Laws of the Credibility of Tradition.—?Dean Trench on Words.—?Scenes of the historical Events of Christianity not well defined.—?Palm Sunday in Jerusalem.—?Crossing the Mount of Olives.—?Journey to Bethany.—?Site of the City.—?Home of Mary and Martha.—?Tomb of Lazarus.—?Christ frequented Bethany.—?To his Visits is due its Significance.—?Touching Legends.—?Resurrection of Lazarus.—?Scene of Christ’s triumphal March to Jerusalem.—?Garden of Gethsemane.—?Old Gardener.—?Walls and Iron Gate.—?Place of Sweet Repose.—?Flowers.—?Pictures.—?Aged Olive-trees.—?Overwhelming Emotions.—?Ascent of the Mount of Olives.—?Three Paths.—?David’s Ascent.—?Connection of the Mount with the two Dispensations.—?Scene of the Ascension.—?True Place.—?Commanding View from the Summit of Olivet.—?Passion Week in Jerusalem.—?Footsteps of our Lord.—?Good Friday in the Holy City.—?Visit to the Garden.—?Lord’s Supper.—?Sleepless Night.—?Calvary.—?True Location.—?Its Appearance.—?Appropriate Place.—?Via Dolorosa.—?Pilate’s Judgment-hall.—?Ecce Homo Arch.—?Legendary Stations.—?Crucifixion of Christ dramatized by the Latin Monks.—?The Procession.—?Ascent to Calvary.—?Tumult.—?Spectators.—?Sermons.—?The Cross.—?Church of the Holy Sepulchre.—?Architecture.—?Scene in the Court.—?The FaÇade.—?Imposing Interior.—?Chapel of the Greeks.—?Rotunda.—?Dome.—?Holy Sepulchre.—?Magnificent Decorations.—?Its Interior.—?The Tomb.—?Holy Shrines.—?Not the Tomb of Christ.—?Difficulties of the Question.—?Evidence for its Identity.—?Objections.—?Argument against the Site.

Some general laws are yet to be deduced touching the credibility of tradition as to biblical topography. At present, the traditional sites of many important events in sacred history are accepted or rejected according to the taste, creed, or judgment of the traveler. There is a lack of harmony among chorographers upon the localities where occurred the great facts of our religion, and not unfrequently eminent scholars are found maintaining opposite theories. The inspired writers were too much absorbed in recording the stupendous facts of their history to define, at all times, with accuracy the boundaries of those places where such events transpired. Facts, not places, are the burden of their record. They tell us of the deed, and fearing lest, by adoring the spot, we might fail to reap the full advantage of the transaction, they leave the localities subject to inference. Yet they never ignore the sacredness of places consecrated by memorable deeds, nor could they have been unconscious of the important relation which frequently exists between the natural features of the scene and the fact they commend to our belief. Indeed, the proof of many of their statements depends upon the exact position of mountain and plain, of valley and river, of desert and sea, which we are left to gather from close investigation and comparative induction. Tradition, therefore, has its claims upon our faith no less than written history.

The traveler is guided, in his search for sacred places, by the information derived from three general sources: prevailing tradition, the language of the common people, and the Bible. The first is reliable in proportion to its approximation to the event the memory of which it perpetuates, and to the unity of the rival sects in the land upon the subject. But, owing to the fact that the prevailing traditions were first collated and recorded by Eusebius and Jerome in the fourth century, the absence of any authentic record of such legends during the three preceding centuries requires us to receive the testimony of those eminent fathers with due precaution. It is of little moment how long these traditions have since been received; the question of greater importance is, How nearly can they be traced to the events the memory of which they transmit? While with pleasure we accord to those early fathers varied learning and superior advantages to acquire information, yet it is due to an intelligent faith to accept what they record only so far as it is supported by contemporary history and by the harmony existing between the physical features of the locality and the inspired account.

Dean Trench has said that “language is fossil history.”181 With slight alterations, the familiar names of the Bible have been preserved in the Arabic language, which derived them from the Aramean, the vernacular language of the country when invaded by the Arabs.182 In some instances the proper names of large cities have been changed, but the ancient appellations of rural places are retained, and this not unfrequently is the only hint to identify some renowned site. But the marvelous minuteness and accuracy of the Bible constitute it the great guide-book in the Holy Land, and, when read with care and reflection upon the spot, in connection with the light derived from other sources, never fail to lead to right conclusions, and at the same time they afford the reader the satisfaction of treading in the footsteps of those illustrious men whose words and deeds are the enduring glory of our race.

There is less difficulty in identifying those places connected with Jewish history than in determining those sites forever sanctified by the acts and teachings of our Lord. For more than fifteen centuries the Jews were permanent residents in the land, and during that long and prosperous period they reared monuments commemorative of historic events, which the spoliations of war have not been sufficient to efface, nor the attritions of time able to destroy; hence, without a doubt, the traveler of to-day stands with delight within their ancient cities, or lingers with melancholy interest amid their ruined towns.

