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Jafop mk mis yiagannc.
PHILADELPHIA, JUNE, 1SG2. EASTERN RAMBLES AND REMINISCENCES.
But to Mount Zion we are come,
Thy glory now shall close ;
A Residence in Jerusalem has something very peculiar in its associations—it is so different from other cities, so motionless, so gloomy and dispiriting, so silent and forsaken, that it appears more like a city of the dead than one having such a vast population.
Every spot has its tale—each rock its tradition. This pool, or that tomb, are both rendered memorable by some historical event, and the very trees share in the veneration with which everything connected with the Holy City is held.
If you want amusement, it is not to be found —unless a little more bustle than usual in the bazaars, which are generally crowded, will satisfy you. Perhaps a ramble to Bethlehem, or a lounge in the cafes, may please you; but, despite all your endeavors, there is no possibility of being amused in the city. When any travellers arrive they are weary, and seem to partake of the spirit of the place, so that you are obliged to retreat to your hotel, and dream away the hours of evening amid clouds of tobacco-smoke and dismal domestics. If you rise from your divan and take a turn upon the roof of the house, you have not grand mountains to gaze upon, such as Gaspar Poussin loved to paint, nor glorious sunsets, with the golden vistas of Claude, that are to be seen elsewhere—as on the coast of Syria, or even Palestine. There are no Ostade-looking interiors, or Teniers-like hovels, to gaze upon in vol. Lxrr.—44
this city. Pleasing recollections of the paintings of Rembrandt, Murillo, Guido, Leonardo da Vinci, Michael Angelo, and Raphael, come crowding into the mind, associated with the poetical effusions of Heber, Tasso, Dale, Millman, Montgomery, Roscoe, and Knox; and as your eyes wander from dome to minaret, and from vale to mount, and from ruined wall to stunted tree, the queen of night casts her placid light on yon rugged hills and castled steep, and
"All height, depth, wildness, grandeur, gloom below, Touched by the smile, lone moon! in one wild splendor grow."
The morning mists are fast scattered by the fierce sun that pours his scorching rays upon this unhappy city; the air you breathe is as suffocating as that of an iron foundry; no eddying wind refreshes your parching skin aajt sweeps along the streets; the inhabitants walk with listless step to pursue their daily labors, and salute each other only by gesture, for their very nature seems crushed) and their affections dried up.
If we enter the streets they are narrow, wretched, frequently unpaved, and almost deserted.
"Alas, Jerusalem *. each spacious street
The houses are dirty, irregularly-built square masses, some with domes, and some with flat roofs; and the shops are gloomy-looking squalid places, where ugly and ferocious-looking men smoke away the tedious hours. Silence reigns almost supreme, unless it be during the time the city is inundated by pilgrims.
The population of Jerusalem is very fluctuat
ing, owing to the presence of pilgrims at certain periods of the year, and travellers, who only remain the short time, hundreds arriving and departing in a day. The estimate given by various authors exhibits a wide difference. Thus, we find it is calculated by Wilde to be 30,000; by Turner, 26,000'; by Salzbacher 25,000; Richardson and Joliffe, 20,000; Scholz and Mr. Robinson, 18,000; Jowett, 15,000; Warburton, 12,000 ; Dr. Robinson, 11,500; and Buckingham, 10,000. My own impression is, that it is about 12,000, as a resident population.
If it is asked how such accounts vary, I would merely remark that it is because there are not any official documents accessible to travellers; that the required information must be obtained from residents, who may or may not be inclined to exaggerate; that the casual population is liable to large additions at certain seasons; that epidemics have reduced the numbers at other periods; that the informants themselves are frequently prejudiced; and finally, that some have included the garrison and foreigners. Mr. Wilde's information was obtained from the Latins and Jewish rabbis; Dr. Richardson's from a Turk; Mr. JoliflVs from a Christian; and Mr. Buckingham's from a Jew.
It is better to consider the population as two classes: 1, The residents; and 2, The partial residents, or foreigners.
The resident population consists of—1, Jews; 2, Mohammedans; and 3, Christians. The last class is again subdivided into Greeks, Latins, and Armenians.
The Jews have been variously estimated from 3,000 to 10,000. Dr. Richardson gives their supposed numbers as 10,000; Wilde, 8,000; Mr. Nicolayson, 6,000 or 7,000; Mr. Young, late British consul at Jerusalem, 5,000 or 6,000; Lord Nugent, 4,000; Joliffe, 3,000 to 4,000; Warburton, 3,500;,and Dr. Robinson, 3,000. It is well known, by those who have taken any trouble about the matter, that the Jews do not like to give their true numbers, which may arise from a Turkish law forbidding more than 2,000 Jews to reside within the walls; and, therefore, as Mr. Nicholson and Mr. Young have both had excellent opportunities of investigating the subject, we may fix the number at about 6,000.
