without their advocates; hut savage barbarity, under the name yA' political necessity, prevailed. The committee to whom the matter was referred unanimously reported that they should be put to death, and Napoleon immediately signed the fatal order ! •• On the loth of March the fearful tragedy was brought to a close. The whole of the prisoners were marched down to the sand-hills on the coast, firmly fettered; and there they were ranged in small squares, for execution. The French soldiers were drawn up in front, with a full supply of ammunition. A few minutes were allowed the victims to prepare for death. In the stagnant pools among which they were placed, the} performed their ablutions according to the rules of their faith, and then uttered a few words of prayer. Taking each others' hands, alter having placed them on their hearts and on their lips, they gave and received an eternal adieu. They made a Last appeal — not to the humanity of Frenchmen, POISONING OF CAPTIVES. 165 for that they saw would be useless, but to the capitulation by which their lives had been guaranteed. The only answer they heard was the command for the soldiers to fire. Volley after volley was poured in upon them. For hours together nothing was heard but the rattle of musketry and the shrieks of the wounded and dying. One young man burst his bonds, threw himself among the horses of the French officers, and, embracing their knees, passion- ately implored them to spare his life. No wild Bedawy of the desert * could have resisted such an appeal; yet Frenchmen sternly refused, and he was bayoneted at their feet. An old chief, slightly wounded, had strength enough left to hollow out with his own hands a rude grave in the soft sand ; and there, while yet alive, he was interred by his followers — themselves sinking into the arms of death. After the massacre had lasted some time, the horrors that surrounded them shook the hearts of many, especially the younger part. Several broke their bonds, clashed into the sea, and swam to a ridge of rocks beyond the reach of shot. The troops made signs to them of peace ; and when they came back, murdered them ! Four thousand human beings were thus butchered ; but the vengeance of Heaven followed their murderer to the rocks of St. Helena !" Another act of Napoleon — a twin to the one above recorded — was the poisoning of five hundred captives, by Napoleon's orders. This occurred in the present Arme- nian Convent, which the French, prior to Napoleon's retreat to Egypt, occupied as a hospital. It is a favorite theme for condemnation with the English. Besides the 1 6 PLAIN OF SHARON. \ nenian Convent, used as above stated at one time for a hospital, there are two others — the Greek and the Latin — Imt they are all small, as are three Mohammedan mosques which were shown us in the town. There are said to be in Jaffa some antique columns and pillars taken from A.scalon, bui although 1 instituted minute inquiry, I was unsuccessful in finding them. I hope to do SO when 1 return to the ancient port. Jaffa contain-. 1 understand, in the neighborhood of six thousand inhabitants — the greater pari being Muslems. Chris- tians number aboul one thousand, and uative Jews aboul two thousand. Jaffa has a rickety wall towards the sea. bui it could he easily scaled, as its defence consists in a tew old puis, which are never manned. We had a lovely and most pleasant ride from Jafl'a through the fertile Plain of Sharon, and. as we dashed in hilarity of spirit- over the level fields, we entertained hopes that our journey to Jerusalem would not he such an arduous affair after all — but to-morrow's sunset will deter- mine that point. For several miles we had Aral) com- pany. Several horsemen seemed to be awaiting us as we issued out at the gate leading from Jaffa, and, uninvited, joined our cavalcade. They jogged alowg with us until it was evident to them we were a "slow coach." and so they -purred away, and left us to ourselves. 'Idle Plain of Sharon is a beautiful level tract of country, overspread with a thick carpel of variegated flowers, stretching as far ahead a- we could see. Numerous dry torrent beds - I'd the outspread tract, hut verdant groups of flowers A DECAYED TOWER. 1G7 clustering on their gulches, in rich profusion, compensated for the disfiguration. Sharon and Philistia, in ancient times, joined, and many great cities stood on their united plains ; but they are now all dead and sunken for ever. " Sharon is like a wilderness," and the cities of Philistia are fallen. Gaza is " forsaken," Ascalon " a desolation," Ashdod is " driven out," and Ekron " rooted up." And as we galloped through this land of biblical record, and thought of what once existed here, our feelings can be far better imagined than described. Our pace was good, and at half past three we reached Ramleh ; and here we are now. We have stopped at the Latin convent, and are indebted now to Spanish Catholics for the hospitality of the night. To tell the truth, thanks to Esslinger's knowledge of Italian, we are now most comfortably fixed. After we had indulged in a good cold-water wash, we sallied out as fresh as ever to take a look around the town. About half a mile from the convent we came to a large wall enclosure, and in it was an old decayed tower. It stands on the site of what was once a large khan — built in 1310 by the Khalif Nasr Mohammed ibn Kalawun, and is spoken of as the ivhite toicer by Arabic writers. It was about sunset when we reached this spot, and as fortune would have it, we were just in time to hear an Arab go through with his prayers. In fact, it was his howls and shrieks and unearthly sounds that first attracted us. The man was high up in the tower, and his prayer consisted in sound. I could not under- \\ OCCIDENT. stand the substance of a monotone — spun out to such n length, that before he concluded, 1 had sketched the old tower, which I herewith present. Some one said to Meinherr thai this resembled his haunted tower in Fater- land near Heidelberg, and suggested thai the noisy some- body in it was nothing other than his Satanic majesty, u der Tuyfel." To this. Meinherr cocked his gray eye- iws, ami very vehemently, as usual, uttered — "Ach! mein Gott!" I never, in my life, saw liner specimens of cactus than those which grow here around Jaffa, in perfed chaparals. We saw also and .gathered some very iitiful single whorl flowers, which Esslinger asseverates is the far-famed rose of Sharon, and he pretends to be "posted" on these matters. We were much struck, in passing through the burying-ground, with the manner in which graves are left open. They are all left with a large opening at the Toot. 1 had the curiosity to peer down into one. and my gaze was satisfied with the sight of some hall' dozen bleached skulls, and arm and leg bones in any quantity. It forcibly reminded me of my dissecting- room day 8. When returning to the convent, an accident, which came near being serious, befell one of our party, in which I was a participator. S. and sell' were casting stones at a species of hawk, which were so tame that the birds would alight within ten yards of you, and would only fly when we sent a stone whizzing by them. S. wished some of the birds for the purpose of stuffing them, hut fearing to use his gun. he trusted to stones. He chanced to step before me just as I had propelled with my full force a heavy missile. It fell full on his unprotected A PRETTY VILLAGE. 1G9 head, and he dropped like one who had been shot. He rose again, but staggered and fell. Finally, I got him to his feet ; he is the coolest fellow I ever saw. He would not complain, though at a slight examination I found his pulse went flighty and irregular; and now he is laboring under decided concussion of the brain. 1 am doing my best for him. His scalp is cut considerably, but his cra- nium is uninjured. To-morrow morning at six o'clock we leave here for Jerusalem. It is a long and hard ride over a tall, rough, and flinty mountain path — there is no road. This little place in which we are now so snugly settled, and whose name signifies " sandy," is a pretty village, situated immediately in the Plain of Sharon. It is inter- sected everywhere with cactus hedges, while an occasional broad-leaf palm adds beauty to the whole scene. The appearance the houses present, is (like all Arabic towns) very singular. They are all perfectly flat-topped, and are built apparently of a dull, heavy mortar, which gives them a gray, unrelieved, monotonous appearance. The country around us, however, looks so odd, that it is pleas- ing to a stranger even in that. In a favorite author of mine, and from whom I have several times quoted, we find the following succinct account and history of Ram- leh:— " In history there is no mention of Ramleh earlier than the ninth century ; and Abulfeda states that it was founded in the early part of the eighth century, by the Khalif Suleiman, after he had destroyed Ludd. The same fact is recorded by William of Tyre, and others. I , II ISTOH v ok i; a M i.i 11. Tlir town Boon rose to importance, partly, perhaps, from it- situation at the intersection of the great roads from Damascus to Egypt, and from Yafa to Jerusalem. In the twelfth century, the geographer Edrisi calls Ramleh and Jerusalem the two principal cities of Palestine. Before the time of the Crusades, Ramleh w;is surrounded by a wall with twelve gates; four of these, opening towards the cardinal points, had markets and mosks attached to them. On the approach of the Crusaders in L099, the city was deserted by its inhabitants, and immediately occupied by the Christians, who recruited their exhausted strength on the provisions the fugitives had left behind them. Here the Crusaders held a great least in honor of St. George, and formally installed him as their patron, on account of the miracle he had wrought in their favor at Antioch. The homage paid to him here prepared the way tor his advancement to higher honors. England soon adopted him. and other countries of Europe followed the example. ••The position of Ramleh made it a post of great im- portance during the crusading wars. In the year 1187, after the fatal battle of Ilattin, the town, with the whole plain, fell into the hands of Saladin; but four years later the approach of Richard of England changed the aspect of affairs. The Muslems destroj-ed the castle lest the English should occupy it. But notwithstanding this, the town became the headquarters of Richard, and the plain around it was the scene of many of his daring exploits. Qn one occasion, at the Feasl of All Saints, when riding- alone, he came upon a hand of Turkish scouts, attacked I HISTORY OF RAMLE1I. 171 them, killed some, cut the head off a noble admiral with one blow, and chased the remainder to the foot of the mountains ! On another occasion, however, he is said to have found a wild boar a more formidable adversary than the turbaned Muslem ; for, after a hard struggle, he came off with a broken lance and wounded charger. In the truce between Richard and Saladin, made in 1192, it was stipulated that the plain and coast from Tyre to Yafa, including the half of Ramleh and Lydda, should remain in the hands of the Christians. In 1202, Ramleh w r as entirely given up to the Crusaders, and remained in their possession until 1266, when it was finally captured by Sultan Bibars." CHAPTEB VIII. Prussian Hospice, Jerusalem. | Friday, 4th March, L859. ( T A.M in Jerusalem! At last I stand in the holiest of holies, ami my greatest earthly wish is now satis- fied. It is a difficult matter, too, seated as I am here, in a snug cosy room by a grateful heat, to realize that I am in the City of the Saviour — Him who was tin' mightiest Prince of David's royal line, and that I have trod those same streets which He and His disciples walked eighteen hundred long years ago — over which the army of Roman Titus rushed in former days, and spread abroad havoc and desolation — where, in fine, have been enacted some of the strangest scenes that were ever played on the stage of time in the theatre of life. Can I indeed believe that I have gazed on sacred ( Mi vet's sloping green, and on Gethsemane's divinely-honored enclosure? Ay! the answer is a blissful affirmative. Here I am, thousands of mile- from home, with two deep oceans roll- id waters between, and — I sin nil in the home of David and Solomon, of Peter and John and JESUS! It bere the Btirring events of their lives robed them in :i name, and with a fame, which have been handed down to US, and which will be known as long as time lasts. It (172) "^-%J DISSATISFACTION. 173 was here Jesus Christ, the humble Nazarene, spent a pious life endeavoring to sow better seed from which a richer and more abundant harvest would spring up ; and here He played the most terrible role in the grand drama of Man's Redemption — affording spectacular scenes which convulsed the earth — yet which by their exhibition saved the world from universal condemnation. No man knows the morrow ! This morning when we arose at Ramleh, my friend S. was a good deal better, thanks to the antiphlogistic effects of cold water. In fact he is a wonderful, incomprehensi- ble fellow ; I cannot understand him — or his physical nature — at all. His system possesses singular recupera- tive powers ; this morning he was in the saddle sooner than any man in the party. He has an iron constitution, and a will — material or non-material — which can be described by the same metallic adjective. We left the convent and our Spanish entertainers, not very well pleased at our treatment — at least Esslinger and myself were very much cfo'-spleased. When we reached the con- vent last evening we had every reason to congratulate ourselves on our safe arrival at such a comfortable stop- ping-place; but when the miserable supper was }3laced before us, hungry, famished men as we were, things began to wear a different aspect. We did not complain, however, but went to bed half-starved — we were seeking their hospitality, and, being " beggars," we could not of course arrogate to ourselves the right to be "choosers." But this morning the breakfast was ivorse than the supper of the previous evening; and when we were about to 171 PATH I'K G ERM \ No. leave, Esslinger gave the Padre who attended on us one yapoleon. Whal was our surprise when he showed evi- dent signs of displeasure — even of anger! Bui Esslinger was obdurate, and we had decided thai a Napoleon was all thai we could disburse for such hospitality; so we very leisurely rode away — no doubl accompanied by many Battering anathemas. Writing the word "Padre" reminds me of our fal friend. Father " Germano di Geru- salemme." 'That good-natured and well-conditioned priest came to see us yesterday morning in Jaffa before we left thai town, and expressed his greal concern that he could not accompany us. as he had intended, to Jerusalem. Church matters detained the worthy friar, and so we bade him an affectionate adieu. He quite won on us before our voyagings together were over; he embarked with us at Naples aboard the " Quirinal," and we saw him several times in Valetta. but it was after we came aboard the Meandre that the good Padre and ourselves became well acquainted. 1 hope to see him again. Last night Mr. g — tt and myself had a long and hearty laugh at an adventure with which my poor wounded friend met; I cannot record it for several reasons; it will do to tell, hut not to //•/•//' . For three hour- after we left Ramleh, we rode over what is a continuation of the Plain of Sharon, along a tolerable path— though the fields owing, to recent heavy rains, were very muddy. At the expiration of the above time, we reached the mountains — and then commenced our trial- and troubles! In all my life, I never passed er Buch ;i miserable, h<>rr'i •I reputation al this time; and it was with sonic slivht Misgivings — knowing the character of the place from hearsay — thai we slowly rode 1»\ the decaying mud wall. ^ e momentarily expected to sec a score of long-barrelled barddeJis thrust at us from the corners of the narrow streets. Bui we only saw a few Arabs — a wild-looking set tlir\ were — seated together in a lazy group, carelessly smoking their long-stemmed chibouks. The fearful bandit of whom I have spoken, was, not very long ago, taken prisoner by the Turkish authorities, and carried to Con- stantinople, where he died a miserable death in jail. This I have learned to-night, since I have been within the walls of Jerusalem. Had I known it five hours ago, my heart would not have beaten so irregularly. Dr. Porter, from whom 1 have quoted several times, says, in regard to this robber: ••There are the hereditary man- sions of the family of the once celebrated chief, Abu Gffiavsh, whose daring robberies and cold-blooded murders for a Ion-- time kept the whole country in terror, Turkish pachas included. The wild ravine down which the road leads from the mountain ridge west of the village, to the it plain, was often the scene of his exploits. His safe-conduct was necessary to clear the pass; and woe betide the solitary traveller or heavy-laden caravan that attempted it without his permission! On one occasion, two pacha- were -hot dead, in the midst of their retinues, by this daring bandit. At last, however, after nearly half a century of power and crime, the tardy vengeance of the Turkish government overtook him. The chief samuel's birth-place. 179 himself, and a number of his principal men, were seized in 1846, and sent to Constantinople. The subsequent fortunes of three of them were told to Dr. Robinson, by a member of the family. One had died in banishment ; another was still an exile in Bosnia ; and a third, after a banishment of five years, spent at Widdin, had returned home the previous year (1851). A number of the family still occupy the village, and, though forced by circum- stances to be a little more circumspect, their character has not much improved." It is a dark wild gorge in which Kirjath-jearim is situated, and I was heartily glad when we had left it several miles behind us. After this historically interesting village, we passed several others, but none of any importance. About two miles beyond Kirjath-jearim, however, we came to the reputed house in which Samuel was born ! It is nothing but the remnants of a mud wall, perched high up on a mountain, and looking barren, silent, and cheerless enough. Further on yet, Hassan showed us a small field between two high hills, in which, he gravely informed us, took place the remarkable duel between David and the giant of the Philistines. It seems singular for us to imagine such things as true ; yet many of them, per force of evidence, circumstantial and otherwise, we must admit as veracious — or at least plausible. After surmounting man}' and, it seemed, interminable difficulties, we at last commenced climbing a high moun- tain, from the top of which Hassan promised us a view of the Holy City. At length we were satisfied ; Esslinger I vii ii RST SIGH r OF J EB I S \ LEM. reached the summit first, and mj gallant Little steed bore me in just behind him. There la\ Jerusalem — the "lone, widowed Queen" — full before our gaze ; its compact build- ings clustered on a rough, ragged height ; no bustle — murmurings of mankind's bus} cares — and no signs of animated life meeting the eye. It was a solemn, yet a pleasing sight, to see the minarets, mosques, and grim, -ra\ walls flashing back the fading fires of the western sun. One must not imagine the .sight of Jerusalem, as it hursts on the view, to he grand and sublime, as is the ease with murky London and the French capital. It is a mere handful of houses, as compared to those cities; yet, as we stand and silently contemplate the nestling city before us. a holy charm pervades the scene, and fills our inmost souls with the serencst and most exquisite pleasure that ever thrilled the thinking being. The swelling dome of Omar's proud mosque, beneath which reposes the " Holiest of Holies" — the broad, square outline of the Tower of Ilippicus, or house of King David — the tall, arched roofing over the Church of the Holy Sepul- ,.],,,. — an d the just visible, swelling, beauteous brow of the .Mount of Olives, all lay in sight. My feelings were like those of a dream; 1 could scarcely realize that my brain was performing its rightful function. 1 drew my pistol from my belt, and discharged it in the air. As its loud report fell on our ears, the spell which held us was dispelled, and each of us uttered exclamations of joy and wonder, as the full force of our novel position came up before our minds. Our moukary and his attendants cast WITHIN THE WALLS. 181 themselves from their horses, and crying El-Kuds ! El- Kuds ! (the Holy ! the Holy !) prostrated themselves on the ground. We rode slowly on, over a broad plateau of rough shrubs, and stones, and with feelings which none can describe, we in a few moments, more solemnly entered the Jaffa Gate, and stood within the walls of Jerusalem ! Strange emotions those, that flashed through my mind — but they were not allowed to remain in possession of my bosom long ; for the swarm of Arab and Turkish boys that surrounded us, was perfectly awful ! Among the motley crowd, was a runner from the Mediterranean Hotel — a Greek I take him to be. He speaks English and Italian well — he is a most importunate fellow ! and even said that he knew our desires, and our necessaries, better than vie ourselves did! He even asserted most authoritatively that we should go with him to his Hotel. But Esslinger, whom we had elected Captain, had made other arrangements ; so pushing the fellow rudely and decisively aside, he motioned us to come on, and we followed Hassan, who, obedient to Esslinger's orders, was leading the way to the Prussian Hospice. Our Jew friend whom I have mentioned before in this Journal, was met, just before we entered the gate, by his joyous family, who reside here. He is living here engaged in a dyeing establishment ; he anticipates great riches. He promised to call in at our quarters, here. When we had fairly entered the city, we had to dismount and go afoot, as the stones were very slippery, and some of the descents and ascents very sharp. I never before saw such streets — not 1 82 111 i: PR l SSI V N HOS PII E. wide enough for two horsemen abreast, and so steep and broken that it Looks like a needless risk of life to ride down them. We were the object of much wonder as we walked through the streets, speaking English and German — but their garb and themselves — touie ensemblt — were sights equally as novel to our gaze. .M\ pistol, purchased in Naples, — hanging in my belt, seemed to attract the avaricious eyes of several young warlike Arabs. Finally- however, we arrived at the Prussian Hospice, where we had previously determined to " put up," while we sojourned in Jerusalem. And here we are all now-, and most comfortably "fixed," too. We have had coffee and coarse bread, and are much refreshed. While I am writing these words, our company congratulate them- selves on our safe arrival in this ancient city. This hospice in which we have been so fortunate as to obtain lodgings, is supported at the expense of the Prussian Turnout, and is solely intended for the entertainment of travellers. It is a snug and most comfortable place; but a rery singularly constructed establishment, withal — genuine Eastern style, of course. A high wall or founda- tion looks on the street, and on it the house proper is erected. We climb up a narrow wooden staircase from the Btreet, and step into a court about forty feet square; around this enclosure, the house is built. The kitchen is directly in front of the door from the street. We end a flight of stairs, leading from the first court, and come to a terrace — here are the best rooms. Mr. S — tt and myself occupy one. Another short staircase Leads to another terrace, where is situated the room which DR. BARCLAY. 183 has been assigned to Esslinger, S., and the " brave huzzar." Another flight of a few steps leads to the " wall" or top of the house, from which a fine view is to be had, and where I expect to pass many evenings, despite the temperature, which is anything but pleasant. Our room is very airy, and the thermometer is very low. In coming from Ramleh to-day, the sun was so hot in the valley as to burn my face as " brown as a berry" — in fact, so excessive was the heat, that I panted as if I was laboring through one of July's hottest days. But here in Jerusalem, it is quite different ; the winds whistle ominously around the buildings, and through the narrow streets, and the sky wears a threatening snowy aspect. From our window, we have a fine view of Mt. Scopus, Mt. Olivet, Church of the Ascension, a small portion of the present Silwan (or ancient Siloam), Valley of Jehosh- aphat, the Hill of Evil Advice, the Mosque of Omar, and Mt. Zion. What holy feelings necessarily pervade us, as these sacred objects are thrust on our view ! After we had partaken of coffee, Mr. S — tt called on the missionary, Dr. Barclay, who is so favorably known by his elaborate work, the " City of the Great King." He has just returned, with an invitation to our party to repair thither in the morning, and take our "first comprehen- sive (?) view of Jerusalem from Mt. Zion," whereon the Doctor resides. Mr. S — tt reports that he became acquainted with a young lady at Dr. B.'s from Virginia ! I mention this, because it seems .so singular that a young lady should be here from Virginia. A long way from home she is ! Jnj FIRST WIGHT IN JERUSA LEM. Bui 1 musl close m\ Journal 1 believe 1 could write all night; but I need deep, and it waxes late, and I must be refreshed in order to enjoy the Bacred sites and Bcenery wound me. The bub has sunk to-nighl on me in Jerusalem — this same sun. eighteen hundred years ago, witnessed, in neigh- boring Bethlehem, the birth of the humble Nazarene; and afterwards turned red at His Bufferings OH Golgotha, up yonder! Singular! and yet — not singular. CHAPTER IX. Prussian Hospice, Jerusalem. 1 Saturday, March 5th, 1859. j ('^r^HIS nas been a singular day to me — singular, be- cause surrounded by so much of oddity, that my position has been painfully novel. We did not rise from our comfortable beds until quite a late hour this morning ; we needed rest from the fatigue yes- terday's labor entailed on us; and so we courted the Sleep-God until ten o'clock, and were loth even then to loosen his embrace. Having partaken of a rather simple breakfast — one in which we were much deceived — we started, en masse, for the residence of Dr. Barclay, to fill Mr. S — tt's engagement of last evening. We were most hospitably received by Dr. B., at his home on Zion — and we were most agreeably entertained, and, though in Jerusalem, in real " Old Dominion" style. I am much afraid that out peculiar costume, chosen in accordance with the rude nature of the country, did not do honor to our worthy hosts. We satisfied ourselves, after we withdrew, with the reflection and hope that they knew we had better attire somewhere in the world. I am confident, however, that our kind entertainers never once thought of our (185) 1 86 a B i ki> s-i; v v. v 1 1: u . apparel, however brusque it was. Many a Laugh, 1 hope. our tlritut on .Mi. Zion will aiSford me, in coming years! 1 had .in interesting conversation with Mrs". 1>.. whose iH'\\ a doctor of medicine, I have often seen in Philadelphia, I . S. Mrs. B. informs me he now practises at Beirut. After conversing most pleasantly for awhile — during which while, however, poor Montag could not say a word on account of ignorance of English — we all adjourned at the Dr.'s request to the terrace of the house, in order to look around. Dr. 15. explained very fluently the various ideas he held concerning the situation of several localities of religious importance and dispute; he put us in posses- sion of facts in regard to sites. &c, &c, of which 1 have Longed, even since childhood, to think. The Dr. informed us that the valley before us once echoed to the footfalls of King David's warlike hosts, and also to the frenzied cry of the rude Romans of Titus's army — that the very house beneath US stood on Mt. Zion. and under it was to this day an aquedud of Solomon's antique time. To our left he pointed out the magnificent Mosque of Omar, said to possess a dome of the most perfect spring in the world. This reminded me forcibly (though considerably smaller. I should think) of the Lordly dome of St. Peter's iii Koine — tic- towering monument of the almost divine skill of Michael Angelo. We gazed with interest at the open enclosure (by which I mean free from trees and much tended) of the ancient Temple or present IlaramArea, wherein should :i "Christian dog" by mistake or otherwise :. oil' iroe.s |,i. head! Dr. B. related to us several AN ADVENTURE. 187 anecdotes of fruitless attempts on his part to enter the enclosure. He wished to explore the whole establishment, in search of objects of interest and ancient antiquities. It had long been his wish to do this ; and he had offered bribe after bribe to the janissaries to allow him to enter, and on the condition that he would run all risks when once within the enclosure. Several different janissaries had consented to this plan, but directly the Doctor wished to put his design into execution, the watchful and remorseful guardians of the Pacha's holy things would refuse to perform their part of the contract, and the Doctor was disappointed time and again. Finally, it seems (this was told me by Miss , the young lady staying at Dr. B.'s) Dr. Barclay offered one of the janis- saries a horse, provided he would allow him, disguised and arrayed to suit himself, to enter the enclosure. The offer was too tempting to be refused, and this time the jan- issary was as good as his word. The Doctor was admit- ted ; but, not understanding the locality sufficiently well, he was soon detected ; his fleetness of limb alone saved his life on that occasion — a " trying" one truly ! He afterwards, however, was sufficiently fortunate to obtain permission from the pacha to visit the Haram, and he then had the satisfaction to visit thoroughly all places of interest within the enclosure. Miss Barclay (the daughter of Dr. B. and the wife now of Mr. Johnson, American Consul at Beirut), whose recently issued work I was fortunate enough to see a few days ago — or rather yesternhjht — gives an account of a visit to the Holy of Holies, which she performed at great personal 188 MISS BARCLAY. risk, and which could «> n 1 \ have been performed b\ one possessing the fullest developed powers of determination. It Beems the young 1;m1\ after various bribes, succeeded in winning over to her purposes several women of the Hareem, who promised to give her lessons, necessary to a righl conduct when once within the enclosure. She took regular exercises in a dress as worn by the women of the Hareem, and finally expressed her willingness to under- take the arduous task. Unfortunately she had not prac- tised sufficiently the art of walking in Eastern sandals, and that deficiency gave her great annoyance. She entered the enclosure with several of the women, being pletely disguised as one of them. She had nearly reached a sentinel who stood with his naked gleaming scimitar — the custodian of the place — by whom it was necessary lor them to pass. Suddenly Miss B.'s shoe, which -he had been endeavoring for some time to keep on. caught against an impediment and fell from her foot. Sh«- was bo confused at this, that involuntarily she threw up her long veil which covered her features. In another instant she would have been discovered, but the Turkish Bentinel, true to his orders and the custom, turned away immediately, and did not look on her face. It is a severe penalty for them to look on the face of a woman. She then gathered renewed confidence — for she knew from this circumstance that -he was not suspected — and she ssed safely on. To this is due the magnificenl chromo- ph view of a scene under the proud dome of the Mosque of Omar, which appeared in Dr. Barclay's justly celebrated work. "The City of the Great King." This MOUNT OF OLIVES. 