It is otherwise, however, with Christian antiquities. The Founder of our faith was but a sojourner in the land, and his followers failed to become a distinct and ruling people till the early part of the fourth century. Always oppressed, and never respected, till the son of Helena bore the Cross in triumph to the gates of Jerusalem, they were without the rights and destitute of the means to perpetuate by enduring monuments the memory of those places hallowed by the presence of the Great Teacher of mankind. Driven from the city in the year 69A.D., they were compelled to seek an asylum at Pella, on the eastern bank of the Jordan, near Jabesh Gilead, and for seventy years thereafter, from its capture by Titus to its rebuilding by Adrian, Jerusalem ceased to be the home of the Christians. It is not, therefore, surprising, that during the exile of so many years hallowed sites should have passed to the shades of oblivion, and that any attempt to recall them now should be attended with some uncertainty.

Though unable at all times to stand with confidence where Jesus stood, and walk where he walked, it is nevertheless a source of unspeakable delight to know that Jerusalem is the city in which he taught; that there are the skies he sat beneath; there the hills and vales he traversed; there the garden of his agony; and that rising above is Olivet, whose flowers were moistened with his tears, whose echoes were awakened by his prayers, and whose summit was the last spot of earth pressed by his adorable feet.

Palm Sunday dawned upon the Holy City in all the beauty of a Syrian spring. Asweet repose pervaded earth and sky; the very air was at rest, and a vernal sun shone softly from skies of a purple tint. It was the anniversary of our Lord’s triumphal entry into the city of David, and Iwas in the spirit to join the imaginary throng on the same highway, and shout, “Blessed is he who cometh in the name of the Lord; Hosanna in the highest.” From early dawn, through all the lanes and streets of the city, pilgrims were hastening to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, thronging the spacious aisles, rotundas, and lateral chapels of that venerable edifice. Differing from the Greeks a moon or a month as to the time of the festival, the Latins were assembled in their Franciscan chapel adjoining the rotunda. The altar was decorated with vases of flowers, and over it were suspended palm-branches, the symbol of the day. The bishop and officiating priests were attired in their elegant robes; a noble organ pealed forth the responses to the intoned service, and in the vast audience were monks and nuns, officers of the state and of the army, and pilgrims and strangers from all lands.

The scene of our Lord’s triumphal march from Bethany to Jerusalem is no less distinctly marked by a universally received tradition than by the everlasting hills and valleys whose awakening echoes responded to the anthems of the rejoicing multitude. The distance from the Holy City to Bethany is correctly stated by the Evangelist as fifteen furlongs, or a little less than two miles, counting eight furlongs to the Roman mile. The ancient path leads from St.Stephen’s Gate down the steep sides of Moriah, and, after crossing the stone bridge that spans the Kidron, ascends to the walls of Gethsemane. From the garden three roads lead to the village home of Lazarus. One, winding up a slight depression in the western side of Olivet, sweeps round the hamlet of Jebel et-TÛr, which crowns the summit, and descends the green slopes on the eastern side. The second branches from the first just above the garden, and, winding upward, skirts the valley on the south, intersecting the former a short distance above Bethany. The third, which is the most ancient and frequented of the three, turns to the right below the garden wall, and, following the devious base of Olivet on the south, leads to Bethany, to Jericho, and to the heights of Moab beyond the Jordan. In the East, the land itself is not older than the great highways of the nation. Chosen alike for ease and directness, the valleys and mountain slopes are the principal thoroughfares, which, to succeeding generations, remain the landmarks of the past.

Crossing the Mount of Olives, in less than half an hour Ireached the native town of Lazarus. From the numerous date-palms that once flourished in its environs the village was called Bethany, or the “House of Dates;” but, in honor of him who was raised from the dead, it bears the name of El-LazirÊyeh.183 It is situated in a semicircular vale, with an opening toward the east to admit the morning’s earliest light. Amid groves of olive, fig, and almond trees are twenty Arab huts, containing 100 inhabitants. The villagers are quiet and happy, and the half-nude children leap for joy on the reception of a few piastres for the milk and fruit they sell to strangers. All the Bible memories of the place are cherished by the people, and an old man is in waiting to point out the traditional sites.

In the absence of positive proof either for or against these legendary places, the traveler is left to his own conclusions, drawn from history and from the probabilities of location. Of the house of Simon but little remains, and only a fragment of the residence of Lazarus has survived the waste of ages. The latter occupies a commanding position on a scarped rock, and in its day was a building of some elegance. Formed of large beveled stones, it was twenty-one feet square. From the top of a remaining arch a prospect of singular beauty opens to view through the ravine on the east, and, no doubt, often was enjoyed by the master and his three friends.

