Nearly every book concerning Galilee and its lake describes the scenery as beautiful.  No—­not always so straightforward as that.  Sometimes the impression intentionally conveyed is that it is beautiful, at the same time that the author is careful not to say that it is, in plain Saxon.  But a careful analysis of these descriptions will show that the materials of which they are formed are not individually beautiful and can not be wrought into combinations that are beautiful.  The veneration and the affection which some of these men felt for the scenes they were speaking of, heated their fancies and biased their judgment; but the pleasant falsities they wrote were full of honest sincerity, at any rate.  Others wrote as they did, because they feared it would be unpopular to write otherwise.  Others were hypocrites and deliberately meant to deceive.  Any of them would say in a moment, if asked, that it was always right and always best to tell the truth.  They would say that, at any rate, if they did not perceive the drift of the question.

But why should not the truth be spoken of this region?  Is the truth harmful?  Has it ever needed to hide its face?  God made the Sea of Galilee and its surroundings as they are.  Is it the province of Mr. Grimes to improve upon the work?

I am sure, from the tenor of books I have read, that many who have visited this land in years gone by, were Presbyterians, and came seeking evidences in support of their particular creed; they found a Presbyterian Palestine, and they had already made up their minds to find no other, though possibly they did not know it, being blinded by their zeal.  Others were Baptists, seeking Baptist evidences and a Baptist Palestine.  Others were Catholics, Methodists, Episcopalians, seeking evidences indorsing their several creeds, and a Catholic, a Methodist, an Episcopalian Palestine.  Honest as these men’s intentions may have been, they were full of partialities and prejudices, they entered the country with their verdicts already prepared, and they could no more write dispassionately and impartially about it than they could about their own wives and children.  Our pilgrims have brought their verdicts with them.  They have shown it in their conversation ever since we left Beirout.  I can almost tell, in set phrase, what they will say when they see Tabor, Nazareth, Jericho and Jerusalem—­because I have the books they will “smouch” their ideas from.  These authors write pictures and frame rhapsodies, and lesser men follow and see with the author’s eyes instead of their own, and speak with his tongue.  What the pilgrims said at Cesarea Philippi surprised me with its wisdom.  I found it afterwards in Robinson.  What they said when Genessaret burst upon their vision, charmed me with its grace.  I find it in Mr. Thompson’s “Land and the Book.”  They have spoken often, in happily worded language which never varied, of how they mean to lay their weary heads upon a stone