garden of Gethsemane, in which, say the legends, still stand the olive-trees that sheltered Christ.

This garden is only a small grove, occupying perhaps two acres of ground, but it is one of the best authenticated scenes of interest about Jerusalem. From it a steep and rocky path leads to the three summits of the Mount of Olives, on the loftiest of which stands the Church of the Ascension. An Armenian priest admitted me into the sacred enclosure, motioned to a little monk to lead about my horse, and led the way in silence to the roof of the church. From hence is the most interesting, if not the most striking, view in the world.

From such a summit might the great leader of the people have viewed the land, which was to be the reward of their desert wanderings. From it is laid bare every fiber of the great heart of Palestine. The atmosphere is like a crystal lens, and every object in the Holy City is as clear as if it lay within a few yards, instead of a mile's distance. Each battlement upon those war-worn walls, each wild flower that clusters over them; the dogs prowling about the waste places among the ruins and cactus and cypress; the turbaned citizen slowly moving in the streets; all these are recognizable almost as clearly as the prominent features of the city.

The eminence called Mount Moriah lies nearest to our view, just above the narrow Valley of Jehoshaphat. The city wall passes over the center of it, embracing a wide enclosure, studded with cypresses and cedars, in the center of which stands the magnificent Mosque of Omar. This is of a very light, fantastic architecture, bristling with points, and little spires and minarets, many of which have gilded crescents that flash and gleam in the sunshine; while the various groups of Moslems, seated on bright carpets, or slowly wandering among the groves, give life and animation to the

scene.

The mosque occupies the site of the Temple, and is held holy by the Moslem as the place where Abraham offered Isaac to be a sacrifice. To the left of the mosque enclosure within the walls is a space covered with rubbish and jungles

of the prickly pear; then part of the Hill of Zion, and David's Tower. To the right of the enclosure is the Pool of Bethesda, beyond which St. Stephen's Gate affords entrance to the Via Dolorosa, a steep and winding street, along which Christ bore the Cross in his ascent to Calvary. To the right of the street, and toward the north, stands the hill of Acra, on which Salem, the most ancient part of the city, was built, they say, by Melchisedek. This hill is inclosed by the walls of the modern town; but the hill of Bezetha lies yet farther to the right, and was enclosed within the walls that the Romans stormed. Beyond Bezetha stands the Hill of Scopas, wherefrom Titus gazed upon Jerusalem the day before its destruction, and wept for the sake of the beautiful city.

Beneath us is the Garden of Gethsemane, the Valley of Hinnom with its Tophet, and the Vale of Jehoshaphat with its brook Kedron, which meets the waters of Siloam at the Well of Job. The Tombs of the Kings of Nehemiah, of Absalom, and of the Judges, lie before us; the caves of the Prophets everywhere pierce the rocks, that have so often resounded to the war-cry of the Chaldean, the Roman, the Saracen, and the Crusader. Beyond the city spreads the Vale of Rephaim, with Bethlehem in the distance; every rock and hill and valley that is visible bears some name that has rung in history. And then the utter desolation that everywhere prevails-as if it was all over with that land and the rocks had indeed fallen, and the hills indeed had covered" the mighty, the beautiful, and the brave, who once dwelt there in prosperity and peace. No flocks, no husbandmen, nor any living thing is there, except a group of timid travelers-turbaned figures, and veiled women, and a file of camels-winding along the precipitous pathway under the shadow of the palm-tree.

Descending from the Mount of Olives, I reëntered the city by St. Stephen's Gate, where Turkish soldiers constantly keep guard; turning to the left, I visited the Pool of Bethesda, and then wandered slowly over the Via Dolorosa, in which is pointed out each spot where the Saviour

fell under the burden of the Cross, as he bore it to Calvary along this steep and rugged way.

In after-days I impatiently traversed the squalid city, with a monk for my guide, in search of its various localities of traditionary sanctity; but I will not ask the reader to stoop to such a labor. My monkish cicerone pointed out to me where Dives lived, where Lazarus lay, where the cock crowed or roosted that warned Peter of his crime, and even where the blessed Virgin used to wash her Son's linen. It is difficult to speak of such things gravely, and yet I would not have one light feeling or expression intermingled with the solemn subjects of which this chapter attempts to

treat.

The character of the city within corresponds with that of the country without. Most of it is very solitary and silent; echo only answers to your horse's tread; and frequent waste places, among which the wild dog prowls, convey an indescribable impression of desolation. It is not those waste places alone that give such an air of loneliness to the city, but many of the streets themselves, dark, dull, and mournfullooking, seem as if the Templars' armed tread was the last to which they had resounded. The bazaars and places of business are confined to one small quarter of the city; everywhere else you generally find yourself alone. No one is even there to point out your way; and you come unexpectedly upon the Pool of Bethesda, or wander among the vaulted ruins of the Hospitallers' courts, without knowing it.

The remains of the ancient city that meet your eye are singularly few; here and there a column is let into the wall, or you find that the massive and uneven pavement is of costly marble; but, except the Pools of Hezekiah and Bethesda, the Tower of Hippicus, and some few other remains, preserved on account of their utility, there is little of art to connect the memory with the past.

The chief place of interest in Jerusalem is the Holy Sepulchre, whose site I believe to be as real as the panorama that the priests have gathered around it must needs be

false. You descend by a narrow lane and a flight of steps into a small enclosure, where a guard of Turkish soldiers is stationed to keep peace among the Christians. After paying tribute to this infidel police, you enter into a large circular hall, supported by a colonnade of eighteen pillars, and surrounded by a large dome, in the center of which is a pavilion containing the Holy Sepulchre. The whole of this church has been so frequently described that I shall only mention that within its walls are collected a panorama of all the events that took place at the crucifixion; the place where Christ was scourged; the hole in the rock where the Cross stood; the fissure where the rock was rent in twain; the place where the soldiers cast lots for the garments; the stone whereon the body was anointed; and, lastly, the grave wherein it was laid.

ASIA

The Great Ruins of Bashan

By J. L. PORTER

ROM the first moment of my arrival in Damascus I felt an intense desire to visit the ancient kingdom of Bashan. The ancient cities, and even the villages, of Western Palestine have been almost annihilated; with the exception of Jerusalem, Hebron, and two or three others, not one stone has been left upon another. In some places we can scarcely discover the spot where a noted city stood, so complete has been the desolation. Even in Jerusalem itself only a very few vestiges of the ancient buildings remain; the Tower of David, portions of the wall of the Temple area, and one or two other fragments-just enough to form the subject of dispute among antiquaries.

The state of Bashan is totally different; it is literally crowded with towns and large villages, and, though the vast majority of them are deserted, they are not ruined. I have more than once entered a deserted city in the evening, taken possession of a comfortable house, and spent the night in peace. Many of the houses in the ancient cities of Bashan are as perfect as if finished only yesterday. The walls are sound, the roofs unbroken, the doors, and even the windowshutters, in their places. Let not my readers think that I am transcribing a passage from the "Arabian Nights. I am relating sober facts; I am simply telling what I have seen, and what I purpose more fully to describe.

But how," ask me,
you

66 can we account for the pres