ArchÆologists have called in question the identity of this ruin, and have claimed it as the remains of the Convent of the Black Nuns, founded in 1132A.D. by Mesilinda, Queen of Fulco of Jerusalem, over which she placed her sister Ireta as abbess, a matron of approved piety. Yet it is highly probable that, as Bethany has always been inhabited, and as the recollection of the raising of a man from the dead would be among those longest and most tenaciously cherished by a people, either this arch is a part of the stone house which tradition asserts to have been occupied by Lazarus and his sisters, or, if the remains of the convent of Mesilinda, it marks the spot where he resided.

Under the brow of a hill in the northeast part of the town is the supposed tomb of Lazarus. Twenty-six stone steps lead to a vaulted chamber twenty-two feet below the surface of the ground, which is excavated in the rock, and measures eleven feet long, nine wide, and seventeen high. On the left a small door opens to a narrow vault where the dead once rested. Bearing marks of great antiquity, there is no reason to doubt the identity of this tomb. The saying of those Jews who came to comfort Mary, that “she goeth unto the grave to weep,”184 would indicate, at first, that her brother had been interred some distance from the town; this, however, does not necessarily follow, as the same remark would be appropriate if the sepulchre was in the village, whatever may have been the distance from her dwelling.

Like many other Syrian towns, Bethany has risen to importance, and inherits an imperishable name from the presence and miracles of Jesus. It was to Judea what Capernaum was to Galilee—the scene of his greatest works, and the place where he delivered his most sublime lessons of wisdom and love. When the ingratitude of Jerusalem forced him from her gates, he sought repose in Bethany, as, when driven by the Nazarenes from his native city, he selected Capernaum as the place of his adoption. Bethany was his temporary abode in his frequent journeys from Moab to Judea. Coming from the land of Moab, “a certain woman named Martha received him into her house;”185 and from the same region he came to raise Lazarus from the dead.186 At a later period, here he dined in the house of Simon the leper;187 here the grateful Mary washed his feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head,188 and from an alabaster box, which “she had kept against the day of his burial,” she poured the precious ointment on his head as he sat at meat. From this humble village he made his triumphant entry into Jerusalem, and here, in the house of pious orphanage, he spent the last night but one prior to his crucifixion.

There is a touching legend in the East that the father of Lazarus was a pious Levite, and his mother a Jewish matron, after the model of Hannah and Elizabeth; that Lazarus himself was a scribe, who gained a living by copying the Law and the Prophets for the various synagogues in Palestine, and that Mary and Martha devoted their time to needle-work—embroidering veils for the Temple and garments for the priests; that previous to the visits of Jesus to Bethany the parents had ascended to their reward, leaving on earth their three orphan children; that the native sweetness of their spirit, the purity of their devotion, and their constant attention to his recurring wants, engaged his affection and secured his benediction; that here, in their midst, he laid aside the awful grandeur of Teacher and Judge of mankind, and in all the refined amenities of social life he displayed the finer traits of his character, which were hidden from the common eye. And how intimate must have been that friendship for the care-burdened Martha to come to him with her little domestic troubles;189 and how tender the attachment for those stricken sisters to think only of him when their brother died. Agreater benefactor than beneficiary, he rewarded those pious sisters with a gift worthy of a God. The brief but sad message they sent him—“Lord, behold, he whom thou lovedst is sick”—awakened all the deeper emotions of his friendship. Though even a melancholy relief to be with those we love in the hour of death, yet, that the Son of Man might be glorified, Jesus delayed his coming till after the demise and burial of his friend. Many a time had those sorrowing sisters passionately exclaimed, “Oh that the Master were here!” Coming from the fountains of Bethabara, he sought the sepulchre of Lazarus. Omnipotence stirred within him; a groan for life escaped his lips, a prayer entered heaven that knew no denial, a voice was heard in the spirit world calling back a departed soul to earth and to a new probation. That voice was obeyed. Lazarus came forth, and joy filled the hearts of those orphan sisters.190 And now, after the lapse of so many centuries, the inspired story, read upon the spot, has all the freshness of reality; and though time has marred the beauty of that mountain home, and borne to the grave the friends of Jesus, yet Mary’s alabaster box of costly ointment and spikenard, very precious, is still fragrant with the odor of undying love, and “wheresoever this gospel is preached throughout the whole world, this also that she hath done shall be spoken of for a memorial of her.”191

