"On leaving the Church of the Holy Sepulchre," says Mons. la Martine, "we followed the Via Dolorosa, of which M. de Chateaubriand has given so poetical an itinerary. Here is nothing striking, nothing verified, nothing even probable. Ruined houses, of modern construction, are everywhere exhibited to the pilgrims by the monks as incontestible vestiges of the various stations of Christ. The eye cannot even doubt; all confidence in these local traditions is annihilated beforehand by the history of the first years of Christianity, where we read that Jerusalem no longer retained one stone upon another, and that Christians were for many years exiled from the city. Some pools, and the tombs of her kings, are the only memorials Jerusalem retains of her past eventful story; a few sites alone can be recognised--as that of the Temple, indicated by its terraces, and now bearing the large and magnificent mosque of Omar al Sakara; Mount Sion occupied by the Armenian convent, and the tomb of David; and it is only with history in one's hand, and with a doubting eye, that the greater part of these can be assigned with any degree of precision. Except the terraced walls in the valley of Jehoshaphat, no stone bears its date in its form or colour;--all is in ashes, or all is modern. The mind wanders in uncertainty over the horizon of the city, not knowing where to rest; but the city itself, designated by the circumscribed hill on which it stood, by the different valleys which encircled it, and especially by the deep valley of Cedron, is a monument which no eye can mistake. There, truly, was Sion seated; a singular and unfortunate site for the capital of a great nation. It is rather the natural fortress of a small people, driven from the earth, and taking refuge, with their God and their Temple, on a soil that none could have any interest in disputing with them; on rocks which no roads can render accessible; amidst valleys destitute of water; in a rough and sterile climate; its only prospect mountains, calcined by the eternal fires of volcanoes; the mountains of Arabia and Jericho; and an infectious lake, without shore or navigation--the Dead Sea." The Garden of Gethsemane[328] is, not without reason, shown as the scene of our Saviour's agony, the night before his crucifixion, both from the circumstance of the name it still retains, and its situation in regard to the city. Titus, it is true, cut down all the wood in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem; and were this not the case, no reasonable person would regard it as a remnant of so remote an age, notwithstanding the story of the olive shown in the citadel of Athens, and supposed to bear date from the foundation of the city. But, as a spontaneous produce, uninterruptedly resulting from the original growth of the mountain, it is impossible to view even those with indifference.