The Mohammedans consist of Turks from Asia Minor; descendants of Turks by blood, but Arabians by birth; mixed race of Turkish and Arabian blood; and pure Syrian Arabs. They are computed by Joliffe at 13,000; Lord Nugent at 12,000; Wilde at 10,000; Dr. Richardson at 5,000; Dr. Robinson at 4,500; and
Warburton at 4,000. My own opinion is that they average, in round numbers, about 5,000.
The Christians exhibit a very medley group of creeds, for we find Greeks amounting, according to Joliffe, to 2,000, while Dr. Robinson only makes their number 460; Latins, estimated by Joliffe at 800, and Dr. Robinson at 260; and Armenians reckoned by Joliffe at 400, and Dr. Robinson at 130. To these we may add Copts, Abyssinians", Maronites, native Christian Arabs, Druses, Metaweiis, and Syrian Christians.
The partial residents, or foreigners, consist of people from nearly every country, and mar be calculated, in round numbers, at from 4,000 to 9,000. The fluctuation of the partial residents is very considerable, on account of the great numbers of pilgrims that are annually shipped to Jaffa, and travel thence to the Holy City. It is affirmed that upwards of 30,000 pilgrims visit Jerusalem every Easter.
The glory of Jerusalem has, indeed, departed; for when Titus besieged the city, the number of the Jews was 1,300,000, and the Arabians state that the population of the city when attacked and taken A. D. 1099, exceeded 200,000. "Alas, Jerusalem! alas! where "8 now Thy pristine glory, tby uumatch'd renown, To which the heathen monarchies did bow?"
She is " as a city ,which is compact together," even now, but yet not a vestige is to be seen of the Jerusalem of David or of Solomon; the course of the walls has been changed, and little remains but the valleys, the hills, and the pools, to identify its original site with the present one. But still, as we wander amid its ruined edifices, or gaze from the Mount of Olives upon its embattled walls and towering minarets, we feel that this is the spot where David's harp sounded; where our Saviour bore the cross upon which He atoned for our sins; where Israel went up to worship; where Solomon erected his brazen platform, and the glory of the Lord shone in his temple. Oil! let not the sceptic place his foot upon thy hallowed soil! and let not the remembrance of the associations connected with thee be blotted from my memory 1 for "I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord; our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem!"
The next place we visited was the Latin convent of St. Salvador, in the northwest corner of the city, on the edge of what is said to be Mount Gihon. There is not anything peculiar in this convent, except that it is the place where the pilgrims obtain a certificate of having visited the Holy City, and, perhaps, its irregular form
girded by strong walls. From this we passed on to the city's castle, which is built on the ruins of the Turris Psephina of old Jerusalem, and is now called the Castle of David, and sometimes the Tower of Hippicus. It is situated near the vale of Gihon, which it overhangs, and tradition affirms that it is one of the three towers built by Herod, and spared by Titus when the temple and'city were destroyed. The lower part of one of the towers is evidently very ancient, and composed of large stones bevelled at the edges. The guide pointed to a spot north of the tower, which, he remarked, was the site of the house of Uriah; and near to it is what is now called " Bathsheba's Bath," a broken tank amid a heap of loose stones and weeds.
Passing on towards the south we reached the Armenian Convent of St. James, which stands upon Mount Zion, immediately within the city walls. It is, certainly, a fine convent, and so spacious that it is said the priests frequently lodge nearly 800 pilgrims at a time; attached to it is a large garden with a high wall. The church, which is the best attended, is the largest and richest of the Christian churches, and is said to have been built by the Empress Helena, on the spot where St. James the elder was beheaded. It was a strange sight to behold the priests scattered about the church engaged in devotional exercises; some in their dark blue dresses, and others in their sumptuous robes, mingled with pilgrims of all ages and complexions, and foreigners with quaint costumes; all forming a strong contrast to the beautiful mosaic pavement, which here and there was left uncovered by the carpet thrown over it, to preserve it from injury, and the pulpit in the centre of the church, with a cupola over it, both inlaid with mother-of-pearl and tortoise-shell; while the pillars, which are covered with porcelain tiles with blue crosses and other designs on them, up to a certain height, and the altars covered with rich embroidery, and church vessels, filled up the background. On the left, in a small recess, is what the priests term the sanctuary of St. James, sculptured in white marble, and adorned with painting and gilding; this is said to be the precise spot on which he was beheaded. Passing on, we came to the vestibule, where we were shown two large stones; it is said that one of them was taken from that part of the river Jordan where our Saviour stood when St. John baptized him; and that the other is part of the rock against which Moses broke the tables of the law at Mount Sinai.
