hue succeeds to the whiteness of the rocks. In the centre of this
amphitheatre there is an arid basin, enclosed on all sides with summits
scattered over with a yellow-coloured pebble, and affording a single
aperture to the east through which the surface of the Dead Sea and the
distant hills of Arabia present themselves to the eye. In the midst of this
country of stones, encircled by a wall, we perceive extensive ruins;
stunted cypresses, bushes of the aloe and prickly pear, while some huts of
the meanest order, resembling whitewashed sepulchres, are spread over the
desolated mass. This spot is Jerusalem.[7]

This melancholy delineation, which was suggested by the state of the
Jewish metropolis in the third century, is not quite inapplicable at the
present hour. The scenery of external nature is the same, and the general
aspect of the venerable city is very little changed. But as beauty is
strictly a relative term, and is everywhere greatly affected by
association, we must not be surprised when we read in the works of eastern
authors the high encomiums which are lavished upon the vicinity of the
holy capital. Abulfeda, for example, maintains, not only that Palestine is
the most fertile part of Syria, but also that the neighbourhood of
Jerusalem is one of the most fertile districts of Palestine. In his eye,
the vines, the fig-trees, and the olive-groves, with which the limestone
cliffs of Judea were once covered, identified themselves with the richest
returns of agricultural wealth, and more than compensated for the absence
of those spreading fields waving with corn which are necessary to convey
to the mind of a European the ideas of fruitfulness, comfort, and
abundance.

Following the enlightened narrative of Malte Brun, the reader will find
that southward of Damascus, the point where the modern Palestine may be
said to begin, are the countries called by the Romans Auranitis and