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amid the scenes in which it transpired, it is a constant surprise and delight to see how the narrative fits into the

very landscape, and is reflected in it, as trees on the bank of a river are reflected in its bosom. To give freshness to the scene, is to give reality to the event ; faith comes by sight, and as sight grows clearer, faith grows stronger. And so at every step the sacred story becomes more real and more true.

If the descriptions in these pages often digress into reflections, the writer cannot help it: he must speak of that which is uppermost in his thoughts. One presence is everywhere, and we walk in its light. At the same time he has tried not to moralize too much ; but to enliven his soberness with narrative and incident, so that the journey may not seem long, and that whoever keeps him company may not grow weary by the way. Thus riding side by side among the holy hills, we may pass the time not unpleasantly, and gain what is, after all, the best fruit of travel-some real knowledge, a clearer understanding, and a stronger faith.

AMONG THE HOLY HILLS.

CHAPTER I

ROUND THE WALLS-THE TOWERS AND BULWARKS.

Over.

We had come up to Jerusalem at the time of the Pass

The city was filled with pilgrims; there was the stir and sound of moving to and fro, the buzz and hum of a multitude, such as might have been heard two thousand years ago, when the tribes came up to the solemn feasts. And yet—it was not the Jerusalem of my dreams! I had looked for a city that even in hoary age had some remains of its former magnificence. I had looked also for something that should remind me of the ancient people and the ancient worship-venerable rabbis, with long gray beards and flowing robes, chanting the Psalms of David. But I found little to admire either in the city or its inhabitants. The city is indeed picturesque in situation, standing on its mountain height; and when seen from a distance, with its walls and towers, its appearance is very striking. This rouses the traveller, as he approaches it, to an attitude of expectation, from which he is rudely awakened as he enters within the walls, where the first impression is disappointing, and even painful. It has neither the beauty of a modern city, nor the sombre stateliness of an ancient one. In its interior it has all the unsightly features of an Oriental

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amid the scenes in which it transpired, it is a constant surprise and delight to see how the narrative fits into the very landscape, and is reflected in it, as trees on the bank of a river are reflected in its bosom. To give freshness to the scene, is to give reality to the event ; faith comes by sight, and as sight grows clearer, faith grows stronger. And so at every step the sacred story becomes more real and more true.

If the descriptions in these pages often digress into reflections, the writer cannot help it: he must speak of that which is uppermost in his thoughts. One presence is everywhere, and we walk in its light. At the same time he has tried not to moralize too much ; but to enliven his soberness with narrative and incident, so that the journey may not seem long, and that whoever keeps him company may not grow weary by the way. Thus riding side by side among the holy hills, we may pass the time not unpleasantly, and gain what is, after all, the best fruit of travel—some real knowledge, a clearer understanding, and a stronger faith.

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