How I Spent My Five Weeks' Leave.

so called " Custodian of the Holy Land" at the Latin convent . A pinch of snuff delights the heart as well as the olfactory nerves of the old monk , and he takes me to the roof of the convent , whence there is a delightful view . I have to hasten back

to camp , as we start at ten , when , we mount and ride down the valley of Jehoshaphat , and sweeping round under the Mount of Olives , we pass the spot where our Lord , coming in triumph from Bethany after raising Lazaras , met the crowd

pouring forth from the city to meet him . A short Tide brings us to Bethany , the home of Martha , ¦ and Mai * y , and Lazarus . On the little hill " over against us , " are the remains of a village which surely must have been where the disciples found the " ass tied . " A woman drawing water at the ancient well offers me drink in the old scripture

fashion , but , she follows it up by a demand for bakshish , which I fancy they did not do in the old days ! This constant demand for bakshish is the bother of our lives ; from morn till night one hears nothing else . Ask a man the way , he does

¦ not know , but instantly puts out his hand , and demands bakshish . Every little naked child pesters you for it , every Turkish official , the sheik of every Arab village through which we pass , the monks of every convent , our Arab guard , the boy who holds

your horse , those who did not ! all consider themselves entitled to bakshish , and will take no denial ! However I do not grudge my bakshish for a drink at the well at Bethany , and having satisfied the woman ' s importunity , I have leisure

to sit and think of the spot and its history . As we have to wait till the rest of the party come up , I pass the time in writing the following lines : —¦

BETHANY . Say ! can there beat a heart so cold—Lives one who bears the Christian ' s name—Can gaze upon this village old And not experience galling shame ?

'Twas here the Lord of Life was wont To wander at the twilight hour , Grieved at the stubbornness of men , And wearied by the tempter ' s power . And here full oft in converse sweet With Mary and with . Martha , He Passed many an honr ; Ah yes ! 'tis meet To ponder here in Bethany .

Here , grieving for her brother ' s loss , See Martha stand with tearful eyes ; See ! at the Son of God's command" Lazarus come forth "—the dead arise .

See this triumphal journey hence , Escorted by tho shouting crowd ; "Did they not cry" ( the Saviour says ) "Themselves the stones would cry aioud . " But harder than the stones their hearts ,

For—though His works they plainly see—They crown Him with a crown of thorns , They scourge and hang Him on a tree . But 'ere this shameful deed is done , Before He can betrayed be ,

He institutes the sacred feast , " Do this in memory of Me . " No vestments gay , no tinkling bell , No tawdry tinsel pomp was there , Cope , chasuble , nor incense spell , But simple faith , and fervent prayer .

Yet once again the Saviour comes , When all is past on Calvary , He shews His wounded feet aud hands , Then leads them out near Bethany . And . there before their wond'riug eyes ,

Vanishes , with a blessed word Of promise one day to return ; Yea ! " even so , come quickly , Lord ! "

We now take a steep cross-country cut to the Bethelem-road , getting a magnificent view of Jerusalem , from the south , which is , I think , the best we have yet had , as we so distinctly see the different parts of the city , Zion , Moriah , the

Tyropean , the fine new Russian convents on the left , the valleys of Hinnom and Jehoshaphat , and on the right the Mount of Olives . Reluctantly turning our backs on the Holy City , we soon pass the tomb of Rachel , a small domed building by the

wayside , and which is interesting as one of the few undisputed sites . " Rachel died , and was buried in the way to Ephrath , which is Bethehem . " This was some thirty centuries ago .

Leaving the Pools of Solomon—immense reservoirs—on our right , we ride into the pretty village of Bethlehem , where we are nearly torn off our horses by the crowd of men and boys , who are fi ghting for the honour of holding them .

We are next regularly mobbed and bullied to buy carved mother-of-pearl shells , rosaries , crosses , etc . Carving these things seems to be the only employment of the people . I never met with such persevering pestering touts ! One

really can hardly get along , as they pull your sleeves , coat-tails , and whatever they can to attract attention ; twenty grimy hands are thrust into your face at once , each containing a shell or some such thing , while its owner shouts " How much ? "