cluded that Christ must have often come to this hill, to enjoy the noble prospect. This thought, you may be sure, will make us remember the western hill and its prospect forever.

While we were on the hill, father told to Hartley and me the strange story of the Holy House of Loretto. As you may never have heard it, I will send it to you.

"You have seen two churches of the Annunciation, each party, Latins and Greeks, contending that their church contains the cave of Mary. Well, in Italy, on the slope of the Appenine Mountains, overlooking the Adriatic Gulf, there is the third. You wonder, probably, how long Nazareth has been in Europe, and how Mary's house happens to be in a country she never even visited, that we know of. This I can explain to you in a satisfactory manner, if you will only believe that in the thirteenth century the house in which Mary lived at the time of the Angel's visit, and where she afterwards resided with her husband and the child—Christ—was taken away from Nazareth by angels, conveyed through the air to France, at the head of the Adriatic Gulf, and that from there it was afterward carried to the plain of Loretto, and from there removed to the hill of Loretto in the same miraculous manner. You think, perhaps, that it would be a hard matter

to make any one believe such a wild story as this. And yet, in the whole Christian world, there is not a church so frequented as this at Loretto. The most of these worshippers are persons who religiously believe in this wonderful removal, and who regard the Santa Casa (Holy House) as an actual fragment of the Holy Land, and as the very house made sacred forever by the presence of Christ and his parents. The church which contains this Santa Casa is very large, and is constantly thronged. A hundred priests are always in attendance, and the church is open from early dawn until far into the night. A hundred and twenty masses are said there daily. When the doors of the church are opened in the morning, two soldiers, with drawn swords, take their places at the entrance of the Santa Casa. The first mass begins, and then the Santa Casa itself is opened and lighted. Then the pilgrims begin to flock in, and from that time until sunset come and go in a perpetual stream. The pavement around the 'House' is deeply worn, because all the pilgrims, from the king to the peasant, crawl around it on their knees. After they have visited the sacred spot where Mary stood (which is marked by a marble slab, with the same inscription that we saw to-day), they retire backward from the church,

so that their faces may be kept towards this holy place. All around the walls the story of the wonderful removal of the House is written in all languages, that none may be ignorant. of it.

"I talked with the monks this morning about this House at Loretto, and asked them how they reconciled the two stories. They told me that the House,' which had been carried to Italy, was certainly the house where Mary and her family resided, and that the cave they showed us was connected with the main building by a passage. They pointed out to me the very spot where the house stood. But those who are learned and have closely examined into this matter, tell us that from the construction of the walls of the House at Loretto, if it could be placed by the cave at Palestine, it would certainly block up the only entrance to it. Furthermore, they tell us that of the many pilgrims who visited Nazareth before this removal by the angels, not one makes any mention of the house of Joseph and Mary being there. They would scarcely omit such an important place. And, besides all this, the 'Santa Casa,' the walls of which can be seen from the inside, though the outside is cased in marble, is built of a darkred stone, of a kind which is not to be found in all Palestine.

"The reason given for the removal of the 'House,' is that it was desirable to remove it from this land of disorder, and confusion, and savages, to a land where it would be protected by the Roman Catholic church.”

Don't you think it is wonderful, Harry, how any one can believe in such wild romances as the above? And yet I suppose some very wise people do believe them. But I must close this letter, which I have spun out to a great length. Your affectionate friend,

PHILIP.

MY DEAR HARRY:

X.

TIBERIAS, Jan. 29, 18—.

My last letter was dated from this place, but you are not to suppose we have been here all this time. We have made the circuit of the Lake of Tiberias, or the Sea of Galilee, or Gennesaret, whatever you choose to call it. I prefer the name of the Sea of Galilee.

From the point where I am writing—a high hill near Tiberias-I have a view of the whole lake. It is very small compared with our great lakes, being only thirteen miles long and six wide. There is a fine beach all around it. The water is beautifully clear. The lake is completely shut in by high hills, which give it the appearance of being held in a large, deep basin. There is nothing very beautiful about these hills, except that just now they are covered with the loveliest green. Ibrahim says he has seen

snow on the hills at this season, but that it is a rare thing. This winter has been very mild; and, lately, rains have been frequent. There are deep, narrow valleys between these hills,