In the month of March of the succeeding spring Jesus was again in Bethany. The moment of his triumph had come. The shouts of the people awaited the presence of their King. On the previous day he had descended from the Mountains of Moab, crossed the Jordan, traversed the Plain of Jericho, restored eyesight to the importunate Bartimeus, and dined with Zaccheus.192 Resuming his journey, he passed round the base of Quarrantania, the scene of his temptation, crossed the Brook Cherith, where Elijah was fed by the ravens, ascended the Vale of Achor, where Achan was stoned to death, entered the wilderness of Judea, the scene of the parable of the good Samaritan, and, continuing his upward march, reached Bethany as the sun descended behind the heights of Gibeon. That night he was entertained in the house of Simon the leper. Attracted to Bethany to attend the feast of Simon and behold Lazarus, who had been raised from the dead, a vast multitude were the next morning on their way to Jerusalem.193

Solemnly intending to assert his regal rights and fulfill an ancient prophecy,194 Jesus dispatched two of his disciples to secure an ass for the triumphal occasion. Aknowledge of his coming had reached the countless strangers who had assembled in the Holy City to celebrate the Passover, and who, seized by a sudden inspiration that bore every heart upon its resistless wave, hastened to greet their coming King. Passing through the palm-groves that formerly lined the path, they cut down the lengthened branches, and descended toward Bethany with shouts of triumph.

Spreading their loose garments upon the unsaddled ass, the disciples had set their Master thereon, who was slowly approaching the city of David. At length the descending and ascending processions met, and in the rapture of the moment vied with each other in expressions of gladness and in tokens of respect. Those who had escorted him from Bethany threw from their shoulders their loose robes, and, spreading them on the highway, formed a temporary carpet for his triumphal march; and those who had come from Jerusalem spread their palm-branches before him, while from that vast multitude arose that more than regal shout, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who cometh in the name of the Lord! Hosannah in the highest!”195 It was the hour of the exaltation of the Son of God. The people had gathered unto Shiloh; the visions of the past were realized, and prophecy was fulfilled.

The interruption over, the great procession re-formed. Those who had come from Jerusalem, turning round, led the advance; those who had come from Bethany brought up the rear; while in the centre Jesus rode in triumph.

Midway the two cities, the ancient path burrows the side of Olivet, and, after sweeping round a deep ravine, ascends a shoulder of the sacred mount, where the whole city, as by enchantment, bursts upon the view. Where now appears the Tomb of David then were seen the palaces of Herod, and where now stands the Mosque of Omar then stood the Jewish Temple. Charmed by a vision so grand, the people again shouted, but, unelated by the praise or view, “Jesus beheld the city, and wept over it.” While the scenic grandeur of the prospect thrilled the multitude with joy, the view of a doomed city caused him to shed more than human tears. Once more the procession advanced. Descending a shelving path, with the groves of Gethsemane on the right and the Tomb of Absalom on the left, the Savior crossed the Kidron, and, mounting the sides of Moriah, he entered his Temple amid the astonishment of enemies and the acclamation of friends.

At the junction of the three roads which lead to Bethany is the Garden of Gethsemane. It is a quiet spot, and wears the air of sweet repose. Formerly it was open and accessible to all, but now it is surrounded by a stone wall twenty feet high. It is an area of 120 feet east and west, and 150 north and south. The entrance is through a low iron gate on the eastern side, and the keeper is an old Franciscan monk. With a skillful hand he has transformed the inclosure into a pretty but not gorgeous garden. On the east are three terraces, adorned with flowers. On the first is a well of delicious water, covered with trellis-work, on which are vines, and in the northeast corner is the monk’s cell. Agraveled walk follows the circuit of the walls, and on the interior of the walls are pictures representing memorable scenes in the last night of our Lord’s life. The centre of the area is inclosed with a high picket fence, and the ground within is laid out in flower-beds. As memorials of the past, he has cultivated the graceful but bitter wormwood, and also the beautiful passion-flower—the symbol of agony. Near them are a few palms and cypresses. With parental care he has nourished the eight remaining olive-trees, beneath which he thinks the fearful struggle occurred. They bear marks of great age, and are now the oldest on the face of the earth. Their trunks are gnarled and hollow, their foliage scanty, and, true to their species in old age, their roots are far above the ground, but at present covered with an artificial soil. One, more venerable than the rest, is seven feet in circumference, and has separated into four parts from the roots upward to the branches; a second is twisted with age; and a third is hollow. But the branches are strong, the leaf green, and from the aged roots young trees are sprouting—successors to these patriarchal shades.

