The Maccabaean

Jerusalem at Night.

My first night in Jerusalem was a sleepless one; thoughts, memories, fancies and all sorts of strange reflections came crowding upon me as I ventured my first rest in the ancient Jewish capital.

For the first time I found myself in a centre of great historic events. My mind was wandering over the striking and wonderful occurrences that transpired here since Abraham came from Beer-Sheba, and of the place it occupied in the four thousand years of the history of the Jew. Only across the way the tower of Hipicus still stands, the citadel built by David and fortified by Herod to guard against the encroachment upon the City by hostile people, and a little further towards the south the same Mount Zion where Solomon in all his glory erected the beautiful palaces for the royal house of David. Further on towards the southeastern part of the city-wall the same venerable Mount Moriah still rises enclosed within the historic walls wherein the Temple was located, and formed the centre of Jewish National and Religious life in days gone by, and the scene of a terrible struggle when the unfortunate Judaeans, besieged and pressed by Titus, fled here to their Sanctuary as their last stronghold, and again, later, the scene of terrible carnage when Tancred at the head of his army, attacked here the followers of the Prophet and massacred ten thousand Mohammedans in the name of religion.

What tales of suffering are written on these quaint walls, and could we but decipher this invisible handwriting, what mysteries would it disclose! In time of siege, this was the retreat of the Jew, a refuge for helpless women, children and infirm old age, and the death-bed of heroes!

Such and other disturbing thoughts were enough to keep one awake. I was sitting near an open window of my room and looking out upon the city. The streets were dark, here and there a feeble light faintly visible was glimmering from a few upper windows, and yonder the shadow of a man who moved about in the street with a lantern in his hand. A profound silence infrequently broken by the wail of a dog at some distance, reigned everywhere. Nature itself appeared to have swooned around the eternal city.

Sunrise.

I was glad indeed to see the dawn of the day, and I shall always remember the sunrise of my first morning in Jerusalem. It began at first with a flash, a faint but a beautiful light like a halo over the Mount of Olives, gradually turning into a glow that illuminated the Olivet, cast faint reflections over the greenish dome of the Mosque of Omar and shed a dim light over the numerous pale white tomb-like domes that characterize the Jerusalem roofs and lend a melancholy complexion to the old city. The sky was deep blue, and far up, an eagle with spread wings was floating in the air, passing over Mount Moriah and over the deserted shrines of the ancient Temple towards the Mountains of Moab. Soon afterwards, the sun poured out floods of light over all the hills of Judea.

Early Morning Scenes.

With the dawn, the birds began singing and church bells ringing. The voices of the Mezzuins as they stood on the Minarets calling men to prayer, vibrated through the air, and the trumpets of the Mohammedan soldiers from the quaint tower of