{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_50879/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_50879","id":"gutenberg_50879","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50879","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Travel Writing","Europe -- Description and travel","Middle East -- Description and travel"],"text":"[Illustration: W. A. Whittle]\n\n\n\n\n A BAPTIST ABROAD\n\n OR\n\n TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES\n\n IN\n\n EUROPE AND ALL BIBLE LANDS\n\n\n BY\n\n REV. WALTER ANDREW WHITTLE\n\n\n WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY\n\n HON. J. L. M. CURRY, LL.D.\n\n\n WITH MAPS AND NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n \u201cWhere rose the mountains, there to him were friends;\n Where rolled the ocean, thereon was his home;\n Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends,\n He had the passion and the power to roam;\n The desert, forest, cavern, breaker\u2019s foam,\n Were unto him companionship; they spake\n A mutual language, clearer than the tome\n Of his land\u2019s tongue, which he would oft forsake\n For Nature\u2019s page glassed by sunbeams on the lake.\u201d\n\n CHILDE HAROLD\n\n\n NEW YORK:\n\n J. A. HILL & CO.,\n\n UNION SQUARE,\n\n 1890.\n\n\n\n\n COPYRIGHT, 1890.\n\n BY J. A. HILL & COMPANY.\n\n\n All rights reserved.\n\n\n\n\n MOTHER\n\n WILL READ THIS BOOK\n\n THROUGH\n\n TWO PAIRS OF SPECTACLES.\n\n ONE PAIR\n\n WILL MAGNIFY ITS VIRTUES\n\n WHILE THE OTHER\n\n WILL DIMINISH ITS DEFECTS.\n\n THEREFORE IT\n\n IS AFFECTIONATELY AND LOVINGLY\n\n DEDICATED TO\n\n MOTHER.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nNext to seeing a foreign land with one\u2019s own eyes is seeing it through\nthe eyes of an intelligent, appreciative countryman. The word is\npurposely chosen, because one wishes to know what is observed and\nthought by a person who has tastes, sympathies and views in common\nwith himself. A thousand things in a strange country are interesting\nand in different degrees. One studies historically, another socially,\nanother politically, another ecclesiastically, while unfortunately not\na few rush pell-mell bringing back the most superficial and indistinct\nimpressions. Some find most satisfaction in architecture, while others\nhave their chiefest enjoyment in sculpture, in painting, in natural\nscenery, in costumes and customs. No two have precisely the same\nfancies, and yet an observant, cultivated countryman is more likely\nto please us by what he likes and describes than is a foreigner whose\npoint of view and whose mental habitudes are so different from our\nown. What is most pleasing in a book of travels is wide and varied\nobservation, is an account of several countries inhabited by different\nraces and distinguished by marked peculiarities.\n\nThis volume embraces a wide extent of travel, and includes an account\nof visits to Great Britain, Switzerland, Italy, Turkey, Greece,\nPalestine, Egypt, etc. The full table of contents is a little\nmisleading, for the chapters pertaining to Europe are short, and\nPalestine takes up a considerable portion of the work. The author,\navoiding what is dry or didactic, manages to compress into his\npages much valuable and trustworthy information. His own religious\ndenomination, naturally and properly, is not overlooked, and from\neminent men he has succeeded in obtaining monographs which give\ninteresting facts, drawn from most authentic sources. The portraitures\nof men, of whom everybody wishes to know more, constitute an\ninteresting feature of the book.\n\nThe journey was not a mere vacation tour, a hasty gallop to points\nvisited by circular tourists, but it comprised many months of patient\ntoil, nor were the countries seen from the windows of the car of an\nexpress train. Lubboch, in his essay on the Pleasures of Travel, says\nthat some think that every one should travel on foot \u201clike Thales,\nPlato and Pythagoras.\u201d Mr. Whittle is a pedestrian by choice, full\nof enterprise, activity, courage and enthusiasm, and on foot he\ndeviated often from the beaten paths, and had opportunities for\ncareful examination of objects of interest and for much pleasant and\ninstructive intercourse with the \u201ccommon people.\u201d With an eye quick to\ndiscern what was peculiar, with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge,\nhe combined a cheerful disposition, a ready appreciation of the\nhumorous, and has succeeded in giving the public a volume, every page\nof which is interesting.\n\nTravel, as a means of improvement, of education, of broadening horizon,\nof getting us out of narrow ruts, can hardly be overestimated. A\nvisit to Europe, Africa and Asia makes objective what was subjective,\nand gives realism to what was before vaguely in our memories. Some\nacquaintance with geography, with history, literature, art, enhances\nthe interest and the profit. A young student who had visited Jerusalem\nwas much flattered by a request from Humboldt to call and see him.\nThe _savant_ soon showed that from reading and inquiry he had more\nknowledge of the city than the youth had acquired by his visit. With\nsome mortification and a little petulance the young man said: \u201cI\nunderstood, sir, that you had never visited the Holy City.\u201d \u201cTrue,\u201d\nreplied Humboldt, \u201cI never have; but I once got ready to go.\u201d Mr.\nWhittle, with wise forethought, had made preparation for his visit.\nHe knew what he wanted to see, traveled with a purpose, and has so\nimparted to his readers what he learned and observed that one catches\nin part the enthusiasm of the traveler.\n\n J. L. M. CURRY.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\n\u201cAround the World in Eighty Days\u201d has had an extensive circulation,\nespecially in America. The title is striking. Our people like to do\nthings quickly. Many of them would be glad to girdle the globe in forty\ndays. They forget that \u201cwhat is worth doing at all is worth doing\nwell.\u201d Under the patronage of Tourist Agencies it has become quite\nfashionable of late to _do Europe in three months_. These flying trips\ndo perhaps result in some good to the tourist, but they are valuable\nchiefly to the agencies under which they are made.\n\nTraveling is no child\u2019s play. Sight seeing when properly done is\nhard work, but hard work is the kind of work that pays best in the\nlong run. To see any country aright and understand it correctly one\nmust not merely visit its fashionable watering places, large cities,\nsplendid abbeys and cathedrals, noted art galleries, museums, etc. He\nmust see these things to be sure, but in addition to these he must,\nin order to get a correct conception, go out into the mountains, into\nthe rural districts, and there study the soil, climate and products of\nthe country. He must commune with the yeomanry the common people, and\nclosely scrutinize their daily life and habits. He must see, as best\nhe can, how climate, political surroundings, education, occupation,\nand religion affect their character. He must project himself as far as\npossible into the thoughts and feelings of the people among whom he is\ntraveling. This prepares him to sympathize with them, and to look at\nthings from their standpoint. The traveler is then prepared to reason\nfrom cause to effect. He has gotten hold of that golden thread of\ntruth which leads to right conclusions. He is in condition to explain\nupon correct and philosophical principles the Socialism of France, the\nSkepticism of Germany, the Nihilism of Russia, and the Pauperism of\nTurkey.\n\nHaving under the providence of God been permitted to make an extensive\nand prolonged trip through the East, I determined from the outset to\nget out of the _beaten tracks of travel_. In applying the above-named\nprinciples, I walked a thousand miles through different European\ncountries, and rode six hundred miles and more in the saddle through\nBible lands. This necessarily gave me a varied experience, and brought\nme into close contact with every phase of nature and human nature. At\ntimes every faculty of mind and heart was stirred to its profoundest\ndepths. I was forced to think. And, lest these thrilling thoughts\nshould slip away from me, I determined \u201cto fasten them in words and\nchain them in writing.\u201d I agree with Gray that \u201ca few words fixed upon\nor near the spot are worth a cartload of _recollection_.\u201d\n\nThis accounts to some extent for the use of the present tense in the\nbook, and also for the colloquial style in which it is written\u2014it was\ncomposed _on or near the spot_. True, since then it has been carefully\nrevised, re-written and enlarged; but originally it was written\n\u201con the spot.\u201d I made these pages my trusted confidant. To them I\nexpressed my \u201cevery thought and floating fancy,\u201d and my words formed\na true thermometer to my soul. But now I release these pages from all\nobligations of secrecy. They may tell it in Gath, and withhold it not\nin Askelon. I propose to take the public into my confidence. \u201cIn short,\nnever did ten shillings purchase so much friendship since confidence\nwent first to market, or honesty was set up to sale.\u201d\n\nI have carefully excluded all _opiates_ from these pages. Brevity is\nthe only claim I make to wit. I have not attempted to exhaust the\nsubjects treated. My words are intended simply to strike the reader\u2019s\nthoughts which may interpret further. \u201cIf you would be prudent, be\nbrief,\u201d says Southey, \u201cfor \u2018tis with words as with sunbeams, the more\nthey are condensed the deeper they burn.\u201d\n\n\u201cClarence P. Johnson\u201d was my man \u201cFriday,\u201d and from some of the\njokes gotten off at his expense the reader may conclude that he is a\n\u201cman-eater,\u201d as was that other Friday of Robinson Crusoe fame. But\nnot so. This was his maiden trip out of his native city. Such things\nhappened to him while traveling as would naturally occur with any other\nyouth under the same circumstances. He is a young man of fine spirit\nand extraordinary business capacity. He will some day be known and felt\nin the commercial world.\n\nIt gives me peculiar pleasure to acknowledge my indebtedness to\nProfessor John R. Sampey, D. D., for valuable assistance rendered while\npreparing this book for the press.\n\nI have made free use of a wide range of literature, but trust that\nin each case due credit has been given to the author. Many of the\nmeasurements given were made by myself, others have been taken from\nreliable sources.\n\nWhile abroad, I made it a special point to study the history and\noutlook of the Baptists in each of the several countries through\nwhich I traveled, and I have not failed to record the result of\nmy observations. But, in order to have Baptist history correctly,\nauthentically, and impartially given, I have secured chapters from\neminent men on the Baptists of their several countries.\n\n W. A. W.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n CHAPTER I.\n\n OFF FOR NEW YORK.\n\n Preparations\u2014A Prayer and a Benediction\u2014An Impatient Horse and\n a Run for Eternity\u2014Strange Sceptre and Despotic Sway\u2014Beauty in\n White Robes\u2014Approaching the Metropolis\u2014Business Heart of the\n New World\u2014A Bright Face and a Cordial Greeting\u2014An Hour with the\n President\u2014More for a Shilling and Less for a Pound\u2014A Stranger\n Dies in the Author\u2019s Arms\u2014Namesake\u2014Prospects of Becoming a Great\n Man\u2014A Confused College Student\u2014The Hour of Departure\u2014Native\n Land. Page, 23\n\n\n CHAPTER II.\n\n ON THE HIGH SEAS.\n\n A Difficulty with the Officers of the Ship\u2014A Parting\n Scene\u2014Danger on the Atlantic\u2014A Parallel Drawn\u2014Liberty\n Enlightening the World\u2014Life on the Ocean Wave\u2014Friends for the\n Journey\u2014The Ship a Little World\u2014A Clown and his Partner\u2014Birds\n of a Feather\u2014Whales\u2014Brain Food\u2014Storm at Sea\u2014A Frightened\n Preacher\u2014Storm Rages\u2014A Sea of Glory\u2014Richard Himself Again\u2014Land\n in Sight\u2014Scene Described\u2014Historic Castle\u2014Voyage Ended\u2014Two\n Irishmen. Page, 29\n\n\n CHAPTER III.\n\n THE LAND OF BURNS.\n\n English Railway Coaches\u2014Millionaires, Crowned Heads, and Fools\u2014A\n Conductor Caught on a Cow-catcher\u2014Last Rose of Summer\u2014Off on\n Foot to the Land of Burns\u2014Appearance of Country and Condition of\n People\u2014Destination Reached\u2014Doctor Whitsitt and Oliver Twist\u2014The\n Ploughman Poet\u2014His Cottage\u2014His Relics\u2014His Work and Worth\u2014His\n Grave and Monument\u2014A Broad View of Life. Page, 38\n\n\n CHAPTER IV.\n\n EDINBURGH.\n\n A Jolly Party of Americans\u2014Dim-Eyed Pilgrim\u2014Young Goslings\u2014An\n American Goose Ranch\u2014Birthplace of Robert Pollok and Mary\n Queen of Scots\u2014The Boston of Europe\u2014Home of Illustrious Men\u2014A\n Monument to the Author\u2014Monument to Sir Walter Scott\u2014Edinburgh\n Castle\u2014Murdered and Head Placed on the Wall\u2014Cromwell\u2019s\n Siege\u2014Stones of Power\u2014A Dazzling Diadem\u2014A Golden Collar\u2014Baptized\n in Blood\u2014Meeting American Friends. Page, 47\n\n\n CHAPTER V.\n\n A TRAMP-TRIP THROUGH THE HIGHLANDS.\n\n His Royal Highness and a Demand for Fresh Air\u2014A Boy in\n his Father\u2019s Clothes\u2014Among the Common People\u2014Nature\u2019s\n Stronghold\u2014Treason Found in Trust\u2014Body Quartered and Exposed\n on Iron Spikes\u2014Receiving a Royal Salute\u2014Following no Road but\n a Winding River\u2014Sleeveless Dresses and Dyed Hands\u2014Obelisk to a\n Novelist and Poet\u2014On the Scotch Lakes\u2014Eyes to See but See Not\u2014A\n Night of Rest and a Morning of Surprise\u2014A Terrestrial Heaven\u2014A\n Poetic Inspiration\u2014A Deceptive Mountain\u2014A Glittering Crown\u2014Hard\n to Climb\u2014An Adventure and a Narrow Escape\u2014Johnson Gives Out\u2014Put\n to Bed on the Mountain Side\u2014On and Up\u2014A Summit at Last\u2014Niagara\n Petrified\u2014Overtaken by the Night\u2014Johnson Lost in the Mountains\u2014A\n Fruitless Search\u2014Bewildered\u2014Exhausted\u2014Sick. Page, 57\n\n\n CHAPTER VI.\n\n A GENERAL VIEW OF SCOTLAND.\n\n Highlands and Lowlands\u2014Locked up for Fifteen Days\u2014The Need of\n a Good Sole\u2014A Soft Side of a Rock\u2014The Charm of Reading on the\n Spot\u2014A Fearful Experience\u2014Bit and Bridle\u2014Thunder-Riven\u2014Volcanic\n Eruption\u2014Dangerous Pits\u2014An Hundred-Eyed Devil\u2014Gloomy\n Dens\u2014Meeting an Enemy\u2014Eyes Like Balls of Fire\u2014Voice Like Rolling\n Thunder\u2014A Speedy Departure\u2014Leaping from Rock to Rock\u2014Silver\n Thread among the Mountains\u2014Imperishable Tablets\u2014The Cave of\n Rob Roy and the land of the MacGregors\u2014Lady of the Lake and\n Ellen\u2019s Isle\u2014Lodging with Peasants and with Gentlemen\u2014Rising\n in Mutiny\u2014Strange Fuel\u2014Character of Scotch People\u2014Scotch\n Baptists\u2014Sunrise at Two O\u2019Clock in the Morning. Page, 67\n\n\n CHAPTER VII.\n\n FROM DUNDEE TO MANCHESTER.\n\n Scotch Presbyterians in Convention\u2014Their Character and\n Bearing\u2014On the Footpath to Abbotsford\u2014The Home of Scott\u2014Five\n Miles through the Fields\u2014Melrose Abbey and the Heart of\n Bruce\u2014Hospitality of a Baptist Preacher\u2014Adieu to Scotland\u2014Merry\n England\u2014Manchester\u2014Exposition and Prince of Wales\u2014Manchester\n and Cotton Manufacturers\u2014A $25,000,000 Scheme\u2014Dr. Alexander\n Maclaren\u2014His Appearance\u2014The Force of his Thought\u2014The Witchery of\n his Eloquence\u2014His Hospitality Enjoyed\u2014A Promise Made. Page, 75\n\n\n CHAPTER VIII.\n\n BAPTIST CENTENNIAL.\n\n Three Baptist Associations\u2014Centennial Year and Jubilee\n Year\u2014Baptists Seen at their Best\u2014Doctor Alexander\n Maclaren\u2014Matchless Eloquence\u2014Hon. John Bright Delivers an\n Address\u2014Boundless Enthusiasm\u2014English Hospitality\u2014A Home with the\n Mayor. Page, 84\n\n\n CHAPTER IX.\n\n A SOJOURN IN ENGLAND AND ON TO WALES.\n\n Arrested and Imprisoned\u2014Released without a\n Trial\u2014Nottingham\u2014Dwellers in Caves\u2014Seven Hundred Years\n Old\u2014Forests of Ivanhoe and Robin Hood\u2014Birthplace of Henry Kirk\n White\u2014Home of the Pilgrim Fathers\u2014Home of Thomas Cranmer\u2014A\n Guide\u2019s Information\u2014Home of Lord Byron\u2014Wild Beasts from the Dark\n Continent\u2014A Sad Epitaph\u2014Byron\u2019s Grave\u2014A Wedding Scene\u2014Marriage\n Customs\u2014Wales and Sea-Bathing\u2014Among the Mountains\u2014Welsh\n Baptists\u2014A Tottering Establishment. Page, 90\n\n\n CHAPTER X.\n\n LONDON.\n\n Entering London\u2014The Great City Crowded\u2014Six Million Five Hundred\n Thousand People Together\u2014Lost in London\u2014A Human Niagara\u2014A\n Policeman and a Lockup\u2014The Jubilee and the Golden Wedding\u2014\u201cGod\n Save the Queen.\u201d and God Save the People\u2014Amid England\u2019s Shouts\n and Ireland\u2019s Groans Heard. Page, 98\n\n\n CHAPTER XI.\n\n SIGHTS OF LONDON.\n\n Traveling in London\u2014London a Studio\u2014The Hum of Folly and the\n Sleep of Traffic\u2014Five Million Heads in Nightcaps\u2014Too Many People\n Together\u2014Survival of the Fittest\u2014Place and Pride\u2014Poverty and\n Penury\u2014Beneficence in London\u2014East End\u2014Assembly Hall\u2014A Converted\n Brewer\u2014His Great Work\u2014Meeting an Old Schoolmate. Page, 107\n\n\n CHAPTER XII.\n\n A TRIO OF ILLUSTRIOUS MEN.\n\n Joseph Parker\u2014Canon Farrar\u2014Charles H. Spurgeon. Page, 118\n\n\n CHAPTER XIII.\n\n NOTTINGHAM, CAMBRIDGE, AND BEDFORD.\n\n Preaching to 2,500 People\u2014Entertained after the Manner of\n Royalty\u2014Excursion to Cambridge\u2014What Happened on the Way\u2014Received\n an Entertainment by the Mayor\u2014Cambridge University\u2014King\u2019s\n Chapel\u2014Fitzwilliam Museum\u2014Trinity College\u2014Cambridge Bibles\u2014Adieu\n to Friends\u2014Bedford\u2014The Church where John Bunyan Preached\u2014Bedford\n Jail, where Bunyan wrote _Pilgrim\u2019s Progress_\u2014Bunyan\u2019s\n Statue\u2014Elstow, Bunyan\u2019s Birthplace\u2014His Cottage\u2014His Chapel\u2014An Old\n Elm Tree. Page, 123\n\n\n CHAPTER XIV.\n\n THE BAPTISTS OF ENGLAND.\n\n Their Number and Divisions\u2014The Regular Baptists\u2014Their\n Movements and Progress. Page, 130\n\n\n CHAPTER XV.\n\n LAST OF ENGLAND AND FIRST OF THE CONTINENT.\n\n Windsor Castle, the Home of England\u2019s Queen\u2014Queen Victoria\u2014The\n Home of Shakespeare\u2014Across the Channel\u2014First Impressions\u2014Old\n Time Ways\u2014Brussels on a Parade\u2014Waterloo Re-enacted\u2014A Visit to\n the Field of Waterloo\u2014A Lion with Eyes Fixed on France\u2014Interview\n with a Man who Saw Napoleon\u2014Wertz Museum\u2014\u201cNapoleon in\n Hell\u201d\u2014\u201cHell in Revolt against Heaven\u201d\u2014\u201cTriumph of Christ\u201d\u2014Age\n Offering the Things of the Present to the Man of the Future.\n Page, 143\n\n\n CHAPTER XVI.\n\n FROM BELGIUM TO COLOGNE AND UP THE RHINE.\n\n Brussels\u2014Its Laces and Carpets\u2014Belgium a\n Small Country\u2014Cultivated like a Garden\u2014Into\n Germany\u2014Aix-La-Chapelle\u2014Birthplace of Charlemagne\u2014Capital of\n Holy Roman Empire\u2014Cathedral Built by Charlemagne\u2014A Strange\n Legend\u2014Shrine of the Four Relics\u2014A Pulpit Adorned with Ivory and\n Studded with Diamonds\u2014Cologne\u2014Its Inhabitants\u2014Its Perfumery\u2014Its\n Cathedral\u2014A Ponderous Bell\u2014A Church Built of Human Bones\u2014Sailing\n up the Rhine\u2014A River of Song\u2014Bonn\u2014Its University\u2014Birthplace\n of Beethoven\u2014Feudal Lords\u2014The Bloody Rhine\u2014Dragon\u2019s Rock\u2014A\n Combat with a Serpent\u2014A Convent with a Love Story\u2014Empress\n of the Night\u2014Intoxicated\u2014Coblentz\u2014A Tramp-Trip through\n Germany\u2014Sixteen Thousand Soldiers Engaged in Battle\u2014Enchanted\n Region\u2014Loreli\u2014Son-in-Law of Augustus Caesar\u2014Birthplace of\n Gutenberg, the Inventor of Printing. Page, 155\n\n\n CHAPTER XVII.\n\n FROM FRANKFORT TO WORMS.\n\n Frankfort-on-the-Main\u2014Met at Depot by a Committee\u2014Frankfort, the\n Home of Culture and Art\u2014Birthplace of Goethe\u2014\u201cHe Preaches like a\n God\u201d\u2014The Home of Rothschild\u2014A Visit to his House\u2014Worms and its\n History\u2014Luther and a Bad Diet\u2014Luther Monument\u2014Theses Nailed on\n the Door\u2014Fame of Luther and his Followers more Imperishable than\n their Bronze Statues. Page, 168\n\n\n CHAPTER XVIII.\n\n GERMAN BAPTISTS.\n\n A Weak Beginning\u2014Persecutions\u2014Firm Faith\u2014Rapid Growth\u2014A Trio of\n Leaders\u2014Theological Schools\u2014Publishing House\u2014Hopeful Outlook.\n Page, 174\n\n\n CHAPTER XIX.\n\n OUT OF GERMANY INTO SWITZERLAND.\n\n A Lesson from Nature\u2014Tramp-Trip through the Black\n Forests\u2014Heidelberg Castle\u2014Basle, Switzerland\u2014Met by a\n Friend\u2014Emigrants off for America\u2014Delivering an Address to\n the Emigrants\u2014The Grave of Erasmus\u2014Gateway to the Heart of\n the Alps\u2014Snowy Peaks\u2014Rendezvous of the Nations\u2014Beautiful\n Scene\u2014Moonlight on the Lake\u2014Sweet Music\u2014Pretty Girls\u2014Mountains\n Shaken with Thunder and Wrapped with Fire. Page, 184\n\n\n CHAPTER XX.\n\n SWITZERLAND AS SEEN ON FOOT.\n\n Alpine Fever\u2014Flags of Truce\u2014Schiller and the Swiss Hero\u2014Tell\u2019s\n Statue and Chapel\u2014Ascent of the Rigi\u2014Beautiful Scenery\u2014Famous\n Falls\u2014Rambles in the Mountains\u2014Glaciers\u2014The Matterhorn\u2014Yung\n Frau\u2014Ascent of Mount Blanc\u2014An Eagle in the Clouds\u2014Switzerland\n and her People\u2014The Oldest Republic in the World\u2014\u201cHome,\n Sweet Home\u201d\u2014High Living\u2014Land Owners\u2014Alpine Folk\u2014Night Spent\n in a Swiss Chalet\u2014Johnson in Trouble\u2014Walk of Six Hundred\n Miles\u2014Famous Alpine Pass\u2014A Night above the Clouds\u2014Saint Bernard\n Hospice\u2014Overtaken in a Snow-Storm\u2014Hunting Dead Men\u2014The Alps as\n a Monument\u2014Geneva\u2014Prison of Chilon\u2014How Time was Spent\u2014Tongue of\n Praise. Page, 190\n\n\n CHAPTER XXI.\n\n BAPTIST MISSION WORK IN FRANCE.\n\n Incipiency of the Work\u2014Obstacles to Overcome\u2014Progress \u2014Hopeful\n Outlook. Page, 213\n\n\n CHAPTER XXII.\n\n FROM VIENNA DOWN THE DANUBE TO CONSTANTINOPLE.\n\n A Black Night on the Black Sea\u2014A Doleful Dirge\u2014Two Thousand\n Miles\u2014Vienna\u2014Its Architecture\u2014Its Palace\u2014Its Art Galleries and\n Museums\u2014Through Hungary, Servia, Slavonia, and Bulgaria\u2014Cities\n and Scenery along the Danube\u2014Products of the Countries\u2014Entering\n the Bosphorus amid a War of the Elements\u2014Between Two\n Continents\u2014Constantinople\u2014Difficulty with a Turkish Official\u2014A\n Babel of Tongues\u2014The Sultan at Prayer\u2014Twenty Thousand Soldiers\n on Guard\u2014Multiplicity of Wives\u2014Man-Slayer. Page, 220\n\n\n CHAPTER XXIII.\n\n FROM CONSTANTINOPLE TO ATHENS.\n\n A Stormy Day on Marmora\u2014Sunrise on Mount Olympus\u2014Brusa,\n the Ancient Capital of Turkey\u2014Ancient Troy\u2014Homeric\n Heroes\u2014Agamemnon\u2019s Fleet\u2014The Wooden Horse\u2014Paul\u2019s Vision\n at Troas\u2014Athens\u2014A Lesson in Greek\u2014The Acropolis\u2014The\n Parthenon\u2014Modern Athens\u2014Temple of Jupiter\u2014The Prison of\n Socrates\u2014The Platform of Demosthenes\u2014Mars Hill and Paul\u2019s\n Sermon\u2014Influence of the Ancients. Page, 230\n\n\n CHAPTER XXIV.\n\n ASIA MINOR AND THE ISLAND OF PATMOS.\n\n Smyrna\u2014Its Commerce\u2014Its Population\u2014Famed Women\u2014Home of the\n Apostle John\u2014One of the Seven Asiatic Churches\u2014Martyrdom and\n Tomb of Polycarp\u2014Emblematic Olive Tree\u2014Out into the Interior\n of Asia Minor\u2014Struck by Lightning\u2014Visit to Ephesus\u2014Birthplace\n of Mythology\u2014Temple of Diana\u2014Relics of the Past\u2014Homer\u2019s\n Birthplace\u2014A Baptist Preacher and a Protracted Meeting\u2014John the\n Baptist and the Virgin Mary\u2014Timothy\u2019s Grave\u2014Cave of the Seven\n Sleepers\u2014Return to Smyrna\u2014Sail to Patmos\u2014Patmos, the Exiled Home\n of the Apostle John\u2014The Island of Rhodes and the Colossus\u2014Death\n and Disease on the Ship\u2014Quarantined\u2014A Watery Grave\u2014Hope Anchored\n within the Vail. Page, 240\n\n\n CHAPTER XXV.\n\n FROM BEYROUT TO THE CEDARS OF LEBANON.\n\n Landing at Beyrout\u2014Escape from Death\u2014Thankful Hearts\u2014Seed\n Planted\u2014Desire Springs up\u2014Bud of Hope\u2014Golden Fruit\u2014\u201cBy\n God\u2019s Help\u201d\u2014Preparations\u2014New Traveling Companions\u2014Employing\n a Dragoman\u2014A Many-Sided Man Required to Make a Successful\n Traveler\u2014\u201cEquestrian Pilgrims\u201d\u2014A Great Caravan\u2014Ships of the\n Desert\u2014Preparations for War\u2014A Dangerous Mishap\u2014National\n Hymn\u2014Journey Begun\u2014Mulberry Trees\u2014Fig-Leaf Dresses\u2014An Inspiring\n Conversation\u2014The Language of Balaam\u2014City of Tents\u2014General\n Rejoicing\u2014Tidings of Sadness\u2014Welcome News\u2014First Night in\n Tents\u2014Sabbath Day\u2019s Rest\u2014Johnson and his Grandmother\u2014A Wedding\n Procession\u2014Johnson Delighted\u2014Brides Bought and Sold\u2014Increase\n in Price\u2014Inferiority of Woman\u2014Multiplicity of Wives\u2014Folding of\n Tents\u2014Camel Pasture\u2014Leave Damascus Road\u2014Noah\u2019s Tomb, Eighty-Five\n Feet Long\u2014Perilous Ascent\u2014Brave Woman\u2014\u201cIf I Die, Carry Me on to\n the Top\u201d\u2014The Cedars at Last\u2014Emotions Stirred\u2014\u201cThe Righteous Grow\n like the Cedars of Lebanon\u201d\u2014Amnon. Page, 250\n\n\n CHAPTER XXVI.\n\n FROM THE CEDARS OF LEBANON TO BAALBEK.\n\n Returning to Tents\u2014Mountain Spurs and Passes\u2014A Modern\n Thermopylae\u2014Two Caravans Meet\u2014A Fight to the Death\u2014How Johnson\n Looks\u2014Victory at Last\u2014Into the Valley where the King Lost his\n Eyes\u2014Playing at Agriculture\u2014Squalid Poverty\u2014Baalbek\u2014Its Mighty\n Temples\u2014Men, Mice and Monkeys\u2014A Poem Writ in Marble. Page, 269\n\n\n CHAPTER XXVII.\n\n DAMASCUS.\n\n A Beautiful Valley\u2014Flowing Rivers\u2014Mohammed at\n Damascus\u2014Garden of God\u2014Paul at Damascus\u2014Mohammedan\n at Prayer\u2014Valley More Beautiful\u2014Damascus Exclusively\n Oriental\u2014Quaint Architecture\u2014\u201cOften in Wooden Houses\n Golden Rooms we Find\u201d\u2014Narrow Streets\u2014Industrious\n People\u2014Shoe Bazaars\u2014Manufacturing Silk by hand\u2014Fanatical\n Merchants\u2014\u201cChristian Dogs\u201d\u2014Cabinet-Making\u2014Furniture Inlaid\n with Pearl\u2014Camel Markets\u2014A Progenitor of the Mule\u2014Machinery\n Unknown\u2014Ignorance Stalks Abroad\u2014Fanatical Arabs\u2014A Massacre\u2014The\n Governor Gives the Signal\u2014Christians Killed\u2014French Army\u2014Abraham\n Our Guide\u2014Brained before Reaching the Post-Office\u2014Warned not\n to Look at the Women\u2014Johnson\u2019s Regret\u2014Vailed Women\u2014Johnson\u2019s\n Explanation. Page, 276\n\n\n CHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n THE NAAMAN HOSPITAL FOR THE LEPROSY.\n\n Naaman, the Leper\u2014His Visit to Elisha\u2014The Prophet\u2019s\n Command\u2014Naaman Cured\u2014House Turned into a Leper Hospital\u2014Off to\n the Lepers\u2019 Den\u2014Origin, History and Nature of Leprosy\u2014Arrival at\n the Gloomy Prison\u2014Abraham, \u201cI Didn\u2019t Promise to Go into the Tomb\n with You\u201d\u2014\u201cScrew your Courage to the Sticking Point\u201d\u2014Johnson\u2019s\n Reply\u2014Suspicious of the Arab Gate-Keepers\u2014A Charge to\n Abraham\u2014Life in Johnson\u2019s Hands\u2014Mamie and the Currant-Bush\u2014Among\n the Lepers\u2014Judgment Come\u2014Graves Open\u2014Living Corpses\u2014Walking\n Skeletons\u2014Strewing out Coins\u2014An Indescribable Scene\u2014An Indelible\n Picture\u2014Horrible Dreams. Page, 292\n\n\n CHAPTER XXIX.\n\n FROM DAMASCUS TO THE SEA OF GALILEE.\n\n Sick, nigh unto Death\u2014\u201cNight Bringeth out the Stars\u201d\u2014Mount\n Hermon and the Transfiguration\u2014Beautiful Camp-Ground\u2014Amnon,\n the Reliable\u2014\u201cThou Art Peter\u201d\u2014Fountain of the Jordan\u2014Slaughter\n of the Buffaloes\u2014Crossing into Galilee\u2014Dan\u2014Abraham\u2019s Visit\u2014A\n Fertile Valley\u2014Wooden Plows\u2014A Bedouin Village\u2014Costumes of Eden\u2014A\n Gory Field\u2014Sea of Galilee\u2014Sacred Memories\u2014The Evening Hour\u2014A\n Soliloquy\u2014Bathing\u2014Sailing\u2014Fishing. Page, 303\n\n\n CHAPTER XXX.\n\n FROM THE SEA OF GALILEE TO NAZARETH.\n\n A Seven Hour\u2019s Journey\u2014A Rough Road and a Hot\n Sun\u2014Gazelles\u2014Nimrods of To-day\u2014Historic Corn-Field\u2014Cana\n of Galilee\u2014First Miracle\u2014Cana at Present\u2014Greek and\n Roman Convents\u2014Conflicting Stories of Greek and Latin\n Priests\u2014Explanation\u2014An Important Fact\u2014Marriage Divinely\n Instituted\u2014Woman Degraded\u2014Woman Honored\u2014Description\n of Nazareth\u2014Childhood Home of Jesus\u2014Jesus and the\n Flower-Garden\u2014Studying Nature\u2014He Goes to the Mountain\n Top\u2014Without Bounds or Limits\u2014A Fit Play-Ground and Suitable\n School-Room for the Royal Child\u2014Rock Bluff where the People\n Tried to \u201cCast him down Headlong\u201d\u2014The Carpenter Shop\u2014The\n Virgin\u2019s Fountain\u2014Nazareth at Present\u2014Protestant Missions\u2014A\n Short Sermon and a Sweet Song. Page, 319\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXI.\n\n A CHARACTERISTIC SCENE IN THE ORIENT.\n\n Shepherd Tents\u2014Many Flocks in One Sheep-Cote for the Night\u2014Many\n Merchants from Different Countries\u2014Ships Anchored\u2014Arabs at\n Meal\u2014Arabs Smoking\u2014Shepherds with their Reed-Pipes\u2014Merchants\u2019\n Response\u2014Music and Dancing at Night\u2014Bustle and Confusion in\n the Morning\u2014Fight Like Madmen\u2014Over-Burdened Camels\u2014Camp Broken\n up\u2014Dothan and Joseph\u2019s Pit\u2014Money-Loving Mohammedans\u2014Crafty\n Jews\u2014Return to Tents\u2014The Shepherds Awaken\u2014Crook, Sling and\n Reed-Pipe\u2014David and Goliath\u2014Shepherds under the Star-Lit\n Sky\u2014\u201dGlory to God in the Highest.\u201d Page, 337\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXII.\n\n FROM JERUSALEM TO JERICHO.\n\n A Man \u201cFell among Thieves\u201d\u2014The Way still Lined with\n Thieves\u2014Guards Necessary\u2014Across the Mount of Olives\u2014Bethany\n and its Memories\u2014David\u2019s Flight from Jerusalem\u2014\u201dHalt!\n Halt!\u201d\u2014Seized with Terror\u2014Splendid Horsemanship\u2014\u201dA Hard Road to\n Trabble\u201d\u2014Inn where the Good Samaritan Left the Jew\u2014Brigands on\n the Way-side\u2014Robbers and Guards in Collusion\u2014Topography of the\n Country\u2014Dangers and Difficulties\u2014Perilous Places Passed\u2014Plain\n of Jericho\u2014Writhing in Agony\u2014The City of Palms\u2014Trumps of\n Joshua\u2014Jericho in the Time of Herod\u2014Iron-Fingered Fate\u2014Jericho\n at Present\u2014A Divine Region\u2014Pool of Moses\u2014Antony and Cleopatra.\n Page, 346\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXIII.\n\n BEYOND THE JORDAN.\n\n Plain of Moab\u2014Children of Israel\u2014Moses\u2019s Request\u2014Moab a Rich\n Country\u2014Lawless Clans\u2014A Traveler Brutally Murdered\u2014A Typical\n Son of Ishmael\u2014Dens and Strongholds\u2014Captured by a Clan of\n Arabs\u2014Shut up in Mountain Caves\u2014Heavy Ransom Exacted\u2014The\n Moabite Stone\u2014Confirmation of Scripture\u2014Machaerus\u2014John the\n Baptist\u2014Prison Chambers\u2014Character of John\u2014How to Gauge a\n Life\u2014Hot-Springs\u2014Herod\u2019s Visit\u2014\u201dSmell of Blood still\u201d\u2014Mount\n Nebo\u2014Fine View\u2014Life of Moses\u2014From Egypt to Nebo\u2014An Arab\n Legend\u2014Death of Moses. Page, 362\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXIV.\n\n THE JORDAN.\n\n Two Thoughts\u2014From Nebo to the River\u2014Thrilling Emotions\u2014Historic\n Ground\u2014A Sacred Scene\u2014An Earnest Preacher\u2014Christ\n Baptized\u2014Awe-Stricken People\u2014A Sacred River\u2014Bathing of\n Pilgrims\u2014Robes Become Shrouds\u2014The Ghor of the Jordan\u2014The Valley\n an Inclined Plane\u2014The Three Sources of the River\u2014The Jordan\n Proper\u2014Banks\u2014Tributaries\u2014Bridges\u2014River Channel\u2014Velocity of the\n Water\u2014Its Temperature\u2014Its Width and Depth\u2014Vegetation along the\n Stream\u2014Wild Beasts\u2014Birds. Page, 380\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXV.\n\n THE DEAD SEA.\n\n A Wonderful Body of Water\u2014Receives 20,000,000 Cubic Feet of\n Water per Day\u2014Has no Outlet\u2014Never Fills Up\u2014In the Sea\u2014Johnson\u2019s\n Suggestion as to my Identity\u2014Why One Cannot Sink\u2014\u201dSalt\n Sea\u201d\u2014Caught in a Storm\u2014Danger of Death\u2014Dreary Waste\u2014Sea of\n Fire\u2014Johnson\u2019s Argument\u2014New-Born Babe\u2014Child Dies\u2014Lot\u2019s Wife\u2014Her\n Past History and Present Condition\u2014The Frenchman\u2019s Book\u2014Why the\n Sea is so Salt\u2014Why it Never Fills Up\u2014Sown with Diamonds\u2014Origin\n of the Dead Sea\u2014God\u2019s Wrath\u2014The Sodom Apple\u2014The Sea an Emblem of\n Death. Page, 397\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXVI.\n\n TWO RUSSIAN PILGRIMS, OR A PICTURE OF LIFE.\n\n A Steep Mountain\u2014Rough Base\u2014Beautiful Summit\u2014Russian\n Pilgrims\u2014Journey up Mountain\u2014Life\u2019s Hill\u2014Courage in\n Heart\u2014Marriage Altar\u2014Long Pilgrimage\u2014Star of Hope. Page, 409\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXVII.\n\n FROM JERUSALEM, VIA BETHLEHEM AND POOLS OF SOLOMON, TO HEBRON.\n\n Rachel\u2019s Tomb\u2014Bethlehem\u2014Ruth and Boas\u2014David the Shepherd\n Lad\u2014Cave of the Nativity\u2014Pools of Solomon\u2014Royal Gardens\u2014The Home\n of Abraham\u2014Abraham\u2019s Oak\u2014Abraham\u2019s Mummy. Page, 414\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXVIII.\n\n FROM DAN TO BEERSHEBA.\n\n Palestine\u2014Its Situation\u2014Its Dimensions\u2014Its Names\u2014Its\n Topography\u2014Its Climate\u2014Its Seasons\u2014Its Agriculture\u2014Its\n People\u2014The Pleasure of Traveling through Palestine. Page, 426\n\n\n CHAPTER XXXIX.\n\n JERUSALEM.\n\n Approaching Jerusalem\u2014Coming Events\u2014Dreams\u2014Light Breaks\n In\u2014Serenade\u2014Zion, the City of God\u2014Prayers Answered\u2014Gratitude\u2014A\n Vision of Peace\u2014Blighted Fig-Tree\u2014Still a Holy City\u2014Prominence\n of Jerusalem\u2014Its Influence among the Nations\u2014A Melted\n Heart\u2014Tents Pitched\u2014Walk About Zion\u2014Situation of the City\u2014Its\n Walls\u2014Its Gates\u2014Afraid of Christ\u2014Crossing the Kedron\u2014Tomb of\n Virgin Mary\u2014Gethsemane\u2014What it Means, What it Is, and How it\n Looks\u2014Superstitious Monks\u2014Jerusalem Viewed from the Mount of\n Olives\u2014Architecture of the City\u2014Prominent Objects\u2014Entering the\n City\u2014Its Streets\u2014Its Population\u2014Jewish Theologues\u2014Remaining\n Portion of Solomon\u2019s Temple\u2014\u201dWailing Place\u201d of the Jews\u2014Kissing\n the Wall\u2014Weeping Aloud\u2014Fulfillment of Prophecy\u2014Only One\n Conclusion. Page, 445\n\n\n CHAPTER XL.\n\n JERUSALEM CONTINUED\u2014MOSQUE OF OMAR.\n\n Haram Area\u2014Its Past and Present\u2014Wall\u2014Gates\u2014Stopped at the Point\n of Daggers\u2014Legal Papers and Special Escort\u2014Mosque of Omar\u2014Its\n Exterior and Interior\u2014A Great Rock Within\u2014History and Legends\n Connected with the Rock\u2014Mohammed\u2019s Ascent to Heaven\u2014Place of\n Departed Spirits\u2014Their Rescue\u2014Ark of the Covenant\u2014Golden Key.\n Page, 467\n\n\n CHAPTER XLI.\n\n IN AND AROUND JERUSALEM.\n\n Church of the Holy Sepulchre\u2014Peculiar Architecture\u2014Strange\n Partnership\u2014The Centre of the Earth\u2014The Grave of\n Adam\u2014Unaccountable Superstitions\u2014An Underground World\u2014Pool of\n Siloam\u2014Kedron Valley\u2014The Final Judgment\u2014Tomb of the Kings\u2014Valley\n of Hinnom\u2014Lower Pool of Gihon\u2014Moloch\u2014Gehenna\u2014Upper Pool of\n Gihon\u2014Calvary\u2014The Savior\u2019s Tomb. Page, 479\n\n\n CHAPTER XLII.\n\n EGYPT.\n\n Jaffa\u2014Its History and its Orange Orchard\u2014On the\n Mediterranean\u2014Port Said\u2014Suez Canal\u2014The Red Sea\u2014Pharaoh and his\n Host Swallowed Up\u2014From Suez to Cairo\u2014Arabian Nights\u2014Egyptian\n Museum\u2014Royal Mummies\u2014A Look at Pharaoh\u2014A Mummy 5,700 Years\n Old\u2014A Talk with the King\u2014Christmas-Day and a Generous\n Rivalry\u2014Donkey-Boys of Cairo\u2014Wolves around a Helpless\n Lamb\u2014Johnson on his Knees\u2014Yankee Doodle\u2014The Nile\u2014The Prince of\n Wales\u2014Pyramid in the Distance\u2014Face to Face with the Pyramid\n of Cheops\u2014Ascending the Pyramid\u2014Going in it\u2014Johnson Cries for\n Help\u2014The Sphinx, and what it is Thinking about. Page, 495\n\n\n CHAPTER XLIII.\n\n A BURIED CITY\u2014POMPEII.\n\n Long Shut Out of Civilization\u2014Four Days in Gehenna\u2014Paul\u2019s\n Experience Co-Incides with Ours\u2014Dead\u2014Buried\u2014A Stone Against\n the Door\u2014Raised from the Grave\u2014Under an Italian Sky\u2014\u201dSee\n Naples and Die\u201d\u2014Off for the City of the Dead\u2014Knocking for\n Entrance\u2014Earthquake\u2014Re-Built\u2014Location of the City\u2014Boasted\n Perfection\u2014City Destroyed by a Volcano\u2014Vivid Description\n by an Eye-Witness\u2014Rich Field for Excavation\u2014What Has been\n Found\u2014Returns to Get Gold\u2014Poetical Inspiration\u2014Pompeii at\n Present\u2014Mistaken Dedication. Page, 515\n\n\n CHAPTER XLIV.\n\n VESUVIUS IN ACTION.\n\n As it Looks by Day and by Night\u2014Leaving Naples\u2014First Sight\n of Vesuvius\u2014Description\u2014The Number of Volcanoes\u2014Off to See\n the Burning Mountain\u2014A Nameless Horse\u2014Respect for Age\u2014Refuse\n Portantina\u2014Mountain of Shot\u2014A Dweller in a Cave\u2014A Slimy\n Serpent for a Companion\u2014Jets of Steam\u2014Vulcan\u2019s Forge\u2014Exposed\n to a Horrible Death\u2014Upheavals of Lava\u2014Showers of Fire\u2014Fiery\n Fiends\u2014Winged Devils\u2014Tongue of Fire\u2014A Voice of Thunder. Page, 526\n\n\n CHAPTER XLV.\n\n ROME\u2014ANCIENT AND MODERN.\n\n The Mother of Empires\u2014Weeps and Will not be Comforted\u2014Nero\u2019s\n Golden Palace\u2014Ruined Greatness\u2014Time, the Tomb-Builder\u2014Papal\n Rome\u2014The Last Siege\u2014Self-Congratulations\u2014Better Out-Look\u2014The\n Seven-Hilled City\u2014Vanity of Vanities\u2014The Pantheon\u2014Nature Slew\n Him\u2014The Shrine of All Saints. Page, 535\n\n\n CHAPTER XLVI.\n\n ROME\u2014ITS ART AND ARCHITECTURE.\n\n A Question Asked\u2014Answer Given\u2014Nature as Teacher\u2014Italians\n as Pupils\u2014Great Artists\u2014The Inferno\u2014The Cardinal in\n Hell\u2014The Pope\u2019s Reply\u2014A Thing of Beauty\u2014The Beloved\u2014The\n Transfiguration\u2014Architecture\u2014Marble Men Struggle to\n Speak\u2014Resplendent Gems. Page, 544\n\n\n CHAPTER XLVII.\n\n BAPTIST MISSION WORK IN ITALY.\n\n Why Italy is a Mission-Field\u2014Beginning of the\n Work\u2014Difficulties\u2014Increase of Forces\u2014Growth of Work\u2014Sanguine\n Expectations. Page, 553\n\n\n CHAPTER XLVIII.\n\n FROM ROME, VIA FLORENCE TO VENICE.\n\n Peasants\u2014A Three-Fold Crop\u2014Elba, the Exiled Home of\n Napoleon\u2014Pisa\u2014Leaning Tower\u2014An Odd Burial-Ground\u2014Florence\u2014The\n Home of Savonarola, Dante, and Michael Angelo\u2014Art Galleries\u2014On\n to Venice\u2014A Flood\u2014Johnson Excited\u2014Storm Raging\u2014Lightening the\n Ship\u2014Venice, a Water-Lily\u2014No Streets but Water\u2014No Carriages but\n Gondolas\u2014Shylocks. Page, 563\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n COLORED PLATES. Page.\n\n The River Jordan, where it is supposed Christ\n was baptised, 380\n Vesuvius in Action, 526\n\n\n MAP.\n\n Palestine\u2014Time of Christ, 250\n\n\n WOOD ENGRAVINGS, PHOTO-ENGRAVINGS, ETC.\n\n Steel Plate of the Author\u2014Frontispiece,\n Clarence P. Johnson, 40\n Burns\u2019 Cottage, 42\n Burns\u2019 Monument, 45\n Edinburgh, 48\n Scott\u2019s Monument, 51\n Edinburgh Castle, 53\n Abbotsford, 76\n Melrose Abbey, 78\n Newstead Abbey, 94\n Chapel of Henry VII, Westminster Abbey, 104\n Nelson\u2019s Monument, 106\n The House of Parliament, 109\n The Tower of London, 112\n St. Paul\u2019s Cathedral, 115\n Chas. H. Spurgeon, 120\n Bunyan\u2019s Cottage, 129\n Edward Parker, 132\n Queen Victoria, 144\n Windsor Castle, 146\n The Home of Shakespeare, etc., (six pictures,) 148\n Strasburg Cathedral, 158\n View on the Rhine, 164\n Giessbach Falls, 192\n A Glacier in Switzerland, 197\n Among the Peaks, 202\n Hospice in the Alps, 208\n Swiss Mountains, 211\n The Belvidere, Vienna, 221\n The Danube, 224\n Castle on the Danube, 226\n Constantinople, 228\n Modern Athens, 231\n The Acropolis, 233\n The Parthenon of the Acropolis, 234\n The Acropolis of Athens as it was, 235\n Turkish Lady, 243\n Island of Patmos, 247\n Cedars of Lebanon, 263\n Ruins of Baalbek, 274\n Damascus, 278\n Tombs of the Caliphs, 290\n Sea of Galilee, 313\n Palms in Bush Form, 321\n Priest of the Greek Church, 325\n Vale and City of Nazareth, 330\n Interior of a Caravansary, 338\n Dancing Girl, 341\n Snake Charmer, 343\n Ancient Sheep Fold, 344\n Mt. of Olives, 348\n An Arab Horseman, 350\n A Bedouin, 352\n View on the Road from Jerusalem to Jericho, 356\n Ford of the Jordan, 391\n View in the Valley of the Jordan, 395\n The Dead Sea, 399\n Lot\u2019s Wife, 402\n Ruth, 415\n Cave of the Nativity, 418\n Bethlehem, 420\n Pools of Solomon, 423\n Mosque of Hebron, 424\n Government Guards, 438\n Jerusalem, 448\n Hills and Walls of Jerusalem, 450\n Old Olive Trees in Gethsemane, 455\n Street in Jerusalem, 459\n Wailing Place of the Jews, 461\n Mosque of Omar, 470\n Solomon\u2019s Temple as it was, 474\n Holy Sepulchre, 483\n Pool of Siloam, 486\n Tombs of the Kings of Judah, 489\n Burial of Christ, 492\n The Castle of David and Jaffa Gate, 497\n An Egyptian, 502\n Donkey Boys of Cairo, 507\n Pyramid and Sphinx, 509\n Pompeii, Street of Cornelius Rufus, 517\n Climbing Mt. Vesuvius, 528\n Colosseum of Rome, 537\n John H. Eager, 555\n Baptist Chapel at Pellice, Italy, 559\n Leaning Tower of Pisa, 565\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nOFF FOR NEW YORK.\n\n Preparations\u2014A Prayer and a Benediction\u2014An Impatient Horse and a\n Run for Eternity\u2014Strange Sceptre and Despotic Sway\u2014Beauty in White\n Robes\u2014Approaching the Metropolis\u2014Business Heart of the New World\u2014A\n Bright Face and a Cordial Greeting\u2014An Hour with the President\u2014More\n for a Shilling and Less for a Pound\u2014A Stranger Dies in the Author\u2019s\n Arms\u2014Namesake\u2014Prospects of Becoming a Great Man\u2014A Confused College\n Student\u2014The Hour of Departure\u2014Native Land.\n\n\nPREPARATIONS for the trip were completed when the week ended. Sunday,\nwith its sweet privileges and solemn services, came and went. Mother\nand I knelt and prayed together. Rising to our feet, she looked up\nthrough her tears and smilingly said, \u201cSon, the Lord has given me\nstrength to bear the separation. \u2018Go, and \u2018God be with you till we meet\nagain.\u2019\u201d\n\nMonday morning, as the hands on the dial plate point to seven, Johnson\nand I seat ourselves in a carriage which is drawn by a horse whose\npath is steel, whose heart is fire, and whose speed is lightning. This\nimpatient steed stands champing his bit, and when the word is given\nhe starts on his long journey. At one bound he leaps the majestic\nriver, and on, on he rushes as if he fears eternity will come before\nhe reaches his journey\u2019s end. After traveling only a few hours, we run\ninto a blinding snow-storm which reminds us that Winter still wields\nhis icy sceptre, and rules with despotic sway. This storm continues for\nhours; in truth, it lasts until apparently the whole earth is wrapped\nin a mantle of white, and until the majestic mountains of Pennsylvania\nseem to rise up in their virgin purity to kiss the vaulted sky.\n\nWashington, Baltimore, and Philadelphia, as seen in their white robes,\nare more beautiful than ever. Winter\u2019s frosty breath has not chilled\ntheir blood. They are filled with energy and throbbing with life. From\nPhiladelphia to New York, there is almost one continuous string of cars\non each track. Along here our fiery steed sometimes runs sixty miles an\nhour.\n\nLong before we reach the metropolis, the shadows of the sombre evening\nhave shut out the light of day. As we enter this great city, it looks\nas if a thousand times ten thousand lamps are all trimmed and burning.\nNew York is a marvelous city.\n\nAs much time as I have spent here, I never cease to wonder at it. Who\ncould walk these streets without wondering at the miles of granite\nbuildings, all joining each other and towering up from seven to twelve\nand fourteen stories high; at the broad sidewalks crowded from six\no\u2019clock in the morning until ten at night with one ceaseless stream of\nhumanity; at the people rushing along at a breakneck speed, as if they\nwere going to great fires in different parts of the city.\n\nNotwithstanding the double-tracked elevated railway and the\ndouble-tracked horse-cars, New York can not furnish transportation\nfor the people. She will, I think, soon be compelled to arrange for\nan underground railway\u2014this is a necessity. New York is the business\nheart of the New World. Every American loves it. It is his pride at\nhome, his boast abroad.\n\nAt Temple Court I receive my mail, and meet my friend, Dr. H. L.\nMorehouse, corresponding secretary of the Baptist Home Missionary\nSociety. As usual, his face is bright and his greeting cordial. He\nis planning great things for God, and expecting great things of God.\nFew men have done more to honor God and build up the Baptist cause in\nAmerica than Henry L. Morehouse.\n\nA pleasant hour is spent with Dr. Norvin Green, President of the\nWestern Union Telegraph Company. His reminiscences of European travel\nare rehearsed. He says that in London one can buy more for a shilling\nand less for a pound than in any other place on earth. President Green\ngives me a letter to his European representative, and kindly extends\nother courtesies that are duly appreciated.\n\nAfter attending to banking business and securing our ocean passage, we\ndecide to run over to New Haven and spend a few days with some special\nfriends. The double railroad track between New York and New Haven is\nconstantly in use. When about half way between the two cities, our\nengineer spies a handsomely dressed gentleman walking on the other\ntrack, and going in the same direction that we are going. A train is\ncoming facing the gentleman. Unconscious of the presence of more than\none train, he steps from one track to the other, just in front of our\nengine. Seeing the danger, both engineers try to stop their trains,\nbut do not succeed. Both blow their whistles at the same time, but the\nwalker, thinking all the noise is made by one train, pays no attention.\nCrash! Our engine strikes the man, and throws him twenty feet from the\ntrack. The trains stop. The passengers gather around the unfortunate\nman. The blood is oozing from his ears and nostrils. I take his head\non my shoulder and raise him up to get air. He struggles\u2014gasps for\nbreath\u2014and all is over. A letter in his pocket indicates his name and\nresidence.\n\nA carriage is waiting for us at New Haven. On reaching there, we are\ndriven at once to the happy home of Mr. W. G. Shepard, who forthwith\npresents me to Master Walter Whittle Shepard. This important character\nis only twelve months old, but is full of life and promise. If he\ncombines the sweet spirit and graceful manners of his mother with the\nstrong character and bright intellect of his father, I believe he will\nmake a great and useful man notwithstanding the fact that he bears the\nauthor\u2019s name.\n\nNew Haven, with her one hundred thousand souls and great manufacturing\ninterests, with her parks and colleges, with her broad streets and\nlordly elms, is one of the prettiest cities on the American continent.\n\nWhen we retired last night, the snow was falling thick and fast; but we\nawoke this morning to find that God had snatched a beautiful Sabbath\nday from the bosom of the storm.\n\nMark Twain is in New Haven. In the course of a lecture delivered here,\nhe said: \u201cA certain college student got the words theological and\nzoological confused\u2014he did not know one from the other. In talking to\na friend, this collegian said: \u2018There are a great many donkeys in the\nTheological Garden.\u2019\u201d\n\nMy stay in New Haven has been as pleasant as a midsummer dream, and\nseemingly as short as a widower\u2019s courtship. But we must now return to\nNew York. In less than three hours we will leave by the State Line, on\n\u201cThe State of Indiana,\u201d for Glasgow, Scotland. And now that the time of\nmy departure has come, I find myself breathing a prayer to God, asking\nthat He will direct my course; that He will guide my footsteps; that in\nall my wanderings He will keep me from danger and death; that He will\nfinally bring me back in health and safety to the land of my birth, to\nthe friends of my childhood, to those whom I love and who are dearer to\nme than life itself. And so may it be. More heartily than ever before,\nI can say:\n\n \u201cMy native country! thee,\n Land of the noble free,\n Thy name I love:\n I love thy rocks and rills,\n Thy woods and templed hills;\n My heart with rapture thrills\n Like that above.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nON THE HIGH SEAS.\n\n A Difficulty with the Officers of the Ship\u2014A Parting Scene\u2014Danger on\n the Atlantic\u2014A Parallel Drawn\u2014Liberty Enlightening the World\u2014Life\n on the Ocean Wave\u2014Friends for the Journey\u2014The Ship a Little World\u2014A\n Clown and his Partner\u2014Birds of a Feather\u2014Whales\u2014Brain Food\u2014Storm\n at Sea\u2014A Frightened Preacher\u2014Storm Rages\u2014A Sea of Glory\u2014Richard\n Himself Again\u2014Land in Sight\u2014Scene Described\u2014Historic Castle\u2014Voyage\n Ended\u2014Two Irishmen.\n\n\nSTEPPING on board the steamship State of Indiana, I say to the purser:\n\u201cSir, I am from the West; I want elbow-room. Can\u2019t you take away\nthese partitions and turn several of these compartments into one?\u201d He\nreplies: \u201cYou are _now_ from the West, but you will soon be _from_ this\nship, unless you keep quiet.\u201d From this remark I see at once that the\nfellow is a crank, and I will either let him have his own way or give\nhim a whipping. I choose the former; so we shake hands over the bloody\nchasm\u2014or, I should say, over the briny deep.\n\nI can never forget the scene that takes place at the wharf. The hour\nfor departure has arrived. Hundreds of people have gathered around the\nvessel. As the last bell rings, there is hurrying to and fro. Friend\nleaving friend; husband kissing wife; fathers and daughters, mothers\nand sons, mingling their tears together, as parents and children take\ntheir last fond embrace of each other. Ah! There are streaming eyes and\nheavy hearts. As the vessel moves off, one sees the throwing of kisses,\nthe waving of hats and handkerchiefs. But we are gone. Tear-bedimmed\neyes can no longer behold the forms of loved ones. I dare say that many\nof these partings will be renewed no more on this earth.\n\nOne hazards very little in committing himself to the winds and\nwaves of the Atlantic when he is on a goodly vessel, wisely planned\nand skillfully put together; when the sea-captain is faithful and\nexperienced, and understands the workings of the mariner\u2019s compass and\nthe position of the polar star. But my very soul is stirred within me\nwhen I think of the thousands and tens of thousands who are sailing on\nlife\u2019s dark and tempestuous ocean without a chart or compass; without\na rudder to steer or a hand to direct them; without the light from the\nStar of Bethlehem to guide them over the trackless waters to the Haven\nof Rest. They came from nowhere! They see nothing ahead of them save\nthe rock-bound coast of eternity, beset with false lights which are\nluring them on to the breakers of death and the whirlpool of despair.\nFrom the bottom of my heart do I thank God for the \u201cOld Ship of Zion,\u201d\nplanned by Divine Wisdom, freighted with immortal souls, guided by the\nStar of Hope, commanded by Jesus Christ, bound for the Port of Glory!\n\nAs we leave New York, the Bartholdi Statue on Bedloe\u2019s Island is one\nof the last things we behold. This statue has been justly called \u201cthe\nwonder of the century,\u201d and one feels a national pride in the thought\nthat this statue, rising three hundred feet in the air, her right hand\nlifting her torch on high\u2014that this statue, the wonder of the age,\nis a fit emblem of the country to which it belongs\u2014_it is Liberty\nenlightening the world_!\n\nI can not pause here to speak of the deep, strange and strong impulses\nthat stir one\u2019s soul as he sees his native land fade from view. I must,\ninstead, proceed to tell the reader something about\n\n \u201cA Life on the ocean wave,\n A home on the rolling deep,\n Where the scattered waters rave\n And the winds their revels keep.\u201d\n\nThe first few days, if the sea is calm and quiet, and so it is with us,\nare spent in forming new acquaintances. No one wants an introduction\nto any one. Everybody is supposed to know everybody else. A hearty\nhand-shake, a friendly look of the eye, and you are friends for the\njourney. And I dare say that many who here meet will be firm friends\nfor the journey of life. The company on board the ship is a little\nworld within itself, representing almost every phase of human life,\nfrom the lowest to the highest. Here a statesman, there a philosopher;\nhere a musician, there an artist. We have one wonderful fellow on\nboard, who is here, there, and everywhere. He is anything, everything\nand nothing. He evidently has more life in his heels than brains in\nhis head, and more folly on his tongue than reverence in his heart\u2014a\npretended musician, who has decidedly a better voice for eating soup\nthan for singing songs. And it comes to pass that a certain small boy\nfollows the example of this clown, and the two together make things\nlively and thoroughly uncomfortable for the rest of the party.\n\nNaturally enough, after these acquaintances are formed, birds of a\nfeather flock together. The Rev. Dr. Malcom MacVicar, Chancellor\nof the MacMaster University of Toronto, and his highly cultivated\nlady, are among our fellow-passengers. I first met the Doctor some\nyears ago, when in Canada. He is an author of considerable note. For\ntwenty-five years previous to his going to Canada, he was probably the\nmost conspicuous figure in the educational circles of New York State.\nThe University over which he is now called to preside is a Baptist\ninstitution with a million dollars endowment. Although raised to high\nposition and crowned with honors, Doctor MacVicar is as humble and\nunassuming as though he were in the lowliest walks of life. Prof.\nHoney, of Yale University, places his wife under my care. Mrs. Honey is\na lady of lovely character and superior attainments. Those whom I have\nmentioned, together with two physicians from Indiana, and Rev. Mr.\nSmith from Canada, form a little party somewhat to ourselves, though we\ntry not to appear clannish.\n\nThe passengers are occasionally attracted by whales, and are much\ninterested in watching them. Frequently two or three may be seen\nfollowing the vessel for miles and miles at a time, to get such food as\nmay be thrown overboard. Then they strike out ahead of us, or to one\nside, chasing each other through the water. These monsters of the deep\nremind me of a former class-mate, who was noted more for genial nature\nthan for strong intellect. One day, while the class in chemistry were\nreciting, he said:\n\n\u201cProfessor, I understand that fish is good brain-food. Is it true?\u201d\n\nThe teacher replied: \u201cYes, I am disposed to think there is some truth\nin the statement.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am glad to know that, Professor, I am going to try it. How much do\nyou think I ought to eat?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Sir,\u201d responded the sarcastic professor, \u201cI should recommend at\nleast half a dozen whales.\u201d\n\nI am sure, however, that when I last saw the student in question he had\nnot begun the eating of fish.\n\nThe fourth day is stormy and the sea rough. The women and children\nare sick, very sick. The men are thoroughly prepared to sympathize\nwith them. They all lose their sea-legs. The vessel is turned into a\nhospital. It is really amusing to hear the different expressions from\nthese afflicted sons of Adam.\n\nOne fellow, amid his heaving and straining, says: \u201cI am not \u2018zac\u2019-ly\nsea-sick, but my stomach hurts me mightily.\u201d\n\nAnother, in like condition, says: \u201cIf they would stop the ship only\nfive minutes I would be all right.\u201d\n\nIn the midst of the severest agony, an old gentleman ejaculates\nsomething like this: \u201cI left my children and loved ones at home, and I\nexpect to return in four months; but I would stay in Europe four years,\nif I knew there would be a railroad built across in that time.\u201d\n\nI did not hear this myself, but it is said of one clergyman on board\nthat amid the fierceness of the storm he became exceedingly uneasy.\nWringing his hands, and approaching the chief officer, he exclaimed:\n\u201cO Captain, Captain, is there any danger of d-e-a-t-h?\u201d The captain\nreplied: \u201cWould that I could give you some encouragement; but, my\nReverend Sir, in five minutes we shall all be in Heaven.\u201d At this, the\ndistressed preacher clasped his hands and cried aloud, \u201cGod forbid!\u201d A\nUnited States Minister on board said that any one who would cross the\nocean for pleasure, would go to hell for amusement.\n\nFor five days the sea rages, and the vessel rolls and labors and\ngroans. Looking out over the waters, I see ten thousand hills and\nmountains, each crowned with white surf, which in the distance looks\nlike melting snow. Between these mountains there are deep gorges and\nbroad valleys. A moment later the mountains and valleys exchange\nplaces. Now on the crest of a wave, the vessel is borne high in the\nair, and now she drops into a yawning gulf below, coming down first on\none side then on the other. Now and then she pitches head-foremost,\nreeling and staggering like a drunken man.\n\nBut, as usual, calm and quiet follow the storm. The sea is now as\nplacid as a lake. The sun is going down, apparently to bathe himself in\na sea of glory. In a few minutes the gleaming stars will look down to\nsee their bright faces reflected in the water. The sick are restored to\nhealth, the staggering walk is gone, and \u201cRichard is himself again.\u201d\n\nWe were in sight of land almost the whole of yesterday. About twilight\nlast evening, we viewed the western coast of \u201cbonnie Scotland.\u201d I arose\nat an early hour this morning, to find our stately craft smoothly\ngliding on the placid waters of the river Clyde. It is a picture worthy\nof the artist\u2019s brush\u2014a scene well calculated to inspire every emotion\nof the poet\u2019s soul.\n\nOn the north side of the majestic river, there is a sodded plain,\nbroad and unbroken, gradually rising from the water\u2019s edge. As we view\nthis wooded landscape o\u2019er, we see, here and there, farmhouses, which\nare as picturesque and beautiful as they are quaint and old, with\nthe smoke from their ivy-covered chimneys coiling up and ascending on\nhigh like incense from the altar of burnt offering. Turning our eyes\nsouthward, we behold, hard by the stream, a long chain of towering\nmountains, whose gently sloping sides are carpeted with green grass,\nand girt around with budding trees. The heavy rain-drops on the grass\nand leaves are sparkling in the light of the new-risen sun. The\nmountains are echoing the merry tune which comes from the whistling\nplowman on the opposite shore. Now, between these two prospects, on\nthe broad and unruffled bosom of this flowing river, our heavily-laden\nvessel, as though she were weary because of her long journey, moves\nslowly, gracefully, noiselessly, with the stars and the stripes proudly\nstreaming from her mast-head. Indeed so motionless and queenly is our\ngoodly vessel in her onward course, that she is apparently standing\nstill while the mountains and plains are passing in review before her.\n\nA little farther up the stream, we see Dumbarton Castle standing in the\nriver. This historic rock measures a mile in circumference, and rises\nthree hundred feet above the water. This castle was at one time the\nprison of Sir William Wallace, and afterwards the stronghold of Robert\nBruce. From here on to Glasgow the Clyde is lined on both sides with\niron-foundries and ship-building yards.\n\nThe voyage ends at Glasgow. The passengers are glad once more to\npress _terra firma_ under their feet. I would write something about\nGlasgow, but I am like the more hopeful one of two Irishmen who went to\nAmerica. Landing in New York, they started up town. They had gone only\na few paces, when one of them saw a ten dollar gold piece lying on the\nsidewalk, and stooped to pick it up. The other said: \u201cOh, don\u2019t bother\nto get that little coin; we will foind plenty of pieces larger than\nthat.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE LAND OF BURNS.\n\n English Railway Coaches\u2014Millionaires, Crowned Heads, and Fools\u2014A\n Conductor Caught on a Cow-catcher\u2014Last Rose of Summer\u2014Off on\n Foot to the Land of Burns\u2014Appearance of Country and Condition of\n People\u2014Destination Reached\u2014Doctor Whitsitt and Oliver Twist\u2014The\n Ploughman Poet\u2014His Cottage\u2014His Relics\u2014His Work and Worth\u2014His Grave\n and Monument\u2014A Broad View of Life.\n\n\nI AROSE this morning at an early hour, and, after partaking of a hearty\nbreakfast, I at once repair to the Grand Central Depot in Glasgow\nwhere, a few minutes later, I seat myself in an English railway car.