BETHLEHEM. — In sacred interest this village, though it be “little among the thousands of Judah,” is only second to Jerusalem itself. Few will climb the terraced acclivities that lead up to it from the Mar Saba road, or pass along the winding path that approaches it from the Holy City, without calling to mind that wondrous event which has given its name to our era. But independent of all associations its appearance is striking. It is situated on a narrow ridge which projects eastward from the central mountain range, and breaks down in abrupt terraced slopes to deep valleys on the N., E., and 8S. The terraces—admirably kept, and covered with rows of luxuriant olives, intermixed with the fig and the vine — sweep in graceful curves round the ridge, regular as stairs. On the eastern brow, separated from the village by a kind of esplanade, stands the great convent, grim and grey as an old baronial castle. It is an enormous irregular pile of buildings, consisting of the Church of the Nativity, with the 3 convents, Latin, Greek, and Armenian, abutting respectively on its north-eastern, south-eastern, and south-western sides. Externally there is nothing to call attention save the size, the strength, and the commanding site. It looks down upon those fields, the scene of Ruth’s romantic story (Ruth ii.); and over that wilderness where David, her great-grandson, kept his father’s sheep (1 Sam. xvi. 11); and where the shepherds were probably abiding with their flocks by night when the “glory of the Lord shone round about them,” and an angel proclaimed “the good tidings of great joy.” (Luke ii. 8-18.)