Near to the convent is a small Armenian
chapel, which is stated to be built on the spot where the house of the High Priest Annas formerly stood. Leaving this, we passed the lazarhouses on the left, where the lepers reside apart from the rest of the population, and went out of the Zion gate, whioh is the southern gate of the oity, and leads to the summit of that part of Mount Zion whioh is without the walls.
Near to the Zion gate is an Armenian chapel, very ill-shaped and remarkably gloomy in its appearance, which is built upon the site of the palace of Caiaphas, the High Priest; within it is an altar inclosing a block of compact limestone, about seven feet long, three broad, and R foot thick, which is exposed in some places for the devout pilgrims to kiss it. This is affirmed to be the stone which closed the mouth of the sepulchre of our Saviour.
A few paces to the right of this chapel is the Christian burying-plaoe, with its flat tombstones marking the last resting-place of many a Greek and Latin.
A short distance from the cemetery is the place where the Virgin Mary expired, and that pillar on the north side of the gate of Zion, or David, as it is sometimes called, is the spot where the cock stood and crowed when Peter denied his Master.
We are now fairly upon Mount Zion, one of the four hills upon which Jerusalem formerly stood; viz., Mount Zion on the southeast; Mount Moriah on the southwest; Acra on the northwest; and Bezetha on the northeast of the present city. Zion, which was highest, was formerly occupied by the upper city, "the City of David ;" here was the residence of the ark, the palace of the kings of Judah ; here our Saviour celebrated his last passover, and here the disciples assembled on the day of Pentecost. Desolate as Zion now is, deprived of her bulwarks of former days, and "ploughed as a field," yet it is doubly interesting for that very desolation, because, as we walk about Zion, and go round about her, "tell the towers thereof," and gaze upon the valleys below, we feel that the words of prophecy are fulfilled, for where her palaces once stood barley now waves, and the goats now browse on the Bcanty herbage on its terraced and sloping ridges. At its foot, about 150 feet below us, is the Valley of Hinnom, called Wady Jehennam, a narrow, steep, and rocky place, where the Jews sacrificed to Baal and Moloch, causing their sons and their daughters to pass through the fire; and before us is the Hill of Evil Counsel.
A gloomy mosque, said to cover the site of the Tomb of David, stands upon the summit of Zion, and, as the last resting-place of the " man according to God's own heart," it is highly interesting, because it also bears some probability of truth with respect to its site, as we know that "David slept with his fathers, and was Imried in the city of David;" and, moreover, St. Peter says (Acts ii. 29), that " his sepulchre is with us unto this day."
Part of the building was formerly called the Church of the Ccenaculum, where our Saviour
celebrated his Holy Supper with his Apostles, washed their feet, and instituted the Holy Sacrament. The guide pointed out a window in the upper part of the building, which he said belonged to the room where this event took place.
From this spot the Apostles departed "without purge and without scrip," to teach the religion of our blessed Saviour.
After a while, from the nebulae of men I met, two resolved into positive friends, whom it was pleasure to meet. All the world professed to see my preference for George Buckingham. He was what Sallie Venarr and her set call handsome; his beauty attracted, his manner nattered me. He grew infatuated, but I only amused; either becanse I was sure of him, and puzzled by his friend, or from the instinct of coquetry. I always favored Mr. Nixon. About this latter personage there was, at this time, something extremely provoking. I, continually on the verge of an active dislike of him, was never to arrive at any positive state of mind, I thought. He touched me on my sorest points, handled my opinions roughly, but pleased me, as no one else had done, at times.
But it was from George Buckingham I gained that half-adoring admiration no woman can ever utterly withstand; certainly not a young girl as new to the world, and the ways of its men, as I.
When Fanny, my only sister and dearest friend, married Professor Ogden, I followed her from our painful seclusion into another life. Society bewitched me. My sister let me grow like a fern in the hot shade, and I put out all manner of premature fronds. She had been restricted until the very glance of her eye became deprecatory; she meant to give mn the freedom never known by herself. So I winged my way. I allowed George Buckingham to wrest concessions from me, and wondered why Nixon, from the most attentive, though provoking of cavaliers, scarcely approving, yet never absent, had become the most indifferent of friends.
It grew towards tea-time. I, in a dreamy mood before the fire, was looking out at the amber west, and wondering whence came that peculiar green tint seen in no other but a win
ter's sky. My brother-in-law oame to the door and put the dear old face inside. "Is Fan asleep ?" dropping his voice. "There's young Buckingham down stairs; you must look after him, then; keep him to tea, Rosey; Nixon and I will meet him there."
I rose, shaking myself as discontentedly as Zeph does when roused from his nap on the Turkey rug, and followed down the stairs. Mr. Nixon was waiting for his professor; a low bow was the sole exchange between ns; I measured my manner by his. I had thought him presumptuous on slight favor; he should never count on mine so surely. He opened the door of the parlor without a word, and, as I passed in, one short glance I stole at his face. I don't know what expression I looked for; I found tranquil indifference, which did not alter as he witnessed Mr. Buckingham's elastic start towards me—his seizure of my hand.
