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LL my life I have heard and talked
and sung and preached and dreamed
about Jerusalem. It was four o’clock
Friday afternoon when I entered the
New Gate and said with some emotion:
“My feet stand within thy walls, 0
Jerusalem!” We had driven hard to
reach the city before five o’clock, for
we were anxious to go to the “Wailing
LU
place,” and knew that, on Friday, the Jews would
be gathered there in great numbers. We walked
among the narrow, filthy streets, met everywhere
by beggars and venders of every description, until
we came to the ‘ 1 Wall of Wailing,” just below the
temple area. This wall is 156 feet long and 56
feet high. Stuffed in the cracks of the stone wall
were small bits of paper on which Jews at a dis
tance had written prayers which they had sent to
be inserted in the wall.
A Zeal Without Knowledge.
The whole space was thronged with Jews, men,
women and children. They were reading or recit
ing the mournful passages from Lamentations and
the Psalms and were praying for the restoration of
Jerusalem. We saw the Jew with the long curl
hanging in front of his ears and knew that this
was the Pharisee and that he never heard the name
of Christ without spitting to show his contempt.
All seemed in earnest. It was not a scene to be
laughed at. As I saw those men and women lament
ing the condition of Jerusalem and praying, with
tears running down their cheeks for the restoration
of the Holy City, I could not help, silently, but
fervently, joining in their prayers that God might
restore the glory of Jerusalem and give it once more
to His chosen people.
Commemorate the Lord’s Supper.
In spite of the dirt and the multitude of beggars,
there was a spirit of reverence such as I had ex
perienced at no other place in all my travels.
After dinner some of us went into an upper cham
ber, mnch like one we imagined might have stood
there in the time of Christ. We ate together there
and drank of the wine—the emblem of his shed
blood. And after reading from the 13th to the 18th
chapters of John, we went over the brook Cedron
where was a garden and with uncovered head we
bowed near the place where our Savior prayed and
where great drops of blood fell from the pores of
his skin upon the ground. We could not remain
there all the night as did our Savior. We went
back to the hotel and, though tired with the doings
of the day, we could not sleep for the thoughts that
filled our hearts with love and reverence and new
determinations.
Church of Holy Sepulchre.
The next morning, immediately after breakfast,
we went to St. Stephen’s Gate and walked the Via
Dolorosa. For one I tried to forget that the Church
of the Holy Sepulchre was not over the place of the
crucifixion and the tomb of Christ and entered as
much as possible into the feelings that throng the
hearts of the devout pilgrims who question nothing
as they walk along this way to the church.
First we halted in front of the Turkish barracks
and were told that here was the place where the
house of Pilate stood. Thence to the “Ecco
Homo” arch, where Pilate said, “Behold the man,”
on to the place wherp Christ fell under the weight
of the cross and so on through the streets viewing
the nine stations before we reached the Church of
the Holy Sepulchre.
The Open Court.
At length we came to the open court in front of
th* church. It looked more like a Bazarre than an
entrance to a church. Goods of everv kind were
spread on little stands or on the bare pavement and .
the venders lost no opportunity to importune the
visitors to buy. Around the walls a large number
IN THE HOLY CITY
Hr. J. H. For ter, of Anniston, Ala., Graphically Tells of His Visit to Jerusalem.
The Golden Age for November 19, 1909.
of Turkish soldiers were standing. We asked our
guide, Mr. Huddan, which, being interpreted, means
Smith, why all these soldiers were here. His reply
shocked us for a moment: “Oh, they must be
kept here to prevent the Christians’ cutting each
others’ throats!”
As we stood watching and listening to our guide,
some pilgrims passed by, going into the building.
Among these was an old woman, wrinkled and grey,
who had evidently come a long way. She hobbled
along toward the door. By accident she brushed
against a Turkish soldier. He brushed her off with
his elbow and she fell to the pavement. No one
paid any attention to her. She scuffled up the
best way she could and dragged herself on into the
church. We followed the crowd into the building
and, as we stood by the door, Mrs. Harris said to
a friend by her side: “Look at that little old wom
an yonder. I would rather have that crucifix hang
ing from the chain around her neck than anything
I might buy in Jerusalem. I wonder if she would
sell it?”
Little Woman and Her Crucifix.
It was a little dried up old woman, perhaps sixty
years old. She had a sad sac faded blue
eyes, one lid drooping so as almost to close the left
eye, clothed entirely in black, a heavy black veil
thrown back from her face. Around her neck was
a string of black beads from which hung a crucifix
of ebony with the figure of Christ outlined in silver
upon it.
