great and glorious sanctuary, at least they have not allowed
it to become the private house of a particular rich man.
And that is what we have suffered to happen, if not to Westminster Abbey,
at least to Welbeck Abbey.

The Mosque of Omar (I repeat firmly) stands on the great eastern
plateau in place of the Temple; and the wall that runs round
to it on the south side of the city contains only the Dung Gate,
on which the fancy need not linger. All along outside this
wall the ground falls away into the southern valley; and upon
the dreary and stony steep opposite is the place called Acaldama.
Wall and valley turn together round the corner of the great
temple platform, and confronting the eastern wall, across the ravine,
is the mighty wall of the Mount of Olives. On this side there
are several gates now blocked up, of which the most famous,
the Golden Gate, carries in its very uselessness a testimony
to the fallen warriors of the cross. For there is a strange
Moslem legend that through this gate, so solemnly sealed up,
shall ride the Christian King who shall again rule in Jerusalem.
In the middle of the square enclosure rises the great dark Dome
of the Rock; and standing near it, a man may see for the first time
in the distance, another dome. It lies away to the west, but a little
to the north; and it is surmounted, not by a crescent but a cross.
Many heroes and holy kings have desired to see this thing,
and have not seen it.

It is very characteristic of the city, with its medieval medley and huddle
of houses, that a man may first see the Church of the Holy Sepulchre
which is in the west, by going as far as possible to the east.
All the sights are glimpses; and things far can be visible and things