\nThese cars are, of course, made on the same general plan as ours, yet\nthey are in some respects quite different. The coaches are of about\nthe same length as those used in America, but not so wide by eighteen\ninches or two feet. Each coach is divided into five compartments, each\nbeing five and one-half or six feet long. Each of these compartments\nhas two doors, one on either side of the car, also two seats. Persons\noccupying these different seats must face each other, so one party or\nthe other must ride backwards. They have no water or other conveniences\non the train, as we Americans are accustomed to; no bell-rope to\npull, in case of accident; no baggage-checks\u2014each passenger must\nlook after his own baggage. As for myself, I have no baggage, save\nwhat I can carry in the car with me. They have first, second, and\nthird-class compartments, the fare per mile being four, three, and two\ncents respectively. I have examined closely, and can not detect one\nparticle of difference between the first and second-class compartments,\neither one being fully as good as our first-class car. The English\nfirst and second-class compartments are slightly superior to the\nthird-class. It is a saying among the Europeans that only millionaires,\nsoreheads (crowned heads), and fools ride first-class. Being neither a\nmillionaire nor a crowned head, and, as I am unwilling to be classed as\na fool, I always take third-class passage.\n\nI believe in talking, asking questions, and exchanging ideas with every\nman I meet, be he high or low, rich or poor. So, while standing at\nthe depot this morning, amid a great crowd of people, looking at the\nengines, I remark to a pleasant-looking conductor standing near me,\nthat there is quite a difference in the engines used in this country\nand those used in America. He wants to know what that difference is.\nI tell him that our engines have cow-catchers before them and his\nhas none. \u201cA cow-catcher,\u201d says he, \u201cand what is that?\u201d I explain to\nhim that a cow-catcher is an arrangement fastened on in front of the\nengines to remove obstructions from the road, to knock cows from the\ntrack, etc. \u201cAh, indeed! We never need those in this country, and can\nyou tell me,\u201d he continues, \u201cwhy we do not need them?\u201d \u201cWell, sir,\u201d I\nreply, \u201cI can see only one reason.\u201d \u201cAnd what is that, pray?\u201d I answer,\n\u201cIt must be, sir, that you do not run fast enough to overtake a cow.\u201d\nThis creates quite a laugh at the conductors expense, though none seems\nto enjoy it more heartily than he. Just at this moment, the train\nstarts, and I am off for Ayr, some forty miles away.\n\n[Illustration: CLARENCE P. JOHNSON.]\n\nAs I step from the train in Ayr, the hack-drivers gather around me like\nbees around the \u201cLast Rose of Summer.\u201d \u201cCarriage, carriage, sir?\u201d they\ncry. \u201cI\u2019ll be glad to show you through the city, and take you to Burns\u2019\nMonument\u2014carriage, carriage?\u201d Tipping my hat, I reply, \u201cNo, gentlemen,\nI will take a carriage some other time, when I have more leisure. I\nprefer walking to-day, as I am in a great hurry.\u201d So, each with a\ncane in his hand and a portmanteau strapped on his back, Johnson, my\npleasant traveling companion, and I set out on foot for \u201cThe Land of\nBurns.\u201d\n\nLuckily, we meet with some intelligent farmers who cheerfully give us\nmuch valuable information about the country. They, in turn, ask many\nquestions concerning far-off America. Land in this part of Scotland\nis worth from two hundred to three hundred dollars per acre, and the\nannual rent is twenty to twenty-five dollars per acre. Most of the land\nin this country is owned by a few \u201clords\u201d and \u201cnobles,\u201d and the \u201ccommon\npeople\u201d are in bondage to them. They are in poverty and rags, as might\nnaturally be expected from the exorbitant rents which they have to pay.\n\n \u201cMan\u2019s inhumanity to man,\n Makes countless millions mourn.\u201d\n\nThe principal crops raised by the farmers of this country are wheat,\noats, rye, barley and Irish potatoes. They grow no Indian corn. They do\nnot know what corn-bread is\u2014many of them have never heard of it.\n\n[Illustration: BURNS\u2019 COTTAGE.]\n\nAfter a walk of an hour and a half through a most charming country,\nwe reach our destination. I am now sitting in the room where was\nborn Robert Burns who, Dr. Whitsitt says, was the most important\npersonage that the British Isles have produced since the time of Oliver\nTwist\u2014oh, excuse me, I should have said, since the time of Oliver\nCromwell. I would have had it right at first, if that \u201ctwist\u201d had\nnot gotten into my mind. This important personage was born 128 years\nago. How long this cottage was standing before that time, we do not\nknow; but, as you may imagine, it is now a rude and antique structure.\nIt is built of stone, and the walls are about six feet high. It has\nan old-fashioned straw or thatched roof and a stone floor. A hundred\nyears ago, this room had only one window. That is only eighteen inches\nsquare, and is on the back side of the house. In the time of Burns, the\ncottage had only two rooms, though some additions have since been made.\nThe entire place is now owned by the \u201cAyr Burns\u2019 Monument Association,\u201d\nand the original rooms are used only as a museum, wherein are collected\nthe furniture, books, manuscripts and other relics of the illustrious\nbard.\n\nI have, for a long time, been somewhat familiar with the history and\nwritings of the \u201cPeasant Poet,\u201d whose birthplace I now visit, and I\nhave often read Carlyle\u2019s caustic essay on Burns. I have just finished\nreading his life, written by James Currie. I have read, to-day, \u201cThe\nHoly Fair,\u201d \u201cTam O\u2019Shanter,\u201d \u201cMan Was Made to Mourn,\u201d and \u201cTo Mary,\nin Heaven,\u201d and now, as I sit in the room where this High Priest of\nNature first saw light, as I sit at the table whereon he used to write,\nand view the relics which once belonged to him, I am carried back for\na hundred years and made to breathe the atmosphere of the eighteenth\ncentury. As I sit within these silent walls, a strange feeling comes\nover me. I hear, or seem to hear, the lingering vibrations of that\ngolden lyre, whose master indeed is dead, but whose music still finds a\nresponsive echo in every human heart. Robert Burns, the man, was born\nof a woman but Robert Burns, the poet, was born of Nature! He stole the\nthoughts of Nature and told them to man. It was believed long ago that\nBurns was the High Priest, the interpreter, of Nature, and\n\n \u201cTime but the impression deeper makes,\n As streams their channels deeper wear.\u201d\n\nThe multitudes who hither come, prove by their coming that\n\n \u201cSuch graves as his are pilgrim shrines,\n Shrines to code nor creed confined\u2014\n The Delphic vales, the Palestines\u2014\n The Meccas of the mind.\u201d\n\nSome three hundred yards beyond the cottage, we come to the \u201cBurns\u2019\nMonument,\u201d beautifully situated on \u201cThe braes and banks o\u2019bonnie Doon,\nTugar\u2019s winding stream.\u201d A more appropriate location could not have\nbeen selected for this monument, as near by are the \u201cAlloway Kirk,\u201d the\n\u201cWallace Tower,\u201d the \u201cAuld Mill,\u201d and the \u201cAuld Hermit Ayr,\u201d and other\nlocalities rendered famous by the muse of the ploughman poet. I stand\non the \u201cBrig o\u2019 Doon\u201d before reaching the keystone of which Meg, Tam\nO\u2019Shanter\u2019s mare, \u201cleft behind her ain grey tail.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: BURNS\u2019 MONUMENT.]\n\nFrom the top of this towering monument, which stands in the midst of\na beautiful flower-garden, I for once take a \u201cbroad view of life.\u201d\nWith one sweep of the eye, I see the Doon, the Ayr, the Clyde, the\nocean! The scene is made more grand and inspiring, more picturesque and\nbeautiful, by the lakes, plains, hills and mountains which lie between,\noverhang, and tower above, these laughing rivers. Ah! me, how my spirit\nis stirred! Like Father Ryan, I have thoughts too lofty for language\nto reach. In describing what I now see and feel, silence is the most\nimpressive language that can be used. Thought is deeper than speech.\nFeeling is deeper than thought.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nEDINBURGH.\n\n A Jolly Party of Americans\u2014Dim-Eyed Pilgrim\u2014Young Goslings\u2014An\n American Goose Ranch\u2014Birthplace of Robert Pollok and Mary Queen of\n Scots\u2014The Boston of Europe\u2014Home of Illustrious Men\u2014A Monument to\n the Author\u2014Monument to Sir Walter Scott\u2014Edinburgh Castle\u2014Murdered\n and Head Placed on the Wall\u2014Cromwell\u2019s Siege\u2014Stones of Power\u2014A\n Dazzling Diadem\u2014A Golden Collar\u2014Baptized in Blood\u2014Meeting American\n Friends.\n\n\nWE ARE now in Edinburgh; we have been here some days. On our way from\nAyr, we fell in with a jolly party of American gentlemen. The eyes of\none grey-haired brother in the crowd are somewhat dimmed with age,\nthough he is unwilling to acknowledge it.\n\nAs the train made a graceful curve around a mountain, we came into a\nlarge, green pasture where many sheep were grazing. Now, the people of\nthis country feed their sheep on turnips\u2014large, yellow turnips, with\nthe tops cut off. While in this pasture, we saw, some seventy-five\nor a hundred yards from the road, a great quantity of these turnips\nscattered over the grass for sheep food. The dim-eyed pilgrim spied the\nyellow objects and, pointing to them, he enthusiastically exclaimed:\n\u201cOh, what a fine lot of young goslings!\u201d Then he added, \u201cThere are the\ngoslings, but where are the geese?\u201d I explained that those objects he\nsaw were not \u201cgoslings\u201d but turnips, and suggested that the goose was\non our train. Before we separated, the two parties became fast friends.\nWe all agreed to throw in and buy our friend a farm, to be known, not\nas a turnip patch, but as \u201cThe American Goose Ranch,\u201d and on this ranch\nwe are to meet the first day of May of each year, to discuss vital\nquestions and living issues pertaining to the life and character of\n\u201cyoung goslings.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: EDINBURGH.]\n\nLeaving the pasture, we passed the Moorhouse farm, where Robert Pollok,\nauthor of \u201cThe Course of Time,\u201d was born, in 1798, two years after the\ndeath of Robert Burns. We came by Linlithgow, the birthplace of Queen\nMary. The majestic ruins of its once proud palace are still standing on\na green hillside near the town, as if to impress the passer-by with the\nmutability of all human greatness and all human grandeur.\n\nIn one hour more we had reached the end of our journey. Edinburgh has\ntwo hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, just half the number of\nGlasgow, and is a magnificent city. It is the pride of every Scotchman.\nIt is called \u201cThe Classic City,\u201d \u201cThe Bonnie City,\u201d \u201cThe Capital City,\u201d\n\u201cThe Monumental City,\u201d and \u201cThe Athens of Britain.\u201d I expected to hear\nit called \u201cThe Boston of Europe,\u201d but the people did not seem to think\nof it. This was the birthplace of Sir Walter Scott, the novelist and\npoet; the home of Hume, the scholar and historian; of John Knox, the\nreformer, who never feared the face of man, nor doubted the Word of\nGod; of Thomas Chalmers, the Astronomical preacher from whose pulpit\nthe stars poured forth a flood of light and glory; and it was for a\nthousand years the home of the Scottish Kings and state officials. It\nis now the political home of Gladstone, who is perhaps the greatest\nliving statesman, and the home of Drummond, author of \u201cNatural law in\nthe Spiritual World.\u201d\n\nThe city is filled with many objects of peculiar interest, only a\nfew of which I will mention. About a hundred years ago, though the\npeople here speak of it as \u201crecently,\u201d the city was greatly enlarged,\nand I suppose the object of the enlargement was to make room for\nthe monuments and statues. One sees a monument on almost every\nstreet-corner, and there is a perfect forest of statuary. These Scotch\npeople are very fond of honoring great men. I am going to leave here\nto-morrow, for fear they put up a monument to me. They have not said\nanything about the monument yet, but I notice the police have been\nfollowing me about for two or three days, as though they thought of\nsomething of that sort.\n\n[Illustration: SCOTT\u2019S MONUMENT.]\n\nOn Princess street, in the prettiest and most romantic part of the\ncity, stands a colossal monument to Sir Walter Scott which was\nfashioned by one of the world\u2019s greatest artists, and which is said to\nbe one of the most superb structures of the kind ever built. I am quite\nprepared to believe the statement. In this monument architectural\ngrandeur and artistic beauty are blended in the sweetest and most\nperfect manner imaginable. Like a sunset at sea, it never becomes\nmonotonous, but is always pleasing. A fit emblem this of Scott himself,\nin whom a strong character was so gracefully blended with smooth\nand polished manners. This monument may be painted, but it beggars\ndescription.\n\nTo me, however, the most interesting object in Edinburgh is the Castle,\nlocated just in the centre of the city. The Castle is built on a high\nrock whose base covers an area of eleven acres. This rock rises to a\nheight of four hundred feet, its summit being accessible only in one\nplace, the other portions of the rock being very precipitous, and, in\nsome places, absolutely perpendicular. The top of the rock presents\na level surface, has an area of five acres, and is surmounted by a\nmassive stone wall built close around on the edge of the cliff. On this\nstorm-beaten rock, and within these moss-covered walls, stands the\nhistorical Castle, built ten centuries ago. In appearance the Castle\nis \u201cgrand, gloomy, and peculiar.\u201d In his charming poem, Marmion, Scott\nrefers to it thus:\n\n \u201cSuch dusky grandeur clothed the night,\n Where the huge castle holds its state,\n And all the steep slope down;\n Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky,\n Piled deep and massive, close and high,\n Mine own romantic town!\u201d\n\nAccording to the history of Scotland, which to me is as charming as\na story of romance, this Castle has a strange and bloody tale to\ntell. Here James II was confined, likewise James III. Here \u201cThe Black\nDinner\u201d was given, and the Douglasses were murdered. Here the Duke of\nArgyle and the good Montrose were beheaded. Montrose, you remember,\nis a conspicuous figure in Scottish history. He was loyal to his king\nand country. He was courageous as a lion, and as true and noble as he\nwas brave. Yet he was tried before a false court, whose verdict was\nthat on the next day he should be put to death, and his head placed on\nthe prison wall. When permitted to reply, Montrose, in his calm and\ndignified manner, stepped forward and, with his usual boldness, said to\nthe Parliament: \u201cSirs, you heap more honor upon me in having my head\nplaced upon the walls of this Castle, for the cause in which I die,\nthan if you had this day decreed to me a golden statue, or had ordered\nmy picture placed in the King\u2019s bed-chamber.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: EDINBURGH CASTLE.]\n\nIn 1650, Cromwell besieged the Castle, for more than two months,\nwithout success. This was the home of the beautiful Queen Mary at the\ntime she gave birth to James VI, since whose reign the whole of Great\nBritain has been ruled by one sceptre.\n\nIn what is called \u201cThe Crown Room\u201d of the Castle, are \u201cThe Stones of\nPower,\u201d or the \u201cEmblems of Scottish Royalty.\u201d These regalia consist\nof three articles, the Crown, the Sceptre, and the Sword of State. By\na fortunate circumstance, I obtain free access to these royal relics.\nThey are entirely new to me, hence I examine them closely. Thinking\nperhaps the reader would like to know something of an earthly crown\nbefore going home to wear an Heavenly one, I give the following\ndescription of this one: The lower part is composed of two circles, the\nundermost much broader than that which rises above it. Both are made of\npurest gold. The under and broader circle is adorned with twenty-two\nprecious stones, such as diamonds, rubies, topazes, amethysts,\nemeralds and sapphires. There is an Oriental pearl interposed between\neach of these stones. The smaller circle, which surmounts the larger\none, is studded with small diamonds and sapphires alternately. From\nthis upper circle two imperial arches rise, crossing each other at\nright angles, and closing at the top in a pinnacle of burnished gold.\n\nThe Sceptre is a slender and an elegant rod of silver, three feet long,\ngilded with gold and set with diamonds. The Sword of State is five feet\nlong. The scabbard is made of crimson velvet and is ornamented with\nbeautiful needlework and silver.\n\nIn the same glass case with the above-named insignia, is a golden\ncollar of the \u201cOrder of the Garter,\u201d which collar is said to be that\npresented by Queen Elizabeth to King James VI when he was created\nKnight of that Order. In the same case, is also a ruby ring labeled as\nthe coronation ring of Charles I. But enough about\n\n \u201cThe steep and belted rock,\n Where trusted lie the monarchy\u2019s last gems\u2014\n The Sceptre, Sword, and Crown that graced the brows,\n Since Father Fungus, of an hundred kings.\u201d\n\nI am having a perfect feast in re-reading the \u201cHeart of Midlothian,\u201d\nthe plot of which is laid in this city. I never had such a thirst for\nknowledge, nor did I ever enjoy reading so much as now. I make daily\nvisits to the Haymarket, to the old Tolbooth, to Holyrood Palace, to\nArthur\u2019s Seat, to the cottage where the Dean family lived, and to many\nplaces which have been baptized in blood, and about which Scott\u2019s muse\nloved to sing.\n\nWhile in the Waverly Hotel, a few days ago, I chanced to meet Reverends\nJ. K. Pace and W. T. Hundly, Baptist preachers from South Carolina.\nWhat a happy meeting! We were together only two days. Theirs was a\nflying trip, and they had to rush on to London and the Continent\nwithout seeing much of \u201cBonnie Scotland.\u201d We agree to meet in six weeks\nin London or Paris.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nA TRAMP-TRIP THROUGH THE HIGHLANDS.\n\n His Royal Highness and a Demand for Fresh Air\u2014A Boy in his Father\u2019s\n Clothes\u2014Among the Common People\u2014Nature\u2019s Stronghold\u2014Treason Found\n in Trust\u2014Body Quartered and Exposed on Iron Spikes\u2014Receiving a\n Royal Salute\u2014Following no Road but a Winding River\u2014Sleeveless\n Dresses and Dyed Hands\u2014Obelisk to a Novelist and Poet\u2014On the\n Scotch Lakes\u2014Eyes to See but See Not\u2014A Night of Rest and a\n Morning of Surprise\u2014A Terrestrial Heaven\u2014A Poetic Inspiration\u2014A\n Deceptive Mountain\u2014A Glittering Crown\u2014Hard to Climb\u2014An Adventure\n and a Narrow Escape\u2014Johnson Gives Out\u2014Put to Bed on the Mountain\n Side\u2014On and Up\u2014A Summit at Last\u2014Niagara Petrified\u2014Overtaken\n by the Night\u2014Johnson Lost in the Mountains\u2014A Fruitless\n Search\u2014Bewildered\u2014Exhausted\u2014Sick.\n\n\nAFTER a sojourn of ten days, I left Edinburgh, the site of Scottish\nnobility. While there I heard so much of Dukes and Earls, of Lords and\nNobles, of Her Majesty and His Royal Highness, etc., that it became\nnecessary for me to seek some mountain peak where I could get a full\nsupply of fresh air. If there is such a thing, I have a pious contempt\nfor high-sounding titles of honor and nobility, and especially when,\nas is too often the case, the appellations themselves are of more\nconsequence than the men who wear them. A man may indeed have a _great\nname_ \u201cthrust upon him,\u201d but _greatness itself_ is not thus attained. I\nlike to see a son inherit his father\u2019s good qualities, and the more of\nthem the better, but as for honors and titles, let him win those for\nhimself. I saw a \u201cDuke\u201d the other day who reminded me of a half-grown\nboy on the streets wearing his father\u2019s worn-out pants and coat and hat.\n\nWell, as I started out to say, I became so nauseated with these\ninherited, worn-out, loose-fitting titles of nobility that I determined\nto leave the rendezvous of \u201chonor,\u201d and get out into the country\namong the common people. Accordingly I left Edinburgh, a week ago\nto-day, for an extended tramp-trip through the Highlands. I came first\nby rail, via Glasgow, to Dunbarton, a ship-building town of 13,000\ninhabitants, on the river Clyde. Thence, a pleasant walk of three\nmiles brought me to Dunbarton Castle, which I saw from the steamer\nas we were coming from America, and which was barely mentioned in a\nprevious chapter. \u201cThis Castle,\u201d says the Scottish historian, \u201cis one\nof the strongest in Europe, if not in the world.\u201d It is, as before\nstated, a great moss-covered rock, standing in the river, measuring a\nmile in circumference, and rising nearly three hundred feet high. In\nthe first century of the Christian era, the Romans gained possession\nof, and fortified themselves in, this Castle. By the treachery of John\nMonmouth, Sir William Wallace, while on this rock, was betrayed, in\n1305, into the hands of the British, who took him to London and struck\noff his head, after which his body was quartered and exposed upon\nspikes of iron on London Bridge. A long two-handed sword, once used by\nWallace, and other ancient relics of warfare, are shown to the visitor.\n\nFrom the top of the Castle, one gets a commanding view of the\nsurrounding country. While there, looking northward, I saw Ben Lomond,\nmore than twenty miles away. I could not refrain from taking off my\nhat to this \u201cMountain Monarch.\u201d And, as if to return my salute, the\nclouds just then were lifted, leaving the snow-covered head of the\nmountain bare for a moment. For this act of civility, I determined\nto pay His Royal Highness a visit. Hence, with felt hats pulled down\nover our eyes, with canes in hand, and small leather satchels strapped\nacross our backs, my traveling companion and I set out on foot for the\nHighlands.\n\nWe followed no road, being guided by the river only, which flows from\nLoch Lomond into the Clyde. The general scenery along this route is\nnothing unusual; but the river itself is surpassingly beautiful, its\nwater being transparent, and flowing deep, smooth and swift, but\nsilent, between its level green banks.\n\nJust before entering a small town, on the river, called Renton, we\nmet hundreds of girls and young women homeward bound, all wearing\nsleeveless dresses, and carrying tin buckets. Their dyed hands and\narms bespoke their occupation. They were factory girls, employed in\nthe paint works the largest in Scotland. In this town, is a splendid\nobelisk to Tobias Smollet, the novelist and poet, who was born here in\n1721.\n\nBy eight o\u2019clock we reached a wayside inn, where a few shillings\nsecured us comfortable accommodations. Next morning was dark and\ncloudy. A few hours\u2019 walk found us at the head of Loch Lomond, where\nwe took shipping on the neat little steamer, \u201cPrince Consort.\u201d We had\nseveral tourists, artists, poets, musicians, and other persons of taste\nand culture, on board, all of whom, like ourselves, had come to see and\nenjoy \u201cBonnie Scotland.\u201d But the clouds were so dark and low, the mist\nso dense and heavy, that we could see little or nothing of the beauty\nand grandeur by which we were surrounded. Before nightfall, though the\nwhole day seemed almost like night, \u201cThe Prince\u201d touched at a landing\ncalled Tarbet, where we disembarked and secured lodging. The day was\ndamp, cold and dark; everything around us wore a gloomy aspect. We were\ntired. We could see nothing to interest the mind or delight the eye. So\nMorpheus soon claimed us as his captives for the night. But, ere those\nnocturnal hours passed away, God\u2019s own hand removed the clouds and\ncurtains which, the day before, hid the works of Nature from our view.\n\nNext morning, the sound of the clock striking eight disturbed the\n\u201cspirit of my dreams.\u201d The reader can better imagine, than I can\ndescribe, my feelings when I arose and looked around me. I found that\nit was a warm, bright, beautiful spring morning, and that I was in the\nloveliest spot on earth. I was in the midst of a large flower-garden,\nlaid out with great care and excellent taste, containing a fine variety\nof shrubbery and a rich profusion of delicate and fragrant flowers.\nBehind me was a range of mountains, high and lifted up, extending also\nto the right hand and to the left, leaving the flower-garden just in a\ngraceful curve of the mountain chain. Before me, and toward the east,\nwas Loch Lomond, the Queen of the Highland Lakes. Her waters were clear\nas crystal, and her bosom was unruffled by a single wave, there being\njust motion enough upon the mirror-like surface to cause the sunbeams\nfalling upon the water to glisten like a sea of sparkling diamonds.\n\nAcross the Loch, and just one mile away, was Ben Lomond, the lordliest\nmountain in all Scotland\u2014the same that returned my salute from\nDunbarton Castle. While the foot of this majestic mountain was washed\nby the waters of the lake, its brow was wrapped in the snow of winter\nand bathed in the clouds of heaven. Thus the beautiful lake is\nsurrounded by\n\n \u201cMountains that like giants stand\n To sentinel the enchanted land.\u201d\n\nAnd each towering crag and cliff and mountain peak was seen reflected\nin the silver mirror lying at their feet.\n\nIn addition to all these attractions, that morning when I awoke it\nseemed as if all the birds of the country, with their merry voices\nand bright plumage, had assembled to hold their spring carnival. One\nof their number was unlike any of the feathered tribe I had seen\nbefore. It had a dove-colored breast; night and morning were delicately\ninterwoven in its wings, and it sang \u201cas if every tiny bone in its body\nwere a golden flute.\u201d A good old lady living there told me that when\nDr. Thomas Chalmers stood where I was standing that morning, and saw\nand heard what then greeted my eyes and ears, he exclaimed: \u201cI wonder\nif there will be such scenery and music as this in heaven!\u201d\n\nAh! this is Scotland, \u201cBonnie Scotland,\u201d whose picturesque scenery has\nwaked the harp of so many bards, and has often set the artist\u2019s eye\n\u201cin fine frenzy rolling.\u201d I am not surprised that the mantle of poesy\nfell upon Burns while following the plow; my only wonder is that all\nScotchmen are not poets. In fact, when I awoke that morning and found\nmyself in that terrestrial heaven, I did not know what was the matter\nwith me. There was a fluttering underneath my ribs. It was a deep and\nstrong, yet a pleasing and delightful sensation. I thought it was a\npoet\u2019s soul in me! Rushing to the desk with hair uncombed, I arranged\nmy stationery, and sat with pen in hand waiting for the light to break\nin upon me\u2014but\u2014but\u2014the spell passed off before I could get hold of\nthe first rhyme. What a pity!\n\nAfter being here a short time, Johnson and I decide to take a trip\nthrough the mountains and visit Loch Long, a few miles west. We are not\nat all disappointed when we arrive at the Loch. The scenery is wild,\nsavage, grand! Beyond the lake, or loch, we see the Cobbler, a towering\nmountain, covered with snow. The mountain is apparently not far off,\nseemingly about two hours\u2019 walk. Now this, the Cobbler, is not the\nhighest mountain in Scotland, but is said to be the hardest one in the\nwhole country to climb.\n\nNot knowing the difficulty of our undertaking, we determine to plant\nour feet in the snow glittering upon the Cobbler\u2019s crown. We are almost\nexhausted when we reach the base, but, after resting a few minutes,\nI say: \u201cJohnson, renew your strength, and let us go.\u201d For awhile the\nascent is comparatively easy; but we soon come to great walls of black\nrock, rough and steep, some places being almost perpendicular. We try\nto go around the worst places, determining, however, that when we\ncome to a rock which we can not go around, we will go over it. This\nwe manage to do by the assistance of the grass and twigs growing in\nthe crevices of the rock, but the climbing is exceedingly difficult\nand tiresome, and often dangerous. One time in particular my escape is\nnarrow. I am standing on a narrow shelf of rock. Below me is a yawning\nchasm, some sixty feet deep. Above is a wall almost straight up and\ndown, eighteen feet high. With dire apprehensions I start up. When\nabout two-thirds of the way up, a bush, whose fastenings in the crevice\nof the rock are not as strong as I thought, gives way with me. Down I\ncome on the narrow rock-shelf, and almost into the chasm below. For\nsome minutes I am unable to move, though I am worse frightened than\ninjured. Johnson excitedly calls out: \u201cWhittle, Whittle, are you hurt?\u201d\nI reply, \u201cNo, I am like a cat\u2014always catch on foot. Besides, \u2018A man\u2019s\ngreatness consists not in his never falling, but in always rising after\na fall.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe day before this memorable tramp, a heavy rain had fallen and the\ngrass, with which many parts of the mountain are covered, is very wet,\nhence our feet are soon as wet as water can make them. Under these\ndifficulties, we have not gotten more than two-thirds of the way up\nthe mountain, before my companion, who, like a mountain goat, loves to\nclimb, gives out completely. He has neither the strength to go to the\ntop, nor the spirit to start down. Rest is the only hope. So, with two\novercoats for a pallet, a round stone for a pillow, and the blue sky\nfor a covering, I put Johnson to bed, and he is to sleep while I am to\ncontinue my journey to the top of the mountain, and hasten back with\nsome snow for dinner.\n\nThe summit is more distant, and the way more difficult and perilous,\nthan we had supposed. However, I have started to the top, and I am\ndetermined to go there, \u201cif it takes all the summer.\u201d And I do. But\nin order to accomplish my purpose I must go around and approach the\nlong-sought brow from the opposite side. I reach the very top! And,\nalthough my trembling limbs are so weak and weary that I can scarcely\nstand, yet I feel fully repaid for all my toil. The snow under my feet\nis five feet deep. About a half mile beyond me is another mountain\ntowering up apparently a thousand feet above me, and covered with\nsnow from head to foot. It looks frightful; and almost unwittingly\nI exclaim: \u201cNiagara petrified! A mountain of snow falling from the\nclouds!\u201d The sight is grand, but I can not prolong my stay, for obvious\nreasons. I am wet with perspiration, and, having left my overcoat with\nJohnson, I am now suffering\u2014the cold and cutting wind pierces to the\nbone; and besides night is coming on.\n\nNow a new trouble begins. I can not find Johnson. I do not know on\nwhich side of the mountain I left him. I have no idea as to where he\nis! But the worst of all is that Johnson, after sleeping three hours,\nwakens, and, as I have not returned, becomes uneasy about me. He\nsupposes that I have either gotten into the snow and can not get out,\nor have fallen over some precipice and hurt or killed myself. So he,\nout of the goodness of his heart, sets out in search of me. Each hunts\nfor the other until night without success. Fortunately, however, we\nagreed in the morning on a place to spend the night. On reaching the\nplace agreed upon, I find that he is not there\u2014nor has he been seen!\nWhile I am making preparations to go back, with assistance, to hunt for\nhim the door flies open and in steps Johnson, completely exhausted, and\nsick besides. Thus ends our first day among the mountains!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nA GENERAL VIEW OF SCOTLAND.\n\n Highlands and Lowlands\u2014Locked up for Fifteen Days\u2014The Need of\n a Good Sole\u2014A Soft Side of a Rock\u2014The Charm of Reading on the\n Spot\u2014A Fearful Experience\u2014Bit and Bridle\u2014Thunder-Riven\u2014Volcanic\n Eruption\u2014Dangerous Pits\u2014An Hundred-Eyed Devil\u2014Gloomy Dens\u2014Meeting\n an Enemy\u2014Eyes Like Balls of Fire\u2014Voice Like Rolling Thunder\u2014A\n Speedy Departure\u2014Leaping from Rock to Rock\u2014Silver Thread among the\n Mountains\u2014Imperishable Tablets\u2014The Cave of Rob Roy and the Land\n of the McGregors\u2014Lady of the Lake and Ellen\u2019s Isle\u2014Lodging with\n Peasants and with Gentlemen\u2014Rising in Mutiny\u2014Strange Fuel\u2014Character\n of Scotch People\u2014Scotch Baptists\u2014Sunrise at Two O\u2019Clock in the\n Morning.\n\n\nSCOTLAND, as the reader knows, is a small country. Its length from\nnorth to south is two hundred miles, but east and west the country\nis very narrow, no part of it being more than forty miles from the\nsea-coast. This small area is divided into what are known as the\n\u201cHighlands\u201d and \u201cLowlands,\u201d the two sections being as unlike in the\nnature of the soil, the character of the scenery, the habits and\nindustries of the people, as though they were a thousand miles apart.\nTo the historian and tourist the Highlands, occupying the northern,\nor rather the northwestern, portion of Scotland, is by far the most\ninteresting section. The term, Highlands, however, does not, as many\npeople think, designate a broad, level, elevated table-land. On the\ncontrary, the Highlands of Scotland are a wild, savage world by\nthemselves, composed entirely of hills, morasses, mountains, glens,\nmoors, lakes and rivers.\n\nFor the last fifteen days, I have been in the heart of this enchanted\nland, locked, as it were, in this rock-ribbed region. I have spent the\ntime in walking through the country; rowing on the lochs, or lakes;\nclimbing mountains; threading glens; exploring caves; talking to the\npeople of high and low degree, thus gaining information of every kind\nand character, both as to the past and present condition of this wild\ncountry and its poverty-stricken people. Hard work this. A man walking\nthrough the mountains needs a good sole (soul)\u2014spell it as you please.\nTo me, however, the work (I can not call it by any other name half so\nappropriate) has been as pleasant as it has been difficult, and as\nprofitable as both combined. When I become very tired, and that is no\ninfrequent occurrence, I spread myself out on the soft side of some\nprojecting rock, high on the mountain side, and there, while resting, I\nalternately feast my eager eyes on the outstretching landscape, or read\nfrom books which I have along for that purpose. I read the \u201cHistory of\nScotland,\u201d \u201cHeart of Midlothian,\u201d \u201cRob Roy,\u201d \u201cThe Lady of the Lake,\u201d\n\u201cThe Lay of the Last Minstrel,\u201d and \u201cMarmion.\u201d In this way I have read\nmuch of the history, poetry, and fiction of Scotland while on the spot,\nor in the immediate neighborhood about which it was written. It lends a\nnew charm and gives an additional zest to what one reads, when he can\nlift his eyes from the book and behold the places and objects mentioned\nin its glowing pages.\n\nI can never forget my experience of a week ago to-day. I was up at an\nearly hour. The sky was cloudless and the morn calm and quiet. Across\nthe lake stood Ben Lomond in its giant-like proportions. Its brow, grey\nwith eternal snow, looked so inviting that I determined to ascend and\nsniff the mountain breeze. A friend, where I spent the night, and who\nknew the difficulties in the way, tried to dissuade me from my purpose;\nbut when I take the bit between my teeth there is no bridle that can\nstop me. Johnson, who by this time had thoroughly recovered from his\nmaiden effort at climbing mountains, and who is as fleet as a hart and\nspirited as a gazelle, agreed to accompany me. So, ere the warbler\nhad finished his morning song, and while the dew was yet sparkling\nbright on the heath, we set out for that towering peak, \u201cwhere snow and\nsunshine alone have dared to tread.\u201d\n\nFor sixpence, a farmer\u2019s lad rowed us across the loch, landing us at\nthe foot of the mountain whose rocky cliffs and thunder-riven sides we\nwere to climb. Seven hours\u2019 toil brought us to the objective point,\nand rewarded us with one of the finest, wildest, and most romantic\nviews to be had anywhere this side that deep and yawning gulf which\nseparates time from eternity. I found myself surrounded by a thousand\npeaks, crags and cliffs, whose heads were white with the accumulated\nsnows of fifty winters, they being of different heights, and of every\nconceivable shape, size and angle\u2014all having been caused, apparently,\nby the upheaval of some mighty volcanic eruption of the under world.\nThese iron-belted mountain sides are honey-combed with deep and dark\ndens, dangerous pits and caves, which once furnished shelter and\nsecurity to those savage and lawless clans whose sole occupation was\narms, and who, under cover of night, often swooped down upon the barns,\nflocks and herds of the Lowlanders like eagles upon their prey. When\nonce hidden away in those dark recesses, it would take an hundred-eyed\ndevil to discover their whereabouts; and, if discovered, it would\nrequire an iron-handed Hercules to rout and discomfit them.\n\nMany of these peaks and cliffs are separated only by narrow and\ngloomy glens hundreds of feet deep. The glen may be ten, fifteen, or\ntwenty-five feet wide at the bottom, but the rough and irregular sides\ntower up so high, and come so near closing at the top, that the rocky\nchasm is dark and gloomy. I have, I think, very little superstition\nabout me; yet I confess that while walking through these silent halls,\nwhere the sun has never shone, I felt half inclined to look around\nme for hissing serpents, for hobgoblins and rats. While in one of\nthese unseemingly\u2014I had almost said unearthly\u2014places, a dreamy,\nfar-away spell came over me. I fell into an absent-minded mood.\nJust as I reached a dark, horrible-looking place, I paused. I stood\nstill, my eyes resting upon the stone floor; I was thinking about\u2014I\ndo not know what. All at once I heard a furious noise; and, turning\nsuddenly around, I beheld a huge wildcat rushing down the glen, with\neyes glaring like balls of fire. By this time he was within five feet\nof me, and gave the most unearthly yell that I have ever heard. It\nseemed as if it would rend the very rocks. Every hair on my head was\na goose-quill, and they were all on ends. For a moment I was still as\ndeath, and pulseless as a statue, while the noise that startled me was\nrolling, ringing, and reverberating down the glen like the mutterings\nof distant thunder. As John Bunyan would say, \u201cI departed, and was\nseen, there no more.\u201d\n\nHaving gotten out of the glen, I went back upon Ben Lomond and enjoyed\nthe picture. I said it was a grand sight, and so it was. Turn my eyes\nas I would, I could see mountain streams fed by melting snow, the water\nbeing churned into madness as it leaped from rock to rock, until it was\nlost in the abyss below. Looking beneath me, I could see several of the\nScottish lakes, which were as beautiful as the mountains were grand. I\nsaw Loch Lomond, on whose calm bosom many islands float, winding around\nlike a silver thread among the mountains for twenty miles.\n\nAll this made a picture that I can never forget. It is indelibly\nstamped on the imperishable tablets of memory; and there it will\nremain, an object of interest and admiration, until the flood-gates of\nlife are shut in eternal rest.\n\nWe visited Rob Roy\u2019s cave, the land of the Macgregors, the house in\nwhich Helen Macgregor was born, Loch Katrine where Scott wrote \u201cThe\nLady of the Lake,\u201d and many other places known to history and to song.\n\nJohnson and I found no difficulty in walking twelve to twenty miles a\nday. We sometimes obtained lodgings with peasants, and at others with\n\u201cgentlemen,\u201d or landlords. The peasants call themselves \u201cservants,\u201d\nand always speak of the landlord as \u201cmaster.\u201d This nomenclature is\nsuggestive of the real relationship existing between the two classes.\nIt is none other than that of master and slave. These peasants are\nstill plodding along in the same old grooves whose rough edges wore\ntheir fathers out. Many of them, like the dumb ass in the tread-mill,\nexpect only their bread, and verily they are not disappointed. I almost\nwonder that the very stones in the streets do not rise in mutiny, and\nclamor for justice until their cry is heard by the dull ears of power.\n\nWhile walking from Loch Lomond to Loch Katrine, I saw several peasants\nspading up the ground. They had dug several holes, each large enough to\nswallow a good-sized house. The dirt was taken out in square blocks,\nmuch the size of three bricks put side by side, or about the shape of\na Mexican adobe. In appearance, these blocks resembled soft, sticky,\nblack prairie mud. Seeing them spread out to dry, I thought they were\nto be used as building material. Upon making inquiry, I found that it\n(the dirt) was preparing for fuel. The peasants call it moss. They dry\nit and stack it, as we stack fodder or oats. They say it burns well.\n\nThe Scotch people, as a whole, have impressed me very favorably. They\nhave a straightforward way of doing business. Almost every face wears\non it the stamp of genuine honesty. The better classes of people are\nsocial, kind and accommodating in their nature, though somewhat stiff\nand dignified in their bearing.\n\nReligiously, most Scotchmen are Presbyterians in belief and devout\nin spirit. They are no people for innovations or change, even though\nthe new be superior to the old. I would as soon undertake to turn the\nAmazon from its wonted channel as to swerve these Scotch people from\ntheir fixed modes of thought and habits of life. As the boy said of his\nfather\u2019s horse that would go no farther, they are \u201cestablished.\u201d\n\nJust twenty years ago, the main body of our Baptist people of this\ncountry formed what is known as the \u201cBaptist Union of Scotland.\u201d They\nnow have eighty-five churches and ten thousand members. Though few in\nnumber, they expect, like Gideon\u2019s band of old, to come off conquerors\nat last. All the Baptist ministers whom I have chanced to meet have\nreceived me into their confidence, into their homes and families. They\nhave extended to me every act of kindness and of courtesy that I could\nask or wish.\n\nIn a month from now, the people of Scotland will have very little\nnight. In the latter part of June they have twilight until eleven\no\u2019clock, and the sun rises about two o\u2019clock in the morning. It is now\nalmost ten o\u2019clock at night, and I can see to write without artificial\nlight, and the moon is not shining.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nFROM DUNDEE TO MANCHESTER.\n\n Scotch Presbyterians in Convention\u2014Their Character and Bearing\u2014On\n the Footpath to Abbotsford\u2014The Home of Scott\u2014Five Miles through the\n Fields\u2014Melrose Abbey and the Heart of Bruce\u2014Hospitality of a Baptist\n Preacher\u2014Adieu to Scotland\u2014Merry England\u2014Manchester\u2014Exposition and\n Prince of Wales\u2014Manchester and Cotton Manufacturers\u2014A $25,000,000\n Scheme\u2014Dr. Alexander Maclaren\u2014His Appearance\u2014The Force of his\n Thought\u2014The Witchery of his Eloquence\u2014His Hospitality Enjoyed\u2014A\n Promise Made.\n\n\nLEAVING Dundee I run down to Edinburgh to attend the annual meeting of\nthe established church of Scotland. I am anxious to see this venerable\nbody of men, whose deep-toned piety has pervaded the nation, and who\nwield such a powerful influence over the political and religious\nthought of the century. Whether around the family fireside, or on the\npublic platform, most of these men are dignified, stiff and formal in\ntheir bearing. I can but think that if they were put under the water,\nthe starch would be taken out of them, and they would be more useful to\nthe world. I say to a friend that if I had only a little Baptist water\nand Methodist fire, I could get up enough steam in half an hour to set\nthe whole convention in motion.\n\nWe set out on Friday for the home of Sir Walter Scott, some thirty\nmiles distant. One hour brings us to Gallashields. Here we leave our\nbaggage and take the foot-path leading along the banks of the river\nTweed and terminating at Abbotsford. The day is fine. The scenery is\nnot grand, but varied and beautiful. The pedestrians are so engaged in\ncontemplating the beauties of nature, that the walk of five miles seems\nrather to rest than to tire them.\n\n[Illustration: ABBOTSFORD.]\n\nAbbotsford is situated upon a hillside about two hundred yards from the\nriver. Between the house and the stream there are two high terraces,\nmaking two distinct flower-gardens, one being some twenty feet higher\nthan the other. The house is large and quaint and old. It is always\nopen to visitors, and daily many enter its portals. One feels as if he\nwould like to remain here a week, examining the clothes, furniture,\nbooks, manuscripts and curiosities once belonging to the lord of\nletters and of language. Here one sees locks of hair from the heads of\nthe Duke of Wellington and Lord Nelson. Here one sees the bones of many\nChristian martyrs; also guns, pistols, swords, shot, shells, canteens,\nand other relics of interest, gathered from the field of Waterloo by\nScott himself.\n\nBut we must not linger here. I want the reader to go with me to\nMelrose. It is only five or six miles, and I am sure we shall enjoy the\nwalk, as our winding path leads through fields, sheep-pastures, and\ngrassy meadows. It will be sport for us to jump the fences, jump the\nditches and babbling brooks. We will take dinner as we sit beside the\nsecond stream, whose limpid water will fill our glasses.\n\nNow that we have reached Melrose, let us go at once to the old Abbey,\nand view that ruined pile in which repose the body of Douglass and\nthe heart of Bruce, and around which the bard of Abbotsford loved to\nlinger. This old church, or abbey, which for hundreds and hundreds\nof years resounded with the songs and prayers of monks and Catholic\npriests, was demolished by the Protestants in the time of the\nReformation, and now serves only as the dwelling-place of blind bats\nand hooting owls. After spending three hours in and around the Abbey,\nand regretting that we cannot linger three days, we leave, feeling that\nwe can fully appreciate, and heartily adopt the sentiment expressed in\nthe second canto of \u201cThe Lay of the Last Minstrel:\u201d\n\n \u201cIf thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright.\n Go visit it by the pale moonlight;\n And, home returning, soothly swear,\n Was never seen so sad and fair.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: MELROSE ABBEY.]\n\nWe now retrace our steps toward Gallashields; and, on reaching there,\nare met by the Rev. Mr. Thompson, a Baptist preacher, who takes us to\nhis house, and treats us so kindly that I really regret my inability to\naccept his kind invitation to remain until Sunday and preach for him.\n\nI sincerely regret that my stay in Scotland has ended. I am loath to\nleave. I have walked two hundred and fifty or three hundred miles\nthrough the Highlands. I have viewed the whole country through a veil\nof poesy which the hands of Scott and Burns have thrown over it. To me,\nit is indeed \u201cBonnie Scotland;\u201d and in leaving it I can but say:\n\n \u201cFarewell to the land where the clouds love to rest,\n Like the shroud of the dead on the mountains\u2019 cold breast;\n To the cataracts\u2019 roar, where the eagles reply,\n And the lakes their broad bosoms expand to the sky.\u201d\n\nThe night passes; morning comes. The day is bright and beautiful.\nI now bid adieu to bonnie Scotland, and set my face, for the first\ntime, toward merry England. It is Saturday. Hence, I go direct to\nManchester, so as to be there on Sunday. Manchester has almost a\nmillion inhabitants. It is the greatest cotton-manufacturing city in\nthe world. The great English Exposition was opened in Manchester by the\nPrince and Princess of Wales, a few days ago, and will not close for\nsome weeks yet. I have attended exhibitions in New Orleans, Atlanta,\nLouisville, Washington City, Philadelphia and Boston, and the main\ndifference between an American exposition and an English one is that\nin America we make a specialty of fruits, seeds, agricultural products\nand implements, fine wood, valuable timbers, gold and silver ore, etc.,\nwhile in England the specialties are emblems of royalty, relics of\nantiquity, and products of the loom and spindle.\n\nThe manufacturers of Manchester know much more about cotton than do\nSouthern planters in the United States. They know each spring how\nmuch cotton is planted. They study carefully the crop prospects. They\nhave approximately correct ideas as to what the yield will be. They\nthen estimate the demand, and calculate the price. Most of these men\nmanufacture goods to order. When one buys a thousand bales of cotton,\nhe knows exactly how much money it will cost to work it up, how much\ngoods it will turn out, how much waste there will be, and how much\nprofit he is to reap. The people here say that the speculators of New\nYork frequently buy up great quantities of cotton and hold it for\nbetter prices. To counteract this, a paper is addressed to the cotton\nmanufacturers of England, and circulated through the country. Those\nsigning this petition agree thereby to run their factories only half\nthe time until the next cotton crop is put on the market.\n\nThe enterprising people of Manchester have inaugurated a scheme by\nwhich they will be enabled to greatly reduce the price of their goods,\nand at the same time realize greater profits for themselves. It now\ncosts them as much to send their goods by rail to Liverpool, a distance\nof thirty-six miles, as it does to get them from Liverpool to New\nYork. The new scheme is to cut a canal from Liverpool to Manchester,\nthrough which the great sea-going vessels can come up to Manchester and\nbe loaded from the factories. For this purpose, $25,000,000 have been\nraised. Work on the canal was begun some time ago, and will be pushed\nmost vigorously. It will be the broadest and deepest canal in the world.\n\nTo me, however, the object of greatest interest in the city is Dr.\nAlexander Maclaren, who is regarded by many competent judges as the\ngreatest living preacher. Six volumes of his sermons grace the shelves\nof my library. My knowledge of his personal history, and my familiarity\nwith his style of thought, make me all the more anxious to see and hear\nthe man whose eloquence sways the multitude as the wind turns the grass\nof the field.\n\nLittle before eleven o\u2019clock on Sunday morning, I enter the elegant\nUnion Chapel, wherein are seated some 2,500 to 3,000 persons. The\npreacher soon enters the pulpit. He is somewhat under medium size,\nmeasuring perhaps five feet and seven inches in height, and weighing,\nI imagine, about one hundred and twenty-eight pounds. His iron-grey\nhair is somewhat long, is combed straight back, and parted in the\nmiddle. His forehead is high and broad, and projects far over the large\nblue eyes which are set deep back in his head. His mouth is small; his\nfeatures are hard and dry. He reminds me much of the late Jefferson\nDavis and Dr. Henson.\n\nHis prayer is but the overflowing of a large heart filled with\nlove. The text is Matthew 3:16. For fifty minutes the multitude is\nspellbound. Dr. Maclaren\u2019s speaking corresponds with Dr. Henson\u2019s\ndefinition of eloquence\u2014it is _logic set on fire_. The most striking\npeculiarity of his style is the force with which he projects his words.\nAs was said of Henry Clay, each word has positive weight. As I hear the\nman speaking, and feel the force of his utterances, I am impelled to\nsay: \u201cThis is naught else than the artillery of heaven besieging the\ncitadel of the soul!\u201d The thoughts are projected with such dynamitic\nforce that resistance is impossible\u2014every barrier is soon broken down,\nthen every projectile burns its way into the soul. His words have in\nthem scorpion-stings\u2014they arouse an accusing conscience. Then a change\ncomes over the spell of his preaching. He says: \u201cYou now see how poor a\nthing is man; how corrupt his heart; how wicked his thoughts; how vile\nhis deeds! So turn away from self, and look to that Christ upon whom\nthe Spirit descended, and of whom God said, \u2018This is my Son.\u2019\u201d\n\nI accept the Doctor\u2019s invitation to call on him in the afternoon. He\nis desirous that the Baptists on the two sides of the Atlantic should\nknow each other better\u2014that there should be a closer bond of union and\nsympathy between them. He is as pleasant at home as he is forcible in\nthe pulpit. I promise to go with him to a Baptist Association, about\nwhich we shall speak in the next chapter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nBAPTIST CENTENNIAL.\n\n Three Baptist Associations\u2014Centennial Year and Jubilee Year\u2014Baptists\n Seen at their Best\u2014Doctor Alexander Maclaren\u2014Matchless\n Eloquence\u2014Hon. John Bright Delivers an Address\u2014Boundless\n Enthusiasm\u2014English Hospitality\u2014A Home with the Mayor.\n\n\nTHE Yorkshire, Lancashire and Cheshire Baptist Associations are now\nholding a joint meeting in this city of Rochdale. The Yorkshire\nAssociation was organized in 1787, and covered at that time all the\nterritory that is now embraced within the three Associations above\nnamed, the division having occurred by common consent in 1837.\nThis is therefore the centennial year for the Yorkshire, and the\nsemi-centennial year for the Lancashire and Cheshire Associations.\n\nThis is also the English Jubilee year, being the fiftieth year of the\nreign of Queen Victoria. Hence this meeting is called \u201cThe Baptist\nCentennial and Jubilee Celebration.\u201d It is said to be the grandest\nBaptist meeting ever held in England. It represents the brains and\nculture of our denomination in this country.\n\nThey are more formal in their methods of conducting the business of the\nbody than is customary among American Baptists. The program is made\nout and printed beforehand. The speeches are all \u201ccut and dried.\u201d The\nmoderator asks a particular man to make a certain motion, and then\nspecifies another one and asks him to second the motion. The present\nmeeting is mainly taken up with historical and biographical discussions.\n\nAs a rule, the delegates are men of fine natural powers and scholarly\nattainments. Most of them are fluent speakers, though very few of their\nnumber can be called eloquent or even forcible. It is natural that on\nthis occasion the speakers should indulge freely in self gratulations.\nThey are proud of their history, and especially of their ancestors who\nmade their history. And well they may be. Their ancestors were men of\nbackbone, of nerve and stamina! Unlike many men of the present day,\nthey _believe something_! Their convictions were deep, strong, pungent!\nTheir convictions were strong enough to lead them to the stake. And\nthen they had the courage of their convictions. They were not ashamed\nto let the world know what they believed.\n\nIn some respects, I regard the present Baptists of England as unworthy\nsons of their distinguished ancestors. They boast of their progress,\nof their broad sympathies, and liberal views; that they have gotten\naway from the bones of theology to the gospel of Christ; that they no\nlonger preach of God\u2019s avenging wrath, but rather of His forgiving\nmercy. These English Baptists are good men, and they preach the gospel\nas far as they go; but they do not go far enough. Jehovah is a God of\njustice as well as of mercy. A body of theology without bones is as\nuseless as a human body without bones. They seem to be sadly lacking in\nthat deep, heart-felt conviction, and in that sturdy, lion-like courage\nwhich immortalized their forefathers. They have well-nigh ceased to\npreach our distinctive doctrines as Baptists, and God, I believe, as\na consequence, is withholding His blessings from them. Within the\nbounds of these three Associations, live more than one-fourth of the\npopulation of England, and yet the Associations report only 34,000\nmembers. A church may believe and practice whatever she pleases as to\ncommunion (and other things too, I suppose), and still secure or retain\nmembership in any of these Associations.\n\nThe leading features of the meeting are as follows: An address on\n\u201cReminiscences of Associational Teachers in 1837,\u201d by Rev. John Aldis;\nthe Centennial Sermon, by Dr. Alexander Maclaren, and an address on\n\u201cSunday Schools,\u201d by the Right Hon. John Bright, Member of Parliament.\n\nMr. Aldis is a remarkable man. He has been in the ministry sixty\nyears, and still retains much of the strength and enthusiasm of youth.\nPossessing such splendid gifts, and having been so long connected with\nthe Associations, there is no man living better able to perform the\ntask assigned to him than the venerable John Aldis. The address is a\nmodel of condensation. The speaker was almost as laconic as the tramp\nwho called, late one evening, at a country residence, and said to the\nlady of the house: \u201cMadam, will you please give me a drink of water?\nI am so hungry I don\u2019t know where I am going to sleep to-night.\u201d I\nwonder that one can say so much in so short a time. There is scarcely\na superfluous word from beginning to end. It is marked, too, by great\nliterary excellence, and contains some delightful bits of character\nsketches.\n\nDoctor Maclaren is at his best. I doubt whether he ever preached a\nbetter sermon than the one he delivers at this meeting. He warns his\nbrethren that there is danger ahead, that false theories are creeping\ninto their creeds, that it will never do to cut loose from the \u201cold\nmoorings.\u201d He says in substance: \u201cBrethren, the cold winds from the\nicy caves of Socinianism are chilling our blood and benumbing our\nlimbs. We boast of becoming liberal-minded and broad. We should not\nforget, however, that broad streams are shallow, and that narrow ones\nare deep. Their currents are apt to be swift enough to cut up the mud\nand wash out the riff-raff from the channel, leaving a smooth, solid\nrock bed. God\u2019s Word may lead us into deep water, but it will never\nleave us without a solid foundation. There is such a thing as being\nbroader than wise, and wiser than good.\u201d For more than an hour his\naudience of three thousand persons is under his magic power. At times\nthey are breathless. The Doctor plays upon the fibres of men\u2019s hearts\nlike a skillful musician upon the strings of his harp. He strikes\nany chord\u2014every chord\u2014he pleases. The audience can neither resist\nlaughter nor suppress tears. Every heart is pierced by the orator\u2019s\nfiery glance, and thrilled by his matchless eloquence. As Goethe said\nof Herder, \u201cHe preaches like a God.\u201d\n\nThe enthusiasm of the meeting reaches its zenith Wednesday\nafternoon, when the Right Hon. John Bright delivers an address on\n\u201cSunday-schools.\u201d The excitement is simply intense. One round of\napplause follows another until the very walls of the building are made\nto ring with glad huzzas. Then those who can not gain entrance to the\nimmense hall take up the cry, and send it ringing through the streets\nof the city. The excitement really becomes painful. Mr. Bright is quite\nold and feeble\u2014his head is white as cotton, still he is a perfect\nmaster of assemblies. As an orator, he is much after the style of the\nlate Brooklyn divine.\n\nOne touching incident must be related. Mr. Bright stands before the\naudience motionless, until silence is restored. He then calls Mr.\nAldis to him. As the two venerable men stand side by side facing the\naudience, with their hands on each other\u2019s shoulders, Mr. Bright\nrelates the following incident: \u201cI first met Mr. Aldis fifty-four years\nago. We were then just entering upon the duties of life. On the day of\nour meeting, each of us delivered an address to a large assembly. Mr.\nAldis was my senior. He spoke first, and I second. After the speaking\nwas over, he took me to one side. He said that he saw in me powers that\nshould be developed. He told me how to develop those powers. In a word,\nhe lectured me on public speaking. This, ladies and gentlemen, was my\nfirst and last lesson in elocution.\u201d Then, turning to his old teacher,\nhe continued: \u201cMr. Aldis, if I have accomplished anything in life, and\nespecially as a public speaker, it is due, at least in part, to your\nkindly counsels. We met first fifty-four years ago; this is our second\nmeeting; our third will be in Heaven.\u201d\n\nThe meeting has just closed. It was an unequivocal success. The\narrangements were simply perfect. No weak plank was put in the\nplatform. Every speaker was true and tried, and everything passed\noff with an eclat that is pleasing to contemplate. A daily paper, in\nspeaking of the meeting, says: \u201cThe Baptists were seen at their best,\nand they are justly proud that it was a very good best.\u201d\n\nThese English Baptists have been exceedingly kind and courteous to me.\nI was entertained by Hon. John S. Hudson, Mayor of the city. It seemed\nthat Mr. Hudson and family could not do enough for their American\nguest. Their kindness will never be forgotten.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nA SOJOURN IN ENGLAND AND ON TO WALES.\n\n Arrested and Imprisoned\u2014Released without a\n Trial\u2014Nottingham\u2014Dwellers in Caves\u2014Seven Hundred Years Old\u2014Forests\n of Ivanhoe and Robin Hood\u2014Birthplace of Henry Kirk White\u2014Home of the\n Pilgrim Fathers\u2014Home of Thomas Cranmer\u2014A Guide\u2019s Information\u2014Home\n of Lord Byron\u2014Wild Beasts from the Dark Continent\u2014A Sad\n Epitaph\u2014Byron\u2019s Grave\u2014A Wedding Scene\u2014Marriage Customs\u2014Wales\n and Sea-Bathing\u2014Among the Mountains\u2014Welsh Baptists\u2014A Tottering\n Establishment.