“I have bought a great many things,” said Mrs.
Harris, “but I want something like that —something
they have worn, but I hardly have any hope of
being able to persuade her to part with that.”
The little woman passed, with others, into the
church. She prostrated herself on the floor, kissed
the cold stones, rose and crossed herself, down upon
the floor again, covering the stones with her kisses.
iShe walked on into the place of the tomb, stood
for a moment with the tears streaming from her
eyes and then leaned reverently forward and kissed
the marble that covered the -traditional place of the
burial of Christ. When she canrn out Mrs. Harris
moved to make room for her, hoping she would take
a seat by her side. She was not disappointed. The
little old woman was tired and glad of a moment’s
rest. Mrs. Harris looked for some time at the
crucifix, longing to possess it but with little hope of
being able to secure it. She took it in her hand
for a second to examine it. The little woman be
gun to talk rapidly and excitedly. She was trying
to tell the history of the treasure. This much of
her story was clear: That her husband had been
ill; the physicians had done all they could for him
and it was felt by all that he must die. This cruci
fix, blessed by the Pope, was sent to her and she
was led to believe that her loved one might recover.
She hoped against hope. What the doctor could
not do, God could do and surely now he would hear
her prayer.
Its Charm Failed.
She put her black apron to her eyes and cried:
“A la morte! A la morte!” We put did not
know of what nationality she was but her words
sounded like the ones quoted. At any rate we un
derstood what she meant —“He is dead! He is
dead!” Those nearby wiped the tears from their
eyes. Mrs. Harris put her arm about the woman,
drew her trembling form close to herself and there
they sat and wept together, the one from the United
States, the other from some part of the Orient,
but made friends by the sympathy of a Christian
soul.
Specially Prized Souvenir.
Taking out a five franc piece, Mrs. Harris put
it into the hand of the pilgrim and turned toward
the door. The woman detained her, put the beads
and crucifix into her hands and indicated that she
must take them. Handing them back she said,
“Oh, no, I can’t take them!” and putting them
in the woman’s hand, went out with the crowd.
When we had gotten on the outside, the lady
friend of Mrs. Harris held up the crucifix and said:
“That little woman handed this to me as I passed
out and told me to give it to you.”
With Mrs. Harris the tears are not close to the
surface; but, as she put her handkerchief to her
eyes, with voice tremulous with emotion, she said:
“I would rather have these than all the souvenirs
I have ever bought abroad.”
H *
The Highlvay of Hearts.
There is away that leads through life,
A broad, alluring way,
Adown whose tempting lengths alas,
New victims pass each day.
On, on and ever on they go,
Each step new speed imparts;
But if they only knew the truth—
That way is paved with hearts.
A mother’s heart was first laid down
In futile hopes to save
A wayward son who strode thereon
Fast toward a drunkard’s grave.
Then soon a wife in anguished hopes
To save some mother’s son
Laid down her heart —a priceless gem—
And thus the way begun.
On, onward still, the paving goes,
Through all the lapse of time—
Each day some heart not there before,
Is laid for this dark crime.
And each sad day the steps of men
Who walk that thoroughfare
Tread on the hearts of woman kind
That lie like jewels there,
Brave hearts, warm hearts, pure, constant hearts,
At every step they tread,
Forgetful of the dear life’s blood
Those precious hearts have shed.
0, would that I might sound the cry
Which to my utterance starts —
A warning unto all who walk
The highway paved with hearts!
F. MUSE-IZLAR.
Viator Sleighs For Antartic Expedition.
The motor sleighs being used by Dr. Charcot in
the French Antartic expedition are described with
illustration in the December Popular Mechanics. It
says:
“Each sleigh will accommodate four men, and
it is believed that, being able to dispense with the
food which ordinarily has to be carried for dogs,
the expedition will be able to accomplish longer
journeys with less fatigue than has hitherto been
possible.
“The sleighs are equipped with 4 1-2-hp. single
cylinder engines. The driving wheel has two rows
of regularly spaced ribs, or spurs, made of metal
and fixed at an angle on the tread. These form an
effective grip on ice and on hard snow. The en
gine can also be used for operating a windlass sit
uated under the rear seat.”—Ex.
* H
The huge 2,000-lb. lens for the Carnegie Solar
Observatory is at last on top of Mt. Wilson, after a
perilous trip up a steep, rough mountain side. The
story of the transportation of the huge lens is well
told in the December Popular Mechanics.
The recent international balloon race for the
James Gordon Bennett cup is thrillingly described
in the December Popular Mechanics. Nearly all of
the 23 balloons met with more adventures than had
been expected.
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