Twenty different nations are represented in the faces which look toward us. Here is an Ethiopian priest, in a tall black cap and a long black gown, whose black eyes are set in features as shiny as oiled ebony. He is one of the Abyssinian fathers and has his place in the ceremonies at Easter. That mahogany-faced man in a yellow gown is a Persian, and the fierce-looking Ishmaelite behind him, in a blanket of black-and-white stripes, his bronzed face crowned by a yellow silk handkerchief, is a Bedouin; he is of the Moslem faith, and is on his way to worship at the mosque. Behind him comes a woman in a white sheet. Her features are covered with a yellow gauze cloth with red leaves printed upon it; she is the wife of a Mohammedan merchant, and her face is not to be seen outside the harem. That slender, black-eyed girl, with the dark roses in her cheeks, is the daughter of a Polish Jew. Her cap is black, and, like all of her sisters, she wears a little silk flowered shawl. Some of the prettiest women in the world are peddling vegetables about you. As you note their complexions you can hardly realize that they live under the fierce sun of the tropics. Their skins are as fair as the cheeks of the girls of Dublin, and their regular features would make them beauties in America. They wear high caps bound round with silver coins, row after row rising up from their foreheads against a background of black velvet. Here is a crowd of Russian peasants. The honest bronzed faces of the women look out under the brown handkerchiefs tied about their heads in place of bonnets, and their short dresses of cheap cotton or wool come half way down over their high-topped boots. The men have tall fur caps, and their coats are made with skirts as full as the petticoats of the women. The faces of both sexes are strong, with honesty and industry showing in every line. They cross themselves as two Greek priests pass them. Let us push our way through the crowd. That tall soldier in red fez and European uniform breaks the way for us. We pass good-natured Moslems and Jews; we are jostled by Bedouin girls in gypsy dress, and by Bethlehem shepherds clad in sheep-skins. Going by the market women squatting at the turning, we follow the crowd and pass on to the entrance of one of the tunnel-like bazaars. Leaving this, we turn into another arch at the right, and diving through vaulted, twisting caves of stores, we go down some steps, past the money-changers, who sit at the street corners with little glass-covered boxes of gold and silver coins before them. Brushing by dozens of beggars we arrive at last in the court in front of the great Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Now we are in the heart of the Jerusalem of Easter.