\n\n\nAFTER attending the Baptist Centennial at Rochdale, I turn my face\ntoward the east, Nottingham being the objective point. Four hours bring\nme to my journey\u2019s end, and the reader can scarcely imagine my feelings\nwhen, as I step off the train at Nottingham, I am arrested by a sturdy\nScotchman. I say to him: \u201cSir, what does this mean? If you seek for\nsome criminal, some culprit who has violated the laws of the land, you\nhave caught the wrong bird. I am a loyal citizen of the United States\nof America. I have the necessary papers from government officials to\nprove what I say. I was never accused of an ungentlemanly or illegal\nact in America, and since coming to England I have behaved myself; I\nhave kept good company; I have respected your Queen and obeyed the laws\nof your country.\u201d\n\nAlthough I am as composed as a judge, and notwithstanding the fact that\nmy words ring out like the notes of a silver bell, my speech falls\nflat. The Scotchman declares that it is entirely unnecessary for me to\nsay another word; that I am his prisoner; that I shall be locked up,\nbut shall not be maltreated; that I shall be dealt with fairly, and, if\ninnocent, released in due time. Strange feelings come over me as I am\nled captive through the crowded streets of this busy city to be locked\nwithin the gloomy prison-walls of a foreign country. Fortunately,\nhowever, the darkest hour is just before day. We have not gone far,\nwhen the Scotchman throws off the mask and reveals himself as my bosom\nfriend, and fellow-countryman, George Robert Cairns, who is well-known\nand much beloved from Ohio to California, and who has sung and preached\nhis way into the hearts of thousands of the Scotch and English people.\nThe prison to which he is conducting me proves to be one of the most\npleasant and elegant homes in the city. Hence, I feel that I can say\nwith David, \u201cThou hast turned my mourning into dancing; thou hast put\noff my sackcloth and girded me with gladness.\u201d\n\nNottingham is one of the oldest and most historic cities in all\nEngland. It is splendidly situated on the banks of the river Trent in\nthe midst of one of the prettiest and most romantic regions of country\nanywhere to be found in Her Majesty\u2019s Kingdom. The word \u201cNottingham\u201d\nsignifies \u201cdwellers in caves,\u201d a name given to the town on account of\nits early inhabitants dwelling in caves and subterranean passages cut\nin the yielding rock on which the present city is built. These caves\nand caverns are still open, and it affords me curious pleasure, with\nlantern in hand, to wander through their dark recesses.\n\nIn one of the noted forests by which the town is surrounded, stands a\nlarge and venerable oak-tree, more than seven hundred years old, with\na wagon road cut through it. These are the lordly forests described in\nIvanhoe\u2014the same, also, where Robin Hood held high carnival.\n\nThis is the birthplace of Henry Kirk White, whose poetical talents\nbrought him into prominence long before he reached man\u2019s estate. The\nbud was plucked before the flower was full-blown. Brief, bright and\nglorious was his young career. An ardent admirer from the Western world\nhas placed a beautiful marble tablet to his memory in one of the halls\nof Cambridge University. Many of the Pilgrim Fathers left for America\nfrom this town and shire.\n\nI was at the birthplace and home of Thomas Cranmer, who, in 1656,\nperished at the stake for the cause of Christ. The enthusiastic guide\nwho is but temporarily of the Archbishop\u2019s palace pointed to Cranmer\u2019s\nportrait and said: \u201cThis is a picture of Mr. Cranberry, a Scottish\nking, who, in 1009, was condemned for heresy and shot by order of\nPharaoh.\u201d The traveler who believes all that the guides tell him will\nsoon be thoroughly convinced that Moses was the grandson of Julius\nCaesar.\n\nI know not when I have enjoyed anything more than a day spent at\nNewstead Abbey, the home of Lord Byron, whose faults we cannot forget,\nbut whose genius we must acknowledge, and whose poetry we cannot fail\nto admire. The Abbey is now the property of Capt. F. W. Webb, who spent\nmany years with Livingstone and Stanley in their African explorations.\nIn turn, Livingstone and Stanley used to spend much time with Captain\nWebb in his elegant home. Many of the spacious rooms and long winding\nhalls of the Abbey are filled with stuffed lions, tigers, bears,\nwolves, panthers, serpents, and fowls brought by these men from the\nDark Continent. The Abbey itself is about eight hundred years old. It\nstands in the midst of a great forest, nine miles north of Nottingham,\nand is surrounded by lovely flower-gardens, sparkling fountains, and\nartificial lakes. Here the poet wrote \u201cHours of Idleness.\u201d I was sad\nwhen I saw the splendid marble monument which the fond master had\nerected to his faithful dog. The epitaph closes with these melancholy\nwords:\n\n \u201cYe, who perchance behold this simple urn,\n Pass on\u2014it honors none you wish to mourn:\n To mark a friend\u2019s remains, these stones arise;\n I never knew but one\u2014and here he lies.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: NEWSTEAD ABBEY.]\n\nFrom the Abbey I went to Hucknall, three miles away, to see the grave\nof the poet, who lies buried in a church just in front of the pulpit.\nThe marble slab covering the grave forms a part of the floor, and on it\nare these words:\n\n \u201cBENEATH THIS STONE RESTS THE REMAINS OF LORD BYRON.\u201d\n\nOn either side of the pulpit, also, there is a marble slab imbedded in\nthe wall, filled with inscriptions pertaining to the life and character\nof him who, while living, struck chords in the human heart which will\ncontinue to vibrate until the sands of time shall have been removed\ninto the ocean of eternity. I must now quit the dead, and say something\nabout the living. I must leave the grave, and take my stand beside the\naltar.\n\nAt eleven o\u2019clock to-day, Mr. George Robert Cairns, of the United\nStates, and Miss Annie Mellors, of Nottingham, England, were united in\nthe holy bonds of matrimony. On three successive Sundays previous to\nthe wedding, according to the requirements of law, the engagement was\npublicly announced at churches, and the question, \u201cDoes any one present\nobject to the proposed marriage?\u201d was asked. It is the custom of the\ncountry for engagements to be made public as soon as marriage contracts\nhave been entered into. The young people thus engaged are at once\nrecognized as members of each other\u2019s family. Mr. Cairns\u2019 evangelistic\nlabors have been greatly blest. Through his instumentality many, both\nin Europe and America, have found Him of whom Moses and the prophets\ndid write. And now that the Lord has blest him with one of the most\nlovely and accomplished Christian women in England, I feel sure his\nusefulness will be greatly increased, if not doubled.\n\nFrom Nottingham we came to Wales. We have been here several days,\nbathing in the sea, walking along the white pebbled beach, strolling\nthrough grassy meadows, gathering wild flowers, climbing wooded\nhills, and scaling rugged mountains. When weariness overtakes the\npedestrians, they seat themselves on the shady side of some towering\ncrag or cliff, whose shadow falls long and deep across the hill. Here\nthey hold close communion with Nature and sweet converse with God. The\npilgrims discover God\u2019s power in the lofty mountains, see His beauty\nin the blushing rose, behold His glory and splendor in the setting sun\n\u201cvast mirrored on the sea.\u201d These rocky coasts, mountain peaks, and\nwaterfalls have inspired many a poet\u2019s muse. Here Tennyson loves to\nlinger. Here Mrs. Hemans sang her sweetest songs. Here Johnson and I\nroam and read.\n\n \u201cAnd this our life, exempt from public haunt,\n Finds tongues in trees, books in running brooks,\n Sermons in stones and good in everything.\u201d\n\nThe Baptists are numerically strong and wield a powerful influence in\nWales. They are close communionists. They are loyal to their principles\nand to their God; consequently, they are being wonderfully blest\u2014they\nare flourishing like the green bay-tree.\n\nThe Episcopal Church is fast losing ground in this country. The\npeople are crying out against the tithe system, and are calling for\ndis-establishment. This once proud structure is tottering. Many predict\na speedy fall; and, if it falls at all, I believe the crash will be\nheavy enough to jar and injure the foundation of the established church\nthroughout the empire. I say it kindly and in the right spirit: I hope\nthat the Episcopal Church will be disestablished. If it be of man, it\nought to fall. If it be of God, it needs no human government to support\nit. If a church be of God, its devotees need to look to Him, and not\nto the State, for strength. The lack of governmental support never yet\nstopped the work of saving souls. Against Christ\u2019s Church, neither the\npowers of earth nor the gates of hell can prevail!\n\n \u201cTruth crushed to earth shall rise again:\n The eternal years of God are hers;\n But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,\n And dies among his worshippers.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nLONDON.\n\n Entering London\u2014The Great City Crowded\u2014Six Million Five Hundred\n Thousand People Together\u2014Lost in London\u2014A Human Niagara\u2014A Policeman\n and a Lockup\u2014The Jubilee and the Golden Wedding\u2014\u201dGod Save the\n Queen.\u201d and God Save the People\u2014Amid England\u2019s Shouts and Ireland\u2019s\n Groans Heard.\n\n\nI ENTER London for the first time on Saturday at 8 P.M. It is with\nthe greatest difficulty that I obtain lodging. I am turned away from\nseveral hotels, boarding-houses, and private homes. I can not get even\na cot, or blankets, to make a pallet on the floor. I continue to press\nmy suit, however, and finally secure good accommodations with a private\nfamily.\n\nWhy all this difficulty? It arises from the fact that this is the week\nset apart for London and the surrounding country to celebrate the\nQueen\u2019s Jubilee, this being the fiftieth year of her reign. For some\ndays the streets have been absolutely crowded with visitors. It is said\nthat there are more people here now than ever before. It is a difficult\nmatter, I am sure, for one who has never been here to realize what this\nmeans.\n\nLondon occupies a good part of four counties, covering an area of one\nhundred and twenty-five square miles. This area is traversed by 7,400\nstreets which, if laid end to end, would form a great thoroughfare,\neighty feet wide, reaching from London to New York. And yet these\nstreets are far too few, too narrow, and too short, to accommodate the\nsix and a half millions of people who are now crowded into the city\nto attend the Jubilee. There are, in London, more Scotchmen than in\nEdinburgh; more Irish than in Dublin; more Jews than in Palestine;\nmore Catholics than in Rome. There are more people in London to-day\nthan live in New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, Boston, Cincinnati,\nLouisville, New Orleans, St. Louis, Kansas City and San Francisco all\ncombined. There are more than half as many people here as live in\nMexico, and more than one-tenth as many as inhabit the whole of the\nUnited States of America.\n\nMonday morning, at ten o\u2019clock, I started out, like Bayard Taylor,\nwith the determination to lose myself in this great city, and I hope\nthat it will not be considered egotistic in me to say that I was\neminently successful. Indeed, I have never been more successful in\nany of my undertakings than in the effort to lose myself in London. I\nwandered through the streets for hours and hours, going up and down,\nto the right and left, across, zigzag, and every other way, paying no\nattention whatever to the direction in which I was going, or to the\ndistance that I had traveled. Johnson and I were soon separated from\neach other. I was alone, all alone! Who can describe that lonely and\nwoe-begone feeling which comes over one as he, for the first time,\nwinds his way through the great crowd that constantly throngs the\nstreets of the world\u2019s metropolis! A lonely, desolate, miserable, and\ndepressing feeling takes hold of your spirit. You cannot shake it off.\nAfter walking until your weary limbs can scarcely support you, you\nsit down upon some curb-stone, or door-step, to rest, to meditate, to\ndream. Your head turns dizzy as you sit there and watch that human\nNiagara dashing by you! In vain, you scan the care-worn faces of the\npassers-by for a familiar countenance. You can only comfort yourself\nwith this consoling thought: \u201cI know as many of them as they do of me.\u201d\nAh! who knows\u2014who can know\u2014that mixed multitude? Who can tell whether\ncourage or cowardice, whether hope or fear, whether virtue or vice,\nwhether joy or sorrow, whether peace or strife, most rules the heart?\nOne man in the crowd continually thinks of the low, the mean, the vile,\nand is himself corrupt and vicious. Another has pure thoughts and lofty\naspirations; he has an eye for the beautiful; he loves the true, and\nlongs to be good.\n\nHere is a demon of darkness, whose heart is black with the crimes\nof last night\u2014yea, with the accumulated crimes of a life-time. His\nconscience is dead. He would now like to stifle the courage, to\nthrottle the hope, and stab the virtue of others. There is a good\nSamaritan whose acts are acts of kindness, and whose deeds are deeds of\ncharity. He is in the world, but not of the world. He is a stranger.\nHe is a pilgrim. His citizenship is in Heaven!\n\nFor several hours I watched the passing throng, and read their\nthoughts as best I could. At length I came to myself. I felt as if I\nhad been dreaming. I found that it was seven o\u2019clock in the evening.\nI discovered that I was lost! I did not know where I was. I scarcely\nknew who I was, or whence I came. I had forgotten the name and place\nof my room. I walked on, going I knew not where. The sun set in the\neast. Water ran up stream. I found that I had not been wise, but\notherwise. My pockets had been searched. My money-purse was gone;\nfortunately, however, it was almost empty. I had very little small\nchange, and nothing to make it out of. Eight o\u2019clock came, then eight\nthirty\u2014things were getting desperate! I sought a policeman, and asked\nhim to help me find myself. Without any reluctance whatever, he took\ncharge of me. He told me to follow him. I did so; and, just as the\nclock struck ten, the key turned, I heard the bolt slam, and found\nmyself locked for the night within\u2014my own room. This ended my first\nday on the streets of London.\n\nTuesday is the Jubilee Day, the day of the Golden Wedding, the day when\nQueen Victoria and her people are to be married a second time, after\nhaving lived together for fifty years as sovereign and subjects. God\nfavors us with what the people here call \u201cQueen\u2019s weather,\u201d a perfect\nday. The morning is bright, the sky cloudless; the air is pure, and the\nbreeze refreshing. Johnson and I leave home early, and reach Trafalgar\nsquare before seven o\u2019clock in order to secure a good position from\nwhich to see what promises to be one of the greatest royal processions\never witnessed. Although we are on the scene early, thousands and tens\nof thousands of people have preceded us. Some came at two o\u2019clock in\nthe morning that they might secure favorable positions. Many paid from\nten to one hundred dollars for seats. Fortune smiles on Johnson and me.\nWe obtain good vantage-ground, the only charge being \u201clong standing.\u201d\n\nBy nine o\u2019clock, the route along which the procession is to pass is\nthe most thickly populated part of the globe that I have yet seen.\nThe broad sidewalks and streets are a solid mass of humanity. The\nlarge parks, sometimes covering acres, are filled with men, women and\nchildren, packed to suffocation. The streets, steps, verandas, windows,\nand housetops are all filled. At 9:30, all are driven out of the\nstreets proper, crowded back on the sidewalks, into the lanes, by-ways,\nopen squares, and public parks along the route. Persons on the opposite\nsidewalks face each other. Just in front of the crowd, close back to\nthe curb-stone on either side, stands a line of large, able-bodied\npolicemen, shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, the two lines facing\neach other.\n\nIn front of the police force, is a line of armed infantry, standing at\n\u201cattention,\u201d with fixed bayonets. Still in front of these, is stationed\na line of cavalrymen, all splendidly dressed and well mounted. Each has\na gun and a pistol buckled to his saddle, and a glittering sabre in his\nhand. Thus the whole route, extending for miles and miles, is flanked\non either side by three columns of armed men. Buntings of every color,\nand the flags of all nations, are fluttering in the breeze. The richest\nfloral designs that art can fashion, or that money can purchase, adorn\nthe way. The route is lined from end to end with wealth, beauty, and\nchivalry of the English Isles. See! Far in the distance the royal\ntrumpeters are coming, on black chargers, flourishing their golden\ntrumpets, and shouting to the expectant multitude, \u201cThe Queen is\ncoming!\u201d The shout is taken up and repeated by a thousand times a\nthousand voices: \u201cThe Queen is coming! The Queen is coming!\u201d The\nenthusiastic cries come rolling down the avenue like waves on the\nocean. It strikes the fibres of every heart. The electric current\nflashes along the whole line\u2014every man feels the shock. The welkin\nrings with deafening cheers.\n\n[Illustration: CHAPEL OF HENRY VII, WESTMINSTER ABBEY.]\n\nThe procession itself defies description. It consists of some fifty or\nsixty regal carriages all filled with royal personages\u2014kings, queens,\nand crown princes. Each carriage is drawn by four\u2014some of them by\neight\u2014large horses wearing silver-mounted harness. Each carriage is\nattended by thirty life-guards, well mounted, and armed to the teeth.\nThe Queen\u2019s escort consists of thirty royal princes. The procession\npasses on to Westminster Abbey, and there, in the presence of the\ncongregated royalty of earth, Victoria is crowned Queen of England and\nof India, after having been fifty years a sovereign.\n\nEvery civilized nation under heaven has contributed to the pageantry\nof this occasion. For the last half century, Victoria has been weaving\nfor herself a crown which the nations of the earth do this day rejoice\nto place upon her brow. She has magnified her office. Is she jealous?\nit is of her honor. Is she ambitious? it is for the glory of her\ncountry. Is she proud? it is of what her people have accomplished. Is\nshe mighty? it is to succor the oppressed. She is exalted, yet humble;\ndignified, yet courteous; a sovereign, yet a willing subject of the\nlowly Nazarene. Elizabeth is called England\u2019s greatest queen; but\nVictoria is, unquestionably, her best. And,\n\n \u201cHowe\u2019er it be, it seems to me\n \u2019Tis only noble to be good.\n Kind hearts are more than coronets,\n And simple faith than Norman blood.\u201d\n\nThe Victorian era will be known to posterity as \u201cthe golden period\nof English history.\u201d Victoria has been a mother to her children and\na benefactor to her people. She has developed her country, advanced\nthe arts and sciences, and founded hospitals and asylums. May the good\nQueen live long to rule righteously, to glorify motherhood, and adorn\nher palace with Christian virtues. And may the angel of peace long\nguard her realms!\n\n[Illustration: NELSON\u2019S MONUMENT.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nSIGHTS OF LONDON.\n\n Traveling in London\u2014London a Studio\u2014The Hum of Folly and the\n Sleep of Traffic\u2014Five Million Heads in Nightcaps\u2014Too Many People\n Together\u2014Survival of the Fittest\u2014Place and Pride\u2014Poverty and\n Penury\u2014Beneficence in London\u2014East End\u2014Assembly Hall\u2014A Converted\n Brewer\u2014His Great Work\u2014Meeting an Old Schoolmate.\n\n\nTHE man who comes to London and is driven around in a hansom, or a\ncarriage, as most tourists are, and sees only the museums and art\ngalleries, the botanical and zoological gardens, the monuments and\nstatues, the costly cathedrals and splendid temples, the lordly\nmansions and the superb palaces, of the city, leaves with a false,\nimperfect, distorted, and one-sided idea of the place. I would advise\nno man to come here, and leave, without visiting Westminister Abbey\nand the Houses of Parliament, without going to St. Paul\u2019s Cathedral,\nto the Tower, and a dozen other places of general interest, \u201cwhere\ntravelers do most congregate.\u201d These things one should see, as a matter\nof course, but other things should not be left unseen.\n\nI love to study architecture, art and literature; I love to study\npoetry and science; but, above all, I love to study _man_.\n\nSome years ago, I saw a gentleman in Queen\u2019s College, Toronto, Canada,\nwho received a good salary from the government to study cat-fish. Men\nspend many years and much money in studying birds. And is not one fish\nsold for a penny, and two sparrows for a farthing? Man is of more value\nthan many fishes and sparrows. Then, why not study man? Nor is it\nenough to study men individually; but we must study them collectively\nas well. And, for this collective study of mankind, there is no better\nplace to be found anywhere beneath the shining stars than the city of\nLondon.\n\nAs I sit alone in my room to-night, my conscience hurting me for\ndisobeying the counsels of a devoted mother in keeping this late hour,\nand look down upon the \u201clife circulation\u201d of the city, I realize that\nit is true sublimity to dwell here. \u201cI am listening to the stifled hum\nof midnight, when traffic has lain down to rest. I hear the chariot\nwheels of vanity rolling here and there, bearing her on to distant\nstreets, to halls roofed in, and lighted to the true pitch for folly.\nVice and misery are roaming, prowling, mourning in the streets, like\nnight-birds turned loose in the forest.\n\n\u201cThe high and the low are here, the joyful and the sorrowful are here;\nmen are dying here; men are being born; men are praying\u2014on the other\nside of the brick partition, men are cursing; around them is all the\nvast void of night. The proud grandee still lingers in his perfumed\nsaloons or reposes within damask curtains. Wretchedness cowers into\ntruckle-beds, or shivers, hungerstricken, into its lair of straw. In\nobscure cellars, squalid poverty languidly emits its voice of destiny\nto haggard, hungry villains, while landlords sit as counsellors of\nstate, plotting and playing their high chess game, whereof the pawns\nare _men_.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT.]\n\n\u201cThe blushing maiden, listening to whisperings of love, is urged to\ntrust him who, in all probability, seeks to rob her of that crown of\nglory without which woman is indeed a \u2018poor thing.\u2019 A thousand gin\npalaces are open, and are at this moment crowded with drinking and\ndrunken men and women\u2014perhaps far less of males than of females. Gay\nmansions with supper rooms and dancing halls are full of light and\nmusic and high-swelling hearts. But, in yonder condemned cells, the\npulse of life beats tremulous and faint. The sleepless and blood-shot\neyes look through the darkness that is around and within for the last\nstern morning. Full three millions of two-legged animals lie around us\nin horizontal positions, their heads in night-caps and their hearts\nfull of foolish dreams. Riot cries aloud and staggers and swaggers in\nhis rank dens of shame.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe mother, with streaming hair and bleeding heart, kneels over her\npallid, dying infant, whose beastly father is drunk and cursing; all\nthese heaped and huddled together with nothing but a little carpentry\nand masonry between them; all crammed in like salted fish in their\nbarrel, or weltering, shall I say, like an Egyptian pitcher of tamed\nvipers, each struggling to get his head above the others.\u201d This is as\ntrue now as it was in Carlyle\u2019s day. Such work goes on every night of\nthe year. Having seen these things myself, I speak what I do know. I am\ntruly glad that London is in England, and not in our beloved country.\nI hope we may never have a city as large as this, for I am thoroughly\nconvinced that it is not good for so many men and women to dwell\ntogether.\n\nIf it were possible for five millions of men to come together to live\nand do business in the same city, each having the same amount of money\nin the struggle of the survival of the fittest which would follow,\na few men would soon have great wealth, and others would be reduced\nto poverty and want. The successful ones would then become proud and\nhaughty, overbearing and dictatorial. Some of the others would, like\nthe ass in the tread-mill and ox under the yoke, be doomed to a life\nof toil and servitude. Another class of the unfortunate ones would\nbecome despondent, wretched, reckless, indolent and selfish. The\nhard-hearted would set dead-falls and snares to catch their weak-minded\nand strong-passioned brother. This would go on and on until thousands\nwould lose their manhood and womanhood. They would abandon all hope and\ncourage and virtue. They would resort to treachery, lying, stealing,\ngambling, and murdering. They would thus degenerate into the lowest,\nvilest, meanest specimens of humanity.\n\n[Illustration: THE TOWER OF LONDON.]\n\nThis is London. I have seen more wealth, more of the trappings of place\nand pride, more worldly pomp and regal splendor, than I have ever seen\nanywhere else. I have also seen more poverty, suffering, vice, and\nignorance than I ever expected to find in a country so highly favored\nas is England.\n\nHaving spoken somewhat at length of the lower strata of London life,\nlet us now look at the praiseworthy efforts that are being made to\nelevate, humanize, moralize, and Christianize these hope-abandoned\nwretches. What is known as the \u201cEast End\u201d is the worst part of the\ncity. It is inhabited by a million and a half of people, most of them\nbeing the off-scouring of creation\u2014not \u201cthe bravest of the brave,\u201d\nbut the vilest of the vile. Just in the midst of this den of shame and\ncorruption stands the \u201cGreat Assembly Hall\u201d which, for the last eleven\nyears, has been open day and night for gospel work.\n\nMr. Fred. M. Charrington, the Superintendent of this Mission, has a\nstrange and interesting history. His father was a strange man of great\nwealth, and one of the largest brewers in London. He had only two sons,\nwho were the sole heirs of his immense fortune and lucrative business.\nThe sons had all the advantages of a thorough education and extensive\ntravel. Fred served twelve months as brewer to the Queen. But, some\nsixteen years ago, as Fred. Charrington (then twenty-one years old)\nwas returning from a continental tour, he chanced to fall in with a\ngospel minister. When the preacher spoke of man\u2019s duty to serve God,\nCharrington protested. He said they had had a pleasant time together,\nand he did not care to have their peace disturbed, or friendship\nbroken, by the introduction of such subjects as man\u2019s sin, Christ\u2019s\nrighteousness, death, hell, and the judgment. This conversation led\nto Charrington\u2019s conversion. After that, he worked in the brewery all\nday, taught the Bible to classes at night, and preached the gospel\non the streets every Sunday. He soon saw, however, that he could not\nsuccessfully teach the Bible, and preach the gospel on Sunday, to\npeople who were drunk on the beer and whiskey that he had sold them\nduring the week. This so troubled his conscience that he gave up a\nbusiness that was bringing him an annual income of more than $25,000.\nHe then established this Mission in East London, which has grown to\nbe the largest and most successful work of the kind in the world.\nThe Assembly Hall, with the property belonging to it, is valued at\n$250,000, Charrington having given about one-third of the money out\nof his own pocket. He has more than 2,500 members in his church. He\nis strictly an immersionist. Before one can possibly become a member\nof Charrington\u2019s church, he must sign a pledge neither to drink, nor\nbuy, nor sell whiskey, beer, or any other strong drink. His Sunday\naudiences range from 4,000 to 5,000.\n\n[Illustration: ST. PAUL\u2019S CATHEDRAL.]\n\nIn connection with the Mission, there are a coffee saloon, a bookstore,\nYoung Men\u2019s Christian Association, Young Women\u2019s Christian Association,\na news-boy and boot-black mission, a penny savings-bank, an emigration\nbureau, a house of correction for bad boys, and a reformatory for\nyoung women. All departments of this wonderful Mission move on with\nthe regularity of clock-work. I have preached and lectured for Mr.\nCharrington a few times, and have half-way promised to spend a month\nwith him next year. I love to be with him. He is full of hope. The\nspirit of God is upon him. Verily old things have passed away, and all\nthings have become new to him. The things he once loved he now hates,\nand the things he once hated he now loves. A new song has been put into\nhis mouth\u2014even the song of Zion. Oh, the power, the wonderful power,\nof the gospel!\n\nThe Christian people of London have expended, and are still expending,\nvast sums of money in establishing and maintaining large and successful\nMissions in different parts of the city especially in the East End,\nfor the elevation of degraded humanity. And nothing but the power of\nGod can make these people fit to live on earth, much less to dwell\nin Heaven. Millions and millions of dollars have, also, been, and\nare still being, expended in establishing and maintaining hospitals\nand asylums, workhouses, reformatories, and schools. Most of these\ninstitutions are comparatively new, but they are now splendidly fitted\nup and well cared for. They will, under God, be powerful agencies for\ngood.\n\nI was quite delighted, a few days ago, to meet my old friend and fellow\nstudent, S. A. Smith, of Kansas. After graduating from two of our best\nAmerican institutions of learning, Mr. Smith came to Europe to continue\nhis studies. He has spent three years in Germany, France, and England,\nstudying the ancient languages, especially the Semitic languages. I\nhave never known a man with a greater capacity for work than S. A.\nSmith. He is the author of two very valuable books, one of which is\njust out, and is dedicated to Professor J. R. Sampey. Such an honor was\nnever more worthily bestowed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nA TRIO OF ILLUSTRIOUS MEN.\n\n Joseph Parker\u2014Canon Farrar\u2014Charles H. Spurgeon.\n\n\nTHERE seem to be a few men in every age and country in whom there is\ncentred all that is purest, noblest, and best in the moral, religious,\nand intellectual life of their people. And, if it be true, as Pope\nsays, that \u201cThe proper study of mankind is man,\u201d then it is a desirable\nthing to be thrown with these men who are religiously pure, morally\ngood, and intellectually great. \u201cAs iron sharpeneth iron, so a man\nsharpeneth the countenance of his friend.\u201d What can be more inspiring\nthan to come in contact with men \u201con whom God has set his seal,\u201d and of\neach of whom it may be said, as of Brutus,\n\n \u201cHis life is gentle, and the elements\n So mixed in him that Nature might stand up\n And say to all the world: \u2018_This is a man_.\u2019\u201d\n\nI shall not now speak of England\u2019s law-makers and political magnates,\nneither of her authors and literary lights; of these I shall have\nsomething to say hereafter. But in this chapter I shall confine myself\nto three religious leaders, who are well worthy of our careful study.\n\nJoseph Parker, Canon Farrar, and Charles Spurgeon are three preachers\nin whom, I think, are centred all the \u201cgifts and graces\u201d of the English\npulpit. I listen to these men with great interest, and, I hope, not\nwithout some profit. I study them closely. I try, as best I can, to\ndiscover the secret of their power and marvellous success. No one can\nreasonably question their power, or deny their success. For eighteen or\ntwenty years, Doctor Parker has been preaching three times a week in\nthe great City Temple of London. The house holds 2,500 or 3,000 people.\nIt is always crowded on Sunday, at morning and night. On Thursday at\nnoon he has 1,200 to 1,800 persons to listen to him. Hundreds of the\nbest business men in the city leave their places of employment, and go\nto hear him one hour each week.\n\nFrederick W. Farrar is Canon of Westminster Abbey, and Chaplain to\nthe Queen. The Abbey is one of the most splendid temples on earth. As\nthe preacher stands in the pulpit, he is surrounded by the busts and\nstatues, by the tombs and monuments, of historians and statesmen, of\npoets and artists. His audience is composed chiefly of the aristocracy\nof England. Here is where the dukes and earls and lords, the kings and\nqueens and princes, of the nation most do congregate. To minister in\nholy things, from year to year, to an audience like this, one must, of\nnecessity, be possessed of splendid powers.\n\n[Illustration: REV. CHARLES H. SPURGEON.]\n\nOf Mr. Spurgeon, what shall I say? When we remember that there is an\nutter absence of what is known as sensationalism about Mr. Spurgeon,\nand yet that his audience has for the last thirty years averaged more\nthan five thousand people; when we remember that his Tabernacle holds\nabout 6,500 hearers, and yet that hundreds and hundreds are frequently\nturned away from the doors; when we remember that his name has become a\nhousehold word throughout Europe and America, and many of the remotest\nIsles of the seas; when we remember that he is one and the same\nto-day, yesterday, and thirty years ago, a living embodiment of faith\nin God and His blessed Word, a perfect personification of buoyant hope\nand simple, childlike trust,\u2014I say, when we remember all these things,\nwe are lost in wonder and astonishment. In writing of such a man, words\nlose their power.\n\nI try as nearly as possible to view Parker, Farrar, and Spurgeon\nthrough the same glasses. I endeavor to listen to them without fear\nor favor, without preference or prejudice. All of them say striking\nthings, and I give here a characteristic expression of each of the\nthree preachers.\n\nParker: \u201cDo children grow up as they should grow, without the proper\ncare and nurture? Thistles do, flowers do not; goats do, horses do\nnot\u2014and there is more of man in a horse than horse in a man.\u201d\n\nFarrar, in speaking to the young men before him: \u201cI earnestly conjure\nyou now, at the beginning of your life\u2019s career, to hang about your\nnecks the jeweled amulet of self-respect.\u201d\n\nSpurgeon: \u201cThe Lord loves all of His people, but somehow methinks the\nmeek are His Josephs; upon them He puts His coat of many colors\u2014of joy\nand peace, of long-suffering and patience.\u201d\n\nThese gems of thought are, I think, illustrative of the real difference\nbetween Joseph Parker, Canon Farrar, and Charles Spurgeon. The first\nimpresses me as a moral philosopher, the second as a Christian\nrhetorician, the third as a gospel minister. The first studies\nphilosophy, the second aesthetics, the third the Bible. The first is\na lecturer, the second a writer, and the third a preacher. The first\nshows himself, the second his culture, the third his Lord. All three\nof them are great men, and it is possible that I would change my mind\nas to their respective merits, if I could hear them oftener; but I am\nhonestly of the opinion that, as a _gospel preacher_, Mr. Spurgeon\npossesses the virtues of the other two, without the faults of either.\nLike Saul, he towers head and shoulders above his brethren. Like the\nstars, the other two shine when the sun is behind the hills, but when\nhe arises their glory is eclipsed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nNOTTINGHAM, CAMBRIDGE, AND BEDFORD.\n\n Preaching to 2,500 People\u2014Entertained after the Manner of\n Royalty\u2014Excursion to Cambridge\u2014What Happened on the Way\u2014Received\n an Entertainment by the Mayor\u2014Cambridge University\u2014King\u2019s\n Chapel\u2014Fitzwilliam Museum\u2014Trinity College\u2014Cambridge Bibles\u2014Adieu\n to Friends\u2014Bedford\u2014The Church where John Bunyan Preached\u2014Bedford\n Jail, where Bunyan wrote _Pilgrim\u2019s Progress_\u2014Bunyan\u2019s\n Statue\u2014Elstow, Bunyan\u2019s Birthplace\u2014His Cottage\u2014His Chapel\u2014An Old\n Elm Tree.\n\n\nI AM now in Bedford; but before writing about this historic place,\nI must go back a little and tell you something about my wayward\nwanderings for the last ten days. While in Nottingham, some weeks ago,\nI preached one Sunday night in the Albert Hall to twenty-five hundred\nor three thousand people. The good Lord graciously blessed the meeting.\nSeveral persons were converted\u2014they found that peace which passeth all\nunderstanding. The people insisted that I remain and preach again, but\nI could not do so.\n\nAfter visiting Wales, and spending a week or two in London, the\nminister accepted an invitation to go back to Nottingham and preach.\nHe remained over two Sundays, preaching both days to the Albert\nHall people. The happiest moments of a minister\u2019s life are when he\nis preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ to a large and sympathetic\naudience, It is then that his delight reaches the highest point on the\nthermometer of the soul.\n\nDuring my stay in Nottingham, I was the guest of a model Christian\nfamily who treated me after the manner of royalty. Nottingham is a\nrailroad centre, and each day I was taken in a carriage or by rail to\nsee a beautiful river, placid lake, or a towering mountain; or to see\nsome noted forest ancient hall, or historic castle. The members of the\nfamily who accompanied me on these delightful excursions were familiar\nwith the legends, literature, and history of the country.\n\nYesterday I went on an excursion with this family, and sixty other\nNottingham people, to Cambridge. We were up in time to hear the lark\u2019s\nmorning song. The sky was clear; scarcely a cloud floated above us. And\nere yet the bright sun had kissed the dewdrop from off the grass, we\nhad turned our faces toward those classic halls where learning lives.\nWe dashed through many meadows where the wild flowers were beautifully\ninterwoven with the green grass. We leaped many laughing rivers,\nwinding streams, and babbling brooks. We wound around among many hills,\nand tunneled many mountains. These tunnels were numerous, long and\ndark. Now, in our party there happened to be a newly-married couple\nin the same compartment with myself, and these tunnels were to them\nalways a source of joy and rejoicing. They loved darkness rather than\nlight\u2014why, it is not necessary for me to state. Johnson says it was\nalways thus.\n\nAt the depot, we were met by the aldermen and deputy mayor of the city\nof Cambridge, who, in a most graceful manner, informed us that we were\ntheir guests, that they had plenty of carriages present to accommodate\nthe party, and would first show us the sights of the city, and then\nreturn to the hotel where a public dinner would be served. We proceeded\nat once to the University which comprises seventeen different colleges,\nall having different names, having been founded at different times by\ndifferent persons. Each college owns its own grounds, buildings, and\nendowment fund, and has its separate faculty. Some of the buildings\nare six or seven hundred years old. They are, however, quite well\npreserved, and are splendid specimens of the style of architecture\nof the eleventh and twelfth centuries. King\u2019s Chapel, the Chapel of\nKing\u2019s College, was built in the twelfth century, and it is nothing\nless than an architectural wonder. It is said to be one of the most\nremarkable structures in christendom. The Chapel is quite narrow, but\nis well-nigh four hundred feet long, and one hundred and twenty-five\nfeet high. Reader, I shall not attempt to describe this building, for,\nunless the massive structure could rise before you in its colossal\nproportions; unless you could go on the inside, and actually stand\nupon thrilling history as it is written in the Mosaic marble floor;\nunless you could lift your eyes from the historic floor, and see Bible\nstories standing out in life-like reality as they are pictured before\nyou in the stained-glass windows; unless you could look up and behold\nfor yourself the exquisite carving on the vaulted Gothic roof a hundred\nfeet above you; unless that holy calm, which these scenes inspire and\nwhich forever inhabits these sacred walls, could settle down upon your\nown spirit,\u2014I say, that unless you could see, realize, and experience\nall these things in, and of, and for, yourself, then it were impossible\nfor you to appreciate the beauty, the grandeur, the sublimity of this\nsplendid structure.\n\nThe Fitzwilliam Museum is the most handsome modern building in\nCambridge, if not in Great Britain. It looks as if it should be placed\nin a glass case and kept for the angels to inhabit.\n\nIn Trinity College Library, I saw the original manuscript of Milton\u2019s\n\u201cParadise Lost,\u201d the manuscript of Lord Macaulay\u2019s \u201cHistory of\nEngland,\u201d also the first letter that Lord Byron ever penned; he wrote,\nin his mother\u2019s name, thanking a neighbor lady for some potatoes which\nshe had been kind enough to send Lady Byron. I saw the telescope used\nby Newton in studying the heavenly bodies, and by the assistance of\nwhich he discovered new planets.\n\nI was much interested in going through the University printing\nestablishment, and in seeing the Cambridge Bibles manufactured. When\nI got back to Nottingham, I felt that I could truly say: \u201cI have\nbeen through Cambridge University, and still I may write, \u2018Plus\nultra\u2019\u2014there is more beyond, more to learn.\u201d\n\nI bade adieu to my Nottingham friends this morning while the\ndewdrops and the rays of the sun were yet playing hide-and-seek and\nseek-and-hide. Two hours later found me in Bedford. I go at once to\nthe church where John Bunyan was pastor two hundred years ago. The\nchurch I find surrounded by a huge iron fence. After hunting for half\nan hour, I succeed in finding the sexton who kindly shows me through.\nThe front door of the church cost six thousand dollars. It is molded of\nheavy bronze. The door is divided into twelve large panels, each panel\nrepresenting a scene taken from _Pilgrim\u2019s Progress_. The first panel\non the bottom of the lefthand side represents Christian with the burden\nof sin on his back, parting with his wife and children, leaving the\ncity of Destruction and starting out for that city whose builder and\nmaker is God. In the other panels we see Christian as he passes through\nthe wicket gate; as he approaches the cross and loses his burden; as\nhe falls into the hands of Giant Despair and is thrust into Doubting\nCastle; as he passes the lions in his way; as he sleeps and loses\nhis scroll; as he enters Vanity Fair; as he stands on the Delectable\nMountains from which he views the city of the blessed and hears the\nmusic of the redeemed; and finally we see him as he crosses the River\nof Death, and is welcomed by the angels as he reaches the golden shore.\n\nIn the back end of the church, is a small room containing some relics\nof Bunyan. Among other things, is the chair which Bunyan occupied\nwhile in Bedford jail, and in which he sat while writing _Pilgrim\u2019s\nProgress_. The iron-barred door of this little room is the same door\nthat locked Bunyan in his prison cell. My blood runs cold in my veins\nas I look upon the iron bolts and bars behind which Bunyan stood and\npreached the gospel to the listening multitudes as they gathered around\nthe jail.\n\nNear by the church is the place where the old prison stood. The prison\nwas torn down in 1801, the old site now being used as a market-place\nduring the week, and as a place for street-preaching on Sunday.\n\nAt the head of High Street, near where the old jail stood, there is\na splendid bronze statue of the immortal dreamer. The statue is more\nthan life size. It stands upon a tall granite pedestal, on which is the\nfollowing inscription;\n\n \u201cHe had his eyes lifted to heaven;\n The best of books in his hand,\n The law of truth was written upon his lips;\n He stood as if he pleaded with men.\u201d\n\nOne hour\u2019s walk from Bedford brings me to Elstow. This is the\nbirthplace of the man who wrote the greatest book this world ever saw,\nexcepting only the Bible. The old dormer-windowed cottage where Bunyan\nfirst saw light still survives the wrecks of time. On the village\ngreen, near by the cottage, is an old church where in early life he was\nsexton. Close by this church stands Bunyan\u2019s chapel, where he first\nbegan to publish the glad tidings of salvation.\n\n[Illustration: BUNYAN\u2019S COTTAGE.]\n\nAt the forks of the road, about two hundred yards from the cottage, is\na lordly elm-tree, beneath whose sheltering branches Bunyan used to\nstand and preach the gospel to listening thousands. I climb this tree,\nand cut several branches of which to make pen-stocks.\n\nWell, reader, I am tempted to go on and give you the thoughts that are\npassing through my mind; but I must not. Like Bunyan\u2019s _Pilgrim_, I am\ntired. I feel weak and faint. I must have quiet and rest, so let us\nclose this chapter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nBRITISH BAPTISTS\u2014THEIR DIVERSITIES\u2014THE REGULAR BAPTISTS OF ENGLAND.\n\nBY EDWARD PARKER, D. D., MANCHESTER, ENGLAND.\n\n Their Number and Divisions\u2014The Regular Baptists\u2014Their Movements and\n Progress.\n\n\nBRITISH Baptists are not one body in the sense, or to the same extent,\nthat American Baptists are. If a man in America says he is a Baptist,\nit is known exactly what he means. But if a man in England says he\nis a Baptist, you need further to know what sort of a Baptist he is\nbefore you can form a definite opinion of his belief or practice.\nAll British Baptists are alike in three things. They are, of course,\nall Immersionists; they believe that the immersion of believers on a\nprofession of their faith is the only baptism of Scripture. They are\nall Congregationalists; they believe that every separate congregation\nof believers is a church in itself, apart from any other congregation,\nand competent to manage its own affairs. They are all Voluntaries;\nthat is, they are opposed to all connection between Church and State,\nand all endowments for the support of the clergy secured or allotted\nto them by the law of the land. They neither accept the patronage,\nnor allow of the interference, of the civil magistrate in matters of\nreligion and conscience. But, while agreed on these things, there are\nothers on which they differ.\n\nThe first principal difference between them is indicated by the terms\nParticular and General Baptists. These terms express a difference, not\nof practice in regard to communion, but of creed. Particular Baptists\nare professedly Calvinistic in their creed; General Baptists are\nprofessedly Arminian. Particular Baptists have existed in England for\na much longer period than General Baptists. The first General Baptist\nchurch in England was founded in about the year 1612, and had its\nlocation in Newgate, London. After a time, an Association of General\nBaptist churches was formed; and still later, in 1770, the Association\nwas re-organized under the title of the General Baptist Association\nof the New Connection. The occasion for this new departure was the\ndoctrinal degeneracy of the churches of the old association. \u201cFrom\ngeneral redemption,\u201d says Dr. Ryland, \u201cthey had gone to no redemption;\nfrom Arminianism to Arianism and Socinianism.\u201d This re-organized\nAssociation still exists, and it still bears the same name. The\nchurches belonging to it are all Arminian in doctrine. On the question\nof Communion, they are divided. Some of them practice Close Communion,\nand some Open. Formerly, the churches were nearly all Close, but Open\nCommunionism has made considerable advances amongst them during recent\nyears. They have a College at Nottingham for the education of young men\nfor the ministry. They have, also, their own Missionary Societies.\n\n[Illustration: EDWARD PARKER, D. D.]\n\nThe Particular, or Calvinistic, Baptists of England differ in some\nrespects from each other. Professedly, they are all alike, Calvinists,\nbut they are not all Calvinists alike. Some of them are hyper, and some\nof them moderate, Calvinists. At the beginning of this century, nearly\nall the Particular Baptists in the country were Hyper-Calvinists. This\nresulted from the teaching of such men as John Brine and Doctor John\nGill. The teaching of and influence of Andrew Fuller inaugurated a\nchange: and the change thus inaugurated has continued and developed\never since, so that to-day the vast majority of Particular Baptists in\nGreat Britain are moderate Calvinists. The Hyper-Calvinists, however,\nare by no means extinct. In some parts of England they are rather\nnumerous, while in almost all parts a few of them may be found. There\nare amongst them some very excellent people. They adhere firmly to\ntheir principles. They maintain a separateness from the world that\nother Christians might profitably emulate. But, speaking generally,\nthey are not very aggressive in their spirit; at any rate in the\ndirection of efforts to spread the truth. There is not much of the\nmissionary spirit amongst them. They have, however, one Missionary\nSociety called, with an emphasis, the _Strict_ Baptist Mission. This\nMission has two centres of evangelical work\u2014in India and Ceylon. In\nIndia, there are sixteen stations, and twenty-eight workers; in Ceylon,\nthere are six stations and seven workers. The income last year was\nnearly \u00a3700, and the expenditure about \u00a3590.\n\nThe Particular Baptists of Britain that are in doctrine Moderate\nCalvinists are divided into Close and Open Communionists. All the\nHyper-Calvinistic Baptists are Close Communionists. The object of\ntheir Missionary Society, to which reference has just been made,\nis stated to be \u201cthe diffusion of the Gospel in heathen lands,\nand the formation of churches in accordance with the principles\nof Strict Communion Baptists.\u201d And the churches at home are, in\nrespect to communion, of the same type as those which they aim to\nform abroad. Vast numbers of the Moderate Calvinistic Baptists are\nOpen Communionists. But this is not universally the case. There are\nBritish Baptists that are neither extreme in doctrine, nor loose in\npractice. In regard alike to doctrine and practice, they may justly be\ndesignated, as their American brethren are designated Regular Baptists.\n\nThe question may naturally be asked: \u201cWhat is the relative numerical\nstrength of these different descriptions of British Baptists?\u201d That\nquestion it is difficult, if not impossible, to answer exactly to its\nfull extent. It is not difficult to determine the relative numerical\nstrength of the General and the Particular Baptists. Baptists of all\nsorts in Britain, according to the Baptist Hand Book of 1890, number,\nchurches 2,786; members 329,126. Of these, the \u201cGeneral Baptist\nAssociation\u201d contains, churches 206; members 26,782. These figures\nindicate pretty accurately the numerical strength of the General and\nParticular Baptists, respectively. But, when we come to the different\nsections of the Particular Baptists, accurate information is not\nso easily obtainable. There are no means of ascertaining how many\nHyper-Calvinists there are amongst the Particular Baptists. They have\nan Association in London with fifty-six churches, and another in\nSuffolk and Norfolk with twenty-seven churches; but outside the limits\nof these Associations the churches are, for the most part, isolated\nfrom each other, and from their brethren generally. Then again, of the\nModerate Calvinists it is not easy to determine how many are Close,\nand how many are Open, Communionists. For, while maintaining their\ndistinctive principles, the two often co-exist in the same Association,\nand to a large extent cooperate in general denominational work. It\nmust be admitted that the majority, and a considerable majority, of\nthe Baptists in Britain who are Moderate Calvinists are also Open\nCommunionists. And this considerable majority includes most of the\nlargest, and nearly all of the wealthiest, churches, together with a\nlarge proportion of the ablest and best known ministers. Still there\nare Regular Baptists in existence; nor are they, though sometimes\nignored and often reproached, insignificant in respect to either\nnumbers or influence. If the whole of the United Kingdom be taken into\naccount, the Regular Baptists compose a somewhat large army. They\ninclude in their ranks most of the Baptists in Scotland. The Scotch\nBaptists are strong Calvinists but not Hyper-Calvinists, and they are\nClose Communionists. They include all the Welsh Baptists. There are in\nWales 625 churches, with a total of 77,126 members; not one of these\nis Hyper and they are all Close Communion. There are a few English\nBaptists in Wales that are Open Communion, but all the Welsh Baptists\nare Close, whether in Wales or out of it. There are some districts\nin England where Regular Baptists are decidedly strong. In not a few\ndistricts, to meet with a Regular Baptist church is an exception; while\nin other districts it is an exception to meet with anything else. The\nRossendale district, in the County of Lancaster, is about ten miles in\nlength, and five or six in breadth. It contains sixteen Regular Baptist\nchurches. In the Huddersfield district, Yorkshire, which covers an area\nof only a few miles, there are thirteen Baptist churches, and eleven of\nthem are Regular Baptist.\n\nThe Regular Baptists of England proper, though not obtrusive in their\ncharacter, are sturdy and robust. They know what they believe, and why\nthey believe it; and they are prepared in all circumstances, and at\nall hazards, to stand by their faith. They are not a people that the\nbewitchings of flattery can delude, or the terrors of opposition daunt.\nThough often condemned because of their narrowness, they are respected\nby those who condemn them, because of their firmness and consistency.\nThey are men that can be relied upon. In important crises, both\nreligious and political, they have proved themselves the very backbone\nof the Baptist denomination. To those around them, their ability has\nbeen strength and their courage inspiration.\n\nThe denominational work of the Regular Baptists is done, to a very\nlarge extent, through the existing denominational Societies. Their work\nin foreign missions is done through the Baptist Foreign Missionary\nSociety. The first secretary of that Society was a sturdy Regular\nBaptist\u2014Andrew Fuller. And Regular Baptists still love the Society,\nand are generous and hearty in their support of it. Their Home\nMissionary work is done partly through the Baptist Union, but to a\ngreater extent through the county Associations. In most of the counties\nof England, there is an Association of Baptist churches, distinct from\nthe Baptist Union, though often affiliated with it; and in connection\nwith these Associations there is generally a Home Missionary Society;\nand, through these different Home Missionary Societies, Regular\nBaptists work with others to plant Baptist churches and spread Baptist\nprinciples through the land. Years ago, the Regular Baptists sustained\na separate Missionary Society for the Continent of Europe; but the\ngrowth and development of the missionary work in Germany, under the\nlate Mr. Oncken, led them to transfer their operations to the German\nBaptist Mission, which mission they continue to support. A prominent\nRegular Baptist layman, Martin H. Wilkin, Esq., of London, is the\nEnglish treasurer of it.\n\nIn addition to the work they do through the agencies that have been\nnamed, the Regular Baptists of England have two Societies that are\ndistinctively their own\u2014\u201dThe Baptist Tract and Book Society,\u201d and\n\u201cThe Manchester Baptist College.\u201d _The Baptist Tract and Book Society_\ncame into existence nearly fifty years ago. Previously to that time,\nthere had existed in England no Society, or agency, for the printing\nand disseminating of Baptist literature. This was much regretted by\nsome good men, who met together and formed a Society whose object\nshould be \u201cto make known\u201d the glorious gospel of the blessed God,\n\u201cby the publication of small treatises and tracts; and especially\nto disseminate the views of Baptists relative to the doctrines and\nordinances of the New Testament.\u201d The Society in its very beginning,\nwas condemned and opposed by some, by some Baptists even; and, strange\nto say, because it was Baptist. With the Religious Tract Society in\nexistence, they contended, a denominational organization was, to say\nthe least, uncalled for. There are some amongst Baptists still who, if\nthey do not oppose the Society, look askance at it, and stand aloof\nfrom it, not ostensibly because it is Baptist, but because as Baptist,\nit is not sufficiently \u201cbroad.\u201d Nevertheless, the Society has held on\nits way. Originated by Regular Baptists, and formed on Regular Baptist\nprinciples, it is still under the control of Regular Baptists, and\nworked on Regular Baptist lines. It is the same Society to-day that\nit was at first, except that it is larger and stronger, and fills a\nmore extended sphere of usefulness. Its tracts have been circulated,\nnot only in Britain, but also in almost every part of the world. And\nthe committee report that \u201cencouraging communications are constantly\nbeing received, containing testimonials to the value of the Society\u2019s\npublications, and the signal blessings attending their circulation.\u201d\n\n_The Manchester Baptist College_ grew out of an old society, first\ncalled the Strict Baptist Society, and afterwards the Baptist\nEvangelical Society. This Society was formed in the year 1844. One\nof its principal objects was the education of young men for the\nministry. All the denominational colleges in England at that time were\npractically Open Communion. Professedly, they were neutral on the\nCommunion question; but, as a matter of fact, all their neutrality\nwas on one side. All the professors and tutors were Open Communion,\nand so, with few exceptions, were the ministers sent out from them.\nIf the young were Close Communion when they entered college, they,\nin most cases, became Open before they left. The Regular Baptists\nwere therefore made to feel it incumbent upon them to establish an\neducational institution of their own: first, that they might protect\ntheir young men who devoted themselves to the work of the ministry from\ninfluences unfriendly to their stability in the faith in which they had\nbeen taught; and, secondly, that their churches might be relieved from\nthe necessity of choosing either an uneducated man for their pastor, or\na man whose views were not in harmony with their own. Hence the action\nthey took in the formation of the Society just referred to. The plan\nadopted by this Society was that of placing students who had given\nsatisfactory evidence that they possessed grace and gifts suitable\nfor the ministry of the gospel, and for pastoral work, separately,\nor in twos or threes, for a period of two or three years, under the\ntuitional care and guidance of some able and experienced pastor. Joseph\nHarbottle, of Accrington, uncle of Dr. Joseph Angus, of Regent\u2019s Park\nCollege, London; John Shearer, of Glasgow; Dr. John Stock, of Salendine\nNook, Huddersfield; and, pre-eminently, Thomas Dawson, of Liverpool,\nwere amongst the pastors chosen for this purpose. By their personal\ninfluence, and by their devoted labors, all these good men laid the\nstudents of the Baptist Evangelical Society, and the Society itself,\nand the Regular Baptist cause in England generally, under deep and\nlasting obligation.\n\nBut, excellently as this plan worked for a while, a new departure was\neventually found to be necessary, and steps were taken to establish a\ncollege. After much thought and prayer, Chamber Hall, Bury, Lancashire\n(the birthplace of the _great_ Sir Robert Peel) was secured as the\nhome of the college, and it was opened in October, 1866, with the Rev.\nHenry Dawson, who had been for more than thirty years the devoted and\nsuccessful pastor of the Regular Baptist church, Westgate, Bradford,\nYorkshire, as its president and theological tutor. Soon afterwards, the\nRev. Dr. Evans was engaged as lecturer in Ecclesiastical History, and\nthe Rev. James Webb as classical tutor. In Chamber Hall, the college\nwas conducted successfully, though with some disadvantages, for more\nthan seven years, when it was removed to handsome premises, which had\nin the meantime been erected in Brighton Grove, Rusholme, Manchester.\nThe building in Brighton Grove, where the college has had its home\nfor the last seventeen years, is the property of the college. It cost\nmore than 11,000 pounds. Previously to the removal of the college from\nBury, Dr. Evans died; and, about four years after the removal, in the\nyear 1877, Mr. Dawson and Mr. Webb both resigned their respective\nposts, owing to the infirmities of age. Dr. Edward Parker was appointed\npresident and theological tutor in place of Mr. Dawson, and the Rev.\nJohn Turner Marshall, M. A. (London) was appointed classical tutor in\nsuccession to Mr. Webb, positions which they both still hold.\n\nThis college is the only one in England on Close Communion lines.\nIt has had to struggle for its existence. Regular Baptists are\ncomparatively poor, and Open Communionist friends have not looked\nkindly upon it. They have hindered it in more instances than they have\nhelped it. Still all its needs have been supplied. It has gained for\nitself a respectable position among other colleges for the thoroughness\nof its educational training and the scholarship of its students.