There is a tall solitary palm, said to have been planted by St. Saba, and to have sprung up bearing dates without stones, which he ate the same day on which it was planted. There is also a cavern in the rock reached by a few steps, where he lived, and in the side of it, a little cupboard about three feet square, where his lion slept. The whole cave belonged to the lion, but the saint seems to have had little regard to the rights of property, and considerable obstinacy of character. Three times he was ejected by the beast, but each time he returned to his meditations undaunted, and the lion finally relinquished to the invader the greater part of his cave. The monks scattered a little rosewater over our hands, and we left this gloomy abode of the dead-alive in the desert. Scarcely half the monks can read the valuable manuscripts in their library, yet they hide them carefully from the eyes of heretics. Within the walls they may neither smoke nor eat meat, yet raw spirits find their way past the porter, as we were able to prove. A more hopeless, purposeless, degraded life can scarcely be imagined than that of such hermits. Yet even for these poor outcasts in the stony wilderness, lifeless and treeless though it be, nature prepares every day a glorious picture, quickly-fading but matchless in brilliance of colour; the distant ranges seem stained with purple and pink; in autumn the great bands of cloud sweep over the mountains with long bars of gleaming light between, and for a few minutes, as the sun sets, the deep crimson blush comes over the rocks, and glorifies the whole landscape with an indescribable glow. [Illustration: THE DOME OF THE ROCK.] CHAPTER XI. JERUSALEM. We approach at length the centre of interest in Palestine--the Holy City. In this chapter are gathered up the results of fifteen visits to the capital, and of two winters, one passed in a country villa outside, and a second within the walls, in our “own hired house.” During this time I penetrated into almost every nook and corner of the city, and visited its underground passages, and its smallest churches and mosques. From my room in the Mediterranean Hotel I looked out at dawn. The orange-coloured light behind the Mount of Olives showed a black outline of mosque and tree and hill, with steel-coloured mountains to the right, capped by long wreaths of leaden vapour. The town lay in darkness below, its roofs shining wet with the heavy dew. Dimly visible the great dome of the Chapel of the Rock shone with its new coat of lead, and the tall minaret on the north wall of the Haram, together with the dark cypresses, was just distinguishable. A vapour went up over the whole city, and gave it a weird and dream-like aspect.