Gethsemane is the only place in all my travels Ihesitated for a moment to visit. Ihad passed it many times before, but always felt unwilling to disturb its solemn repose. But, unattended by companion or guide, Idetermined to enter. Rapping on the low gate, the venerable Franciscan bade me welcome. His countenance was pale with watchings, and a pensive smile played over his dry and wrinkled face. Entering his solitary cell, he left me alone. Not a sound disturbed the quiet of the hour. Kneeling beneath an aged olive, I gave myself up to the undisturbed reflections and hallowed memories of the place. The story of our Lord’s agony had a reality Ihad never before experienced. This lonely vale, these ancient hills, these serene skies, heard the Sufferer’s cry. Here the compassionate Redeemer lay prostrate upon the ground, and, yielding to his Father’s will, accepted the cup of death. Here descended that kind angel who strengthened the fainting Savior. Here resounded the horrid tramp of that ruffian band, whose huge staves smote the earth, and whose swords glittered in the starlight. Here the betrayer’s signal-kiss polluted the cheek of innocence, and the Master’s words of surprise startled the dull ear of night. Here the impetuous spirit of Peter, gaining the mastery of his discretion, moved him to smite off the ear of Malchus; and, losing sight of the dangers that threatened him, and unmindful of the hatred of his foes, the benevolent Savior asked as an unselfish favor, “Suffer ye thus far, and he touched his ear and healed him.” Here the Shepherd was smitten and the flock scattered. Here John fled, leaving the linen cloth in the hands of the ruffians, and Jesus was led to judgment. It was passing strange to be in such a place.

At every station where Israel had encamped en route for the Mount of the Law; on the awful summit of Sinai; beside the cave of Machpelah and the tomb of Rachel; in the stable of the Nativity at Bethlehem; along the Jordan; on Zion, Moriah, and Olivet; and on Gibeon, where Solomon received a wise and understanding heart, Ihad offered my devotions to God; but Gethsemane seemed the nearest to heaven in the hour of prayer.

Gathering a few flowers and olive leaves for loved ones at home, Ileft the garden with impressions as blessed as they are imperishable, and began the ascent of Olivet. The Mount of Olives is no less memorable in the annals of Jewish and Christian history than its aspect is impressive to the eye of the beholder. Rising 2800 feet above the Mediterranean, its base is 1000 feet from the city, and its summit half a mile from St.Stephen’s Gate. Having an elevation of more than 400 feet above the bed of the Kidron Valley at “Absalom’s Pillar,” it is 104 feet higher than the crown of Zion, and rises 127 feet above the summit-level of Mount Moriah. Owing to its irregular outline, both its form and cardinal points are difficult to define. Its general direction is north and south, with spurs shooting out toward every point of the compass, and its location agrees with the description by the prophet, who places it before Jerusalem on the east.196 Including the Hill of Scandal, it may be said to have three peaks, though with equal propriety Scopus might be enumerated among them. Topographically this may be correct, but historically the Hill of Scandal is too far southwest to be included as a part of Olivet, as Mount Scopus is too far north. The two adjacent peaks are distinct, the northern one bearing the name of Galilee, from the supposition that there the angels addressed the Galileans, and the southern one, called by the Arabs Jebel et-TÛr, but by the Christians the Mount of Ascension.

The sides of the mountain gently descend east and west, and are streaked horizontally with stripes of green and gray. From base to summit it is terraced and planted with olives, from which the mount derives its name. Though rough and stony, yet in spring-time and summer flowers bloom upon it luxuriantly. On its broad and level summit is the small village of Jebel et-TÛr, clustering around the Church of the Ascension, and, in turn, is surrounded by fields of grain. From Gethsemane three paths lead to this Arab town; one strikes up boldly along a projecting cliff, a second winds up more gradually to the south, while the third follows a gentle ravine, and is the most ancient of the three. It was up the latter path David fled from the rebellion of Absalom, “weeping as he went up, with his head uncovered, and his feet bare.” On the summit, where he lingered to worship, he was met by the faithful Hushai, who, by the king’s command, returned to the city to defeat the counsels of Ahithophel. Just over the hill-top the kind Ziba met the royal fugitive with refreshments. And not far down the eastern declivities is Bahurim, where the cowardly Shimei cursed the king, and where the heroic Abishai was impatient to vindicate his insulted master.197

This is, no doubt, the path Jesus frequented when returning to Bethany after the thankless labors of the day in the Holy City. And how significantly do these two reverent names recall the history of Olivet, as associated with the two great dispensations of our religion. On its summit was the Luna Station, from which the first appearance of the new moon was announced by torch-light signals to the priests of the Temple, which had been previously seen and communicated in the same manner by those stationed on the loftier peaks of Moab. Somewhere on its upland slopes stood two cedar-trees, beneath which pigeons were sold as offerings for purification. In one of its depressions was the lavatory, where unclean persons washed preparatory to presenting themselves before the Lord. At its base the red heifer was burnt, the ashes of which were preserved for the purification of the people,198 and crowning the summit the Shekinah rested, like a cloud of glory, when forced from the Holy of Holies by the ingratitude of a fallen people.199

But, contemplated in its connection with the private life and public ministry of our Lord, Olivet has a higher significance to the Christian, and awakens within him profounder emotions. It was his house of prayer, where he ofttimes resorted with his disciples.200 From some of its shaded slopes, with the city full in view, he predicted the final overthrow of Jerusalem.201 With a matchless purity of thought and diction, he delivered to his disciples the parables of the “Ten Virgins,” of the “Five Talents,” and concluded his marvelous discourse by a description of the “Last Judgment.”202 At its base he was betrayed,203 and from its summit he ascended to glory.