189 was a hazardous adventure when we remember that the penalty, if discovered, was death, or become a member of the hareem. With our sex there is no alternative ; the bowstring is our immediate sentence and doom. So none of our party were sufficiently emulous of fame to try the experiment of standing beneath the "Dome of the Rock." But I have been guilty of a lengthy digression, and must now return to the roof of Dr. Barclay's house, on Mt. Zion. From our position we could plainly see the Mosque el-Aksa — a long barn-like looking building, with a flat top and a small dome. It reminded me forcibly of a country railway station in America — the dome, on el-Aksa, representing the cupola or bell-house, on the station-house. This mosque does not compare in grandeur with that of Omar. The beautiful slope of Mount of Olives lay before us, its green sides arranged in terraces which stretch from top to bottom. On the summit of the sacred mountain is situated a church, called that of the Ascension ; because, by some, the spot is thought to be identical with that of the Saviour's ascension. We could plainly see the further wall of the Garden of Gethsemane, in the valley of Jehoshaphat — and the thousands of Jewish tombstones scattered beneath the olive trees — and spotting everywhere the sides of the sacred mount. Jews of every clime, country, and genera- tion, all struggle thither, that their bones may rest in the land of Abraham and Israel ; and the love they possess, even now, for poor fallen, dilapidated Jerusalem, is strikingly exhibited in this last act of their lives,. I'm i in r .1 1 u s. which place- their bones under the turf of Mt. Olivet, to bleachen beneath the shadow of the Temple wall. It is strange what an unanimity of feature betrays these wandering ami widely-scattered people, which were once the largesl flock that roamed the plains of Palestine. In Northern Syria alone, we find examples of a race bearing the mini- of dews, who are very sliuhth Jewish, accord- ing to our standard, in features, in manners, or customs. They are a tar nobler set than those dews who Hood Jerusalem, and who stock every port in the Levant, and whose face is the guarantee for acts of contumely and contempt towards the unfortunate owners of the Israelitish features. This class, however, affords the only example of diversity of features and habits. Our Jews in America — of course much more refund, and far more deserving, because, in many of our cities, they form the most, and sometimes tic only, creditable portion of our population, — show the same similarity of features — the short curly, glossy dark hair; the clear, beautiful skin ; the almond- Bhaped, Liquid eye; the large sensual mouth; the still Larger and thoughtfully ponderous nose — all are the same ;i- with the richly-attired, turbaned, and red-sandalled merchant who loiters through the narrow streets of Jeru- salem, and with the miserable leper-mendicant who begs alms of you, at the Zion nate. And they all show this reverential feeling toward their long and forever lost city — which shone with such splendor in the days of Solomon, and towered so grandly when the humble One of Nazareth Buffered crucifixion on neighboring Golgotha. Tie- Hill of I'M! Counsel (or Advice) lay to our right, ACELDAMA. 191 and over against us. It was here " they took counsel to kill Jesus." Right above is the Hill of Slander (or Reproach) because Solomon in his old age, carried away with lustful passions, and forgetting the God who gave him his riches, wisdom, and power, here erected a gorgeous temple to his courtesans. It is known to this day as the Hill of Slander, and furnishes a good example of how a bad name clings to one, especially when it is deserved. In the same locality, is Aceldama — the " Field of Blood"— the small patch of land, bought with the traitor Judas' ill-got money. It is a barren- looking rocky spot — one well befitting in looks the dastardly act by which the bloody tract was purchased. On the site of Aceldama, stands now a long low building which is, and has been used as a charnel-house. Farther to the right, below the " gardens in the King's Vale," in the downward torrent-bed of the brook Kidron, situated high against the overhanging cliffs, is the Village of Silwan — called so from its proximity to the Pool of Sacred Memory. We could only see the top of some of the straggling mud huts of the village, as the rest was concealed behind the swelling brow of Zion. After feasting our eyes with the varied scenery of sacred spots from the house-top, we descended and partook of some refreshments in the shape of nice pound-cake, and what was better still, we were given to " wash down" the delicious cake, nothing more nor less than wine from. Hebron — the juice, pure and unadulterated from the wild vineyards of Mt. Hebron ! Just to think of that ! It L92 PL \»'K OF w \ i l I \ i... scarcely Beems possible that such a l«>t should be mine — hut bo it is, and I am thankful. A.s Dr. Barclay suggested, we descended, and, with him as our guide, we wound through several narrow alleys, and took our way to that portion of the ancient Temple- wall, where the .lews meet on every Friday, to weep over the misfortunes of their fallen race, and lave the large stones iu penitential tears. It is called from this observance the " Place of Wailing." We enter the sad Bpot by a low gate, and stand in a small enclosed space, quadrangular or rectangular in shape, which is roughly paved) Modem houses stand on one side, a low wall on the other, and the Temple wall on the remaining sides. We saw several stones of magnificent proportions, having a singular flattened or bevelled edge, indicative of Jewish workmanship and of great antiquity. There are many large clefts and fissures in the rocks, into which the poor Jews protrude their heads, as far as they can get them when they wail; and the rude rock in many place- is worn smooth \>y reverential tears and kisses. I was 'aged in getting a piece of the ancient stone from the wall, as a souvenir of the place, and not with any idea of defacing the masonry at all — when a Jew, of whom there were three or four present, very violent 1\ reproved me, as I judged from his manner. He seemed as if meditating personal violence, despite the presence of our party. I desisted immediately, and gave a signifi- cant glance toward my pistol which hung in my belt. That was sufficient — he left me, poor fellow! and I procured the relic. By those who have witnessed the I ! ! r-f-v fe M ^' ; II i As && PLACE OF WAILING. 193 scene — which can be clone every Friday — the wailing day and its sights, are represented as being affecting in the extreme. Young and old, male and female, rich and poor, all cluster here in swarms, and send forth in prolonged and mournful chorusses their piteous wailings over their lost and now defiled sanctuary. As we stood on the spot, and heard Dr. Barclay so vividly describe the scene, how vividly did all the glowing recollections of Solomon's gorgeous Temple flash in flying battalions over my mind ! How sunken now and how changed the scene ! The turbaned Muslem treads through the sacred cloisters and archways which once echoed to the footstep of the wisest king of the East — and the lofty towering portico and the brilliant golden fane, are now hid beneath the debris of ages, and buried in fragmentary ruins beneath the wreck of time. Truly, indeed, " Oh ! God, the heathen are come into thine inheritance ; thy holy temple have they defiled ; they have laid Jerusalem on heaps. The dead bodies of thy servants have they given to be meat unto the fowls of the heaven, the flesh of thy saints unto the beasts of the earth. Their blood have they shed like water round about Jerusalem ; and there was none to bury them. We are become a reproach to our neighbors, a scorn and derision to them that are around about us." (Ps. lxxix. 1-4.) Dr. Barclay wished to show us a gate, or the remnants of one, which he discovered sometime since ; but we could not climb over the wall to get at it, and the proper open- ing was closed. The Doctor says the gate is a magnificent relic of by-gone ages ; he considers it one of the ancient 13 I'.'l mi: BAZAARS. splendid Temple gateways. 1 made a rude sketch of the " Place of Wailing," l»ut bave since found an admira- ble photographic view of it, which I have appropriated. It is accurate to the utmost minutiaa. From this place, so sad in its interest, we took our way toward tlic Bazaars, expecting of course a fare sight of splendor and beaut) spread out for our curiosity, our latter and disappointed expectancy notwithstanding. We found most of the Bazaars buddled together all in tern, to Dr. Barclay, and rtedon our way home to the Prussian Hospice. We were sure of finding our way quite readily hack to our quarters, notwithstanding Dr. 15. assured us we would find //a difficult undertaking. But we merely laughed ;l t him. thinking he was joking us— and took our way AT A LOSS. 199 rapidly through the Bazaars. At the other end we expected to turn into a little street, and in a few moments stand at the foot of the outside staircase of the Prussian Hospice. We reached the end of the Bazaar, but no small street teas there ! This looked badly. Well, we wandered about considerably, each man— Esslinger in particular- confident of his knowledge of the way, and giving orders to "follow me!" but we finally came to the conclusion that we were all wrong, in toto. Whereupon we held a council of war. We could not speak Arabic sufficiently well, to make any inquiry of those passing ; nor could the silly Turks and Arabs speak French, German, or English, but we had slight hopes of Italian, as some of the Arabs understand it. So, like a parcel of fools — or sheep, to say the least — we were compelled to stand still, and watch out in every direction for some decent-looking fellow, who when he came by, Esslinger would rush out, and accost with a half-mad " non parlate Italiana ?" A vacant stare, a very puzzled look, and then a volley of gutturals deep enough to choke a German would fall on poor Esslinger, from whom a smothered " tarn !" alone told us the ill-success of his venture. After shifting head-quarters a dozen times, and wandering about an hour or so, like a discon- solate guerilla party, we at last fell in with a very Dutchy looking boy, who in response to Esslinger's hazardous " Konnen sie Deutsch ?" admitted that he could, by opening his mouth and dropping out a most emphatic "ja! mem h err-so T "Gut!" ejaculated Esslinger, his eyes brightening up. To make a long story short, the boy very kindly led us about twenty-five yards, and turning 200 a i>\ i n r r R K IN \ K N [C E. sharply to the right, there lay our staircase looking as natural as ever. "Da!" said the boy — and refusing to accept a trifle, \\ alked off, followed by our well wishes. We had walked wound the Hospice a dozen times. This adventure reminds me of one similar, in which it was my fortune to participate. It happened in Venice. M\ good friend, Frank G., of New York City, and myself, sallied out, the afternoon after we had arrived in the far- famed water city, to view the beauties of the Molo and the Piazzetta di S. Marco — to gaze on the Ducal Palace, the Grand Canal, and the Bridge of Sighs. We very r.adih found the Piazzetta di S. Marco, because the entire promenade-tide set in that direction, and the hour for promenading was near. After sating our curiosity to some extent, our hunger became so great, that it was ssarj to sale that, as well. So we turned about, and. walking leisurely toward our hotel, the ViUoria, con- tented ourselves with arraying, in our imagination, the 1 things our Venetian albergatore would spread before at the quick-coming table d'hote. On we walked, and dived and twisted into and about the narrow streets — but the hotel did not come in sight at all! The houses around us, too. frowned down upon us, and looked very _ • and unfamiliar, as the}- Hung their distorted Bhapes over the narrow streets. Well, we walked, and walked, and walked, and c'Stait '<>>//. as the French say. We could not find our way hack, that was a manifest tainty; ami. in order to get home and get sometliiinj t<> eat, we finally entered a store in the Piazzetta di S. Marco — hack to which we had wandered a dozen times — and BLACK BREAD AND GOAT MEAT. 201 hired a store boy for a zwanziger or so, to show us the way. He walked about two minutes, in a perfectly straight direction, it seemed to us, and turned into the court-yard of the Vittoria. But to return. When once back in the hospice, we indulged in cold water, externally and internally, and then sat down to — I must say, in justice to my veracity, in my humble opinion — a most miserable dinner. Black bread and goat meat ! bah ! But to compensate for the edibles, we had fine wine from the Judean Hills, and in great abundance. This liquor resembles very much in flavor, and is equally as good as, the Lachryma Chrisii of Rome — and oh ! it is so much cheaper ! only costing us about twelve or fifteen cents per bottle. Essliuger speaks grandiloquently in its praises, and asserts, with German vehemence and Oriental enthusiasm, that he intends sending a ship to Jaffa, and have it freighted with this nice, cool, sparkling wine. S. suggests that he be made skipper of said craft — and the subject getting dreggy, drops. Having finished the ordeal of wadding down goat meat and black bread, and black bread and goat meat, as the case happened to be, we procured horses, and, pursuant to our engagement with Dr. Barclay, proceeded to his house on Mt. Zion. Essliuger and the valiant v - huzzar" did not accompany us ; they were deterred by prospects of a rain. The doctor, on this visit, was to take us around the walls of Jerusalem, outside, in order to make us familiar, to a certain extent, with the present ;ii id ancient landmarks of the city — an all-necessary, or, at least, very important preliminary step, prior to a 202 I'll r. GOLDEN G \Tl-:. urn amid this debris and wreck of antique times. Unfortunately for our plan-, the doctor was ailing; be had a violeni nervous headache, and could not accompany us. Bui Miss , the young lad} staying with Dr. B., mosl kindly offered her services as our guide; we heartily accepted, and. without wasting our time, off we started, all in -ood spirits, and. what was better still, in good ,7, s — quite an item for a rough cantor here. We dashed rather hastily, and dangerously, I thought, along the narrow, rockv. slippery, descending paths — or streets, t.» dignify them by another name. We at last left the city, and by St. Stephen's (late. Near this gate, they say, St. Stephen suffered martyrdom — hence its name. Aj9 we were passing under the arch, we came across a dog of a most ferocious aspect and disposition — so ferocious, that I record it. He was so uncivil to me. that I was hall" inclined to make him another martyr, without iking irreverently, by sending a bullel through his lead. We took our way along a portion of the ancient Temple W all — on the east, overhanging on its high Muff the deep Valley <.f Jehoshaphat. This wall is now in a line with. and is included, 1 believe, in the general ramparts, forming a portion of the fortification. We in a few moments reached the Golden Gate, which is tin- most remarkable feature ami object of curiosity in this section of the wall, mse -imply there is nothing more to see. I was not much -truck with this Golden Gate, of which I had heard iuch, and read more, in English, German, and French le-books. It is evidently much more recenl in date THE JUDGMENT-STONE. than the wall into which it seems very plainly to be built. It stands out several feet from the general line of the for- tification ; it has a double portal, and rather handsome arches over each door (these closed by cemented stone). There are several pillars and pilasters — some of the Co- rinthian and some of the Ionic order — both vitiated. Porter speaks very positively of the comparative modern date of the Golden Gate. Perhaps some sixty yards below the gate, Miss pointed out to us a rough ragged stone, projecting some distance beyond its fellows. On this stone the followers of the Prophet affirm that Mahomet will sit in judgment over the world at the last day. He is to be the judge, and that piece of rude granite — his throne. On that terrible day, the good and the sinful — resurrected of course — are to collect on the opposite slope of Mount Olivet, and one by one they shall attempt to cross over the yawning abyss beneath them on a small wire. The sinners, when half way, shall fall into this valley— which by the Arabs is called Hinnom (or Ge-Henna by the Jews, meaning hell)— and there meet their due reward; but the righteous and pure in heart shall pass safely across, and enter the Temple or Paradise. If I might venture a comment, I dare say there would be considerable ivire- pulling on that trying day. Doubtless the Mohammedans borrowed this idea from the descendants of "Father Abraham," who, as I have mentioned before, flock thither that they may die in Jerusalem, and be buried beneath the sod of Olivet ; because they think that it is here at the awful day of wrath their true Messiah will judge the -"I \ \ i i iy OF JEHOSU a I'll a t. "quick and the dead." The similarity of traditions is manifest. This wall along which we rode is commonly known as the llaram Wall, as it forms a portion (cast side) of the llaram enclosure. How beautiful Olivel looked from our position as we stopped a moment to gaze on the pictu- sque mountain before us 3 with its venerable olives scat- tered plenteously on its green brow — olives which per- haps east a shade here in the time of Christ ; — on ;i close examination into the cortical structure of these trees, I have no doubt but that some of them were cotemporary with .lesns of Nazareth. The Church of the Ascension showed we-11 from this position, and I anticipate the plea- sure of going again to that same spot, and enjoying the glorious panorama in early morning, which. J am told, is Iht hour to enjoy the scene here and then presented in all its richness and gorgeousness. We next descended into the deep vale lying between us and .Mount < Mivet. This is called the Valley of Jehosh- aphat; in it there are four tombs of as much, if not of more, importance and interest than any others in or near Jerusalem. They are arranged in nearly a right line, and a view of one includes all. I shall repair thither at an early day in order to sketch the group. The Tomb of Absalom, or more properly Pillar of Absalom, come- first in order as we proceed down the valley, and that. I shall first notice. At the inferior por- tion, the torn!) is built of massive solid stones, but the top, ashioned like an irregular cone, is of masonry of large Bquare stones. I believe, and appears simply to Absalom's pillar. 205 be stuck on to the lower portion at a much more recent date. The diversity of the styles of architecture, and the difference of material used, might lead us to infer that the lower part of the structure was original work, and that the cruciform appendix was an ornamental (?) adjunct, placed there by a later generation. This was likewise the opinion of Mr. Ferguson, who was a good judge in such matters; but Dr. Robinson thinks that the architecture warrants the statement that the monument is as old as Herod's day at least. This tomb has by some been said to be that of Hezekiah, by others, that of King Jehoshaphat. It cannot be the latter, if my memory serves me correctly ; for in 1 Kings xxii. 50, we read — " And Jehoshaphat slept with his fathers, and was buried with his fathers in the City of David, his father • and Jehoram, his son, reigned in his stead." The italics are mine. By the City of David, here, in this place, is beyond all doubt meant Bethlehem. Neither, I think, can this be Absalom's Pillar, for " Absalom in his lifetime had taken and reared up for himself a pillar which is in the King's dale ; for he said, I have no son to keep my name in remembrance ; and he called the pillar after his own name, and it is called unto this day Absalom's place" (2 Sam. xviii. 18). Now all concur in placing the " King's Dale" far below this spot, and in the neighborhood of En-Rogel, which I shall notice later; and according to Scripture, if I mistake not, Absalom was killed in the wood of Ephraim by Joab on the clay of the defeat of the Israelites, and " they took Absalom, and cast him into a great pit in the wood, and laid a very great heap of stones rOMB OF rill" APOSTLE JAMES. upon him : and all Israel fled awa\ unto his kent"(same chapter, 1 7 1 1 1 verse). Bui main Jews, however, think- ing this the veritable Pillar of Absalom, always casl a > stone at it. and utter an anathema as they pass, in token of their disapproval of the base conduct of David s rebel- ling son. The -tones at present are piled high against the side- of the monument, and exist also in large quan- tities inside — so much so. that exploration is impossible. The dimensions of the pillar 1 suppose to he. roughly, aboul forty-five feet high, and about twenty-five feet front. 'Idie second tomb which we reached was that of the Apostle .Tames. This is quite a large chamber hewn out of the rock in the cliff, and consists of several smaller chambers for the repose of bodies. It is supported by two columns, ami two half-columns, of an order 1 forgot to notice particularly. " In this tomb, says tradition, the Apostle dames Bought refuge during the interval which elapsed between the crucifixion and resurrection of our Lord. The tradition is first found in Gregory of Tours, win-re it is said, that when .lames saw the Saviour dead upon the cross, he vowed he would neither eat nor drink, until he should see him rise again. On the third day, i ur Lord showed himself to the apostle, saying. 'Arise and eat, for I have now risen from the dead.' The story, however, does not appear to have been connected with this Cave, until the time of Maundeville, in the fourteenth tury." We have then no authority other than this, for believing this to he the tomb of the apostle. If other proof exist. I have not been able to lay my hand on it. f= TOMB OF ZECHARIAS. 207 However, I was told that this was the tomb of St. James. Every guide in Jerusalem and every writer on Jerusa- lem speaks of it as that apostle's tomb, and so I have recorded it. The third tomb was that of Zecharias, him who was stoned, during the reign of King Joash, in the Temple court. In 2 Chron. xxiv. 20-21, we read: "And the Spirit of God came upon Zechariah, the son of Jehoiada the priest, which stood above the people, and said unto them, Thus saith God, Why transgress ye the command- ments of the Lord, that ye cannot prosper ? Because ye have forsaken the Lord, he hath also forsaken you. And they conspired against him, and struck him with stones, at the commandment of the king, in the court of the house of the Lord." This, then, is the tomb of the victim of Joash, on which we gazed. But God's righteous vengeance was not idle; it soon afterwards, ail-wisely, overtook Joash, and that monarch was slain. I know of no slab which marks Jus last resting-spot. The tomb in question is rather of simple construction, and is cut from the solid rock. It has a couple of pillars in front, and over the inferior part is built an irregular pyramid. Some authorities say it is the tomb of Isaiah the prophet — but I know not on what basis. The architecture of the tomb makes it only about eighteen hundred years old. There is yet one other tomb of biblical antiquity, which gives rise to several disputes — to reconcile which, I cannot, of course, make a single attempt. For I must humbly confess I did not see any of it at all. Miss , I believe, pointed it out, or what remained of it. I refer 208 rOM B ov t ii 1; v i rg I N M A R v. to the Bo-called tomb of King Jehoshaphat, to which monarch I have referred, in speaking of the pillar of \ isalom. The same objection raised then, bears equalh well here — that there is but one tomb of Jehoshaphat, and it is in Bethlehem, or the "Citj of David." Portei says it "is in the north-east angle of the excavated arch around the pillar of A.bsalom," and thai "the pediment alone is visible, owing to accumulations of rubbish." After contemplating, for several moments, these objects of Bacred interest, of which 1 have endeavored to write ething, we slowly turned our steeds away, and com- menced the winding ascent of the Mount of* Olives. We came very soon to a very ancient-looking, gray-walled structure, resting in a sunken court to our left. The facade was quite pretty, consisting of two pointed Gothic arches, with a square architrave and large fine porfoil. This purports to be the tomb and the chapel of the Virgiu Mary, the mother of the Saviour of mankind; whether or not it is. I cannot say. The Virgin, I know, has other repute. 1 burying-places. I am told that it is also said — Joachim and Anna, the parents of Mary, and of Joseph, her husband, are also interred here! It is a romantic-looking spot; I hope to visit it, in a day or two, and enter it — this privilege is only obtained very early in the mornings, and on festival days. We lingered here only a short time, and then rode on toward a small enclosure of heavy masonry. Inside the enclosure we could Bee a small, squalid, miserable habita- tion, several rows of flowers, and a half dozen or so mag- nificent venerable olive trees. This was the famous GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE. 209 Garden of Gethsemane ! How my heart leaped as I drew near that sacred spot ! and it seemed as if I was threading the mystic maze of a dream as I gazed on the few feet of earth before me, made doubly hallowed by the bloody sweat and agony of the Saviour. It was here He prayed that the " bitter cup" might be spared Him, and it was here that He was betrayed by a disciple's kiss ! It was with much interest, then, that we drew up as we reached the garden, and peered inquisitively over the wall, above which we could just see. We had not time, how- ever, to enter to-day. We intend devoting a good portion of our time to this garden. I am told that the Greek Church, out of jealousy toward the Latins, who keep the Garden of Gethsemane, have made and enclosed a garden of their own, and intend, when their trees have grown sufficiently large, to allow visitors to enter to see the sacred places there also ! Shame on such a people ! a people honoring, as they profess to do, the name of Christian ! Shame ! We contented ourselves with one last parting look, and under the excellent guidance of Miss , we once more commenced our way up the white zigzag path leading to the top of Mount Olivet. We passed on very swiftly toward the summit, several minor accidents happening on the way. S. bestrode a steed of rather singular make ;.- added to this he had an improper saddle-girth. These together made this consequence : an impossibility for his saddle to remain in situ. Slip off it would, in spite of all S. could do ; who, to remedy the evil was mounting and dismounting all the time. At length, however, we 14 210 PL LC 1' OF r II i: A SCE X SION. reached the top, on which is the reputed place of the A- 'MM. ui. A small octagonal church is hero creeled, ami pretends to stand en the actual site from which Jesus took his flight to heaven. Dr. Barclaj dors not coincide with this tradition, although ii is the oldest in existence around Jerusalem. In John wo road that Jesus led his disciples a- tar a- Bethany and there look leave of them. or •• was carried up into heaven." This spot — the lop of Olivet — is very near to Bethany, it is true, hut is u<>K by any means. ,/.s far as Bethany." There was a, church hero, years and years ago, said to have been built by Helena's directions; hut it has long since passed away. From the top of the present church, or from the summit of a tower near by, a most complete and magnificent view of Jerusalem is to be had; the city, lying a hundred or so feet lower in situation, is comparatively beneath us. From this elevated position, we can see far away over the wilderness of Judea. even to the Dead Sea, which lies motionless, still, and dark, far away, resembling a glittering mirror of quicksilver, encased in a rocky setting. Later in our ride, we saw the place of Ascension >rding to Dr. Barclay. It is just by Bethany, and •• up a high mountain." We were shown several caves in tli^ Mount of Olives, all more or less sacred — though in what consisted their sacredness, I have idrgotten. It is useless, I imagine, to burden one's memory with all the superlative nonsense ai d stuff which are continually poured into our ears. I shall repair to the summit of BETHANY. 211 Olivet again, and, if I can, write out the magnificent view to be obtained there. We next passed over the mountain towards Bethany, which ancient town we were all very desirous of seeing. More than probable, our route was the very same over which our Saviour so often trod eighteen hundred years ago ; indeed all authentic writers on Jerusalem and its environs, notice this road as the same by which Christ generally wound his way toward the house of Lazarus. Only a quarter of an hour elapsed before we reached the village — for we went at a rapid rate, too rapid to enjoy the scenery so sacred, spread out around us. A few dilapidated straggling huts burst upon our view, and I instinctively knew that I gazed on time-honored Bethany, the home of Lazarus, of Martha, and Mary ! and often, in these far days of early Christianity, the grateful resting- place of Jesus Christ. Alas ! the glory of Bethany has departed — and the howls of the hungry dogs of the Becldaween tell mournfully of the filth and wretchedness here collected. What singular emotions crowded my mind as I drew in my horse, and gazed long at the forty or fifty decayed mud structures, which nestle over the resting- place of old Bethany ! This then was the spot made so sacred in the trying scenes of the Drama of Redemption, by the presence of the persecuted Son of Man — this the spot, whence He marched on his triumphant way to Jerusalem — this the spot, where He raised Lazarus " from the dead," and where He often passed sweet moments at the close of day ! Bethany lies over the other side of the Mount of Olives, if 212 BETHANY. 