it had been left to Protestants to do this most worthy work, we would not even know where Jerusalem is to-day, and the man who could go and put his finger on Nazareth would be too wise for this world.  The world owes the Catholics its good will even for the happy rascality of hewing out these bogus grottoes in the rock; for it is infinitely more satisfactory to look at a grotto, where people have faithfully believed for centuries that the Virgin once lived, than to have to imagine a dwelling-place for her somewhere, any where, nowhere, loose and at large all over this town of Nazareth.  There is too large a scope of country.  The imagination can not work.  There is no one particular spot to chain your eye, rivet your interest, and make you think.  The memory of the Pilgrims can not perish while Plymouth Rock remains to us.  The old monks are wise.  They know how to drive a stake through a pleasant tradition that will hold it to its place forever.

We visited the places where Jesus worked for fifteen years as a carpenter, and where he attempted to teach in the synagogue and was driven out by a mob.  Catholic chapels stand upon these sites and protect the little fragments of the ancient walls which remain.  Our pilgrims broke off specimens.  We visited, also, a new chapel, in the midst of the town, which is built around a boulder some twelve feet long by four feet thick; the priests discovered, a few years ago, that the disciples had sat upon this rock to rest, once, when they had walked up from Capernaum.  They hastened to preserve the relic.  Relics are very good property.  Travelers are expected to pay for seeing them, and they do it cheerfully.  We like the idea.  One’s conscience can never be the worse for the knowledge that he has paid his way like a man.  Our pilgrims would have liked very well to get out their lampblack and stencil-plates and paint their names on that rock, together with the names of the villages they hail from in America, but the priests permit nothing of that kind.  To speak the strict truth, however, our party seldom offend in that way, though we have men in the ship who never lose an opportunity to do it.  Our pilgrims’ chief sin is their lust for “specimens.”  I suppose that by this time they know the dimensions of that rock to an inch, and its weight to a ton; and I do not hesitate to charge that they will go back there to-night and try to carry it off.

This “Fountain of the Virgin” is the one which tradition says Mary used to get water from, twenty times a day, when she was a girl, and bear it away in a jar upon her head.  The water streams through faucets in the face of a wall of ancient masonry which stands removed from the houses of the village.  The young girls of Nazareth still collect about it by the dozen and keep up a riotous laughter and sky-larking.  The Nazarene girls are homely.  Some of them have large, lustrous eyes, but none of them have pretty faces.  These girls wear a single garment, usually,