distinct compartments; one is used as a tannery, and in the others we saw skeletons of asses and horses; for, when animals die in the neighborhood, their carcasses are dragged into this desecrated place to be devoured by dogs or vultures. We climbed over burning lime and rubbish to a rather treacherous stone stairway, which led us to a gallery above, corresponding with the cloisters below. Here there are two large windows with stone tracery, mullions, and moldings of early English character, in pretty good preservation.
Notwithstanding the offensive surroundings, I paid several visits to these interesting ruins. The style, for the most part, is like the Norman architecture of Sicily, while other parts of the ruins remind me of our early English style. The building altogether seems originally to have been built to serve the purpose of a fortress as well as an ecclesiastical retreat. It is said to have been founded in the eleventh century, as a place of rest for pilgrims to the Holy Sepulcher. It rapidly and continually grew in importance till the middle of the thirteenth century, when Christian influence was suddenly overthrown, and all its monuments destroyed, or allowed gradually to decay, as in this instance. Above the Norman door which we had entered I remarked a rich bas-relief of groups of figures, emblematic designs, and monograms, quaintly carved; but this has lately been so roughly used that it is now almost defaced, and future travelers will be puzzled to find it. When I revisited the spot in 1859—four years afterward—I found the door blocked up, and the space in front of it closed in and converted into a store or shop, for the sale of glass beads and bracelets made at Hebron. We shook the dust from our feet, and strolled a little way along the Via Dolorosa, till we were warned by the deepening shadows, and the evening cries from the minarets around, that the sun had gone down. We hastened through the streets and bazars. The little shops were nearly all deserted by their owners, and shut up for the night.