1 may so speak — that is, from Jerusalem — and itssqualid, huddling hovels, nestle closely together, on the south- eastern Ledge of the mountain. It is, I imagine, about two A.inerican miles from Jerusalem, a "little more than fifteen furlongs," as St. John has it. The Bcenery along the road h\ which we went to Bethany is exceedingly \. and our pace was far too rapid to enjoj it. 11 . I shall take a stroll thither by foot, in a few days, so that 1 may linger a- long as 1 wish, over the sacred way along which our Saviour often trod. The Arabic name for Bethany is eVAzir — which means Lazarus. i think the word Bethany, as we retain and use it. means " House of Dates." 1 imagine it received its name from the fruit borne on palm trees, which, 1 am told, existed here not many years ago. Whether or not Bethany is larger now than it was when the humble Nazarene made it a frequent resort, I cannot say. It must have then possessed more life than now. for a more wholly-deserted and desolate- looking spot, I never beheld. Only about a half-dozen of animated objects, of all species, refreshed our gaze there to-day — and those objects were presented in the Bhape of a miserable motley set of hall-clad Arab girls. hanging about, near a well. Bethany is beautifully situated, however, and overlooks the dark deep ravine, which lead- through the Moab Mountains to the deep depression of the .Ionian Valley. A view in this direction takes in the whole " Wilderness of Judea." It was from B many that Mary and Martha went to meet Jesus, who came from "those distant blue mountains on the further BETHANY. 21! side of that deep valley," to beseech Him to come and raise Lazarus, their deceased brother. It was in this dilapidated hamlet they chid Him for tarrying so long, asserting — had He been there, " our brother Lazarus had not died ;" it was here He raised that same Lazarus, and exalted himself as God and Benefactor; it was here, in the house of Simon the Leper, that the " woman having an alabaster box of very precious ointment, came and poured it on His head, as he sat at meat." And the house of Simon the Leper once stood in Bethany, where we were this day, for I am told its site is pointed out even now, to the very curious. We did not see it. Here, amid these decaying and decayed walls, Jesus so frequently " lodged," and, if I should speak my thinkings on a sacred subject, it was here that Jesus passed some of the sweetest moments of His life on earth. It was hence He marched, as I have said before, His triumphal train, and entered the City of Jerusalem ; and more than that, there scarcely can exist a reasonable doubt, but that He proceeded over the same route by which we ivent to the "House of Dates." I find in Porter, by the accomplished Mr. Stanley, a magnificent and masterly imaginative descrip- tion of the wondrous proceedings of that wonderful day. I cannot refrain from copying the extract so admirable — feeling confident that all who may chance to read these rudely written sheets, will thank me sincerely for so doing. The scene is described as by an eye-witness. " Two vast streams of people met that day. The one poured out from the city (John xii. 12) ; and as they came through the gardens where clusters of palm trees rose on 214 i ; BTH A.NY. the south-eastern corner of Olivet, thej out down the long branches, as was their wont at the Feasl of Tabernacles, and moved upwards toward Bethan} with loud Bhouts of welcome. From Bethaivj streamed forth the crowds who had assembled there on the |>iv\ ious night, and v\ ho came testifying to the great event at the sepulchre of Lazarus. In going toward Jerusalem, the road soon loses sight oi bany. It is now a rough, but still broad and well- defined mountain track, winding over loose rocks and les, and here and there deeply excavated; a Bteep declivity below on the left; the sloping shoulder of Olivet above it on the right; fig trees below and above, growing out of the rocky soil. Along the road the multitudes threw down the branches which they cut as they went along, or spread out a rude matting formed of palm- branches they had already cut as they came out. The larger portion — those perhaps who escorted him from Bethany — unwrapped their loose cloaks from their shoul- ders, and stretched them along the rough path, to form a momentary carpet a- lb' approached (Matt. xxi. 8). The two streams met. Half of the vast mass, turning round, preceded; the other halt' followed (Mark xi. 9). Gradu- ally the Ion,-' procession swept round the little valley that furrows the hid, and over the ridge on its western side, where first began the descent of the Mount of Olives toward Jerusalem. At this point is caught the first view of the Bouth-eastern (western) corner of the city. The Temple and the more northern portions are hid by the f <)ii\et oil the right; what is seen is only .Mount Zion, now. for the most part, a rough field, crowned with BETHANY. 215 the Mosk of David, and the angle of the western walls, but then covered with houses to its base, surmounted by the castle of Herod on the supposed site of the palace of David, from which that portion of Jerusalem, emphatic- ally the ' City of David,' derived its name. It was at this precise point, 'as he drew near, at the descent of the Mount of Olives' (may it not have been from the sight thus opening upon them?) that the shout of triumph burst forth from the multitude, ' Hosanna to the Son of David ! Blessed is He that cometh in the name of the Lord' (Matt. xxi. 9). There was a pause as the shout rang through the long defile ; and as the Pharisees who stood by in the crowd complained, He pointed to the stones which, strewn beneath their feet, 'would imme- diately cry out if those were to hold their peace.' Again the procession advanced. The road descends a slight declivity, and the glimpse of the city is again withdrawn behind the intervening ridge of Olivet. A few moments, and the path mounts again ; it climbs a rugged ascent, it reaches a ledge of smooth rock, and in an instant the whole city bursts into view. As now the dome of the Mosk-el-Aksa rises like a ghost from the earth before the traveller stands on the ledge, so then must have risen the temple tower ; as now the vast enclosure of the Mussul- man sanctuary, so then must have spread the Temple courts ; as now the gray town on its broken hills, so then the magnificent city with its background — long since vanished away — of gardens and suburbs on the western plateau behind. Immediately below was the valley of the Kidron, here seen in its greatest depths as it joins the TOM B OF LA Z a R l S. valley of Hinnom, and thus giving lull effect to the greal iliarity of Jerusalem, Been only on its eastern side — situation as of a city — rising out of a deep abyss. It is hardly possible to doubt that this rise mid turn of the road — this rocky ledge — was the exact point where the multitude paused again, and 'He, when lie beheld the citj . wept over it." " Before we turned our hacks on this ragged, flat-topped village, we visited the reputed tomb of Lazarus; and saw just above it the- remnants of a very ancient house, said to he the one in which the brother lived with his Bisters Mary and Martha. This seemed more like the shattered and tottering wall of an old fort or rampart, than anything The tomb of Lazarus is entered by a low. dark opening, into a large overhanging cliff. You descend - iveral steps, and reach a small chamber, in which, tradi- I -;i\ -. Lazarus once lav dead — from which state, by the puissant arm of Him ••in whom there was no guile," he - raised again to life. Whether or not this is the iden- i, -jiot of the miracle, I cannot affirm; that it was here near here, I have every reason to believe; for it was in Bethany — and any point in Bethany, from the nature <>f circumstances, must he near this place. I am inclined . seriously that the reputed place is the correct -pot. I) iring all of our sight-seeing, however, we were much ommoded by a whistling, roaring, voice-destroying wind. I never before witnessed its equal in violence; it was all our Bteeds could do. sometimes, in skirting the summit of some of the high hills, to keep their feet, and EN-ROGEL. 217 more than once, I thought to consult safety by dismount- ing. But as regards this — if the truth must be told — I considered our necks in danger from the moment we sallied out at St. Stephen's Gate, until, far later in the night, we, a most forlorn party, sallied into the Jaffa Gate. From Bethany, we started home, and came around, so to speak, by the Valley of Hinnom or Ge- Henna — a bad place too, for the latter word means hell! Our party, however, had a Divine in it, and our company was good, whatever our whereabouts. We visited en-Rogel, or Joab's Well ; the Pool of Siloam, and the Fountain of the Virgin ; of these localities I will here say a few words, deferring a description to a later portion of my Journal. En-Rogel, or the Well of Joab, or of Job, as some have it, is at the junction of the brook Kidron with the Valley of Hinnom ; it is said to be ancient, and, if genuine, is indeed " as old as the hills." It formed a landmark in the boundary lines between the territory of Benjamin and Judah. We read in Joshua, 15th chapter, 7th verse, " And the border went up toward Debir from the Valley of Achor, and so northward, looking toward Gilgal, that is before the going up to Adummim, which is on the south side of the river ; and the border passed toward the waters of Enshemesh ; and the goings out thereof were at En- Rogel." The well seemed to be quite deep, and moss grew profusely on the gray stones, which reached even down to the water. The whole structure is of rude masonry, covered over with a very modern shed of wood. It is in a lovely situation, and, in spite of the cold weather which has of late visited this region, the grass 218 POOL OF SILOAM. grew green and flourishing around. I am told thai the well, although from the surface of the ground to the bot- tom I- one hundred and ten feet, yel in the season of rains, the wain- swell high and pour even over the rude rim of stones encircling the mouth. Whence is the sourer o[ the water 1 cannot imagine, nor can 1 learn. It must have its rising, however, 1 think, from some of the large pools in the same valley. The Arabs call this well Bit F.ipih. which means •• Well of Job." A shorl distance above En-rogel is the far-famed Pool of Siloam — the one to which our Saviour sent tin- blind man. savin-. "Go wash in the Pool of Siloam." The Arabs call this place, if I mistake not. Silwan; they call the adjacent village Silwan, I know. It was once con- tended that this pool was connected with the Fountain of the Virgin, which is higher up the valley, and this was in fact proved by Dr. Robinson, the energetic explore]-, to whom 1 have already referred several times. After most arduous labor, ami a grand display of indomitable pe. verance, the doctor actually passed the entire length of the conduit from the Fountain of the Virgin to the Pool of Siloam. He describes the passage through the aqueduct at some [.laces as most difficult, inasmuch a- he not only compelled to go on " all-fours," but " could only get for- ward by lying at full length ami dragging ourselves along upon our elbows.'' Tic- waters of Siloam have, since years "lang syne," been uoted as not being regular in their flow, and of pse the phenomenon was fully explained, after Dr. inson's indefatigable researches. The entire distance POOL OF SILOAM. 219 of the channel between the two pools is nearly eighteen hundred feet. Josephus is the best authority for locating the Pool of Siloam ; he determines it to be just where we find the present pool. We should be indeed thankful to the Jewish historian for so definitely marking a site of such celebrity in Bible history, and around which cluster so sweetly the memories of "the waters of Siloah that flow softly" (Isaiah viii. 6). The Pool of Siloam " is a rectangular reservoir 53 feet long, 18 wide, and 19 deep; in part broken away at the western end ; the masonry is modern ; but along the sides are six shafts of limestone columns of more ancient date, projecting slightly from the wall, and probably originally intended to sustain a roof. At the upper end of the pool is an arched entrance to a ruinous staircase, by which we descend to the mouth of the conduit that comes from the ' Fountain of the Virgin.' " Isaiah's tree, an imaginary sacred curiosity, is said to be near the Pool of Siloam. It is a tree so called from the fact, they say{?) that the prophet Isaiah was here cruelly sawn asunder by the harsh command of Manas- seh. We did not see the tree, however, nor did we at the time of our visit hear any reference made to it. There is yet one more pool which we included in our ride, and of which I have made mention more than once. I refer to the Fountain of the Virgin. In this fountain probably the interrupting flow was first discovered by Dr. Robinson. He gives an interesting account of the cir- cumstance. The natives give this solution of what was once a problem : A dragon of hideous form and dreadful ■--i' POD N r \ I N OF Til i: V [RGl N. Appearance keeps vigil mar the fountain. When he is <>u duly, or awake, the water does nol remit or How; but -i soon as the grim custodian yields to slumber, the flow commences, and continues until the dragon awakens. Some think tlic fountain to be identical with the old Bethesda, at which Christ worked a charitable deed Johnv.). Some think it Solomon's reservoir, described by Josephus as "between the fountain of Siloam and the southern side of the Temple." How the fountain received its name 1 do not know; I have been able, how- p, to pick up two tradition^ which may probably afford substan •<• enough wherewith to create a title. One is thai the fountain possessed the singular property of betraying Iterous women; it' women coming to this pool could Irink freely of its waters, and not immediately exhibit unpleasant symptoms, then their innocence and chastity were proved beyond cavil. It seems now that Mary, the m >ther of Jesus, was suspected of being enceinte out of wedlock. She gladly submitted to this test, and, as the litio to tat.', die passed the ordeal without flinching, and without the appearance of an unpleasant tell-tale symptom. The other tradition simply says that the Virgin came to the pool to wash her child's clothes. In either case we see the aptitude of the name. The Arabs have a jaw-breaking name for this pool, which I er Learned thoroughly, and which I have by this time forgotten /'// toto ; it means, however, the "Pool of the Mother of Stairs." What the name in this case signifies I cannot tell. Saving, in turn, inspected each of these places of A TRIAL OF SPEED. 221 interest, and learned as much about them as a horseback preliminary visit would allow, we turned away. We had nothing in particular now to see, and as the hour of sunset was very near, we raised our horses to a swift canter, and away we dashed ! A real breakneck scamper was that ! And at this point of our day's sightseeing, com- menced filling our cup of troubles, which, before we reached home, was indeed running over. But these troubles were the spice to our adventures, and as every- thing turned out well enough, why we could laugh at our vexations, afterwards! But I am anticipating. Away we dashed — Miss , S., and myself, ahead. Our gallop soon quickened to a run, and in a few mo- ments it became an exciting trial of speed between our three mettlesome chargers. As for Mr. S— tt, intent on examining holy places, he lingered behind, without noticing our rapid departure and the direction we took. We, of course, thought he was in our wake. But — we had taken the wrong road ! This information was kindly given us by some cut-throat looking Arabs, lying in the shade of a wild locust tree in the valley. We were astounded, for we had imagined that we were fast nearing the Jaffa Gate. We were going in the opposite direction, and were clattering on toward Bethlehem, and not toward the "City of the Great King." It was at this time very near sunset, when the gates are always closed — the Jaffa Gate being kept open one single half-hour longer. There was no alternative, and no time was at our disposal for consideration. We wheeled around, instantly, and came dashing back at the same breakneck, '___ \ RACE FOR JAFFA G \ TE. flying speed that had carried us thither. On our return, n the midst of our mad rice we met Mr. S — tt. looking very uneasy and "skittish;* for he Burely thought he was and he knew, by reputation, the character of the Arabs who loafed about the 'pools in the Kidron Valley! lie wheeled into our flying squadron, and the din of his horse's hoofs added to the clatter that made the valley again. On we went — niv noble little steed tnbled — 1 drew him up, and. with a few words of luragement, he was soon amid the others again, striving, it seemed, to reach the flying white charger of Miss . who heroically led the van. Alas ! poor fellow, he struggled in vain — the white was superior in length of limb. I imagined that Miss was much excited it the terrific gait at which we were speeding along. I determined to keep close as possible to her — so I encou- ed my little steed on. and nobly and beautifully did he run. 1 passed S. and Mr. S — tt easily, and was rapidly nearing Miss . who was leading directly up the rough, rugged brow of old Zion. dust then, to make O * CO ' a had matter worse Mr. S — tt's horse "kicked up," and • S. — who was <• tmpeting with our reverend friend for turf-honors — a severe blow on his ankle. I turned in my saddle to see the consequence of the kick. S. had dismounted, and Mr. S — tt. also on foot, was assisting him up the hill ! I imagined he was not seriously hurt, and suddenly thinking of Miss and of my ungallant 1 took a last look at my two friends struggling up the hill afoot, and gave free rein to my horse once more. When 1 reached the Bummitofthe hill. Miss had disappeared, and then.' was not a single soul in sight ! A TERRIBLE POSITION. 22) I pushed on, and still no appearance of our fair guide. I determined, under the circumstances, to await the coming of my friends. But it seemed that I had to wait for ever ! I rode, anxious and uneasy, back to the road up which, as I thought, I last saw them approaching — but not a living creature greeted my gaze ! I slowly began to realize my position — a terrible one, truly ! Outside of the walls of Jerusalem — after sun- set — knew not ten words of decent Arabic, and just then recollected most vividly every instance of Oriental cruelty on record, and particularly the recent murder of Miss Crecy ! ! ! To add to this catalogue, I was nearly 8000 miles from home and relatives and very dear friends in far away America ! No one can imagine the forlorn terror which for a moment held possession of my bosom. To add to my stock of troubles, my steed broke from me — I was on foot, holding him by the bridle — and walked very contentedly off! There was now no alternative pre- sented — but sleep in a cave — and perhaps " sleep my last sleep," or try and catch my truant steed, and ride some- where or everywhere. After a little strategy, I coaxed the faithful animal up to me, and fixed the bridle, saddle, and riding appurtenances most securely with my handker- chief : I then sprang upon his back, and in an instant was off like wind. Just as I was turning an angle of the city wall, Miss suddenly turned the same corner from an opposite direction, at a pace equal to my own. I was as glad to see her as an angel dropped from heaven. She was an angel to me then indeed, for she succored me in my distress. The noble and kind-hearted young lady had ridden on, and had given orders to the keepers that the '_'_' I w r REACH i 11 i GA I B. gates should be kept open tor our party. Following her directions, 1 pushed on, and, much to m\ joy, I soon stood once more within the shadow of the Jaffa Gate, and inside the walls iA' Jerusalem! In half an hour S. and Mr. S — u. under the charge of Miss , came hobbling up, ami our party was once more united at the Jaffa Gate. I, was a ride for life, as I shall always contend, and. as ;i participator. I shall always remember the adventure. Before going elsewhere, we went by the Mediterranean Hotel, where Mr. S — tt called on Dr. Gorham, our consu- lar representative, to whom he had letters of introduction from friends in Rome. The said Mr. Gorham is from Boston, and once hold a like position in Rome. We then, en masse, escorted Miss homo, whore we found the doctor's family somewhat uneasy about us, on account of our tardy appearance. We sincerely thanked Miss for her kindness in conducting us safely once more into the city; and. wishing all good-night, we left. Hassan was there waiting for us. and. under his guidance, we stumbled through the dark streets, and finally reached the Prussian Hospice. After tea a very kind and affable Mr. J — b — sn called on us. and proffered us his assistance in sight-seeing. Ih has dwelt here for several years, and. as a guide;, is au foil. I presume. Heirs Montag and Esslinger went this afternoon to the Mount of Olives, also to the Church of the Sepulchre. Meinherr, the " Huzzar," is speaking now of the Qrab- kirsch* ; and Esslinger is so disgusted with the weather, that he advises and earnestly urges instant "flight into Pt." CHAPTER X. Prussian Hospice, Jerusalem. Sunday, 6th March, 1859. ! HAVE spent this day in the City of the Lord. The Lord's day in the City of the Lord! And who would have thought it ? / did not five months ago — but stranger things have happened. The last thing I did last night, before going to sleep, was to make an engagement with Mr. S — tt to accompany with him Mr. J — b — sn, who had kindly offered his services, to the Church of the Sepulchre, in order to witness Oriental worship in all its essence and purity. (?) But — and an unlucky but — we slept so late, or rather we slept so hard, that, when we awoke, the hour of the engagement had passed. But the rain came down in such torrents, that we could not have gone any way. Nevertheless I was very sorry, for I wanted to see the sights that are enacted, perhaps blasphemously, within the walls of the sacred church. " Hope deferred maketh the heart sick ;" never- theless, I live in hope — though it is sadly " deferred" — until next Sunday. We sat down to a tolerable breakfast. I must say, however, that my meals here give me more trouble and vexation than anything else. Not that I am a glutton — 15 (225) 226 CHURCH OF nii: SEPULCHRE. l, N Q0 means — but 1 am in bad health, and need nourish- ment, in the shape of rich and palatable food ; but it will In- a long time, I fear, before 1 can class goat meat in that category! But, (again) — we bave tolerable coffee — bread that will do — good wine — a few eggs occasionally — and after all, 1 guess 1 am content. We concluded, while sitting at the breakfast table, to take a walk, any way, to the Church of the Sepulchre; BO we sent around and requested Mr. J — 1) — sn, to accompanj us thither. He verj good-naturedly assented, and soon called for US. Off we started. Esslinger and ■ i John Montag in company this time, and after a walk of ten minutes we entered the church — I with the most singular emotions. Would that 1 could describe what I simply felt, as I am sure that it would constitute the most interesting page of my Journal. It is impossible to llel now, as I then felt, and to experience the same emotions in all their power, which then swept like light- ning through my frame. Suffice it to say then, that most singular indeed, were the actions of my mind, as I stood under the dome of the Church of the Sepulchre, and heard the sound of my own footfall, echoing away amid the sanctity of holy places. These holy places of course we saw. and were duly told by Mr. .1— b— sn, every tradition concerning each particular object, which gratified our curiosity. We saw the Sepulchre itself, and I stood under the myriad blaze of perfumed oil burnt in golden scona and most reverentially, I knelt down and kissed the -tone, reputed to be the one in which the Saviour of Mankind once reposed in death. I defy the most CHURCH OF THE SEPULCHRE. 227 sneering atheist or infidel, to enter this place without the holiest emotions intruding themselves on his mind. It may not be the exact spot where the dead Christ once lay, and I am far from believing it — yet four-fifths of the Oriental Christian population agree in placing it here; and, what weighs more in my estimation, with the place is for ever connected the name of Jesus Christ — Immanuel — Him of Nazareth — The Great I Am — Our Lord — Saviour and Redeemer ! As I walked into the small and brilliantly lighted chamber, in which is the Sarcophagus, I experienced feelings which I cannot write down on paper, because I cannot even imagine them now — they were so unusual, so peculiar, so unearthly. Never shall I forget the deep religious glow which overspread Mein- herrs face, as he solemnly knelt on the cold stone floor, by the coffin, and lifting his eyes aloft, seemed uttering a heartfelt prayer to the One Supreme. On entering this place, the natives, generally, not only uncover the head, but also slip off the boots or sandals — as it is worse than pollution to stand in such a holy place, in the same shoes in which you have walked the streets. We were allowed, however, to go in with our boots on, though we showed a perfect willingness to conform to the custom of the place. Meinherr had gone so far as to take off one of his boots, before we could make him understand that it was not necessary. I was much surprised at the devotion and almost agony of grief which every pilgrim who came in, betrayed. Tears flowed from their eyes, like rain from heaven, and bedewed the stones on which we stood. Their sobs, C II Kin OF 1 II i: S I PI l.t II i: I . wrung, it seemed, from souls full of anguish, echoed through the narrow vaulted chamber. I was moved bv their emotions, and I fancied the} gazed on my trickling tears, with a tender and more subdued expression. Porter says: — •• Here I have often lingered, solemnized, almosl awe-stricken, Looking at pilgrim after pilgrim in endless succession, crawling in on bended knees, bowing lips and forehead and cheeks to the cold marble, and bathing it with tears, and sobbing until the very heart seemed breaking — then dragging himself away, still in the attitude of devotion, until the threshold is again crossed." And. in speaking of the tomb, he says: — "The vault i> said to be hewn in the living roek ; but not a vestige of it is now seen : the floor, tombs, wall, are all marble; while the upper part is so blackened by the smoke of lamps and incense, that it is impossible to see what it is composed of. The rock may be there; but if so, "Oh! if tin' lichen were but free to twine O'er the dark entrance of that rock-hewn cell, Say, should we miss the gold-encrustcd shrine, Or incense fumes' intoxicating spell ? W iald not the whispering breeze, as evening fell, Make deeper music in the palm trees' shade Than choral prayer or chanted ritual's swell? Can the [iimuiI shafts of Ib-lima's enlnnnadu Match thy time-honored stones, Gethsemane's holy glade?" The vault is covered over with a small, misshapen structure, perhaps twenty feet high and as many long. Tie- dome of the church was open, and to keep the rain from falling on the sepulchre beneath, a large cloth was CHURCH OF THE SEPULCHRE. 229 stretched, which spread entirely across the arch, and protected the sacred structure below it, by shedding the water in a different direction. The vault itself is a narrow room, about eight feet long, and six or seven feet hi«-h. On the right hand as we enter, is the identical coffin — it is asserted by some — in which rested Jesus. I examined it very closely, and saw very distinctly inside, the impression of edged instruments, as plain and apparently as fresh, as if it was hewn yesterday. The vault is not hewn from solid stone — the sarcophagus is. The edge of the latter is perfectly smooth, and is worn considerably away, by the constant friction from the hands of pilgrims. In all of the four Evangelists we find reference made to the tomb or " sepulchre" of the Saviour. In only one of the Gospels, do we find " tomb" used— in the other three, " sepulchre" is the word employed. This sepulchre seems to have been considered by one of the Evangelists as belonging to Joseph of Arimathea, and by him Jesus was laid in the tomb. By reference to Matthew, we read, " And when Joseph had taken the body, he wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn out in the rock ; and he rolled a great stone to the door of the sepulchre and departed" (xxvii. 59, 60). In Mark we read, chapter xv. verse 46, after referring to the fact, that "Joseph of Arimathea, an honorable counsellor," had craved the body of Jesus, " And he brought fine linen, and took him down, and wrapped him in linen, and laid him in a sepulchre which icas hewn out of a rock, and rolled a stone unto the door 2 'ii en i urn OF in E si:rr LCH R E. of the sepulchre." The tomb is ool here spoken of as belonging to Joseph. In St. Luke we read concerning this same man of Arimatiica. " And he took it down (( Ihrist'a body) and wrapped it in Linen, and laid it in a sepulchre thai was hewn in stone, wherein never man before was buried" (xxiii. ; >-">b In the Gospel according to St. John it seems thai Nicodemus, who brought the "myrrh and aloes," assisted Joseph in laying away the body. "Then took the} tin 1 body of Jesus, and wound it in linen clothes. with the spices, as the manner of the Jews is to bury. Now in the plan 1 whcri' he was crucified, there was a garden; and in the garden a new sepulchre, wherein was m Vi r man laid" There is no good reason as yet extant, why this vault which we saw to-day, should be identified with the one of which the Evangelists wrote. Of that and of other vexed questions in regard to the locality of the sepulchre. I shall speak again. I am satisfied however, to keep this as the site, for the present, where this sacred memory should be cherished, content with the undeniable fact — that whatever disputes exist, this church is 'in i-'n w of the actual spot. After leaving the sacred tomb, we turned in a different direction, and commenced the routine of the many objects of religious remembrance — sights which till even the most curious with a surplus of the marvellous, and which, oevertheiess, awake in the bosoms of all, something more than a momentary interest. Directly in front of the large entrance — the only entrance, by the bye — as we came into the mighty and solemn shadow of the overhanging tte — is a plain slab of dark gray marble. This marble, CHURCH OF THE SEPULCHRE. 