\nIn the competitive examinations, last May, of the Non-conformist\ncolleges of England and Wales a student of Manchester Baptist College\ncame off first with honors, and another student stood fifth in the\nfirst division. What is more important, the College has fulfilled\nthe expectations of its founders in conserving and advancing Regular\nBaptist principles. It has arrested the progress of Open Communionism\nin Regular Baptist churches. It has filled the pulpits of more than\nseventy churches, a large proportion of which were formerly filled\nby ministers of Open Communion sentiments. The College is, in a very\neminent sense, the hope of the Regular Baptist cause in England. It has\ndone a great work for that cause already. If it is still encouraged, as\nthere is every reason to believe that it will be, by the same devoted\ngenerosity that its friends have extended to it hitherto, it will yet\ndo still greater things.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nLAST OF ENGLAND AND FIRST OF THE CONTINENT.\n\n Windsor Castle, the Home of England\u2019s Queen\u2014Queen Victoria\u2014The\n Home of Shakespeare\u2014Across the Channel\u2014First Impressions\u2014Old Time\n Ways\u2014Brussels on a Parade\u2014Waterloo Re-enacted\u2014A Visit to the Field\n of Waterloo\u2014A Lion with Eyes Fixed on France\u2014Interview with a Man\n who Saw Napoleon\u2014Wertz Museum\u2014\u201dNapoleon in Hell\u201d\u2014\u201dHell in Revolt\n against Heaven\u201d\u2014\u201dTriumph of Christ\u201d\u2014Age Offering the Things of the\n Present to the Man of the Future.\n\n\nWINDSOR Castle, the winter residence of England\u2019s Queen, is situated\non the Thames about twenty miles from London, and possesses many\ninteresting features. The property of the Castle comprises a number of\ntowers, gates, mansions, barracks, chapels, and other structures. The\nprincipal portion occupies two courts of spacious dimensions, an upper\nand a lower, there being a large round tower (or keep) between, in\nwhich the Governor resides. This tower rises 220 feet above the Thames,\nand it is said that on a clear day twelve counties can be seen from its\nsummit.\n\nSt. George\u2019s Chapel is an elegant Gothic edifice where the royal family\noccasionally attend divine services. The Albert Memorial Chapel is\nanother place of worship, which was fitted up by Queen Victoria in\nmemory of her late husband. Here is his tomb, although his bones are\nburied three or four miles away in the royal park. The Chapel is inlaid\nwith costly marbles of various kinds, and it is said that the Queen\nspent an enormous sum in beautifying the place.\n\n[Illustration: QUEEN VICTORIA.]\n\nThe greatest interest of the Castle centres itself in what is called\nthe State Apartments. These are a series of large rooms richly\ndecorated, some of them with gildings, paintings and tapestry, others\nwith a collection of warlike armor and weapons of former centuries.\nIt must be borne in mind that these premises have been occupied by\nthe royal family for many centuries. These walls have several times\nsurrendered their royal inmates to the executioner, who came in the\nname of law to avenge political wrongs.\n\nThe large park adjoining the Palace grounds is almost a fairy garden.\nIt contains many artificial lakes and flowing fountains, a great\nvariety of shrubbery, and a rich profusion of flowers. Statuary\nabounds. Deer, elks, antelopes, and other wild animals, are numerous.\n\nStanding in front of the Palace, one looks down the \u201croyal avenue\u201d\nstretching out in a straight line for five miles before him. This\nsplendid boulevard is flanked on either side by lordly elms whose\nswaying boughs are so interwoven as to form a graceful and almost\nunbroken arch above the drive from one end to the other. On a hot\nsummer day, the thick green foliage of the trees, flings a grateful\nshade upon the drive.\n\n[Illustration: WINDSOR CASTLE.]\n\nThis is a gala day at Windsor. The Castle is decorated, and filled with\nroyal guests. Twenty thousand people are assembled in the park. At two\no\u2019clock the Queen and her visitors form a procession at the Palace, and\npass slowly down the avenue between the two rows of elm-trees. Reaching\nthe far end of the boulevard, they turn to the left and, after driving\none mile more, they arrive at the place that is to be the scene of\naction.\n\nThe two thousand persons who preceded the royal procession have formed\na circle about a hundred feet in diameter. The size of the circle is\ndetermined by a rope stretched around. The open space is spread with\na rich carpet. The Queen, attended by her family and royal friends,\nenters the charmed circle and proceeds to its centre. After a speech,\nwhich it takes her fifteen minutes to deliver, she proceeds to lay\nthe cornerstone of an equestrian monument to the late Prince Albert\nConsort. This impressive ceremony being over, the Queen approaches the\ncrowd, shakes hands with and speaks kindly to those persons standing\nnext to the rope on the outside.\n\nI could shake hands with Her Majesty, and would do so, but my American\nspirit is too proud to bend the suppliant knee to any earthly monarch.\nI honor Victoria for her useful life and deep piety, for her wifely\ndevotion and maternal instincts; and I would take off my hat to her as\nI would have her son take off his hat to my mother. But as for bowing\nthe knee to her, I never can. My knees are too stiff for that kind of\nexercise.\n\n[Illustration:\n Anne Hathaway\u2019s Cottage.\n Charlecote Church. Charlecote Park Palings.\n Shakespeare\u2019s House Interior. Shakespeare\u2019s House Exterior.\n Stratford Church.\n Entrance to Stratford Church. Porch Charlecote.\n]\n\nTwo hours after leaving Windsor, I find myself in Stratford-on-Avon,\nthe home of our own \u201cpriceless Shakespeare.\u201d I spend the night here.\n\u201cA sweet English village is this Stratford, seated on the edge of a\nsilvery river green with turfy banks and woody slopes, picturesque\nwith cottage houses and cottage gardens; crowned with a village\nchurch, ivy-clad, surrounded by moss-grown graves, approached by a\nlime-tree avenue, and its slender spire tapering towards Heaven.\u201d Here\nShakespeare first saw light. Here his boyhood was spent, his education\nreceived, his youth passed, his marriage consummated. Here his children\nwere born and brought up. Here, too, he yielded to that \u201cbribeless\nharvester\u201d\u2014Death. So this humble village has given to the world \u201cthe\ngreatest name in our literature, in all literature.\u201d Hence, Henry Bell\nsaid:\n\n \u201cHis birthplace came to be famous,\n And the grave where his bones were laid;\n And to Stratford, the ancient borough,\n Nations their pilgrimage made.\u201d\n\nStrange thoughts pass through my mind, and deep emotions stir my\nheart, as I wander through the house wherein was born the man who\nwrote not for an age, but for all time; as I stand in the church of\nthe Holy Trinity, and look upon the grave, the tomb, and bust of him\nwho analyzed character as chemists analyze material substances. He\nprobed to the heart, and by the light of his own genius read unuttered\nthoughts and discovered the secret motives of men. Human faces were to\nhim so many books wherein he could \u201cread strange matters.\u201d About a mile\nfrom Stratford is the cottage of Anne Hathaway, who first initiated\nShakespeare into that sweetest and most delightful of all human\nmysteries\u2014love.\n\n \u201cThat man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,\n If with his tongue he can not win a woman.\u201d\n\nYes, he won her, and afterwards he could say:\n\n \u201cShe is mine own,\n And I as rich in having such a jewel\n As twenty seas, if all their sands were pearl,\n The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.\u201d\n\nIt is a matter of congratulation that our people appreciate Shakespeare\nas much or more than Englishmen. The register at the poet\u2019s house shows\nthat at least one-half of the number who visit his grave are Americans.\nNor are our people slow to give material proof of their love for the\nmyriad-minded bard. Mr. G. W. Childs, of Philadelphia, whom to mention\nis but to praise, has, within the last twelve months, erected in\nStratford a costly and beautifully designed fountain to the memory of\nShakespeare.\n\nWe might write many other things about our mother country, but we\nmust away to the Continent. So, adieu, adieu; but I hope not a final\nfarewell to merry England. The English Channel is only twenty-five\nmiles wide, but it is usually rough and boisterous, and is an object of\nterror to travelers. As we start across, Johnson says:\n\n \u201cNow would I give a thousand furlongs of sea\n For an acre of barren ground.\u201d\n\nBut the Lord tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. The Channel for once\nis all that could be desired. The weather is pleasant, the sea placid\nas a lake.\n\nAs I land on the Continent at Ostend, the thing that most impresses\nme is the fact that I can not impress any one. The custom-house\nofficers surround me. I tell them who I am, where I am from, and what\nmy business is; yet this does not satisfy them. I repeat my statement\nonce, twice, three times, and still they do not seem to comprehend. I\nsay: \u201cGentlemen, I have told my story as plainly as I can speak. Do you\nnow understand?\u201d And when I come to find out, they do not understand\nwhat \u201cunderstand\u201d means.\n\nBuildings on this side of the Channel wear a century-old, time-touched\nappearance. The people have strange, odd, and old-time ways of doing\nthings. For instance, they work one horse to a two-horse wagon\u2014not in\nshafts, but on one side of the tongue. Frequently they work one ox and\none horse together. This is what Johnson calls being unequally yoked.\n\nFrom Ostend I go direct to Brussels, the capital of Belgium. I happen\nto arrive in the city on the day of a national celebration. Everything\nis decorated for the occasion. At night the city is beautifully\nilluminated, and great crowds of enthusiastic people throng the\nstreets. The fireworks display is especially fine, representing, among\nother things, the eruption of Vesuvius, the Falls of Niagara, and the\nBattle of Waterloo. As the standing army of Belgium is present, the\nofficers giving commands, and the soldiers going through the manual\nof arms; as the royal bands are filling the air with martial music;\nand, as in the midst of the brilliant scene, are the bronze statues\nof Wellington and others who fought by his side on the field of\nWaterloo,\u2014it really seems as if the memorable battle of 1815 is being\nre-enacted before my eyes! I can but think of Byron\u2019s thrilling lines\ndescriptive of the original battle.\n\nNext morning I am up early, and am soon on my way to the scene of\naction, nine miles from Brussels, where the powers of earth came\ntogether to wrestle for the thrones of Europe. Napoleon was at a very\ngreat disadvantage, as Wellington had by far the best position. On the\nhill where Wellington\u2019s army was stationed, there is now an artificial\nmountain, about six hundred yards in circumference and two hundred and\nfifty feet high. This mountain is crowned with a granite pedestal,\nabout twenty-five feet high, on which stands a huge bronze lion, his\nright foot resting on a great iron ball representing the earth. This\nking of beasts has his eyes turned toward France and has a proud,\ntriumphant look on his face. There are several small monuments on the\nfield, marking the places where different officers and heroes fell. The\nlarge one of which I speak was built seven years after the battle, or\none year after the death of Napoleon on St. Helena. There are several\ntrees, also one small brick house surrounded by a wall of the same\nmaterial standing on the field, just as they were on the day of the\nbattle. Of course, they are much riddled and shattered by shot and\nshell.\n\nI am much interested in a conversation with an old man who lives\nwhere he was born, about four miles from the battle field. He is now\nninety-one years old, hence he was nineteen years of age when the\nmemorable battle was fought. He saw Napoleon on the day of the fight,\nand the day afterwards was on the field and helped to bury the dead. He\nsaw Wellington several times, and remembers distinctly how he looked\nafter his greatest victory. The old man is approaching the end of his\njourney, and I am truly glad to have met him before he crosses the\nriver.\n\nLet us now return to Brussels and enter the Wertz Museum. We find here\na picture which is truly illustrative of Belgium hatred of Napoleon.\nIt is a most wonderful picture. It represents Napoleon in hell. He is\nin the bottomless pit, clad in his uniform. A great number of worn\nand haggard widows and childless mothers, of ragged, weeping orphans,\nof old men crippled, maimed and halt, are crowding around Napoleon,\nscoffing, jeering, and grinning at him, holding up before his eyes and\nunder his nose shattered hands and arms and feet and legs, and broken\nheads and bleeding hearts. The sulphurous flames are coiling up around\nthe unfortunate victim, while on his face there is a double expression\nof agony and remorse. When asked if I believe this picture really\nrepresents Napoleon\u2019s present condition, I reply: \u201cJudge not, that ye\nbe not judged.\u201d\n\nOne could write a volume about this splendid collection of pictures,\nbut I will mention only two or three more. I am especially impressed\nwith two companion pictures, twenty by thirty feet each. The first\nrepresents hell in revolt against Heaven. All the fiends of hell and\nall the powers of darkness are arrayed against Christ and His holy\nangels. Christ dismisses His angels; they fly away, leaving Him all\nalone. This emboldens the enemy, who rush on to the conflict. The\nsecond picture is \u201cThe Triumph of Christ.\u201d He has hurled the fiends\nback headlong to their native hell. And yet in this moment of victory\nstands pitying His enemy rather than glorying in His own achievements.\nI can but think: \u201cSurely, His ways are not our ways; neither are His\nthoughts our thoughts.\u201d\n\nAnother picture that impresses me very much is \u201cAge Offering the Things\nof the Present to the Man of the Future.\u201d An old man is holding out to\na young lad flags and sceptres representing Power and Dominion; also\nglittering diamonds, a golden harp, a name and a book, emblematic,\nrespectively, of wealth, pleasure, fame and knowledge. He can take\nany one, but only one. I am so afraid that the inexperienced youth\nwill make a wrong choice, that I want to whisper in his ear: \u201cTake\nwisdom; take understanding; forget it not. Forsake her not, and she\nshall preserve thee; love her, and she shall keep thee. Wisdom is the\nprincipal thing, therefore get wisdom. Exalt her, and she will promote\nthee, she will bring thee to honor.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nFROM BELGIUM TO COLOGNE AND UP THE RHINE.\n\n Brussels\u2014Its Laces and Carpets\u2014Belgium a Small Country\u2014Cultivated\n like a Garden\u2014Into Germany\u2014Aix-La-Chapelle\u2014Birthplace of\n Charlemagne\u2014Capital of Holy Roman Empire\u2014Cathedral Built by\n Charlemagne\u2014A Strange Legend\u2014Shrine of the Four Relics\u2014A\n Pulpit Adorned with Ivory and Studded with Diamonds\u2014Cologne\u2014Its\n Inhabitants\u2014Its Perfumery\u2014Its Cathedral\u2014A Ponderous Bell\u2014A\n Church Built of Human Bones\u2014Sailing up the Rhine\u2014A River of\n Song\u2014Bonn\u2014Its University\u2014Birthplace of Beethoven\u2014Feudal Lords\u2014The\n Bloody Rhine\u2014Dragon\u2019s Rock\u2014A Combat with a Serpent\u2014A Convent\n with a Love Story\u2014Empress of the Night\u2014Intoxicated\u2014Coblentz\u2014A\n Tramp-Trip through Germany\u2014Sixteen Thousand Soldiers Engaged\n in Battle\u2014Enchanted Region\u2014Loreli\u2014Son-in-Law of Augustus\n Caesar\u2014Birthplace of Gutenberg, the Inventor of Printing.\n\n\nBRUSSELS is noted the world over for its fine laces and superior\ncarpets. The Kingdom of Belgium is very little larger than the state of\nConnecticut, and yet it maintains a standing army of 50,000 men, while\nthe whole of the United States has a standing army of only 36,000. The\nlarge army, together with the maintenance of the royal family, impose\nupon the people a very burdensome taxation. The people here know very\nlittle about improved implements of any kind, their work being done\nmostly by main strength and native awkwardness. Belgium is cultivated\nlike a garden, and is as pretty as a picture.\n\nWe now leave Belgium. As the train dashes across an imaginary line, \u201ca\nchange comes o\u2019er the scene.\u201d The soldiers wear a different uniform,\nthe people speak a different language, pay homage to a different king,\nand handle a different money. Money, however, is a scarce article in\nthis portion of the moral vineyard.\n\nI have always associated the name of Charlemagne with Aix-la-Chapelle.\nIt is, therefore, with no little interest that I visit this ancient and\nhistorical city. I find this place of 80,000 inhabitants beautifully\nsituated in the midst of a fertile valley surrounded by gently sloping\nhills. This was the birthplace and favorite residence of Charlemagne,\nthe Julius Caesar of the eighth century. This venerable place was the\nsecond city of importance in the holy Roman Empire, its being the\ncapital of Charlemagne\u2019s dominions north of the Alps. Here thirty-seven\nemperors were crowned; here ecclesiastical convocations assembled, and\nfrom here imperial edicts went forth.\n\nThe Cathedral, or Muenster, built (796-804) by Charlemagne still\nstands, and is one of the most interesting objects in the city. On the\nright of the principal entrance to the Cathedral is a brazen wolf.\nAccording to the legend connected with this quadruped, the funds for\nthe erection of the church having run short, the devil offered to\nsupply the deficiency on condition that the first living being that\nentered the house should be sacrificed to himself. The magistrate\nentered into the compact, but defrauded the devil of his expected\nreward by admitting a wolf into the sacred edifice immediately on its\ncompletion.\n\nI seat myself in the Imperial Throne of Charlemagne, in which also his\nremains reposed for more than 350 years, having been found by Otho III,\nwho opened the tomb in the eleventh century. In the Cathedral Treasury\nis the famous \u201cShrine of the Four Relics.\u201d It is composed of the purest\ngold, and is studded with fifteen hundred precious stones. This shrine\nis said to contain the robes of the Virgin Mary, the swaddling clothes\nof the infant Christ, the bloody cloth in which the body of John the\nBaptist was wrapped, and the linen cloth with which the Savior was\ngirded on the Cross. The relics are shown only once in seven years, on\nwhich occasion thousands of people flock to see them notwithstanding\nthe exorbitant charges made. It has now been six years since the last\nexhibition took place. The next time for robbing the superstitious\npeople is close at hand.\n\nThe pulpit, presented by Henry II, of Germany, is a gem of beauty,\nbeing richly adorned with gold, carved ivory, diamonds, and other\nprecious stones. I dare say, however, that this Romish pulpit, as\nsplendid as it is, has seldom been adorned with the precious truths of\nGod\u2019s blessed Word.\n\nIn three hours after leaving Aix-la-Chapelle, Cologne is in sight.\nColeridge sarcastically says:\n\n[Illustration: STRASBURG CATHEDRAL.]\n\n \u201cCologne has nine separate and distinct stinks;\n It is washed by the river Rhine,\n But what power divine\n Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?\u201d\n\nIt is not at all inappropriate therefore that Cologne should lead\nthe world in the manufacture of perfumery. The city boasts 140,000\ninhabitants, the most of whom are Roman Catholics. A bridge of boats\nconnects Cologne with a large city on the opposite side of the river.\n\nTo the visitor, the object of the greatest interest in the city is the\nCathedral, which is said to be the most magnificent Gothic edifice in\nthe world. It certainly takes the palm over anything I have seen. It is\nwholly unnecessary for me to describe this wonderful building to those\nwho have seen it, and it is impossible to describe it to those who have\nnot seen it. I hardly know whether one is most filled with admiration,\nor struck with awe, as he beholds this great temple whose foundation\nstone was laid six hundred years ago. To go around it, one must walk\nan eighth of a mile; and yet he forgets the distance as he looks upon\nthe massive walls rising one hundred and fifty feet above him; as he\nviews the arched roof more than two hundred feet high; as he eyes the\ntapering spires which seem to pierce the bended sky. And yet there\nis hardly a square foot, even of the exterior of this architectural\nwonder, that is not carved and chiseled in the most exquisite manner\nimaginable. The principal entrance to the Cathedral is a doorway,\nthirty-one by ninety-three feet. On the inside, one sees a forest\nof pillars, fifty-six in number, apparently thirty or forty feet in\ncircumference, and rising, some one hundred and others two hundred\nfeet high. The aisles are twenty, thirty, and sixty feet wide. Some of\nthe windows are twenty by fifty feet. These stained-glass windows and\nmarble pillars have been presented by the kings and queens and emperors\nof different countries. The inside is profusely adorned and decorated\nwith statues, carvings, paintings and sculpture work of every kind and\ncharacter.\n\nThe Cathedral bell is seventeen feet across, and weighs twenty-three\ntons. To ring it requires fifteen men. As I stand upon the tower, five\nhundred and thirty-seven feet above the earth, men in the streets look\nlike little children, and the business houses resemble play-things.\nThis elevation affords a fine view of the surrounding country. I can\ntrace the Rhine and its tributaries for more than twenty miles. Winding\naround among the hills and grain fields, these streams, gleaming in the\nsunlight, look like silver threads. I say to my friend: \u201cAh! behold the\n\u2018silver threads among the gold.\u2019\u201d Although I have climbed this spire\nto the enormous height of 537 feet, yet above me is a delicate golden\nladder; and, as it was placed here to enable the angels to ascend and\ndescend, I quietly descend.\n\nThe church of St. Ursula is one of the curiosities of the city. St.\nUrsula was an English princess who, according to the tradition, when\non her return from a pilgrimage to Rome, in the second century after\nChrist, was barbarously murdered at Cologne with eleven thousand other\nChristians, most of whom were young women. They were all buried in the\nsame grave. Some time in the eleventh century the grave was opened, the\nbones taken out, and, on the spot of the grave, the present church was\nbuilt to the memory of these martyred virgins. These bones form part\nof the walls of the church; some of them, also, are preserved in glass\ncases, and placed around in the audience-room. Johnson supposes this is\ndone to inspire in the worshipper a devotional spirit, or, perchance,\nto remind him of Ezekiel\u2019s valley of dry bones. Near the pulpit is a\nbeautiful monument to Princess Ursula. The statue is of alabaster, with\na laurel wreath about her brow and a white dove at her feet.\n\nThe Rhine is, indeed, a majestic river. Its broad bosom floats hundreds\nof vessels, laden with the produce of its fertile valley, and thousands\nof tourists from all parts of Europe and America. At Cologne, we\nembark on the \u201cVictoria,\u201d and start up the \u201clegendary stream.\u201d As our\ngraceful bark glides off over the smooth waters, we turn our eyes back\ntoward Cologne for a last, long look. And what a pleasing picture it\nis to behold the city with its \u201cgirdle of fortifications,\u201d to see the\nsplendid cathedrals and numerous towers outlined against the sky!\nCologne has scarcely vanished from our sight when Bonn appears. Here we\ndisembark. A few hours suffice to go through the University, to inspect\nthe Cathedral, to see the bronze statue, and visit the birthplace of\nthe great musical genius, Beethoven, born in 1770 and died in 1827.\n\nAfter leaving Bonn, the scenery is more picturesque and beautiful.\nOn either side of the swiftly-flowing stream, the overhanging cliffs\nrise high, one above another, each being crowned with a ruined castle,\nwhose long, winding corridors and pictured walls once resounded with\nmirth and music. High perched upon these basaltic rocks, and surrounded\nby almost impregnable walls, feudal lords once held despotic sway.\nIt really seems that the once thirsty swords have been beaten into\nplowshares, and the spears into pruning hooks, for the fruitful vine\nnow flourishes along the \u201cbloody Rhine,\u201d from its water\u2019s edge to the\nheight of the castled crags. Even the crevices in the high cliffs are\nplanted with the vine. This scene inspired Lord Byron to sing the\nfollowing beautiful song:\n\n \u201cThe castled crag of Drachenfels\n Frowns o\u2019er the wide and winding Rhine\n Whose breast of waters broadly smiles\n Between the banks which bear the vine;\n And hills all rich with blossom\u2019d trees,\n And fields which produce corn and wine,\n And scatter\u2019d cities crowning these,\n Whose far white walls along them shine,\n Have strew\u2019d a scene which I should see\n With double joy wert thou with me.\u201d\n\nWe land at Konigswinter (King\u2019s Winter), and ascend the bluff, nine\nhundred and eighty feet above the Rhine, to the Castle of Drachenfels,\nor dragon\u2019s rock. This Castle commands the most extensive view of any\non the Rhine. In descending, we visit the curious cave which, according\nto a mythical story, was once the dwelling-place of a huge serpent who\njealously guarded the pass and allowed no one to ascend the cliff. A\nbrave knight slew the dragon, and after bathing himself in its blood,\nbecame invulnerable and mighty in strength. He then built the Castle on\nthe uplifted rock, and made himself lord of the surrounding country.\n\n[Illustration: A VIEW ON THE RHINE.]\n\nJust as the sun sets, we approach the beautiful island of Nonenwerth\nwhere, half hidden beneath the rich foliage, we see an old convent.\nJust above this floating island, rises a huge rock whose summit was\nonce crowned with a splendid castle, of which only one crumbling arch\nnow remains. The legendary history connecting the castle and convent\nis as beautiful as it is touching. Just after the time of Charlemagne,\na brave and gallant knight, by the name of Roland, paid court to the\nbeautiful and accomplished Princess Hildegude. The affection was\nreciprocated, and the two soon became affianced lovers. At this time,\nRoland was summoned by his king to the Crusade. Time sped on, and\nanxiously did the devoted Hildegude look for his return. But, alas! she\nreceived tidings of his death. Straightway for her all beauty faded\nfrom every earthly object. She therefore gave her heart to God, and\nher body to the convent on the adjacent island. The sad news, however,\nproved untrue. Roland had been wounded but not fatally. All during his\nabsence the fires of love burned brightly upon the altars of devotion.\nWith joyous anticipation, he returned to receive the hand of her whose\nradiant smile was the light of his life. But, alas! poor Roland! He\nfound that his lady-love was in that living tomb from which death\nalone could set her free. Broken-hearted, he built the castle, one\nmoldering arch of which still stands, and there lived in solitude and\nwretchedness, catching an occasional glimpse of his imprisoned love.\nAfter her death, he spoke no more until he passed beyond the stars to\nmeet her who anxiously awaited his coming.\n\nThe last rays of the setting sun light the lamps of night, and it seems\nas if each star tries to outshine every other one. The moon, with these\nbrightly-beaming stars as her attendants, comes forth as \u201cEmpress of\nthe Night.\u201d Standing on deck and looking out over the scene, I find\nthat moon and stars are pouring a perfect flood of glory over tower,\nand castle, and crag, and cliff, and wooded hill.\n\nBy this time we are so completely intoxicated with pleasure that we\nthink it best not to indulge any longer. So, as the clerk of the boat\ncalls out, \u201cCoblentz,\u201d we step ashore, and one hour later we are\ndreaming about what we had seen during the day. Next morning, as the\nsun first peeps over the eastern hills, he finds the pedestrians on\ntheir way to Ems, a beautiful little city nestling among the wooded\nhills of Germany. The walk proves a delightful exercise; and before\nthe dew is off the grass, we are seated in Ems on the bank of the\nriver which flows through the city. This was a favorite resort of the\nlate Emperor William during the summer. On the way to Ems, we have the\npleasure of witnessing a sham battle between several thousand German\nsoldiers. No one is killed. One officer is badly hurt by his horse\nfalling on him.\n\nBefore eleven o\u2019clock, we are again gliding up the river. We seem now\nto have entered an enchanted region. No description we have ever read\nof the Rhine could equal the sight itself. Here\n\n \u201cThe noble river foams and flows,\n The charm of the enchanted ground,\n And all its thousand turns disclose\n Some fresh beauty varying round.\u201d\n\nThe channel now becomes narrow, the stream swift and deep. As we pass\ncastle after castle and behold the wrecks and ruins, we feel that we\nare \u201cpassing back down the stream of time.\u201d Here on the left is the\nLoreli, a great rock rising up more than four hundred feet. According\nto the legend, a nymph had her dwelling in a cavern of this rock, and,\nwith the music which issued forth from her golden harp, she enticed\nsailors and fishermen to their destruction in the terrific whirlpools\nand rapids at the foot of the precipice.\n\nPassing the national monument erected in honor of Germany\u2019s victory\nover France, in 1870, and Bingen, \u201cfair Bingen on the Rhine,\u201d we come\nat length to Mayence, a frontier town of fifty thousand inhabitants,\nstrongly fortified with a garrison of thirty thousand soldiers. Mayence\nwas founded B. C. 14, by Drusus, the son-in-law of Julius Caesar. Here\nthe grandsons of Charlemagne met to divide his mighty empire into\nGermany, France, and Italy. This is the birthplace of Gutenberg who,\nin 1440, invented the art of printing. Mayence has shown her high\nappreciation of that gifted son of genius by erecting the handsome\n\u201cGutenberg Statue.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nFROM FRANKFORT TO WORMS.\n\n Frankfort-on-the-Main\u2014Met at Depot by a Committee\u2014Frankfort, the\n Home of Culture and Art\u2014Birthplace of Goethe\u2014\u201dHe Preaches like a\n God \u201c\u2014The Home of Rothschild\u2014A Visit to his House\u2014Worms and its\n History\u2014Luther and a Bad Diet\u2014Luther Monument\u2014Theses Nailed on the\n Door\u2014Fame of Luther and his Followers more Imperishable than their\n Bronze Statues.\n\n\nFROM Mayence, I run up to pay my respects to Frankfort (ford of the\nFranks)-on-the-Main; and right royal is the reception extended me.\nThe good people of this classic city seem really glad to see me,\n_especially the hotel keepers_. Reader, you can scarcely imagine what\na pleasure it is to a way-worn pilgrim, as he enters a great city in a\nforeign country, to be met by a committee consisting of a full score\nof hotel clerks and porters, and half a hundred hack drivers! As the\ntraveler steps off the train, he is approached by the different members\nof the committee, each of whom tries to be more kind and obliging than\nany of the others. Indeed, the honored visitor is well-nigh overcome\nwith gratitude, as he sees these committeemen crowding round him on\nall sides, each with an expectant look, a face wreathed with smiles,\nand a palm itching to get hold of his purse strings. Such was the\nwelcome given me at Frankfort-on-the-Main, which city, though it dates\nback from the time of Charlemagne, 775, is now as fresh and fair as a\nsixteen year old maiden with blue eyes and golden hair.\n\nFrankfort is about the size of Rochester, New York, is a place of great\ncommercial importance, and, according to population, is by far the\nwealthiest city in Germany. It claims two hundred millionaires.\n\nThe museum and art galleries here are of the highest type. I can not\nuse the brush, palette, and easel myself, but some pictures throw a\nspell over me that I can not shake off. Murillo\u2019s \u201cMadonna Enthroned,\u201d\nOverbeck\u2019s \u201cTriumph of Religion in the Arts,\u201d Rembrandt\u2019s \u201cParable\nof the Laborers in the Vineyard,\u201d are indelibly stamped on the\nimperishable tablets of memory; their gilded frames I have entwined\nwith a garland of forget-me-nots, and with golden cord of appreciation\nI have hung them up in the art gallery of the soul. And, if as Keats\nsays, and as I believe, \u201cA thing of beauty is a joy forever,\u201d then will\nmy visit to Frankfort-on-the-Main be a blessing to me until the silver\ncord be loosed, and the golden bowl of life broken.\n\nThis is the birthplace of Goethe, the Shakespeare of Germany. His\nsplendid monument stands in the centre of one of the public squares of\nthe city. The pedestal on which the bronze statue rests is relieved\nby raised figures, those on one side being taken from \u201cFaust,\u201d and\nthe other from \u201cHermann and Dorothea.\u201d The first is one of the most\nmasterly productions that ever emanated from the human brain, and\nthe second one of the sweetest love stories ever embalmed in verse.\nCarlyle says of Goethe: \u201cThere was none like him; he knew everything.\u201d\nIf Germany ever produced Goethe\u2019s equal, it was his bosom friend\nSchiller, whose life-like statue adorns another of the public squares\nof Frankfort. Seeing these two statues, I involuntarily look around for\nthat of Herder. I always think of Goethe, Schiller and Herder as the\ninseparable trio.\n\nThe well-known millionaire, M. A. Rothschild who, I believe was at one\ntime the richest man on earth, was born in Frankfort. The family still\nlives, and do a large business here. Through the influence of a friend,\nI gain an entrance to Rothschild\u2019s house and private museum, which one\nmay well imagine contains an elegant collection of curiosities from all\nparts of the world. One gold vase alone, set with diamonds and other\nprecious stones, is said to have cost 800,000 marks or $200,000.\n\nThe next place the traveler hangs his hat on the wall is here in Worms.\nAh, what a history has this quaint old German town! How many thrilling\nincidents have taken place on its narrow streets during the last\nfifteen hundred years! But Worms is of more than a general interest\nto the world, since it was the scene of Luther\u2019s fiercest struggle\nwith Rome. In March, 1521, Luther was summoned to appear before the\nDiet, or Supreme Court, of half the World, assembled at Worms, under\nthe presidency of Charles V. With Napoleonic courage, Luther answered\nthe call in person. As the bold reformer on his way to trial passed\nthrough Eisenach, where he had sung carols on the street for bread,\nhis friends met him with the warning; \u201cThey will burn you as they did\nJohn Huss;\u201d to which he replied; \u201cThough they should build a fire from\nWorms to Wittenberg and reaching to the sky, I would pass through it\nin the name of the Lord.\u201d As he was approaching the city, Spalatin\nsent a messenger with another warning. This time the monk responded:\n\u201cGo tell your master that if there were as many devils in Worms as\nthere are tiles upon the housetops, I would enter.\u201d He did enter, and\nthe next day became a turning point in the world\u2019s history. It was\nthen that this \u201cChristian Hercules, this heroic cleanser of the Augean\nstable of apostacy,\u201d went forth in the arena of debate to shiver lances\nwith kings and popes and princes. Being severely in earnest, grandly\nright, and divinely appointed to his office, he hurled his arguments\nlike withering blighting thunder-bolts. And, if the enemy now and then\nput in hard licks, Luther, being possessed of a cool head, quick wit,\nand boundless resources, revived like the vigor of vegetation after\nthe stunning blow had fallen. He stood until there was not a man to\nmeet him. The haughty hierarchy which he assailed had \u201cbound kings in\nchains, and nobles in fetters of iron; but before the fire of his\nquenchless zeal those fetters fell, fused as by the lightning touch of\nHeaven.\u201d\n\nIt is only in accordance with the \u201ceternal fitness of things,\u201d\ntherefore, that we find in Worms a monument memorializing this severe\nconflict and brilliant victory of the intrepid reformer.\n\nAs we enter the town from the railway station, we pass through the\nLuther-Platz (place or square), in the center of which stands the\nLuther Monument, which was erected in 1868 at a cost of $85,000. The\nmonument is on this wise. There is a massive platform of granite,\nforty-eight feet square and nine and one-half feet high, bearing in its\ncentre a large pedestal, also of granite. This pedestal is surmounted\nby another in bronze, adorned with reliefs representing four scenes in\nLuther\u2019s life. In the first, we see him administering the communion as\na Catholic priest; second, he is nailing his theses on the church door\nin Wittenberg; next, we see him defending himself at Worms; and, last,\nhe is translating the Bible into his native language.\n\nNow, upon this pedestal, whose sides are thus adorned, stands the\nbronze statue of Luther, eleven feet in height, a commanding figure.\nIn his left hand he holds a Bible, on which his right hand is placed\nemphatically, while his face, on which faith is admirably portrayed, is\nturned upwards. John Huss, Savonarola, John Wycliffe, and Peter Waldus\nare sitting at the four corners of the large pedestal on which Luther\nstands.\n\nFrom the four corners of the large platform, rise four granite\npedestals, not so large as the central one. On these four pedestals\nstand bronze statues of Luther\u2019s fellow champions, Malanchthon,\nReuchlin, on one side, and Philip of Hesse and Frederick the Wise of\nSaxony, his princely protectors, on the other. The four last-named\nstatues are each nine feet high. Taken all in all, this is one of the\nfinest and most impressive monuments I have seen. And why should it\nnot be so? These men have justly been called the thunderers, the cloud\ncompellers, the world uplifters, the hammers of the Lord, the pioneers\nof progress, the liberators of mankind,\n\n \u201cWhose names are ever on the world\u2019s broad tongue,\n Like sound upon the falling of a force;\n Who play upon our hearts as upon a harp,\n And make our eyes bright as we speak of them.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nGERMAN BAPTISTS.\n\nBY WALTER RAUSCHENBUSCH.\n\n A Weak Beginning\u2014Persecutions\u2014Firm Faith\u2014Rapid Growth\u2014A Trio of\n Leaders\u2014Theological Schools\u2014Publishing House\u2014Hopeful Outlook.\n\n\nTHE American traveler in Germany has to seek for the Baptist churches,\nif he is to find them. His Baedeker has no star to point them out, and\ntheir commanding spires will not arrest his eye as he strolls through\nthe streets. The church at Hamburg is the only one that is notable as\na piece of architecture; and its arches, though the delight of lovers\nof the Gothic, are the despair of preachers. Many of the churches still\nworship in halls, and some of these halls are none too prominent. The\nwriter of this sketch remembers looking for the Baptist church in a\nlarge city of Southern Germany. He followed his clew into a narrow\nstreet, then through an overhanging archway into a still narrower\ncourt, up two flights of stairs to a door from which his knock drew no\nvoice nor sound of an answer. The Baptist church at Leipzig has its\nplace of worship in one of the suburbs, about three miles from the\ncentre of the city, and away from the bulk of the membership. How many\nof those who have studied there know that there is a Baptist church in\nLeipzig? Of course our Baptist Brethren do not choose obscurity and\ninconvenience from any predilection for them, but from due deference to\nthe ever-present question of rent. Ground is high, and Baptist money\nscarce.\n\nHowever, many of the churches have gradually worked their way to the\npossession of chapels of their own. But even these present no very\nchurchly appearance. The ground has to be utilized carefully. Dwelling\napartments have to be built over, or under, or in front of, or back\nof, the auditorium of the church, sufficient at least to house the\npastor, and often sufficient to bring an income that will carry the\ninterest on the debt. But the work is growing. Better accommodations\nare being secured. Even now there are chapels seating over a thousand\npeople. Several churches in the large cities, for instance, at Berlin\nand K\u00f6nigsberg, have two church buildings, without, however, on that\naccount dividing the church organization.\n\nThe \u201cstatistics\u201d for 1889 reports 106 churches with 20,416 members in\nGermany proper, and 123 churches with 23,976 members in the entire\n\u201cBund,\u201d which includes the churches in Austria, Switzerland, Holland,\nRoumania and South Africa, all of which are organically connected with\nthe German Baptist Mission and off-shoots from it. Fortysix churches\nin Russia with 12,448 members, and 21 churches in Denmark with 2,711\nmembers, which formerly belonged to the German \u201cBund,\u201d have recently\nformed organizations of their own. It is wonderful to think that such\na growth has been attained within so short a time. It was only in 1834\nthat the first seven believers were baptised in the Elbe by Professor\nBarnas Sears. Twenty-five years later, they had grown to a thousand\ntimes seven.\n\nThe first twenty-five years were full of privations and persecutions.\nThe reader will understand that in Germany the maintenance and\nregulation of religion is considered one of the duties of the State,\nand a disturbance of religious order was punishable by law, just as\na disturbance of social order would be with us. It seemed outrageous\nand detrimental to the interests of society that artisans and\nlaborers should assume to teach and preach, and even to administer\nthe ordinances. Existing laws were applied to them, or new laws were\nframed to meet their case. As late as 1852, a law was enacted in the\nprincipality of B\u00fcckeburg, a small state in northern Germany, providing\nthat any emissary of the Baptists found within the boundaries of\nthe principality should be imprisoned for four weeks, and that the\npunishment should be doubled on a repetition of the offense. Any one\nattending the meetings was to be imprisoned for four weeks; any one\nconducting them, for eight weeks; any one baptising, or administering\nthe Lord\u2019s Supper, for six months. One of the old veterans of those\ndays has counted up that he was imprisoned thirty-three times, and in\nnineteen different jails. Nor were the jails very pleasant places to\nbe in. But sometimes they turned even the prisons into places of joy\nand prayer. There is just a smack of holy malice in the story of one\nbrother who tells how six of them were imprisoned together for holding\na Baptist meeting. As soon as they were lodged in jail, they used the\ngovernment\u2019s own house and the government\u2019s chairs to hold a glorious\nBaptist protracted meeting that lasted for four weeks.\n\nStill these imprisonments are pleasanter to tell about than to go\nthrough. They told on the health of the brethren. Their property was\nseized to pay fines. Their wives and little ones were left unprotected.\nTheir earnings ceased during the imprisonment, and when they came\nout of prison they often found their occupation gone. But the men\nbred by those times were strong in the Lord, nothing daunted by the\nadversary, conscious that they were the soldiers of God, called,\nlike Gideon, to do battle with a handful, but with the Lord on their\nside. Three men stand out as a kind of trio of leaders during those\nearly years, Oncken, Lehmann, and K\u00f6bner. Mr. Oncken was thirty-four\nyears of age when he shared in that baptism by night in the Elbe. God\nhad taken him out of the rationalistic religion of his own country\nwhen he was nineteen years old, and had sent him to England. He was\nconverted there, and returned a few years later as a missionary of the\nBritish Continental Society. He labored most faithfully for some years\nbefore he became a Baptist. He understood the Scriptural doctrine of\nbaptism several years before he had the opportunity to follow Christ\nin baptism. After that time, he pushed the work with great executive\nability and intense earnestness. He was a leader of men. He did great\nservice to his brethren by his knowledge of English, which enabled\nhim to represent the cause in Great Britain and also in the United\nStates, and to gain for it the financial and moral support of England\nand America which has been so helpful to the work. In 1879 he was\nparalyzed, and spent the last years of his life in forced retirement\nin Z\u00fcrich. The active brain had become feeble. The only thing which\nrekindled the old fire in the dying embers was prayer and the words\nof the Bible. He entertained his visitors by reciting, with evident\nspiritual enjoyment, a verse from some familiar hymn, and a few moments\nafterward he would repeat it over again, forgetting what he had just\nsaid. He died at the age of eighty-four, and was buried with all honors\nat Hamburg, on the eighth of January, 1884. His name will remain the\ngreat name in the early history of the Baptists of Germany.\n\nAnother of the men just mentioned was G. W. Lehmann, born in 1799, an\nengraver and etcher by trade, and a missionary by divine vocation. He\nwas one of the first six baptised by Oncken, in Berlin, in 1837. He\nbelieved in a special manner in the power of the union of believers.\nHe organized; he drew the churches together in associations; he\nconstituted himself a link between them by ceaseless itinerant\nmissionary labor. He died at Berlin in 1882. The writer met him there\nshortly before his death. His powers, also, had been broken by age. But\nhis face was of rare sweetness, and his prayers, though broken and full\nof repetitions, still had the unction of former days.\n\nThe third of this noble triumvirate was Julius K\u00f6bner, born in 1807 in\nDenmark. He was a Jew by birth. His father was a Chief Rabbi, and saw\nto it that his son was instructed in all the learning of the law. But\nthe young man heard the message of the crucified Messiah and believed.\nHe was baptised in 1830, and rendered valuable service to the cause,\nboth in Denmark and Germany. He was not a man of action so much as\nof thought and feeling. There was a mystic glow of love and devotion\nin all he said. His poetic talent was of a very high order. He has\ngreatly enriched Baptist hymnology. His chief work is a volume entitled\n\u201cDas Lied von Gott,\u201d describing God\u2019s creative and redemptive work.\nIt contains passages of great power, and has been highly commended by\nsuch literary authorities as Karl Gerok. His last years were spent at\nElberfeld and Berlin. He had a little daughter born to him in old age.\nIt was very touching to see the old man with the sweet oriental face\nlooking down at the little maid by his side as they took their walks\ntogether, each anxious to lead and care for the other. He, too, has\nnow passed away. So has Claus Peters, who was a kind of bishop in all\nthe region of Schleswig; so have Bues and Cramme. Others of the first\ngeneration are now old. A new generation is growing up to solve new\nproblems. There are many strong men among them, so many that it might\nbe invidious to single out any for special mention. Those American\ntravelers who have sought out the German pastors in the places where\nthey stayed, have felt that they were amply rewarded by the contact\nwith these faithful men of God.\n\nThe men of the older generation were called directly from their trade\nto the ministry of the Word. They were taught in the school of life,\nand instructed by adversity. Attempts were made years ago to train the\npreachers. They were gathered by Oncken, or K\u00f6bner, or Berneike, for\na few months of teaching. In 1880, a permanent school was established\nwith seven pupils, and the late Reverend Moritz Geissler as professor.\nThe school now has twenty-six students, two instructors in the secular\nbranches, and two professors, J. G. Lehmann, a son of the older\nLehmann, and J. G. Fetzer, of Rochester Seminary. The school has a four\nyears\u2019 course, and an occasional partial course of one year for older\nmen. The students were for a long time housed in very insufficient\nquarters near the Hamburg church; but, in 1888, a handsome building\nwas erected in Horn, a suburb of Hamburg, and the school is now well\nequipped and sure to influence the future of the German Baptists.\n\nThe other great institution for the furtherance of the work is the\npublishing house. The dissemination of Christian literature has, from\nthe first, been one of the chief aims of our brethren. At first, Mr.\nOncken obtained grants of Bibles and books from other societies; but\nthe need of having a publishing house under his own control soon became\napparent, and the first tract was published in 1834. Through its\nconnection with American and British tract and Bible societies, the\nsociety has been able to do an extensive work. The number of Bibles and\nTestaments sold during 1887 was 35,586 copies. Over three million pages\nof tracts were issued during the same year. A number of periodicals\nalso issued from the press of the society. Sunday-school lesson papers\nare published. There is a paper called \u201cWort und Werk\u201d for the young\nmen, and another called \u201cTabea\u201d for the young women. The most important\npaper is the \u201cWahrheitszeuge,\u201d the regular organ of the denomination,\nwhich has recently become a weekly, and has a circulation of over five\nthousand copies. Since 1878, the business has been managed by Reverend\nPhilip Bickel, D. D., formerly editor of the \u201cSendbote\u201d at Cleveland,\nOhio. He has, by the most painstaking work, diminished the indebtedness\nof the business, and steadily increased the scope of its work. The\ncolporteurs and volunteer workers of the German Baptist churches\nconstitute an agency for the dissemination of Christian literature\nwhich, for cheapness and effectiveness, is scarcely equalled anywhere.\n\nThe work is bound to grow. It is opposed by the conservatism and\nprejudice of the people, of the strength of which no one can have a\nconception who has not put his shoulder against it and tried to budge\nit. The government, at least in the larger states, has taken a far\nmore tolerant attitude; but complete religious liberty does not exist\nin Germany, nor will it exist until the State Churches have been\ndisestablished, and the German nation has stripped from its limbs\nthe last shackles of political absolutism and caste prerogative. Our\nchurches are increasing in number in spite of the constant drain of\nemigration which takes from them their most prosperous and wide-awake\nmembers. But, aside from the actual gain of converts, our churches\nare doing the work of leavening thought by their literature, by their\ndemonstration of the power of Christian fellowship as presented in\na church of believers, and by the very general and extensive system\nof lay evangelization. In 1889, 190 churches reported 1409 stations\nwhere the Word is preached at regular intervals. Our churches are the\nconductors of the evangelical thought and church methods of England and\nAmerica. They have been pioneers of Sunday-school work in Germany, and\nthey are bound to influence its entire religious future.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nOUT OF GERMANY INTO SWITZERLAND.\n\n A Lesson from Nature\u2014Tramp-Trip through the Black Forests\u2014Heidelberg\n Castle\u2014Basle, Switzerland\u2014Met by a Friend\u2014Emigrants off for\n America\u2014Delivering an Address to the Emigrants\u2014The Grave of\n Erasmus\u2014Gateway to the Heart of the Alps\u2014Snowy Peaks\u2014Rendezvous\n of the Nations\u2014Beautiful Scene\u2014Moonlight on the Lake\u2014Sweet\n Music\u2014Pretty Girls\u2014Mountains Shaken with Thunder and Wrapped with\n Fire.\n\n\nI BELIEVE it was Zeno who said, \u201cWe have only one mouth, but two ears;\nwhereby Nature teaches us that we should speak little, but hear much.\u201d\nSo, having two eyes and only one pen, I must see much and write little.\nI shall not therefore pause, as I should like, to speak of a few\ncharming days spent in walking through the \u201cBlack Forests\u201d of Germany,\nnor of a visit to Heidelberg, beautiful for situation and famous for\nits university,\n\n \u201cHalf hidden in a gallery of pines,\n Nestling on the sunny slope.\u201d\n\nThere is no more impressive sight in Germany than the ruins of the\nHeidelberg Castle. The remains of its frowning battlements, ivy-covered\nwalls, and hanging gardens speak most eloquently of its former\ngreatness and grandeur. I can never forget the moonlight nights that\nJohnson and I spent in Heidelberg, wandering up and down the banks of\nthe Neckar, listening to the music of her waters as they flow on to\njoin the legendary Rhine, a few hundred yards below.\n\nLeaving Heidelberg at four o\u2019clock in the morning, we travel all\nday through a comparatively uninteresting country, reaching Basle,\nSwitzerland, in time to break bread with a friend (?) who kindly sent a\ncommittee to the depot to meet us. The committee insisted on carrying\nus up from the station in a carriage, but we told them that as we had\nno exercise during the day, we preferred to walk and carry our own\nsatchels.\n\nThe day after arriving in Basle, we see a hundred and twenty-five\nGerman and Swiss emigrants starting for America. At the request of\nthe emigration agent, who was possessed of much intelligence and good\ninformation, I make a speech to the emigrants the hour before their\ndeparture. I tell them not to stop around New York and Boston, but\nto go West. After speaking briefly of the advantages of the country,\nI tell them that America is not an Eden, but a wilderness; not a\nwilderness, either, where people are miraculously fed with manna, as\nwere the Israelites of old, but one where the horny-handed sons of\ntoil have to dig their bread out of the ground; yet it is a wilderness\nwhich, when watered by the sweat of the brow, is transformed into a\nwaving harvest field. I tell them that we invite immigration, not\nthat we want foreigners to fill easy places and control political\naffairs; that a few years ago there were some men in Chicago, who\nwent there with this false idea in their brains, and, in trying to run\nthe government, they made a mistake and ran their heads into a halter.\nI insist that earnest, honest, persistent, and intelligent laborers\nare the kind of men we want; that such men are protected by law, and\nrewarded with a comfortable living. After expressing the wish that they\nmight be freed from sea-sickness while crossing the ocean, and from\nhome-sickness after landing on the other side, I bid them adieu.\n\nA few days suffice to show us the parks, monuments, and public\nbuildings of the city. Among the latter, is the time-honored cathedral\nin which rest the bones of Erasmus, the scholar of the Reformation.\n\nIt was two hours after leaving Basle, before we could realize that we\nwere in Switzerland. Now, however, a great mountain rose up before\nus. It was too long to surround, and too high to surmount; hence, we\nhad either to stand still, retreat, go under, or else go through the\nmountain. After boring our way through the solid rock for two miles, we\ncome into the light on the opposite side. We find that this tunnel is\nonly a gateway admitting us into the land of wonders, and to the heart\nof the Alps, a description of which will occupy the next chapter.\n\nWe are now wild with delight, running first to one side of the car,\nand then to the other, to catch a momentary glimpse of the mountains\nas they dash by us. The snowy peaks now burst upon our vision, and,\njust as Johnson is getting ready to stand on his head, the brakesman\nshouts, \u201cLucerne! All out for Lucerne!\u201d This announcement, of course,\ninterrupts the proceedings of my traveling companion; hence, leather\ndoes not \u201cgo up,\u201d as I expected.\n\nWe find Lucerne to be the general rendezvous of thousands of tourists\nwho, in the search of health or pleasure, have come hither from Russia,\nTurkey, Greece, Hungary, and Asia Minor, from Germany, France, Italy,\nEngland and America. Sometimes, at the evening hour the different\nnationalities are represented in one room, and there follows a Babel of\nconfusion.\n\nHow beautiful and varied is the scene before me at this hour! It is\na lovely moonlight night, and the lake shines bright and tranquil as\na polished mirror. The laughing stars lie buried in the blue depths\nbelow. On the bosom of this fairy lake are scores of lover-laden row\nboats, shooting, turning, gliding, in every possible direction. As the\noars strike the water, they gleam in the moonlight like paddles of\nsilver. There are two, four, or six persons in each boat. Several boats\nhave now grouped together, and all have joined in singing \u201cMoonlight\non the Lake,\u201d and the soft music floats over the still waters until\nit dies away in the distance. There is a momentary pause. And now,\njust in front of the long line of four-story hotels, which are set\nback about one hundred feet from the lake, the Hungarian Band breaks\nforth and its wild melodies are echoed from the surrounding hills.\nNext the Neapolitan Quartette causes a perfect uproar of laughter as\nit discourses the latest Italian comic songs with banjo accompaniment.\nAs the clock from the cathedral tower announces the hour of eleven, a\nchange comes over the scene. The street lamps are extinguished, and\nthe good-humored multitude pour forth their extravagant praises of the\nbrilliant display of fireworks which are now filling the air with noise\nand showers of falling stars. Thus do tourists and visitors spend their\nsummer evenings in this little town of Lucerne, this \u201cSwiss Lady of the\nLake.\u201d\n\nAll through the month of August, thunder-storms of unusual grandeur\nhave been prevalent in Switzerland. Twenty-four hours ago, I witnessed\na thunder-storm that made a lasting impression. It was twelve o\u2019clock\nat night. The evening before all nature was in confusion. The angry\nclouds were like seething volcanoes, shooting up their thunderheads as\nif they would strike heaven in the face. Behind these cloud-battalions,\nwhich were constantly forming and reforming in ranks of war, the sun\nwas skirmishing. Now and then his fiery darts would pierce the serrate\ncolumns, but immediately they would close up the gap and shut out the\nsun. As if given up in despair, he retired behind the western hills.\nThe world was then locked in the embrace of night, and given over to\nthe remorseless storm-god. The angry clouds began to gather from the\neast and west and north and south, growing denser and darker as they\ncame. Muttering thunder could be heard in the distance. At last the\ncrisis came. One blinding flash of lightning followed another. The\nlakes roared. The earth moved. The mountains reeled! Thunder answered\nthunder! Deep called unto deep! The peaks, like mountain monarchs,\nseemed to be quarreling with each other; each peak had a voice and\neach glen an echo! One moment all was painfully dark, and the next a\nmighty sheet of flame could be seen falling from the clouds upon the\nmountain tops. There it lingered for a moment, and then, rolling itself\ninto billows, it came dashing down the rocky steeps like cataracts of\nfire, turning night into day and revealing a hundred snow-capped peaks\naround.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nSWITZERLAND AS SEEN ON FOOT.\n\n Alpine Fever\u2014Flags of Truce\u2014Schiller and the Swiss Hero\u2014Tell\u2019s\n Statue and Chapel\u2014Ascent of the Rigi\u2014Beautiful Scenery\u2014Famous\n Falls\u2014Rambles in the Mountains\u2014Glaciers\u2014The Matterhorn\u2014Yung\n Frau\u2014Ascent of Mount Blanc\u2014An Eagle in the Clouds\u2014Switzerland\n and her People\u2014The Oldest Republic in the World\u2014\u201dHome, Sweet\n Home\u201d\u2014High Living\u2014Land Owners\u2014Alpine Folk\u2014Night Spent in a Swiss\n Chalet\u2014Johnson in Trouble\u2014Walk of Six Hundred Miles\u2014Famous Alpine\n Pass\u2014A Night above the Clouds\u2014Saint Bernard Hospice\u2014Overtaken in a\n Snow-Storm\u2014Hunting Dead Men\u2014The Alps as a Monument\u2014Geneva\u2014Prison\n of Chilon\u2014How Time was Spent\u2014Tongue of Praise.\n\n\nI HAVE been in Switzerland only a few days before I take what the\npeople here call the Alpine fever. It affects my blood; it gets into\nmy very bones. I can feel it in every limb at every breath. I consult\nno physician\u2014I need none. I know full well that the only cure for my\ndisease is to get out among the mountains and there commune with Nature\nand Nature\u2019s God. I did not come to Switzerland to hear fine music, or\nto be initiated into the mysteries of fashionable hotel life. I came\nto enjoy the wild and rugged scenery of the Alps. It seems, too, that\nit takes more to satisfy me than it does most people. They tell me\nthey came here for the same purpose that I did, and yet they are quite\ncontent to remain in the cities and behold the mountains afar off. Not\nso with me. The moment I behold the gleaming snow on the uplifted\nmountains, I see that it is not a scarlet ensign indicative of wrath,\nwar, and bloodshed. No, the signal is white, the flag of truce, the\nemblem of peace, of innocence and purity. Hence, I am not repelled but\nwonderfully drawn by the mountains. I can but repeat the language that\nSchiller put into the mouth of his Swiss hero, William Tell:\n\n \u201cThere is a charm about them, that is certain\u2014\n Seest thou yon mountains with their snowy peaks\n Melting into and mingling with the sky?