of the Sepulchre, into the broad, green, sunny spaces of the Mosque of Omar.

Ever since the Crusaders entered the city and baptized the holy places in Muslim blood, through all their precarious Kingdom of impotence and deceit, until Salahed-deen cleansed the city of the lees of Europe which had been drained into it-for in every stream the sands of gold are few to the grains of dross-and down to the present annual overflow of Jerusalem with the refuse of southeastern Europe and European Asia, the mass of Christians in Jerusalem have been the indelible stain upon the name they assume.

I speak merely of the fact, and strongly, because every man must feel strongly in Jerusalem. I do not quarrel with the poor old Bulgarian, that he was not a man. I make no other complaint than that of disgust. If Jerusalem were nearer Europe or America, it would be different, at least it would be more decent, from the higher character of the population. But going up to Jerusalem as to the holiest city of the purest faith, you are disappointed by what you see of that faith there, as you would be upon approaching a banquet of wit and beauty, to find it a festival of idiots and the insane.

The only visible Protestant effort in Jerusalem, is the English Chapel upon Mount Zion. It is not liable to the same objections as the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It is small, new, and of unexceptionable ecclesiastical architecture, and its main impression is that of the Rev. Dr. Duck's cravat, namely-snowy decorum. It is maintained by the joint efforts of England and Prussia, and

its ministrations are directed to the conversion of the Jews. The tribes of Israel are gathered into the fold at the rate of six, and in favorable years, eight converts per

annum.

I went into the Chapel one afternoon, but what relation the frigid system propounded by a very clean Phantom in the pulpit, to a very clean congregation of Phantoms in the pews, enjoyed to the simple and sublime humanity of the Christian teachings, was not stated.

-We returned from the Church of the Sepulchre through the silent streets, and sat upon the house-top until the stars were fading. The air was balmy as south winds in May. Perfect silence brooded over the innumerable little domes of the houses. And when the call to prayer trembled from the minaret of Omar, our Muezzin of the daybreak was Isaiah, and these his wailing words

"Thy silver is become dross; thy wine mixed with

water."

XII.

The Dead Sea.

GOLDEN SLEEVE appeared one morning, arrayed in he arsenal, and muttering something about "bad people," announced that the horses were saddled for the excursion to Jordan and the Dead Sea.

You are still likely to fall among thieves, going down to Jericho, and the only safety is in being robbed before you start, by purchasing permission of the Arabs. The tribes that haunt the hill country near Jerusalem, are not entirely friendly toward each other; but by retaining a Shekh of one of the most powerful among them, you insure tolerable security for the excursion.

The Shekh Artoosh, who awaited us at the foot of the Mount of Olives-for a Bedoueen fears to enter the city, whose very walls his stern wilderness chafes-was the ideal Bedoueen. He had the arched brow, the large, rich, sad and tender eyes, which are peculiar to the Orient, and which Painters aim to give to pictures of Christ. It was the most beautiful and luminous eye I have ever seen. The other features were delicate, but full of force, and the olive transparency of his complexion set his planet-like eyes, as evening light the stars. There was that extreme

elegance in his face, and in the supple grace of his movement which imagination attributes to noblemen, and which is of the same quality as the refinement of a highbred Arabian horse.

He wore, over a white robe, a long mantle of black goat's hair cloth, and his head was covered with the true Bedoueen headdress-a Mecca handkerchief, or small shawl of cloth of gold, with red borders and a long rich fringe. This is folded once, and laid smoothly upon the head. One end falls behind, between the shoulders, showering the fringe about the back; and the other is carried forward over the right shoulder, and caught up upon the left cheek, so half shielding the face, like the open vizor of a helmet. A double twist of goat's hair cord, binding the shawl smoothly, goes around the head, so that the top of it is covered only with the gold.

Picture under this that mystic complexion of the desert, steep it all in Syrian light, and you have what only the Eastern sun can show. Mark, too, the Shekh's white mare, valued even there at purses equal to a thousand dollars, and on whom he moves as flexibly as a sunbeam on the waters.

We skirted the Mount of Olives on the way to Bethany. In a quarter of an hour we were in the hill-wilderness, the mountains that separate the valley of the Jordan from the plain of the sea. Our path was a zigzag way upon the slope. There are no houses or gardens, and Bethany, lying blighted in a nook of the hills, is only beautiful because she lived there, who loved much. A few olive-trees and blossoming vines, linger, like fading

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