231 it is said, covers the actual stone of unction — the stone on which the body of Jesus was anointed by Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea ! The marble is superadded as a protection to the more precious stone beneath. The latter, before it was supplied with its present covering, was worn away considerably by friction from the Palmers' hands. We noticed several of these enter ; they imme- diately rushed straight toward the stone, and, bending over it, pressed their foreheads on the cold marble, and covered it with reverential tears. It was an affecting sight ! There was another stone at Constantinople, or it is there at present, which purports to be the veritable stone of unction. It is of this religious wonder, like of all others of a similar nature. For instance, the Arme- nian friars in this place, pretend to have the "mighty stone" which was rolled before the mouth of the sepulchre — yet there are one or two other sects who make the same assertion. The truest portion of the true cross, is said to be in the Church of the Sepulchre — yet we were shown the same thing in St. Peter's, at Rome — while, if my memory serves me at all faithfully, our own American, inimitable Mr. Barnum, had, likewise, a piece of wood, which was shown as a piece of the cross. So, of this stone of unction. On account of this ubiquity of holy objects and curiosities, the whole church and its wonders necessarily appear as a sham, and the high religious awe with which we should view these wonders, subsides into a stoical, indifferent credulity, which plainly expresses our opinion of everything shown us, as humbug. Turning from the Stone of Unction, we were next CHURCH OF THE SEPULCHRE. shown a Bhort circular granite pillar, set in the pavement of the church. We were told thai it marks the spot where Btood Mary when they were anointing the body Of JeSUS. Hew these sites can In- BO Well remembered, is ond m\ comprehension. Bui we must he content to receive all these things as real, Bimply for associations' sake. Another object — this of geographical wonder — our fait guide pointed out to us; it was nothing more nor Less than a point marking the centn of the earth! "Be- neath the centre of the Lantern (in the Greek Chapel) is i circle of marble pavement on which stands a short marble column, said by a tradition as old as the 8th cen- tury to mark the centre of tin earth. It has even attained a higher nominal rank, lor Saewulf assures us that "our Lord Himself signified with His own hand that this spot is the middle of the world, according to the words of the Psalmist, ' For God is my King of old, making salvation in the midst of the earth. '(!) Fabri tells an amusing story of a companion of his who, perhaps being a little skep- tical, determined to prove the point ; and accordingly paid a large sum for permission to ascend the cupola, and thus rw whether or no the sun gave him a shadow at :i i! A -till later tradition affirms that it was from this distinguished spot the clay was taken out of which Adam was modelled!" With all of these sayings concern- ing this pillar, fresh on our mind, however absurd the traditions, yet we Lingered with pleasure for several moments over the little pillar, and as we left in search of something else equally curious, I heaved a sigh of regret that we could not Longer delay .it tht centre of the world. CHAPEL OF THE APPARITION. Sure I am, as I walked oft', I felt the power of centripetal force. In due time we visited the Chapel of the Apparition, so called because, by tradition, the Lord here appeared to Mary after the Resurrection. That may be, or it may no t be — and probabilities point strongly to the latter; but of one thing interesting in this connection we are certain — that in this small chamber has ever been per- formed the ceremony of dubbing those worthy of the honor — Knights of St. John of Jerusalem — and this cere- mony is performed here to this day. I copy the words of an eminent writer on the subject, " Kneeling before the superior of the Latin Convent, he (the candidate) answers the various questions proposed, joins in the prayer of con- secration, and is girt with the sword and spurs of the heroic Godfrey; that trenchant blade wielded by the Christian hero in many a.well-fought field, and with which he is said to have cloven to the middle a Saracen of dsantic stature — relics that cannot be handled even now without some glow of feeling." This then, because based on a sure foundation, is, I think, the most interesting association connected with the apartment. There are other traditions afloat concerning it, however, and other noticeable points, which it may be well simply to mention. The particular spot where Jesus stood when he appeared unto his mother, is marked by a stone. It was in the sacred precincts of the small chapel, that He- lena, the mother of the Christian Emperor Constantine, placed the three crosses, sad mementoes of that terrible day, when " there was a darkness over all the earth until 23 I i ii \ PEL OF i 11 r. a it \ 1; i no \ tlu 1 ninth hour; ami the sun was darkened, and the vail of the temple was rent in the midst." In a niche in the room also exists a broken shaft of porphyry, styled the column of flagellation, from the Pact that to it Christ was bound, when he was Bcourged by command of Pilate. We did not see the exact stone, or the actual object itself— for it i- covered over, a small hole letting through the cover- ing to the stone beneath. We thrusl a cane through this aperture, ami had the satisfaction of thus i<>u<-j,ii,ij tj,< stom .' The pilgrims, in thrusting the cane in. return it and cover it with reverential kisses. Singular taste! As regards this pillar. I am very confident I saw one professing to be the same in Rome — at which church, I have forgotten — at St. John de Lateran, I think. Porter says it is at the Church of St. Praxede. In a house where this chapel now stands, it is said that the Virgin Mary took refuge after the crucifixion; hence it is sometimes called the ( lhapel of the Virgin. I came near forgetting another tradition relative to this chapel. It is affirmed by the Latins, that a piece of the true cross was once concealed in one of the niches of the apartment, and here remained fur many years; hut that it was finally stolen in the dead of night by the Armenians. This these latter deny most strenuously, and insist that they came by the true cross rightfully. I hear it stated, by some who profess to know, that the Armenians were in truth innocent of the theft; but have latU rly e thai as it may, the actu- ality of the site claimed by either of the rival sects is valueless with thinking persons. We were shown a niche in the Large aisle of the church, wherein it i- -aid formerly rested the veritable "super- scription" which was written over Him — ••The King of the .lews!'" It is said that the "scroll" is in Rome new. though I heard nothing of it when there; and I am generally good at ferreting out objects of wonder and curiosity. Not far from this spot we were shown, con- cealed, or rather protected behind, a glass case, the veri- table "crown of thorns" With what singular feelings I gazed on that base work of man's hand, and with what i-t and loathing I contemplated for a moment the workings of that lewd, superstitious religion which would lead its ignorant and benighted followers to believe in -mil wild and unreasonable traditions. The "crown" looks to me old enough, and covered over with much dust and many a cobweb of time; yet there are certain marks about it which cause me to think its date not only not co- eval with the time of the Saviour, but that it is not more ancient than some of the "oldest inhabitants" of the fallen city. This tradition, however, is not more absurd than that related us by our guide when showing us a long slender rod of olive wood considerably worn by constant usage. " They Bay," he said " it is the rod with which one of the soldiers of Pilate -mote the Saviour!" Yet the pious THE STOCKS. 207 pilgrim kisses this cane most reverentially. It is a doubt- ful reverence. Certainly the Lord is not glorified by the observance. Why not snap the accursed stick ! This is not irreverentially written. I could scarcely refrain from smiling when our good " huzzar," John Montag, big in his faith, pressed forward, and glued his moustached lip to the well-mouthed rod. At the farther end of a passage running parallel to the Greek Chapel — down a step or so — there is a low, vault- like chamber about seventeen feet square. This cold, damp-looking place, tradition tells us, was the prison cell of Him of Nazareth. We were also shown, near this place, the stocks in which Christ was placed. These are two large holes cut into the pavement, and — were made by the Crusaders a thousand years after Christ had left sinful earth ! In this region of the church I think the tombs of gal- lant Godfrey and of King Baldwin, his brother, are placed. If I recollect aright, we saw them beyond the Latin Chapel, in a vault several feet below the pavement of the church. I will repair thither to-morrow and satisfy myself. In my deferred explorations, I shall seek — it is here, I am confidently told — the Tomb of Melckizedek. Under the roof of the Church of the Sepulchre, is grouped every Oriental religion, with perhaps a single exception. Here we find the Latin, the Greek, the Armenian, the Coptic, &c, &c, all represented. I must say I was more pleased with the Armenians, than with the representatives of the other sects. They seemed to me, notwithstanding their reputed thievish propensities, GOLGOTHA. a liberal and high-minded cider. They were generally Iran — quite meagre in flesh — and presented a strong contrast to the oleaginous big-paunched Roman Catholic, who waddled with difficulty to tin- altar in his chapel. 'Phi' so-called Chapel of Mocking is situated on what is termed Golgotha, the entire extent of which, it is pro- abraced under the roof of the Church of the 3 mlchre. We reached this Golgotha, by ascending an abrupt, hnt short flight of stairs at the farther end (from the sepulchre) of the structure. It is said in this chapel, or on its site, they reviled Him, smote Him, and spat upon Him. We were even shown the stone on which He -at. when they mockingly crowned and heralded Him, i- the King of the Jews. In regard to Golgotha — what the word means — our signification of it — and the Golgotha on which Christ was crucified, &c, &C, I shall have occasion again to mention, and that occasion, I hope, will be more fitting than the present. Up this stairs, or on Golgotha, we were shown several objects of religious wonder — among them, the holes in the rock in which the crosses reposed, and the rent in the rock made when the sky was darkened, on that terrible day, and when the •• vail of the temple was'' riven asunder. I had the satis- tion of placing my hand into these orifices, which can only be reached by baring the arm. and thrusting it through an aperture in the marble, which protects the rock, or Golgotha itself, beneath. 1 could not help smiling in the face of the friar, who watched me very closely, and scanned my features to see what effect the incredible Mid]', which he was telling us in a whisper, GREEK AND LATIN CHAPELS. 239 would have upon us. The Latin Chapel is here situated ; it pretends to stand on the exact spot where Christ was crucified — yet it is not based on the stone itself, but is an isolated chamber, and stands upon a crypt. I have never seen a satisfactory explanation of this incongruity. The Greek is by far the richest, most gaudy, and at the same time most substantial chapel beneath the great roof. In it is the seat of the Patriarch of Jerusalem, and it is in it also, that we find the stone which marks the centre of the Avorld — to which sufficient reference has already been made. There is nothing worthy of note in the Latin Chapel. Some of the arches in the Greek Chapel, are very beautiful, and being memorials of times of the Crusaders, they will ever be regarded with much interest and admiration. The clang of closing doors warned us to depart, just as we had finished our hasty survey of wonderful things beneath this remarkable roof. Beneath no other dome in the world is there collected such material for the curious and religiously-inclined, as we find reposing here under the broad shadow of the Church of the Sepulchre. Such, as I have given above in rough detail, were the objects of awe, and monuments of holy wonder which were shown us. " Such is the Church of the Sepulchre, with its eventful history, its thrilling associations, and its absurd traditions, all thrown together in hopeless confusion. It seems to be the common centre of devotion, superstition, and imposture. It is the centre, too, of all . ' That romance Of many-colored life which fortune pours 2 1U EREC i'ii>N OP Til k OB G RCH. Round tin- Crusaders, till on distant Bhorea Their labors end: or they return to lit-. '1'lif vow performed, in oross-legged effigy Devoutly Btretohed upou their ohanoel H 's.' " The Church of the Sepulchre lias experienced a chequer- ed existence. It was first buill in order tocover holy places which, pears after Christ had atoned for our sins with his blood, wore discovered, as marking the scenes of his life and passion. Some doubt has arisen as to whether Con- Btantine or Helena, his mother, hegan the erection of this building. Different authorities are arrayed on both sides. I believe it is generally conceded that, in the year of the Lord ">2i>, Constantino hegan the church. That edifice presented an appearance very different from the one which now occupies the same site. A conjectural plan of the building, as it then stood, can be seen in " Williams Holy City." There is no doubt but that the Crusaders re- modelled the whole building, and gave it more of its pre- sent appearance than any other people; but even their work has been in a great measure destroyed. The church, I believe, was first laid in ruins by the Persians, Anno Domini 014. For some time it remained buried in its own wreck ; but a rising generation rescued it from neglect and obloquy, and restored it to its former grandeur, adding also many portions useful and orna- mental. In the year L010, the church was once more destroyed by the orders of the fanatic Hakim; but in the yeai I L03 the Crusaders came to the land of the Infidel, and under their rule the church was, as it were, built anew, and was much enlarged. It seems that about the DESTROYED BY FIRE. 241 times of the Crusades, an English monk, by name Saewulf, followed the knights to the Holy City, and by dint of in- defatigable searching found and determined the exact site of many holy places — to his own satisfaction. These holy places include the prison in which our Lord was incar- cerated ; the column to which he was bound when scourged ; the place where he was stripped by the sol- diers ; the spot where the purple robe was put on him ; the place where the soldiers cast lots for his raiment ; the rent in the rock made by the earthquake ; the place where Adam was raised from the dead;(?) the place where the Lord's body was wrapped in the linen clothes ; the spot where the Lord indicated with his own hand the centre of the world ; the place where He appeared to Mary Magdalene, and the place where the Virgin stood during the Crucifixion !" The church flourished under the supervision of the Knights of St. John ; and beneath its roof, in that time, some of the most interesting ceremonies of any sect or people were performed. Here many a sunny ray has gleamed through the heavy stained glass, and lit up a glorious pageantry moving in solemn warrior-procession along the aisles of that sombre old church. What tales could these heavy walls relate even of Templar times ! One could spend a twelvemonth with profit and pleasure simply communing with the shadowy heroes of the dead past — under the mighty shadow of the Grabkirsche. The church remained as the Christian Knights had 'left it, until the year 1808, when it and all of its chapels and holy places suffered severely from fire. There are many 16 •J J-J Til 1 «ll l RCH REB I I I.T. living now in the Bast, who well remember the awful conflagration, and the accompanying Bcenes of terror, of the nightof the L2th of October L808. Such was the extent of the injury, thai the roof fell in, and came near crushing the frail protection over the sepulchre itself. Singular it was to note as Porter Bays, how "both Latin and Greek describe, with much exultation, the ravages of the fire in the holy places of their opponents, contrast- ing this with the miraculous manner in which their own were left unscathed." But once again, the different religious elements in the church furnished a courage sufficient to recommence its erection even yet once mote ; and after much wrangling and much dispute, among the different creeds and sects engaged in the work, the -tincture was finally completed in the year 1810. It was then consecrated; the architect, a Greek native of Mity- lene. was publicly blest, — and such the church remains to this day, without a single alteration or addition. I was informed here of a rather novel explanation or account, rather, of the origin of the late Crimean war, in which England, France, and Russia appeared as chief combatant- in the grand field of battle. It was this: — The dome of the church directly over the sepulchre gave way, and in a short time, the result was a large opening through which the rains and dews from heaven, and the dust from the streets of Jerusalem, came in without restraint. This state of affairs was deplorable, and must be altered. But — who should be those FAVORED with the holy work? Thai was the question, a sad one indeed, as te sequel well proved. The Greek Church being some- THE HOLY FIRE. what predominant, assumed to itself the particular duty of seeing to the reparation of the defect in the wall. This was more than the Latins could tamely bear, and they, in defiance to the Greek Church, immediately arrogated to themselves the duty of being prime movers in this divine task, as they termed it. Now it so happened that the Greek Church, then, as now, was represented politically by Russia — and the Latins by France. These respective representatives busied themselves with the matter, until finally it assumed a political aspect entirely. Next we heard of the entanglement of Turkey, and then speedily followed the unjust levies, and then, war ! This origin is far-fetched, but I k - tell the tale as it was told to me." One of the most remarkable ceremonies that ever takes place under the roof of this church, is the annual giving to the people on Easter Sunday, the Holy Fire. I will simply say a few words here, to fill up this day's Journal, concerning this phenomenon, if I may so call it, reserving to a later date a more detailed description. It is pre- tended that this holy fire descends from heaven, trans- forms water into oil, lights all the lamps of the church, and gives to him who is so fortunate as to light his candle by it, a hope, or almost certainty, of the golden crown in the Great Hereafter. A shallower and baser fraud, and more complete imposture, was never practised on any people. Suffice it here to remark, that though the flame is heavenly, yet it is not more heavenly than that of any other Lucifer. After leaving the sacred edifice under the guidance of •J I i A. GOOD DINNER. Mr Theil, our Landlord, we Btrolled through the Bazaars. Sunday here ia the greal selling day of the week; and "sellers" and "lenders of money" congregate around the Temple Wall, and in the Btreets, as they did in the time of the Saviour. A.fter sauntering slowly through the Bazaars, we returned home and partook of a dinner which, in duty bound, 1 must Bay, was the best 1 have calm since my arrival in the walls of Jerusalem. Mr. Theil, good soul ! had made an especial trip to Bethlehem, and purchased a nice pig, he assured me, for my benefit. 1 am. indeed, under many obligations to him. In the afternoon Mr. S — tt went to hear Dr. Gobat preach. He was much pleased. I intended going with Esslinger and Montag to German services, hut I concluded to remain with S.. whose leg, from yesterday's adventure — the horse- ki,.j v — confined him to his room. We passed the afternoon and evening very pleasantly in meditating on and conversing about the sacred sites amid which we are just now sojourners. We were visited after tea by a young East-Indian named Ibrahim Mordecai. lie came to us recommended as dragoman, by Dr. Gorham, Tinted States Consul in this place. lie is a handsome fellow, and intelligent withal. I imagine we will employ him. Mr. S — tt went out some time since for the purpose of visiting Dr. Barclay; he has not yel returned, and I am afraid h«- is lost. It is now after 9 o'clock. Our plans for to-morrow are unsettled. We shall have a photographic view of our part}', taken in the Garden of Gethsemane, or shall make an excursion to " Bethlehem of Judea." CHAPTER XI. Prussian Hospice, Jerusalem. Monday, March 7th, 1859. ^"^^HIS morning we arose after a night of the most refreshing slumber, each man doubly invigorated and filled with recruited desires to see the many noted places crowded together within the walls of El-Kuds. Having finished my breakfast, for which Bethlehem be praised ! — for my pig again made his appearance — Ibra- him, the East Indian, to whom I have before referred, entered the apartment and made us a genuine Oriental bow. After much wrangling, we made an agreement with him to conduct us to Jordan and the Dead Sea — he acting as our dragoman. The arrangement was, that, upon each one of us paying him seventy piastres (or about $2.80), he would take it upon himself to guide us safely to Jordan — Dead Sea — would allow us to sleep securely amid the ruins at Jericho, and would land us again safely in Jerusa- lem after all this had been accomplished — he, the said Ibrahim, to be our dragoman, protector, landlord, gargon, and cook. In view of the unfortunate state of the weather, we made this condition, that the agreement should be fulfilled on the first fair clay. Having thus (245) POO l. OF li I'./ i: K I A li. settled the excursion among ourselves, Mr. S — tt ami myself, accompanied l>\ Ibrahim, repaired to tin- office of our roii-ul. ami there confirmed our bargain in his pre- sence. This part «»t' our procedure is an all-necessarj item, else nol onh our money would not lie Bafe, 1 >u t our lives would be jeopardized in an excursion of this extent, leading as it does through the worst districts contiguous to Jerusalem. In agreeing with a dragoman to accompany as on this trip, it is the business of said dragoman always to acl un.hu- the authority of the pacha. The American Consul (in our case), who witnesses the agreement, holds the pacha responsible for our safe-keeping ; and the pacha looks to the sheikhs of the tribes through which we have to pass, with whom he lias a standing stipulated treat)- as respects this crossing of their territory. *Sb safe an- we under these arrangements, that, 1 understand, were we to lose so much (or so little, I mighl say) as a pin, we could recover damages to the fullest extent! Our consul — he must excuse me tor recording it — treated us t<>Url>j politely, omitting, if 1 mistake not. to ask us to take a . or to ''ill on him ; hut. to make up for this little over- sight, he gave us a view of the ancient pool of Bezekiah li believe) from a hack window of his house. This "over* tit" was better in keeping than the other. Whether or not this is really the " pool" made by King Bezekiah I cannot Bay; it corresponds with said pool of antiquity very well. In ^ Kin-- xx. 20, and "J Chron. xxxii. 30, we learn thai Bezekiah brought thisconduil straight down toil,, west side of the city. Doctor Robinson says — "To i j )() .,l li,, presenl reservoir entirely corresponds; CHEAPNESS OF GOLD. 247 and it is also fed in a similar manner." So we were more than repaid for all rebuffs by the sight of this ancient pool. In looking over the register at the consulate, I saw several names which are quite familiar to me; among others, that of Mr. W. B. Astor, of New York city, U. S., whose acquaintance I enjoyed not very long since in Flo- rence, at the Hotel de Yorck. From our consul's we crossed over the open space by the Tower of Hippicus, and called on our most important man — our banker. My letter-of-credit from John Monroe & Co., Rue de la Paix, Paris, was duly presented, and immediately honored by Mr. Bergheim. I was surprised at the cheapness of gold ; I paid no premium at all on napoleons ; yet in Rome, many hundred miles nearer the French capital, I paid a heavy per centage. I learn that the reason of this is that the authorities wish, and have given orders to bankers, to get rid of foreign money as speedily as possible, in order to give more value to domes- tic currency. This is a shallow reason, I think, at best ; and I am sure the genuine cause of this fortunate effect (to us) is to be found in the laws of exchange, which, so far as regards this region, are but little known to me. , Meinherr Bergheim is a pleasant fellow, so to speak ; he is a genuine — talking, smooth-tongued, sharp-eyed — Ger- man-Jew ; and I am convinced, from the humbleness of his attire and speech, that he is — enormously wealthy. As a general rule, in regard to Jews (there are exceptions, and particularly at Jaffa), these two diagnostic symptoms constitute a sufficient basis on which to pronounce our prognosis of wealth or poverty. DE NISS 1' I! r. I'll OTOG B A P II E R. From Bergheim's, Mr. S — (t and myself strolled off in search of Denies the photographer, recommended us by Dr. Barclay. He is the only one in Jerusalem;, and [say mimended, because Dr. Barclay, learning our desires in rd i*i having views taken, &c, unasked, gave Mr. Deniss a good name — a fortune possessed by very few, according to my observations, by "Jew or Gentile," in this country. After numerous adventures, we at length found the house of which we were in search ; bul our friend the photographer was not in. His wife was kind enough to show us specimens of her husband's art — and. really, I must say they were superb. 1 have seen photo- graphy in New York. London. Paris, Rome, &c, yet 1 have never seen any to excel thai of Deniss. It seems a little singular that Deniss — in plain par- can afford to live here by the fruits of his profes- sion. I understand the natives never avail themselves of his craft; so he must live by selling abroad his views of Holy Land scenery, and by the encouragement he receives from visiting Hadjis like ourselves. He is a Russian; converses well in several languages; is a very handsome, easy, and aceoniplished fellow, and is a Pro- mt. On returning home, Mr. S — tt called by Dr. Barclay's, and I ventured to find the way alone to our rs at the Hospice. I was repaid for my presumption by being losi for an hour or two. These bazaars are almost interminable, and it puts one "to his wits' end" to keep in his mind the points of the compass. In this connection I would state what I came near forgetting, that S — tt. in coming home last night from Dr. Barclay's, CHURCH OF ST. JAMES. 249 lost his way among the numerous winding paths of the old city, and came near sleeping in the pacha's seraglio, or guard-house. However, he managed to find his way back to Dr. Barclay's, whence he was conducted to the Hospice. He gave us a most vivid and yet a most ludi- crous description of his feelings as he wandered back and forth through the deserted bazaars, fearing every moment that his flickering lantern would "go out," and leave him in the lurch. After dinner we accepted Mr. J — b — sn's invitation to show us again around the city, and set out in his com- pany. We called by the Church of the Sepulchre, and uazed on its sacred relics and wonders again. We visited once more the very spot on which we were told that the crucifixion took place. By another examination of the " rent in the rock," I detected plainly, as I thought, by the sense of touch, the marks of edged tools. But I did not hint the fact to our reverend guide. To what super- lative nonsense we are compelled to listen ! Under Mr. J — b — sn's guidance, we wended our way next to the fine Church of St. James. This splendid edi- fice belongs to the Armenians, and I think, without ' exception, it is superior to any like structure in the city, not even excepting the Church of the Sepulchre. The Church of St. James is situated at some distance from the Prussian Hospice, and is very near the Anglican Chapel. I was particularly struck with the arrangement of the floor, which is beautifully tesselated, and with the magni- ficent inlaid doors of mother-of-pearl — doors which were massive in proportions. This church is built on the sup- •_'-">il SPRINKLED WITH ROSE-WATER. posed site of the death of St. James. In a small side chapel, most gorgeously and most gaudily furnished, we were shown a stone said to be the one on which St. .lames was decapitated. We also had the pleasure of sitting in a vcr\ handsome massive chair said to be the one formerly s Ibythi apostle. Judging from its evident costly nature, 1 am far from thinking that the apostle was in needy cir- cumstances. Upon presenting a priest with some small pieces of money, we were mosl plentifully besprinkled from head to lout with rose-water of a most delicate and exquisite odor — a procedure which much surprised Meinherr, the "huzzar." The Armenian Convent, a magnificent build- in-, is in juxtaposition to the church. At another time I shall speak of it more fully. On our return to the Hospice, we came by an old German lady's, and purchased some handsome flowers. beautiful and tasty souvenirs of Jerusalem, of Olivet. Dead Sea, &c, &c. We got home late, and immediately took tea, after which Mr. Deniss, the photographer, called on us, and we made definite arrangements relative to our photograph. The weather is bitter cold. Prussian Hospice, Jerusalem. ) Tuesday, March 8th,J.859. j Last night, after Buffering intense agony from a carious tooth, 1 fell into an uneasy slumber, which,, fortunately for my peace of body, lasted till morning. Fortunately lor the piea of tooth, there is no dentist in this old city, else it had fallen a \ ictim to the forceps as soon as I could TOOTHACHE. 