ill. He had to be leisurely taken over the mountains to Beyrout,

approaching which we had never-to-be-forgotten views of the beautiful Mediterranean.

After leaving Palestine I wrote in my notes the following impression as to the Bible, which had been a constant companion and guide in our travels:—It is the Book of the Holy Land—the gospel of Palestine. It is Oriental; it is Syrian; it is Samaritan; it is Galilean; it is Jewish. It paints the scenery of the Land of Promise from end to end, and the wilderness too. It echoes the voices of the people. We hear in it the murmur of towns and villages, we pass through; it breathes the pure, fresh, bracing air of the desert; everywhere as I opened the Divine pages I found them reflecting surrounding scenes. Even the brilliant Frenchman, who has tasked his genius to demolish the authentic life of Jesus and to build out of the ruins an imagination of his own, virtually admits the truth of what I have now advanced, for he points out the minute accuracy of the Volume; which shows how true in detail are the Gospels, how faithful to rock and stream, river and lake, tree and wild flower, is the entire narrative. Thus, after all he says to the contrary, he really raises in the reader’s mind a fair presumption of its fidelity in higher matters.

One circumstance struck me as very noticeable—that is, the compression, within a small compass, of a number of stirring incidents related in Holy Writ. Dothan, where Joseph sought his brethren and their flocks; the plain of Megiddo, the battle-field of Israel; the river Kishon, “that ancient river,” so fatal to Sisera’s army; the valley of Jezreel, with its wide panorama, where Ahab had a palace; the heights of Gilboa, where fell Saul and his sons, with the well of Harod at the foot, where Gideon’s three hundred men stooped and lapped the water; the garden of the Shunamite, opposite to Mount Carmel; the city of Nain and the cave of Endor; Tabor and Nazareth—all these spots come within a few hours’ ride. Well might Issachar think “that rest was good, and the land that it was pleasant.”

Our party began to separate at Beyrout. Dr. Spence, accompanied by Mr. Wilson, returned direct to England; the rest of us came home through Europe.

In crossing the Mediterranean with Dr. Allon and Kemp-Welch we touched at Cyprus. The coast looked flat and uninteresting, but the bright morning, the sparkling sea, and the manifold associations attaching to the islands inspired great curiosity and deep interest, though I felt by no means well. I began to be conscious that my appetite for travelling had somewhat palled, if not become almost dead. We landed at Larnaca, and found it a very poor place. The Greek churches were somewhat curious, from the circumstance of old columns with characteristic capitals being built into the walls. I noticed Greek priests sitting in wine shops, and some of them occupying places of traffic, selling different articles in huckster-like hovels. These men indicated the social degradation of inferior orders in the Eastern Church. However it may be with the dignified clergy in Russia, certainly priests in Palestine, Syria and the Mediterranean Isles afford low types of civilisation. After dwelling on what is related about Cyprus in the Acts of the Apostles, the conversion of Sergius Paulus, and the conduct of Elymas the sorcerer, became very real narratives; and with these memories in our minds we re-embarked and had a pleasant evening as we sat on deck. I fell asleep with the prospect of reaching Rhodes the next day.

The harbour, with its well-known mole and adjuncts, is very picturesque. We climbed up narrow streets, full of houses once occupied by the knights, and from the fortification, had an extensive view of the island and the Mediterranean. The Church of St. John, blown up by gunpowder, and shattered to fragments, seized on my imagination for a good while, as I wandered, and sat down on a spot, so rich in romantic story. We then returned to the interior of the town, and at the harbour watched the boatmen, busy at the seaside. As we were doing so, one of my companions exclaimed, “Stoughton, you’ve got the jaundice!” and, sure enough, when we reached our steamer, the looking-glass proved this was true. When I rose next morning my limbs were of a saffron colour.

The weather changed. The sky was dark, and the views we caught of Asia were by no means inviting. At night there came a storm; and a storm in the Mediterranean is no trifling matter. Wind roared through the rigging; the vessel lurched and laboured, groaning as if the timbers would burst. Lying in my berth I could feel the dashing billows. Tables and stools were sliding about. The suspended lamps swayed to and fro, like the pendulum of a clock. Overhead confusion was terrible. Horses were kicking, and the sailors were swearing. We had a pasha with his harem on board, and, as might be expected, they were exceedingly terrified. Crowds of pilgrims returning from the Eastern celebration at Jerusalem, were lying on deck resembling herrings in a barrel, and the noise they made was terrific. Waves beat over our boat, till the poor creatures were almost drowned. Beside we had horses, bears and monkeys on board, and, of course, they added to the inharmonious concert. I rose from my hammock early, and with my companion, Mr. Welch, sought comfort from a cup of tea. Reaching the deck, I talked with one of the engineers, an Englishman, and asked what he thought of the storm. “Is there any danger?” I asked. He replied, “This has been a very queer night, and we have made no way. If it had lasted, that would have been serious.” We safely reached Smyrna harbour in the afternoon.

Of course, I thought as we approached land:—There, on one of the hills yonder, the martyr, Polycarp, by death sealed the truths which he had proclaimed in life. As we landed, I thought myself in an Italian port, so European at a glance everything looked—houses, shops, and people—but, entering the town, the scene changed, for there the streets, bazaars, and costumes told of Oriental manners and customs. The next day a party was organised to visit the ruins of Ephesus. It can be reached by railway, and when we entered the station, we might have fancied ourselves at home; for there we met with English guards, and railway porters, like our own. We had a special train to convey us to the far-famed ruins. We visited what is left of the forum, the theatre, and the stadium, but it is difficult to identify anything; and it seemed to me, a definite idea of what Ephesus was in its glory is impossible. The view from the loftiest eminence is magnificent, including the vast plain, the winding river Cayster, and what, in Paul’s day was the harbour of Miletus. At the time of our visit, Greek Christians were celebrating the Festival of St. John, on a lofty hill, the church there being a rude-looking structure. The cave of the seven sleepers was pointed out, on our way back to the railway station, and by the cave is a beautiful mosque of the fifteenth century.