\u201d\n\nI think, too, of the wifely warning that Hedwige gave Tell:\n\n \u201cThou never leav\u2019st me but my heart grows cold\n And shrinks, as though each farewell were the last\u2014\n I see thee midst the frozen wilderness,\n Missing, perchance, thy leap o\u2019er some dark gulf,\n Or whirl\u2019d down headlong with the struggling chamois;\n\n \u201cI see the avalanche close o\u2019er thy head,\n The treacherous ice give way beneath thy feet\u2014\n And thee\u2014the victim of a living grave!\n Death, in a thousand varying shapes, waylays\n The Alpine traveler. \u2018Tis a hazardous and fearful trade!\u201d\n\nThe husband\u2019s reply was:\n\n \u201cHe who trusts in God, and to those powers which God hath given him,\n May guard himself from almost every danger.\n These mountains have no terrors for their children.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: GIESSBACH FALLS.]\n\nAnd I am for the time being a child of the Alps. I have a mountaineer\u2019s\nspirit in me, and I say: \u201cI will go!\u201d The next thing is to secure an\nAlpine outfit, which consists of spiked shoes, an Alpenstock, an ice\nax and a rope. These things in our hands and neatly strapped on our\nbacks, Johnson and I leave the social haunts of men, and start out to\n\u201cdo the Alps.\u201d On the \u201cRainbow,\u201d we sail over Lake Lucerne from end to\nend. We then walk to Fluelen and Altdorf, where is laid the scene of\nSchiller\u2019s immortal play, \u201cWilliam Tell.\u201d We see Tell\u2019s statue, erected\non the spot where with crossbow he shot the apple off his son Walter\u2019s\nhead. We visit the place where during a raging storm, Tell sprang\nfrom the boat upon a projecting rock, thereby saving himself from the\ndungeon, and rescuing Switzerland from the hands of tyranny. We climb\nthe Rigi, the mountain that gave Mark Twain so much trouble. Standing\nupon its elevated summit, we look down upon eleven silvery lakes spread\nout in the valleys 5,000 feet below. We now strike out over Br\u00fcning\nPass for Brienz and Interlaken. The most interesting object during\nthis delightful sail was the famous Griessbach Falls. As the steamer\napproaches, all eyes are fixed upon the rushing torrent whose foaming\nwaters, eager to escape from their mountain prison, burst forth from\nthe mountain side, and leap from rock to rock until they mingle with\nthe placid lake 1,200 feet below!\n\nInterlaken, as its name indicates, is between the lakes, Brienz and\nThun. This is not a city, but a small, characteristic Swiss village,\nhemmed in by two lakes, and two mountains, whose precipitous sides\nare feathered over with fir trees. Indeed, the surroundings are so\npicturesque and beautiful that we make Hotel de Nord headquarters for\nseveral days, during which time we make several delightful excursions\non and around the lakes. Our stay is made more pleasant because of the\ncompany of L. Woodhull and J. A. Worthman, of Dayton, Ohio; but theirs\nis a flying trip, hence we are soon separated.\n\nWe now penetrate the very heart of the Alps. We spend a month, and\nwalk more than five hundred miles, creeping through the windings of\nthe mountains; in following up streams to their sources; in crossing\nnarrow chasms whose yawning depths even now make me dizzy when I think\nof them; in climbing rugged peaks where one false step would have\ndashed us against the jagged rocks, two, three, and sometimes four,\nthousand feet below; in letting ourselves down by ropes into deep\ngorges on whose rocky floor ray of sun or moonbeam has never fallen; in\ntraversing seas of ice or glacier fields, two of which, the Rhone and\nthe Aletsch glaciers, are the most extensive in the Alps, being fifteen\nmiles long and from one to three miles wide.\n\nReader, stand with me for a moment upon the banks of this Swiss river,\nand we shall find it worthy of the world of savage grandeur through\nwhich it passes. The river is quite narrow. Its rocky bed is full\nthree hundred feet below the banks on which we stand. The water dashes\nby us with such force and velocity that, as it strikes the rocks and\nbowlders in the stream, the spray rises up for a hundred feet or more.\nThe light of the sun shining through the rising mist flings a radiant\nrainbow on the opposite wall of rock.\n\nMountains rise up abruptly on either side of the river. On the opposite\nside of the stream from where we stand, a mountain rises up steeply\nfor six, eight, nine, thousand feet. Away up there 9,000 feet above\nthe world, on the broad top of the mountain, there is an everlasting\nlake filled from Heaven\u2019s founts, baring its blue bosom to the blue\nsky. Around this \u201clake of the gods,\u201d and also from its centre, Alpine\npeaks lift their grey and ghastly heads up against the sky, as if to\nsupport the blue dome of Heaven, lest the moon and the stars extinguish\nthemselves in the crystal sea. And that is not all. The water, as if\ntired of its home in the skies, breaks over its rocky prison walls;\nand, in a perpetual stream eighteen inches deep and thirty feet\nwide, it comes, churned into madness and foam\u2014comes madly dashing\nand splashing down the mountain side for 9,000 feet at an angle of\nseventy-five degrees. Finally with the swiftness of an arrow the\nmaddened stream leaps into the river, and we stand on the banks and\nlook down on the \u201choarse torrent\u2019s foaming breath below.\u201d\n\n \u201cWe gaze and turn away and know not where,\n Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart\n Reels with its fullness, there\u2014forever there\u2014\n Chain\u2019d to the chariot of Nature\u2019s triumphal Art\n We stand as captives, and would not depart.\u201d\n\nBaedeker truly says: \u201cThe glacier\u2014the most striking feature of the\nAlpine world\u2014is a stupendous mass of purest azure ice.\u201d No scene in\nSwitzerland is so strikingly and so strangely beautiful as when, in\nsome fertile and wooded valley, the glittering pinnacles of a glacier\nare suddenly presented to our gaze, in the immediate proximity of\nwheat fields, fruit trees, smiling meadows and human habitations.\nThese extensive glaciers are long arms of solid ice, resembling a\nthousand frozen cataracts, occupying entire valleys, and attaining\na thickness estimated at 1,500 feet. The surface of these glaciers\nis by no means smooth and regular. Here one frowning terrace rises\nabove another; there the glacier swells and rises into huge pinnacles\nand towering pyramids of purest ice. Again the surface is torn into\nevery conceivable shape by great crevasses which sometimes sink to\nan enormous depth. In crossing these glaciers, guides, spiked shoes,\nAlpenstocks, strong ropes, and ice axes are indispensable.\n\n[Illustration: A GLACIER IN SWITZERLAND.]\n\nThe rope is tied around the waist of each one of us, guides and all,\nleaving eight or ten feet of rope between each two persons, one guide\nat each end of the rope. Thus we, \u201cwith cautious step and slow,\u201d start\nacross a sea of ice, all following the foremost guide and stepping\nin his tracks. Sometimes every foothold has to be cut with an ax.\nNow we come to a deep crevasse into which we are let down by a rope.\nOnce safely down the guide cuts our way in the ice until we gain two\nladders, one above the other, that have been placed there for that\npurpose. Notwithstanding one\u2019s double suit of underclothing and heavy\nwraps, he becomes so chilled and benumbed that he gradually loses\nhis native activity. Hence the greatest caution is necessary to get\nback without broken limbs. As one sees these pinnacles and pyramids\nof purest azure ice bathed in the golden splendor of the setting sun,\ntheir shining steps look like a crystal stairway reaching from earth to\nheaven. A glacier reflecting the sun\u2019s evening glories could perhaps\nnot be better described than by saying, it looks like heaven hung out\nto air.\n\n \u201cThere are things whose strong reality\n Outshines our fairy-land; in shape and hues\n More beautiful than our fantastic sky.\u201d\n\nWe must now quit the glacier field, and go up on the Aeggischhorn.\nReader, you must know that the way is long and rough and steep and\nhard. But what man has done, man can do. The object is worth the labor.\nWhat were a month\u2019s climbing, even though it be doubly difficult, when\nit is to be rewarded with the prospect from yonder imperial height? We\ncross chasm after chasm, struggle from cliff to cliff, go from height\nto height, until we stand 14,000 feet above the world! Around us are a\nthousand snow-capped peaks rising up until they \u201cmelt into and mingle\nwith the skies.\u201d\n\n \u201cThe sun seems pausing above the mountain\u2019s brow\n As if he left reluctantly a scene so lovely now.\u201d\n\nThe rays of light like arrows pierce the ice-covered rocks, and set\nthe Alpine world on fire. The bended heavens not far above us blush\nto behold the sight. Gods, isn\u2019t it glorious! Slow wanes the day\nfrom these sequestered valleys. As the tourists watch the sun gather\nup his spent shafts and put them back into his golden quiver, they\ninvoluntarily take off their hats and contemplate the \u201cafterglow\u201d in\nsilence.\n\nI might as well rest my pen, for I might write until my hand would\nbecome palsied from use, and you might read my writing until your\neyes would grow dim with age, and yet I could convey to you no just\nconception of the Matterhorn whose brow really seems ambitious of the\nskies! nor yet of the majestic Jungfrau whose head goes careering ten,\ntwelve, fourteen, sixteen, thousand feet towards heaven. It is noonday\nwhen I first stand at the foot of the Jungfrau, the young wife. The\nclouds have come down and settled upon and around the mountain until at\nleast half of it is obscured from view. But my eyes are something like\ndaggers piercing the clouds through, for I want to get a glimpse of the\nmountain as near to heaven as possible. All at once the clouds begin\nto rise. They lift themselves clear above the mountain\u2019s brow. Ah,\nme! I have to shut the door close on my fluttering, my rising, soul,\nlest it pass outward and upward in astonishment. This is the Jungfrau,\nvailed in her dazzling shroud of eternal snow, and I am sure Ruskin\nwas correct when he said: \u201cThe seen walls of lost Eden could not have\nbeen more beautiful, or more awful round Heaven the gates of sacred\ndeath.\u201d Now, as if the mountain\u2019s brow was too sacred to be bared long\nat a time, the clouds, like a mighty sheet, begin to unfold and come\ndown. The mountain is soon wrapt again in thick clouds, but she lifts\nher ambitious head aloft. Above and beyond the clouds her icy crown\nglistens in the light of the sun.\n\nThe people here say this is the best place in Switzerland to see an\navalanche. I am determined to see one, if I have to remain here all\nsummer. I see none the first day. As night approaches, I cross a\nfrightfully deep and yawning chasm, and come over on the Wengernalp,\n3,000 feet high, which leaves me still 13,000 feet below the top of the\nJungfrau. Next morning, about half-past seven o\u2019clock, I hear a strange\nnoise, apparently in Heaven, as though the angels had revolted. The\nnoise is in the direction of the Jungfrau, whose head is still hidden\nin the clouds. The noise is heard, but the cause is unseen. It seems\nthat a thousand cyclones and thunder-storms have combined into one.\nIt comes \u201cnearer, clearer, deadlier\u201d than before. All eyes are turned\nin one direction, and now we see a world of white snow bursting forth\nlike a thunderbolt from the bosom of the clouds. It comes leaping down\nthe mountain side from crag to crag, from peak to peak, across crack\nand glen and crevasse. Gathering momentum with each successive leap, it\nsweeps down the mountain side with such deafening noise and terrific\nforce that nothing on earth could stay its onward progress. The earth\ntrembles and the mountains reel as it leaps into the yawning chasm\nbelow.\n\n \u201cThese are the Alps,\n The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls\n Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,\n And throned Eternity in icy halls\n Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls\n The avalanche\u2014the thunderbolt of snow!\n All that expands the spirit, yet appals,\n Gather around these summits, as to show\n How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: AMONG THE PEAKS.]\n\nAfter ascending Mount Blanc, I can but say, I have scaled thy heights,\nI have sniffed thy breeze, I have planted my feet upon thy glittering\ncrown, but who, oh who, can comprehend thy glory! Oh thou monarch\nof mountains! I see thee in all thy majesty. Thy proportions are so\nvast and gigantic, thy form so regal and grand, that the eye in vain\nattempts to estimate them. Distance is annihilated by thy vastness,\nfor thou art towering above us as if thou wouldst bear thy burden of\nvirgin snow back to its native heaven. Yet above thy regal brow I see\nan eagle. For a moment he pauses with outstretched wings, as if to\ncontemplate thy glory, and then screaming with delight and whirling\nhimself in the air, he continues his onward, upward flight, as if he\nwould clutch his talons in the fiery sun itself.\n\n \u201cWave, eagle, thy pinion\n Supreme in the air!\u201d\n\nBut leave, ah leave, me alone on the mountain top amidst the frozen\nwilderness. I love to roam among the mountains. I love their pure air,\ntheir jagged heights, their snowy peaks, and their foaming cataracts\ntumbling down. Yea,\n\n \u201cFor the lifting up of mountains,\n In brightness and in dread;\n For the peaks where snow and sunshine\n Alone have dared to tread;\n For the dark of silent gorges,\n Whence mighty cedars nod:\n For the majesty of mountains,\n I thank thee, O my God.\u201d\n\nThis little country of Switzerland, locked in by the Alps, and\nsurrounded by Germany, France, Italy, and Austria, boasts the oldest\nrepublic in the world, its present form of government having existed\nhalf a thousand years. It is inhabited by 2,700,000 people, speaking\nthree different languages. One million and a half speak German, one\nmillion French, and the remainder Italian. Unlike the people of other\nEuropean nations, four-fifths of these Switzers are land owners. They\nlove to sing\n\n \u201cHome, sweet home,\n Be it ever so humble, there is no place like home!\u201d\n\nAnd, verily, their homes are humble, especially in the wilder parts of\nthe country. Their rude, structures are, for the most part, built of\nfir poles and rough stones, and are often perched on the steep mountain\nside, thousands of feet above the valley. Sometimes nearly the whole\nhouse is hidden away in a blasted rock, only the end facing the valley\nbeing visible. These mountaineers live high\u2014I can not say _well_. They\nhave elevated thoughts, that is if they have any thoughts at all; they\nlook down upon kings and ordinary mortals, and only look up to eagles\nand to God. Despite the extraordinary precaution taken to have their\nhouses shielded by the rock, many of them are annually swept away by\navalanches. It is difficult to trace out the dim and winding paths by\nwhich these people reach their mountain huts.\n\nI said most Switzers are land-owners, and so they are, on a small\nscale. It is only a little here and less there; an acre in one place, a\nhalf acre in another, and so on. They have few or no horses, but nearly\nevery family has two or three cows and a half dozen goats. They milk\nboth goats and cows; both are as gentle as cats, and each one appears\nto know its name. Switzerland is a great country for honey, cheese,\nvegetables and fruit. Pears and grapes of the finest quality everywhere\nabound. Wine is plentiful and almost as cheap as water, though I do not\ntake advantage of the \u201creduced rates.\u201d\n\nThere is something about the plain, simple, and unpretentious ways\nof these Alpine folk that challenges admiration. They are earnest,\nhonest, pious, truthful, and industrious. Indeed, they can not be\notherwise than industrious. Necessity is their stern master. He treads\nupon their heels, and cracks his whip over their heads. They have no\nmachinery\u2014they want none. They know nothing, and care less, about what\nprogress the world is making. To them, \u201cthe world\u201d means Switzerland,\nand that is about the same from age to age. \u201cContentment is the price\nof happiness;\u201d they have paid the price, and enjoy the prize. The\niron-belted and thunder-riven mountains have lent strength of character\nand force of will to the men. They are hardy mountaineers. They love\ntheir country next to their God.\n\n \u201cTrue as yon Alp to its own native flowers\n True as the torrent to its rocky bed,\n Or clouds and winds to their appointed track;\n The Switzer cleaves to his accustom\u2019d freedom,\n Holds fast the rights and laws his fathers left him,\n And spurns the tyrant\u2019s innovating sway.\u201d\n\nThe crystal streams, silvery lakes, and smiling valleys, have\nreflected their beauty in many a maiden\u2019s face. True, these daughters\nof the forest wear no high-heeled boots nor Paris bonnets, but they are\nbeautiful, nevertheless. I think Johnson will not soon forget a girl\nwhom we met in a Swiss chalet where we stayed a few nights ago. And\nwho can blame him? She was eighteen years of age, of medium height,\nand had a faultless figure. She had a Grecian face, smooth features,\nfair complexion, large brown eyes, and flowing auburn hair. A radiant\nsmile wreathed her innocent face. She looked at Johnson. He looked at\nher. Neither one spoke. Neither one could speak so the other could\nunderstand. But what is the use of words\n\n \u201cWhen each warm wish springs mutual from the heart,\n And thought meets thought ere from the lips it part,\n When love is liberty, and nature law?\u201d\n\nThat night Johnson came to our room claiming that he was ill. When\nI inquired as to the nature of his trouble, he said he did not know\nwhat it was. He did not know whether he had the rash, whooping-cough,\nmeasles, small-pox, or cholera; but he had something, and had it bad.\nWhereupon I applied a flaxseed poultice to the back of his neck. Next\nmorning found him convalescent, though not entirely relieved. I see\nfrom history that such occurrences were common in the middle ages.\n\nWe have now been in Switzerland forty days. It has been forty days of\nhard work, and yet forty days of intense delight. We have walked nearly\nsix hundred miles, and the last mile was stepped off with as much\nease as the first mile. The last step had in it the same elasticity\nand firmness as the first. My youth was renewed like the eagle\u2019s. I\nconstantly felt like mounting on the wings of rejoicing, and gliding\nover the country as a disembodied spirit.\n\nIn some places, the angles we made in ascending and descending were\nnot less than sixty to seventy-five degrees! One time, when nightfall\ncame, I was thoroughly tired\u2014completely exhausted. Pain trembled in\nevery limb. My knees denied their office. Hearty supper, warm footbath,\nbed, oblivion! Strange as it may appear, the next day was spent, not in\nwalking but in reading history.\n\nIn our Alpine experiences, we walked from Switzerland into France and\nback again; over Napoleon\u2019s famous Alpine pass from Switzerland into\nItaly and back. One time, while crossing the Alps without a guide,\nwe lost our way. For several hours we wandered around\u2014we knew not\nwhither. All at once the clouds dropped down upon us, and with the\nclouds there came a blinding snow-storm. It seemed as if we would\nfreeze. I knew we could not survive the cold till morning. I thought,\n\u201cIs it possible that this white snow is to be my winding-sheet, and\nsome rocky chasm my lonely grave?\u201d Just before dark, our hearts were\ngladdened by the sight of six men not far away. We called to them.\nAcross the fields of snow, the cold wind brought their cheering reply.\nThe men, clad in fur and wrapped in black gowns, proved to be Augustine\nmonks, who keep the St. Bernard Hospice. They took us with them to the\nHospice which was only two miles away. On reaching there, Johnson and\nI were almost frozen. We were soon seated by a glowing fire, and were\ncomfortably shielded from the cutting wind and falling snow during that\nmemorable night above the clouds.\n\n[Illustration: HOSPICE IN THE ALPS.]\n\nWe spent some time with the monks of the Hospice. This noble\ninstitution has been standing nearly a thousand years. It is in the\nheart of the mountains\u2014the highest winter habitation in the Alps.\nSnow falls here nine months in the year. The Hospice is kept by\neighteen or twenty Augustine monks, whose sole business is to search\nfor, assist and rescue, Alpine travelers who have lost their way in the\nsnow. We saw here about a dozen of the famous St. Bernard dogs. They\nare, by all odds, the largest and finest dogs I have seen. They are\nthoroughly trained to assist the monks in their work. In the morning,\nwhen they are let out of the house where they have been locked during\nthe night, the dogs seem wild with delight. They go bounding through\nthe snow in every direction. With fore feet on some huge bowlder,\nand heads high in the air, they sniff the cold mountain breeze, and\noff they go again. For miles around, they search the mountains for\ntravelers who, on account of cold and snow, have fallen by the wayside.\nIn this way these philanthropic monks and their noble dogs have saved\nmany lives.\n\nIt is impossible at the Hospice to dig graves in the rock and snow and\nice, so they have a \u201cdead house\u201d where the bodies which are found in\nthe snow are placed and kept. The atmosphere is so pure and intensely\ncold that decomposition takes place very slowly. There are about fifty\nbodies in the dead house now, the last two having been placed there\nabout eighteen months ago. I went into this house, and I really believe\nthat if I had ever known the two persons last placed there, I could\nhave recognized them then. Any traveler is kindly received by the\nmonks and entertained for the night without any charge. Each visitor\nis expected, however, to \u201cdrop something in the box.\u201d Napoleon once\nstopped here, and hundreds of his soldiers, as they passed over the\nmountains with the cannon, partook of the hospitality of the monks.\nAfterwards, the great Frenchman sent one of his generals here to be\nburied, that he might have the Alps as a monument.\n\nI visited the prison of Chillon. It is a gloomy old castle with five\ngreat towers, built upon a rock projecting some two hundred yards into\nLake Geneva. Byron says of it:\n\n \u201cChillon! thy prison is a holy place,\n And thy sad floor an altar; for \u2019twas trod\n Until his very steps have left a trace,\n Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod,\n By Bonnivard! May none those marks efface,\n \u201cFor they appeal from tyranny to God.\n There are seven pillars of Gothic mould\n In Chillon\u2019s dungeon deep and old,\n And in each pillar there is a ring,\n And in each ring there is a chain.\u201d\n\nThe description is perfect. The whole thing is there as of old.\n\nI must stay my weary hand. I have already perhaps, written too much\nabout Switzerland. But I have no apology to offer. I am in love with\nthe country, that\u2019s all. Love Switzerland?\n\n \u201cWho could help it that has a heart to love,\n And in that heart courage to make its love known?\u201d\n\n[Illustration: SWISS MOUNTAINS.]\n\nTo get up regularly at 5 A.M., and see the first grey streaks of\nmorning, to watch the grey turn to pearl, the pearl to copper, to\namber, to gold, and then to see the whole heaven flecked with blushes\nand gattled with fire; to watch the rising sun slowly climb the eastern\nhills and see the first gleam of light glistening on the snowy peaks\naround you; to start on your day\u2019s tramp while the air is fresh and\nbracing, and while all Nature is smiling as though earth held no tomb;\nto walk for hours and hours, climbing peaks and crossing glens; to sit\ndown at noon on the flower-fringed bank of a limpid stream, and listen\nto the music of its rippling waters while you eat your cold lunch; and,\nafter dinner is over, to lie in the sun for an hour or two and read\nthe legends, poetry and history inseparably linked with the mountains,\nlakes and valleys that you have been admiring all the morning; to walk\non until night, and then eat with an appetite that reminds you of your\nschoolboy days of old, when you ate all that was cooked and then called\nfor more; to go out after supper and reflect on God\u2019s handiwork, with\nfloods, snows, rocks, mountains, glens, forests round and heaven\u2019s\nbright stars above you,\u2014to enjoy all this, and more, as I have done,\nwere enough to put the tongue of praise in the mouth of the dumb, to\nwake well-springs of joy in the desert places of the heart, and send\nnever-failing streams of rejoicing through the garden of life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nBAPTISTS IN FRANCE.\n\n\nIN the early part of this century two English Baptists began to preach\nthe Gospel in Switzerland and France. The burden of their preaching\nwas free salvation through faith in Jesus Christ, and to their joy\nsomething of a religious revival began to manifest itself. It seems\nhowever, that these brethren did not give Believer\u2019s Baptism its proper\nplace, and hence many of their disciples, looking upon it as a matter\nof no special importance, for the sake of peace kept it constantly\nin the background. The result was, that though many were converted\nand gathered into churches through the labors of these good Baptist\nbrethren and their disciples, in 1830 only two little churches in the\nnorthern part of France were willing to be known as Baptists.\n\nAbout this time Prof. Rostan of Marseilles, left his home for the\nUnited States, where he became a Baptist. In 1832 he returned to France\nunder the auspices of the Missionary Union, intending to spend his life\nin preaching the Gospel to his own people. He opened a hall in Paris,\nand a goodly number of attentive and serious hearers gathered about\nhim, some of whom often accompanied him to his home to receive further\ninstruction. Mr. Rostan also sought interviews with prominent and\ninfluential men, to explain to them the object of his mission. He was\ngenerally well received, and was invited to give a series of lectures\non Christianity before the \u201cSociety for Promoting Civilization.\u201d Being\npious, cultivated and zealous, there was every reason to hope that he\nwould accomplish a great work, but his lamented death in December 1833\nput an end to his earthly labors.\n\nThe Missionary Union at once sent out an appeal to young ministers, and\nMr. Isaac Willmarth, then of the Newton Theological Seminary, who loved\nFrance, and especially Paris, because there, while a medical student\nhe was led to Christ, presented himself, and was at once appointed to\ncarry on the work. He reached Paris in June 1834. The following year a\nsmall church was organized and soon after two theological students were\nreceived into the church, and placed themselves under Mr. Willmarth\u2019s\ninstructions. Through a Colporteur whom he knew in Paris, Mr. Willmarth\nwas brought into relation with the few Baptists of Northern France, who\nwere much gratified at receiving a visit from the American Missionary,\nand who were not a little surprised to hear from him of the large\nnumber of Christians in America, who not only held to Believers\u2019\nBaptism, but, as a result of this, to restricted Communion also.\n\nIn the latter part of 1835 the mission was reinforced by two other\nAmerican Missionaries, Rev. E. Willard, and Rev. D. N. Sheldon, both\nof Newton Theological Seminary. The chief object of this reinforcement\nwas the establishment of a mission school, with special reference to\nthe training of candidates for the ministry. Mr. Sheldon remained in\nParis and in June 1836, Mr. Willmarth and Mr. Willard, wishing to be\nnear the few Baptists of Northern France, removed to Douai, a town near\nthe borders of Belgium, having a population of twenty thousand, and\ncontaining a small Baptist church. The following year Mr. Willmarth, on\naccount of failing health, found it necessary to return to the United\nStates, and two years later Mr. Sheldon returned also. Mr. Willard,\nleft alone in France, continued his labors, giving special attention\nto training of young men for the ministry, in which work he was very\nsuccessful.\n\nIn 1840 the mission numbered seven churches, five out-stations, six\nordained ministers, five assistants and about two hundred members.\n\nThe period between 1840 and 1848 was one of trial and persecution, the\nchief difficulties resulting from the opposition of the government,\nwhich made it unlawful for more than twenty persons to meet together\nfor any purpose, without the written permission of the magistrates.\nBrethren began holding private meetings in their own houses, but very\nsoon a law was enacted subjecting any person who opened his house for\npublic worship to a fine of from sixteen to three hundred francs. The\nexecution of these laws was committed to the mayors of the communes,\nwho were generally Roman Catholics, and thoroughly under the influence\nof the priests, who, as ever, were not slow to avail themselves of\nthis opportunity to persecute these Baptist brethren, with the hope of\npreventing further progress, and of destroying what had already been\naccomplished. In several places chapels were closed, one remaining\nunopened for thirteen years, and consequently brethren were forced to\nmeet together secretly in private houses, or in the quiet woods. But\nit was not without danger that they thus assembled, for Preachers and\nColporteurs were often arrested and fined, and but for the liberality\nof some good Baptists of New York, who willingly paid these fines in\norder that these faithful and courageous disciples might go forth\nfrom prison to preach the Gospel, their work would have been greatly\nhindered.\n\nIn 1847 a famous trial took place. The pastors of Chauny and La fere\n(Aisne) together with a Colporteur, were sentenced each to pay a fine\nof three hundred francs, having been found guilty of the crime of\npreaching the Gospel. Many of their hearers were also subjected to\nfines. The case was carried to a higher court, and the sentence was\nsomewhat modified. But feeling the injustice and illegality of the\nsentence, even in its modified form, it being a direct violation of the\nFrench Code, adopted in 1830, which contained a definite provision for\nfreedom of worship for all religious denominations, an appeal was made\nto the highest court in the Empire. However, before the final trial,\nthe Revolution of February 1848, overthrew the throne, and religious\nliberty was proclaimed throughout the whole of France.\n\nOne of the chief obstacles being removed, the work was prosecuted\nwith lively hope and fresh zeal, and the following year, 1849,\nproved a season of special blessing, forty-five baptisms having been\nreported. In 1850, the Baptist church in Paris was re-organized with\nfour members, the first pastor being Mr. Dez. For thirteen years the\nchurch worshipped in a small inconvenient room, during which time the\nnumber of members increased from four to eighty-four. A better room\nwas then obtained, where the brethren continued to meet till 1873,\nwhen the present marble-front chapel was provided. Work was carried on\nsuccessfully in several of the large towns of northern France, and in\nthe villages and the country immediately adjoining them. The members of\nthe churches are generally poor, and often much scattered, but they are\nmost faithful and regular in their attendance on the Sunday services,\nsome of them walking even ten miles. From all accounts French Baptists\nare noted for their piety and self-sacrificing efforts in spreading a\nknowledge of the Truth.\n\nSince 1857, when Mr. Willard returned to the United States, the work\nhas been under the direction of a committee of French ministers,\nthe means being largely furnished by the Missionary Union. The cause\nhas made constant and substantial progress, and gives good promise\nfor the future. A Theological School has been established in Paris.\nBesides the chapel in Paris, several others have been provided. The\nservices are generally well attended, and the people seem to manifest\na growing tendency and desire to hear the Truth. In Chauny, where\npersecution was once so rife, the chapel has been enlarged, in order to\naccommodate the growing numbers who wish to hear the Gospel. Baptisms\nare of frequent occurrence. The little periodical called \u201c_L\u2019Echo de\nla Verite_\u201d has met with unexpected favor and success, the number of\nits subscribers being nearly twice that of the Baptists themselves. A\nsmall but valuable Baptist literature has been provided. If we include\nthose not connected with the Missionary Union, the Baptist force of\nFrance numbers at present about twenty pastors and evangelists, about\ntwenty organized churches, some forty or fifty sub-stations, and about\none thousand members. During these sixty years of effort and suffering\nmuch precious fruit has been gathered for the heavenly garner, and a\ngood foundation has been laid. Religiously, France and Italy are very\nmuch alike, and the difficulties of the one, are, in the main, the\ndifficulties of the other. In each case Romanism, with its attendant\nand inevitable evils, is the chief obstacle. But the darkness of\nRomanism is sure to recede before the light of God\u2019s Word, and we may\nconfidently hope that the land so often crimsoned by the blood of\nmartyrs, the land of the Huguenots will yet throw off the shackles of\nthe \u201cMan of Sin\u201d and bow to the sway of Immanuel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nFROM VIENNA DOWN THE DANUBE TO CONSTANTINOPLE.\n\n A Black Night on the Black Sea\u2014A Doleful Dirge\u2014Two Thousand\n Miles\u2014Vienna\u2014Its Architecture\u2014Its Palace\u2014Its Art Galleries and\n Museums\u2014Through Hungary, Servia, Slavonia, and Bulgaria\u2014Cities\n and Scenery along the Danube\u2014Products of the Countries\u2014Entering\n the Bosphorus amid a War of the Elements\u2014Between Two\n Continents\u2014Constantinople\u2014Difficulty with a Turkish Official\u2014A\n Babel of Tongues\u2014The Sultan at Prayer\u2014Twenty Thousand Soldiers on\n Guard\u2014Multiplicity of Wives\u2014Man-Slayer.\n\n\nI AM now far out on the Black Sea. Night has settled down on the face\nof the deep, and darkness broods over the wide, wide world. This is,\nhowever, far from being a \u201cstill and pulseless world\u201d at present. We\nare not having a storm, but the wind is blowing a perfect gale. I have\njust been pacing the deck and watching the heaving bosom of the ocean.\nI love the ocean; I love its vastness; I love its doleful music; I love\nits foam-crested waves and white-capped billows. But I had to leave\nthe deck to-night; it is too cold and rough and dark to remain out any\nlonger. Hence I came to the saloon; and, as there are a few thoughts\nfloating through my mind, I take up my pen. I am tired, and would wait\nuntil morning; but memory is a treacherous creature, and the only way\nI can secure these thoughts is to fasten them in words, and chain them\nin writing. The thoughts I propose to manacle pertain to places I have\nvisited and objects I have seen since leaving Geneva, Switzerland.\nDuring this time, I have traveled more than two thousand miles,\nsometimes on foot, sometimes on trains, and sometimes on the Danube\nriver.\n\n[Illustration: THE BELVIDERE, VIENNA.]\n\nVienna, the proud capital of haughty Austria, has more than a million\ninhabitants, is splendidly situated, and is one of the prettiest cities\nin Europe. The city abounds in monuments and statues, in large parks,\nlovely flower gardens, and playing fountains. But Vienna\u2019s crowning\nglory is her superb architecture. The Emperor\u2019s Mansion, the Palace\nof Justice, and the Houses of Parliament, are especially fine. They\nare immense structures, and are elaborately sculptured not only from\nthe ground to the roof, but the roof itself is covered with sculptured\nwork. For instance, there are standing on the House of Parliament\nalone, eighty life-size marble statues. In addition to these, there\nare, on the same roof eight large gilded chariots, each drawn by four\nflying horses, and driven by a winged goddess. As one approaches these\nbuildings, they present a most striking appearance.\n\nI went through the Palace, and saw the Emperor and the crown jewels of\nAustria; through the royal riding-school, where the imperial family are\ndaily instructed in the art of horsemanship; through the art galleries\nand Museum, which contain too many fine pictures and objects of\ninterest to be mentioned here.\n\nSince leaving Vienna, I have traveled through Hungary, Servia,\nSlavonia, and Bulgaria, stopping at Buda-Pesth, Belgrade, Rustchuk, and\nVarna. For two days and nights I was on the majestic Danube. Most of\nthe time the river was broad, and the country level and uninteresting.\nBut this was by no means uniform; occasionally the river would burst\nthrough a rocky mountain ridge, and I remember I opened my umbrella and\nstood on deck in the cold wind and rain for three hours, rather than go\ndown to the saloon, where I could only half see the rugged cliffs and\npeaks overhanging the river. Do you say, \u201cThat was expensive pleasure?\u201d\nWell, be it so. But I love nature. Besides, it has been said, and\ntruly, I believe, that we enjoy everything in proportion to what it\ncosts us. I am going to make a strong statement, and yet one that is as\ntrue as strong. I know that it will sound like blasphemy to some, but I\nbelieve in the old proverb, \u201cHonor to whom honor is due;\u201d hence I now\ndeclare that the scenery along some parts of the Danube is finer than\nanything on the Rhine.\n\nThe principal productions of Servia, Slavonia, Roumelia, and Bulgaria,\nseem to me to be ignorance, turnips, soldiers, poodle dogs, and an\nannual crop of semi-royal, throne-seeking dudes. I would rather own a\nthousand acres of black land in Texas, or be a well-to-do farmer in\nBlue Grass, Kentucky, than to have ten such thrones as all these petty\nkingdoms combined could offer. I settled the Bulgarian trouble, and\nleft the country. (I close for the night).\n\n[Illustration: THE DANUBE.]\n\nI fell asleep last night little dreaming what the morning held in\nstore for me. About 7 o\u2019clock, A.M., though I was up long before that\ntime, we entered the Bosphorus. We were sailing directly towards the\nrising sun. Along the eastern horizon great banks of purple clouds lay\npiled one upon another like Pelion upon Ossa. The clouds rise higher\nand higher, as now and then the sun climbs up to peep over, like an\nimprisoned giant from behind the frowning battlements.\n\nWe were apparently between the two arms of a great horseshoe, and were\ngliding slowly on into its curve, with the land on all sides sloping up\ngently from the water\u2019s edge. We were between two continents\u2014Europe on\nthe right, and Asia on the left. Our narrow passage was lined on either\nside with great torpedo boats, and ironclad men-of-war, trembling for\nservice. These, in turn, were flanked by two lines of impregnable\nforts, planted with grim and frowning cannon. As we pass the batteries\nand enter the bay, we behold the great city of Constantinople, crowning\nthe heights that sweep around the curve of the horseshoe. We see its\npalaces, mosques, towers, and spires, all outlined against a dark\nbackground of cloud. Just at this moment, the sun rifts the purple\nclouds, and pours a flood of golden glory over the whole scene.\n\n[Illustration: CASTLE ON THE DANUBE.]\n\nBy this time the \u201cUrano\u201d casts anchor, and we are soon surrounded by\ntwo or three hundred row-boats that have come to take the passengers\nashore. Just as I am about to step on shore an armed soldier cries\nout: \u201cHalt, stand!\u201d I do not know what the reader would have done, but\nI\u2014well, I obey the gruff voice. I am informed that no man is allowed\nto set foot on Ottoman soil without legal papers from his native\ncountry. Whereupon, I draw from my pocket a passport. The officer\nadmires the American eagle, but has some difficulty in reading the\ndocument. When he comes to \u201c_E pluribus Unum_\u201d he stalls; and, turning\nto me, he asks: \u201cWhat does this mean?\u201d I reply: \u201cThat simply indicates\nmy high rank and official position at home. It says I am _one among\nmany_.\u201d The Turk now uncovers his head, shows his teeth, and bows.\n\nI can say to-day, more truly than ever before, \u201cI am a stranger in\na strange land.\u201d I have just been out in the city. The streets are\ncrowded. I saw Turks, Greeks, Jews, Americans, Russians, Bulgarians,\nand Slavonians, all speaking strange languages, all wearing different,\nstrange, and grotesque costumes, all looking and staring at me as\nthough I was some wild animal in Barnum\u2019s show. Nothing can be\nmore strangely hideous than a tall, stoop-shouldered, long-haired,\nblack-eyed, copper-colored Ottoman in his native dress, if dress it may\nbe called. The women go with their faces veiled, their eyes being \u201ctoo\npure\u201d to look upon \u201cChristian dogs,\u201d as they call us.\n\n[Illustration: CONSTANTINOPLE.]\n\nIt is Friday, the Mohammedan Sabbath, so I went at noon to-day to the\n\u201cImperial Mosque\u201d to see the Sultan as he entered to say his prayers.\nAnd I saw the Sultan, the man who is the husband of 500 wives, the\npolitical ruler of the Turkish Empire, and the spiritual head of the\nMohammedan world. The ceremonies attending the Sultan\u2019s parade to\nthe Mosque were conducted with an Oriental splendor that was simply\ndazzling to human sight. Twenty thousand armed soldiers\u2014horse and\nfoot\u2014lined the way and surrounded the Mosque. The soldiers all wore\nred caps, and they looked like a veritable sea of blood, on which\nwere floating thousands of gleaming bayonets and glistening sabres.\nThe Sultan\u2019s approach was announced by blowing bugles, playing bands,\nbeating drums, and booming cannons. As the Sultan\u2014I had almost said\nas the Satan\u2014passed, the heathen people shouted: \u201cKalif, Humkiar,\u201d\n\u201cZil-Ulla,\u201d \u201cAlem Penah,\u201d which being interpreted means, \u201cThe successor\nof the Prophet,\u201d \u201cVicar of God, shadow of God,\u201d \u201cRefuge of the\nworld.\u201d When I saw and heard these things, I said to myself: \u201cI would\nrather be an ass\u2014crazy, crippled, blind, and dumb\u2014doomed to serve\nin a tread-mill for a thousand years, than to be a two-legged mass\nof putrefaction, and yet adored as a god by an ignorant and corrupt\nheathen people.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nFROM CONSTANTINOPLE TO ATHENS.\n\n A Stormy Day on Marmora\u2014Sunrise on Mount Olympus\u2014Brusa, the\n Ancient Capital of Turkey\u2014Ancient Troy\u2014Homeric Heroes\u2014Agamemnon\u2019s\n Fleet\u2014The Wooden Horse\u2014Paul\u2019s Vision at Troas\u2014Athens\u2014A Lesson\n in Greek\u2014The Acropolis\u2014The Parthenon\u2014Modern Athens\u2014Temple of\n Jupiter\u2014The Prison of Socrates\u2014The Platform of Demosthenes\u2014Mars\n Hill and Paul\u2019s Sermon\u2014Influence of the Ancients.\n\n\nTHE clouds are low thick and heavy, and the rain is falling fast; but\nthe time of our departure has arrived, we must start. In one hour\nafter we set foot on deck, our gallant ship is gracefully gliding over\nthe smooth waters of the Sea of Marmora. Constantinople, the city of\nConstantine the Great, soon fades from our view, and we are again\n\u201crocked in the cradle of the deep.\u201d\n\nThe night brings welcome rest. I am up with the morning. About sunrise\nwe pass Mount Olympus, in Asia Minor, at the foot of which is the city\nof Brusa, the ancient capital of Turkey. We now enter the Hellespont,\nand pass close to ancient Troy, the city of Priam. Here, too, are the\ntombs of Ajax, Hector and Achilles. On our left, is the bay where\nAgamemnon\u2019s fleet once lay at anchor. There, also, is the island of\nTenedos, where the treacherous Greeks concealed themselves when they\npretended to abandon the siege of Troy. The ghost of Virgil\u2019s wooden\nhorse now rises up before me, and I quote to a Greek naval officer,\nstanding by my side, this sentence from the Latin poet: \u201cTimeo Danaos\net dona ferentes.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: MODERN ATHENS.]\n\nIt was here that a vision appeared unto Paul by night. \u201cThere stood a\nman of Macedonia and prayed him, saying, \u2018Come over into Macedonia and\nhelp us.\u2019 Therefore loosing from Troas (Troy), we came with a straight\ncourse to Samothracia, and next day to Neapolis, and from there to\nPhilippi.\u201d Then followed the imprisonment, earthquake, etc. (Acts XVI).\nWe are sailing close along the coast of Macedonia, but Philippi is not\nvisible. We have a delightful day on the Archipelago, and about eight\no\u2019clock on the second morning we land at Piraeus. Here we take train,\nand twenty minutes later we are in Athens. Here the newsboys crowd\naround with Greek papers to sell. The bootblacks speak Greek, hotel\nporters speak Greek, the streets are named in Greek\u2014everything is\nGreek. I am in a new world, and the trouble is that the Greek of to-day\nis so very different from that used by the classic writers, that my\nknowledge of the language helps me but little.\n\n[Illustration: THE ACROPOLIS.]\n\nBreakfast being over, I start out to \u201cdo the city.\u201d Where do I go? I\ncare little for the present museums and art galleries, and still less\nfor King George, his Palace and the Royal Park. I came here not to see\nmodern Athens, but that city\n\n \u201cOn the Aegean shore,\n Built nobly; pure the air and light the soil,\n Athens, the eye of Greece, the mother of arts\n And eloquence.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THE PARTHENON OF THE ACROPOLIS.]\n\nHence I go at once to the famous Acropolis. The Acropolis is a hill,\nor a great rock three hundred feet high, jutting out of the valley\nin which Athens is situated. This rock is oblong in shape, measuring\n1,100 feet north and south, and about 500 feet east and west. Its sides\nare everywhere steep, and on the north perpendicular. This Athenian\nrock, the Acropolis, was once crowned by five marble temples, the most\nsplendid of which was the Parthenon.\n\n[Illustration: THE ACROPOLIS OF ATHENS AS IT WAS.]\n\nThe Parthenon has justly been called \u201cthe finest edifice on the finest\nsite in the world, hallowed by the noblest recollections that can\nstimulate the human heart.\u201d This wonderful temple was 100 by 250 feet,\nbuilt of the purest Pentelic marble, and surrounded by eighty huge\ncolumns. The Parthenon, like most of the other Grecian temples, is now\npartly in ruins. It has been standing twenty-five hundred years, and\nyet, despite the combined onslaught and united ravages of the Persian,\nthe Turk, time, war, earthquake, flood and fire, these stately walls\nand lofty columns still stand to attest the energy, taste, skill and\nculture of the ancient Greeks. They were\n\n \u201cFirst in the race that led to glory\u2019s goal,\n The Parthenon, the Parthenon!\n Look on its broken Arch, its ruined wall,\n Its chambers desolate and portals foul.\n Yes; this was once ambition\u2019s airy hall;\n The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.\u201d\n\nStanding on the Acropolis and looking toward the north, I see modern\nAthens, with its seventy-five thousand inhabitants. To the east, are\nthe remains of the \u201cTemple of Jupiter.\u201d This immense structure was once\nsurrounded by one hundred and fifty Corinthian columns, seven feet\nin diameter and sixty feet high. Sixteen of these columns, and one\ntriumphal arch, still stand in a perfect state of preservation. They\nare wonderful to behold.\n\nLooking in the same direction, but beyond the temple of Jupiter, I see\nthe Stadium, which consists of a natural amphitheatre, formed by three\nhills, united and modified artificially. This is where the gymnastic\ncontests and Olympic games took place.\n\nSouthwest of the Acropolis, is the rock-hewn prison of Socrates where\nthe grand old philosopher drank the fatal hemlock. Directly west, is\nthe platform with a stone pulpit from which the destinies of Athens\nwere swayed by the matchless eloquence of Demosthenes. Between this\npulpit and the Acropolis is the Areopagus, or Mar\u2019s Hill. When Paul was\nin Athens, \u201cthey took him and brought him to the Areopagus, saying,\n\u2018May we know what this new doctrine, whereof thou speakest, is?\u2019 Then\nPaul stood in the midst of Mar\u2019s Hill and said, \u2018Ye men of Athens, I\nperceive that in all things ye are too superstitious. For, as I passed\nby and beheld your devotions, I found an altar with this inscription:\n\u2018To the Unknown God.\u2019 Whom, therefore, ye ignorantly worship, Him\ndeclare I unto you.\u2019\u201d (Acts xvii: 15-32.) I stood \u201cin the midst of\nMar\u2019s Hill,\u201d and read Paul\u2019s speech in Greek to some \u201cmen of Athens,\u201d\nwho, in all probability, had never heard it before.\n\nI have now been in this classic land many days, during which I have\nlost no time. I have seen much of the people. On Tuesday and Saturday\nafternoons of each week, the royal band discourses music from a grand\nstand occupying the centre of one of the public squares. During these\nconcert hours, from five to ten thousand Greeks assemble in this open\nsquare. Here they meet and mix and commingle and commune in the freest\nand easiest manner imaginable. They sit, stand, promenade, or dance,\nas they like, but all of them are all the time laughing and talking. I\nnever saw a better-natured crowd. I miss no opportunity like this to\nstudy Greek life and character. One cannot be thrown among this crowd\nfor an hour without observing among the women the same traits of female\nbeauty that we have been studying all our lives in models of art and\nsculpture. The men, I take it, have degenerated more than the women. A\nmodern Diogenes might walk the streets of Athens for a week, _without\nfinding a man_ like those of olden times. I am glad to add, however,\nthat the present king is doing much to elevate his subjects.\n\nI have wandered through and around these majestic ruins all day, and\nthen gone back at night and viewed them by the pale moonlight. As I sit\nin the quiet stillness of this midnight hour and think of the past,\n\n \u201cMemory approaches,\n Holding up her magic glass,\n Pointing to familiar pictures,\n Which across the surface pass.\u201d\n\nIn the stately procession which sweeps across the stage of my\nimagination, I see Socrates, Zeno, Plato, and Xenophon; I see\nAristotle, Solon, Pericles, Sophocles, and Demosthenes. These are the\nmen that gave Greece her glory; these are the men who, with the fulcrum\nof thought planted their feet upon the Acropolis and moved the world.\nBorrowing the thought from Canon Farrar, though not using his exact\nlanguage, I may say, \u201cUnder Greek influence human freedom put forth its\nmost splendid power; human intellect displayed its utmost sublimity and\ngrace; art reached its most consummate perfection; poetry uttered alike\nits sweetest and sublimest strains and philosophy attuned to the most\nperfect music of human expression, its loftiest and deepest thought.\nHad it been possible for the world, by its own wisdom, to know God;\nhad it been in the power of man to turn into bread the stones of the\nwilderness; had perfect happiness lain within the grasp of sense, or\nbeen among the rewards of culture; had it been granted to man\u2019s unaided\npower to win salvation by the gifts and graces of his own nature, and\nmake for himself a new Paradise in lieu of that lost Eden before whose\ngates still wars the fiery sword of the Cherubim,\u2014then such ends would\nhave been achieved by these old Athenians. Nor did their influence die\nwith their bodies; it is alive to-day, and it will be transmitted from\ngeneration to generation, until the stars grow dim and moons shall wax\nand wane no more.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nASIA MINOR AND THE ISLAND OF PATMOS.\n\n Smyrna\u2014Its Commerce\u2014Its Population\u2014Famed Women\u2014Home of the\n Apostle John\u2014One of the Seven Asiatic Churches\u2014Martyrdom and\n Tomb of Polycarp\u2014Emblematic Olive Tree\u2014Out into the Interior of\n Asia Minor\u2014Struck by Lightning\u2014Visit to Ephesus\u2014Birthplace of\n Mythology\u2014Temple of Diana\u2014Relics of the Past\u2014Homer\u2019s Birthplace\u2014A\n Baptist Preacher and a Protracted Meeting\u2014John the Baptist and the\n Virgin Mary\u2014Timothy\u2019s Grave\u2014Cave of the Seven Sleepers\u2014Return\n to Smyrna\u2014Sail to Patmos\u2014Patmos, the Exiled Home of the Apostle\n John\u2014The Island of Rhodes and the Colossus\u2014Death and Disease on the\n Ship\u2014Quarantined\u2014A Watery Grave\u2014Hope Anchored within the Vail.\n\n\nSMYRNA is the most important city in Asia Minor, and one of the\nprincipal commercial points of the Ottoman Empire. I am told that\nthe annual exports and imports amount to more than $15,000,000. The\npopulation of the city is estimated at 200,000, representing seven\ndifferent nationalities and speaking, therefore, seven separate and\ndistinct languages. From appearances, one would judge that the city was\nbuilt soon after the flood, and that it had seldom been repaired. The\nhouses are old and dilapidated, the streets are narrow, crooked and\nfilthy. The people generally are ignorant, superstitious and fanatical,\nand wear various strange and grotesque costumes.\n\nI have often heard that Smyrna was noted for her pretty women, but\nI protest. I have seen nothing in this city that even approximates\nfemale beauty; and, if I see a pretty woman at all, her face is so\ncompletely covered and wrapped up in muslins and shawls that I can\nhardly tell whether she is a Greek or an Ethiopian.\n\nOne of the seven Asiatic churches was located in this place. An\nold, old rock church still stands, and is pointed out as the one in\nwhich the Apostles used to preach. Near by the church is the tomb of\nPolycarp, who was a pupil of the Apostle John, and who was martyred A.\nD. 160, because he preached \u201cthe Gospel of Christ.\u201d I have often read\nthe touching account of Polycarp\u2019s martyrdom. When asked to recant, he\nreplied: \u201cFor eighty and six years have I served my God, and He has\nnever forsaken me; and I can not now forsake Him.\u201d The green boughs of\na lone olive tree wave above his tomb, and I say to my friend: \u201cVerily\nthat tree is emblematic; its leaves are green, so is the memory of\nPolycarp still fresh in the mind of the Christian world. Above his tomb\nwaves the olive branch of peace; and his sainted spirit, I believe, has\ngone on and up, and has long been in the full enjoyment of \u2018that peace\nwhich the world knows not of.\u2019\u201d\n\nFrom Smyrna I go out into the interior of the country, which generally\nis neglected and barren. I believe, however, that if the Turkish\ngovernment was struck by lightning, and some other power could come in,\nthat would encourage and protect honest labor, these fertile valleys\nwould again yield abundant harvests, and that peace and plenty would\nreign where discord and pinching poverty now hold sway. In my opinion,\nthe Turkish government is a reproach to the civilization of the\nnineteenth century; and I think the Lord lets it stand simply to show\nthe powers of earth how deep down into degradation and despair, into\nvice and vagrancy, a nation can sink, when it wanders away from and\nforgets God. \u201cSin is a reproach to any people.\u201d\n\nOn the way to Ephesus we meet several caravans, or trains of camels.\nThese \u201cships of the desert\u201d are all heavily laden, some with fruit,\ndried figs, dates, pomegranates, others with hand-made silks, Turkish\nrugs, Russian carpets, and other fancy goods. These caravans go back\nand forth between Smyrna and the far interior of the country. Camels\nare very obedient, and it is really amusing to see the humble creatures\nkneel down to receive their burdens.\n\nEphesus is chiefly interesting because of its historical associations.\nNext to Athens, it was once the most magnificent city in the world.\nEphesus is as old as the hills. It is the birthplace of mythology.\nApollo and Diana were born here. Bacchus and Hercules once struggled\nwith the Amazon in the streets of Ephesus. These hills were once\ncovered with twenty-five marble temples dedicated to heathen gods, that\nof Diana being one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. Ephesus\nis one of the nine cities which claim to have given birth to Homer.\n\n[Illustration: TURKISH LADY.]\n\nSome of the greatest names in history are connected with Ephesus.\nAlexander the Great visited here; so did Hannibal and Antiochus Scipio,\nScylla, Brutus, Cassius, Pompey, Cicero, and Augustus. Antony was\nonce judge of the court of Ephesus. It was from here that Antony and\nCleopatra sailed for Samos in gilded galleys with perfumed silken sails\nand silver oars, drawn by beautiful girls whose gleaming paddles kept\ntime to soft strains of music.\n\nSome time ago, a very strange and serious difficulty occurred in this\ncity of Ephesus. The trouble arose in this fashion: A stranger came\ninto the city. The new-comer was possessed of a strong character and a\nsuperior education. He was by birth a Jew, by nature a gentleman, by\neducation a scholar, by faith a Christian, and by profession a Baptist\npreacher. According to his custom, this strange Baptist preacher\nentered into the synagogue and reasoned with the Jews. From what I can\nfind out, this man made a favorable impression in Ephesus, for the Jews\n\u201cdesired him to tarry longer with them,\u201d but \u201che consented not.\u201d He\npromised, however, to \u201creturn to them, if it be God\u2019s will.\u201d The Lord\nkindly permitted this man to return to Ephesus; and when he got there\nhe found \u201ccertain disciples.\u201d He asked them if they had received the\nHoly Ghost. They replied: \u201cWe have not so much as heard whether there\nbe any Holy Spirit.\u201d Strange to say, I have heard professing Christians\nin America say the self-same thing. These Ephesians, be it said to\ntheir credit, acted wisely and were re-baptised. The preacher then\nwent into the church and spoke boldly for the space of three months.\nNow there arose a disturbance in the church, or synagogue, as it was\ncalled, so that it became necessary for the preacher to change the\nplace of meeting to the school-house, or college chapel. Here, in this\nschool-room, he held one of the most wonderful protracted meetings I\nhave ever heard of; it lasted two years and three months, \u201cso mightily\ngrew the word of God and prevailed.\u201d The town was stirred to its very\ndepths. Among the converts were many infidels, diviners, soothsayers,\nfortune-tellers, etc. These people who \u201cused curious arts brought their\nbooks together and burned them before all their fellow-townsmen; and\nthey counted the price of them, and found it fifty thousand pieces of\nsilver,\u201d equal in American money to $15,000. This was the grandest day\nin the long history of Ephesus.\n\nAt this juncture, the silversmiths, who made shrines for the Temple\nof Diana, and the other heathen temples of Ephesus, came together\nand decided that something had to be done to break up the protracted\nmeeting. They said that if Christ continued to be preached, and\nChristianity to spread, men would cease to bow down to shrines, to\nstocks and stones, and then their craft would be gone and the temple of\n\u201cDiana despised.\u201d Then the excitement became intense, \u201cThe whole city\nwas filled with confusion.\u201d Some, therefore, cried one thing, and some\nanother. For two hours all with one voice shouted: \u201cGreat is Diana of\nthe Ephesians.\u201d\n\nFor the benefit of those who have so much business to attend to, or who\nhave so many newspapers to read, that they habitually neglect the the\nBible, I will add in conclusion that the Baptist preacher who conducted\nthis revival was Paul, the Apostle (Acts xviii and xix). According to\ntradition, the same Apostle was imprisoned here, and the cell in which\nhe is said to have been confined is still pointed out.\n\nThe church at Ephesus is the first one mentioned in Revelation (ii:\n1-8). John is believed to have retired to Ephesus after his release\nfrom banishment to Patmos, and thither the Virgin Mary came to reside\nwith the beloved disciple. Here, says tradition, both of them died and\nwere buried. Their tombs are still shown to the traveler; so, also, is\nthe tomb of Timothy. Near by these graves is the celebrated Cave of the\nSeven Sleepers.\n\nThis once fair and populous city is now nothing more than a lonely,\ndesolate, bleak, and barren heap of ruins. By the remaining aqueducts,\nfoundation stones, archways, broken pillars, and marble columns, the\ntourist can recognize the location of some of the temples, theatres and\npublic buildings. These have recently been excavated by Captain Wood,\nof England.\n\nReturning to Smyrna, I immediately come aboard the good ship \u201cMars.\u201d\nShe at once lifts her anchors, and spreads her sails to the breezes;\nand soon Smyrna, like Ephesus, Constantinople, and Athens, is among the\nplaces that \u201cI have left behind.\u201d The first landing is Chios (Acts xx:\n15;) then passing by Samos we come next morning, about eight o\u2019clock,\nto the island of Patmos, known throughout Christendom as the exiled\nhome of the Beloved Disciple. The island is a solid and irregular mass\nof rock, bleak and barren. It is ten miles long, and five miles in\nbreadth. The cave, or grotto, in which John is said to have written\nthe Apocalypse is used as a chapel. In this chapel, numerous lights\nare kept burning, and on its walls are rudely depicted various scenes\ntaken from the Apocalypse. Patmos is now inhabited by 4,000 Greeks, who\nhave two sources of income. One is fishing, while their second main\noccupation is stealing.\n\n[Illustration: ISLAND OF PATMOS.]\n\nOn the island of Rhodes (Rev. xxi; 1), we visit the place where once\nstood the celebrated \u201cColossus of Rhodes,\u201d known as one of the wonders\nof the ancient world. The Colossus was a bronze statue 105 feet high.\nIt stood across the narrow harbor, so that ships entering the port\nwould pass between its legs. The statue is said to have cost a half\nmillion dollars.