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. A graveled 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. Illustration: GETHSEMANE AND THE MOUNT OF OLIVES.