251 see my way. Toothache, I take it, is man's moral tester. Ache — ache ! — throb ! — throb! — and it increases the more you endeavor to allay the harrowing torment; while all of your companions, with gentle, easy, regular breathing, sleep away their time and trouble in blissful slumber, and their ear is deaf to your sobs of pain, wrung out in spite — of your teeth. Worse than agony, by far ! A flattering calm cheats you into the idea that there is a total cessa- tion of pain, and that the grim monster, who, plunging away with hammer and gouge at the roots of your teeth, has finally left you, satisfied with that base work which he can well call Ms own. But, in a twinkling, like a flash of light- ning, that same dreaded pang darts through your system, shatters your bright prospects of speedy rest and sweet repose, and hurls before your distorted gaze hideous, tor- turing pictures of all-night agony ! Such was my sad experience last night — a like, I hope, mine never to be again. My exhausted energies too forcibly attest now the severity of the struggle last night. Well, to confess the truth, this day has been spent by us mostly in grumbling ; — by us, I say and mean, without a single exception. The weather seems bent on being con- trary, and as if determined it will never favor us and our well-laid plans. It is constantly unpropitious, and I really beiieve it grows worse on every succeeding day. We remained, as a consequence, in doors until late in the day, not daring and not desiring to venture out in such weather. We amused ourselves chiefly by looking at the various curiosities brought us for inspection, and for sale {ultimate object, of course), by the Arabs, from the city i. v RG LINING PO R CG R [OS I T I 6S. and from Bethlehem. These curiosities were, pearl-shells and brooches, and olive-wood ornaments, such as small cups, balls, blocks, and canes. Some of the shells and brooches arc carved with a considerable degree of skill, and reflect credit on the rude workers in the art. It is amusing to sec at what exorbitant prices these wandering merchants at first value their articles. 1 Bay, at first, for they invariably take, and arc verj glad to get, even half dt' their primal price. I have an instance in mind: — I was much pleased with a large pearl-shell which a fellow was exhibiting. I le saw my anxiety to procure the article. On demanding its price. I was very much surprised to hear him say, in the coolest manner possible, fivehundred piastres! (A piastre is worth four American cents!) I turned away immediately, and, as S. termed it. tried to ■ Cornt the Yankee" on him. I pretended 1 did not wish the shell at any price, and would consider it dear if he should give it to me. Well, I finally obtained the orna- ment very easilj for twenty-two piasters — about its worth. Among other article-. 1 purchased some very pretty black wooden beads — very odoriferous — from Mecca. I laid in quite a stock of sandal and olive wood, and camels'-bone rosaries, bloodstones and cornelians; all were remark- ably cheap. It is quite a treat to have an Arab merchant in your room, and a dance at his gewgaws wtfl interest any one. Pretty late iii the day we strolled over to the Mount of Olives, and enjoyed the scene presented from the sum- mit of the sacred mountain. A position is here afforded where we can Btand wrapped in our own thoughts and VIEW FROM MOUNT OLIVET. 253 commune silently yet sweetly with fancyings of the dead p ;ls t_can bring the long-buried actors of that far religious time into life again, and view in the mind's eye some of those stirring scenes which here presented a spectacle to the world in that great drama in which the Son of God played the tragic part. A melancholy, yet sad and sweet employment — one in which we all indulged. The Mount of Olives is in fact the grand stand-point from which to take a first and final view of Jerusalem and the surrounding country. The general outline of the " wil- derness of Judea and the regions beyond Jordan" — the long blue ridge of the Moab Mountains, and the neighbor- ing fields of Bethlehem, in which Ruth gleaned, can be distinctly seen. " Taking our stand, then, we look down the shelving side of Olivet into the dark, bare glen of the Kidron, sweeping from the distance on the right away down to the left. The eye follows it till it is joined by another dark ravine, coming in from behind a high ridge to the westward. That ravine is Hinnom, and that ridge is Zion. On the left bank of the Kidron we can just observe through the olive trees the white pointed top of Absalom's Pillar, and the flat gravestones of the Jewish cemetery, and farther to the left, the gray excavated cliffs and houses of Siloam. In the foreground beyond the ravine is the beautiful enclosure of the Haram — the octagonal mosk, with its noble dome in the centre, occupying the site of Oman's threshing-floor and Solomon's Temple ; the flagged platform around it ; and then a grassy area with its olives and cypresses encircling the whole. At the left- hand extremity is the Mosk el-Aksa, easily distinguished V l E W FROM KOI NT OLIV ET. by its peaked roofs(?) and dome — Formerly the Churcb of St. Mary. Beside the enclosure, at the right-hand corner, is a prominenl group of buildings, with a tall minaret adjoining them. This is the pacha's residence and tin 1 site of the Fortress of Antonia. The massive ancient masonry at the southern angle of the wall is very conspicuous; and so likewise is the double-arched gate- way in the side, generally known as the 'Golden Gate,' now walled up. Farther to the right, north of the Haram area, is St. Stephen's Gate, and the white path winding up to it front the bottom of the Kidron at the Garden of Gethsemane. Northward of the gate, along the brow of the valley, nms the city wall. Formidable-looking in the distance with its square tower. To the right of the Haram a broad irregular ridge extends northward, thinly inhabited, interspersed with gardens and crowned by a mosk and minaret. This is Bezetha. The low ridge of Ophel is on the opposite side o!" the Haram, sinking down rapidly into the bed of the Kidron behind Siloam ; it contains no buildings, but is thickly sprinkled with olives. It can now be seen how these three hills, Bezetha, Moriah, and Ophel, Form one long ridge. Behind them is a valley dividing the city From north to south, and Falling into the Kidron just above its junction with Hinnom. At its northern l",u\. hid by Bezetha, is the Damascus Gate; and the southern section of it. beyond the Haram, was anciently called the Tyropaeon. ••On another very prominent ridge lies the western section of the city. To the right is Akra, rising to an angle, uear which we distinguish the large white build- VIEW FROM MOUNT OLIVET. !■)■) ings of the Latin convent, reminding one of a factory ; below them, a little to the left, are the two domes and heavy square tower of the Church of the Sepulchre; and still further to the left, a green field, marking the site of the ancient palace of the knights of St. John. x\kra is now the Christian quarter of the city. To the left is Zion, still the most prominent of all the hills. Its northern limits are distinctly marked by the massive towers of the citadel, rising up from a slight depression in the ridge. Close to these, but presenting a striking contrast in its fresh look, is the English church ; further to the left is the Armenian convent, a vast irregular mass of houses, with a little dome in the midst of them. The Jewish quarter occupies the steep face of the hill, its half-ruinous houses hanging one above another. Without the wall on the south is a group of buildings, amid which we see a white dome and high minaret, marking the Mahommedan, and probably the real, tomb of David. From this, the hill breaks down in terraces of olives to the Valley of Hinnom. "On the south side of the Valley of Hinnom is the Hill of Evil Counsel, so called by the monks, with a ruined village and a solitary tree on its summit. Beyond it is the green plain of Rephaim, or ' Valley of the Giants ;' and away on the south, about three miles distant, we observe the convent of Elias, crowning a ridge on the road to Bethlehem. Turning northward, the only con- spicuous place in the distance is Neby Samwil, the ancient Mizpeh, easily distinguished by its high tower. Along the whole western horizon runs a uniform line of 256 \ l l w FROM KOU N T OLl v E r. brown lulls, about equal in altitude t<> those on which the v i t \- stands. "Such is the western view from the summit of Olivet: ami the eastern one Bcarce yields to it in interest, while it tar surpasses it in extent. The latter, however, is hnt seen from a little wely, called Kubbet esh-Shuhada, -the Dome of the Witnesses,' about two hundred yards beyond the minaret. Here we stand on the very brow of the mount. Tin' 'Wilderness of Judea' commences at our feet; shelves down in a succession of naked white hills and dreary gray dens lor ten miles or more, and then dip- abruptly into the deep valley of the Jordan. A scene of sterner desolation could not be imagined. The Jordan valley conies from the distance in the north, gradually expanding into a white plain, and terminating at the Dead Sea, a section of whose waters is seen over the lower dill's of the -Wilderness.' The winding course of the .Ionian can be traced for some distance up the plain, by its dark line of verdure. Away beyond this long valley rises suddenly a long unbroken mountain range, like a huge wall, stretching north and south, as tar as the eve can follow it. The section on the right is within the territory of Moab; that in the centre directly opposite ns. was possessed by the Ammonites; while that on the left hand was anciently called Gilead, and still retains its name. Evening is the proper time for this view, for then the pale blue lights and purple shadows on the Moab Mountains are exquisitely beautiful. The •lire, too, of the white wilderness is subdued; and the A KEEN TRADER. 257 deep valley below appears still deeper from being thrown into shade." I did not remain on Olivet as long as the others of my party did ; fearing exposure to such inclement weather, I hastened home, and was glad enough when I was snugly seated by a cosy fire at home, with my guide-book in rny hand. As I came along, I saw a pair of handsome pistols (Arab), and wishing them, more as a memento than any- thing else, I offered the old fellow of the Bazaar a fair bargain for them with my Neapolitan, and more effective, weapon. But no — he did not wish to sell them anyway; but if I would pay him the price he asked, and then give him my pistol to hoot, perhaps he would trade. Singular idea, I thought — first, to value my pistol at nothing ; se- cond, to be willing, if he sold at all, to sell at a certain price ; third, to wish my pistol, after having received full pay for his ; and fourth, to have articles for sale which he was not anxious to dispose of! He was a Turk, else I would have adjudged him guilty of indulging too fondly in our Western habit or — juice (?). So I left him. In the afternoon we called on Mr. Deniss, and were for- tunate enough to find him in. We purchased of him quite freely; I bought twelve magnificent photographic views of him, these views representing Jerusalem, Betha- ny, Bethlehem, &c. As it is somewhat dull, and too soon to retire for the night, it is proposed that some one tell a story. Esslinger is preparing to gratify our wishes, and so I will lay aside my pen and listen. 17 CHAPTER XII. Prussian Hospice, Jerusalem. Wednesday, March 9th, 1859. HIS has been, in part, the worst day I ever spent \\S) anywhere! Snow, wind, and rain — loajours! and the thermometer ranging from low to lower throughout the long, weary twelve hours that measured the space between dawn and sunset. Terrible! and to spend our precious time idly thus, while around us are curiosities of religion and instructive wonder, spread with a lavish hand! It is doubly hard that such should be our fate. However, we should not murmur, bearing in mind that it is a high and blessed privilege to be in this once-favored of all lands, at any time and in any weather He may choose to send on earth. We were com- pelled to read, in self-defence; the weather was too un- propitious even to stroll through the bazaars. So we Laughed, read, lounged, and — grumbled; our reverend friend, even, nolens volens, indulging just a little bit in the latter. Esslinger is in perfect despair; and the warlike " huzzar" has relapsed into a perfect state of " don't care," as he reflects on the tact that he has to remain here any- way, be the weather ;j divided against itself." The photograph to which I refer, was to be taken l>\ Mr. Deniss, of our entire party in the Garden of Qeilisemane. For some reason, known only to them, our German la-others have declined entering into the arrangement. We three Americans, however, have concluded to have the picture taken at all events. It being now definitely "fixed" to this effect, once again, -order reigns in Warsaw." Las1 nighl we listened attentively to a thrilling stor^ told ns by Esslinger. We were much interested in the recital. Be spoke to such a late hour, that I was unable to write further in my Journal. As the narrative ma} not be unacceptable to those whom chance might lead to peruse these pages, 1 give it here, as nearly as 1 can recol- lect, in the narrator's own words. THE BLACK BORSEMAN OF THE JUNGFRAU. There is no person (commenced the narrator), who has ever travelled on the Continent of P]urope, and has not climbed or seen, or at least heard or read of the glorious and stupendous mountain of the Jungfrau, which rears its craggy peaks in in}- far off native Switzerland. Its massive bulk can be seen for miles away, and the far off faintly perceptible fleece of cloud, floating high in air, does not reach it- summit. With the dizzy ridges, yawning rifts, and quiet frozen glens of the mountain, are connected many tales and legends of wild and startling import — Legends which from their very wildness, gain your atten- esslinger's story. 261 tion, as your hardy peasant-guide striding on before you, staff in hand, pours their full tide into your listening ear. The following dark tale, which I will relate you, was told me some years ago, as resting, prior to attempting to scale the rough sides of the Jungfrau, I loitered at its base. I will give the story as it was told me by my worthy guide, Jean Goujon, of whom some of you may have heard. It was a Christmas night, now twenty years ago, said Jean, that, in the little hamlet, clustered on the south side of the Jungfrau, was gathered a gay party of bold and hardy rustics, in one of the peaked-roof cottages of the village. The night was intensely bitter, the wind sang dolefully down the long rocky glens of the overshadowing mountain, and crept moaningly among the closely huddled houses of the hamlet. The snow fell in large unbroken flakes, and whirled its legions of fleecy cohorts along the almost wholly deserted streets. So thick was the blinding mass of falling snow, that it was only occasionally that the lights in the cottages struggled through the s:loom, and marked the spot as the abode of men. In spite of the gloom, however, which gave such a funereal, forbidding aspect to out-door objects, it was a right merry company that gathered in the snug cottage of Conrad Richelderfer. It was the auspicious (or in- auspicious (?) ) eve long looked forward to with much anxiety by two loving hearts. For four years, now, had Ileinrich Edelmann loved and been beloved by Jeannette Richelderfer. Nothing as yet had come between them and happiness ; — this night was to witness 2G2 ESS! [NG] R'S STORT. them man and wife— a relationship filling their cup <>I ji>\ ami gladness i«> the ven brim. Groomsmen and bridesmaids, rustic sons and daughters of the Canton, -to.>d r<;id\ to fulfil their appointed pleasing parts, while happiness and good-humor beamed on ever} face. The hour was waxing late and some of the company began to show unmistakeable signs of impatience at the retarda- tion of tin- ceremony. It was soon whispered among the crowd thai the bridegroom was not present; and none knew of his whereabouts. This \\;i- a strange procedure; so thought the good folks assembled, and so tiny spoke, 'ldie tare of the young maiden, the bride, grew ashy pale at the news, and Tear took undisputed posses- sion of her countenance. At Length the father of the bridegroom, who was pre- sent, exclaimed: — : 'Good folks, there is some mystery about this affair; my son is no laggard; and would not lie. especially, in such a case as this. Rest assured that -Mine ..ther power than Ins own keeps him from the mar- riage feast. Is there anyone present who can give tiding of my boy Heinrich?" But no one could say. Some sug- gested one thing, some another. A strange, a fearful feel- ing had taken possession of all presold, and all knew, as by instinct, that some evil of a darksome nature was im- pending. At length a youth, who seemed as if recalling a circumstance, Stepped suddenly forth, and said, "1 saw Heinrich just before the evening meal. His yager was slung across his shoulder, and Im- said he went to hunt the chamois, as he wished a fresh skin wherewith to cover esslinger's story. 263 the shoulders of his fair Jeannette. He bent his stride up the Jungfrau, toward the Black Crag." " The Black Crag ! and at that time of day !" exclaimed a dozen at once in a horrified breath, while a look of doubled fear settled on the face of each, and Jeannette sank swooning away. " Why, the lad is crazy !" cried Conrad Richelderfer. " Does he not know that the Black Horseman infests the dingles of the Black Crag, and that to-night is his yearly time for riding and for — DEATH ?" The last words the peasant uttered in a low, whispered, half-frightened tone, and each one muttered — " for DEATH !" The Black Crag is well known to all who visit Swit- zerland, and feast their vision on the glorious panorama of that country's wild scenery, in which the Jungfrau forms an object of visionary interest. Every guide im- presses particularly on you the glorious views to be had from the high crest of the Crag, and fills your ears with tales of the marvellous concerning witches and spectral hunters, devils and bogles, which inhabit the gorges beneath the rock. Among other legends of the place is the one to which reference has just been made — that of the " Black Horseman." This object (it is not a human being, but a supernatural creature, they say), is ever, when abroad, an angel of death. He is seen only once throughout the long year, and woe be unto the single tra- veller — in such a certainty he never returns to tell of his sad fate. The solemn report of the Black Horseman's carbine carries death with its echo — none can escape the bullet of that demon rifle. Many strange legends the i ssi inger's BTOB V. peasants tell of this bogle, ;is it wanders on a coal-black charger which apparently flies through the thick woods and jungles — for no trace of its foot-track is ever to be found. No peasant dares go into the mountain on Christ- mas night. Then it would be certain death to be in the vicinity <>f the Black Crag. It is Baid that <>n one dark Christmas night some peasants, who were crossing the slope ot' tlic mountain, saw distinctly this fearful horse- man. Their description of him, as he came thundering by on his midnight charger, which snorted smoke and flame, while the long elfin locks of the rider floated hack wildly in the wind, and his eyes gleamed straight ahead, was terrifying even to listen to. Such was the Black Crag, and Mich the Black Horseman — names which struck terror to the lately joyous and merry crowd gathered at Conrad Richelderfer's cottage on this Christmas night. "I am quite sure now." spoke again the missing lad's father, "that something has befallen my Heinrich; some- thing awful has happened. 1 am convinced. But," he continued, noticing the effect of his ill-boding words on the fair Jeanette, " it will be all right by-and-bye. I say, lads, Horseman or no Horseman, we must go in search of Heinrich !" "Good father," spoke a young man in reply, "we are willing to lace any danger for Heinrich, on this or on any other night; but how could we find our way in the face of such a storm as this? None of us would ever return; and. in our attempts to find poor Heinrich, all of us would fall victims to the cold which freezes everything without, esslinger's story. 265 or to the Black Horseman who scours even now the dark forest, and speeds over the frozen glens of the mountain." " Aye ! think again, good father," spoke another hardy fellow of the party ; " if Heinrich is dead, then we could do him no good ; and if alive, mind me, the lad is smart enough, and active enough, to care well for himself." A murmur of approbation followed. "Well, then," replied the old man, "I ask ye not to go ; but I will just take my trusty yager, and go in search of my son all alone." Just then, the crunching sound of footsteps striding hastily along the snow-clad streets, fell on their ears ; in another instant the door was thrown violently open, and a man precipitated himself right into the assembly. A deathly pallor overspread his face, and he shook in every limb with badly-concealed fear. " Heard ye not the carbine, folks ? The Black Horse- man is abroad ! — his yager echoed but a moment since, up yonder by the Black Crag !" The man spoke in quick, hurried tones. Every one quailed with fright ; even old Schwartz, the father of the missing jungling, drew back as he heard the fearful words, and seemed to pause in his daring undertaking. " And how know ye," he asked, anxiously, " that it was the yager of the Black Horseman ? There are others who own yagers in these parts." " A.y" returned the man, " but few, who choose on such nights as this, to hunt the chamois! Besides, a moment before the dread carbine sounded on the air, I plainly heard the crack of a common earthly yager — it was nothing like that of the Horseman's yager. Ah ! I esslinger's stort too well know the unearthly report of that carbine!" The man shuddered, and drew still nearer the crowd, as he indulged ill recollections. •• And." he continued. "just before that loud sound echoed in the hamlet, 1 heard the rushing noise, as n\' many mountain blasts: yet, friends, 1 felt hot air streaming over me, and a bright light flashed for a moment in the jungles of the Jungfrau ! 1 tell you, folks, the Black Horseman is fairly abroad to- night, and 1 stir not hence till full broad day. His deeds are not done; it was just this way he gave us his terrible signs, when, on that dreaded Christmas night, long time ago, Carl and Hermann Kriimlich went to the Black ■ Crag, in defiance of the Horseman, and — never returned!" All kept silent. Poor Jeannette had dropped into a chair, and now wailed her anxiety in pent-up and heart- deep sobs. Still the absent lover — the missing Ileinrich — came not. A low murmuring sound was indistinctly heard, rising over the gentle wailing of the night-wind, along the snow-enshrouded streets, and creeping with death-like sadness into every crevice and chink of Richelderfer's cottage. " Thais //" Black Horseman's moan /" whispered old Schwartz, while he scarcely seemed to breathe. " 'Tie so !" whispered hack the man. Suddenly a rushing, whirring sound echoed through the air; a light, as that of noonday, streamed through the only window of the cottage, and the sharp, ringing report of that unearthly carbine ran- again and again through the apartment. A glance at the window, to esslinger's story. 26' which every eye was directed, showed, standing motion- less as a statue, without bridle, martingale, or saddle, the gigantic steed of the dreaded Horseman ! A cry of anguish from one of the girls called attention in that direction. There sat poor Jeannette, the cold glaze of death in her eyes, while the purple tide, welling freely over the robe of spotless white, told the accuracy of the demon's bullet. A single exclamation of horror echoed through the room, when all at once the apartment was rendered dark by a huge shadow, and in stalked with giant stride the dreaded Black Horseman ! A strange, unearthly object it was that stood before them. His head — a bare skull with the grinning teeth rattling in the white jaw-bones touched the very ceiling. To this bleachened skull, long, jagged, scattering locks streamed down in disconnected masses, and eyes of supernatural lustre rolled wildly in their bony sockets. The heavy car- bine, smoking from the recent discharge, hung across his back. His huge skeleton feet, encased in goat-hide sandals, gave no sound as he walked. There was no time for fear or for speech : the white jaw-bones opened, and a cavernous, sepulchral voice echoed through the room — " Whoever weds on Christmas night, and pays me homage by wandering through my glens of solitude, him I must honor — honor with — death I I met him, ye mourners, in my Black Crag home. He raised his puny rifle, and essayed to take the life of him who is doomed to live for ever ! His own boyish aim laid him low — for his smart bullet discharged my carbine ! He lies high on the Black Crag, away up yonder in the black night, in my own •_ *8 ESSLIN G ER'S STOB V. haunted home. The chilling snow has nearly covered him up, and his Mood is cold. I have come for his bride — it is my rule She lias consented to conic — there Bhe lies, waiting for these arms to hear her away. Come, sweet bride of death, your lover awaits you, and I am his messenger!" The strange being strode forward and grasped the fair form of the dead girl. "Cleave him down, lads ! cleave him down !" shouted old Schwartz, recovering from his stupor, and snatching his hunting-knife from its sheath ; and Conrad Richel- derfer drove his heavy Made with the fury of a fiend full at the figure. The keen blade met nothing in its descent save the yielding air; it passed through the phantom, but it left no mark. A light, scornful laugh was all the reply. Schwartz hastily snatched a yager near by, and, aiming fair at the demon's heart, pulled trigger. The ball sped by, the smoke cleared away, and the Horseman smiled that same scornful smile. A moment more, with the dead girl in his arm-, while her fair hair floated wildly back, he Bprang on his gigantic charger and dashed away through the gloom toward the mountain. In an instant he was gone! A moment more and a lurid glare blazed high up on the cliffs, and in thai glare was plainly seen the Black Crag, and on it. the unburied corpse of young Beinrich, half hid beneath the falling snow; while, lower down, the demon steed, with his infernal rider bearing away the dead girl, dashed onward and upward at a fly- in- pace. The light disappeared, and a scornful laugh Bwepl faintly to the ears of the horror-stricken rustics. eral years afterwards, old Schwartz, Conrad Richel- esslinger's story. 269 derfer, and two others, in wandering through the jungles of the Jungfrau, came suddenly unawares upon the Black Crag. What was their amazement and horror when they espied two ghastly, grinning skeletons lying side by side on the highest ridge of the Crag ! Such was the wild tale told me by my guide, Jean Gougon, who concluded by saying, ' I, myself, have seen the Black Horseman twice, but fortunately I was not alone. There to the right, yonder is Richelderfer's old cottage, and before the sun sets to-day, I will show you the Black Crag and the view we obtain there.' " Such was Esslinger's story, told with good effect by that prince of good fellows. But while I have been writing, the hours have flown rapidly away, and my friends, one by one, have retired for the night. I must shut up my ink-stand and wipe my pen, for my own eyelids are heavy. To-morrow we have determined, come rain or shine, that we will set out for the Dead Sea, Jericho, and Jordan. Ibrahim is to awaken us early in the morning, with everything ready for the expedition. I expect to-night, as was my fortune last night, to have sweet dreams of the weird " Horseman," and the two decaying corpses found by old Schwartz Edelmann and Conrad Richelderfer on the mysterious, haunted " Black Crag." In my tent, amid the ruins of Jericho, 10 o'clock, p. M. Thursday, March 15, 1859. And am I indeed in the Valley of Jordan — in sight of •J ,'n \ \ l.l.i' V o\- JORDA N. the Mount of Temptation, the Dead Sea. and "Jordan's stormy banks t" True, indeed; and at this moment, on this calm, moonlight night, 1 am resting in my little tent, which is Bpread amid the ruins of that ancient city, which fell before the din of rams' horns, Mown seven times around its walls! Singular indeed : Sometimes — very often, indeed, since 1 have been on this eastern tour — 1 have wandered afar from my com- panions, and. in the solitude of my own communings, I have asked myself, "Is it indeed true, that 1 stand amid these far away scenes, made sacred by divine and by prophetic deeds.'" I find it, yes, blessedly true; and here, on this lovely star and moonlight night, I rest near thy hanks, oh! sacred Jordan! As I sit here musingly. I recall everything which I ever read or heard concerning this stream; and. indeed. I can scarcely realize, that I resl in one of the Loveliest vales under heaven. So it is, and impressed as I now am. 1 am compelled to murmur, more humbly than ever. Blessed be Thy works, and extended Thy kingdom, oh! God, for ever ! This morning, in Jerusalem, to our joyful surprise the sun came out. bright and beautiful. We have had so much rain and snow lately, that we had determined to commence our excursion to-day, fair or cloudy, thankful for the privilege of doing so at any time and under any circumstances. As if in furtherance of our wishes, He e us a bright -un to drive away dampness from earth, and to bring joy to our hearts. At an early hour, i rahim, <>wr good and noble-hearted young dragoman, LEAVE JERUSALEM. 271 made his morning salaam, to us in bed — signified his extreme pleasure at seeing us — declared good weather, and hinted his readiness, nay, anxiety, to leave at as early a moment as possible. We were glad to hear such tidings, and straightway commenced arranging matters for our Dead Sea and Jordan jaunt. After reloading our pistols, which had for a time reposed in quiet dignity at the Hospice, and making several other preparations, our party, amounting to seven or eight — Ibrahim and suite included — filed slowly out at St. Stephen's Gate, and wound its way again over the beautiful brow of Mount Olivet. On the further side of the sacred mountain we were joined by our guarantee, in the shape of a sheikh (pronounced shake), of the Bedaween. This fellow is a splendid wild- looking specimen of the genuine Beddwy, and glories in long black hair, fiery eyes, sharp features, and brilliant pearly teeth. In going to the Jordan we are compelled to pass several fierce tribes of the desert Arabs, and a sheikh is an all-necessary accompaniment. But to this I have referred more fully in a recent day's Journal. Our sheikh went by the euphonious name of Sahlimah ; his autograph I will here endeavor to copy. He was much pleased when I requested it, and seemed proud that he could write : — This being translated means " Sahlimah, Sheikh for Jordan." Sahlimah was a good-humoured fellow — a fine 273 a i N-r. i.-n \ r i>. Bhot, considering his clumsy brass-banded barrel — and a most exquisite horseman. 