two churches, dating, probably, from the Crusades. They were massive and picturesque. Hanging plants waved over them funereally in the bright air, and the gnarled old olives clustered about them in dumb sadness.

But although I paused under the olives which had probably seen the builders of the churches, and knew all the chances of their fate, they whispered nothing in my ear; only as the morning breeze rustled in their foliage, I seemed to hear the wild music of six centuries ago pealing faintly through the valley,—at least it was the best expression the trees could give to their remembrance of it; and, in distant olive groves, shimmering in the sun, I saw the flashing spears and crests of the Crusaders' army.

The mountain air was exhilarating. I ran eagerly up the winding road, hoping that each turn would reveal Jerusalem; but from each new height only the billowy panorama of hills unrolled around me, the surface fading from vivid green into the blue haze of distance.

Upon one of these paths I overtook a pilgrim. He was evidently a poor European, and was going patiently forward by the side of a small donkey, with a Muslim driver. The pilgrim carried a small pack upon a stick over his shoulder. I was passing

him relentlessly, but his forlorn aspect made me pause, and he greeted me with a German good morning.

It was a German tailor apprentice, who had come down the Danube to Constantinople, and had thence sailed to Jaffa. Landing there he had hired a donkey, and was now coming to Jerusalem. And the reason he gave for the journey was, that it was something besonders (odd) to go to Jerusalem.

Truly the Crusaders, whose track he followed, had not suffered more upon the way. He had experienced every kind of small mishap, and he detailed his sufferings with all the gossipy querulousness of his countrymen. It had rained, and blown, and frozen during the voyage from Constantinople, and he, as a deck passenger, had been the butt of the fierce elements. He thought it an outrage that, upon a German boat, only one person spoke German. That person was the cook, and he, probably, employed that tongue only to snub and buffet the poor pilgrim; for the latter, with an air of great disgust, said the cook was a dummkopf (a blockhead).

Bnt bad as was the sea-voyage, the land journey was worse. Here nobody spoke German, and donkeys wouldn't go, and his ancle was swelled,

and if Jerusalem was far away, he certainly could not reach it that day, although he had been going since one o'clock in the morning.

Then, with a movement of despair, he made a rush at the donkey, to get on. But the saddle cloth fell off, and when it was arranged the donkey stood still, and absolutely declined to stir.

"But you shouldn't pay a para," said I, "for such a beast as that."

"Ja, mein Herr, (yes, sir), but I have paid," said he, with a remorseful shrug.

The driver then made some suggestions in Arabic, doubtless of great practical value, but, unfortunately, unintelligible.

Wie meinen sie, was sagen sie?" (What do you say?) inquired poor Teuton, in bland despair. For they could not understand each other, and although the donkey wouldn't go with the German, I observed that he moved nimbly enough with his

master.

But I could not tarry for the swelled ankle, and the slow donkey, and the slower Teuton. I walked with him for a half-hour, gave him what advice I could, comforted him by the assurance that, even at his rate of travel, he would reach Jerusalem by sunset, and then wished him good-day.

"Leben Sie wohl" (Farewell), said he in a melan

choly tone, as I ran along. ach! mein Gott, mein Gott!"

"Leben Sie wohl :

The mountains rose more grandly, and I clambered up to broad, stony table-lands, whence the prospect was bleak and sad. Vast ranges of bare hills receded to the horizon. "In those days came John the Baptist preaching in the wilderness of Judea."

I passed rapidly over this lofty, breezy tableland, with an inconceivable ardour of expectation. Often the pinnacles and shining points of rock upon a distant hill-side, startled me with a doubt that I saw Jerusalem, and, at every change in the landscape, I paused, and searched the mountainous desolation, to distinguish the city. But the majestic play of morning vapours with the sun and the mountains mocked the scrutiny of the longing traveller, and gradually inspired a statelier hope.

As I paced more slowly along the hills, the words of the psalm suddenly rang through my mind, like a sublime organ peal through a hushed cathedral; "Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth is Mount Zion, on the sides of the North, the city of the Great King-"

They passed, but in their stead arose an imperial vision.

Through the stupendous vista of rocky mountain

sides, I should behold the joy of the whole earth lifted upon a lofty hill, flashing with the massive splendour of towers, and domes, and battlements, darkened by the solemn sadness of cypresses, and graceful with palms. The delicate outlines of hanging gardens, of marble terraces and balconies, and airy pavilions, should cluster within. Triumphant bursts of music, "with trumpets, also, and shawms," and the chime of bells harmonious with the soft acclaim of friendly voices, should breathe and pulse from the magnificent metropolis, and preach, more winningly than John, in the wilderness of Judea.

In the summer of that Syrian noon, this was the spectacle I thought to see, the majesty of its associations manifested in the city.

And as I knew it nearer, I walked more slowly, dreaming that dream. The camels of Wind and Shower passed us, returning from Jerusalem. Our caravan overtook me, and I went forward with the Pacha and the Commander.

The high land unrolled itself more broadly. The breezy morning died into silent noon. In the imminent certainty, the eagernesss of expectation was passed. Golden Sleeve preceded us a little distance, and we followed silently. Suddenly he stopped, and, without turning or speaking, pointed with his finger toward the north.