What names they are! And yet there at
Jerusalem they are bandied to and fro with as little reverence as
are the fanciful appellations given by guides to rocks and stones
and little lakes in all countries overrun by tourists.
"For those who would still fain believe,--let them stay at home,"
said my friend Smith.
"For those who cannot divide the wheat from the chaff, let THEM stay
at home," I answered. And then we rode out through St. Stephen's
gate, having the mountain of the men of Galilee directly before us,
and the Mount of Olives a little to our right, and the Valley of
Jehoshaphat lying between us and it. "Of course you know all these
places now?" said Smith. I answered that I did know them well.
"And was it not better for you when you knew them only in Holy
Writ?" he asked.
"No, by Jove," said I. "The mountains stand where they ever stood.
The same valleys are still green with the morning dew, and the
water-courses are unchanged. The children of Mahomet may build
their tawdry temple on the threshing-floor which David bought that
there might stand the Lord's house. Man may undo what man did, even
though the doer was Solomon.
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