1 certainl} think his horse the handsomest animal I ever beheld. Sahlimah, with all his _ 1 qualities, however, partook of the nature of the rest of his people, and thought perhaps more of bahJcahiahf than of anything else, and continually hinted slyly at it. or -poke right out concerning it. He boasted much and often of his thousands of goats and camels — yel it seemed to me, that our homely adage had a happy application. even in this tar Judean clime, ••the more one gets, the more he wants." We passed through Bethany again, but all was silence ami desolation. We lingered a lew moments to get some brackish water, and then proceeded leisurely onward. We finally descended quite abruptly, into the valley between the Moab Mountains, and near the fountain Ain el-Baud, of the Arabs, at the head of the gorge. We here took a wry good though hasty de/euner d la fowrchette. How that expression recalls things of the dead past! The fountain of Ain-el-Haud has been thought by some to be the " Fountain of the Prophets," or even the old m- Sheme8h. I think, however, a substantial basis for such an opinion is altogether wanting. Having finished our breakfast, we once again formed in marching order, and pushed ahead. On our way we passed through a wild, desolate ravine, said to be the !«• of the Good Samaritan parable. Judging from the s.-litiidc' and barrenness of the locality, deeds of charity would not go a-begging now-a-days. It was in WADY-EL-KELT. 273 this same gorge, if I mistake not, that Sir Walter Scott laid the scenes of Sir Kenneth's marvellous adventures. After several hours of tedious travel, we came to an old and fast-decaying ruin. . I do not know what this for- merly was, but I do know it is situated in the bleakest and wildest portion of our road. This is said to be the most dangerous part of the route, and near the spot in question Sir Frederick Henniker came near falling a vic- tim to Arab assassination in 1820. The old ruin may have been, in palmier days, the " wayside inn" of Scrip- tures. Certain I am, however, that I would not like to frequent the place unless I was sure that a strong escort was in hailing distance. As we continued our way, we came to the magnificent gorge — the brook, or Wady-el-Kelt — and here I witnessed some of the finest, grandest, and most awe-inspiring scenery I ever beheld. Far down the steep rocky, almost perpendicular opposing cliffs, which are so close together that a stone can be tossed readily from one to the other, we see a small brilliant belt of limpid water. Its tiny falls and fairy cascades, however, could not be heard at our position. Speaking of this gorge, a favorite writer remarks, " The sides are almost sheer precipices of naked rock occasionally pierced by grottos, apparently inaccessible to anything except the eagles that now hover round them ; and yet history tells us that all these uncomfortable dens were once occupied by hermits. One is shown where an anchorite is said to have lived, the cravings of whose cas- tigated body were satisfied with four raisins a day." 18 -74 THE BROOK CH IK I Til. Tin-; voady, or brook, expands into the beautiful plain oi Jordan, and l»\ some baa been rightly supposed, in my opinion, to be the brook "Cherith" where Elijah was fed by the ravens. The Bible historj of the affair is plain — "Get thee hence, and turn thee eastward, and hide thyself by the brook Cherith, thai is before Jordan." (] Bangs xvii. 3). This must be the Cherith of Scripture, I think, discarding other reasons ; for, had Elijah turned "eastward? on the farther or eastern side of Jordan, he would have gone a long way bo find ••Cherith;" in other words, there is no such gorge or wady existing, which is '/• enough the river in question, to warrant the expression "before Jordan." In fact, 1 think the whole dispute turns on the interpretation of the word "before." I am under the impression, it means nothing more nor less than oppositt and near to. Moreover, the " brook" is well fitted for purposes of concealment — Elijah's motive in going thither. The Arabs have a tradition of their own, that priests and hermits of old had been fed by ravens at this place : showing the existence at all events of a legend as connected with the ravens. Some writers, in a far-fetched manner, explain that what is meant by raven is wild Aral) (!) that the Hebrew, Greek, and Arabic w r ords for raven are identical in some respects — and that, in the latter language, sides meaning a bird or raven, it likewise signifies a I)> -' rt A rah; they say, in fine, it was by these wild fellows that Elijah was fed, and not miraculously by ravens. I am not a sufficient lexicographer to settle this dispute of words — but marob, in Arabic, means crow, and also robber . ,r wild man. For me, I do not believe in the forced FOUNTAIN OF ELISHA. 275 interpretation of Scripture; and if my knowledge of Latin and Greek bears me out, there is no similarity in the words meaning raven, in the separate languages. That the Wady-Kelt is Cherith, I think there exists no plausible reason to doubt, though Dr. Stewart and others argue learnedly to the contrary. A few moments more and our visions were gladdened with the sacred sights and the glorious beauties gathered in the wide-spreading plain of Jordan. Imagine my emo- tions when the Mount up which our Saviour was led " to be tempted," — the Dead Sea, — the ruins of ancient and modern Jericho, and the stream of ever hallowed Jordan, were pointed out to my eager gaze ! I cannot describe what I felt. Before proceeding to camping-ground we continued up the valley, through a rich and fertile section of land, covered with shrubs, and visited the Fountain of Elisha, or " Ain es-Sultan" of the Arabs. This fountain bursts right from the base of a rough wall, or from the foot of a mound near it. The water is quite sweet, very warm, and earthy, as if it were from a stagnant pool. This, then, is the fountain (and there can be no doubt of it, Porter says), whose waters, which were "naught," were singularly changed by Elisha, by throwing of salt from a " new cruse" therein. And this fountain stood in the old Jericho of the prophets, and when to-night we drank of that sacred water, we stood of course on the site and amid the ruins of that ancient city. Near the Fountain of Elisha, there is another, the name of which I have for- gotten. It helps to irrigate that portion of the valley _". 6 rn i: C a m ri n (,-<; ROC N D. lying near it. Not tar from the fountain is the site of the ancient Chateau of Doch. In it. it is said, Simon Mac- cabffius was -lain 1>\ Ptolemy, his Bon. We then turned our horses 1 heads away, and took our wa\ to the spot which lhrahini had chosen as our tent- ground. ( >n reaching the place we found .Moses ( [brahim's assistant) on the ground, the tents pitched, and dinner in fair progress. Our old friend Hassan, our good Moukary, was also there, with tethering lines for the horses; and some tWO dozen wild Bedaween. hall-clad and lieive-look- ing, stood around the crackling brush fire, Leaning on their long guns. They made a picturesque addition to the ic. Among these fellows were our so-called escort, some five or six Bedaween, who had met us when half way. and had accompanied us only a mile or two on our journey. A precious escort, indeed! lhrahini has given us the best dinner I have eaten since we left .Malta. S. shot some birds, mostly pigeons (re- sembling the American tarm pigeon), and in so doing, surprised our worthy Sahliniah very much with the ease he knocked over birds on the wing, with his English double-barrel. I am quite confident that the sheikh would willingly part with one-half of his imaginary or real flock of goats to possess the fowling-piece. We have just given a high bakhshish for a Bedaween chant, a wild, barbarous, unearthly monotone, accompa- nied with regular (dapping of hands, and contorted motions of body, which, in sell-defence, and at a sacrifice of a still largt r bakhshish, we were compelled to break off. I slept awhile, a minute ago, and now here I am in my little tent RUINS OF JERICHO. 277 with S. We occupy a nice little awning together, a little too near the Arabs, perhaps, who keep up a low kind of mumbling song, while they watch around the fire. But it is good enough for us poor, miserable creatures," and beggars, as we really are. We have eaten salt with our guards, and Ibrahim says w T e can fully repose in their confidence. The other four of our party occupy a larger tent, while Ibrahim, Moses, and the cook fill a small pocket-handkerchief-affair stretched out there, against a rock. Strange indeed are my thoughts, to-night, as I sit here amid the rains of what was, long centuries since, the " City of the Palms." My position is so novel that, while I close my e} T es for a time, and let my thoughts wander back to my own republican America, I can scarcely persuade myself that I am now thousands of miles away, and that my feet, at this moment, press the sod of the " Wilderness of Judea." My long stay in Paris — my extensive tour on the Continent — the beauties of the Piedmontese plains — the rugged grandeur of the mountain scenery of Savoy — the lordly Rhine — the classic charm of old Pome, its dead Coliseum, and its gay Pin- cian Hill — all seem thrown confusedly together to make one gay, chaotic, fantastic dream, and nothing more ! This — my presence in this land — in this valley, is the grand feature, the incomprehensible achievement of my life! There have existed two Jerichos. " From the ' Jeru- salem Itinerary we learn that the Jericho of the 4th cen- tury was situated at the base of the mountain range, one 2 .' s UISTORl 0] JERICHO. mile and a balf (Roman) from the fountain of Elisha, and that the more ancient city bad stood !»\ the fountain itself. This corresponds exactly with what we bave already Been. The ruins on the banks of \\ ady-Kelt mark the site of the Jericho of Herod, and of the New Testa- ment; while those here around the fountain are the only remnants of the Jericho of the Prophets." The Btirring historj of Jericho max be found in the following excellent sketch : — •• Ascending the mound over the fountain, and Beating ourselves on one of the old stones, we are prepared to glance at Jericho's eventful history, and recall its thrilling tciations. We have before us the great plains on which the weary Israelites looked down, alter their wil- derness journey, from the brow of yonder mountain ridge away in the east (Numbers xxxiii. 47, 48). We have at our feet the only remains of the eity to which Joshua sent the spies from the plains of Moab, on the other wide of the .Jordan ; and there behind ns is the mountain where, on the advice of Rahab, thej hid themselves three days to escape pursuit (Josh. ii.). Around this city, too. after the spies returned, the Israelites marched mysto riously during seven days; and on the seventh day, after tic seventh circuit, 'the priests blew with the trumpets .... And tic people shouted with a greal shout,' and •tic wall fell down Hat, so that the people went up into the city . . . and took the city' (Josh. \i.). Jericho'was then wholly destroyed, and a singular curse pronounced on whoever should rebuild it — 'Cursed be the man before the Lord that riseth up and buildeth this city Jericho; HISTORY OF JERICHO. 279 he shall lay the foundation thereof in his first-born ; and in his youngest son shall he set up the gates of it' (Id. vi. 26). And after an interval of some five centuries it was rebuilt and the curse executed. ' In his (Ahab's) days did Hiel the Bethelite build Jericho ; he laid the founda- tion thereof in Abiram, his first-born, and set up the gates thereof in his youngest son, Segub' (1 Kings xvi. 34). A school of prophets gathered round the spot almost imme- diately. Elijah and Elisha came down to it from Bethel — an easy day's journey — by a path through these wild mountains on the north-west. From Jericho the two went on, over the plain, to the banks of the Jordan ; the ' sons of the prophets' followed them in the distance, and at length took their stand ' in sight afar off' — pro- bably on one of the upper terraces of the right bank — to see the departure of their great master. And yonder on the plain beyond the river, ' Elijah went up by a whirl- wind into heaven.' But his mantle fell on Elisha, who, on his return, divided the waters of the river, healed the fountain that gushes out from the base of the mound at our feet, and went up the mountain pass to Bethel, where, in a forest, now gone, lurked the i two she-bears' that ' tare the forty and two' wicked children (2 Kings ii). " After the captivity, the inhabitants of Jericho re- turned from Babylon ; but little is known of the city until the time when its palm groves and balsam gardens were given by Antony to Cleopatra. From her, Herod the Great bought them, and made this one of his royal cities, and adorned it with a hippodrome and many stately buildings ; and here, too, that monster of iniquity 280 BISTORT OF JERICHO. died. The Bite of this new city was. as we have seen. one and a halt' miles t*> the soutli. on (lie banks of the Kelt. It was new Jericho our Lord visited in In* way to Jerusalem, lodging with Zacchaeus, who had climbed the unore tire to see Him; and healing the poor blind man (Luke wiii. 35, 13, and \ix. L— 10). Its subsequent histor) is soon told. It became the head of a toparchy under the Romans, but was deserted soon after the Mohammedan Conquest." Well, well, well! How I have &pwn out my Journal. 1 must unbuckle my pistol now, and to bed! To-morrow we visit .Ionian and the Dead Sea; and are also shown, gratis, the traditional tomb of Moses, though I believe, ording to Holy Writ, "No man knoweth of his sepul- chre to this day." CHAPTER XIII. Prussian Hospice, Jerusalem. Friday, March 11th, 1859. } ^6jyHIS morning we arose very early, and were repaid with the gorgeous panorama of a sunrise over the hills of Palestine. The scene was thrice lovely, as we watched the gradual approach of the God of Day, whose effulgent rays could be seen at first peopling the far-off hill-tops with tiny purple rays, and then blaz- ing brightly over the summits of the mountains near us, flooding the whole valley in golden splendor. The morn- ing breeze was crisp — what some term bracing — and as muffled in our thick coats we viewed the waking scene, situated as we were, having safely and pleasantly slum- bered through the night, nothing scarcely could have added to our comfort or thrilled our souls with more soothing and profitable reflections. A light hazy fog, resembling the fleece of a noonday sky, hung over the valley, and half veiling, half unfolding, lent a charm to the scene. Gray wreathing specks of cloud, marshalled in flying squadrons, dashed along the far-off expanse of blue. The Bedaween stood leaning on their long guns, intently watching us as we viewed and drank in the scene ; their picturesque attitude lent to the picture an 281 282 R 1 D 1 To\\ A R l> Til E JOR D A V interesting feature. Bu1 booii the long shadows of the mountains one by one disappeared from the valley, and the sun. now highly risen, shone down with its usual brilliancy. Before the dew had fallen from their carollas, I gathered some pretty flowers, and placed them safely in my satchel, to keep them as souvenirs of a holy place lor my absent friends in transatlantic America. We partook of a hasty though first-rate breakfast, which again elevated Ibrahim's mis',,,, in our opinion. Immediately alter our meal, the canij) was in confusion, and we were Boon in the saddle. Moses and the cook arranged the tents, cooking imple- ment-. &c, hade us adieu, and left lor Jerusalem; we needed their services no longer. As we left the camp, and, in the exhilaration of the moment, rode on swiftly through the dwarf shrub-trees, over the level plain, the valle\ indeed seemed most lovely, and I fain would have Lingered, enraptured with the sight; but Ibrahim urged us on. asserting that to accomplish our day's work, and reach Jerusalem before the Muzzim-cry to evening prayers, would tax our activity to the utmost. Before the day ended, we had ample cause to testify to the truth of his predictions. ( hi we rode toward the Jordan — and it was a long ride. It is singularly deceptive this river — or this plain — rather boili combined. It was from our camp last night, appa- rently about ha minuted walk, yet we were two hours and more getting there this morning, and our gait was not slow. In passing through the underbrush, S. shot nil fine -.iiue birds, among them a partridge of the LEBANON. 283 largest size I ever saw. The birds were very tame, and S. was compelled to throw a stone at them to frighten them, as he wished to shoot them on the wing. We saw several storks also, and some birds of a species unknown to me. Just before we reached the plain directly in front of the Jordan, one of our afore-mentioned Beddwy escort bantered me for a race — he on foot, embarrassed with his long abba and cumbersome firelock, and I securely mounted on a quick-footed native steed. I laughed at him ; but to appease his evident mortification, I consented to the race. I tapped my horse, and he bounded off at full speed. What was my surprise to see my Arab com- petitor come leaping over shrubs and gulches with the agility of a deer, and when the goal on which we had fixed was reached, he was more than three lengths ahead ! He did not boast, however, but covered my chagrin as best he could. As we were nearing the river, Ibrahim suddenly ex- claimed " Liban ! Liban !" (Lebanon ! Lebanon !) Look- ing in the direction he indicated, we saw the faint blue outline of that snow-capped range, away up on the Syrian coast. Quite an amusing incident here occurred. A German- Jew in company, having occasion for some reason to carry Sahlimah's fowling-piece, accidentally lost the ramrod. At this the sheikh, quite unexpectedly to all of us, waxed exceeding wroth, and insisted on immediate indemnifica- tion. m He sputtered out a great deal of Arabic, to which our German friend, frightened half out of his wits, could only reply, "Nichts versteht Arabika !" We assured 28 I liOUN T OF Tl M I'T \ TION, Sahlimah thai he should be well bakhshished for his loss; but he took it badly, and his sullen conduct was very observable. We noticed ii with some uneasiness, though our good Ibrahim assured as thai the sign of treachery on the Beddwy's part would be his death-warrant, and ss irted most positively thai he would deliver us sale and sound that nighl at the Prussian Hospice. He then said something in quite an authoritative manner to the Bheik, with no other effect than a scowl of anger and of perfect independence from the Beddwy. More than one of us then glanced at the caps on our pistols. Hut the storm blew away. From one point in the valley, the Mount of Tempta- tion (or the Quarantinia — so called because Christ here fasted forty, of quaranta, in Italian, days) stood forth, with its curved outline, in bold relief, slightly deviating in its position from the other wild cliffs that frown down on the Valley of Jericho. We could see a little chapel away up on the summit of the mountain, and Ibrahim pointed out to us the holes and caves in the rock, faintly seen in the distance, which were formerly occupied by hermits. As Porter says, it does indeed seem — so accurate is the description given — that these magnificent lines, descriptive of this scenery, were penned by Milton on the spot : — "It was a mountain ait whose verdant feet A spacious plain, outstretched in circuit wide, mi : from his side two rivers flowed, Tin' one winding, the other straight ; ami left between Fair champain with less rivers interveined Then meetii _ joined their tribute to the sea: BANKS OF THE JORDAN. 285 Fertile of corn the glebe, of oil and wine ; With herds the pastures thronged, with flocks the hills ; Huge cities and high-towered, that well might seem The seats of mightiest monarchs, and so large The prospect was, that here and there was room For barren desert, fouutainless and dry. To this high mountain top, the Tempter brought Our Saviour, and new train of words began." This description is true to the letter, and yet, if I mis- take not, Milton never was in Palestine. At last, however, we stood on the banks of the Jordan, and once again, I must say, dreamingly strange were my emotions, as I gazed on the rushing torrent. I thought of the time when the humble Nazarene was baptized of John in the same waters, and when the dove descended. and the Godly voice was heard. In fording a small swamp in order to reach the real bank of the stream, the three Americans, including myself, came near meeting with an accident. The bed of the pond was soft and slimy, and our horses mired to their haunches ; they were stout and fully equal to the task, however, and after two or three desperate lunges, we gained the shore. We were here again much amused at our Jewish friend, whom I have mentioned in connection with Sahlimah's old flint-lock. The poor fellow, no doubt, burdened, like many more of us, with a heavy weight of sin, was determined to wash it out in this, the waters of sacred Jordan. And yet it seems, he did not — judging from his actions — believe in the purity of the water as instrumental in removing transgressions, for I was quite surprised, on turning around, to behold him on his hands 286 THE JORDAN. and knees, diligently engaged in rooting (if the expression be Allowed) his face under the water in the slimy mud at ihi />"//")/). A.s soon as he had finished his muddy ablutions to his satisfaction, 1 asked him the occasion of such strange procedure. He replied, with all gravity — •■ Now that 1 am here, by this sin-removing stream, I w ished to wash away, at once, all of my backsliding errors, misfortunes, and bad luck ; so I thought, in view of the magnitude and quantity of sin to my account, it would require the quintessence of Jordan to remove them !" 1 did not stop to argue with him what constituted the quintessence of the torrent: certain I am, however, that tlie misfortunes which had attended him through life, did not desert him after his hath in Jordan — for, in climbing the dizzy mountain ridges, on our return to Jerusalem that afternoon, the fellow's horse tumbled over a ledge, and came near foiling on his rider. I rallied him concerning his mishap, when he good-humoredly replied, " Oh ! the water has not had time to act, — to reach my system /" If he was content. I was. so the "quintessence*' subject dropped. The Jordan (lows in a perfect torrent, through a deep depression or fosse of about four hundred yards average breadth, though the Jordan itself, at its widest portion. viewed by our party, was only thirty yards across, and generally not more than fifteen. The abrupt manner of tie- -helving of this ravine, gives to the river an appear- ance of having previously hail several banks, of different distances apart. We find near the banks of the river, an almost impenetrable thicket of weeds; while on the imme- diate edge of the stream, " tamarisks, oleanders, and willows THE JORDAN. 287 abound." A well known and deservedly popular writer has likened the Jordan to the "yellow sanded Tiber." In my eyes it resembles it no more than it does any other stream of a like size. Moreover, the Jordan is a dark, rapid, hissing torrent; its actual banks are of scarcely no height, and its general course is nearly straight. The Tiber is lighter in color, is a sluggish stream comparatively, and has high bold banks including its waters, which are very serpentine in their course. The true point of resem- blance, I take it, is, one is a river, and so is the other. The exact spot where the Israelites crossed is not known, though much has been written at length, by learned men, on the subject. We cannot base any argu- ment, as has been well said, on the present condition of the river, or of its banks — the channel and banks are liable to many changes which can be wrought by the hand of time. This thing is certain, however, according to Joshua (iii. 16) that they crossed Jordan " right against Jericho" and where we stood, therefore, could not have been far from the place. In regard to this point, Dr. Stuart thinks the water was cut off for the passage of the army for twenty miles. " This, I consider a real valuable discovery" (if discovery it is) " as it proves that the Jordan was dried up for the space of twenty miles, so that thousands of Israel could pass over in a very short space of time." Dr. Robinson, agreeing with early traditions, places the point of crossing five miles farther up the river, and near where famous Gilgal of old stood. Here the children of Israel encamped first. Gilgal is a noted place of itself; here Gehazi was 2S8 Til E JORDAN. punished — here the people of Judah received David from exile — here the Tabernacle was once set up — here Syrian Naanian was cured, &C, &C. Near this place, as in other portions <«t* the valley, once grew large quantities of the sugar-cane, which some writers think constituted the ••wild honey" of John the Baptist. It was quite an interesting feature of our visit, at least to me, to draw niv Bible from my pocket, and then beneath the willow- that wave over the wildly flowing Jordan, read the third and fourth chapters of Joshua, in which such a thrilling and succinct account of the •• passage" is given. It was suggested to me, and unknown to my companions, I repaired for a few moments to a small jungle, and there read that thrilling Bible narra- te e. with an interest never before felt. This spot where we now stood was indeed Holy Land, rendered so by some of the most convincing proofs of God's power and presence. It was here that Elijah passed over the dry bed of the river, and was caught up to heaven, in the plain beyond — it was here that Elisha, the prophet's servant, on whom fell his master's robe, also passed over the channel of the stream which ceased flowing, when he cried out, ''Where is the Lord God of Elijah?" (2 Kings ii.) Thus Jordan was here passed on dry land three times; yet the crowning (-rail — the one which has for ever consecrated the river, in the sight of all Christian people, was the baptism of the Son of llim — of Him. •• whose name shall he Immanuel," of Jesus Christ, the God-born Saviour of our sinning race. It was here that lie descended into the water, and was baptized of BATHING IN THE JORDAN. 289 John. It was here the voice divine, coming from the clouds, proclaimed Jesus to be "my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." Our feelings cannot then be imagined — for I am persuaded from the language of Scripture, such as " leading up" into " the wilderness," &c, all referring to geographical features — that the place of the Saviour's baptism was not far from the spot whereon we stood to-day. The whole surrounding plain is throughout the year, with one exception, nothing but a vast abode of desolation and silence ; and nothing can be heard near the Jordan, save its own rapidly-moving waters. The event to which I allude, is the annual pilgrimage — observed by the Christ- ian Churches of Palestine (in Jerusalem particularly) — to the Jordan, for the purpose of bathing. This is at Eas- ter ; drums and horns enliven the scene ; soldiers guard the bathers, and the Turkish governor of Jerusalem is at the head of the procession. The bathers plunge in, in all attires ; some entirely nude, others (and mostly) in white robes, carried for the purpose. The whole river in the neighborhood, and the surrounding plain, present one mass of confused humanity. They bathe throughout the day, and depart with the greatest stillness in the night. Mr. Stanley gives a very graphic description of the whole ceremony ; I take his closing extract : — " Once more they may be seen. At the dead of night, the drum again awakes them for their homeward march. The torches again go before ; behind follows the vast mul- titude, mounted, passing in profound silence over the silent plain — so silent, that but for the tinkling of the drum, its 19 290 i 'I I i" v " SEA. departure would scarcely be perceptible. The troops sta^ on the ground to the end, to guard the rear; and when the last roll of the drum announces thai the lasl soldier is gone, tlic whole plain returns again to its perfect soli- tude." After gathering mementoes of various kinds — chiefly, however, of pebbles, I lowers, and canes — and baking a last, lingering look at Jordan, we once again mounted our faith- ful Bteeds, and slowly took our wa\ toward the Dead Sea, which lav silently and lonely before us, in full sight. Ah, how warm was that fide! 1 have not as yet (hall' past ten. i'. m.. in Jerusalem) recovered from it. This valley is a perfect oven — and this in March ! What must it he in Augusl '. The plain of the Dead Sea is nearly seventeen hundred feet below the Mediterranean; and the hot air comes through the gorge as from the fiery mouth of a furnace. On the tall mountain cliffs which border on this heated plain, we experienced winter weather; while in the valley, it was far worse than July heat ! The change was great, and we suffered very much, fearing sunstroke at every moment. But we lived through all. After a most exhausting ride of one hour's duration, we suddenly drew up on the mar- gin of that Bolemn and desolate-looking sheet. I cannot adequately describe the Dead Sea. and the absence of every- thing like life near it. Not a sparrow chirps forth his note, nol an insect hums away its brief existence, not a flower can be seen rearing its head near this place of desolation. A stillness like unto the deepest sleep, or rather unto death itself) p rvades everything; not even THE DEAD SEA. 291 a ripple rolls its gentle swell over the loamy shore. It is a wild, mysterious, silent picture of solitude, the most undisputed, and the very greatest that ever reigned anywhere under the sun. The Dead Sea, on many accounts, is the most interest- ing sheet of water in the world. I regret that I cannot enter into this subject at length, or as fully as I would wish. My remarks will necessarily be short. There must have been a lake here, or something resembling the present Dead Sea, as far back as four thousand years ago, when Lot looked down from Bethel, and " beheld all the plain of Jordan, and it was well watered everywhere, be- fore the Lord destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, even as the garden of the Lord, like the land of Egypt, as thou comest unto Zoar." Thus we read in Genesis xiii. 10. This and other allusions lead us to infer that there existed at that time a lake in this same place, of course much smaller than the present Dead Sea, inasmuch as there was much fertile land left here. It was here that the " cities of the plain" did much toward the progress of civilization. Sodom, Gomorrah, Admah, &c, were here built ; and here Phoenician enterprise had its first seat. The physical history of the Dead Sea is as interesting as the historical notices, but I have not time to enter into any detail. Lieut. Lynch and his party have done much toward giving a thorough survey of the Dead Sea ; and Dr. Anderson, connected with that expedition, has given the most complete report extant, relative to the geolo- gical structure of the seashores, and of the mountain ranges bordering on it. From his report we learn that 292 III E DEAD SKA. much limestone, some nitrous encrustations, some puw sulphur, considerable quantities of post-tertiary lava, pumice-stone, and volcanic slag are t<> be found. The Dead Sea was called by the ancients Asphaltites Lake, and ii i^ known among the Arabs as BaAr /,/'/, or «Sfea 0/ £otf. By-the-by, we made inquiries for the "pillar of salt," once Lot's unfortunate wife ; but [brahim knew nothing of its locality, ami was Bufficientl) honest to confess it. Lieut. Lynch refers to it; and Josephus remarks that it was standing, ami that he had seen it, at the time of writ- ing his "Antiquities." This was A.D. 93. He is sup- ported by Clement of Rome, who was contemporary with the Jewish historian. De Saulcy, however, the French explorer, does not helieve in its present existence at all, and Laughs at the ••silly idea." as he expresses it. The length of this curious sheet is forty miles; its ex- treme breadth eight and a half, or more generally five miles. The northern section is much deeper; some places are remarkable for their depth, while others are equally shallow. I might remark here that Strabo gives us the circumference of the sea as one hundred and four- teen miles; breadth, twenty-eight; Josephus states it to be sixty-six miles in length, and seventeen and a quarter broad: Lynch, forty-six in length, and nine and a half broad. J have adopted the estimate of Dr. Porter; I think it nearer correct than the others. No living creatures, it is said, inhabit these still myste- rious waters; and. like the tradition of the classic Avernus, it is asserted no bird can flyover its sheet of "dreamy desolation" without meeting with certain death. THE DEAD SEA. 293 The saline particles in the Dead Sea amount to 26 1 per cent., and of course has. a specific gravity one-fifth greater than the ocean, the salt of which is only 4 per cent. A human body cannot sink in it ; we well tested this great buoyancy of the waters. The most acrid, bitter, nauseous taste I ever experienced was when I, for experiment's sake, took in a mouthful of the sea-water and accidentally swallowed it. I feel the effects now. One of our party complained considerably of an intolerable itching of the skin after the bath. The fact of a bituminous substance having been noticed along the shores, and very often on the surface of the Dead Sea, has caused some to think that it was b}^ the ignition of this inflammable material that the guilty cities were fired. Others even think that the houses of Sodom and Gomorrah were made of asphaltum, and by this means the fire was kept vigorously alive and in a rapid and fearful march. The undoubted appearance of bitu- men, and the remarkable saline impregnation noticed above, are remarkable features indeed of the Dead Sea. It was known that the sea was salt as far back as 148 years b. c. — granting, of course, Genesis to have been written by Moses between the time of the departure of the children of Israel, and the time of the defeat of the Amorites by Moses. In regard to the locality of the destroyed Sodom, it may be w r ell, in passing, to mention that M. de Saulcy has discovered its veritable remains, and on a part of the Dead Sea coast, some distance from where we were to-day. He indulged Ids fancy, however, and that was all. The 29 1 Til 1 DE \ !