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.