Charmed with the purity of his life, convinced of the divinity of his person, and conscious of a debt of gratitude for his vicarious death, the Christian seeks the exact spot where for the last time he touched our earth. But, wisely neglecting to designate any particular portion of the Mount, the Evangelists point us to Olivet as the place of ascension. According to Eusebius, the traditional site is directly opposite St.Stephen’s Gate, and, prior to the visit of St.Helena, was visited by pilgrims from all lands. To honor the spot and commemorate the event, the mother of Constantine ordered the erection of a church upon the site, which, in the waste of time, has given place to a humbler structure. By a singular amalgamation, it stands connected with a Mohammedan mosque, whose solitary minaret is seen from afar.

The tradition, however, does too much violence to the text to claim for a moment the intelligent faith of the present age. He led them out as far as to Bethany,204 and they returned unto Jerusalem from the Mount called Olivet, which is from Jerusalem a Sabbath-day’s journey,205 are the only authentic intimations we have of the place, and the only data from which we can draw our conclusions. Though “as far as to Bethany” is indefinite, it is sufficiently explicit to throw doubt upon the traditional site, and to lead us to search for another more in harmony with the spirit and letter of the text. To the southeast of the village there is a narrow isthmus, connecting the peak on which it stands with one of less altitude and more retired. It is one mile, or a “Sabbath-day’s journey,” from St.Stephen’s Gate, and overlooks the little town of Bethany, lying 500 yards below the cliff. From the ruins which lay scattered on the rocks beneath the isthmus, it is evident that Bethany once extended farther to the northwest than at present, which more completely corresponds with the distance as stated by St.Luke. But it is enough that Olivet extends toward the home of Lazarus a “Sabbath-day’s journey” from Jerusalem, and that from its summit Jesus ascended to glory, leading captivity captive, and giving gifts to men. It is enough that these hills saw the Prince of life and glory rise, and leaped for joy; that these valleys beheld him ascend, and swelled with delight; and these skies reached down their ethereal arms to bear him on high. It is enough that earth is linked to heaven, humanity is the abode of divinity, and a descendant of Adam is on the throne of the universe. Let us adore!

In all the Holy Land there is not a nobler panoramic view to be enjoyed than the one which greets the eye from the Mount of Olives. Owing to the extreme transparency of the atmosphere, and to the absence of that peculiar haze which lends such an enchanting perspective to the Italian landscape, distance at times seems annihilated, and remote objects appear to view with extraordinary distinctness of form and outline. Sweeping over an area of more than twenty miles, the prospect is as varied as it is grand. Turning to the north, the eye rests on Mizpeh, where Samuel held his court and Israel gathered for judgment; hard by are Gibeon and Ajalon, where the sun and moon paused in their brilliant course; while far to the northward is Michmash, the scene of Jonathan’s exploits; and nearer are Gibeah of Saul and “poor little Anathoth,” where the weeping eyes of Jeremiah first saw the light. Looking eastward, desolation and beauty compose the landscape. From Bethany to Jericho, and for many miles north and south, is the wilderness of Judea, sinking down to the verdureless shore of the Dead Sea, whose shining waters are seen through the opening cliffs. Far down in the deep chasm through which the Jordan flows appear the green banks of the sacred river, and beyond rise the Mountains of Moab, vast and craggy, and colored with “chatozant tents of azure-red.” On the south is the rich Plain of Rephaim, where Daniel heard the “sound of a going in the tops of the mulberry-trees,”206 and farther on are seen the Convent of Elias, the domes of Bethlehem, and the Frank Mountain—the “Tomb of Herod the Great,” while to the west and at your feet is the “City of the Great King;” and to no other city does distance lend such “enchantment to the view.” In walking its streets and in mingling in the careless throng who share not in the grateful memories of the place, the charm of its hallowed associations is broken; but when viewed from the summit of Olivet, the spell of history entrances the soul, the attention becomes serious and fixed, the eyes dreamy and motionless.