> SEA. must knowing writers and Learned explorers of the llolv Land give it as their opinion that the wicked nt\ or its ruin Lies buried beneath the still waters of this sad sea. 1 think with inanv others concerning the formation of the Dead Sea — thai it is nothing more nor less than a grand geological phenomenon, and that the enormous gorge, in a pari of which rest- the .-till sea, has been the gradual work of ages. 1 believe the same valley existed here 4000 years ago — 1 mean as respects physical fea- ture: and has undergone in that space the changes of nature. The whole plain of Jericho measures about seventy square miles. It is interesting to know that not far from the spot we stood to-day, is Idumea, or Edom, where dwelt the hairy Esau. Bow different now is the dull, desolate appearance of this deep gorge, in which lies wrapt, as it were, in never- waking slumber, the Dead Sea. from the view presented in time long agone by the fertile fields and rich pastures which then -raced the land of the enterprising Phoeni- cians; for none deny that this was the first seat of that ly people, so skilled in all that makes a nation excel- lent. This now barren spot was, undoubtedly, 4000 years ago, tin- very warden of the world — its Eden in all its bness. Alas, now ! A line summary of the Dead Sea may be had in the following -iir.de paragraph : — •■The Dead Sea is. whether considered physically or historically, tic mosl remarkable sheet of water in the world. It lies in the lowest pari of that deep ravine THE DEAD SEA. 295 which extends from the base of Hermon to the Gulf of 'Akabah. A section of the ravine, more than 140 miles in length, is beloiv the level of the sea, and the depression of the surface of the Dead Sea amounts to no less than 1312 feet. A single glance at the features of this region is sufficient to show that the cavity of the Dead Sea was coeval in its conformation with the Jordan Valley on the north, and the 'Arabah on the south. The breadth of the whole valley is pretty uniform, only contracting a little to the south of the Lake of Tiberias, and expanding somewhat at Jericho; the mountains on each side thus run in nearly parallel lines from Hermon to 'Akabah. The Dead Sea, therefore, occupies a section of the great valley which only differs from the rest in being deeper and covered with water. On the east and west it is shut in by lofty cliffs of bare white or gray limestone, dipping in many places into its bosom without leaving even a footpath along the shore. Its length is forty miles, and its greatest breadth, eight and a half, narrowing to five at the northern extremity. Near its south-east angle, opposite the ravine of Kerak, is a broad, low promontory, with a long point or cape stretching more than five miles northward up the centre of the sea. And it is worthy of special notice that the whole section of the sea north of this promontory is of great depth, varying from forty to two hundred and eighteen fathoms; and in some places the soundings show upwards of one hundred and eighteen fathoms within a few yards of the eastern cliffs. The southern section, on the other hand, is quite shallow ; M B OF MOSES. never more than from two to three fathoms, and generally onh about as 1 1 1 ; 1 1 1 \ feet." r lingering a long time, despite the sweltering rays that showered down upon us. we filled our sacks with pebbles, as mementoes, and slowly took our way from the shores of this desolate Bea. Our route toward the "CH3 of the Great King" was different from the one we pursued yesterday in going to Jordan; it led directly over the mountains. And. ah 1 what' a tedious body-and-soul- racking ride it was! It was indeed far worse than the ride from Ramleh, on the Plain of Sharon, to Jerusalem. Op and down we went all the time. .More than once, as Bkirting the summit of some lofty crag, on a narrow ^oat- path. I feared my horse would .stumble and send me headlong down the frowning precipice into the fearful chasm which yawned around us. But we surmounted all difficulties safely, and had every reason to be thankful. We stopped only once, and that at a Muslim Wely, called Neby Musa (Tomb of Moses), on the summit of a rough, flinty, dreary-looking mountain. The followers of Ma- homet believe that Moses is here buried; although it is far from being a " valley" — and many pilgrims, despite the tedious journey, and the wild stony way, often repair thither to pay their orisons at the shrine of the prophet — the Israelitish Lawgiver. It is a bleak, barren place, and the winds of winter must whistle a lonesome ditty around those cold gray walls. All Christians are here debarred entrance, and bo we dined in the gloomy shadow of the ( onvent. We saw a few hooded heads peep at us. over the ramparts, a- we came up at a sweeping canter MAR SABA. 297 a I' AmSricain, but the curiosity of the monks was short- lived — they soon disappeared, leaving the old walls more desolate and lonesome than ever. We had entertained serious intentions of visiting, before our return to the Holy City, the world-renowned, rock- defended Convent of Mar Saba. But it was quite plain that for some reason our hitherto polite and exceedingly attentive Ibrahim did not wish us to turn our horses' heads in that direction. He hinted at the danger attend- ant on such an expedition, and spoke openly of the miserable, stony way, dignified by the name of path, over which we would have to pass — and of the cold manner, and certain rebuff, to be expected from the worthy brethren inhabiting the wild and romanticallv situated convent — in the still wilder glen of Mar Saba. So we did not go. Ibrahim's conduct was very singular ; I wished much to make the exj)edition and return by Bethlehem, as Porter recommends. Of all the places in the Holy Land worthy of a visit, Mar Saba and Ma- sada present to the tourist the greatest attractions. Mar Saba was founded in 439, by St. Sabas, a most worthy anchorite from Cappadocia. The good monk could not have chosen a place more fitting his aim — sacred and solemn seclusion. Clustered in small terraces high up the mountain, and built on the very edge of pre- cipices, — clinging in many places to the ragged cliffs, Mar Saba presents the very picture of romantic quiet. " The toute ensemble is picturesque and singularly wild, especially when we view it in the pale moonlight ; when the projecting cliffs and towers are tinged with the silver 3 M \ R S \ BA. light, while the intervening spaces and the deep chasms below are shrouded in gloom." The Convenl passed through many trials and dangers during the Holy Wars. and was before this plundered by the Persians, when sonic of its monks were killed, [hrahim tells us that even now, the monks, while they do not live in daily terror as in times by-gone of the Bedaween, yel they are constantly on the alert for them, and allow noi a member of thai roving tribe to darken their large portal. Mar Saba is the richest convent in Palestine, or one among the rich- est, — and its treasures often tempt the stealthy "to break through and steal" — an impossibility, we might say. 1 shall always regret that 1 did not visit the romantic place, and Ibrahim shall ever be blamed for cheating me of that pleasure. Masada has been not unfrequently taken by the gene- ral reader, for Mar Sdba, and vice versa. Each has a deeply romantic history, it is true, and each is favored with more than ordinary grandeur of scenery, and wild- ness of situation — a grandeur seldom equalled and never surpassed; yet other than in this respect, the two places ise to be similar. Masada is ante-Christ in origin, dating hack full two hundred years before the Christian era: but for many long years it has lain buried beneath the debris of a sunken ruin and despised country. It was 1 for the indefatigable explorer Dr. Robinson, .-one- years since, to revive and identify it. The remains of the fortress are situated on the western coast of the I) - i. on a cliff high up a bold mountain, twelve or fifteen bundled feet in height. From this eminence a MASADA. 299 grand and lovely view can be obtained far over the Moab Mountains, the Dead Sea, and the " Wilderness of Judea." It is said that there are very decided remains yet left, to tell of the former grandeur of the pile here existing. The spot by nature is just as inaccessible, and as well protected as Mar Saba, if not better. On the side next the sea, the rock on which the fortress is erected, rises nearly seven hundred feet, almost perpendicularly, and in other places " where the ascent is more gradual, access to the summit is cut off by„belts of naked cliff from twenty to one hundred feet high." The remains of the church, of several towers, and of one or two large cisterns, are in a fine state of preservation, and, strange to say, are quite modern in appearance. The chief circum- stance, however, which renders these ruins interesting to the tourist, is the sad tale of the dark and damning tra- gedy connected with the old gray walls which yet remain to tell it, — a tale, the bloodiest in the " book of time." The following is a brief epitome of the mournful story, which is revived again in the breasts of all, as the name of Masada falls on the ear. About the time that Titus was laying his plans for the siege of Rome, possession of Masada was taken by the sect or band of desperate Jews called Sicarii. These people, driven to despair by the misfortunes which had overtaken their unfortunate land, and by the avaricious encroachments of the grasping Romans, fought at every opportunity with the energy and ferocity of a forlorn cause. Along with Masada they had garrisoned several other strong fortresses, but these others, one by one, had 300 M ISADA. been taken from them, and now the Roman general, Flavius Sylva, pitched his tents before Masada, the last stronghold of the Sicarii. His attack was not long with- held, but it was successfully repelled. Various were the fortunes of the two contending forces, for several days. Finally a strong arm from the Roman ranks hurled a fire- brand with accurate aim; the wooden fortifications which the Sicarii had erected, took fire, and a fierce wind favoring the flames, they wore consumed. The Ro- mans had now an advantage, which they determined to follow up. The entire number of human beings within the fortress, including women and children, amounted to nine hundred and sixty-seven. They had now no hope of victory, and no hope of life. What was to be done? They would not yield, to fall unresisting victims to the Roman soldiery — this were to meet a far worse fate. They had no time for deliberation. The morrow's sun heralded their doom — their death! They met in solemn conclave, and it was proposed by the stern and intrepid Eleazar, the leader of the besieged, that, sooner than sub- mit to the enemy, each man should yield up his lift and that of his "■>'/< and babe! It was a startling proposition, and at first, from the very horror it awakened, it was voted down unanimously. But the stern Eleazar was not bo easily baffled ; he appealed in touching terms to the ruined and disastrous condition of their beloved country, and then to his soldiers themselves — as freemen! The chord vibrated through cxi'vx breast, and the bloody conquest was won. " They convulsively embraced their wives and children. — for a moment lavished on them RETURN TO JERUSALEM. 301 every form, every term of endearment, and then plunged their swords into their hearts. This scene of carnage finished, they heaped up all the treasures of the fortress in one enormous pile, and burned them to ashes. Ten of their number were next chosen by lot to kill the rest. The victims calmly laid themselves down, each beside his fallen wife and children, and, clasping their corpses in his arms, presented his throat to the executioner. The remaining ten now drew lots for one, who, after killing his companions, should destroy himself. The nine were slain, and he who stood singly and last, having inspected the prostrate multitude, to see that not one breathed, fired the palace, drove his sword through his body, and fell dead beside his family !" But heigho ! how time flies ! Twelve o'clock is past, and the gloomy midnight settles over me, as I pore over my Journal; yet I need sleep very much, and must now, with a few more words, lay aside these rudely-writ- ten leaves. Again we resumed our tedious journey, Sahlimah si- lently leading the way. We finally drew near the valley, once more, between the Moab Mountains; and at this place, passed the goat-skin tents of Sahlimah's tribe, " black," as in the days of Solomon. Here our good sheikh resigned his guardian-protection of us; and, pro- mising to call on us in Jerusalem, without fail, in a day or two, for — bakhshish, he went to join his clan. Late in the afternoon, just before the city entrances were closed, we slowly rode through the Jaffa Gate, and in a few moments more were safely within the walls of the " City of the Foundation of Peace." CHAPTER XIV. Prussian Hospice, Jenimi/em. i Saturday. March L2th, 1859. j r' HIS day has been spent most pleasantly and profit- I ably. I hope by me, although I commenced tin tweuty-(our hours in not a very commendatory manner; that is. by sleeping until nine o'clock. But after a hard day's work, it is but natural that slum- ber should close very securely one's eyelids, and that the bed should be such a dear companion, from whom to part one is exceeding loth. So to-day my morning nap ex- tended to several hours beyond the sunrise. This day we had determined to make an expedition to far-famed and water, thai brighl guidipgstar which had led him and his compauions thus far! Bv following its further guidance, they came to the "City of David." Another object of interest to us to-day, on our road, was the Convenl of Mar Elias, a large, massive-looking, well-protected building; deriving its name from the fact that Elias once abode here, or once reposed here from his flight from Jezebel, I cannot rightly learn which. One tradition is as good as the other, for a foundation. It is a \er\ beautiful, refreshing-looking place; and had it suited the pleasure of the reverend monks inhabiting the convent. I would have liked much to have lingered there inside the walls for several hours. In a half-hour's easy riding from the Convent of Elias. we reached one of the most interesting spots that I have visited since I have been in the Holy Land, interesting because there can be no doubt as to the genuineness and validity of the sacred location; I refer to the tomb of Rachel. The small white s([iiare tower with its dome is quite modern; but that this is the place where Rachel died and was buried on the way to Ephrata, " which is Bethlehem," there can be little or no doubt. In Moses' tine the monument set over the grave of the beloved wife was standing, but that has long since been carried away. All agree that this is the spot where the good mother of [srael died and was buried; all concur in honoring the place, and in keeping it from falling into decay and neglect. We lingered some time at Rachel's Tomb, and then slowly mo\ ed on our way. CHURCH OF THE NATIVITY. 305 At last we climbed the high hill on which Bethlehem is situated, and passing slowly along the terraces, through rich groves of olive trees, we entered the city of the Saviour's nativity. It was with doubly solemn feelings that I rode into that sacred village. It was here that the Virgin came with Joseph from Galilee, out of a city called Nazareth, to pay tithes ; it was here Immanuel, the God- begotten Son, was born ; it was in 3011 valley the star appeared to the shepherds ; it was here the Angel of the Lord proclaimed "tidings of great joy, peace on earth, good-will to men ;" and it was here that the Sages of the East came to place treasures, gifts of frankincense and myrrh and spices, at the feet of Jesus, the stable-cradled King of the Jews ! Of all this, and far more, I thought, and I could scarcely believe that I stood in " Bethlehem of Judea." As we entered the place, we dismounted, under Mr. Theil's guidance, at the house of a poor German, who lives here, for what purpose I am sure I cannot tell. We next proceeded through the narrow streets, up the town, until we reached a large open plaza of ground. At the further end of this, loomed up the massive bulk of the Church of the Nativity, under the wings and roof of which are gathered Latins, Greeks, and Armenians — each having their respective convents. We were much besieged at this point on our way by venders of souvenirs, such as pearl shells, rudely engraved with scriptural designs, olive- wood ornaments, and beads of sandal and mecca-wood. We ran the gauntlet safely, and, with Mr. Theil at our head, we reached the convent, and knocked lustily at the 20 306 OHURCH OF nil-: NATIVITY. Latin gate. After a worthy perseverance and niueli banging on the pari of Mr. Theil, our good extempore dragoman, we gained access, and were received very politely by a Latin priest, who. smiling one of his sober smiles. Conducted US into the presence of another sleek-looking brother, who good-naturedly took us in charge. Our Swiss friend, Esslinger, made known to him in Italian our desire — and forthwith we proceeded to see the holy plat This church, we are told, stands over the site of the old stable in which the Saviour of mankind w r as horn — there- fore in order to see the holiest of the holies here, we must provide ourselves with torches, for that which we wish to is under ground. After descending a narrow staircase, fifteen or twenty feet in length, we came to a long low chamber or vault. In this vault is an altar, erected to the Children of Bethlehem, slain by Herod's cruel edict of wholesale murder. It is said, under this altar are buried twenty thousand children; though, with all due credence to what they tell, I must say the space is small, or the children were very small. We were next shown the place where St. Jerome spent a greater portion of his arduous student-life. In this little cell we see a fair portrait of the saint. There is no reasonable doubt but that St. Jerome did make this place or its whereabouts his abode for many years; that the monks have added and exaggerated, also, then.' can be no doubt. We how- i receive the good and bad, and carefully, if possible, winnow one from the oth^r, a task often found to be extremely difficult. PLACE OF THE SAVIOUR'S BIRTH. 307 Near this place we were shown the Chapel of Joseph, so called because here the recognised husband of Mary stood at the moment of the birth of the Saviour. And finally we saw the most interesting spot of all — the very spot of the Saviour's birth! Several silver lamps, kept constantly burning, shed a sickly light over the place, and revealed to our gaze a large silver star, set in the hard stone, and around it these words, which are very dis- tinct : — " Hie de Virgvne Maria, Jesus Christus natus est." This, then, is the very spot of the nativity of the Son of God. What holy emotions should throng one's bosom as his gaze takes in at a glance the place from which has emanated that Christian spark which has shed its lustre to the farthest limits of the world ! Almost in front of this star is a stone trough, which stands in the place where once rested the veritable manger. The genuine manger, they say, is, I think, in the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore, or in St, John de Lateran, at Rome. We were also shown a portion of the stable, which remains in situ to this da}' ! This makes quite a catalogue of holy places, and, in writing them down without comment as to their validity or not, many wise ones (?) there are, who, should they chance to see these leaves, would deem me silly, to say the least, for recording them ; and yet more so, if I hinted a disposition on my part to believe all of these " monkish legends." Many there are — especially those at a great distance from this land which I now tread — who, I am confident, would not credit any of these things of which I have written above. I have known them to laugh incredulously at such recitals, and term them 108 B i: I ii r i N HOLT LOC A L i T l ES. jocosely, " tough yarns;" some even go so far as to Baj it was all humbug, and imf worthy a fdtitntnl maw's credenct .' Verj well; such persons onlj advertise in scarlet Letters their own ignorance, and dig for themselves their own grave — a proper epitaph of each of whom should be •■ Here lies an Ignoramus." Why should we believe — to pursue this a Little further — that, eighteen hundred years ago, a certain man. calling himself Jesus Christ, did change water into wine, did cast out devils, and did feed 1 1 1 ; 1 1 1 \ thousands from a few small fish, and a still less number of loaves? And why not believe thai this is the spot where He first saw the light of life — that in this place also is located the burial lots of the slaughtered first-born? Once on a time, both of the above facts, it is said, occurred. One is — search the question as we may — as worthy of credence as the other. For my part, believ- ing in Holy Writ, as I do, I also believe in the identity and genuineness of the most of those localities. Let us remember that it is just a little over eighteen hundred years ago that those events of religions history transpired, and yel we have in some instances records kept of objects of wonder dating their identit) and validity back to a period long prior to the Christian era. For instance — a familiar example — the monuments of Luxor — the mono- lith obelisks, which " wise men/' and interpreters of hieroglyphics, aver, were erected by good Sesostris of Egypt fifteen hundi'ed years before Christ; or Cleopatra's Net lie at Alexandria, which was erected sixteen hundred re Christ! In other word-, 1 believe jusl as much that I saw the place where once the manger, in BETHLEHEM. 309 which Christ was cradled, stood, as that I was in Bethle- hem at all. Many may laugh at this ; yet I know there are some, at least, who agree with me. Of course there are some things — some strange, wild, heathenish legends told us — which it would be folly to credit ; nor do I mean such in the admission or assertion above. My feelings, since I have been in Terra Santa, are directly the reverse of those of some of our party as regards belief in holy localities — too exuberant and too confiding. Next to Jerusalem, Bethlehem is the most interesting spot in the Holy Land. It has been made famous and sacred by two characters only, even if none other threw interesting associations over the village — Jesus Christ and King David. Once in those far times it was held by the Philistines, and it was then that David longed for the water from a certain w r ell near hy, and which three of his " strong men" obtained for him at great risk. The well let me remark, was shown to us, though it is situated too far from the town to be genuine. The biblical, touching story of Ruth, of the Moab tribe, who so affectionately clung to her mother-in-law, Naomi, is sufficient to endear Bethlehem to our hearts ; and as we stand on the high ramparts of the Church of the Na- tivity and read the story of affection, while the fields of Boaz, in which Ruth gleaned, lie just before us, the recital has a double pathos, and a quadruple interest. From this terrace also, we can see the region where David kept his father's flocks ; and it was in the valley to our left that the shepherds reposed when " the glory of the Lord shone round about them." 310 WOMEN OF B l in II n KM. Bethlehem is said to contain some thirty-three hundred souls, all of whom are generally considered Christians, as it is said they are — the present inhabitants — nil descended from the Crusaders. That Mohammedans, however, are in the town. 1 am thoroughly convinced. The entire population Beems to be a low, miserable set ; but claiming this signal advantage over everj other town in Syria and Palestine — they are honest. The word Bethlehem means Houst of Bread, and Beit- Lahm, the present Arabic name, means House of Meat or Flesh. Besides this •• Bethlehem of Judea," the ■•one" so "little" among the nations of earth — there is another, some ninety miles distant, which is referred to in Josh, xix. L5, in regard to the possessions of the tribe of Simeon. But with it there is connected nothing of special interest. Before I visited the town. I had heard much of Beth- lehemite women, and their extraordinary beauty; but I must confess I was not struck with the fair sex which I saw sauntering along the miserable streets. I am quite sure that far handsomer -iris can be ^-cn any day on Broadway or Chestnut Street, than you can find by diligent searching, for a month, in Bethlehem. 1 saw only a few in the little town, however, and. besides, as "plumage makes the bird," our girls after all may be nothing more than "fuss and feathers." The virtue of Bethlehemite women has been extolled too, with what of truth 1 cannot say. The following incident, which I , |p, in Poller, as coming from the Abbe Geramh, well shows what hare suspicion even, will produce in A TRAGEDY. 311 Bethlehem, and how dreadfully vengeance is meted on the guilty party : — " Some years ago a Mohammedan of Bethlehem was accidentally found in one of the neighboring grottos, and, unfortunately, the young widow of a Catholic Beth- lehemite was found there too. Those who discovered them at once spread the news through the village, and the Mohammedan took to flight. The young woman, alarmed at the uproar, had just time to seek refuge in the Latin Convent as her relatives came upon her; but having discovered her retreat, they rushed to the spot. The door was locked, and though of iron, it soon yielded to their fury. The excited crowd rushed in, and the unhappy victim was now face to face with those bent on sacrificing her. In vain the monks formed a rampart around her with their bodies ; in vain they extended their supplicating hands towards the infuriated crowd ; in vain they besought them, in the name of the merciful Saviour, who was born but a few paces off, not to spill the blood of an unfortunate fellow-creature whose guilt was not proved ; in vain some of them threw themselves at the feet of the multitude, while others strove to repel them by force. The monks were driven aside, and the young woman dragged to the area in front of the convent. Here a scene was enacted the very thought of which causes one to shudder with horror. Surrounded by her executioners, the helpless creature cried aloud for mercy. She entreated to be heard for a few moments ; she assured them she could prove her innocence. Her father, her brothers, her relatives, were all there ; but none would 112 DAVID AND ORPHEUS. Listen to her tale. She appealed to their sense of justice, in fraternal affection, to paternal love; bul all in vain, and she sank fainting to the ground. She awoke again to consciousness ; luit it was only when the death-stroke was given. She opened her eyes; but it was only her brothers, in imitation of the terrible example of her father, steeping their hands in her blood, and holding them up to the people to show that they had washed away the stain from their name! The still pal- pitating corpse was cut to pieces by the mob, and left exposed during the remainder of the day." At this place I might record (as 1 have lately read) a striking resemblance, traced by a clever hand, between David who watched his sheep near Bethlehem, and the musician. Orpheus. Let me here remark that for over five hundred years before Christ, music was made use of to allay madness — I mean to say that we have accounts of its having been so employed, given us by profane his- torians. I give the entire ([notation as regards the simi- larity between David and Orpheus. ••lie (referring to Orpheus) was most skilful on the lyre. So was David. Photius says be was a king. So was David. The g sneral notion had been that he was a Thracian; but Pausanias says that the ancient Greek pictures represented him in Greek dress, and that he had nothing Thracian about him; in another place one Egyptian, whose name is net given, declared he was an E yptian. And the fact that Orpheus was represented i ring the tiara on his head, show- that he was an Arabic prince. T'mrn is probably of Hebrew origin, and Solomon's pools. 