\n\nWe are now anchored at Larnaca, the principal town on the island of\nCyprus. Cyprus was the home of Barnabas, and the scene of some of\nPaul\u2019s missionary work. We have anticipated much pleasure in traveling\nover this historic island. But alas, alas! thoughts of pleasure\nhave fled, and dread suspicions are now entertained. Some fearfully\ncontagious disease has broken out on our vessel. The doctor says it is\nsmall-pox, but some of us fear it is cholera. Small-pox is prevalent in\nConstantinople, and people have been dying from it in Smyrna, whence\nwe came, at the rate of one hundred and fifty per day. Malta, which is\nonly some few hours away, is suffering most fearfully from cholera.\nWe have been here now twenty-four hours. We are quarantined, and are\nnot allowed to land or even to discharge the sick. The passengers are\npanic-stricken. The most intense excitement prevails. The flags of\ndisease and death are floating at our mast-head. It does not make one\nfeel at all pleasant to see these flags, especially when one remembers\nthat he is many thousand miles from home and loved ones. I should\nnot like to be buried in the sea, nor yet in a foreign land among\nstrangers. When I have finished life\u2019s work, and the watchers shall\nfold my pale hands upon my breast and softly whisper, \u201cHe is dead,\u201d\nI want to be carried back to my own native land, and there buried in\nsome quiet church-yard, where those whom I have known and loved in life\ncan occasionally come and plant evergreens and forget-me-nots over my\ngrave. The only consolation I have at present is that God, who doeth\nall things well, knoweth best. I therefore cheerfully commit my body,\nsoul and spirit, to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, now\nand forever.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nFROM BEYROUT TO THE CEDARS OF LEBANON.\n\n Landing at Beyrout\u2014Escape from Death\u2014Thankful Hearts\u2014Seed\n Planted\u2014Desire Springs up\u2014Bud of Hope\u2014Golden Fruit\u2014\u201dBy God\u2019s\n Help\u201d\u2014Preparations\u2014New Traveling Companions\u2014Employing a Dragoman\u2014A\n Many-Sided Man Required to Make a Successful Traveler\u2014\u201dEquestrian\n Pilgrims\u201d A Great Caravan\u2014Ships of the Desert\u2014Preparations for\n War\u2014A Dangerous Mishap\u2014National Hymn\u2014Journey Begun\u2014Mulberry\n Trees\u2014Fig-Leaf Dresses\u2014An Inspiring Conversation\u2014The Language of\n Balaam\u2014City of Tents\u2014General Rejoicing\u2014Tidings of Sadness\u2014Welcome\n News\u2014First Night in Tents\u2014Sabbath Day\u2019s Rest\u2014Johnson and his\n Grandmother\u2014A Wedding Procession\u2014Johnson Delighted\u2014Brides Bought\n and Sold\u2014Increase in Price\u2014Inferiority of Woman\u2014Multiplicity of\n Wives\u2014Folding of Tents\u2014Camel Pasture\u2014Leave Damascus Road\u2014Noah\u2019s\n Tomb, Eighty-Five Feet Long\u2014Perilous Ascent\u2014Brave Woman\u2014\u201dIf I Die,\n Carry Me on to the Top\u201d\u2014The Cedars at Last\u2014Emotions Stirred\u2014\u201dThe\n Righteous Grow like the Cedars of Lebanon\u201d\u2014Amnon.\n\n\nWE have reached Beyrout at last. It is a gracious relief to escape from\nthat disease-stricken ship. I feel like kneeling down and kissing the\nearth. I think every passenger lifts his heart in grateful praise to\nGod for deliverance. I can but say: \u201cBless the Lord, O my soul; and all\nthat is within me bless His holy name.\u201d I praise Him because He has\nbrought me through many countries and over many seas; I praise Him for\ndeliverance from danger and death; I praise Him because in landing I am\npermitted to step on sacred soil; I praise Him for the prospect I now\nhave of traveling through this Holy Land.\n\n[Illustration: MAP OF PALESTINE]\n\nI can not tell\u2014I do not know\u2014when the seed was planted, but some\nten years ago the plant of desire sprang up in my heart. I did not\npluck it up. Gradually its rootlets intertwined themselves with the\nfibres of my very being, and finally they took deep root in my soul.\nFive years later the buds of hope appeared. I was happy. The plant\nwas nurtured with patience and with care. The buds grew into flowers,\nand now the fruit appears. First, the desire, then the hope, and now\nthe realization. Yes, for years I have thought of traveling through\nPalestine. This trip became my thought by day and my dream by night. I\nhave often made nocturnal visits to Bethlehem and Calvary. While asleep\nI have wandered through the streets of Jerusalem; in my dreams I have\nseen Nazareth nestling on the hillside, and Damascus reposing in the\nvalley. That desire grew stronger and stronger. It became the ruling\npassion of my life, and I said: \u201cBy God\u2019s help I will go.\u201d I set my\nface like a flint towards the Holy Land, and hither I have come. I feel\nprofoundly thankful that that which was my youth\u2019s fondest hope is now\nmy manhood\u2019s first glory to realize.\n\nI have already begun the journey \u201cthrough Palestine in the saddle,\u201d and\nif the reader will exercise some of that \u201cpatience\u201d which \u201cbeareth all\nthings,\u201d I will tell him who my companions are, and what the mode of\ntraveling is in this country. Afterwards I may say something concerning\nthe appearance and condition of the country; also something about the\ncustoms and habits of the people.\n\nI have become quite a pedestrian, and I had hoped to go through\nPalestine and Syria, as I went through several European countries\u2014on\nfoot. But since arriving here I find that a \u201ctramp trip\u201d is quite\nimpracticable, if not altogether impossible. I never undertake\nimpossibilities, hence I give up my scheme of walking.\n\nWhile Johnson and I were traveling in Bulgaria, we met Mr. Wm. Y.\nHamlin and two ladies from Detroit, Michigan. The two ladies were\nsisters. One of them was unmarried; the other was Mr. Hamlin\u2019s deceased\nwife\u2019s mother. We met them again in Constantinople and some time\nafterward in Smyrna. We spent several days together around the islands\nand on the waters of the Mediterranean. The two parties proved mutually\nagreeable. So we have now resolved ourselves into one party for a trip\nthrough Syria and Palestine. We employ the same Dragoman who furnishes\neverything, and pays all expenses of the journey from one end to the\nother. We are to ride on horses and camels, and sleep in tents. Four\ndays are required to make preparation, nor are four days any too many.\nCamels, and horses, and donkeys, and mules, and bridles, and saddles,\nand whips, and spurs, and tents, and beds, and provisions, and cooking\nutensils, are to be made ready. Packing is to be done, letters are to\nbe written, and costumes purchased. The American Consul is to be seen\nofficially, Turkish passports are to be gotten, and a number of other\nthings to be looked after. What I have to do during these four days\nreminds me of the man who was, at one and the same time, a lawyer, a\nmerchant, a druggist, a dentist, a physician, a shoemaker, a miller,\npastor of four churches and general missionary besides!\n\nAt two o\u2019clock on Saturday every thing is pronounced ready, and from\nthat good hour we are to be known as the \u201cEquestrian Pilgrims.\u201d What\na formidable turnout is ours! A veritable caravan! To accommodate\nand serve _five pilgrims_ we have seven tents\u2014I have to sleep in\ntwo tents\u2014fifteen body-guards, or muleteers, and thirty head of\ncamels, mules and donkeys! Nor is this all. Chairs and tables, tents\nand trunks, beds and blankets, and a hundred other things, are tied\ntogether and strapped on the backs of the animals. Thus laden, each\nlittle donkey, as he goes jogging along, looks like a veritable Jumbo;\nand the camels, with these great packs on their backs, look almost like\nwalking mountains! These are all strung out one after another\u2014one\nafter another, the front end of the rear camel being tied to the hind\nend of the one before him, and that one to the next, and so on. I have\nbeen reading about caravans all my life and now I have one of my own.\nI am told to choose any one of the animals I want to ride, whereupon\nI select a small donkey, mouse-colored, except for the numerous\nstripes that wind around him\u2014these give him something of a zebra-like\nappearance. I want to show the natives how supple I am, and, going up\nto the donkey and putting my arms on his back, I try to leap up. But,\nunfortunately, I leap over, and come down on the other end of my neck.\nAmid the loud acclamations of the natives, the stately procession moves\noff. The stars and stripes flutter in the breezes, while the music of\nthe national hymn is borne away over the sea on the wings of the wind.\n\nThe narrow streets of Beyrout are soon quitted, and we at once begin\nthe ascent of Lebanon. The first thing that attracts our attention is a\nwide world of mulberry trees\u2014it looks about seventeen thousand acres\non either side of the road. The trees appear to be about eighteen feet\nhigh. Half naked boys and girls, men and women have climbed up the\ntrees and are plucking off the leaves here and there. I don\u2019t know what\nto make of it. The first thought that suggests itself is that \u201cfig-leaf\ndresses\u201d have come in fashion again. But Tolhammy my dragoman, says:\n\u201cThis is a great country for silk culture, and mulberry trees are\ncultivated, and the leaves gathered for the silk worms.\u201d In Damascus he\nsays we shall see plenty of silk manufactured by hand.\n\nWe meet a great many Arabs going into the city that we have just left.\nSeveral miles back I stopped one of these sons of the desert for a\nconversation. I think we talked about an hour and thirteen minutes,\nmore or less, and would, no doubt, have talked longer, but neither one\nof us understood a word the other said. Occasionally there was a lag\nin the conversation. While I was gathering this valuable information\nfrom the stranger, the other part of the caravan slacked never a pace.\nAnd now, looking aloft, I see high on the mountain-side a white city\u2014a\ncity of tents. This reminds me of Balaam who was traveling in this\nsame country not far from here, and, seeing a sight just like this, he\nexclaimed: \u201cHow goodly are thy tabernacles, O Jacob and thy tents, O\nIsrael!\u201d\n\nThe road, gleaming in the sunshine, looks at one time like a\nclothes-line hanging on the mountain-side; again it resembles a winding\nserpent crawling zigzag up the mountain as though it wants to swallow\nthe tents. Climbing the hill, we pass a number of dilapidated villages\non the right and left of the road. Just as the sun goes down to cool\nhis hot face in the Mediterranean, we reach the tents pitched on Mt.\nLebanon! At last the city is before us. Dismounting, and going into our\nnew apartments, we can hardly believe we are in tents. The walls and\nceiling look like white marble newly painted and beautifully frescoed.\nThe rock floor is spread with rich Persian carpets and mats. Here are\nrocking-chairs, tables, bedsteads, washstands\u2014every thing! \u201cWhat\nstyle!\u201d I say to the party.\n\nWhile we are rejoicing, in steps an Arab and says: \u201cSolimat\nneharicsiade emborak.\u201d Joy departs at these words. With a look of\nsurprise and a feeling of regret I say, \u201cSir?\u201d He responds, \u201cSolimat\nneharicsiade emborak.\u201d Rising to my feet I say, \u201cRepeat that remark,\nplease.\u201d Gesticulating wildly, the Arab repeats with great emphasis,\n\u201c_Solimat neharicsiade emborak!_\u201d I thought he said my horse was\nloose. But after a while, however, the Arab, by means of signs, gives\nme to understand that nothing serious has occurred; that he came in\nonly to let me know supper is ready. I feel relieved and delighted.\nAfter a long ride over a rough country, we all have good appetites,\nand the announcement of supper is therefore joyful news. The evening\nmeal being over, the pilgrims draw their chairs close together and\nsit for an hour or more talking about friends at home, about the past\nhistory and present condition of this country, and about Him whose\nfootsteps have hallowed its soil. The prospect of traveling through\nthis country thrills us all. Substituting the word Hill, for Grail, I\ncan appropriate the language of Tennyson:\n\n \u201cNever yet has the sky appeared so blue, nor earth so green,\n For all my blood dances in me, and I know\n That I shall light upon the Holy Grail.\u201d\n\nNight brings sweet rest to our tired bodies. Early in the morning,\nbright rays of cheerful sunshine steal into our tents and drive sleep\naway. We awake to find a bright, beautiful Sabbath day; and while with\nour bodies it is to be a day of rest, we pray that with our souls it\nmay be a Sabbath day\u2019s journey towards the New Jerusalem. Stillness\npervades the air. The solemn silence is broken only by the mournful\nmusic of yonder restless sea. All the pilgrims except Johnson spend the\nday reading and meditating. He occupies the time in writing to his\u2014to\nhis\u2014grandmother.\n\nLate in the afternoon our attention is attracted by an unheard of\nmedley of sound. The noise that falls upon our ears is not more strange\nthan the sight that greets our eyes is curious. The dragoman tells us\nnot to be alarmed, and says it is only a wedding procession. Johnson is\nglad of that. I stand it for his sake. The procession consists of about\na hundred persons, ninety-eight on foot and two riding grey horses,\nall singing and dancing as they come. Ten or twelve of the footmen are\nin front of the horses, while the others are behind. The leader of the\nvan is an Arab of unusual length and gracefulness, clad in the most\nfantastic robes imaginable. In his two hands he holds a stick about\nsix feet long, wrapped around with gay and fancy colors. The leader is\ncoming backward, facing the advancing throng and keeps about ten paces\nin front of them. He is first on one side of the road and then on the\nother. He leaps; he bobs up and down: he bows and bends. At one moment\nhis face is almost on the ground, and the next his head is tossed\nhigh in the air. The stick is waved like a magician\u2019s wand. The man is\nactive as a cat and every movement is graceful. As he leads, the others\nfollow his example. They all hop and skip and bow and bend and rise and\nfall together. Some sing while others blow or knock discordant sounds\nout of their rude instruments of music.\n\nNever before did Johnson behold a sight like this, nor until now did\nsuch a babbling confusion ever strike his ears. The procession draws\nclose. The two persons on horseback are riding side by side. One is the\nbride, decked in colors gay and wreathed with flowers many. There are\ntwo tall men walking, one on either side of the horse, with their arms\nlocked around the bride; I suppose to keep her from falling. Johnson\ntouches me in the side and says: \u201cWhittle, if that were my bride, I\nwouldn\u2019t let those fellows do that.\u201d The bride\u2019s face, according to the\ncustom of the country, is covered by a long, flowing veil. The man by\nher side is not the groom. A man in this country will not condescend\nto go after a woman\u2014not even after his bride! Woman is an inferior\ncreature\u2014she must humble herself and go to the man. The groom sends\nhis friend or his servant for her, and I understand she is always\nwilling to come. Johnson says it is very different in America. He says\none refused to go with him when he went after her in person.\n\nBrides are bought and sold here now as they were in olden times,\nthough there has been a great increase in price. Hebrews are good\ntraders and always have been. In Bible times they bought wives for\ntwenty-five dollars, but now brides in this country sell for from\nseventy-five to one hundred dollars. I believe the men would buy them\neven if the price should be still higher. Of course they would buy\nthem. Women are slaves. They are man\u2019s burden-bearers and nothing more!\nThe Mohammedans have two, four or a half dozen wives. The Sultan has\nfive hundred, and the people follow his example as far as possible.\n\nThe wedding festivities, consisting of music, songs and dancing, last\nfor a week, and then the bride is converted into a slave for her\nhusband. In a few months she will probably be a slave for his next wife!\n\nMonday morning bright and early, we fold our tents and renew our\npilgrimage. Lebanon continues steep, rocky, rough and bare. Not\na bush, not a blade of green grass, nothing but a long mountain\nrange covered with loose stones, is to be seen. The hills are very\nproductive\u2014of rocks. Now and then we come to large camel pastures.\nAs these long-legged, high-headed, two-storied animals are fat and\nflourishing, I conclude that they live on wind and stones. In the\nroad we meet hundreds and hundreds of big camels and little camels,\ndun-colored, mouse-colored, white and black camels, laden with all\nkinds of oriental merchandise. Late in the afternoon, we for the first\ntime catch a glimpse of snow-capped Hermon, some fifty miles away to\nthe southwest. We take off our hats to this mountain monarch, promising\nhim a visit later on. We now descend into the green valley, sixteen and\na half miles wide and some sixty miles long, lying between Lebanon and\nanti-Lebanon. We want to see the Cedars of Lebanon; and in order to do\nthis we are compelled just here to quit the Damascus road, and travel\nfor three days up this beautiful valley, keeping close to the Lebanon\nside.\n\nOn the second day, traveling up this valley, we come to what tradition\nsays is Noah\u2019s tomb. Strange to say this tomb is _eighty-five feet\nlong_. It is built of stone and is eight feet wide, seven feet high\nand eighty-five feet long! Seeing this, I am at once reminded of an\nincident that is said to have occurred with an American preacher.\nAt the close of the Saturday service, the clergyman announced that\nhe would preach again on Sunday, after reading a certain portion\nof scripture. Before the hour for Sunday service, some mischievous\nboys slipped into the church with a bottle of glue and pasted two\nleaves of the Bible together, so that in reading the minister would\nmiss connection. Eleven o\u2019clock came, and with it came also a large\nconcourse of people. Ascending the pulpit, the reverend gentleman\nopened the sacred book and began to read. On the bottom of one page\nhe read: \u201cAnd Noah, when he was an hundred and twenty years old,\ntook unto himself a wife who was\u201d\u2014and then turning over the leaf and\nmissing connection, he continued, \u201cwho was an hundred and eighty-six\ncubits long, forty-seven cubits wide, built of gopher wood, stuck with\npitch inside and out.\u201d With trembling knees and confused head, the\nminister, with stammering tongue said: \u201cBrethren, I have been preaching\ntwenty years and yet I confess that I have never seen this in the Bible\nbefore. But it is here and I accept it. Yes, brethren, I accept it as\nan undying evidence of the fact that we are fearfully and wonderfully\nmade.\u201d So, since I find that Noah\u2019s tomb is eighty-five feet long,\nI am not much surprised to learn that Mrs. Noah was one hundred and\neighty-six cubits long.\n\nDay has succeeded night again. This is the third day since we left the\nDamascus road. We are now camped in the valley at the base of Lebanon,\nwhich is at this point 10,000 feet high and almost as steep as the roof\nof a house. Many loose rocks and bowlders of all shapes and sizes are\nscattered promiscuously over the mountain side. There is no road to be\nseen\u2014nothing more than a cow trail or hog path. And yet in order to\nsee a single Cedar we are compelled to climb to yonder giddy heights.\nWell, we all start\u2014three gentlemen and two ladies. One woman soon\ngives out, but the other is the kind of a woman who, when she says, \u201cI\nwill,\u201d means with a twist on it, \u201c_I will!_\u201d She says that she started\nand she is going. She reminds me of the French woman who started to\nthe top of Mont Blanc. Twelve hundred feet before reaching the summit\nshe gave out, and, being dragged by guides, she kept crying: \u201cIf I die\ncarry me to the top.\u201d\n\nTo climb Lebanon at this place is barely within the limits of\npossibility. The way is steep, high and rough, and at times perilous.\nTo be sure, on foot one could climb it without danger, but not without\ngreat physical exertion. On horseback, however, it is a hazardous\nundertaking. No four-footed animal, save a mountain goat or an Arabian\nsteed, dare undertake the ascent. If I live to get down, I shall\nchristen my Arabian pony \u201cAmnon, the reliable, the sure-footed.\u201d The\nmountain is scaled, the summit is reached, and no Cedars yet. I am\nnow standing on the heights of Lebanon, looking down upon the blue\nMediterranean 10,000 feet below me and only three miles away towards\nthe setting sun. The gray clouds, lying along the western horizon, look\nlike white-winged ships floating on the bosom of the sea. For aught I\nknow, they are ships freighted with whirlwinds and thunder-storms; or\nperchance they may be\u2014I hope they are\u2014freighted with rain to refresh\nthis parched earth.\n\n[Illustration: CEDARS OF LEBANON.]\n\nLeaving the summit and coming down three thousand feet on the western\nside, I find myself resting under the venerable Cedars of Lebanon,\nseven thousand feet above the sea. It is a perfect day. The sky is\nof a rich, deep, azure blue and seems only a few feet above me. The\natmosphere is pure and crisp. It is a glorious thing to be here. Look\nwhere you will, you find something to admire. The air is delightful;\nthe earth, sea and sky are beautiful; but the waving Cedars are\nthe one central object of interest and admiration\u2014their age, their\nhistory, their beauty! Then come the sacred associations that cluster\nabout the Cedars of Lebanon. All my life I have been reading of these\ntrees. Before I could read, my mother used to sing me a sweet song\nabout the Cedars of Lebanon. All of mother\u2019s songs were sweet, but\nespecially sweet, I thought, was this one about the Cedars. And now I\nam here looking at them with my own eyes. Of all trees on earth those\nare by far the most renowned. Of all the vegetable kingdom they are the\ncrowning glory.\n\nFrom this mountain Solomon got the timber to build his temple on Mount\nMoriah. In all probability some of these trees that I am now looking at\nwere here in Solomon\u2019s day. I feel that I am in the presence of Age.\nThese venerable Cedars are not ringed round by years or decades, but by\ncenturies! And yet their wrinkles may be counted by the score. These\ntrees are mentioned more than twenty-five times in the pages of Sacred\nWrit. They are called \u201cgoodly Cedars.\u201d\n\nAs I see these historic trees bowing and bending in the cold and\ncutting breeze, I am naturally reminded of a thought beautifully\nexpressed by the \u201csweet singer of Israel\u201d where he says: \u201cThere shall\nbe an handful of corn in the earth on the tops of the mountain; the\nfruit thereof shall shake like Lebanon, and they of that city shall\nflourish like grass.\u201d We are told also that \u201cthe righteous shall\nflourish like the palm tree and grow like a Cedar of Lebanon.\u201d I wonder\nwhy and how it is that the righteous can grow like a Cedar in Lebanon.\nUpon examination I find that these Cedars grow on a mountain top; that\nthey grow out of a rock; that they are rooted in barrenness. I find\nthat every crack and crevice in the rock is filled with their roots\nand fibres. The roots of the trees shoot themselves deep down through\nthe rended rocks and take a firm hold upon the eternal hills. And when\nearthquakes come and the mountains reel and totter on their bases; when\ncyclones come with death and destruction locked up in their wings; when\nthe storms howl and the sea is lashed into rage and fury,\u2014the Cedars\nof Lebanon do then bow and bend gracefully in the breezes; but they are\nuprooted never. They say,\n\n \u201cLet the winds be shrill,\n Let the waves roll high,\n We fear not wind or wave.\u201d\n\nAnd when the earthquakes have ceased and the mountains no longer reel;\nwhen the cyclones have passed; when the sea is lulled to sleep and the\nwinds are only a whisper, then the Cedars of Lebanon lift themselves\nup in their pillared majesty, spread wide their broad arms and look\nup smilingly in the face of God as if to say: \u201cWe thank thee, O Lord\nGod Almighty, for the firm footing that thou hast given us in the\neternal rocks\u2014in the everlasting hills.\u201d I thank thee, O God, that\nthe righteous grow like the Cedars of Lebanon. I bless thee that the\nrighteous grow on a mountain top\u2014on mount Calvary; that they grow out\nof a rock\u2014Jesus Christ, the Rock of Ages.\n\nWherever the nails have torn His hands and His feet, where the cruel\nspear has pierced His side, these are the cracks and crevices where the\nroots and fibres of my heart can so fix and fasten themselves that when\nearthquakes social and cyclones moral shall come, I will be uprooted\nnever. I may bow and bend with the breezes, but when the earthquakes\nhave passed and the storms are no more; when the waves of infidelity\nhave passed, as always passed they have and always pass they must, then\nI will look up smilingly in the face of Jehovah and say: \u201cI thank thee,\nO God, that none of these things move me; that I can say with Paul of\nold, \u2018I am rooted and grounded in Christ;\u2019 that I stand now and forever\nunmoved and immovable, like the Cedars!\u201d\n\nReader, I have just stated that Solomon secured timber from this\nmountain to build the great temple in Jerusalem. It is quite possible\nthat some of the trees before me were here in Solomon\u2019s day, and\nthat because of their knots and roughness they were rejected by his\nworkmen. We are told that God is building another temple in that\nother Jerusalem, and that our characters are to furnish the sticks of\ntimber out of which it is to be built. We should see to it that our\ncharacters will not be rejected, but that they will be smoothed and\npolished ready to be wrought into that spiritual temple which shall\nstand throughout the endless cycles of eternity!\n\nThe Cedars of Lebanon have almost become sacred, holy trees. I am\ntherefore grieved to find so few of them left. This long mountain range\nthat was once covered with them is now as bare as if it had never\nknown any vegetation. Seeing that only a few hundred of the old Cedars\nremain, I am reminded of the language of Zechariah: \u201cOpen thy doors,\nO Lebanon, that the fire may devour thy Cedars. Howl, fir-tree, for\nthe Cedar is fallen. Howl, O ye oaks of Bashan, for the forest of the\nvintage has come down.\u201d Most of the Cedars have indeed \u201ccome down,\u201d but\nsome of the remaining ones are splendid enough to make up for those\nthat are gone. One of these patriarchs of the forest is forty-eight\nfeet in circumference. Some of them rise up in their pillared majesty\nfor eighty, one hundred or one hundred and twenty-five feet high, I\nsuppose. Some of the largest ones are probably one hundred and fifty\nfeet across, from bough to bough. The limbs usually grow out from the\ntrunk at right angles. Other limbs grow out from those at right angles\nand so on, until even the smallest branches and twigs are horizontal\nlike arbor vit\u00e6, except that arbor vit\u00e6 stands up and the Cedar lies\ndown flat like a shingle. One limb of the Cedar is very much like a\nsquare of shingles on a flat-roofed house, and when limb is placed\nabove limb they form a roof that turns water very well, and shuts out\nmuch of the sunlight. Another peculiarity of the Lebanon Cedar is that\nit bears a cone something like our pine burrs, except that it never\nopens.\n\nAgain, I say it is a grand, a glorious, a sweet privilege to sit\nbeneath the wide-spreading branches of these time-honored trees and\nread what holy men of old wrote concerning them. But the day is far\nspent. Amnon is saddled. I must mount and see if he proves worthy of\nhis new name.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nFROM THE CEDARS OF LEBANON TO BAALBEK.\n\n Returning to Tents\u2014Mountain Spurs and Passes\u2014A Modern\n Thermopylae\u2014Two Caravans Meet\u2014A Fight to the Death\u2014How Johnson\n Looks\u2014Victory at Last\u2014Into the Valley where the King Lost his\n Eyes\u2014Playing at Agriculture\u2014Squalid Poverty\u2014Baalbek\u2014Its Mighty\n Temples\u2014Men, Mice and Monkeys\u2014A Poem Writ in Marble.\n\n\nLEAVING the Cedars, and descending to the base of the mountain where\nthe tents were left, we start across the beautiful valley lying between\nthe long mountain of Lebanon and anti-Lebanon. Before reaching the\nvalley proper we are compelled to cross some rough mountain spurs and\nto go through some narrow mountain passes. It so happens that we meet\na train of heavily laden camels. The fanatical and blood-thirsty Arabs\nmanaging the camels stop their caravan and obstinately refuse to give\nany part of the pass. Our body-guards come up. A quarrel ensues. A war\nof words leads to blows, and we have, enacted before our own eyes, a\nsecond \u201cBattle of the Giants.\u201d It looks to Johnson like the first one.\nThe two parties, consisting of about forty Arabs, curse, threaten,\nclose on each other, clinch, fight like fiends, grapple like giants.\nThey fall to the earth in each other\u2019s embrace, roll over, first one\non top and then the other. They bite, kick and scratch each other.\nTogether they fall and together they rise again\u2014one bites the dust and\nthen another. Javelins are used. Stones fly, sabres flash\u2014gods! how\nthey fight! Heads are mashed and limbs are broken. Hair flies and blood\nflows. The horses scare, the women scream and Johnson looks as if he\nwants to say:\n\n \u201cLay on, MacDuff,\n And damned be he who first cries, \u2018Hold, enough!\u2019\u201d\n\nAt last the enemy is repulsed and victory perches upon our banner. The\ndust and din of battle are no more. We are relieved; for danger was\nimminent and suspense correspondingly great. It is the greatest wonder,\nand also the greatest blessing imaginable, that no one was killed.\nIf one of the natives had been killed, I am sure the whole community\nwould have been aroused, and would have poured out their indignation\nand wrath upon our Christian heads\u2014\u201dChristian dogs,\u201d they call us.\nI see from the _London Times_ that only a few weeks ago twenty-four\nChristians were killed in a fray with the Arabs, not far from this\nplace. We would not willingly harm a hair of their heads. All we wanted\nwas room to pass, and having secured that we continue our journey.\n\nThe mountain gap lets us once more into the valley which is, as before\nstated, fifteen to eighteen miles wide and some sixty miles long. In\nthis valley, and not far from here, is Riblah, where Nebuchadnezzar\nhad his headquarters during the campaign against Jerusalem. When the\nholy city fell, Zedekiah, King of Judea, fled to Jericho where he was\ncaptured, thence he was brought to Riblah. Here, after witnessing the\nmurder of his sons, poor Zedekiah was subjected to the painful ordeal\nof having his eyes put out. To this place, also, Pharaoh Necho, after\nhis brilliant victory over the Babylonians, summoned Jehoahaz from\nJerusalem.\n\nThe valley is now used as pastures and farming lands; wheat, oats\nand grapes being the principal productions. The river Leontes flows\nthrough the plain, and the fields are watered mostly by irrigation. Yet\nthese people are only playing with agriculture. The valley is rich and\nfertile, and would abundantly reward honest labor. But honest labor is\nunknown in Syria. These trifling people anger the soil with their rude\nimplements of agriculture, and the soil answers with a crop of thorns\nand thistles. She thrusts out her claws and thus frights off the lean,\nlazy, leisure-loving Bedouin. The people sow the seeds of idleness\nand reap the legitimate fruits\u2014hunger, want and starvation. I never\nbefore knew what squalid poverty meant. But if it is to go half naked,\nand almost the other half, too; if it is for human beings to live in\nthe same rock-pens with cows, goats and asses, and that, too, without\na fireplace, without chairs, tables or bedsteads; if it is to live on\nhalf rations of \u201chusks and hominy,\u201d\u2014if this is squalid poverty, I have\nseen it and know what it means. Each family seems to be blest with a\ndozen or fifteen heirs\u2014heirs of filth and poverty! I am reminded of\nthe old adage, \u201cpoor people for children and negroes for dogs.\u201d These\npeople and their ancestry have inhabited this country only 4,000 years,\nand yet within that short time they have managed to accumulate a mass\nof filth and ignorance that is truly astonishing.\n\nWe are now encamped in the citadel of Baalbek. This place has much\ninterest for the traveler and the historian, because of its once mighty\ntemples. The temples were three in number. They were all built on the\nsame stupendous substructions. The rock foundations go deep into the\nground, and are traversed by great subterranean passages which look\nlike railroad tunnels through mountains of granite. The Temple of the\nSun was three hundred feet long, one hundred and sixty feet wide, and\nwas surrounded by fifty-four columns, six of which are standing at\npresent. These six are enough for twelve months\u2019 study. They are solid\nmarble, eight feet in diameter, and together with the entablature which\njoins them at the top, ninety feet high! How shapely, how graceful, how\ntowering and sublime! The carving on the entablature is exquisite. It\nlooks like stucco work. The other columns are fallen and broken, but\nthese six look as if they were put up only yesterday.\n\nThe Great Temple is better preserved; its potent walls, and\ntwenty-three of its Corinthian columns, still stand. There is no wood\nabout the building. Even its vaulted roof, one hundred feet above\nyou, is marble. The under side of this marble roof is beautifully\nchiseled. As one views it with the natural eye, it look like delicate\nlace work; but by the aid of field glasses one can trace the designs\nof the artist, and see that \u201cthere is method in his madness.\u201d One can\nsee men, animals, leaves, flowers and fruits delicately carved in the\nhigh lifted stone. One sees, or fancies he sees, oaks and acorns, moons\nand mares, men, mice and monkeys, doves, dogs and donkeys, bulls, boars\nand bears, pigs, \u2018possums and puppies, boys and bonnets, ladies and\nlizards, all beautifully carved and sweetly blended one with the other.\n\u201c\u2018Tis a vision, \u2018tis an anthem sung in stone, a poem writ in marble.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: RUINS OF BAALBEK.]\n\nBut probably the thing that most impresses one about the ruins of\nBaalbek is the enormous size of the stones used in its buildings. I\nhave never seen or read of such stones as were used in building these\ntemples. Many of them are as large as one of our ordinary freight cars.\nThree of these stones, lying end to end in the walls of the temple,\nmeasure two hundred and ten feet. I go to the quarry, half a mile away,\nfrom which these colossal stones were taken. There I find a companion\nstone to those in the buildings. It is fourteen feet high, seventeen\nfeet broad and seventy-one feet long. Who ever heard of such stones\nbeing handled! Two six mule teams might be driven side by side on the\nstone, and there would be room for a foot path on either side the\nwagons. No pigmies they\u2014those builders of Baalbek. A race of giants or\nof gods must have handled these stones! No one knows when, how, or by\nwhom these temples were built. We know this, however, they were built,\nnot for an age, but for all time.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nDAMASCUS.\n\n A Beautiful Valley\u2014Flowing Rivers\u2014Mohammed at Damascus\u2014Garden\n of God\u2014Paul at Damascus\u2014Mohammedan at Prayer\u2014Valley More\n Beautiful\u2014Damascus Exclusively Oriental\u2014Quaint Architecture\u2014\u201dOften\n in Wooden Houses Golden Rooms we Find\u201d\u2014Narrow Streets\u2014Industrious\n People\u2014Shoe Bazaars\u2014Manufacturing Silk by hand\u2014Fanatical\n Merchants\u2014\u201cChristian Dogs\u201d\u2014Cabinet-Making\u2014Furniture Inlaid\n with Pearl\u2014Camel Markets\u2014A Progenitor of the Mule\u2014Machinery\n Unknown\u2014Ignorance Stalks Abroad\u2014Fanatical Arabs\u2014A Massacre\u2014The\n Governor Gives the Signal\u2014Christians Killed\u2014French Army\u2014Abraham Our\n Guide\u2014Brained before Reaching the Post-Office\u2014Warned not to Look at\n the Women\u2014Johnson\u2019s Regret\u2014Vailed Women\u2014Johnson\u2019s Explanation.\n\n\nAT four o\u2019clock, on the second day after leaving Baalbek, I spy\none of the prettiest objects that ever greeted human vision. It is\nDamascus, the oldest city in the world\u2014Damascus, laid out by Uz, the\ngreat-grandson of Noah. For days I have been riding over a ruined and\ndesolate country, and now my eyes fall and feast on a broad, rich\nvalley, through which flow Abana and Pharpar, two rivers of pure water.\nThe whole valley is one great garden, or orchard, in which flourishes\nalmost every tropical plant. Here are the orange, olive and oleander,\nthe peach, pear, palm and pome-granate, the banana, the apple, apricot\nand myrtle. Amid the rich green foliage of these trees, their golden\nfruit is seen. Autumn, which is only summer meeting death with a\nsmile, has seared the leaves of some of the more delicate plants of\nthe valley. Red leaves are beautifully interwoven with the green, and\nthey gleam in the rays of the setting sun like sheets of purest gold.\nHere and there tall and slender silver poplars rise high, and are\ngracefully swaying to and fro in the evening breezes.\n\nDamascus is situated in the midst of this luxuriant garden. Looking\ndown from the hilltop I see the taller houses, the mosques and\nminarets, rising from amidst the luxuriant foliage of the trees. Ah,\nwhat a picture! According to tradition, when Mohammed reached this\npoint and looked down upon Damascus for the first time, he said: \u201cMan\ncan enter only one paradise, and I prefer to enter the one above.\u201d So\nhe sat down here and feasted his eyes upon the earthly paradise of\nDamascus and went away without entering its gates, that hereafter he\nmight be permitted to enter the portals of the paradise of God. A stone\ntower marks the spot where the prophet stood. From that early period\nDamascus has been regarded by all Arabs as an earthly reflection of\nparadise, where a foretaste of all the joys of heaven are obtainable.\nIn accordance with the description given in the Koran, the Mohammedan\nBible, Arabs picture to themselves paradise as a limitless orchard,\ntraversed by streams of water, where the most delicious fruits are ever\nready to drop into the mouth.\n\n[Illustration: DAMASCUS.]\n\nWhen we remember that Damascus is situated on the edge of the great\nSyrian desert, that it is surrounded on three sides by hills, high\nand lifted up, and that the whole country for miles and scores of\nmiles around is bleak, parched and desolate, we can not for a moment\nbe surprised at the pleasing effect the sight of this smiling garden\nproduces in the heart of the Arab. Probably these swarthy sons of the\ndesert have been traveling for ten days or a fortnight, coming from\nPalmyra or Bagdad, coming from central Arabia or Persia, coming across\nthe arid plain where naught but broad oceans of sand stretch out\nbefore them, with not a blade of green grass to enliven the scene or to\n\u201crest the dazzled sight.\u201d Finally the fortnight has past; the journey\nhas ended; and the Arabs stand at last upon this hilltop and look down\nupon yonder green garden of God. In contemplating such a scene, after\nsuch a journey, these sons of Ishmael are moved by emotions strong and\ndeep. They have found trees in the wilderness, springs in the desert;\nand they can but say: \u201cThough old as history itself, thou art fresh as\nthe breath of spring, blooming as thine own rosebud, and fragrant as\nthine own orange-blossom, O Damascus, pearl of the East.\u201d\n\nThis is the scene that Paul was looking upon when suddenly a great\nlight shone round about him from heaven, and he fell to the earth as\ndead. Only a few feet from where I stand, tradition points out the\nplace where he fell. Paul, you remember, was taken up and carried\ninto the city. Desiring to follow him, I leave the mountain top and\napproach the valley. Damascus is surrounded now, as in Paul\u2019s day,\nby a stone wall twenty-five or thirty feet high. Entering the city\nthrough the Jerusalem gate, I am at once attracted by a man prostrate\non the river bank. Placing his palms on the ground, and lifting himself\nthe length of his long arms, he looks down upon the glassy surface\nof the river as though he were gazing at his image reflected in the\nwater. Then, bending his elbows, he once more lets his breast to the\nearth. This is repeated over and over again. While going through this\nstrange performance, the man is constantly mumbling and muttering in\nsome unknown Eastern tongue. Rising to his feet, and lifting his face\nto the sky, the Arab repeatedly smites himself upon the brow, breast\nand mouth. Then waving his hand towards Heaven, he cries aloud: \u201cSuah\nbaha, yalla Mohammed, Mohammed, Mohammed!\u201d I ask, \u201cTolhammy, what means\nthis?\u201d \u201cWhy, sir, that is a sacred river. The man was worshipping the\nriver, and then, rising, he called upon Mahomet, his god, to accept\nhis worship. He says \u2018O Mahomet, accept my worship, and (placing his\nhand on his brow) I will think of thee with this mind; (on his breast)\nI will love thee with this heart; (with hand upon his mouth) and with\nthese lips I will speak thy praises abroad. Hear me, O Mohammed,\nMohammed, Mohammed!\u2019\u201d Who could see a sight like this without thinking\nof Him who said: \u201cPray not upon the street corners, to be seen of men;\nbut pray secretly, and your Father who seeth in secret, will reward you\nopenly.\u201d\n\nThe valley was charming, even when viewed from the hilltop; but the\nlaughing water, the green foliage and the golden fruit have grown more\nand more beautiful as we have approached nearer to them. \u201cAbana and\nPharpar, rivers of Damascus,\u201d are each divided into eight artificial\nchannels, so there are sixteen small rivers flowing through the city,\nbringing fresh and sparkling water into almost every yard. The\nluxuriant vegetation of this well-watered valley is never scorched by\nsummer\u2019s fierce heat, nor chilled by winter\u2019s frosty breath. It is a\nperpetual growth. Flowers and fruits are always on the trees, fragrance\nand music always in the air.\n\nDamascus is the capital of Syria. It has one hundred and eighty\nthousand inhabitants, and a large manufacturing interest. As a\ncommercial and distributing centre, it has no equal in the Orient.\nGreat camel caravans are constantly arriving from, and departing for,\nPalmyra and Bagdad, and all the other more important cities of Persia\nand central Arabia. Being an inland city, hence unaffected by European\nthought and civilization, Damascus is exclusively Eastern; and is,\ntherefore, the best place on earth to get correct conceptions of\nOriental life and ideas.\n\nComing into the midst of the city, we find the houses are quaint and\ncharacteristically Eastern. From their appearance, one would suppose\nthat they were built 1,500 or 2,000 years ago. Most of them are one\nstory high, and are built of stone, and large sun-dried brick made\nhalf and half of straw and white clay. Sometimes a dozen or twenty\nhouses are covered by the same roof. On going into some of these\nmiserable-looking huts, we are reminded that \u201coften in wooden houses\ngolden rooms we find.\u201d Some of these wealthy Damascene merchants live\nin style\u2014not in American or European style, but in style after the\nEastern idea. Their houses, though small, and rough of exterior are\nrichly furnished. Frequently they are lined with marble. The walls and\nceilings are beautifully frescoed, while the floor is laid with rich\nPersian carpets. And yet in these houses we find no chairs, tables or\nbedsteads. The merchants, though dressed in silks, sit flat on the\ncarpet or on small mats. Their beds consist, usually, of pallets made\nof soft and beautiful Persian rugs. \u201cA strange way for wealthy people\nto live,\u201d you say. Well, yes, it is decidedly strange to you; but you\nmust remember that your way of living would be just as strange to these\nDamascene folk.\n\nThe streets are exceedingly narrow, being not more than from nine to\ntwelve feet wide. The stores or shops on either side of the street\nare little more than holes in the wall, usually about six feet wide\nand eight feet deep. The floor of this stall is twelve to eighteen\ninches above the ground. The end facing the street is open, while on\nthe two sides and the back end, shelf rises above shelf. Goods are\narranged on these, and also suspended from the ceiling. The customer,\nshould one chance to come along, stands in the street and bargains with\nthe merchant, who sits flat on the floor in the centre of the stall.\nWith a hook in his hand, he, without rising, reaches to one shelf or\nanother, and drags down such goods as may please the purchaser\u2019s fancy.\nThese people eat no idle bread. As soon as the customer is gone, the\nmerchant continues to manufacture saddles, shoes, silks, or such goods\nas he may deal in.\n\nI was never before so impressed with industry. Damascus is a great\nmanufacturing centre. The people have no machinery\u2014all work is done\nby hand, and nothing is done within walls or behind curtains. Caps\nand carpets, saddles and sabres, shoes and shawls, silks and safes,\nbeds and baskets, and a hundred other things, are manufactured on the\nstreets in the open air before our eyes. One entire street is given\nup to a single industry. For instance the street here to my right is\ncalled the shoe bazaar. It is probably a quarter of a mile long; and on\neither side of the street, from one end to the other, are men, women\nand children, seated on mats or flat down on the ground with their\nlimbs folded under them. All are as busy as bees, sewing and stitching\nleather, making shoes. If one wants to buy a pair of shoes, he trades\nwith the man who makes them. The merchant does not stop work, but talks\nwithout looking up.\n\nMost of the manufacturers are eager to trade with Europeans and\nAmericans, but some of them are so fanatical that they will not receive\nmoney from \u201cChristian dogs.\u201d Numerous poles are thrown across the\nstreets, twelve or fourteen feet from the ground, from which strings\nare hanging. When the shoes are finished, they are tied to these\nstrings and left suspended. Looking down the street, one sees hundreds\nand hundreds of shoes dangling in the air, about four feet from the\nground.\n\nSilk bazaars are numerous. Looking down these several streets, one\nsees many weavers seated on the ground, plying their shuttles. Above\ntheir uncombed heads is silk of every grade and color, suspended in the\nair and trembling in the wind. As with shoes and silks, so also with\ncarpets, saddles, and other departments of industry.\n\nThe leading industry of Damascus is cabinet-making. The furniture made\nhere is of the finest woods, and is inlaid with mother-of-pearl; hence\nit is perfectly exquisite and quite costly. Skilled artisans are to be\nfound in these different departments of work. The best of them receive\nonly from sixty to eighty cents per day, while craftsmen of equal\nskill, in our country, command four to five dollars per day.\n\nThursday of each week presents a busy scene at the donkey and camel\nmarkets. Hundreds of half-dressed and hard-looking camel raisers from\nthe desert drive their patient beasts, old and young, into an open\nsquare in the midst of the city. Sellers, buyers and traders, wearing\ndifferent costumes, representing different tribes and countries,\nmeet. Going in among the camels, they catch, ride and drive them. The\nanimals are priced, and trouble begins. The purchaser offers the seller\none-third, or one-fourth of his price. This is taken as an insult. They\nquarrel, curse each other, and sometimes fight, the friends on either\nside taking part. Finally the difficulty is settled by an agreement\nto \u201csplit the difference;\u201d so the camel is sold at half of the first\nprice\u2014frequently for less. Late in the evening they adjourn in much\ndisorder. Turbaned Arabs now lead long trains of camels down different\nstreets to the several gates of the city. To-morrow morning, at an\nearly hour, these much abused \u201cships of the desert\u201d will be loaded and\nstarted out on a long voyage across an ocean of sand.\n\nThe donkey-markets create less confusion. Donkeys, however, have\nno unimportant part to play in the daily life of Damascus. They\nare indispensable. They take the place of our drays, carts and\nmarket-wagons. One may look up the street at almost any moment, and\nsee a pair of ears coming. This is regarded as a sure sign that a\nprogenitor of the mule will be along after a while.\n\nI repeat that all goods manufactured in Damascus are made by hand,\nmachinery being unknown. Probably three-fourths of the people here\nnever saw or heard of a daily newspaper. They know nothing of the\noutside world. They never learn anything, never invent anything. They\nrepudiate and scorn anything that is new. They regard an invention\nas an offspring of the devil. A Christian they hate as they do a\nserpent. Ignorance is the most prevalent thing in Damascus. It walks\nthe streets; it sits in the shops; it drives camels; it stares the\ntraveler in the face, go where he will. Here, too, as elsewhere,\nignorance has borne her legitimate fruit\u2014superstition and fanaticism.\nThe people are, I believe, as fanatical as the devil wants them to\nbe. Only a few years ago, their fanaticism arose to such a pitch that\nthey, without the slightest provocation, pounced upon, and killed, five\nthousand Christians in the streets of Damascus! Men, women and children\nwere butchered indiscriminately like sheep. Their mangled bodies were\npiled up in the streets, and scattered through the city, for days and\ndays. The Mohammedans would not defile their pure (?) hands by putting\nthem on \u201cChristian dogs\u201d\u2014they had killed them\u2014that was enough. From\nDamascus the thirst for blood spread throughout all Syria, and no less\nthan 14,000 Christians perished.\n\nOne would naturally suppose that the government would protect life\nbetter than that. But the Pasha, or governor, of Syria was the man who\ngave the signal for the massacre to begin. And it continued until the\nFrench government interfered. Napoleon III, whom the world is so fond\nof condemning, dispatched a body of ten thousand well-armed troops\nhere to stop that human butchery. The Pasha and other officials were\narrested and beheaded in the city. The French soldiers, following the\ncustom of the old Romans, constructed a military road from Beyrout\nto Damascus. This road, which is still in good repair, is the only\nguarantee of safety Christians now have among these heathen people.\n\nMy guide in Damascus is named Abraham. I have not met Isaac and Jacob,\nbut have become somewhat intimate with Abraham. He tells me that his\nfather and mother were victims of that horrible massacre; that when\nkilled, their blood and brains spattered upon him; that his escape\nwas little less than miraculous; that he, with a number of other\nChristians, was shut up in the citadel for three days; that for three\ndays and nights the Mohammedans stood there with their battering rams,\nthundering against the walls and gates of the citadel, which were just\nready to totter and fall when the French army came up and put a stop to\nthe whole inhuman business.\n\nSeveral persons who were eye-witnesses to the whole scene have given\nme a full and detailed account of the massacre. Mohammedans from their\nbeginning may be tracked through history by a trail of blood. They\nseem to have a thirst that nothing but human gore will satiate. This\nmassacre of Damascus is their last and crowning act. It is worthy of\ntheir bloody history. They destroyed \u201ceven till destruction sickened.\u201d\nI have just read a history of this fearful slaughter which closes with\nthis sentence: \u201cUnfortunately, since the massacre matters have improved\nbut little.\u201d I dare not walk the streets of Damascus to-day with a\nBible in hand, and let the people know what book it is. I would be in\ndanger of being brained before reaching the post-office.\n\nThe guide-book warns us not to look at the women. This goes hard with\nJohnson. I regret it on his account. There is a custom in this country,\nwhich practically amounts to a law, that the women shall keep their\nfaces vailed. Yesterday, while walking up a narrow and gloomy-looking\nalley, we saw a woman coming towards us. Touching me in the side with\nhis elbow, Johnson said: \u201cWhittle, I am going to look at her a little,\nanyhow.\u201d When we met the woman, she piteously cried: \u201cHowazhu, howazhu,\nbachsheesh, bachsheesh,\u201d which being interpreted means, \u201cO, gentlemen,\ngentlemen, money, money.\u201d Johnson responded: \u201cLift your vail, then.\u201d\nWhen the ill-favored female drew her vail aside, Johnson gave her three\npiasters (about nine cents) and immediately said: \u201cPut down your vail\nquickly, and I will give you three more.\u201d I was sorry for my traveling\ncompanion. He looked disappointed. He said that the reason the women\nhad to keep their faces covered was, that they were so ugly that to\nexpose them would subject men to sore eyes\u2014if not to blindness.\n\nThe early religious history of Damascus is of peculiar interest to\nall Christians. A great persecution arose against the Christians in\nJerusalem. Saul of Tarsus made havoc of the church; entering into every\nhouse, and, haling men and women, committed them to prison, breathing\nout threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord. He\nobtained letters from the Jewish authorities, authorizing him to arrest\nand carry to Jerusalem all Christians whom he might find in Damascus.\n\nAs he journeyed, he came near Damascus, and suddenly there shined\nround about him a light from Heaven, and he fell to the earth. When\nSaul asked of the Lord, \u201cWhat wilt thou have me to do?\u201d the Lord said\nunto him, \u201cArise, and go into the city, and it shall be told thee what\nthou must do.\u201d Saul rose from the earth and they brought him into\nDamascus, and he stopped with Judas, who lived on the street that is\ncalled Straight. The Lord directed Ananias to go to Saul, and instruct\nhim what to do. The scales fell from Saul\u2019s eyes, and he arose and was\nbaptized; and straightway he preached Christ, that he was the Son of\nGod. This created a great disturbance in Damascus, and the Jews held\na mass meeting and decided to kill Saul. For this purpose the Jews\nwatched the gates of the city day and night. In order to save his life,\nthe disciples took Saul by night and let him down by the wall in a\nbasket.\n\n[Illustration: TOMBS OF THE CALIPHS, DAMASCUS.]\n\nDamascus is now pretty much as it was eighteen hundred years ago. The\nplaces mentioned in connection with Paul are still pointed out\u2014with\nwhat degree of certainty, I can not say. Of course I visited the places\nwhere \u201che fell to the earth,\u201d and where \u201che was let down over the wall\nin a basket.\u201d At this point the wall is some thirty feet high, and is\nsurmounted by a house which is occupied by a Christian family. The\nreputed houses of Ananias and Judas are partly underground, and are\nbuilt of huge stones. These strongly built houses are certainly very\nold; and it has been suggested that if Ananias and Judas did not live\nin them at the time of Paul, some other people did.\n\nIf I should to-day begin to proclaim the gospel of Christ with the same\nzeal and earnestness that characterized the ministry of Paul, I would\nhave to be let down over the walls in a basket, or else be butchered on\nthe street.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nTHE NAAMAN HOSPITAL FOR THE LEPROSY.\n\n Naaman, the Leper\u2014His Visit to Elisha\u2014The Prophet\u2019s Command\u2014Naaman\n Cured\u2014House Turned into a Leper Hospital\u2014Off to the Lepers\u2019\n Den\u2014Origin, History and Nature of Leprosy\u2014Arrival at the\n Gloomy Prison\u2014Abraham, \u201cI Didn\u2019t Promise to Go into the Tomb\n with You\u201d\u2014\u201cScrew your Courage to the Sticking Point\u201d\u2014Johnson\u2019s\n Reply\u2014Suspicious of the Arab Gate-Keepers\u2014A Charge to\n Abraham\u2014Life in Johnson\u2019s Hands\u2014Mamie and the Currant-Bush\u2014Among\n the Lepers\u2014Judgment Come\u2014Graves Open\u2014Living Corpses\u2014Walking\n Skeletons\u2014Strewing out Coins\u2014An Indescribable Scene\u2014An Indelible\n Picture\u2014Horrible Dreams.\n\n\nNAAMAN lived in Damascus. \u201cNow Naaman, captain of the host of Syria,\nwas a great man\u201d with his Master, and \u201chonorable, because by him the\nLord had given deliverance unto Syria; he was also a mighty man of\nvalor, but he was a leper.\u201d So Naaman left Damascus, and went down to\nSamaria to see Elisha, that the prophet might heal him of the leprosy.\nElisha told Naaman to go and dip himself seven times in the Jordan. The\nhaughty Syrian became indignant at the idea, and it was natural that\nhe should. The people of Damascus are now, and have always been, proud\nof their rivers. They sing about Abana and Pharpar, as also about the\nshades, fruits and flowers of the valley.\n\nOld Naaman was a true Damascene. So, when told to bathe in the Jordan,\nhe said: \u201cAbana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, are they not better\nthan all the waters of Israel?\u201d He wanted to go back to his own native\ncity, and there bathe in the fountain of the gods, whose pearly waters\nhad rolled themselves through his heart and cut their channels there.\nFinally Naaman was persuaded to follow Elisha\u2019s directions, and was\nhealed of his leprosy. But, strangely enough, his house in Damascus was\nturned into a leper hospital, and remains one to this day.\n\nHaving heard so much of this loathsome disease, I am anxious to see it.\nSo I call out, \u201cAbraham, Abraham.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir?\u201d\n\n\u201cBring out the horses, and let\u2019s go to the hospital.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir.\u201d\n\nHe brings out three horses\u2014ears about fifteen inches long\u2014and\nJohnson, Abraham and I are off for the \u201clepers\u2019 den.\u201d On the way,\nJohnson says: \u201cWhittle, how long has the leprosy existed?\u201d My reply is,\n\u201cHistory traces the disease back to twelve or fifteen hundred years\nbefore the Christian era.\u201d\n\nJohnson. \u201cWhere did it originate?\u201d\n\nI explain that the origin of the leprosy is, to some extent, shrouded\nin mystery; that I was reading the other day from Strabo, a Greek\nauthor, who says that leprosy was generated in Egypt among the Jews,\nwhile they were in bondage under the Pharaohs. He says the Jews were\nbanished to rock-quarries, where they had been getting stone to build\npyramids and walled cities; that, having double burdens to perform,\nand half rations to live upon, they killed and ate diseased hogs which\ngave rise to a disease among the people known as the leprosy. For this\nreason the Jews passed a law that all Hebrews should ever after abstain\nfrom eating flesh of swine. That law, we know, is still observed, but\nStrabo\u2019s account of the origin of the leprosy is probably a myth.\n\nJohnson asks: \u201cDoes the Bible throw no light upon this subject?\u201d\n\n\u201cNone at all. The Good Book has much to say about the disease, and\nthe ceremonial law concerning the treatment of lepers is strict and\nexplicit. As to its origin, however, not a word is said.\u201d\n\nLeprosy is the most fearful disease that was ever visited upon the\nhuman family. Never yet has a case of it been cured without the direct\nintervention of God. Man\u2019s skill is powerless to stay its ravages\non the human frame and system. If there were no leprosy on earth\nto-day, probably there never would be any. It is not now, so far as\ncan be ascertained, generated anew and afresh. It is inherited from\none\u2019s parents, and in this way it is handed down from generation to\ngeneration. It is absolutely impossible for leprous parents to give\nbirth to a child who will not die of leprosy, unless, perchance, the\nbabe die before the disease breaks out. The child may possibly remain\nsound and healthy until he is six or even sixteen years old; but the\nfearful disease is in his bones and blood and system, and it is coming\nto the surface\u2014it is coming to stay, to eat up the body and \u201csteal\naway the life o\u2019 the building.\u201d\n\nLeprosy warns its victim of its approach by a cold and chilly\nsensation, which alternates with fever. Then a purple fleck or blotch,\nwith a hard lump under it, comes on the face. The blotches now come\nthick and fast. Blotch meets blotch, until the bloated face is covered,\nand the cheeks look like purple clusters of grapes. The blotches\nfinally swell, itch, fester, burst and pour forth an immense amount of\npus and corruption. Then they heal up for a while, only, however, to\nitch, swell and burst again.\n\nAbout a mile and a half from the centre of the city, we see a great\nrock wall, enclosing twenty or more acres of land, rising up like the\nwalls of a penitentiary, twenty-five or thirty feet high. Pointing to\nthis wall, Abraham says: \u201cThere is the hospital.\u201d\n\nI respond, \u201cYes, there it is, but I want to go in it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWant to go in it?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cYes, Abraham, and I want you to go with me.\u201d\n\nWith a strange look in his face, and a tremor in his voice, he answers,\n\u201cYou don\u2019t mean that, do you?\u201d\n\n\u201cMost emphatically, I do. I want you to go in with me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, sir,\u201d he continues, \u201cI can\u2019t do it.