The interest experienced in standing on any historic site is increased by being present on the anniversary of the event which has given significance to the place. There is in such a coincidence somewhat of reality at no other time realized, and the emotions excited on such an occasion are no less tender than real; and to read a description of the great transaction as written by an eyewitness amid the scenes of its occurrence invests the present with the actuality of the past, and one fondly imagines he beholds what transpired centuries ago. It is in view of such apparent facts that “Passion Week” in Jerusalem has an interest to the Christian traveler not common to any other period of the year, and, conscious of such an advantage, pilgrims from all lands assemble in the Holy City at that time to recall in imagination the memorable events which occurred during the last week of our Lord’s earthly career. Indebted to the Evangelists for our knowledge of what Jesus said and did on the six days preceding his death, we could wish the narrative more consecutive and the description more complete.

On Sunday he made his triumphal entry into Jerusalem as King of the Jews.207 On Monday he cursed the barren fig-tree,208 drove the money-changers from the court of the Temple for the second time,209 and asserted his authority in the presence of his enemies.210 On Tuesday he entered the Temple for the last time, was questioned again as to his authority, delivered in reply several impressive parables, warned the people against the corruptions of the age, pronounced the most fearful woes on Scribe and Pharisee, and foretold the last judgment and his second coming.211 On Wednesday Judas contracted with the chief priests for the betrayal of his Master, while our Lord himself spent the day, either at Bethany or on the Mount of Olives, in preparation for the solemn events that were crowding upon the heel of time.212 On Thursday he kept the Passover,213 instituted the sacramental supper in commemoration of his death,214 laid aside his vestments and washed his disciples’ feet; foretold his own death, his betrayal by Judas, and Peter’s denial of his Lord; comforted his apostles, and exhorted them to mutual love; promised them the Holy Ghost, offered the customary sacerdotal prayer, and, having sung a hymn, in the darkness and stillness of that night, attended by a few chosen friends, he passed over the “Brook Kidron,” entered the Garden of Gethsemane to endure the agony for the world’s redemption; was there betrayed, arrested, forsaken by his disciples, led into the city for trial before Annas and Caiaphas, denied by Peter, and imprisoned till morning.215 In the gray of the dawn on Friday he was accused before Pilate, “set at naught by Herod and his men of war,” and at midday, bearing his own cross, he was led out to Calvary, where, at the ninth hour, he expiated by his death the sins of the world.216

Following in the footsteps of the Master, on Good Friday eve Idescended the acclivities of Moriah, crossed the same stone bridge over which he had passed,217 and, entering the Garden of Gethsemane, Isat down beneath the aged olive-trees, and read the touching story of his passion. Returning to the city, in an “upper room,” in company with a few friends, Ipartook of the Lord’s Supper. That night Icould not sleep. Walking out upon the house-top, Ilooked down upon Gethsemane. Unbroken silence reigned. The city slumbered. The lights around the balcony of the minaret burned dimly. The night wind blew softly from over the deep sea. The paschal moon was descending in the west. Asilvery haze, like a gauze of purity, overspread the serene heavens. It was four o’clock in the morning. From an adjacent court-yard a cock announced the dawn of day. The distant east began to glow with the morning’s earliest light. It was Good Friday in Jerusalem—the hour and the event of all time. Well may Christian affection ask, “Where is Calvary?” Who would not approach such a place in silent prayer? Wisely its identity is unknown to earth. Though its location is the first object of research by the Christian traveler when he enters the Holy City, yet it is the last to be determined with satisfaction. Tradition designates a rock, inclosed within the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, as the Mount of Crucifixion; but the site involves a controversy so complicated, that the mind prefers the recollection of the event to the examination of the argument. Rejecting this legendary Calvary of the monks, Isought for one more in harmony with the topography of the city and with the casual allusions of the Evangelists. Though it is now impossible to identify Golgotha with certainty, yet topographical facts and sacred history are so concurrent that the mind is left almost without a doubt as to the direction of the place.

As the final scene in our Lord’s trial occurred in the Tower of Antonia, which was near St.Stephen’s Gate, it is more than probable that the executioners, instead of leading Jesus through the crowded and excited city, led him out of this, the nearest gate. And as at that time there was no place suitable for capital executions either on the south, west, or north side of Jerusalem, we must search for one on the east side of the city. According to St.John, “The place where Jesus was crucified was nigh unto the city,”218 and St.Paul assures us that Christ suffered without the gate.219 As the priests of old were accustomed to drive the red heifer to sacrifice, and the scapegoat to the wilderness, out of the eastern gate of the Temple inclosure, so it would be only another instance of the remarkable correspondence between the types of the Old Testament and the life of Jesus if the Jews, though unwittingly, led the Savior to execution out of St.Stephen’s Gate. Where, then, should Calvary be sought for but in the environs of Jerusalem on the east?