313 in the Scriptures it will be found to signify just such a crown as David took from the Ammonite king's head, and placed it on his own, at one of the most celebrated battles during his reign, with the nations beyond Jordan. The traditions of the Arabs is that stones and birds were dedi- cated to him, but he could not reclaim the Arabs. So Orpheus made the rocks, woods, and animals follow him, but could not civilize the Thracians. Orpheus charmed Pluto, the King of the Infernal Regions, and thereby obtained his wife. David pleased Saul, whose name in Hebrew, when pointed differently (though radically the same), means King of Infernal Regions. He, too, de- tained David's wife, and afterwards gave her to him." How much the above is really worth may be a question of controversy, but that it shows an interesting similarity between the two characters mentioned, there can be no doubt. After making numerous purchases from the uncouth, half-naked inhabitants, Montag, Esslinger, and myself, accompanied by our good Moukary, Hassan, who went with us to the town, set off on our return to Jerusalem. Mr. S — tt, with Mr. Theil as guide, went to Solomon's Pools, only a short distance beyond Bethlehem. We would have all gone, but the prospects of a speedy and heavy rain deterred us. Nothing, however, could deter our indefatigable friend, who does not believe in j^ostpon- ing till to-morrow, what can be done to-day. These pools, or, as the Arabs call them, El-Burdh, which means the tanks, are situated in a deep rocky val- ley. They are three in number ; and the peculiar manner 3] I SOLOMON *S POO] 3. of the fashioning of the stones — tin bevelled edge — places them indisputably to a very early age. We have no record of the pools in the Bible, bul thai they date many years prior to the Christian era. there can be no question. Tin- tanks arc parth hewn in the living rock, which forms the cradle o[' the valley, and in pari are of solid masonry, well cemented, and indicative of a workman- ship by no means inferior to that of our modern day. There is every reason to believe that the Temple, long years ago, was supplied from these reservoirs with water. The tanks are supplied by a subterranean stream from one dt' the neighboring fields. Porter gives the following as the dimensions of the reservoirs: — Upper Pool. Length 380 feet. Depth, East End 25 " Breadth, East End 236 " West End 229 " Middle Pool. Distance from Upper Pool ........ 160 feet. Length 423 " Depth, East End 39 " 1. -.-• End 226 " West End 229 " Lower Pool. m Middle Pool . . . . . . . 248 feet. gth 582 " Depth, East End 50 " Breadth, Bast End 207 " West End 148 " I hope to make a visit to these pool- shortly, and shall CASA NUOVA. 315 devote at least half a day to their inspection. Such, then, was the (worthy) object of Mr. S — tt's farther visit, while Esslinger, Montag, Hassan, and myself started back to Jerusalem. S. lingered yet awhile in Bethlehem, in order to make a few more purchases from the Arabs of olive-wood, napkin rings, pearl shells, &c. We came back very briskly, and, by taking a shorter route, we reached Jerusalem in one hour. We had much fun at Hassan and his little donkey. Hassan rides with singular ease and grace; first sitting astride, then side- ways, like a fashionable belle at a riding-school — all the time the little donkey keeping up its short, nervous, and delightful canter. On reaching the Jaffa Gate in the city, we dismounted and went to the Casa Nuova (Latin convent, or hostelry), to look at some pearl shells which we understood were for sale here. Much to Esslinger's disgust and chagrin, how- ever, the old Superior was not in, and without his permis- sion we could obtain nothing. We then proceeded to our quarters, which I was glad enough to reach — as the excessive exercise and consequent fatigue I have under- gone for the last two days have incapacitated me for active duty for twenty-four hours to come at least. S. returned in due season, and was, much to our amusement, brimful of adventures. Still later, Messrs. S — tt and Theil entered also. Mr. S — tt met with Mr. J — b — sn and the English Consul near Solomon's Wells, and returned with them. Through the Consul's influence, the rest of the party got in the gates, as they were closed at the time they returned. Mr. S — tt took 316 APPROACHING DEPARTURE. tea with Mr Finn, the Consul, whom he describes as being a most polite, hospitable, and erudite gentleman. Prussian Hospice, Jerusalem. ] Sunday, March L3th, L859. I This, another Sabbath day, 1 have spent in the city of tin* Lord, and at its close I heave a sigh ofregret,for this is the last day of rest I shall sec within the sacred walls of Jerusalem ! The time has flown by with a singular and noticeable rapidity since we reached the city ; scarcely can I tell how it has none, and how been occupied. Gladly would we linger longer amid these delightful scenes, rendered so dear by the sacred associations which cluster around every building — every mountain — every valley — every twig — tree and stone. But our engage- ments call us elsewhere, and we must hasten our depart- ure hence. As it is. after we arrive in Jaffa, the chances that we can embark are dubious, for a severe storm has been raging off the coast for several days, rendering it almost impossible for steamers to land. If we can get aboard the steamer going >/j> the coast, we will embark and go as far as Beirut: at that place it is very certain we can take another steamer for Alexandria, whither we ultimately bound. I have been quite unwell throughout the day; I man- l, however, to write several letters home. And thus passed the day. I wished to attend church at Dr. Barclay's, but was too much indisposed to go. Montag and Esslinger, in the enthusiasm of the moment, went ii to Bethlehem, and returned fuller than ever with OUR PLANS. 317 startling adventures. Mr. S — tt preached, I believe, at Dr. Barclay's, to-day. I was real sorry that I could not hear him. Ibrahim applied to me to-night for a recom- mendation ; I gave it to him cheerfully. He has engaged another party (Americans) for Jordan and Jericho. I am glad he meets with such custom. I thought I saw a young Miss B., of New York, to-day, walking Christian Street with a gentleman, whom I took to be her father. Miss B. was a fellow-passenger with me in the Vanderbilt, last May, to Havre. I may be mistaken, however. We have now all of us finally determined, after much argument pro and con, to leave the city of Eternal Peace, day after to-morrow, for Jaffa. All of our original party will leave together, with the exception of our good friend John Montag, to whom all of us have formed a strong attachment. The good " Huzzar" lingers to fulfil his vows, of which I have spoken in a previous day's Jour- nal. Meinherr speaks of our coming parting with tears in his eyes. I am sorry to say good-bye to him, for when that word is spoken, we will not exchange words again, I am certain, this side of the Great Unknown. The old fellow has promised us a story, which he will give us to-morrow night, I imagine. I shall never forget the day I saw Meinherr in the Museum in far away Naples. If possible, should we go on to Beirut, we shall visit Ba'albeck and Damascus. As yet, however, we cannot determine on that decisively. CHAPTER XV. Prussian Hospice, Jerusalem Monday, March 1 1th. L859 rill. "I 59. J [IS has been, I think, my last day in Jerusalem ; to- morrow morning at seven o'clock we leave the Jaffa Gate. None of us will ever again see these sacred walls; and when they are hid from our gaze to-mor- row morningj they are undoubtedly hid for ever. How many of us in this party will see the New Jerusalem, God only knows — all. I trust. I have become very much at- tached to the city already, despite its forbidding filth, and low state of degenerating degradation of its God-forsaken inhabitants. The power of association holds higher rule in my bosom, and the disgusting features of the town are lost in the sacred memories <>1* the past. But to-morrow night my head will repose again on a monkish pillow at Ramleh. This morning, by invitation, we partook of a superb Eastern breakfast with Mr. J — b — sn. We were treated t<> several kind- of fruit, both fresh and preserved, and to the most delicious wine I ever tasted — not excepting the delicate Capri and Lachryma Christi of Italy, the < reisenheimer of the Rhine, or the sparkling St. Julien of Paris. The wine we drank this morning was made from (318) LAST VISITS. 319 the grapes that grew on Hebron, and the sacred feature of the beverage may have lent an additional charm to its flavor. To say the very least, it was most delicious. Would that I could carry some with me — as a souvenir, — not as a drink! From the sumptuous board of our friend, we — Mr. S — tt, S., and myself — took a leisurely walk about the city, and viewed with melancholy interest, objects, to which on to-morrow we bid adieu. I made the purchase of an Arab gun-barrel, a long, cumbersome tube. I am afraid it will be an unwieldy souvenir. I made a final visit to old Bergheim, my banker, whom I found in a very bad humor ; so much so, that he scarcely treated me with ordinary respect or politeness. So much for men and manners — both changeable as are the phases of an April day — sunshine and shower are gloomily inter- mingled. According to previous agreement, we — Mr. S — tt, S., and myself — proceeded to the residence of Mr. Deniss. That gentleman was to take our photographs together, in some sacred spot, and thus add to our already heavy stock of souvenirs. I am sorry to say that Esslinger and our good friend the " Huzzar," declined entering into the agree- ment, though they were loudest in praise of the proposi- tion when first considered. Another instance of human fickleness. We, however, were not so easily deterred. In company with Mr. Deniss, whom we found awaiting us, we proceeded at his suggestion to St. Stephen's gate, thence to the sacred Garden of Gethsemane. From our position on the high bluffs, just outside the gate, we had 320 VIS] I TO G Mr ii si: m \ n B. a fine view of the beautiful slope of Mt. Scopus. This mountain is but a continuation of the Mount of Olives. We were pointed out the spot on Scopus, where, it is said, Titus firsi caughl a glimpse of the city which he was so Boon to overrun. We gol a good view here also of the long straggling wall on this side of the city, which forms the ramparts of the town. The entire circumference of the city walls is about sixteen thousand feet. We finally reached the locked and bolted door of the Gardes of Gethsemane; hut here it seemed as if further progress was denied. We heat and banged, and hallooed until our hands and throats were sore from exertion. Finally Deniss, by almost superhuman efforts, brought some one to the opposite side of the gate, whither we were so persistently endeavoring to get. A long parley, held then between Deniss and the inside unseen, in some heathenish dialect, resulted in the large gate slowly moving hack. Revealed to our gaze, was a most miser- able-appearing Latin priest, who, from the tattered con- dition of his garb, and the haggard careworn expression of his countenance, looked as if he might have been doing penance all his life. lie was the custodian of the sanctity of this sacred spot! I cannot well describe the main' emotions of my mind as I stood fairly within the limits of the divine enclosure, and recollected that here once echoed the voice of Him in agonizing prayer! This spot answers well to the brief description we have of the Garden of Gethsemane, given in the Bible. // was situated at the foot of Olivet, and at some distance from the public thoroughfare, so it is PHOTOGRAPH OF PARTY IN GETHSEMANE. 321 now. This then is a genuine holy place, a place so holy that the most flinty-hearted cannot enter it without feelings of awe and veneration, or without emotions akin to them. Inside the enclosure we saw a small, dirty, miserable tenement and a well. Several large and venerable olives stood around in gloomy dignity. They may possibly, in their far distant youth, have witnessed the agony of Jesus. Several beds of flowers, and a series of earthenware plates (tacked to posts), on which were rudely painted the different scenes in the Saviour's trial and crucifixion, completed the list of objects to be seen. I have before remarked in a former day's Journal, that the Latins have possession of this Garden of Gethsemane. The Greeks have made another, and in clue time, it will by them be invested with all the holiness of the other. This, then — the sacred Garden of Gethsemane — was the spot chosen by Mr. Deniss, on which to take the view of our party. A photograph of my humble self in the sacred Garden of Gethsemane ! what a thought ! After much trouble and several impertinent interruptions from some Swedes, we were presented with a good negative view of our party, with the noble branches of the aged olives waving over us. We cannot get the pictures in time to take with us to-morrow, but Deniss will arrange the matter so that we can get them in Jaffa, on our re- turn down the coast to Alexandria. We returned home about the dinner hour, much pleased with our morning's work. Dr. Gorham, our Consul, called, on us in the afternoon, and sat an hour or so ; the re- 21 (HON l A (, S SECON D STOB V mainder of our part}' going oil". 1 was lefl to entertain tin* doctor, and I must Bay, 1 never enjoyed a more pleasant time. He is Bomewhal different from what 1 first took him, though not radically. S. and myself purchased an old trunk to-day, simply as a vehicle for our curiosity-gatherings, which will 1"' much increased before we "finish up" Egypt. V\ < i are all now gathered in the dining-room of the Bos- pice. Mr. S — tt, S., and Esslinger, are busily engaged in "packing up," S. performing that remarkably 'pleasant duty as well for me, as for himself. Kind fellow! Some one has just reminded Meinherr Montag, who sits idly by watching our preparations for departure with melancholy interest, that he promised us a story. The last that Meinherr told, was listened to by S. and myself only, and it was in the Malta Cross Hotel, in far- away Valletta. The reader remembers it, I imagine. Meinherr very reluctantly consents, and I translate and record as he gives it to us. Esslinger is the general interpreter. I will style Meinherr's story, THE HAND ON THE WALL. Between Bingen and Madinz, on the lordly Rhine, Bituated in rugged grandeur, high on a beetling cliff, are, to this day. the ruin- of a once magnificent and command- ing castle. Like other old chateaux, which still in their ruin frown down on the beautiful river rippling at their montag's second story. 323 bases, this one in particular has a score of wild legends con- nected with it, from which the following is selected : — In the twelfth century Baron Konigsgrab owned this chateau, which was then in all its pomp and power. The baron was noted among his feudal neighbors for being a very bad man ; many a dark deed he was com- pelled, by rumor at least, to father. His heavy step never sounded in the dark corridors, or on the high terrace of his castle, but that it brought a chill of fear to all within ear-shot. Many wives had blessed the baron's nuptial bed — but one by one, at different times, the}^ disappeared, and none within the dreary castle's sombre w T alls could tell their fate. No issue had followed marriage, save by the first wife; and that issue was a doughty lad. At the time of the present legend, he was an exile from home, endeavoring to win, with sword and lance, a lasting fame. Why he was exiled none knew — that he was an alien and an exile from his ancestral halls, all knew. Many years had elapsed since, a mere stripling, he had been driven forth to wander on the charities of a world, then not more kind than now. In the castle of Konigsgrab there was a chamber far out on one of the eastern turrets, and many feet above the dark moat which circled around the gloomy pile — a chamber which, from the frequency of sights seen, and still stranger sounds heard near it, had won the appella- tion of Goblin Chamber. None within the walls of the castle would go in the corridor where was located the dreaded apartment, even at noonday. It was a favorite mode of punishment with the baron, to cause his 324 montag's second stort. trembling vassal to repair to the chamber, and there remain until the morning, it was asserted thai main a poor fellow, who had been consigned to this room, and locked securely in for the night, was found in the morn- ing quite dead, while tin- mark of a blood-red hand could be seen imprinted on the forehead. The baron himself dared not go alone to the chamber; and whenever In- heard the name, though mentioned by himself, he would {•ale and tremble Like the aspen-leaf. This was singular too, for the apartment was the baron's bridal chamber! Many a bold knight who, drunk with the strong wines from Konigsgrab's well-covered tables, vauntingly demand- ed the Goblin Chamber for his sleeping apartment — and if so inebriated that he could not fly from the room, the gallant cavalier would, on the morrow, be found stark in death ; while the terrible blood-red hand, pressed on the brow, told who had been the slayer. As a general thing, however, the knight, howsoever drunk he was, soon be- came sobered sufficiently to rush with pale face, starting- exes, and palsied legs from the chamber, leaving his valorous sword ingloriously behind him. At such times — the occupation of the chamber from compulsion or otherwise — the elements soon waxed into a state of demoniac wrath — winds howled down the rugged moun- tains' Bide and through the deep gorges, like the blast of a thousand war-trumpets — lightnings played mad antics in the heavens, and the thunder's voice detonated with ter- rific force about the devoted castle. Every peasant in the neighborhood knew of the terrible tales which were told of the old chateau ; and from the time the huge pile montag's second story. 325 arose on their sight until they hurried quickly by, beneath its overhanging shadow, scarcely a word passed their lips. Such was the name and notoriety the castle and its lord had obtained. At the close of a year, on one particular Christmas, the old Baron had relaxed his stern rule ; he had issued orders to all of his retainers to assemble at the castle, and pro- mised them that they should spend the night in merry- making and in wine-tempered joviality. Many a long year had flown by since the banquet hall of the old cha- teau was lit with the festive torch; and the Baron's call excited much surprise as well as pleasure among his hard- working vassals. The night came around in due season, and nothing was spared by Konigsgrab to add to the real comfort of his men. The old chateau blazed with a wel- come light from top to bottom. So rare was this sight, that it was remarked by many at a distance, who sagely and truly remarked that something strange was going to happen. Despite the joyousness of the occasion, the night wore a gloomy, threatening aspect, and the dull, thick, leaden clouds, hurrying wrathfully above the turret wall, seemed to wear a forbidding frown. But the season of festivity commenced ; the laugh and the jest and — the bowl passed freely; happiness was on every face and joy in every heart. Noble harpers sung of love and war — fruitful themes alike — and with their vary- ing melodies charmed the souls of all. Konigsgrab looked on, well pleased ; his generally morose face was lighted with a radiant glow which spoke well his inward satisfac- tion — a glow it had not felt for many a day. Suddenly, 326 MON TAG - S E( <'N D S fOE 2 during a lull of the music in the kail, a faintly shrill and prolonged winding blast echoed through the room, ami told that there was some one without seeking hospi- tality and shelter for the uight. A faint cloud of dis- pleasure passed over Konigsgrab's brow when the un- known trumpet sound fell on his ear as it rose above the wild storm without. •• Who can come at this time of the night '.'" he moodilj remarked; but, as if remembering the festive occasion. he continued, "but let him conic! whoever lie is. he is welcome. Tell the warden to lower the drawbridge, and admit the stranger." There was a flag in the merriment and gaiety — the jest was suspended, and each awaited the coming of the un- known, who had chanced so fortunately to call in a lucky though late hour at the castle-gates of Konigsgrab. The curiosity and patience of the company did not suffer; a heavy, decided footfall sounded quickly along the corridor leading to the hall, and in another moment a tall, slender form, fully mailed and well armed, appeared in the door- way, and stood lor a moment in the full blaze of the bright light. Jlis visor was down, and the long drooping plume of ebon blackness swept over his shoulders. His harness was splashed with mud, and the blood on his heavy spur told that he had journeyed last that day. Hi- armor was coal black, and the slightest motion of the body gave rise to ten thousand brilliant coruscations, as tla- light fell on the man}' reflecting mobile scales, lie stood for a moment, as if undecided, and then advanced with the ease of a courtier, bowing gracefully to the com- MONTAG S SECOND STORY. 327 pany, and spoke to Konigsgrab, whom he had no diffi- culty in distinguishing as the host. •' I pr'ythee," he said, " excuse an errant knight, my good host ; an angry storm, a dark night, and the many bright lights which flash from your noble castle, have determined me to crave the boon of hospitality — a boon generally granted to one of my spurs, and which I know you will not refuse ; for methinks thou hast been a knight, and hast couched a spear." These words were spoken in a bold, off-hand manner, and made a favorable impression on all. " True, Sir Knight," replied the dark-browed Konigs- grab, " thou speakest what all who know me say ; my lance 7ias gleamed in some fields, and the name of Konigs- grab is not unknown. But I forget — I bid you welcome, Sir Knight, to whatever comfort my poor castle can offer. And now unlock your visor, lay aside sword and helmet, and aid in draining the wine-cup." The young knight did as he was bid. He unbuckled his heavy sword, and tossed it carelessly in a corner. He next took his helmet from his head, and, raising back from his snow-white forehead a mass of chestnut curls, he turned again smilingly toward the company. What a noble face and royal head was there presented ! The soft, downy moustache of early manhood just shaded his lip, and the clear white, mantling skin resembled more attri- butes of a " gentle ladye" than of a " gallant knighte." As Konigsgrab gazed admiringly into that girlish yet manly face, he suddenly gave a quick and nervous start, MO NT Ad's SECOND STORY. gazing ;it the sank' time more intently at the features of the 3 oung Btranger knight. •■ ' /','- iii .' 'tis h .'" be murmured; but the company heard not bis words, nor noticed bis perturbed manner. The young knight, however, gave one quick, short glance toward his host, and then mingled sociably with the throng. Ourr more the wine-cup passed freely, and song and jest enlivened the festive hour. The hold and manly tones oi' the young knight rang loud and musically; and whenever he spoke or sang he gained every ear. He ever had for all a pleasant word, and a song he gave whenever requested. Occasionally, the young knight would address some word to his host, who, singularly enough, heard him not until his attention had been twice called. It was very plain that a new train of thought — one more conge- nial with his usual self — had been awakened in Konigs- grab's bosom. It was a gloomy, saddened chord that was awakened, and its touch gave back darksome, dull echoes. The storm still continued to rage frantically without, and the winds sang more mournfully than ever. The night wore away, and the small ''hours ayant the twal" warned all to break from the feast and retire; for the remaining space of darkness, before the sun should shine once more, was short. An ominous frown, for some time gathering, now settled over the grim face of Konigsgrab. The Beldom-worn or seldom-seen benign and joyous coun- tenance which was observable on his face at the com- mencement of the banquet, had now passed wholly away. The murderous-looking stolidity which generally charac- montag's second story. 329 terized the man now claimed his countenance as long- inhabited and undisputed territory. One by one the guests departed, and one by one the brilliant lights in the hall were extinguished. Still the young knight lingered with the last, and seemed loth to depart. More than once had his keen hazel eye burnt brightly as it fell aud rested for a moment or so on his darkly-frowning host, Konigsgrab. " Thou hadst a son, Sir Konigsgrab ?" he suddenly ex- claimed, advancing toward his host, as the latter turned slightly and half impatiently toward him. Konigsgrab's countenance grew as black as the night which outside glowered down upon his gloomy castle. " And who gave you the information, Sir Knight f ' he almost hissed. The young man retained his complete self-possession, as he replied very distinctly, " I did know Hermann well ; but — my good host — he is your son no longer — he is dead." " Dead /" exclaimed the old Baron ; " and I am glad of it /" he continued, aside. This remark, though cautiously made, was overheard ; a slight sneer curled the lip of the young knight. " And how and why did he die, Sir Knight ?" " Another time, my good host, another time ! The story is long and tedious ; yes, I must be frank. But should you wish it, to-morrow you shall listen to the minutest recital of the story. The truth is, I am weary, my horse has travelled far this " " Not another word, Sir Knight ! excuse my seeming neglect of you. You must be indeed weary, to have ridden as you have this day." 130 mont Ac's SECON D S rOB 5 . •• It is nothing, m\ good host, and — but I am at your Bervice." " 1 am Borry, very sorry, my good Sir Knight/' returned Konigsgrab, after a pause of a minute or two, while a Bhadow of scheming deviltry flitted across bis countenance. " I am Borry to lie compelled to place you tor the remainder of the night, in a chamber which is little fitted for your lordly repose. Such as it is, however, you are freely ami immediately welcome to it. But, Sir Knight, it is haunted /" The young knighl gave a slight start, while a smile played rapidly over his face. In an instant, however, he replied, perfectly at ease, "All the hetter. my good host, for, in that case, I shall have com- pant/, to which I am always accustomed in the tented field:" and he cast a sharp glance toward his host. " Only 1 will tr>l along, my lord" he continued. Snatching an earthen oil lam}) rather rudely, Konigsgrab, evidently the creature of some deep emotion, simply mut- tered, as hi' did so, " In this direction, Sir Knight!" The heavy oaken staircase was quickly ascended — the dark and dreaded corridor was trod, and Konigsgrab halted suddenly before a tall massive door, covered over with dust and cobwebs, and which apparently had not grated on its hinges for many long years. •• It is here, Sir Knight," he said, giving the young knight the small lamp, while Konigsgrab busied himself in adjusting the key in the lock. A casual glance at this key, revealed to the young man, on it. a small spot of deep red />/<»,>/. lie thought it strange, hut said nothing. The door moved hack, and almost pushing his guest inside the dreaded apartment, Konigsgrab drew the door to montag's second story. 331 again, and muttered " Good-night." The door closed with a sharp click ; stepping hastily to it, the young man saw the iron bolt, well shot, and firmly lodged in the socket, in the stone encasing. He was locked in ! Smiling scornfully, he listened a moment to the retreating footfalls of Konigsgrab now dying away in the distance, and unheeding everything around him, he cast himself into a chair, and fell into a train of thought. It lasted but a moment. Arising from his seat, he leisurely paced the chamber. " And is this the old castle," he muttered, " where, several long years ago, I felt all the bitterness of humbled boyish pride ? And is my worthy host — my own — no — I will not call the name, for his son is dead to him ! a}-, fully dead, by every tie which binds pa- rents to child ! And this is the Goblin Chamber, eh ? of which so much is said ; and — I stand this night unawed, within the shadow of its heavy wainscotting !" He paused, for he thought he heard a soft and plaintive sigh, issuing, it seemed, from the very ceiling of the room. So soft and gentle it was, that it appeared more like the last futile struggle of an exhausted breeze. " Hist !" ex- claimed the knight, as the ambiguous sound fell on his ear. " Methought some sound, unusual, smote my ear, but my imagination is at work, my brain is excited, and no wonder, distorted fancyings fill my mind ! Oh ! mother, dear, dear mother, where, where art thou ?" "High above this paltry world — freed from all cares — in heaven," said a deep, low, sepulchral voice, coming from the centre of the ceiling. A holy awe spread over the young man; he first motioned toward his good sword, MONTAG S SEOON D STOK Y. fearing foul play — l>ut the outstretched arm dropped powerless. The lighl in his chamber grew dim, and burned with a dull, unsteady, blue flame. The storm increased in fury without, and ten thousand demons seemed to be gibbering in the air. ••It' thou art an evil one," spoke the young knight, slowly and distinctly, " speak — and Bay, if, byword or deed, I have ever harmed thee. If from the upper, celes- tial regions, oh! mysterious Power! 1 bow in thy presence, and await thy word." •• Hermann!" whispered the soft, low, sepulchral tone again, "lam thy mother's shade /" •• Great God!" exclaimed the young knight, quivering with excitement. " If thou canst — then, dear, sainted mother — show thyself in material shape." A thunder-stroke shook the strong castle to its basis; and the lurid, sulphurous flash, shone around the old gray walls, lighting up every wild gorge, and gleaming fearfully on every neighboring mountain crag. The young knight instinctively recoiled from the shock ; but, recovering him- self, he gazed confusedly around him. The chamber was inky dark — yet in the very centre of the ceiling above, a bloodr^red hand glowed on the wall. " Thou .sees/ thy moth r's hand, Hermann ! By it many ],,,,-, died .' — bvi tin/ mother died />;/ story. beneath my gaze. This chamber i our nuptial chamber! — wherein thou, my dear Hermann, wasl horn — I haunted with niv presence, and — my presence was death to