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d said I, \u201clook here, Abraham, I have paid you my money. You are\nmy guide. You have promised to show me through the city.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir, but I didn\u2019t promise to go into the tomb with you,\u201d was his\nresponse.\n\nTurning to Johnson, I request him to accompany me. I show him a\nbook which says that it is questionable whether leprosy is at all\ncontagious; that it is possible for one to shake hands with a leper\nwithout any ill effects. Besides, I tell him that we will arm ourselves\nso as to keep them away from us\u2014that we will fill our pockets with\ncoins, and, if the lepers come close to us, will strew them like seed\ncorn on the ground, and while they stop to gather them up, we will get\na good look at them. I explain further to my companion that even if the\nlepers were disposed to come up to us, we could fight them off with our\nheavy canes.\n\nAfter placing these arguments before him, I make a final appeal;\n\u201cJohnson, don\u2019t desert me. Nerve yourself and go in with me.\u201d Seeing\nthat he is wavering and hesitating, I say: \u201cJohnson, screw your courage\nto the sticking point, and let\u2019s go in.\u201d\n\nHe responds: \u201cIt won\u2019t stick.\u201d\n\n\u201cTry it again!\u201d\n\nHe repeats, \u201c_It won\u2019t stick!_\u201d\n\nBy this time we are at the heavy, iron gate which is locked, and\nguarded by two strong and stalwart Arabs. I say to one of them: \u201cWill\nyou let me in?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d was the reply.\n\n\u201cWill you let me out?\u201d\n\nAfter a long pause, he responds in a deep, husky voice, \u201cY-e-s.\u201d\n\nI repeat the question, and receive the same significant frown and\ngutteral sound as an answer. I hardly know what is meant. I do not know\nbut that the idea is to get me in, and then lock the gate and exact so\nmuch money before letting me out. I have not \u201cso much money\u201d to give.\n\nTurning to my guide, I say, \u201cAbraham, Abraham, I charge you by the\nmoney I have paid you, by your sense of honor and manhood; I charge you\nby him whose name you bear, let not this gate close until I come out.\u201d\n\nWith an honest emphasis, he responds, \u201cI will guard the gate.\u201d\n\nLaying my hand upon my companion\u2019s shoulder, I address him thus:\n\u201cJohnson, I, to some extent, commit my life into your keeping. I charge\nyou by the sacred memory of mother, home and Heaven, by the golden ties\nof friendship, I charge you, Johnson, let not this gate close until I\ncome out.\u201d\n\nWith tears in his eyes, and his great heart welling without him, he\nreplies: \u201cWhittle, if necessary, I will block this gate open with my\ndead body until you come out.\u201d\n\nMy mind is now made up. I am determined to enter. You naturally ask,\n\u201cWhy go into such a place?\u201d I can hardly tell you why, unless forsooth,\nI am something like Mamie. Mamie wanted to go into the garden and see\nthe flowers. Her mother said, \u201cWell, my child, you may go into the\ngarden to see the flowers, but you must not eat any of those berries on\nthe currant-bush.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, ma\u2019am, I won\u2019t.\u201d\n\nTwenty minutes later Mamie emerges from the garden, licking out her\ntongue and smacking her lips, while her face is stained with the\nberries.\n\n\u201cDid you eat any of those berries, Mamie?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, ma\u2019am.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, my child, don\u2019t tell me a story.\u201d\n\nCrying and trembling with fear, Mamie says, \u201cWell, mamma, I did eat a\nfew of \u2018em.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy did you disobey mother?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause I couldn\u2019t help it,\u201d was Mamie\u2019s response.\n\n\u201cWhy could you not help it?\u201d said the mother.\n\n\u201c\u2018Cause the devil tempted me.\u201d\n\nMother. \u201cWhy did you not say, \u2018Get thee behind me, Satan\u2019?\u201d\n\nMamie. \u201cI did say, \u2018Get thee behind me, Satan,\u2019 and he got behind me\nand pushed me right into the bush.\u201d\n\nSo I am tempted, not like Mamie, by one, but by a half dozen devils.\nI say: \u201cGet thee behind me, satans.\u201d At this, some get behind, while\nothers get before me. The spirit of adventure, or something else,\ncatches hold of the lapels of my coat. Now they push and pull and shove\nand drag me in, until finally I wake up on the inside of a living tomb.\n\nGoing in some distance from the gate and around one or two houses, I\nsee a great number of lepers, lying on the ground, sunning themselves.\nA few of the miserable creatures are sitting up. Seeing me, they make a\nstrange and hideous noise. This arouses the others.\n\nThey rise\u2014three here, four there, a half dozen, yea, a dozen,\nyonder\u2014still they rise. It looks almost as if judgment had come;\nas if the tombs are opening and the graves are giving up their dead\nskeletons. They form a semi-circle about me. Ah, what a ghastly sight!\nMen, women and children in all stages of the leprosy. Some of them look\nmore like fiends than human beings. Skin and flesh gone from their\nhands and arms, from their brows and cheeks! The working of their\njaw-bones can be seen, as they vainly attempt to talk.\n\nHere they are\u2014gums swollen, teeth gone, palates fallen, one eye, or\none ear missing. One finger\u2014two fingers\u2014may be all the fingers gone\nfrom one hand, or, perchance, the hand itself is off at the wrist,\nor the arm at the elbow. What arms and limbs and fingers they have,\nare frequently gnarled and twisted like grape-vines. They are close\nenough. Rushing my right hand into my pocket, I strew the coin far and\nwide like seed wheat. The poor diseased creatures, with pewter plates\nin hand, hobble around here and there as best they can, pushing and\nshoving each other right and left, each trying to get all the coins and\nto keep his neighbor from getting any.\n\nStepping forward, I strew out more coin and then recede. On come\nthe victims of this loathsome disease. Oh, what a ghastly sight!\nFlesh gone, bones exposed and all twisted out of shape, great knots\nprotruding from the face and body, joints decaying and dropping\naway,\u2014human beings coming unjointed and falling to pieces! On they\ncome, until I find myself half surrounded by hideous, dreamlike\nspectres! horrible hobgoblins! living corpses! walking skeletons!\ngreen-eyed monsters! fiery-eyed fiends! coming up, crowding up around\nme, thrusting out their long arms and bony fingers, apparently eager\nand anxious to hug me, like a phantom, to their loathsome and rotting\nbosoms!\n\nFor the first time in life, I am rooted to the earth. My blood,\nlike Hamlet\u2019s, is curdled in my veins. My knees, like the knees of\nBelshazzar, smite one against the other. My hair, like the quills\nof the fretted porcupine, stands on end. My mind wanders, my heart\nsickens, my body reels, and I stand \u201clike a ruin among ruins,\nmeditating on decay.\u201d In gesture, as well as in words, I say: \u201cAvaunt!\navaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide you! Your bones are\nmarrowless; your blood is cold; and ye have no eyes in those sightless\nsockets with which ye do glare at me!\u201d\n\nI feel that I would give all that I have, or hope to have, if I could,\nonce for all, blot this awful scene from my mind. But no; it is there.\nIt is indelibly stamped upon the landscape of memory. And often,\ninstead of sleeping soundly, I will dream about it. I will dream that I\nam still in here; that the gate is locked and barred, and that I am a\ndoomed man; that these decaying folk have entirely surrounded me, and\nare intertwining their arms and limbs with mine, almost like hissing\nserpents in the hair!\n\nO, my dying fellow mortal, do you know that leprosy is typical of sin?\nHow, oh! how, would a man feel, if, while sitting in his parlor, a half\ndozen lepers should come in, reeling and staggering\u2014falling to pieces?\nHe would shrink back and call upon the earth to swallow him, or the\nmountains to fall upon and hide him from the face of nature.\n\nHow, then, I ask, would God and the angels feel, if one unconverted\nsoul should enter into Heaven, into the presence of that God who can\nnot look upon sin? One sinner, walking the golden streets, falling to\npieces with moral putrefaction, would cause the redeemed to shudder,\nthe angels to flee away; at his approach, darkness would surround the\nthrone and Heaven would be turned into hell.\n\nBut, O friend, my heart thrills with joy akin to that which the angels\nfeel in Heaven, when I say:\n\n \u201cThere is a fountain filled with blood\n Drawn from Emmanuel\u2019s veins,\n And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,\n Lose all their guilty stains.\u201d\n\nSo, when the gospel is proclaimed in your hearing, go not to the\nJordan, as Naaman did; but go fling yourself into that stream opened\nup in the house of David for the cleansing of the human family. After\nNaaman had dipped in the river, his skin and flesh grew back as the\nskin and flesh of a little child. So you, when you have bathed yourself\nin the stream of God\u2019s forgiving mercy, will be clad in the spotless\nrobes of Christ\u2019s righteousness. You will be sinless as a little child.\nAnd I am sure the angels will strike their golden harps, and the music\nwill go ringing and reverberating adown the aisles of eternity, as they\nshout, \u201cHalleluiah, halleluiah, one more sinner redeemed\u2014washed in the\nblood of the Lamb.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\nFROM DAMASCUS TO THE SEA OF GALILEE.\n\n Sick, nigh unto Death\u2014\u201cNight Bringeth out the Stars\u201d\u2014Mount\n Hermon and the Transfiguration\u2014Beautiful Camp-Ground\u2014Amnon, the\n Reliable\u2014\u201cThou Art Peter\u201d\u2014Fountain of the Jordan\u2014Slaughter of\n the Buffaloes\u2014Crossing into Galilee\u2014Dan\u2014Abraham\u2019s Visit\u2014A\n Fertile Valley\u2014Wooden Plows\u2014A Bedouin Village\u2014Costumes of Eden\u2014A\n Gory Field\u2014Sea of Galilee\u2014Sacred Memories\u2014The Evening Hour\u2014A\n Soliloquy\u2014Bathing\u2014Sailing\u2014Fishing.\n\n\nI HAD not been feeling well for some days and while at Damascus I was\ntaken ill with varioloid fever. This was just twelve days after I was\ndirectly exposed to the small-pox and the cholera. The varioloid, with\nwhich I was suffering, was so severe that my friends really feared\nit would develop into small-pox proper. It was a dark hour for the\nsufferer. The shadows of twilight\u2014the twilight of life, as well as of\nday, seemed to be gathering around me. Even then I could say: \u201cI have\nlived, and have not lived in vain: my mind may lose its force, my blood\nits fire, and my frame perish even in conquering pain, but there is\nthat within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I\nexpire.\u201d\n\nOne night when I was suffering most intensely, when my brow was all\nscorched with fever and my body racked with pain, Mr. Hamlin, whom I\nhave already mentioned, and whose income is more than a dollar an hour,\ncame into my room and lay down on the side of the bed. With his hand\non my brow he said: \u201cWhittle, we are fellow travelers for this journey\nthrough the Holy Land; we are friends for the journey of life, and\nnow that you are ill, I want to say that you shall have my sympathy,\nmy presence and my purse. I am your friend and helper. You may have\ncholera, small-pox, or what not, yet I will stand by you to the last. I\nshall not leave your bedside until you are well, or as long as you need\na friend.\u201d I said to myself: \u201cTruly, night bringeth out the stars,\u201d and\n\u201cevery cloud has a silver lining.\u201d I fell asleep; the fever cooled off,\nand in a few days \u201cRichard was himself again.\u201d Now that it is over, I\nam glad that I was ill. It revealed to me the character of the man with\nwhom I am traveling. It is not an unpleasant thing, when one is ten or\ntwelve thousand miles from home, to have a friend talk to him in that\nway. Hamlin is a whole-souled fellow.\n\nThe second night after leaving Damascus the \u201cEquestrian Pilgrims\u201d\ncamped at the foot of Mount Hermon, whose regal brow was crowned\nwith purest snow. It was a glorious sight to see that lonely, lordly\nmountain, bathed in the golden splendor of the setting sun. One almost\nceases to wonder that it has become an object of vigorous adoration.\nThe word Hermon itself means \u201cthe holy,\u201d \u201cthe unapproachable.\u201d The Arab\nword for Hermon means \u201cthe old,\u201d \u201cthe grey-bearded,\u201d \u201cthe venerable.\u201d\nThe inspired writers of old often refer to Hermon. It appears to have\nformed the northern boundaries of the children of Israel. Solomon\nspeaks of Hermon as the haunt of wild beasts, and strangely enough\nmy guide-book says, and the natives here confirm the statement, that\nbears, wolves and foxes still abound here. The Psalmist says brotherly\nlove is as pleasant as the \u201cdew of Hermon;\u201d as the \u201cdew that falleth on\nMount Zion.\u201d I have been much impressed with heavy dews since coming\ninto this Eastern country. I have seen the dew falling before the sun\ngoes down in the evening, and for an hour after the sun rises in the\nmorning. In this country it rains six months, and is dry six months.\nDuring the dry season vegetation withers and all nature suffers for\nmoisture. Every night the falling dew is like a gentle shower of rain,\nrefreshing the parched grass and \u201creviving the vigor of vegetation.\u201d\nBut for these heavy dews nothing would grow, and the people could\nscarcely exist. How impressive it must have been to these people,\ntherefore, when David said: \u201cBrotherly love is as pleasant as the dew\nof Hermon, as the dew that falleth on Mount Zion.\u201d God hasten the day\nwhen \u201cbrotherly love shall abound:\u201d when men shall say: \u201cBehold how\ngood and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity.\u201d\n\nHermon is, in round numbers, ten thousand feet high and twenty-nine\nmiles long. Its base is rich, and, for this country, well cultivated.\nHigher up it supports several large almond groves, the fruit of which\nis most excellent. It is generally conceded by scholars that one of\nthe slopes of Hermon was the scene of the Transfiguration. By some\nthis honor was once claimed for Mount Tabor, but this idea has been\nexploded. It is impossible that Christ should have been Transfigured\non Mount Tabor, for Josephus tells us that Tabor was at that time\ncrowned with a city, and we know that the Transfiguration occurred, not\nin the midst of human habitations, but out in the solitude of nature.\nThe last time we see our blessed Lord before the Transfiguration was\nat Caesarea Philippi, near the base of Hermon. \u201cAnd after six days\nJesus taketh Peter, James, and John, his brother, and bringeth them up\ninto a high mountain apart and was there transfigured before them; His\nface did shine as the sun and His garment was white as the light. And,\nbehold, there appeared unto them Moses and Elias, talking with Him.\nThen answered Peter and said unto Jesus: \u2018Lord, it is good for us to be\nhere: if thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles\u2014one for Thee,\none for Moses, and one for Elias.\u2019\u201d\n\nWe were high on the slopes of Hermon. It was to me a sacred place.\nWhen the evening hour came, I stole away from my companions. I went\nout all alone \u201cwhere nought but the gleaming stars looked down upon me\nin silence,\u201d where I could commune with my own heart, with nature and\n\u201cnature\u2019s God.\u201d I gave myself up to meditation and prayer. I said:\n\u201cCan it be possible that I am now standing on, or near, the spot where\nthe divinity of my Lord revealed itself; where He wrapped Himself with\ncelestial glory as with a garment; where the veil was drawn aside, and\nPeter, James and John caught a glimpse of that other world and the\nsplendor thereof?\u201d and an unearthly feeling possessed me\u2014I verily felt\nthat I was standing on the Mount of spiritual Transfiguration. For me\nthe scene was re-enacted before my eyes. To me the Master\u2019s face did\nshine as the sun, and His garment was white as light. I could almost\nhear the Father\u2019s voice as He said: \u201cThis is my beloved Son in whom\nI am pleased; hear ye Him.\u201d I felt like Peter that I could say, \u201cIt\nis good to be here;\u201d I felt like Paul that I was caught up into the\nthird heaven; I felt like Bunyan that I was standing on the top of the\nDelectable Mountains, viewing the City of God and listening to the\nmusic of angels. I felt like\n\n \u201cSome tall cliff that lifts its awful form,\n Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm,\n Around whose base, while rolling clouds are spread,\n Eternal sunshine settles on its head.\u201d\n\nWe folded our tents in the morning, to pitch them at night twenty miles\naway, by the side of a flowing fountain, in the midst of an olive grove\nand amongst blooming oleanders. There was beauty, there was poetry,\nin this place. It was so sweetly calm and serenely beautiful, that\nwe were strongly tempted to \u201clengthen the cords and strengthen the\nstakes\u201d of our tents and remain here a few days. But we were blessed\nwith perfect weather, and therefore thought best to press towards \u201cthat\nsummer land of the vine and fig tree.\u201d\n\nNext morning \u201cAmnon,\u201d the reliable, the sure-footed, was pronounced\n\u201cready.\u201d I vaulted into the saddle and rode away. Evening brought\nus to Caesarea Philippi, now called Banias. Little\u2014practically\nnothing\u2014remains of the stupendous temple that Herod the Great built\nhere. The guide-book says, and the pilgrims believe, that this was the\nprecise place where Christ said: \u201cThou art Peter, and upon this rock I\nwill build my church.\u201d But turning to Matt. 16:13, I read, \u201cWhen Jesus\ncame unto the coasts of Caesarea Philippi, He asked His Disciples,\u201d etc.\n\nAgain, Mark 8:27, \u201cAnd Jesus went out, and His disciples, into the\ntowns of Caesarea Philippi, and by the way He asked His disciples\nsaying: \u2018Whom do men say that I am?\u2019\u201d From this we see that Caesarea\nPhilippi was a district containing more towns than one. True, this was\nthe principal city of the district, but no man has the moral right to\nselect a certain town and say, \u201c_This is the place_.\u201d Nor do I care to\nknow the precise spot. It is enough for me to know that Peter said:\n\u201cThou art the Christ.\u201d Jesus replied: \u201cThou art Petra (a rock), and\nupon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall\nnot prevail against it.\u201d There is no passage in all the Bible that is\nso much discussed as this one, for this scripture is claimed as the\nfoundation of the Romish Church. True, the \u201cgates of hell\u201d have not\nprevailed against \u201cpapal power,\u201d but the _power of God_ will prevail\nagainst it, and the world shall yet know that Christ, and not Peter, is\nthe chief \u201ccorner stone;\u201d that Christ, and not Mary, is the sinner\u2019s\nSavior.\n\nOne hour from Banias brings us to the fountain of the Jordan\u2014the\nbirth place of the sacred river. The spring is large, the water deep\nand beautifully clear. We could not resist the temptation; we had to\nbathe in the \u201cfountain of the gods.\u201d We could count the pebbles in the\nbottom of the swiftly flowing stream. With our eyes we could follow its\nwindings through the fertile valley, by noticing the flowers and green\nbushes fringing its banks. Near this fountain we rode close upon a herd\nof buffaloes before they saw us. There were twelve in the bunch and a\ndozen of them got away\u2014we killed the others.\n\nWe now cross into Galilee. High on the hill, and before us, as we face\nthe west, is the city of Dan. O Dan, what a history thou hast had! What\nmemories gather around thy ancient, thy venerable head! As thy name\nindicates, thou wast once a judge. Thy sons were born to positions\nof honor. But Ichabod!\u2014\u201cthy glory has departed!\u201d Thou art no longer\na sightly city, but a ruined and disheveled village. Thou no longer\nrulest, but art now thyself ruled with a rod of iron.\n\n \u201cThere is the moral of all human tales;\n \u2019Tis but the same rehearsed of the past,\n First Freedom, and then glory\u2014when that fails,\n Wealth, vice, corruption\u2014barbarism at last!\u201d\n\nIn olden times Dan was an important place\u2014the most important city in\nnorth Galilee. We often see the expression, \u201cfrom Dan to Beersheba,\u201d\nwhich means from the extreme north to the extreme south of Palestine, a\ndistance of one hundred and sixty-five miles. \u201cFrom Dan to Beersheba\u201d\nmeant to Jews of old just what \u201cfrom Maine to Mexico\u201d and \u201cfrom New\nYork to San Francisco\u201d means to Americans\u2014the uttermost limits of the\ncountry.\n\nI give in the following lines an account of a nocturnal visit that\nAbraham, the father of the faithful, made to this city of Dan. \u201cAnd\nwhen Abram heard that his brother was taken captive, he armed his\ntrained servants, born in his own house, three hundred and eighteen,\nand he pursued them unto Dan. And he divided himself against them, he\nand his servants by night, and smote them, and pursued into Hobah,\nwhich is on the left hand of Damascus. And he brought back all the\ngoods, and also his brother Lot and his goods, and the women also and\nthe people.\u201d\n\nComing into Galilee, we find ourselves at once in a beautiful valley\nlying between two mountain ridges running north and south. The valley\nis apparently ten miles wide and fifteen to eighteen miles long. The\nsoil is as black as a crow and fertile as the alluvial deposits of the\nNile. It is so rich that it looks as if it would sprout a shadow\u2014I\nam afraid to stand still long in a place. Only small patches of this\nfertile valley are cultivated and these in the most primitive and\nimperfect manner. The land is scratched over with wooden plows, drawn,\nas I have sometimes seen, by a donkey and a skeleton of a milk cow\nyoked together, or by a camel and an ox harnessed side by side. Thus\nthey tickle the soil which in turn smiles with a sickly, sentimental\nharvest, and the people live in filth, penury, and poverty; whereas,\nif they had western vim and push and shove and energy, if they had\nimproved implements of agriculture and would send them deep into the\nground and turn up the soil, \u201cthe desert would blossom as the rose,\u201d\nand these trifling sons of want would soon have to \u201cpull down their old\nbarns and build greater ones.\u201d Peace and plenty would usurp the place\nnow held by pinching poverty, and Jerusalem once more would stand\n\n \u201cGirt by her theatre of hills, and would reap\n Her corn, and wine, and oil; and plenty would leap\n To laughing life, with her redundant horn.\u201d\n\nHere and there, scattered over the plain, we see a Bedouin village.\nVillage did I say? Yes, a village; though there is not a log or a\nplank, or a board, or a shingle, or a stone to be seen. One of these\nvillages consists of 300 to 500 Bedouins, living in 75 to 100 tents\nhuddled together without law or order. The Bedouins take the bark\nof the papyrus plant and plait or weave it (by hand of course) into\na coarse, rough matting with which they make their houses. The same\nmaterial serves as roof, walls and floor. These sons of the desert hide\ntheir nakedness with robes made of camel\u2019s hair, and their children\ndress as did Adam or Eve before fig-leaf dresses came into fashion.\n\nIn the southern part of the valley is Lake Huleh, or the waters of\nMerom. Some years ago the plain surrounding this lake was a bloody\nbattle field. Six or eight kings \u201cwent out, they and all their hosts\nwith them, much people, even as the sand that is upon the sea shore in\nmultitude, with horses and chariots very many. And when all these kings\nwere met together, they came and pitched their tents at the waters of\nMerom to fight against Israel. And the Lord said unto Joshua, be not\nafraid because of them; for to-morrow I will deliver them up all slain\nbefore Israel; thou shalt hough their horses and burn their chariots\nwith fire. So Joshua came, and all the people of war with him, against\nthem by the waters of Merom suddenly and they fell upon them. And the\nLord delivered them into the hand of Israel.\u201d Lest some people should\nsuppose that I witnessed that battle, I will state that Joshua lived\nsome 1400 years before Christ.\n\n[Illustration: SEA OF GALILEE.]\n\nLong before night our tents were stretched on the shore of the Sea of\nGalilee. This is the most hallowed spot to which we have yet come. No\nplace we have visited is so fraught with holy memories. Arriving here,\nI dismounted, went into my tent, and there for the first time knelt\ndown and kissed the earth. I knew it was a sacred place. Around this\nlake our Blessed Lord spent most of His public life. Every thing here\nwears a holy aspect; every thing is suggestive of the Savior. When I\nsee the men in their row boats, toiling at their nets, I am naturally\nreminded of the miraculous draught of fishes, of the worldly occupation\nof those whom Jesus, walking on these very shores, called to follow\nHim, saying: \u201cI will make you fishers of men.\u201d Probably the ancestors\nof these half-clad people before me were among the \u201cmultitude whom\nJesus fed with a few loaves and fishes\u201d on the opposite bank of the\nlake, or among that other multitude who thronged the beach where I now\nstand, and, pressing the water\u2019s edge, listened with bated breath to\nChrist as He spake from Simon\u2019s boat, built, no doubt, like these on\nthe lake.\n\nBefore me are the sites of three ancient cities whose very names have\nbecome a reproach; and who can wonder! They rest under the direct\ncurse of Him who said: \u201cWoe unto thee, Chorazin! Woe unto thee,\nBethsaida! for I say unto you that in the day of judgment it shall\nbe more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon than for you, Chorazin and\nBethsaida!\u2014and thou, Capernaum, which art exalted unto Heaven, shalt\nbe brought down to hell.\u201d Yea, truly; Capernaum, the home of Christ,\nhas been cast down to hell. The city rejected Christ and ever since\nthat time the curse of God has rested upon it. A word to the wise is\nsufficient. I will therefore only add; reader, be sure you do not\nreject Him of whom Moses and the prophets did write.\n\nStanding on the western edge of the lake, near the northern end, and\nlooking in a north-westerly direction, I see, about 300 yards away, a\nman plowing with a wooden plow, drawn by a milk cow and a donkey. In\nthe same field, and close by the plowman, is another man with a basket\non his arm full of seed corn (wheat) which he is strewing broadcast\nover the ground. This reminds me that once upon a time our Lord was\nstanding on these shores, near where I now am. A great multitude of\npeople had assembled to listen to His gracious words. The press was\nso great that our Lord stepped into a little boat and pushed it out a\nlittle way on the water. As the people stood on the shore Christ sat\nin the boat and preached to them. He began His sermon, \u201cThe sower went\nforth to sow. Some seed fell by the wayside, some among thorns and some\nin the rocks.\u201d This scene was being re-enacted before my own eyes. How\ndelightful are such experiences! How it carries one back to ancient\ndays! This lake furnished the subject for the parable of the net. And\non the left are the hills and fields whence was drawn the comparison\nto the leaven, the hidden treasure, the pearl of great price. Around\nthis lake the lilies grew and the ravens fed, which the Lord bade us\nremember.\n\nGalilee is a beautiful lake. It is ten to twelve miles long and six to\neight miles wide. The rocky walls surrounding the lake rise, in some\nplaces, several hundred feet above its surface. Most of the country\naround is rough and barren. A few fig and other fruit and shade trees\ngrow near the water\u2019s edge.\n\nBut if you would see the beauty\u2014the poetry of Galilee, wait until\nthe glare of day has mellowed into twilight; wait until a holy calm\nbroods over the lake and its surface has been transformed into a silver\nmirror. Then the great stars above you gleam like nuggets of gold in\nthe blue depths below. Now go \u201csilently and alone\u201d and walk on the\nbeach. You find that distance is annihilated. The lake may be six,\nsixty, or six hundred miles wide\u2014you can not tell\u2014you do not care.\nYou are not thinking of time or distance, either. The beauty of the\nscene rivets your attention. Sacred memories crowd upon the mind, and\nyou can but say: \u201cOh! Galilee! Galilee! For thousands of years have thy\npure waters been surging against these historic shores\u2014these sacred\nshores. Upon thy watery surface Jesus did walk, as though it had been\nmarble pavement. When the storm did come and thou wert lashed into rage\nand fury, when thy waves were tossed like mountains to the sky; when\nthe frail bark was threatened, and human life endangered; the Son of\nGod whispered: \u2018Peace, be still.\u2019 The winds obeyed Him and thy waves,\nO Galilee, crouched at His feet. For these reasons thou hast become a\nholy\u2014a sacred sea.\n\n\u201cAnd now I, even I, a humble disciple of that same Jesus, am permitted\nto walk on thy shores and sail on thy waters.\u201d\n\nBeing unable to break the chain of fascination which binds us to this\nplace, we have remained here several days. Swimming in Galilee is truly\ndelightful. We have had several messes of fish from the lake, but as\nyet we have caught no fish with a \u201csilver coin in his mouth.\u201d\n\nTiberias, the only place of importance on the lake, we find to be a\nwalled city of some 5,000 souls, the most of whom are Jews. We find\nmuch in the city to attract our attention, but nothing to excite\nadmiration. The Jews living here are a reproach to their race. They are\nas sorry looking specimens of humanity as one can reasonably expect\nto find this side of the grave. They are as filthy as monkeys, ugly\nas gorillas and as poor as Job\u2019s turkey. Extravagant expressions are\nusually out of place, but I am honestly of the opinion that these\npeople are as poor as a church mouse or a Baptist preacher.\n\nMost of our time here has been spent, not in Tiberias, but in visiting\nthe mouth of Jordan and some ruined cities around the lake, in\nsailing, swimming and fishing, in reading the Bible and talking of\nChrist, its central figure.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nFROM THE SEA OF GALILEE TO NAZARETH.\n\n A Seven Hour\u2019s Journey\u2014A Rough Road and a Hot Sun\u2014Gazelles\u2014Nimrods\n of To-day\u2014Historic Corn-Field\u2014Cana of Galilee\u2014First Miracle\u2014Cana\n at Present\u2014Greek and Roman Convents\u2014Conflicting Stories of\n Greek and Latin Priests\u2014Explanation\u2014An Important Fact\u2014Marriage\n Divinely Instituted\u2014Woman Degraded\u2014Woman Honored\u2014Description\n of Nazareth\u2014Childhood Home of Jesus\u2014Jesus and the\n Flower-Garden\u2014Studying Nature\u2014He Goes to the Mountain Top\u2014Without\n Bounds or Limits\u2014A Fit Play-Ground and Suitable School-Room for the\n Royal Child\u2014Rock Bluff where the People Tried to \u201cCast him down\n Headlong\u201d\u2014The Carpenter Shop\u2014The Virgin\u2019s Fountain\u2014Nazareth at\n Present\u2014Protestant Missions\u2014A Short Sermon and a Sweet Song.\n\n\nFROM Tiberias to Nazareth is a seven hours\u2019 journey. Our way lies\nacross a rocky, hilly country. The sun is hot. The heat seems to have\npositive weight. Icarus would not have had to soar very high beneath\nthis fierce sun, before his \u201cwaxen wings\u201d would have \u201cmelted\u201d and let\nhim down with a crash. The reflection from the rocks is almost like the\nhot breath of a furnace.\n\nLook! yonder to the right, and not far away, are eight or ten gazelles\ndashing down the steep hillside. Their tongues are lolling out; they\nhave been up on the elevated table-lands, and now, dry, hot, and\nthirsty, they are making their way to the Sea of Galilee. How swift\nthey go! And yet Asahel, we are told, was \u201cas light of foot as a wild\ngazelle.\u201d The men of Gad, who swam the swollen river to join King\nDavid, had the \u201cfaces of lions\u201d and the \u201cfeet of gazelles.\u201d Isaiah,\nwhen speaking of the beauty of Babylon, could bestow no higher praise\nthan to say: \u201cShe is as the gazelle of kingdoms.\u201d Solomon says: \u201cMy\nbeloved is as beautiful as a gazelle leaping up the mountains, skipping\nupon the hills.\u201d To see this swift-footed animal, going with parched\nlips to the sea, reminds one of the Psalmist\u2019s earnest words: \u201cAs the\nhart (the gazelle) panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul\nafter thee, O God. My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God.\u201d\n\nThe Arab word \u201cgazelle\u201d is not used in the Bible, yet it is generally\nunderstood that the \u201croebuck\u201d of Scripture is the same animal. They\nare plentiful here, and may be found in all sparsely settled sections\nof the country. South of Hebron they are sometimes seen in droves of\nfrom fifty to a hundred. They are not so large, but are otherwise very\nmuch like our American deer. Their flesh, like the antelope and venison\nof America, is considered delicious, and the Nimrods of to-day are\nconstantly on their track. The gazelle, however, having a swift foot\nand a keen eye, is seldom hung up before an Arab\u2019s fire.\n\nWe are now upon what is thought to be the corn-field referred to in\nMatthew 12:1. \u201cAnd at that time Jesus went on the Sabbath day through\nthe corn, and His disciples, who were an hungered, began to pluck the\nears of corn and to eat.\u201d The field is still worked and it will soon\nbe seed-time again. The corn referred to was of course wheat, as our\nIndian corn was not then, and is not now, known to Eastern people.\n\n[Illustration: PALMS IN BUSH FORM.]\n\nAfter five hours and a half in this scorching sun, we are thoroughly\nprepared to appreciate the grateful shade of the great olive and palm\ntrees under which we are now resting. We are in Cana, of Galilee, whose\nhistory is sacred and whose name is familiar to all Bible readers.\nYes, here on this rough, rocky hillside, is Kefr Kenna\u2014the village\nof Cana\u2014where Jesus made wine of water. Few passages of Scripture\nimpress me more than the account of this wedding feast. I read, \u201cAnd\nthe third day there was a marriage in Cana, of Galilee, and the mother\nof Jesus was there, and both Jesus and His disciples were called to the\nmarriage.\u201d It was during this wedding feast that Christ turned water\ninto wine. \u201cThis beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana, of Galilee,\nand manifested forth His glory, and His disciples believed on Him.\u201d\nChrist\u2019s first miracle, wrought at the beginning of His public career,\nwas, we see, turning water into _wine_. And the night before His\ncrucifixion, He took _wine_ and said: \u201cThis is my blood,\u201d and \u201cwithout\nthe shedding of blood there is no remission.\u201d I see a significance,\ntherefore, in the fact that the first miracle was making wine. That\nmiracle was prophetic. It pointed to something yet to come. That\nmiracle was, in Christ\u2019s thought, closely connected with the Cross and\nMan\u2019s Redemption.\n\nHaving finished the account of the wedding-feast, the evangelist\ncontinues: \u201cAfter this He went down to Capernaum (about five hours\u2019\nwalk); He, and His mother and His brethren and His disciples.\u201d Jesus\nhad already taken up His abode in Capernaum. Probably Mary had never\nbeen there. It is quite probable, also, that Christ had not seen her\nfor some time. It may be that the hope of meeting her son was the main\nthing that induced her to attend the wedding. Her hope was realized.\nWhat a joyful meeting that must have been! Somehow I love my Savior\nmore, because He loved His Mother so well. How beautiful this is: after\nthe wedding is over Jesus goes back to Capernaum, _taking His Mother\nwith Him_. She wanted to see how her \u201cpreacher-boy\u201d was situated in His\nnew home by the sea. No doubt when they reached Capernaum, at the north\nend of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus took His Mother up on the flat-roofed\nhouse and pointed out different places of interest.\n\nAt present, Cana is of little importance and is not at all inviting.\nLarge beds of tall, thorny cactus plants are everywhere to be seen.\nThe houses of the village are few in number, and rude of structure.\nHere, as elsewhere in this country, the people are filthy, ignorant\nand half naked. The two best houses in the place are convents; one\nbelonging to the Roman and the other to the Greek Catholics. We now\nvisit these convents in the order named. Clad in a black gown, with a\nrosary fastened around his waist and hanging from his side, the Latin\nPriest approaches us, invites us in, and kindly shows us through his\nconvent. He rehearses the history of Cana, and speaks of the wedding\nthat Jesus attended as though it had taken place only yesterday. We\ncome now to the sacred chamber; the Priest pauses; he is deeply moved\n(?). With tears in his eyes and pathos in his words he says: \u201cIn this\nroom the marriage occurred. Just there, \u2018pointing to the side of the\nroom opposite him,\u2019 just there the wedding couple stood. Christ, Mary,\nand John stood here on my right, while the other guests occupied the\nportion of the room to my left. Just here, where I am, stood the\nCatholic priest who pronounced the wedding ceremony. Here, gentlemen,\u201d\nthe good priest continued, \u201chere are some of the identical water pots\nthat our Lord used in making wine. Yes, sirs, these are the veritable\nwater-pots that Jesus used. Come up here and handle them and see\nfor yourselves.\u201d We express no doubt and I suppose we really appear\nsomewhat credulous. The superstitious priest now becomes enthusiastic.\n\u201cThere were,\u201d he says, \u201coriginally six of these jars or pots; but one\nwas broken, one we sent to Jerusalem, one to Rome, and here are the\nother three. Come, come, and handle them yourselves that you may tell\nyour friends when you get home.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: PRIEST OF THE GREEK CHURCH.]\n\nAs soon as we get out of the door, Johnson, with his characteristic\nsense of humor, touched me in the side and said: \u201cChestnuts!\nChestnuts!!\u201d At this moment a short, heavy-built, broad-shouldered,\nbushy-headed Greek monk, wearing a hat whose broad, board-like brim\nwas at the top of the crown instead of the bottom, comes up to us. He\nintroduces himself, and after a few words says: \u201cNow, gentlemen, please\ncome with me. I have something of very great interest to show you.\u201d He\nleads us into, and conducts us through, the Greek convent, reciting\nand explaining the history of the village as we go along. He shows\nus into a large room whose walls are lined with pictures. The Greek\npauses, uncovers his head, strikes an attitude; sorrow seizes his soul,\na heavenly look settles on his troubled face. With noiseless step and\nslow, he approaches us and whispers: \u201cThe wedding that we read about in\nthe Bible occurred in this very room. Yes, gentlemen, this is a sacred\nplace\u2014this is where the marriage was solemnized. Christ, with His\nMother and disciples, stood on the left, the other guests on the right.\nThe wedding couple stood there in the centre, and the Greek priest who\nmarried them stood here.\u201d Johnson is dumb as an oyster. But I have to\nspeak\u2014I can hold in no longer. I say: \u201cDid Jesus attend two weddings\nin this place?\u201d \u201cNo, sir; only one, sir, only one!\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d I continue,\n\u201cI was a few minutes ago in the Latin convent and the Romish priest\ntold me that the wedding took place there, and now you tell me that it\noccurred here. How about that, sir; how can you explain this?\u201d \u201cThe\nexplanation, the explanation, sir, is very easy. It is simply this: the\nother priest lied! Yes, sir, he lied\u2014only one wedding here, and that\none took place in this room. And here are the identical water-pots that\nHe used\u2014these are the very jars that held the water which was turned\ninto wine.\u201d\n\nI speak of this at length to bring out an important fact. On almost\nevery sacred spot in Palestine, wherever Jesus lived or spent the\nnight, wherever He preached a sermon, or wrought a miracle, there we\nfind two convents\u2014one Roman and one Greek. Each claims to stand upon\nthe exact spot where such and such a thing occurred. Occasionally\nthe two convents are some distance apart; again they stand hard by\neach other. As one might naturally suppose, this engenders strife,\nand provokes jealousy among the priests, and greatly perplexes most\ntravelers. But all this confusion among the priests does not trouble\nme for a moment. What do I care whether the marriage occurred here or\nthere? I know full well that I am in Cana. I know it is a sacred place.\nI know that Christ, with His presence, sanctioned in Cana what God, in\nHis wisdom, instituted in Eden\u2014the marriage relation, which has come\nalong down the ages, elevating man, purifying society, strengthening\nthe State and honoring God. The wisdom of this law strongly argues\nits divine origin. I have traveled in many countries, among many\nnations, kindreds, tribes and peoples; and I have never yet traveled\nin a country where the Bible was a sealed book, where God\u2019s law of\nmarriage was unknown or disregarded, but that the women of that country\nwere in a low, vile, degraded and servile condition! In such places\nwoman is regarded as man\u2019s inferior; she is neglected, imposed upon\nand down-trodden; hers is a life of shame and drudgery; she is man\u2019s\nburden-bearer and nothing more! In Palestine, and some other countries\nwhere I have traveled, it is considered a disgrace for a mother to\ngive birth to a female child! and for this cause men frequently\nill-treat and forsake their wives!\n\nAnd on the other hand, I have never been in any land where the Bible\nwas known and read, where God was worshipped, and His law obeyed, but\nthat woman was loved and honored and elevated to her true position in\nthe family and in society. The Bible teaches that woman was taken, not\nfrom man\u2019s heel that he might trample upon her, not from his head that\nshe might rule him with a rod of iron, but from his side that she might\nwalk beside him\u2014that she might be his companion; perchance from his\nright side, that his strong right arm might lift her burdens and fight\nher battles; or, forsooth, from his left side, near his heart, that he\nmight love and sympathize with her. Blessed Bible! thou hast shattered\nwoman\u2019s shackles; thou hast brought the aureole of glory, and placed it\nupon woman\u2019s matronly brow!\n\nOne hour from Cana brings us to a scene of greater interest. The day is\nfar spent when my eyes fall for the first time upon Nazareth, nestling\non the sunny slope of a high hill which gracefully swings itself\naround and forms something of a horseshoe. The city, situated near the\ncentre of this curvature, is built partly in the valley and partly on\nthe hillside. The lower part of the city is half hidden amid a rich\nprofusion of pomegranates, orange trees, olive groves and vineyards.\n\u201cJack Frost\u201d has brought no tidings of autumn; consequently the leaves\nare still green and the luscious fruits are still hanging upon the\nboughs of the trees.\n\nLeaving the hilltop we come down into the valley, and pitch our tents\nunder some large orange trees on the edge of the city. Oh, what a\nprivilege it is to be here! Nazareth is a holy city. It was the\nchildhood home of the Savior. Here is where Luke says \u201cHe was brought\nup.\u201d Again, \u201cAnd when they had performed all things according to\nthe law of the Lord, they returned unto Galilee, to their own city,\nNazareth. And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with\nwisdom, and the grace of God was upon him. And He went down with them\nand came to Nazareth, and was subject unto them; but His mother kept\nall these sayings in her heart. And Jesus increased in wisdom and\nstature and in favor with God and man.\u201d Dutiful child! Model son! A\nmother would naturally keep such a boy, as well as his \u201csayings, in\nher heart.\u201d No doubt He, in childish glee often played with other\nchildren, only He never lost His temper. He never got angry and called\nHis playmates hard and ugly names. He was always kind and gentle;\nconsequently all His acquaintances and fellow playmates liked Him, and\nthe more they saw of Him the more they loved Him; for we are told \u201cHe\n_grew_ in favor with God and man.\u201d We are only human; and yet, with\nGod\u2019s help, it is possible for us so to conduct ourselves that we, like\nJesus, may grow in wisdom and in favor with God and man.\n\n[Illustration: VALE AND CITY OF NAZARETH.]\n\nYes, Nazareth was the home of Christ. Here He played, here He worked,\nhere He studied Nature in all its loveliness and manifold beauty. One\nwho visits Nazareth can well imagine that in spring-time Jesus would\npluck the rose-buds and orange blossoms, and weave them into bouquets\nfor His mother. We know He loved flowers. He was so fond of them that\nthe betrayer knew where to find Him at the evening hour. It was he who\nsaid: \u201cConsider the lilies of the field; they toil not, neither do they\nspin: and yet I say unto you that Solomon, in all his glory, was not\narrayed like one of these.\u201d\n\nKnowing as we do His fondness for solitude, nothing is more natural\nthan to suppose that the youthful Christ would often forsake the\nbusy scenes of street-life and climb to the top of the hill back\nof the city. In the valley He had studied nature and human nature;\non the mountain He could study God and revelation. From here His\nview of the country was something like the catechism definition of\ninfinitude\u2014\u201cwithout bounds or limits.\u201d Here, seated on a rock, leaning\nagainst an olive tree, with the old Hebrew Bible unrolled on His lap,\nHe could read and think and plan to His heart\u2019s content. Here He could\nread about almost any event, whatsoever, and at once lift His eyes from\nthe parchment and let them fall upon the spot where the scene took\nplace. Did He read of the fish swallowing Jonah, He could look out\nupon the heaving bosom of the Mediterranean, flecked with white-winged\nships, some of them no doubt bound for Tarshish. Did He read about\nElijah praying for rain, there was Mt. Carmel projecting into the sea\nand standing out in such bold relief that one could almost see a man\nstanding on its summit. Did He read from the parchment of Elijah\u2019s\ncontest with the priests of Baal, He could look there at the base of\nCarmel where the altars were built. Looking to the north, He could see\nMt. Hermon where a few years later He was to be transfigured, and was\nto meet Moses and Elias from the other world. In the same direction\nwas the hill where He was to preach a sermon to a great multitude;\nthere, also, and not far away, was Cana where His first miracle was\nto be wrought. Eastward, He could see around the Sea of Galilee,\nwhere He was to make His future home, and where He was to do \u201cmost of\nHis mighty works.\u201d With His face still to the east, He could see Mt.\nTabor, six miles distant, rising up like a sugar-loaf to the height of\ntwo thousand two hundred feet. Seeing this, He would naturally read\nof Deborah and Barak with an army of ten thousand men on Tabor while\nSisera, with an armed host including nine hundred chariots of war,\nstood at the base of the mountain. Just south of Nazareth is the broad\nand fertile plain of Esdraelon, which has been the \u201cbattle-ground of\nthe nations.\u201d From the hilltop behind Nazareth, Christ could see,\nflowing through the midst of this plain, the river Kishon, whose swift\nand swollen current swept so many of Sisera\u2019s men on to the \u201cGreat Sea\u201d\nand to death. Beyond this plain He could see Nain where He, in after\nlife, was to raise the widow\u2019s son. Near Nain is Endor, where Saul\ncalled up the witch by night. There, also, are the heights of Gilboa,\nwhere the same King breathed his last. There, too, is Shunem, where\nElisha often spent the night; and Jezreel, where Jezebel, the wicked\nQueen, was flung from the upper window of the palace, and dashed to\ndeath upon the stone pavement below.\n\nI am standing upon this same hilltop with an open Bible in my hand. As\nI read of these different incidents, and then look from place to place\nwhere the different scenes occurred, I am deeply moved. These several\npassages seem to sink into my heart. I am not surprised that Jesus knew\nthe Scriptures so perfectly. This was the best place in all the world\nfor Him to have been brought up. Surely these valleys were spread out,\nand these hills lifted up to form a fit play-ground and a suitable\nschool-room for the Royal Child.\n\nIt was from a high bluff, on this mountain also, that the heartless\npopulace, who rejected Christ\u2019s teaching, tried to \u201ccast Him down\nheadlong. But He, passing through the midst of them, went His way.\u201d\nTo be thrown from this cliff, one would fall a hundred and twenty or\nthirty feet before striking the jagged rocks below.\n\nTradition still points out the place where Joseph and Mary lived. It\nis a plain, simple grotto, hewn in the side of the hill near the city.\nJoseph\u2019s carpenter-shop is also shown, and some work is still done in\nthat shop. Of course one is to use his own judgment as to how much or\nhow little of these traditions he will believe. The spring, the only\nwater supply of the town, is called \u201cMary\u2019s Fountain,\u201d \u201cThe Virgin\u2019s\nFountain\u201d and \u201cThe Fountain of the Queen.\u201d During all hours of the\nday, and far into the night, one sees scores and scores of women and\nchildren, with their jugs and goat-skins, crowding around the spring\nfor water.\n\nIt is a great privilege to be here and see these things that were once\nso familiar to the Savior; to mingle and talk with these people who\nlive and dress and think now, just as their ancestors did in the time\nof Christ. Of course they crowded around this fountain then just as\nthey do to-day, and no doubt He often came with His mother to this same\nspring for water. Being here and seeing these things is almost like\nbeing introduced into the family circle, and becoming acquainted with\nthe home life of Jesus.\n\nAt present Nazareth has 10,000 or 12,000 inhabitants. The houses, with\na few exceptions, are small, ancient and forbidding in appearance.\nThe narrow streets are crooked, and filthy in the extreme. The people\nhave little or nothing to recommend them to the traveler. When one\nviews this aspect of the city, one is naturally reminded of Nathaniel\u2019s\nquestion: \u201cCan any good thing come out of Nazareth?\u201d\n\nThe English and Presbyterian churches have missions here. The former is\nin a flourishing condition, but the latter is at a stand-still because\nof some trouble with the Turkish government. The English have an\nOrphans\u2019 Home here in which they feed, clothe, and educate one hundred\norphan girls\u2014as some go out others come in. Some of these girls are\nalmost grown, and many of them are bright and beautiful. I have just\nhad the sweet privilege of preaching to them. Oh, how it stirs one\u2019s\nheart to stand here in Nazareth and preach! to stand here where _Jesus\nwas brought up_, and preach _His gospel_ to _His people_\u2014the Jews!\nAfter preaching I sang several songs for the people. In turn, the\norphan girls in a sweet tone of voice sang for me a beautiful song\nwhich touched me deeply, and which I have translated, that the reader\nmay also enjoy it.\n\n \u201cWe are little Nazareth children,\n And our Father placed our home\n \u2019Mid the olive trees and vineyards\n Of His earthly childhood home.\n\n \u201cFor the Lord who loves the children,\n And was glad to hear their praise,\n Cares that Nazareth children know Him,\n Do His will and choose His ways.\n\n \u201cCares that they should keep in memory\n All that sacred life spent here;\n Try in heart to walk beside Him,\n Safe and happy in His fear.\n\n \u201cAnd we know that He is coming\u2014\n Every knee to Him shall bow\u2014\n And the joyous shouts to meet Him\n Shall begin in Nazareth now.\n\n \u201cJesus, Savior, dwell within us,\n Make a temple of each heart,\n Pure and loving, true and holy,\n For thy service set apart.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nA CHARACTERISTIC SCENE IN THE ORIENT.\n\n Shepherd Tents\u2014Many Flocks in One Sheep-Cote for the Night\u2014Many\n Merchants from Different Countries\u2014Ships Anchored\u2014Arabs at\n Meal\u2014Arabs Smoking\u2014Shepherds with their Reed-Pipes\u2014Merchants\u2019\n Response\u2014Music and Dancing at Night\u2014Bustle and Confusion in the\n Morning\u2014Fight Like Madmen\u2014Over-Burdened Camels\u2014Camp Broken\n up\u2014Dothan and Joseph\u2019s Pit\u2014Money-Loving Mohammedans\u2014Crafty\n Jews\u2014Return to Tents\u2014The Shepherds Awaken\u2014Crook, Sling and\n Reed-Pipe\u2014David and Goliath\u2014Shepherds under the Star-Lit Sky\u2014\u201cGlory\n to God in the Highest.\u201d\n\n\nNOTHING could present a scene more characteristic of Oriental life than\na half dozen shepherd tents, black and dingy, pitched, not like Jacob\u2019s\ntent on the mountain top, but like Isaac\u2019s tent in the valley, in the\nmidst of an olive grove, by the side of a flowing fountain. Here by the\ntents is a corral, or sheep-cote, enclosed by a rock wall, on top of\nwhich is a rough hedge of dry, thorny bushes, placed there to keep the\nrobbers, as well as the jackals and wolves and other wild beasts, from\nmolesting the sheep.\n\nMany flocks, both of sheep and goats, are brought to this one cote for\nprotection during the night, and the swarthy shepherds, each with a\nloose garment of coarse camel\u2019s hair carelessly thrown around him to\nhide his nakedness, occupy the tents in common.\n\nJust across the ravine, on the opposite hillside, is a rough stone\nhouse eight or ten feet high with a low, flat roof. This is a \u201cKahn,\u201d\nor an inn\u2014a kind of lodging house to accommodate caravans which are\nalways passing between Egypt, Jerusalem, Damascus, Palmyra and Bagdad.\n\n[Illustration: INTERIOR OF A CARAVANSARY.]\n\nFrom an hour before the sun goes down, until eight o\u2019clock at night,\none can see caravan after caravan of camels\u2014sometimes a string of\nthem a half mile long\u2014coming across the hills, laden with wines,\ncarpets, dried fruits, hand-made silks, Persian carpets, and all manner\nof Oriental merchandise. Slowly, but patiently, these \u201cships of the\ndesert\u201d move on beneath their immense cargo of freight. One caravan\nafter another comes in, until from 100 to 200 camels may be seen around\none Kahn. The burdens are removed, the several merchants putting their\ngoods in separate piles. The ships are anchored. The tired brutes lie\ndown and are fed. The merchants and camel-drivers gather round the\nfire, seating themselves on the ground, folding their limbs up under\nthem as though they had no bones in them.\n\nBeans, peas, dates, olives, mutton or kid\u2014and sometimes both\u2014are put\ninto one pot and all boiled together. When it is done, as many of these\nhard-featured, grim-visaged, wrinkled-browed, shaggy-haired Arabs as\ncan, huddle around one bowl. They have no knives or forks. Sometimes\nyou see a wooden spoon, but usually they thrust their horny hands into\nthe bowl, and then cram their fists into their countenances\u2014they\nare the most open-countenanced people I ever saw. They are the most\nravenous eaters I ever saw. My dragoman offered to bet ten dollars that\none Arab could drink a quart of coffee, eat a roast turkey, two loaves\nof bread, and three pounds of rice at one meal! And I am quite sure\nthat one who is acquainted with an Arab\u2019s capacity for stuffing will\nnever make a wager like that.\n\nThe meal being over, a certain weed, used as tobacco, is brought out\nand smoking is indulged in. Now the shepherds across the branch, with\ntheir reed pipes strike up a plaintive tune which floats over the\nvalley and echoes from the distant hills. It strikes also a responsive\nchord in the hearts of the merchants and camel-drivers. They now\nbring out their rude instruments of music, and play and sing, chant\nand dance, for hours, much after the order of wild Indians. In their\nideas of dress and propriety, in their customs and habits of life\ngenerally, these children of the desert are as primitive, as rude and\nuncultivated, as were their fathers 4000 years ago.\n\nWhen they wake in the morning there is great stir, bustle and\nconfusion. As the merchants curse the camel-drivers, they in turn curse\nand fight each other, and beat the camels. From the noise made one\nwould think that two great armies had met in deadly combat. They slap\nand beat and kick each other around like madmen\u2014I had almost said\n\u201clike fiends!\u201d They sometimes put as much on one camel as two or three\nought to carry. The poor, faithful brutes can not speak audibly, but as\nthese double burdens are placed upon them, they lie on the ground and\nbellow in a most pathetic manner. The pitiable cries of the dumb brutes\nare almost enough to move the surrounding stones to tears, and yet\nthe heartless Arab is untouched. The more the camels bellow, the more\ntheir masters beat them with sticks, and prick them with sharp spears.\nFinally the ships are loaded, and soon you see them strung out across\nthe hills, some going south to Egypt, others going north to Damascus\nand Beyrout, or east to Palmyra and Bagdad.\n\n[Illustration: DANCING GIRL.]\n\nAs often as one sees a night like this, and especially when one sees it\nnear Dothan (the city of two wells), he thinks of the time when Jacob\u2019s\nsons stripped Joseph of his coat of many colors, and cast him into the\ndry pit. And while yet on the plain of Dothan \u201cthey lifted up their\neyes and beheld a company of Ishmaelites, with camels, going down to\nEgypt.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THE SNAKE CHARMER.]\n\n\u201cThen there passed by Midianites, merchant-men, and they drew and\nlifted Joseph out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for\ntwenty pieces of silver, and they brought Joseph into Egypt.\u201d Around me\nnow are many money-loving Mohammedans, many cunning and crafty Jews,\nwho, I think, would willingly sell their younger brothers for twenty\npieces of silver, or ten pieces either. Yea, I have seen men in this\ncountry, and in my own country, too, who would gladly sell their souls\nfor money. As in Joseph\u2019s day, so in ours, \u201cthe love of money is the\nroot of all evil.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: AN ANCIENT SHEEP FOLD.]\n\nLet us now return to the camp where the merchant-men spent the night.\nI spoke of the shepherds, of their tents and flocks. The herds, both\nsheep and goats, of different shepherds have been housed during the\nnight in the same fold. At dawn of day the shepherds awake, and, unlike\nthe thief and robber who climb up over the wall, they enter in by the\ndoor. Each shepherd putteth forth his own flock, counting them as\nthey pass slowly out under his rod through the one doorway. As they\npass out, the sheep and the goats are separated\u2014the one being turned\nto the right hand, the other to the left. \u201cEach shepherd calleth his\nsheep by name and leadeth them out. He goeth before them and his sheep\nfollow him, for they know his voice.\u201d The sheep string one behind\nanother, and as the shepherd, with his sling and leathern pouch filled\nwith stones strapped about his shoulders, with a crook in one hand\nand a reed pipe in the other, leads his trusting flock out into the\n\u201cgreen pastures and beside the still waters,\u201d he makes the welkin\nring with his simple, artless melodies. Who could behold a scene like\nthis without thinking of that robust shepherd lad who killed Goliath\nwith his sling, and charmed Saul with his music? Yes, it was among\nthe sheep, here on these purple hills of Judea, that David, the sweet\nsinger of Israel, first learned those Hebrew melodies that have been\nsung around the world!\n\nI have several times, on beautiful moonlight nights, seen shepherds out\nin the fields with their flocks under the star-lit sky. It must have\nbeen at a time like this that with upturned face David said: \u201cWhen I\nconsider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers; the moon and the stars,\nwhich thou hast ordained; what is man that thou art mindful of him? and\nthe son of man that thou visitest him?\u201d\n\nHow forcibly does this remind one of the time when the angelic host\nundulated above the plains of Bethlehem crying: \u201cGlory to God in\nthe highest; on earth, peace and good will to men.\u201d This has been a\ndifferent world ever since that song fell upon the drowsy ear of night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\nFROM JERUSALEM TO JERICHO.\n\n A Man \u201cFell among Thieves\u201d\u2014The Way still Lined with Thieves\u2014Guards\n Necessary\u2014Across the Mount of Olives\u2014Bethany and its\n Memories\u2014David\u2019s Flight from Jerusalem\u2014\u201cHalt! Halt!\u201d\u2014Seized with\n Terror\u2014Splendid Horsemanship\u2014\u201cA Hard Road to Trabble\u201d\u2014Inn where\n the Good Samaritan Left the Jew\u2014Brigands on the Way-side\u2014Robbers\n and Guards in Collusion\u2014Topography of the Country\u2014Dangers and\n Difficulties\u2014Perilous Places Passed\u2014Plain of Jericho\u2014Writhing in\n Agony\u2014The City of Palms\u2014Trumps of Joshua\u2014Jericho in the Time of\n Herod\u2014Iron-Fingered Fate\u2014Jericho at Present\u2014A Divine Region\u2014Pool\n of Moses\u2014Antony and Cleopatra.