lems sitting in the tree-shade, solitary devotees at the little shrines or niches, and the slow pacing of Turkish sentries or black slave guardians of the Holy Place, gave some animation to the otherwise picture-like stillness of the scene.
The contrast is very great between this bright spot on Mount Moriah and the other part of the city, which is traversed by a valley and covered with irregular masses of white-domed and terraced buildings, relieved here and there by a tree, a church, or a minaret. The extreme southern quarter is the most desolate, and is inhabited by the Jews. The south-west portion is chiefly thronged by Armenians, where their convent stands, white and conspicuous, and marks their quarter distinctly. The north-west quarter—the highest—is more frequented by Franks; and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the Latin convent, the Protestant church, and various consulates, proclaim it. The north-east is the Moslem quarter. The patches of open land within the city are, in some places, used as drying-grounds for indigo-dyed linen; while others have become public dustheaps or dunghills. I could trace the battlemented walls of the city, now following the downward sweep into the valley, and then rising in an irregular line to crown the hights of Zion.
After we had lingered there for some time, fascinated by the scenes around, the military governor led us to a divan, where we took coffee and sherbet. He excused himself for not taking refreshments with us, for it was Ramadan, the month in which Moslems fast from sunrise to sunset daily.
We then called on several European families—English, German, Greek, and Russian. The vaulted stone chambers in which we were generally received were cool and pleasant even at midday, and so furnished as to combine Oriental and Western luxuries. In the deep, arched recesses and broad window-seats, soft cushions were arranged and loose muslin drapery floated from the open windows, fanning the air. Glowing Turkey carpets and Egyptian matting