On Saturday morning we embarked at Smyrna for Constantinople. We faintly discerned in the far distance, as we crossed those classic waters, point after point closely connected with ancient story. Of course, all the way, amidst Homeric scenes and associations, we called them to mind by Homer’s help; but the thought of St. John’s labours, his epistles, to the seven churches in the Apocalypse, more prominently occupied one’s mind on the Lord’s day, when we had worship in the saloon, and I preached, as well as I could, to a few sympathetic fellow-passengers.

On Monday morning early, we reached the Golden Horn, filled with shipping. Caiques were quietly gliding over still waters; but we were troubled at the Custom House by an ignorant soldier, who laid hold upon my “Homer” and detained it for two or three days.

Kemp-Welch was the only member of our party left, the rest proceeding homeward by another route. I made the most of what was possible during the four days spent at Constantinople. My friend and I followed the circuit of the city on horseback; through Stamboul, which appeared very Oriental, ruinous and dirty—through lines of cypresses, near cemeteries with turbaned headstones; and so, all round, till we reached the sweet waters. There we tarried a while, looking at the gardens, and their summer houses, called kiosks. The place is a resort like Hampton Court. Thence we returned to the city. Next day we crossed the Golden Horn, and saw the Sultan’s seraglio, attached to which are more gardens and more kiosks. The place contains a library full of Arabic MSS., and a throne room, with the Sultan’s divan, surmounted with a baldacchino. There His Majesty used to hold his court, attended by janissaries, and was screened from the view of subjects, except that his hands were visible. The Sublime Porte is the grand entrance to the room of audience for ambassadors from other courts.

We visited the arsenal with its ammunition, muskets, and swords. The building, it is said, was in the fourth century a church—the Church of S. Irene, where Chrysostom preached some of his wonderful sermons—and it has still in the apse an antique cross. But the grand ecclesiastical edifice of Constantinople is S. Sophia, with columns brought from Ephesus, and representations of four cherubim with their faces obliterated. A legend is preserved to this effect, that when Constantinople was taken by the Turks, a priest was saying mass—immediately a chasm opened in the wall and received him. There he still remains, chalice in hand, waiting to finish the service, when Christians recover the ancient edifice.

But I must not enter into further details of what I saw and heard during my short stay at Constantinople. I was now left alone, as my only remaining companion was obliged to return home by a different route.

Let me add in closing this part of my story, that the banks of the Bosphorus on which I gazed, as I left Constantinople, surpassed previous imagination. The gardens and kiosks by the waterside, looked paradisaical; and as we steamed along I was enchanted, one instant after another, by objects on the shore. All the way to the Black Sea was delightful. Then surroundings changed. Travellers, landed to find themselves amidst indescribable confusion. Thence we proceeded by rail across a dreary district, without trees, and abounding in shallow sheets of stagnant water, with plenty of storks, Egyptian geese, and other wild birds. Still, within the region crossed, there were fields of grain. We reached our steamer on the Danube, between six and seven o’clock on Friday evening.

We found the great river improve as we ascended it. At first we had low banks dotted with mosques and minarets, showing we were still in Turkey. On board the boat I was treated as an invalid, and the attention shown by captain, crew, and servants, was such as to inspire the warmest gratitude on my part.

The scenery on the banks of the Danube, in the earlier part of our voyage up the river, was very magnificent—rocks rising loftily from the water’s edge on one bank, but low on the other. We passed richly wooded scenery, and caught glimpses of pleasant glens, with running streams and picturesque bridges. Further on were comfortable farm-houses and smiling villages. We reached Pesth on Tuesday, travelling by rail, and then proceeded, in the same way, to Vienna, where I tarried for a couple of days—seeing the magnificent cathedral, the vaults of the Capuchin Church, the Prater, the Royal Palace, and the Picture Galleries. Travelling across Germany by rail I reached the Rhine, thence to Brussels, where I was entertained by my nieces then on a visit there. At last I found two dear daughters waiting at the Victoria Station, and at Fairlawn House, Hammersmith, there was a loving welcome.

At the conclusion of my narrative of Eastern travel, let me remark. What one sees in travelling through Palestine gives vividness to the narrative—makes what before were pale outlines, pictures of glowing colour and dazzling light. I do not forget the danger there is of being too much engaged with what is outward in Biblical studies—tarrying in the porch instead of worshipping in the temple—lingering by the hedge to gather flowers instead of pressing into the field to cut down corn—playing the geologist, instead of working as spiritual miners—finding out what is curious as to literature, instead of appropriating “the unsearchable riches of Christ.” But still, what I gathered in the East is precious, and may minister to spiritual edification, as well as to mental enjoyment. How marvellous it is that whilst the Bible is so Eastern—while Oriental manners, customs, and scenery are photographed there, it is nevertheless an universal book! The Koran is not so Eastern as the Bible; at least, so it struck me, as I read it in the East; yet the Bible is the Englishman’s book as the Koran could not be, even if we were all Mussulmans.

Specially forcible and beautiful were the impressions we derived touching the life of Christ; we felt how toilsome were his journeys as He _walked_ along the rough and rugged pathways from Jericho to Jerusalem, over which we _rode_. How humiliating must have been his intercourse with the poor, who, no doubt, then lived in wretched mud hovels, such as we saw, not only in Palestine, but in Egypt; types of domestic habitation for the lower classes in ages past! We thought: Through such collections of “houses of clay” did He pass! Here did He tarry, and within such abodes! Not one of them was His own; He had not where to lay His head.