rock, in which were small tombs, and perhaps temples. Far away as the eye can follow, a line of Pyramids of various dimensions succeeds, among wavy heaps of tombs and catacombs, that might seem to be the cemetery of the whole world. On our return to the tomb, we found the sheikh of the village, who had heard of the robber-like demands of the Arabs, and had brought his executioner to bastinado them. We refused, perhaps weakly, to permit this; and, distributing some small gratuities that made the whole tribe happy, we took our homeward way, shooting quails as we passed through the corn-fields. BETHLEHEM. From The Crescent and the Cross.' Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid! -BISHOP HEBER. After visiting the Mount of Olives and the Garden of Gethsemane, I rode round the walls, and set forth across the Plain of Rephaim to visit Bethlehem. The distance is about five miles, and the way lies for the most part over arid and dreary hills, with here and there a scanty crop of wheat in the intervening valleys, and an occasional herd of goats browsing invisible herbage, under the guardianship of a herdsman as shaggy as his flock, and as brown and almost as bare as the rocks around him. Occasionally we catch glimpses of the wild mountain scenery that wraps the Dead Sea in its barren bosom. No other landscape in the world is like this. It resembles rather some visionary sketch of Martin's, roughly done in raw sienna, than anything in Nature; distorted piles of cinderous hills, with the Dead Sea lying among them like melted lead, unlighted even by the sunshine that is pouring so vertically down as to cast no shadow. We pass the convent of Mar Elyas on a hill upon the left, and the tomb of Rachel, in a valley on the right. Thence the scenery becomes more attractive; some olive groves, intermingled with small vineyards, clothe the hills; rich corn-fields are in the valleys; and lo! as we round a rugged projection in the path, Bethlehem stands before us! This little city, as it is called by courtesy, has an imposing appearance, walled round, and commanding a fertile valley from a rugged eminence. I rode through steep and rocky streets, that were crowded with veiled and turbaned figures in their gala dresses (for it was a festival), and was much struck by the apparent cleanliness and comfort of this little Christian colony. Ibrahim Pasha, hearing complaints of quarrels between the Christian and Moslem inhabitants, and finding that the former were more numerous, ordered the latter to emigrate; so that Bethlehem is now almost exclusively Christian. The beauty of the women of Bethlehem has often been observed upon, but I confess it did not strike me as remarkable; nor did I see a countenance there that betokened Jewish blood. It is remarkable that the Madonna of Raphael, with which, perhaps, all Christendom associates the idea of a portrait, has nothing of the Jewish character; nor does any other master appear to have borne in mind the race that she belonged to. Except the Madonna of Murillo, and the celebrated Negro Virgin, all the pictures of value that we possess are exquisitely fair, and rather an abstraction of feminine grace, sweetness, and purity, than a resemblance of a "daughter of the house of David.” We forget that Mary was a Nazarene, and eagerly scru tinize each maiden-face in Bethlehem, for a realization of the blessed countenance that has so long haunted our im aginations-in vain: she remains as it should be, a half divine abstraction. The reader may smile, as I do now; but it was with some thing like grave respect I looked upon each carpenter in Bethlehem; the very donkeys assumed an additional interest; and the cross, with which they are so singularly marked, a meaning; the camels seemed as if they had just come from the East with gifts, and the palm-tree offered its branches to strew the holy ground; every shepherd appeared to have a mystic character; and, when night came with stars, I looked eagerly for His, and tried to trace it over Bethlehem. Well, these are dreams that soon dispel themselves, as we alight at the walls within which an Armenian, Greek, and Latin convent are gathered round the place of the Nativity, under one roof. Entering by a very low door and long passage, almost upon hands and knees, I stood up under the noble dome of the Church of St. Helena. The roof, constructed of cedar wood from Lebanon, is supported by forty huge marble pillars, showing dimly the faded images of painted saints. The whole building is silent, dirty, and neglected-looking, but of noble proportions. From its court are parked off the different chapels belonging to the rival sects. The Armenian is the handsomest and wealthiest of these, as its friars are by far the most respectable. The Chapel of the Nativity is a subterranean grotto, into which you descend in darkness that gives way to the softened light of many silver lamps suspended from the roof. Notwithstanding the improbability of this being the actual place of the Nativity, one cannot descend with indifference into the inclosure which has led so many millions of pilgrims in rags or armor during 1800 years from their distant homes. It is, however, impossible to recognize anything like reality in the mass of marble, brass, and silken tawdry ornaments, and one leaves this most celebrated spot in the world with feelings of disappointment. I