into every part of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, but in order to prevent indecent contests, and also from motives arising out of money payments, the Turkish Government assigns the peculiar care of each sacred spot to one of the ecclesiastic bodies.  Since this guardianship carries with it the receipt of the coins which the pilgrims leave upon the shrines, it is strenuously fought for by all the rival Churches, and the artifices of intrigue are busily exerted at Stamboul in order to procure the issue or revocation of the firmans by which the coveted privilege is granted.  In this strife the Greek Church has of late years signally triumphed, and the most famous of the shrines are committed to the care of their priesthood.  They possess the golden socket in which stood the cross of our Lord whilst the Latins are obliged to content themselves with the apertures in which were inserted the crosses of the two thieves.  They are naturally discontented with that poor privilege, and sorrowfully look back to the days of their former glory—­the days when Napoleon was Emperor, and Sebastiani ambassador at the Porte.  It seems that the “citizen” sultan, old Louis Philippe, has done very little indeed for Holy Church in Palestine.

Although the pilgrims perform their devotions at the several shrines with so little apparent enthusiasm, they are driven to the verge of madness by the miracle displayed before them on Easter Saturday.  Then it is that the Heaven-sent fire issues from the Holy Sepulchre.  The pilgrims all assemble in the great church, and already, long before the wonder is worked, they are wrought by anticipation of God’s sign, as well as by their struggles for room and breathing space, to a most frightful state of excitement.  At length the chief priest of the Greeks, accompanied (of all people in the world) by the Turkish Governor, enters the tomb.  After this, there is a long pause, and then suddenly from out of the small apertures on either side of the sepulchre there issue long, shining flames.  The pilgrims now rush forward, madly struggling to light their tapers at the holy fire.  This is the dangerous moment, and many lives are often lost.

The year before that of my going to Jerusalem, Ibrahim Pasha, from some whim, or motive of policy, chose to witness the miracle.  The vast church was of course thronged, as it always is on that awful day.  It seems that the appearance of the fire was delayed for a very long time, and that the growing frenzy of the people was heightened by suspense.  Many, too, had already sunk under the effect of the heat and the stifling atmosphere, when at last the fire flashed from the sepulchre.  Then a terrible struggle ensued; many sunk and were crushed.  Ibrahim had taken his station in one of the galleries, but now, feeling perhaps his brave blood warmed by the sight and sound of such strife, he took upon himself to quiet the people by his personal presence, and descended into the body of the church with only a few guards.  He had forced his way into the midst of the dense crowd, when unhappily he fainted away; his guards shrieked out, and the event instantly became known.  A body of soldiers recklessly forced their way through the crowd, trampling over every obstacle that they might save the life of their general.  Nearly two hundred people were killed in the struggle.