Yes, contemptible enough, as humanity so often
is. Who amongst us have not made such resolves--some resolve of
self-devotion, at the sound of the preacher's voice--and forgotten it
before our foot was well over the threshold? It is so natural, that
wish to do a great thing; so hard, that daily task of bathing in
Jordan.

When the bright day had disappeared, all but suddenly, and he could
no longer see the minarets of the mosque, Bertram descended the hill.
It is but a short walk thence to Jerusalem--thence even into the
centre of Jerusalem.

But what a walk! To the left is the valley-side--that valley of the
Resurrection--covered with tombs--flat, sturdy, short stones, each
bearing a semblance, at least, of some short Hebraic epitaph, unmoved
through heaven knows how many centuries! apparently immovable;
the place, in this respect, being very unlike our more ornamental
cemeteries. On his right was the Mount of Olives; a mount still of
olives, sprinkled over with olive-trees quite sufficiently to make it
properly so called, even to this day. Then he passed by the garden
of Gethsemane, now a walled-in garden, in which grow rue and other
herbs; in which, also, is one fine, aged olive-tree, as to which
tradition of course tells wondrous tales. This garden is now in
charge of an old Latin monk--a Spaniard, if I remember well--who, at
least, has all a Spaniard's courtesy.

It was here, or near to this, just above, on the hill-side, if our
topography be reliable, that Jesus asked them whether they could not
watch one hour. Bertram, as he passed, did not take the question to
himself; but he well might have done so.

Turning round the wall of the garden, on his pathway up to Stephen's
Gate, the so-called tomb of the Virgin was on his right hand, with
its singular, low, subterranean chapel. A very singular chapel,
especially when filled to the very choking with pilgrims from those
strange retreats of oriental Christendom, and when the mass is being
said--inaudible, indeed, and not to be seen, at the furthest end of
that dense, underground crowd, but testified to by the lighting of
a thousand tapers, and by the strong desire for some flicker of the
holy flame.

And then he ascended to the city, up the steep hill, the side of
Mount Moriah, to St. Stephen's Gate; and there, on his left, was
the entrance to Omar's mosque, guarded by fierce dervishes against
pollution from stray Christian foot. Hence to his hotel every
footste