Toward the northeast corner of the city wall the sides of Bezetha are steep, rocky, and broken. There desolation is complete, and the seclusion profound. The Kidron Valley winds around those rugged declivities, and the opposite sides of Olivet are barren and cheerless. Midway the hill there is a projecting rock, not unlike in form a human skull; on the north of it, a small ravine descends into the vale below, and just beneath it, on the east, the highway passes to the Heights of Benjamin. The sides are steep and covered with black moss. The term Calvary neither implies, nor is it used to designate a mount, but, coming from the Latin calvaria or calva, means a skull. If Golgotha is descriptive of a place where skulls lay uninterred, then this location agrees well with the sense of the word, as the dead that were here interred were so slightly covered with earth that the bones of such now lay scattered upon the ground; or if, as is more probable, it is the designation of a place where violent deaths occurred—the place for the capital punishment of criminals, whose bones, after the flesh had been devoured by wild beasts, lay bleaching in the sun, then this, of all other portions of the environs of the city, is singularly adapted for such a melancholy purpose.

Reason and Scripture alike point to this spot as the scene of that great death, which has no parallel in suffering as it has no equal in results. Reading the four Evangelists from the brow of this desolate rock, all the details of the inspired account appeared fulfilled with an exactitude not unworthy an intelligent faith. Coming out of St.Stephen’s Gate, the mournful procession proceeded along that ancient road on which Simon of Cyrene was returning from the country, to whom fell the honorable part to bear the cross of the fainting Son of God.220 Reaching this desolate scene, the horrid tragedy was enacted. The place was no less appropriate to the mind of the Divine Sufferer than to those who were the instruments of his death. It is nigh unto the city that had rejected him.221 Before him rose Olivet, his bower of prayer; beneath his eye lay Gethsemane, the scene of his agony; while, as if to mitigate the sorrow of the final struggle and light up the darkest hour of his life, the Mount of Ascension rose in grandeur before him, crowned with the glory of his exaltation. Around the cross, both on the summit of Bezetha and on the slopes of Olivet beyond, is room for the multitude who had assembled to witness the melancholy spectacle, and for those women who, “beholding afar off,”222 “bewailed and lamented him.”223 From the adjacent walls of the city the chief priests, scribes, and elders beheld him, and mockingly said, “He saved others, himself he can not save.”224 On the road which passed beneath the cross came those Jewish travelers who, on reading Pilate’s superscription, wagged their heads in disdain, and tauntingly greeted him, saying, “Thou that destroyest the Temple and buildest it in three days, save thyself.”225 Here the rocks are torn and riven; for when he gave up the ghost, “the earth did quake and the rocks were rent.”226 In the hill-side are tombs, which probably are “the graves that were opened, and from which the saints who slept arose.”227 Down in the sequestered vale of the Kidron are gardens, where some old sepulchres still remain, any one of which answers well the description of the Savior’s tomb—“Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a new sepulchre.”228 Where else in the environs of the Holy City should Joseph, a rich man of Arimathea, have his own new tomb but in the renowned Valley of Jehoshaphat, where sleep in death his ancestors, whose sepulchral monuments continue to this day? And where within the circuit of the city of his rejection should Jesus rise triumphant from the grave but in sight of the garden of his sorrow, the rock of his crucifixion, and the mount of his ascension?

The Via Dolorosa is a lane-like street, narrow and crooked, leading from St.Stephen’s Gate to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and its dolorous name is no less significant of the tragical events which, according to tradition, occurred along its course, than of its forbidding and gloomy aspect. Like the “street which is called straight” in Damascus, and the Via Sacra in ancient Rome, the Via Dolorosa has a world-wide renown. Its windings, its rough pavement, its prison-like walls—penetrated with low doorways and grated windows—its rude arcade, excluding the sunlight and casting a deeper gloom within, sadden the mind, and are in keeping with the monkish legends that have given to it universal notoriety. Along this dreary walk, amid its shadows and solemn memories, a wounded spirit finds companionship. As the industrious shrine-makers of this and of other ages, the monks have consecrated eight stations in this narrow street, commemorative of as many events in our Lord’s journey from the dungeons of Antonia to the site of Calvary. In the northern wall of the Temple area are the two arches, now walled up, where stood Pilate’s staircase, down which our Lord descended after his sentence was pronounced, and directly opposite is the Church of Flagellation, marking the place where he was scourged. Not many paces to the west is the Ecce Homo arch, where Pilate exclaimed to the infuriated mob, “Behold the man!” At the bottom of a gentle descent the lane turns to the left, and then to the right. Beyond this angle is shown a deep impression in the solid stone wall, made by the shoulder of Jesus when he leaned against it at the time he fainted. Near it is the house of St.Veronica, the illustrious woman who presented the Savior with a handkerchief to wipe his bleeding brow. From her residence to the terminus of the street the gloom and silence are painful; and at well-apportioned intervals are indicated, by broken columns, the places where Simon was compelled to bear the Redeemer’s cross, where Jesus addressed the weeping daughters of Jerusalem, and where his tragical death occurred.