girded by strong walls. From this we passed on to the city 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 "Beth-slieba'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, which is the southern gate of the city, and leads to the summit of that part of Mount Zion which 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 a 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-place, 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 scanty 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 buried 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 Conaculum, 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 purse and without scrip," to teach the religion of our blessed Saviour.

AFTER a while, from the nebule 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 flattered me. He grew infatuated, but I only amused; either because 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 me 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 came 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 us; 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 unsound 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 pet liar, 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 suddenly or wrongly 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't you 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?"

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 walkings 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."

"Oh!"

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 closed 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

nite importance; to see in softening eyes how complete was my triumph.

Now I have outgrown the self of that time, and wonder at my blindness. But now was not then. My sincerity was equal to my delusion. He led me to talk, for love made him sympathetic; I would lay my heart and mind open to the dimmest corners (and some were very dim indeed), hardly noticing that his answers were too often by the eyes alone. There comes a time in the history of some natures-call it a kind of refined egotism-when they must speak of doubt and essay, hope and failure. One confides on paper to the public; I to the one who loved to listen, and who fully understood me, I believed. What man ever comprehends the woman nearest his heart? He guesses at her, accepts, admires, but never knows "one-half the reason why she smiles or sighs."

I soon recovered from my absurd belief in George's superhuman apprehension, but not until I had promised to marry him. The tremendous question had come at last, that had been silently asked and answered every day for the last two months. I think, even then, he would never have brought the matter to the touch had it not been for Mr. Nixon. I saw some delicate finessing on that gentleman's part. He took it into his head to covet my attention again, and often interrupted and perplexed George in the midst of some confidential statement. A feeling of uneasiness gave the lagging mind decision. I had promised to marry him; there was the unalterable fact. I could not avoid it, shrink as I might. Six months of delicious confusion had passednow the turmoil was over; I resumed old employments with zest; circumstances ceased to hinge on him. I took the dimensions of my hero. Because I could criticize, was I no longer in love? In vain I tried to swing back to the old feelings-they had died out; there was nothing but the ashes of a flimsy passion.

The suspense that had kept him a little better than himself was over; his mind, at rest forever, sunk to its level. My duty lay plain; by whatever wretched mistaking of myself I had given an unconditional promise, I was bound to keep to it.

He came, with his shawl over his arm, to bid me good-bye. It was our first separation-the beginning of a series; for, until that fortune was made I was to share, we would be much apart. He looked at me from his height, so handsome, so miserable, so tender, that the test words I had resolved to speak half died away.

"George," I began, my voice trembling in spite of my care, "do you think we feel for one another as we used? Had we not better, after all, call it a college flirtation, and—”

Holding both my hands-"I expected something like this, Rose," he interrupted, "but you gave me your word. You know I can never release you; that bond cannot be cancelled. You promised me, Rose."

I bent my head.

"You expect too much of yourself; you have read too many romances; I always thought your ideas high-flown. Don't think how you ought to feel, but just keep firm. I know you love me, but if you hated me I could be happy with you; but you don't."

Oh, how very young we both were ! "O no, no !" I hastened to answer. "Rosy, if you could change, it would be the ruiu of me. My life and hopes are in your keeping." His eyes were cloudy with tears.

Is it not cruel treachery to bring a man's nature under yours so, by every thrall make him doubly your own, and when there is no escape for him, find out for yourself that you have made a mistake? Should not such an error be expiated by pain?

"Very well, George, if you are satisfied-" "Satisfied! I should rather think I was. Never speak so again, Rosey, unless you want to drive me crazy."

So the bonds were clenched.

Was it a sigh of relief I drew as I tossed my trouble, for the nonce, into the future, and turned to the figures coming up the avenue? Sallie Venarr, swinging her parasol, and talking, according to custom, to Mr. Nixon. She had just met Mr. Buckingham, with such a doleful face, and couldn't help coming to have a peep at mine. Was horror-stricken at my

"Rose looks much more like a saint than I do," deprecated the young lady.

"I think so, most emphatically, Miss Venarr; you are a very pretty sinner, though." Still keeping his eyes on her.

I was angry for her. How could she allow any man to address her in that tone of half sarcastic compliment, and look down into her eyes till they drooped from a feminine instinct ! I half envied her insouciance. Like an insect angel, she sported all day long. I never saw her hands at work, never knew her to be in a hurry; day after day she came with the same swinging walk and happy idleness of demeanor. She affected Fan, and brought Nixon too often, to torture me and carry on her pretty warfare. "Don't forget my party, Thursday night, Rose," was her injunction. "I'm sorry Mr. Buckingham could not be with you; you will have such a stupid time."

"Explain the reason," Nixon demanded.

"Why," she answered, with a charming moue, "because engaged girls always do have. Nobody wants to dance with them. There's no fun in it, at all."

"Indeed," said Mr. Nixon, with an odd intonation in his tone.

Sallie's house was within sight, and before I left the piazza Mr. Nixon came back and talked to me till I felt like writing a poem. It was one of the old time interviews photographed. I wondered for the thousandth time what had so strangely changed him, for I could not believe the opinions I had uttered of him, after all. Suddenly he chinked the current coin.

"You have concluded to forgive me, I conclude," said he, in a livelier tone.

"Forgive you! For what?"

"I thought you knew; your manner has kept me off for months. It is only since your engagement has become a settled fact that you have dispensed kinder influences. I am back in your good graces, I hope, if I cannot stand where I did before you made Buckingham so happy."

I did not stop to puzzle over his meaning. "I am conscious of no grievance, given or received."

"Coldness is as subtle as the plague," quoth he, "and about as effective. There is no use now in begging an explanation of some misty points on which I have lost all right to ponder. Accept me now as your friend's friend."

"I accept you as my own," I said, frankly, a sort of enthusiasm hurrying my words, for who could resist Nixon's grace, when he chose to exert it? "Be as you used to be."

"You have been at other experiences, meanwhile," I said, glancing at a bit of Sallie's flounce in his buttonhole. I met his eyes; mine accused him.

"Miss Carhampton," said he, smiling, "it is the easiest connection in the world. You know how one can follow in a belle's wake without proffering more than the pleasant admiration of the hour. We are knights for the nonce. We rescue them from the giant ennui, we wear their favors; but, let us do as we like, we can't marry them all! it is not expected. Do you know how I saw her first? Picking cherries. Standing under the broad noon light, a great bough pulled down for her convenience made an arch over her. She looked like an illumination of some Byzantine manuscript." "That was out on the farm ?"

"Yes, last summer"-and he looked retrospective. "She was a gorgeous little figure. I've never seen her so pretty since. Goodmorning." He turned to go; then stopped as if he had thought of something. "I may not see you before Thursday night. May I engage you for the first and last dances?"

"If I go, I shall be happy to dance with you." He bowed, and walked off as if he had been losing time. My cheeks began to grow hot; I walked into the house, and emphasized the door.

I went to the party. Mr. Nixon resigned a laughing nymph to the arm of an admirer, and came towards me. I returned his salutation with the distant courtesy of a court.

"You are late," was his remark, as we took our places in the dance; "but it is good policy." "Perhaps so."

"Why didn't you wonderingly ask the reason? I had a pretty answer ready for you." "Keep it for other ears; I am not used to pretty answers."

"I have been to New York since I saw you last; I have seen your friend."

"I had a letter from him to-day. Mr. Nixon, I should not have come here to-night if he had not bade me thank you for your kindness, and the success with which you have used it in his behalf."

His color rose. "He told you that? He promised not to speak of it."

"He was too grateful, I suppose." My words sounded hard and cold to my own ears.

"He overrates the matter. I knew he ought