then hastened to pay my respects to our bishop, whom I found in the refectory of the Armenian convent, which the monks had surrendered to his use and that of his family. I shall long remember with grateful pleasure the evening I passed in that Armenian convent, where the kindness and piety of our bishop appeared to have conciliated towards him the affection and respect of all the monks. I should have mentioned that, on his lordship's arrival in Jerusalem, the Armenian patriarch at once recognized his high commission, and waited on him with professions of regard and consideration that were afterwards fully borne out. The Greek patriarch imitated his example; and, as the convents form the only places of hospitality in Palestine, both the Armenians and the Greeks placed theirs at the service of our bishop and his family, and seemed pleased and flattered when they were visited. The Roman patriarch alone stood aloof from his brother in the Church, and no communication has ever passed between the prelates of the Latin Church and ours. It was a striking sight, that ancient refectory, gloomy with carved paneling and painted glass, occupied only by the prelate of a different creed, and the fair girl, his daughter, who sat beside him. As the dark-robed monks passed by the grating that separated the refectory from the corridor, each laid his hand upon his heart, and made a graceful reverence, with his eyes still fixed upon the ground. After dinner, as there was still half an hour of daylight, and a bright moonlight to fall back upon, I mounted my horse, and, accompanied only by my dragoman, rode forth to the Pools of Solomon, about six miles distant, on the road to Hebron. This neighborhood has a bad character, and I was warned more than once of danger from the Arabs, but I had so often received similar intimations that I now heard them as mere commonplaces. In the hurry of departure, my servant had come away from the convent unarmed, but he cantered along after me as cheerfully as if clad in panoply, and seemed to consider a small bottle that peeped suspiciously from his holsters as a good substitute for more offensive weapons. As we rode out of the gates, I met a troop of girls carrying water from the well, who presented a most picturesque appearance. With one hand they supported the vase-like vessel on the head, with the other they held up their light drapery, which at every graceful movement revealed their symmetrical proportions. Delicate complexions, although united to the ever-brilliant Eastern eye, distinguished them from all the Arab women I had yet seen; while the finely cut lip, thin, but vermilion bright, and a Grecian profile, distinguished them from the Jewish race. The instep was finely arched, so that only the heel and forepart of the foot left an impression in the sand, and the carriage and attitude of the body were most graceful. Such at least was one whom I stopped upon the steep pathway to ask my way of. I think I see her now, as her round arm detached itself from the folds of her blue mantle, and was raised with pointed finger in the direction of Hebron. Then, looking up, she said something about night and robbers, and, shaking her head as I smiled in reply, she put up her second hand to steady the water-vessel, and resumed her path. We now pushed forward at a gallop over a wild and rocky tract, where the pathway was scarcely visible among the fragments with which it was thickly strewn; yet this has been a highway from the days of Abraham, and we read of the constant use of chariots along these roads. Now the way lay over a smooth and slippery rocky surface; now, narrowed between blocks of stone, it was covered with tangled roots or seamed by wide fissures. All the same to my bold Arab courser seemed smooth turf or rugged rock. Eagerly she swept along over hill and hollow, as if it was a pastime; bounding from rock to rock with the ease of a gazelle and the mettle of a bloodhound. The evening was sultry warm, but no stain darkened her silken skin, not a pant escaped from her deep chest, not a spot of foam flecked the Mameluke bit. The sun was just setting in Eastern glory as we reached a vast embattled Saracenic castle, on which ruin has made but slight impression. Beneath it lie the Pools of Solomon, from which water was once conveyed to Jerusalem. They are in good repair, but quite dry, and indeed it would take all the water I have yet seen in Judea to fill them. They are three in number, at three different levels, and measure respectively about 600, 500, and 300 feet in length. I returned more slowly and pensively to Bethlehem, by the light of as brilliant a moon as ever shone over this hallowed land in its proudest hour. On the fields through which I was passing, the glory of the Lord once shone around, and the announcement of "Peace on earth, goodwill toward men," was heard through this calm air from angel voices. In the distance, clear against the sky, stood "the city of David," from out whose gloomy walls arose the Light of the world. As I rode thoughtfully along, I did not observe that my servant was missing: I had heard a shot, but such sounds are too familiar to excite attention in a country where every man goes armed. I rode back to the valley where I had seen him last, but there was no sign of him; a few minutes afterwards, I met a goatherd with a musket slung |