"You don't look glad to see me, Miss Carhampton," said George, as the door closed.
"Don't I? It's not so long a time since I've had that pleasure that I can be violently agitated on the subject. You were here this morning."
"Only to bring back Bryant; I didn't stay a moment."
"I thought women only were unsonnd in their estimate of time. You never are correct in yours; it was forty-two moments, sir, you stayed, and had to run to your recitation; I saw you from the side window."
"Come, don't be severe on a poor fellow. If you want me to go now, send me off."
"I am forbidden. Oh, Mr. Buckingham! where did you get that lovely rose?" I exclaimed, for the first time noticing an exquisite cream-color, with a damask flush in the halfshut centre leaves.
He gave it into my hand saying, in his peculiar, half-hesitating tone—
"I wish the professor would give me a lovely Rose."
At this I blushed like a fool; he looked at me just long enough to make it worse, then gently took my hand, which I quickly snatched from him, and, walking to the door, said :—
"I must get a vase of water for the flower; come into the other room, Mr. Buckingham, it is much pleasanter."
He came after, in a very dissatisfied way, and was thrown off the track for that evening, at least.
. "How is Miss Venarr?" I asked, as I filled a Pompeian vase with water. "I saw you walking with her yesterday. Is her ankle well, or does it still need attendance?"
He hastened to explain.
"I overtook her crossing the Park; I didn't even ask. Do you know Nixon has taken her up?"
"I thought he could spare no time from his studies to attend to destitute young women; at least, he hinted as much."
"He can find time enough; he says he is determined to find out what is in that girl; he says she flirts too much."
"She will be shown new points in her philosophy if Mr. Nixon undertakes her improvement."
"Do you want to know what he says of you ?" asked Buckingham, with a smile in his blue eyes.
"Well, what is it?"
"I almost forget. You are a rose that pricks one's fingers when snddenlyorwrongly touched, full of thorns, but of a most sweet savor."
"Did he say all that?" was my light rejoinder, but somehow I felt grieved.
"Yes, and more ; but I must not tell you the rest, it will make you angry."
Of course I was doubly anxious to hear the reserve, but Buckingham kept his friend's counsel.
"You must have a charming time talking us over. Why doesn't Mr. Nixon write a tract, he has become such an ardent missionary to young ladies? Do ask him, with my compliments."
"Oh, you 're vexed with him! I'm glad of it. I have felt like pitching him out of the window many a time when I've seen him keep you to himself the whole of an evening."
"Don'tyou get savage; he is to be here to tea, and the professor said I was to keep you."
"The professor is a brick," ejaculated the young man; then, "I beg your pardon."
"Oh, you needn't; a brick is a term of compliment, is it not?" i
Here entered Fanny, with a dignified "Good evening, Mr. Buckingham." She seated herself at a table, and began to work. We tried to talk, but found it a hard matter, for Fan, when she pleased, was the most perfect negative. There was no rising above it to-night. We were all glad when Professor Ogden and Nixon answered the tea summons still out of soundings in some scientific subject.
Afterwards, I went off to a side light and a sofa, and George followed, under pretence of holding my worsted. Fannie's eyes coursed him; something did not suit her. That night she hesitatingly prefaced.
"Rose, seems to me Mr. Buckingham is here a great deal."
I drew myself up for a lecture.
"Well, Mrs. Fanny, what of it?"
"Five times a week, Rose, to say nothing of chance encounters, and walking to the gate."
"I can't help it, Fan; I can't send him home."
"You don't want to help it," she said, with a sigh. "He is desperately in love, and you encourage him. I hate to have your name so connected with students ; if you can't give him a hint, let me."
A delicate, annoyed flush faded from her cheek as she looked up to me.
"Perhaps I am foolish, dear, but I wish it was otherwise with you. Why did you rebuff Mr. Nixon so completely?"
"I did not."
"Something has changed him; I thought it must be some haughty way of yours that had wounded him."
"Fanny, Mr. Nixon takes up young ladies to study as the Germans do bugs, who, when the examination is finished, let the unhappy being fly, or transfix it by a pin, as they choose. I suppose Mr. Nixon has olosed his study of me, or his interest in the problem has flagged. I can't bear him, and I do like George Buckingham."
"There was an honest girl," pronounced the professor, who stood with silent, slippered feet behind; "I like young Buckingham, too. Mrs. Fanny, what whim have you in your head?"
Yes, I thought I loved him. As we think of our first love I thought of him. Youth, beauty, and a host of unexplained sympathies bewitched me. It was dearly sweet to be watched over; to have every word or gesture become of infi