\n\n\nI READ in my Bible that a certain man went down from Jerusalem to\nJericho, and fell among thieves. When this announcement was made, I\nam sure that every ear was all attention, for the people naturally\nexpected some startling revelation to follow. And why? Because the way\nwas then, and is now, lined with thieves, insomuch that it would be\nimpossible, to-day for any Frank (Arabs call white men Franks) to go\nunprotected from Jerusalem to Jericho without falling among thieves.\nThis danger is recognized to such an extent that the government (the\nTurkish government of course) keeps a garrison of Turkish soldiers\nin Jerusalem, whose sole business is to conduct tourists to Jericho,\nto the Jordan, and over into Arabia. And the tourist is compelled to\nemploy these government guards. Oh well, you are not legally bound,\nbut if you go on this trip without these extra guards, and are killed\non the way, you are not allowed to sue the government. But if you\ntake the guards, and are killed, after you are buried you may sue the\ngovernment twice, if you like. I am not easily frightened, myself, but\nI took the guards on Johnson\u2019s account, for I saw plainly he did not\nwant to die here. I honestly believe that it would almost kill Johnson\nto die anywhere! So with four government guards, all well-equipped with\nbroad-swords, bowie-knives, and javelins, and all splendidly mounted,\nwe start off for an Eastern trip.\n\nAs we cross the Mount of Olives, a sacred feeling comes over us, for we\nknow that every foot of this road was once familiar to our Divine Lord.\nIt was here He prayed in the garden. It was here He was betrayed with a\nkiss. It was on this Mountain He cursed the fruitless fig-tree. It was\nfrom here, also, that He beheld and wept over the sinful city. Passing\nover the brow of Olivet, we come, on its eastern slope, to that sweet\nlittle village where Jesus often spent the night. Here He wept with\nthe sisters who wept, and raised the brother who was dead. Ah! blessed\nhousehold was that where Mary and Martha and Lazarus lived. Blessed\nhousehold is that to-day, whose spiritual atmosphere is attractive\nto the Son of God. Oh, what a joyous time there must have been with\nthose two sisters and their brother\u2014\u201cwhen the Lord to Bethany came!\u201d\nDarkness fled at His approach. The shadows lifted when He came. O\ngentle reader, make your home a Bethany, and Jesus, who forsook the\ncity for a quiet, country village, will take up His abode with you! He\nwill weep with you when you weep. He will revive your hopes when they\nare buried.\n\n[Illustration: MOUNT OF OLIVES.]\n\nContinuing our journey eastward, we soon find ourselves in a deep and\nnarrow ravine. The floor of this wady, or ravine, is twelve or fifteen\nfeet wide, while its rocky sides lift themselves up very steeply for\nthree or four hundred feet, getting wider and yet wider towards the\ntop. I now turn to my Bible, and find that once upon a time David ruled\nand reigned in Jerusalem. But Absalom rebelled against his father and\ndrove the King from the city. Fleeing towards Jericho, David passed\nthrough this ravine. Then Shimei, one of Absalom\u2019s servants, who\nwas also one of the household of Saul, ran along on the edge of the\nprecipice and cursed David, and rolled great stones down the steep\nbluff, trying to kill him, saying to him: \u201cCome out, come out, thou\nbloody man, and thou man of Belial!\u201d\n\n[Illustration: AN ARAB HORSEMAN.]\n\nPassing on through this historic wady, we come now to where it opens\nwide its broad arms and forms a splendid valley of a hundred acres or\nmore. \u201cHalt! Halt!\u201d cries one of the guards. \u201cHalt!\u201d Every horse is\nmotionless. Every man is seized with terror. We expect the robbers to\nattack us at any moment. But we soon dismiss all hope on that line,\nfor we see we are to be deprived of that privilege. Our guards simply\nwant to exhibit to us their splendid feats of horsemanship. And ah\nme! how graceful they are. Each rider seems a part of his Arab horse.\nThe guards rush at, and fight each other, to show us how skilled they\nare in this method of warfare, and how impossible it would be for us\nto resist, or escape from an attacking party of Bedouins. Each horse\nfeels his keeping. He moves like a bundle of steel springs. It seems\nthat he will leave the earth and fly through the air. These superb\nhorses remind us of the beautiful story we have all read in the Arabian\nNights, about those splendid Arabian mares that used to prance through\nthe streets of Damascus, until break of day, and \u201cthen fly away towards\nBagdad on enchanted carpets.\u201d\n\nLeaving here, the way is so rough that I can but say to my companions:\n\u201cPull off your coats, boys, pull off your coats, and roll up your\nsleeves, \u2018for Jordan am a hard road to trabble.\u2019\u201d No saying was ever\nmore true: _Jordan am a hard road to travel_!\n\nWe are now stopped for luncheon at a Kahn, or inn, half way from\nJerusalem to Jericho, about eleven miles from either place. Once\nmore I read in my Bible that a certain man went down from Jerusalem\nto Jericho and fell among thieves. The thieves beat the man, dragged\nhim out to one side of the road, and left him for dead. But the Good\nSamaritan came along, took the poor Jew who had been beaten, put him\non his donkey and carried him to an inn, and paid the inn-keeper to\ntake care of him. Now, reader, what will you think when I tell you\nthat I suppose I am stopping at the same inn where the Good Samaritan\nleft the unfortunate Jew? Let me take you into my confidence and tell\nyou why I think so. The road from Jerusalem to Jericho is the same now\nthat it was 2,000 years ago. We know this from the remains of the old\nRoman aqueduct along the roadside. There is only one fountain on this\nroad, and that one is close by this Kahn. I take it that every Kahn, or\nhotel, must, of necessity, be built near some fountain. Now if the road\nwas the same in our Lord\u2019s time as it is to-day, and if then, as now,\nthere was only one fountain on the way, and if the inn, or Kahn, spoken\nof in the Bible was built by a fountain, then we are forced to the\nconclusion that it was near the spring from which we have just drunk.\n\n[Illustration: A BEDOUIN.]\n\nBe this as it may, we can not tarry here; we must continue our eastward\njourney. About an hour after leaving the inn of Good Samaritan fame, we\nsee several half-naked, ill-favored, hard-featured, cadaverous-looking\nBedouins on the hillsides near the road. They are Brigands, highwaymen,\nand their very appearance is enough to make a civilized man shudder.\nThey are wearing sandals. Their legs are wrapped with straw and bark of\ntrees, which is tied on with rawhide strings. They have coarse, filthy\nclothes loosely drawn around the lower part of their bodies. Their arms\nand breasts and chins and cheeks are tattooed in figures of eagles and\nserpents and wild beasts. They are tall, lean, swarthy, snuff-colored,\ngrim-visaged, wrinkled-browed, shaggy-haired, and fiery-eyed. Around\neach one is a leathern girdle, looped here and there with gay colored\nribbons or rags. Each belt holds a bowie-knife and two horse-pistols,\nand supports a broad-sword suspended from it. In one hand the Brigand\nholds a javelin, while the other grasps a long, single-barreled,\nflint-and-steel shot-gun. They live in the clefts of the rocks\u2014in the\ndens and caves of the earth, and the cave-scent clings to them still.\n\nThese are the robbers against whom we have to be protected. They are\nnumerous along this route, and I repeat that without the government\nguards it would be impossible to escape them. And yet our guards are\na part and parcel of the same clan, who would have robbed us if we\nhad not employed them. We pay the guards so much, and it is a fact\nthat they divide spoils with the Brigands! It is a kind of division\nof labor. The robbers infest the road, making the way dangerous,\nso that travelers will be compelled to employ protectors, and then\nthe protectors and robbers share and share alike in the profits of\nthe business. It is strange, and yet as true as strange, that the\ngovernment itself is in league with highwaymen! A certain sheik, here,\npays the Turkish government so much money each year for the privilege\nof robbing travelers! If Peter the Hermit could come forth from his\ntomb, he would speak these words in Europe: \u201cwhere hearing would hatch\nthem.\u201d I am sure that his words against the Turkish government would\n\u201cmurder as they fell.\u201d This is enough to arouse another \u201cCrusade for\nFreedom in Freedom\u2019s Holy Land.\u201d \u201cHow long, O Cataline, wilt thou thus\ncontinue to abuse our patience!\u201d\n\nThe country has been dreary and the road rough from the beginning of\nthe journey, but it grows worse as we continue. We now see nothing but\na succession of deep gorges, stony ridges, and rocky peaks. Imagine\na thousand tea-cups turned bottom upwards, separated by a thousand\ndeep wadys and narrow ravines, the cups, some of them, rising to the\nheight of several hundred feet, and the yawning chasms sinking to an\nenormous depth, and you have a picture of what now greets my eyes. I\nsuppose that this mountain side once supported a luxuriant forest, and\nthat afterwards it rewarded the yeoman\u2019s toil with abundant harvests.\nBut ages ago the hillside ditches were neglected; hence gutters were\nformed, the soil was washed off, fertility gave way to barrenness,\nbeauty to deformity. Of course the ravines have from age to age washed\ndeeper and deeper, until now nothing is left but deep, winding chasms,\nbare and desolate hills. The road winds around here and there like a\nserpent. Now it hangs high on the bluff upon a narrow shelf of rock,\nwhich projects over the valley. Johnson and Hamlin dismount. They know\nthat one false step would dash them to death. With more of daring than\nwisdom I shout to them:\n\n \u201cI wish your horses swift and sure of foot.\n And so I do commend you to their backs.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: VIEW ON ROAD FROM JERUSALEM TO JERICHO.]\n\nWe now descend into the valley, only to rise again, and skirt along the\nbluff where the narrow road is cut into the rock.\n\nBut, praise the Lord, perilous places are past, and the scene changes.\nWe pass out of the Wady Kelt, and lo, the broad valley, the sacred\nriver, and the Salt Sea burst upon our vision! These things within\nthemselves are not so attractive to the eye, but, compared with the\nhill-country behind us, they are as beautiful as \u201capples of gold in\nbaskets of silver.\u201d For ten miles above the Dead Sea the Jordan valley\nis fourteen miles wide, and is divided by the river which flows through\nits centre. This part of the valley west of the river is called the\nPlain of Jericho, while that portion beyond the river is known as the\nPlain of Moab. So the valley, practically level, stretches out for\nseven miles on either side of the river. Then on either side of the\nriver, seven miles from it, and parallel with it, there rises up a\nfrowning wall of rock whose savage grandeur might well typify ruin and\ndesolation. For ages the winter torrents have been coursing down their\nsides, until now they are seamed and furrowed, cut and scarred in every\npossible manner, and the mountains seem to writhe in pain and agony!\n\nBut we have left the hills. We are now in the valley, and here before\nus, seven miles from the river, at the edge of the plain and at the\nbase of the mountain, stands Jericho, old hoary-headed Jericho\u2014\u201cThe\nCity of Palm Trees.\u201d She is venerable, indeed! It was Jericho that\nMoses looked down upon from the heights of Nebo. It was Jericho that\nfurnished shelter to the \u201cyoung men\u201d who came from Israel\u2019s camp to\n\u201cspy out the country.\u201d It was Jericho that Joshua first attacked \u201cafter\ncrossing over the Jordan.\u201d Her fortifications then were strong, her\nwalls high. Her people thought \u201cOur castle\u2019s strength will laugh a\nsiege to scorn.\u201d But the bold spirit of Joshua was undaunted. It was\nGod\u2019s to command and his to obey. He surrounded the city. He sounded\nthe tocsin. The walls fell! Now, reader, let us realize that when\nGod commands you or me to do anything, we should move forward though\nconfronted by walls of adamant! What is opposition to us? We move in\nobedience to the behest of Him who could besiege a city with \u201ctrumps of\nJoshua,\u201d and route a host with the \u201clamps of Gideon!\u201d\n\nAfter Joshua\u2019s day, Herod the Great rebuilt the city on a grander scale\nthan ever. Stately castles were erected, marble palaces arose on every\nhand. Great wealth was lavished upon the city. She was robed in rich\napparel and decked with \u201crubies rare.\u201d Here Herod held high carnival.\nHere he ruled and reveled, and\n\n \u201cAll went merry as a marriage Bell.\u201d\n\nBut Time has dealt harshly with Jericho. Fickle Fortune has played\nher false. She has passed through all the vicissitudes of fortune.\nIron-fingered Fate has torn off her royal robes, and she sits to-day\nclad in sackcloth and ashes. \u201cGray lizards, those heirs of ruin, of\nsepulchres, and desolation, glide in and out among the rocks, or lie\nstill and sun themselves. Where prosperity has reigned and fallen;\nwhere glory has flamed and gone out; where beauty has dwelt and passed\naway; where gladness was, and sorrow is; where the pomp of life has\nbeen, and silence and death brood in high places,\u2014there this reptile\nmakes his home and mocks at human vanity. His coat is the color of\nashes, and ashes are the symbol of hopes that have perished; of\naspirations that have come to naught; of loves that are buried. If\nhe could speak he would say, \u2018Build temples: I will lord it in their\nruins; build palaces: I will inhabit them; erect empires: I will\ninherit them; bury your beautiful: I will watch the worms at their\nwork; and you who stand here and moralize over me: I will crawl over\nyour corpse at last.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe locations of ancient and of modern Jericho are not exactly the\nsame, though not far apart. The present village is inhabited by about\n600 Arabs who are huddled together in less than seventy-five houses.\nHouses, did I say? They are unworthy of the name. They are wretched\nhuts, constructed, for the most part, of rough, unhewn, undressed\nstone. As these stones are put together without the use of mortar, the\nwalls are broad at the bottom, and get narrower and a little narrower\ntowards the top, which is about six feet from the ground. In each of\nthe four corners of this rock pen, is driven a stake which is usually\nabout eight feet high, or some two feet higher than the top of the\nwall. Long, straight poles reach from one stake to another, then other\npoles are placed like lattice work all across the top of the pen. A\nthick layer of grass and weeds and cane tops having been placed on\nthese cross poles, dirt, or earth, is then piled up to a depth of from\neighteen to twenty-four inches. Thus the roof is formed. The floor\nis more simple in its construction, as it is composed of the native\nearth or bare rock. Doors are simply gaps in the wall. Windows and\nchimneys are unknown, and indeed unnecessary\u2014air-holes are abundant,\nand the smoke can escape anywhere. The rude houses are separated from\neach other, and the whole village is surrounded, by a low, rough hedge\nof dry, thorny bushes. This is a fair representation of the present\narchitecture of Jericho. And the inhabitants are as lazy and trifling,\nas filthy and ignorant, as the huts they live in would naturally\nsuggest. The children dress in sunshine, while the parents hide their\nnakedness with rags and loose wraps of cloth.\n\nThe Plain of Jericho, seven by ten miles in extent, was at one time,\naccording to Josephus, \u201ca divine region, covered with beautiful\ngardens, and groves of palms of all kinds, the whole splendidly\nwatered.\u201d The water supply, no doubt, came then, as it comes now, from\nthe Sultan\u2019s Spring, or, as it is sometimes called, the Spring of\nElisha. This bold and beautiful fountain bursts forth from the foot of\nthe Judean hills some two miles from Jericho, and, flowing across the\nplain in a southwesterly direction, empties into the Jordan. From the\nmain channel, a large number of small streams flow out in different\ndirections into the valley, and thus fructify a considerable portion\nof the plain. The half cultivated patches we find here now, though\nonly partially irrigated, are exceedingly rich and productive. The\nclimate in this valley is suitable to the growth of almost any tropical\nor warm-natured plant. But the meagre crops are confined to wheat,\nmillet, tobacco, cucumbers, and beans. On this plain, near the Wady\nKelt, through which we entered the valley, is a large stone reservoir,\n471 feet by 564 feet, called the Pool of Moses. Going across the plain\nto this mammoth pool, is an old aqueduct which evidently supplied it,\nat one time, with water. Then smaller aqueducts carried the water to\nall parts of the valley. This pool, and these aqueducts, were probably\nbuilt by Mark Antony just before he gave this region of country to\nCleopatra, or by Herod the Great, whose base life was ended at Jericho\nin a fit of agony. By this means of irrigation the valley became what\nit might be made again\u2014\u201cthe glory of the Jordan.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\nBEYOND THE JORDAN.\n\n Plain of Moab\u2014Children of Israel\u2014Moses\u2019s Request\u2014Moab a Rich\n Country\u2014Lawless Clans\u2014A Traveler Brutally Murdered\u2014A Typical Son of\n Ishmael\u2014Dens and Strongholds\u2014Captured by a Clan of Arabs\u2014Shut up in\n Mountain Caves\u2014Heavy Ransom Exacted\u2014The Moabite Stone\u2014Confirmation\n of Scripture\u2014Machaerus\u2014John the Baptist\u2014Prison Chambers\u2014Character\n of John\u2014How to Gauge a Life\u2014Hot-Springs\u2014Herod\u2019s Visit\u2014\u201cSmell of\n Blood still\u201d\u2014Mount Nebo\u2014Fine View\u2014Life of Moses\u2014From Egypt to\n Nebo\u2014An Arab Legend\u2014Death of Moses.\n\n\nTHE Plain of Moab, east of the Jordan, is, in character of soil and\nstate of cultivation, very much like the Jericho plain described in\nthe last chapter. The Plain of Moab is bounded on the east, as before\nstated, by a wall of rock which lifts itself up at some places almost\nperpendicularly, several hundred feet above the valley. From the top of\nthis mountain ridge there stretches far away toward the east, a broad,\nelevated table-land, sloping gently as it recedes. This table-land is\ntraversed here and there by deep wadys and narrow ravines, most of\nwhich have a general westwardly, direction, and empty their waters into\nthe Jordan and Dead Sea. This goodly land of Moab is about fifty miles\nlong by twenty broad, and this rolling plateau, though 3,200 feet above\nthe sea level, is remarkably rich and well watered. The country only\nneeds a wise head and an energetic hand to make these plains once more\nblossom as the rose.\n\nIn order to enter the promised land, it was necessary for the\nIsraelites to pass through this delightful region of country.\nAccordingly Moses \u201csent messengers unto Sihon, King of the Amorites,\nsaying, Let me pass through thy land: we will not turn into the fields,\nor into the vineyards; we will not drink of the waters of the well: but\nwe will go along by the king\u2019s highway, until we be past thy borders.\u201d\nA reasonable request this; but instead of granting it, \u201cSihon gathered\nall his people together\u201d and went out to fight against Israel; went\nout to meet Moses and\u2014death! Having routed the foe and possessed the\nland, Israel marched into Heshbon, the imperial city. Heshbon, now\ncalled Hasban, is situated among the hills of Moab, a little to the\nnorth, and about eight miles to the east, of the Dead Sea. The ancient\ncity, as the present ruins clearly show, was situated on two high hills\nsome distance apart, east and west from each other, and on the saddle\nconnecting the two.\n\nThe inhabitants of this fair land ought to be gentlemen living like\nkings and princes. But instead of that they are separate, independent,\nand lawless clans or tribes of Arabs who live now, as in ancient times,\nnot altogether, but chiefly, on plunder and the spoils of war. These\nclans east of the Jordan are now, and have always been, a curse to\nPalestine. Frequently at night they swoop down like eagles upon the\ninhabitants west of the river, rob them of their grain, and drive away\ntheir camels, their flocks and herds. This practice frequently becomes\nso common that the government is forced to protect the people by\nkeeping an armed body of soldiers along the river.\n\nLest the reader should think me unduly prejudiced against these sons\nof the desert, I here introduce a quotation from the \u201cDesert of the\nExodus.\u201d Be it remembered that this splendid work was written by Prof.\nE. H. Palmer, a member of the faculty of Cambridge University, England.\nPerhaps no man has lived during the present generation who knew more\nthan he about Arab life and character. The fact that Prof. Palmer was\nafterwards brutally murdered by these people shows that his estimate of\ntheir character was correct and just. He says: \u201cRobbery is not regarded\nby the Bedawin as in the least a disgraceful thing, but \u2018a man taketh\nhis sword, and goeth his way to rob and steal\u2019 (Esdras IV., 23), with\na profound feeling of conscious rectitude and respectability. Several\nplans have been tried, from time to time, to make him a respectable\nmember of society, but have signally failed; missionaries have gone to\nhim, and, so long as they could supply him with tobacco and keep open\ntent for all comers, have found him sufficiently tractable. But they\nhave made absolutely no impression upon him, after all. Indeed, the\nstate of desert society has but little changed since the messenger\ncame in to the tent of Job, and said: \u2018The Chaldeans made out three\nbands, and fell upon the camels, and have carried them away, yea, and\nslain the servants with the edge of the sword\u2019\u201d (Job I., 17).\n\n\u201cAgriculture might be made a means of improving the condition of the\nArabs; indeed, the only other method of attaining this end would be\nto civilize them off the face of the earth altogether. By Arab I mean\nthe Bedawi, the typical son of Ishmael, \u2018whose hand is against every\nman,\u2019 and who is as much hated and feared in the towns and villages\nof Central Arabia as in Palestine. Wherever he goes, he brings with\nhim ruin, violence, and neglect. To call him a \u2018son of the desert\u2019\nis a misnomer; half the desert owes its existence to him, and many\na fertile plain from which he has driven its useful and industrious\ninhabitants becomes in his hands, like the \u2018South Country,\u2019 a parched\nand barren wilderness. He has a constitutional dislike to work, and\nis entirely unscrupulous as to the means he employs to live without\nit; these qualities (which also adorn and make the thief and burglar\nof civilization) he mistakes for evidences of thorough breeding, and\nprides himself accordingly upon being one of Nature\u2019s gentlemen.\u201d (pp.\n240, 241, 243).\n\nThere are so many dens and caves and strongholds in the mountains of\nMoab that it would be next to impossible for the government to rid\nherself of these Arab clans. I am told that now, and for many years\npast, the most powerful of all these lawless tribes is the one called\nBeni Sukrh, whose head quarters are the famous city and fortress of\nKerak. This stronghold is situated on the banks and near the mouth of\nthe river Arnon, which empties into the Dead Sea on the west side,\nand about fifteen miles from its north end. This clan some years ago\ncaptured Canon Tristram and party, and exacted from them a large sum\nof money as a ransom. In his \u201cLand of Moab\u201d Tristram has given a\npeculiarly striking description of the fortress Kerak, in which he,\nhimself, was prisoner. It is built on an isolated rock which rises\nhigh in the air, and whose level summit is surrounded on all sides but\nthe eastern by chasms from 800 to 1,000 feet deep, and 100 feet wide,\nwith perpendicular sides. A well-built wall surrounds the brow of the\nprecipice on all sides, and the only two places of entrance are through\narches tunneled in the solid rock from the side of the precipice to the\nlevel within. These narrow and well-guarded entrances are approached\nby rock-hewn paths, barely wide enough for men or asses to walk on in\nsingle file. This is one of the most impregnable strongholds on earth.\nGibraltar is not to be compared with it. In this citadel one could\nsafely say:\n\n \u201cI will not be afraid of death and bane\n Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.\u201d\n\nThis is the Kir-Hareseth of Scripture, and here it was that Mesha,\nKing of Moab, took refuge after his army was destroyed by the combined\nforces of Israel, Judah, and Edom. These three kings cut Mesha\u2019s army\nto pieces, but they knew it was folly to besiege his castle. Coming to\nthis, they gave up in despair and went home. After their departure,\nMesha, filled with gratitude for the safety that this fortress afforded\nhim, \u201ctook his eldest son, that should have reigned in his stead, and\noffered him for a burnt offering upon the wall.\u201d\n\nProbably it would be well in this connection to mention a celebrated\nstone that I saw in a museum in Paris. Do you ask, \u201cWhy introduce that\nstone here?\u201d Because this is the proper place to introduce it. It is\nthe famous Moabite Stone that was found among the ruins of Dhiban not\nmany miles from this place. Dhiban (the Dibon of Scripture), situated\non two hills, is now only a ruined village, although the numerous\ntraces of buildings existing in the community indicate that it was\nonce a flourishing town. In 1868 Rev. F. A. Klein, a missionary of the\nEnglish church, while digging amid the rubbish of Dhiban, made the\nfortunate discovery. This basaltic rock, two by three feet in size,\nwith one side covered by a Moabite inscription, has a strange history\nand tells a wonderful tale.\n\nWhen the stone was discovered a great ado was made over it. The\nPrussian government sought and obtained permission to remove it. The\nBedouin tribe in whose territory it was found was offered an enormous\nsum of money to part with it. Indeed, the amount offered was so great\nthat the Arabs thought the stone must be of untold value. The news\nspread. Another tribe near by, hearing of the new-found stone and\nthe great price offered for it, marched over and claimed it as their\nown. As about the \u201cSlave Stone,\u201d a quarrel and a war ensued between\nthe tribes, during which many men were slaughtered on both sides. The\nStone was broken, but afterwards the pieces were put together, and the\ninscription was translated.\n\n\u201cThe inscription,\u201d says Prof. Palmer, \u201ccommemorates the reign of a\ncertain Mesha, King of Moab, and records the triumphs obtained by\nhim over Israel in the course of a long and sanguinary struggle. It\nbegins by setting forth his name and titles, and briefly recounts\nhis successful effort to throw off the yoke of the King of Israel;\nthen follows a list of bloody battles fought, of towns wrested from\nthe enemy, and of spoil and captives fallen into his hands. For\nthese conquests he returns solemn thanks to Chemosh, his god\u2014\u2018the\nabomination of Moab\u2019\u2014and glories with a religious fervor, that sounds\nstrangely to our ears, in having despoiled the sanctuary of Jehovah.\u201d\n\nThe inscription concludes by setting forth the names of towns rebuilt\nor fortified by the Moabite king, of altars raised to Chemosh, of\nwells and cisterns dug, and other peaceful work accomplished. This\nportion of the record is a most valuable addition to our knowledge\nof sacred geography; for the names, as given on the Moabite Stone,\nengraved by one who knew them in his daily life, are, in nearly every\ncase, absolutely identical with those found in the Bible itself and\ntestify to the wonderful integrity with which the Scriptures have been\npreserved. So far we have the history of King Mesha\u2019s rebellion from\nhis own Moabite point of view, and so far we read of nothing but his\nsuccess; but, if we turn to 2 Kings III: 5-27, we may look upon the\nother side of the picture. In that passage we have a concise but vivid\naccount of the rebellion and temporary successes against Israel of this\nsame monarch. There we learn how the allied kings of Israel, Judah\nand Edom, went against the rebellious prince; how they marched by way\nof Edom, that is, round by the southern end of the Dead Sea; how they\ndevastated the land of Moab, and drove their foeman to take refuge in\nhis fortress of Kir-Haraseth, in Wady Kerak. The passage referred to\nabove speaks of the author of the Dhiban inscription in the following\nterms:\n\n\u201cAnd Mesha, King of Moab, was a sheep-master, and rendered unto the\nKing of Israel an hundred thousand lambs and an hundred thousand\nrams with wool.\u201d (2 Kings III: 4). Here, again, the Bible receives\nfresh confirmation from geographical facts; Moab, with its extensive\ngrass-covered uplands, is even now an essentially sheepbreeding\ncountry, although the \u201cfenced cities and folds for sheep,\u201d of which\nmention is made in the Book of Numbers (XXXII: 36), are all in ruins.\nBut in its palmier days, when those rich pastures were covered with\nflocks, no more appropriate title could have been given to the king of\nsuch a country than that he \u201cwas a sheep-master.\u201d\n\nIn this same mountainous region, about six miles north of Kerak, near\nthe head of a deep wady which empties into the Dead Sea, is situated\nMachaerus, where the head-man\u2019s ax ended the earthly life of John\nthe Baptist, the forerunner of Christ. Machaerus, like Kerak, is a\nnatural fortress\u2014one of Nature\u2019s strongholds. Josephus describes it\nas follows: \u201cThe nature of the place was very capable of affording the\nsurest hopes of safety to those that possessed it, as well as delay and\nfear to those that should attack it; for what was walled in was itself\na very rocky hill, elevated to a very great height, which circumstance\nalone made it very hard to be subdued. It was also so contrived by\nnature that it could not be easily ascended; for it is, as it were,\nditched about with such valleys on all sides, and to such a depth,\nthat the eye can not reach their bottoms, and such as are not easily\nto be passed over, and even such as it is impossible to fill up with\nearth. For that valley which cuts it on the west extends to three score\nfurlongs; on the same side it was also that Machaerus had the tallest\ntop of its hill elevated above the rest. But then for the valleys\nthat lay on the north and south sides, although they be not so large\nas that already described, yet it is in like manner an impracticable\nthing to think of getting over them; and for the valley that lies on\nthe east side, its depth is found to be no less than a hundred cubits.\nIt extends as far as a mountain that lies over against Machaerus, with\nwhich it is bounded. Herod built a wall round on top of the hill, and\nerected towers at the corners a hundred and sixty cubits high; in the\nmiddle of which place he built a palace, after a magnificent manner,\nwherein were large and beautiful edifices. He also made a great many\nreservoirs for the reception of water, that there might be plenty of it\nready for all uses\u201d (Wars VI: 1-2).\n\nInside of this impregnable fortress, the traveler of to-day finds two\nprison chambers cut in the solid rock. These rock-hewn dungeons once\nechoed the tread, and resounded with the songs and prayers, of that\nstrong-charactered and iron-willed man of God who came to prepare the\nway of the Lord\u2014to make His paths straight! It makes one shudder to\nstand here amidst the solemn grandeur of these storm-beaten rocks,\nand contemplate the tragic history of this great man. A great man?\nYes. It was John the Baptist who first had the courage to stand before\nhis fellow-countrymen, and, looking them squarely in the face, say:\n\u201cRepent ye; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.\u201d With stentorian\nvoice he cried: \u201cO, generation of vipers;\u201d \u201cthe ax is laid at the root\nof the tree;\u201d \u201cGod is able of these stones to raise up children unto\nAbraham.\u201d \u201cHe that cometh after me shall baptize you with fire, He will\nthoroughly purge His floor and will burn up the chaff with unquenchable\nfire.\u201d It was John the Baptist who buried Christ the Lord in yonder\nrolling river. It was John the Baptist who pointed to Him and said:\n\u201cBehold, the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world.\u201d\n\nI thank God for the life and character of John the Baptist who,\nafter all the honors heaped upon him, could say, I am nobody\u2014I am\nsimply the _voice_ of One crying in the wilderness. He that cometh\nafter me is mightier than I, whose shoes I am not worthy to bear. He\nmust _increase_ but I must _decrease_. Yes, John said that he was\nnobody\u2014that he was only a _voice_, and yet Jesus says: \u201cAmong those\nborn of women there hath not arisen a greater than John the Baptist.\u201d\nOh, to be _nobody_! Oh, to be only the _voice of Jesus_, calling\nmen unto righteousness, and warning them to flee the wrath to come!\nOh, that the writer and the reader of this chapter may \u201crise upon\nthe stepping-stones of their dead selves to higher things!\u201d O, God,\ngraciously grant, I pray thee, that both writer and reader may realize\nthat the _magnitude of any life is to be determined by the distance of\nself from the centre_!\n\nIn the same chasm with Machaerus, and not far away, there is a group of\nten hot springs bursting forth from the side of the wady one hundred\nfeet or more from its rocky bed. Although in close proximity to each\nother these springs vary in temperature from 130 to 142 degrees.\nAccording to Josephus, some of these fountains are bitter and others\nsweet. The waters are said to possess great medicinal properties and\nhealing virtues. The maimed, the halt, and the blind resort hither in\nsearch of health. While living at Jericho, just before his death, Herod\nthe Great, according to Josephus, came to these springs hoping to drown\nhis disease. But the wicked, adulterous, murderous Herod was not so\nsick, I trow,\n\n \u201cAs he was troubled with thick-coming fancies\n That kept him from his rest.\u201d\n\nHerod was a murderer; and wash his guilt away he never could. He might\nwash, and wash and wash, and cry: \u201cOut, out damned spot!\u201d But there was\nthe \u201csmell of blood still.\u201d He might have said as Macbeth afterwards\ndid:\n\n \u201cWill all great Neptune\u2019s ocean wash this blood\n Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather\n The multitudinous seas incarnadine,\n Making the green one red.\u201d\n\nNorth of Machaerus, and not far from Heshbon, is Mt. Nebo from which\nMoses viewed the land of promise, and upon which, also, he breathed\nhis last. This peak, as one would naturally suppose, commands a fine\nview of the surrounding country. For twenty miles to the south and\nsoutheast, one\u2019s eyes sweep over an elevated table-land of unusual\nrichness and beauty. The range of vision toward the rising sun extends\nto where the blue sky and the sandy desert meet. Looking westward one\nsees the valley of the Jordan, and traces the wanderings of the river\nfrom the Sea of Galilee to the Dead Sea. Beyond the Jordan is the land\nof \u201cmilk and honey\u201d that Moses was never allowed to enter. Moses came\nup hither from the plain of Moab, and the Lord showed him the country\nand said unto him, \u201cThis is the land which I sware unto Abraham, unto\nIsaac, and unto Jacob saying, I will give it unto thy seed: I have\ncaused thee to see it with thine eyes, but thou shalt not go over\nthither. So Moses the servant of the Lord died there in the land of\nMoab, according to the word of the Lord. And he buried him in a valley\nin the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor: but no man knoweth of his\nsepulchre unto this day. And Moses was an hundred and twenty years old\nwhen he died: his eye was not dim, nor his natural force abated.\u201d\n\nAs the reader sits in his swinging hammock beneath the wide-spreading\nbranches of some great oak and pronounces these words to a listening\nfriend, they may sound light and trifling. But if he could stand here\nwhere I am, and lift his eyes from the sacred page and let them fall\nat once upon the surrounding hills and valleys, methinks these words\nwould then each _weigh a pound_. I have never studied the life of any\nmortal man with the same degree of interest that I now study the life\nand character of Moses. Probably it is all the more enjoyable because\nI have been down in Egypt where Moses was born. I have been sailing up\nand down the Nile where Moses once floated in the ark of bulrushes. As\nI sat in a boat on the broad bosom of that majestic river, and looked\nout upon its banks, I half-way imagined that I could see Moses\u2019s mother\nweaving the ark. Reader, would you know how that ark was made? Well,\nit was on this wise. Moses\u2019s mother took a bulrush, and a prayer, and\nfaith, and a tear, and plaited them together. Then more faith, and\ntears, and bulrushes, and prayers, and plaited them together. When a\nmother has thus woven an ark, she can trustingly launch her babe upon\nany waters! And I am persuaded that if we, in our Christian work, would\nuse more faith and tears and prayers and less bulrushes, it would be\nfar better for our Redeemer\u2019s Kingdom.\n\nI repeat that I have been in Egypt where Moses was born; on the Nile\nwhere he floated; to Pharaoh\u2019s court where he was educated; I have been\nout on the desert where Moses killed an Egyptian because he imposed\nupon a Hebrew. I then climbed to the top of the regal pyramid, and\nlooked out over the land of Goshen where Israel served four hundred\nyears in bondage. I followed Moses down to the Red Sea where he led\nIsrael across. I looked up to the frowning brow of Sinai where Moses\nmet God face to face, and talked with him as man to man; where he\nreached up and received from the hand of God the tables of stone on\nwhich were written the Ten Commandments.\n\nAfter following Moses around in the wilderness to some extent, I have\ncome now to where his eyes were closed in death. The inhabitants of\nthis country have no written history, but they know a great deal\ntraditionally about the life and character of Moses. Many weird stories\nand beautiful legends concerning him have been handed down from\ngeneration to generation, and are as fresh in the minds of the people\nto-day as if he had died within the recollection of some now living.\nFrequently in these stories Scripture history and legendary lore are\nbeautifully interwoven. For instance, the people here say that Moses\nwith three million Jews had camped on the plain of Moab. And God said\nunto him, \u201cMoses, get thee up into yonder mountain, and I will show\nthee from thence the land of promise.\u201d When God spake Moses obeyed\u2014he\nstarted at once. Standing high upon the mountain side he looked back\nupon the tabernacle and the tents of Israel. The people followed\nhim with their prayers and blessings. He paused, looked back at his\nbrethren, and waved them a last adieu, as if to say,\n\n \u201cFare thee well, and if forever,\n Still forever fare thee well.\u201d\n\nThen with his face turned toward the mountain top, and his heart\nlifted to heaven, he continued his onward, upward journey, climbing\nhigher and higher, until after a while there was nothing at all above\nhim save eagles, and stars, and God. Away up here above the earth\nMoses saw two men\u2014two angels in the form of men, and said unto them,\n\u201cBrethren, what are you doing?\u201d \u201cWe are digging a grave, sir.\u201d \u201cFor\nwhom are you digging the grave?\u201d \u201cWe know not for whom it is. God told\nus to dig it, and we are simply doing His bidding. And, Moses,\u201d they\ncontinue, \u201cthe man for whom we are digging this grave is the best\ncreature in all the earth\u2014God loves him well. He is just about your\nsize, and, Moses, we do not know whether this grave is long enough and\ndeep enough. Will you please lie down here and measure it for us?\u201d\nMoses responded, \u201cYea, brethren, if you request it.\u201d \u201cWe do request\nit.\u201d So Moses lay down to measure the grave for them, and they stooped\nover and kissed him to sleep, and Moses was dead.\n\nThese people have other legends about Moses as pathetic and beautiful\nas the one just given. But we have seen enough to know that\n\n \u201cBy Nebo\u2019s lonely mountain,\n On this side Jordan\u2019s wave,\n In a vale in the land of Moab,\n There lies a lonely grave.\n And no man dug that sepulchre,\n And no man saw it e\u2019er;\n For the Angels of God upturned the sod,\n And laid the dead man there.\n\n \u201cThat was the grandest funeral\n That ever passed on earth;\n But no man heard the trampling,\n Or saw the train go forth.\n Noiselessly as the daylight\n Comes when the night is done,\n And the crimson streak on ocean\u2019s cheek\n Grows into the great sun\u2014\n\n \u201cNoiselessly as the spring-time\n Her crown of verdure weaves,\n And all the trees on all the hills\n Open their thousand leaves\u2014\n So, without sound of music,\n Or voice of them that wept,\n Silently down from the mountain crown\n The great procession swept.\n\n \u201cThis was the bravest warrior\n That ever buckled sword;\n This the most gifted poet\n That ever breathed a word;\n And never earth\u2019s philosopher\n Traced, with his golden pen,\n On the deathless page, truths half so sage,\n As he wrote down for men.\n\n \u201cAnd had he not high honor?\n The hillside for his pall;\n To lie in state while angels wait\n With stars for tapers tall;\n And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes,\n Over his bier to wave;\n And God\u2019s own hand, in that lonely land,\n To lay him in the grave.\n\n \u201cIn that deep grave, without a name,\n Whence uncoffined clay\n Shall break again\u2014most wondrous thought\u2014\n Before the Judgment-day,\n And stand with glory wrapped around\n On the hills he never trod,\n And speak of the strife that won our life\n With the Incarnate Son of God.\n\n \u201cOh, lonely tomb in Moab\u2019s land,\n Oh, dark Beth-peor\u2019s hill,\n Speak to these curious hearts of ours,\n And teach them to be still.\n God hath his mysteries of grace\u2014\n Ways we can not tell;\n He hides them deep, like the secret sleep\n Of him he loved so well.\u201d\n\nIf we would learn a lesson from the life and character of this\ngreat man, let it be this: In all things we are to obey God, both\nin the spirit and the letter of the law, remembering that for _one\ndisobedience Moses was not allowed to enter the promised land_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\nTHE JORDAN.\n\n Two Thoughts\u2014From Nebo to the River\u2014Thrilling Emotions\u2014Historic\n Ground\u2014A Sacred Scene\u2014An Earnest Preacher\u2014Christ\n Baptized\u2014Awe-Stricken People\u2014A Sacred River\u2014Bathing of\n Pilgrims\u2014Robes Become Shrouds\u2014The Ghor of the Jordan\u2014The Valley\n an Inclined Plane\u2014The Three Sources of the River\u2014The Jordan\n Proper\u2014Banks\u2014Tributaries\u2014Bridges\u2014River Channel\u2014Velocity of the\n Water\u2014Its Temperature\u2014Its Width and Depth\u2014Vegetation along the\n Stream\u2014Wild Beasts\u2014Birds.\n\n\nI AM now, as never before, impressed with this thought; that God\u2019s\nplans and purposes never depend upon any one man. When Moses was no\nmore, Joshua took up, and carried on to completion, his unfinished\nwork. We also have here a beautiful example of how the labors of God\u2019s\nservants are interlinked with each other. Moses liberated Israel from\nEgyptian bondage, but it was left for Joshua to lead them into the\npromised land. Forty years they had wandered in the wilderness, warring\nwith the different tribes through whose territory they had passed;\nforty years they had been miraculously fed with manna; forty years\nthey were guided by a pillar of cloud by day, and a pillar of fire by\nnight,\u2014but at last the gladsome day came when they were to exchange\nthe stony wilderness for the land that flowed with milk and honey.\nThere was joy in the camp. With happy hearts and strong hands, three\nmillion Hebrews folded their tents and marched side by side, shoulder\nto shoulder, to the river\u2019s brink. And I am sure that while there they\nsang in spirit, if not in letter:\n\n \u201cOn Jordan\u2019s stormy banks we stand,\n And cast a wishful eye\n To Canaan\u2019s fair and happy land,\n Where our possessions lie.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THE RIVER JORDAN WHERE IT IS SUPPOSED CHRIST WAS\nBAPTISED.]\n\nIt is well to walk in the footsteps of great men; so having followed\nMoses out of Egypt, let us now follow Joshua into Canaan. Leaving\nNebo\u2019s summit, and coming down on the north side of the mountain,\nwe find at its base a bold spring which bears the name of the great\nlaw-giver. Around this spring of Moses the hosts of Israel, it is\nsupposed, pitched their tents. Still following Joshua, we soon find\nourselves standing on the banks of the Jordan. Ah, sacred river! How\nit thrills me to be here! \u201cThy banks, winding in a thousand graceful\nmazes, are fringed with perpetual verdure; thy pathway is cheered with\nthe sight and song of birds, and by thy own clear voice of gushing\nminstrelsy. There is a pleasure in the green-wooded banks, seen far\nalong the sloping valley; a tracery of life, amid the death and dust\nthat hem thee in, so like some trace of gentleness in a corrupt and\nwicked heart.\u201d\n\nI have crossed many important streams. I have been on the Rio Grande; I\nhave sailed up and down the Mississippi and the Ohio, the Hudson and\nthe St. Lawrence; I have sailed on the Thames through London; on the\nSeine through Paris; on the Tiber through Rome; on the Rhine through\nGermany; on the Danube through all western Europe; and the Nile through\nEgypt,\u2014and yet I freely acknowledge that I was never so moved by any\nstream as by the sight of this historic river. It was the Jordan that\ndivided and let the children of Israel pass over on dry ground. It was\nthe Jordan whose waters cleansed Naaman of his leprosy. It was the\nJordan whose stream floated an ax at the prophet\u2019s command. It was\nthe Jordan, also, on whose banks another prophet stood and preached\nrepentance, and in whose waters he buried Christ in baptism. John the\nBaptist was a man after my own heart. He came on the stage of action\nfilled and fired with a purpose. He was conscious of a commission from\nGod. He believed, therefore he spoke; and, as he spoke, the people left\ntheir homes and hovels in Jerusalem, Judea, and all the region round\nabout Jordan, and flocked to hear him.\n\nReader, we are on historic ground. Stand here with me on the banks of\nthe stream, and let us behold a sacred scene together. The river here\nmakes a graceful curve towards the east, and is at this point about\nfifty yards or one hundred and fifty feet wide. The western bank, on\nwhich we stand, is low and level, not more than eighteen inches or two\nfeet above the surface of the river, and gently slopes down to the\nwater. The opposite bank is a wall of rock, rising up perpendicularly\nfor eighteen or twenty feet, then receding beautifully in a terrace,\nanother terrace, and another one still. Terraces rise above and beyond\neach other like seats in an opera-house. These terraces gracefully\nstretch themselves along the rocky bluff of this river for two hundred\nyards or more, until at least a hundred and fifty or two hundred\nthousand people could be so seated along the terraced bluff as to look\ndown upon its watery surface. Let us in our imagination re-people\nall these terraces with the Jews of old, with their quaint, Eastern\ncostumes, with their hard faces and beaming eyes. There they sit,\nrising tier above tier.\n\nNow on this low bank, not far from us, stands the preacher in the midst\nof a great concourse of people. Every ear is all attention, every eye\nis on the preacher. See! his bosom heaves, his face glows, his eyes\nsparkle, his words burn. His sentences strike, swift and glittering,\nlike lightning flashes midst the roll of judgment-day thunders. Terrors\nof the day of wrath roll over his hearers as the foremost thought;\nsounds of hope break in, like soft music, to keep the contrite from\ndespair. The moral world seems to shake. The people realize as never\nbefore their sin, their guilt, their need of a Savior. In their hearts\nthey want, they yearn for, the promised Messiah.\n\nNow, lifting his eyes above the motley multitude, John beholds a\nstrange personage coming towards him. Rough and rugged, bold and\nheroic, John is not a man to shrink from his fellows. He is no reed\nto be shaken by the wind. But, see! he trembles as the stranger\napproaches. Spiritual greatness wears a kingly crown which compels\ninstant reverence. John, a moment ago as bold as a lion, is now as meek\nas a lamb. Shrinking from the new-comer he says, \u201cI have need to be\nbaptized of thee, and comest thou to me?\u201d Jesus, answering, said unto\nhim, \u201cSuffer it to be so now, for thus it becometh us to fulfill all\nrighteousness.\u201d\n\nThen leading Jesus down into the river he baptizes Him; and immediately\nthe heavens are opened, the Spirit of God, like a dove, descends and\nlights upon Him. There is the Son with the Spirit resting upon His\nhead, and, lo! a voice from heaven, saying, \u201cThis is my beloved Son in\nwhom I am well pleased.\u201d The vast multitude who witness this strange\nsight are deeply moved. They are profoundly impressed. What means\nthis strange baptism, this descent of the Spirit, this voice of God?\nWhat means it all? Who is this new-comer? John answers by pointing to\nJesus and saying, \u201cBehold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of\nthe world.\u201d As if to say, \u201cThis is He of whom Moses and the prophets\ndid write\u2014of whom I have told you, and before whom every earthly\nmonarch shall bow.\u201d This day have the people witnessed one of the most\nwonderful events in the history of the world\u2014a direct manifestation of\nthe Triune God. There has this day begun an agitation and stir among\nthe people that shall end in a tragedy on Calvary.\n\nThese scenes have made the Jordan a sacred river. From the days of\nConstantine, to bathe or to be baptized in this river has been regarded\na great privilege. We are told that \u201cin the sixth century, marble steps\nled down into the water on both sides, at the spot where it is believed\nour Lord was baptized, while a wooden cross rose in the middle of the\nstream.\u201d Nor has reverence for this river diminished. On the contrary,\nit seems to have increased. Each year, during the week preceding Easter\nSunday, thousands and thousands of people, from all parts of the world,\nassemble in Jerusalem and pitch their tents on the surrounding hills.\nThey continue to come until the hills round about Jerusalem look like\none far-reaching city of many-colored tents.\n\nEaster Sunday, with its strange ceremonies and joyous songs, is over.\nMonday morning, bright and early, there is great bustle and confusion\nin the camp. Every tent is folded. Camels, mules, and donkeys are\npacked ready for travel. The people mount\u2014sometimes whole families of\nfive or six on one camel. Some of the number stride the animal, while\nothers are suspended in baskets which are tied together and hang on\neither side. Leaving Jerusalem, the pilgrims, in one great caravan,\nunder the protection of the Turkish government, start out for the\n\u201cSacred River.\u201d The Kedron valley and the side of the Mount of Olives\nare filled with inhabitants of Jerusalem and the surrounding villages,\nwho have come out to see the annual procession pass. On they go, an\nescort of Turkish soldiers with a white flag and sweet music leading\nthe way. Then come camels and asses laden with pilgrims of every age\nand condition, of every clime and country, clad in costumes of every\nvariety of cut and color, while a second group of soldiers, with the\ngreen standard of the prophet, closes the long procession.\n\nAs the shadows of evening begin to fall, the pilgrims pitch their tents\nby Elisha\u2019s Fountain in the plain of Jericho. At night the whole plain\nis dotted with cheerful camp-fires. Gathering here, in groups of two or\nthree hundred, the people engage with great enthusiasm in a weird kind\nof ceremony which is to prepare them for the next day. At a late hour\nthey fall asleep.\n\nThe scene that follows their waking is vividly described by Lieut.\nLynch of the U. S. Navy. He says: \u201cAt 3 A.M., we were aroused by the\nintelligence that the pilgrims were coming. Rising in haste, we beheld\nthousands of torchlights, with a dark mass beneath, moving rapidly over\nthe hills. Striking our tents with precipation, we hurriedly removed\nthem and all our effects a short distance to the left. We had scarce\nfinished, when they were upon us:\u2014men, women, and children, mounted on\ncamels, horses, mules, and donkeys, rushed impetuously by toward the\nbank. They presented the appearance of fugitives from a routed army.\n\n\u201cOur Bedawin friends here stood us in good stead;\u2014sticking their\ntufted spears before our tents, they mounted their steeds and formed a\nmilitary cordon around us. But for them we should have been run down,\nand most of our effects trampled upon, scattered and lost. In all the\nwild haste of a disorderly rout, Copts and Russians, Poles, Armenians,\nGreeks and Syrians, from all parts of Asia, from Europe, from Africa,\nand from far-distant America, on they came; men, women and children, of\nevery age and hue, and in every variety of costume; talking, screaming,\nshouting, in almost every known language under the sun.\n\n\u201cMounted as variously as those who had preceded them, many of the women\nand children were suspended in baskets or confined in cages; and, with\ntheir eyes strained toward the river, heedless of all intervening\nobstacles, they hurried eagerly forward, and dismounting in haste\nand disrobing with precipitation, rushed down the bank and threw\nthemselves into the stream. Each one plunged himself, or was dipped\nby another, three times, below the surface, in honor of the Trinity;\nand then filled a bottle, or some other utensil, from the river. The\nbathing-dress of many of the pilgrims was a white gown with a black\ncross upon it.\n\n\u201cIn an hour they began to disappear; and in less time than three hours\nthe trodden surface of the lately crowded bank reflected no human\nshadow. The pageant disappeared as rapidly as it had approached, and\nleft to us once more the silence and the solitude of the wilderness. It\nwas like a dream. An immense crowd of human beings, said to be 8,000,\nbut I thought not so many, had passed and re-passed before our tents,\nand left not a vestige behind them.\u201d\n\nThese pilgrims come in such haste and confusion that frequently\nsome of their number are drowned. And yet so great is the fanatical\nenthusiasm of the crowd that little or no concern is awakened by the\nill-timed death of the unfortunates. The usual bathing-dress is a long,\nloose-flowing, white gown. After bathing, the pilgrims carefully fold\nup these robes, thus consecrated, and carry them home with them to\nfar-distant lands, in different parts of the world, and use them as\nburial-shrouds.\n\nI have never seen a better place for bathing and swimming. From the\nwest side one wades down into the river, getting deeper and deeper the\nfarther he goes from the bank. When about half way across, the water\nbecomes too deep for wading, and close to the eastern bank it is so\ndeep that one can hardly dive to the bottom. One finds water any depth\nfrom two to twelve feet. The bottom, being composed of sand and smooth\nrock, is all that could be desired. We are so delighted to be here\nthat we hardly know how to leave. We remain, day after day, reading,\nfishing, swimming. We catch several messes of sweet, fresh fish, and\nfry and eat them on the banks of the stream.\n\nHaving spoken somewhat at length about that place in the Jordan where\nit is supposed, with reasonable certainty, the Savior was baptized,\nand which is also the bathing-place of the pilgrims, I now proceed to\ndescribe the river from one end to the other. But, before speaking of\nthe river proper, I desire to say something concerning the Ghor, or\n_valley_, of the Jordan.\n\nBeginning at the upper end of the Dead Sea, the Jordan valley extends\none hundred and ten miles directly northward. It varies from three\nto ten miles in width, and has an average width of six miles. Now\nthis valley, one hundred and ten miles long and six miles wide, is\nshut in on the east and west by great walls of rock. The eastern\nbluff is bolder than the one on the west\u2014that is, it is more nearly\nperpendicular. It is also more regular as to altitude, the height\nranging probably from 1,800 to 2,000 feet. The western wall, though\nless regular than the other, is sometimes as precipitous, and has some\npeaks that are as high, if not higher.\n\nThe entire valley is very deep, its northern end being 700 feet lower\nthan the Mediterranean, while its southern end is 600 feet lower still.\nThe whole valley is therefore one vast inclined plane, sloping from\nnorth to south. Through this valley, somewhat nearer to the eastern\nthan to the western side, the Jordan winds its serpentine path.\n\nThe river has its source in three bold springs near the upper end of\nthe valley. One of these springs bursts forth from the side of Mt.\nHermon, 2,200 feet _above_ the Mediterranean. A second strong spring\ngushes out from under a bold rock-cliff at Caesarea Philippi. These two\nsprings are on the eastern side of the valley, while the third, which\nis of itself a small river, issues from the foot of the western hills,\nnear the city of Dan. All of these fountains are large and beautiful.\nAll of them send forth copious streams of fresh and sparkling water.\nAny one of them could run a half dozen mills, or factories, or irrigate\nthe whole valley. These crystal waters, after flowing gently, and\nsometimes rushing madly, along their separate courses, unite for the\nfirst time in the little Lake of Huleh, or the waters of Merom, as it\nis often called.\n\nHuleh, about two by four miles square, is in the southern end of an\nexceedingly rich and fertile plain. In this plain, and around these\nwaters, Joshua had some of his hardest-fought battles. Leaving this\nlake, the waters flow rapidly through a narrow, rocky gorge for eleven\nmiles, and then empty into the Sea of Galilee, which is, in round\nnumbers, 700 feet _lower_ than the surface of the Mediterranean.\nRemember, one spring came out from Hermon\u2019s side 2,200 feet above the\nMediterranean. In the short distance of thirty-six miles, therefore,\nthe waters have fallen 2,900 feet!\n\n[Illustration: A FORD OF THE JORDAN.]\n\nThe Jordan proper is the stream connecting the Sea of Galilee and the\nDead Sea. These seas are only sixty-five miles apart; but the river,\nas if reluctant to enter that bitter Sea of Death, winds and twists\nso like a serpent that the water, in going from one sea to the other,\nflows two hundred miles, and empties at last into the Dead Sea, 1,300\nfeet below the Mediterranean!\n\nThe Jordan has three sets of banks, which are marked with more or\nless distinctness according as the hills approach near to, or recede\nfrom, the river. Ordinarily, of course, the stream is confined within\nthe lower banks. But during the annual rise the water over-flows\nthese lower banks, and spreads out over the valley between the second\nterraces, or banks. No important tributaries are received from the\nwest; but the Hieromax and the Jabbok, each a small river, empty into\nthe Jordan from the east. The river is crossed by four well-known\nfords; one just below the Sea of Galilee, another just above the mouth\nof the Jabbok. The third and fourth are respectively above and below\nthe pilgrim\u2019s bathing-place, which is about two and a half miles north\nof the Dead Sea. No bridge spans the river at present, but the remains\nof old Roman bridges may still be seen at some of the fords.\n\nIn some places, the channel of the river is shut in by rock banks,\nsteep and precipitous. At others, the banks are of sand, or rich\nearth, and rise only a few feet above the surface of the water.\nSometimes one bank is a bold rock cliff, rising abruptly, while the\nother slopes gently up from the river, and stretches out to join the\nfertile plain.\n\nSince the Jordan has its source in a fountain bursting out of a\nmountain side 2,200 feet above the Mediterranean, and since it empties\ninto the Dead Sea 1,300 feet below the Mediterranean, a great many\npeople falsely conclude that the river must, of necessity, be very\nswift. I grant that this seems a strong argument. Think of a river 136\nmiles long having a fall of 3,500 feet! The natural supposition is that\nsuch a stream would be exceedingly swift. But not so. The facts will\nnot bear out the supposition. To be swift, a stream must have not only\na great fall, but it must have, also, a comparatively straight channel.\nThe Jordan is probably the most crooked river on earth. In a space of\nsixty-five miles of latitude, and five or six miles of longitude, it\ntraverses at least two hundred miles. In some places, to be sure, the\ncurrent is swift, as there are thirty or more falls, or rapids, in the\nJordan. Some of these are quite marked, while others are less so. While\nnear these falls, the stream is swift. In other places the water is\ndeep, and moves sluggishly.\n\nIn speaking of the velocity of the water, it might be well to mention\nthat a few years ago Lieut. Lynch, under appointment of the United\nStates government, navigated the river from one end to the other. He\nmet with many difficulties and some dangers. Shooting the rapids was\nperilous work. One of his boats was dashed against the rocks and went\nto pieces. Lieut. Lynch\u2019s official report to the United States Navy\ndepartment is the fullest, most accurate, and reliable description of\nthe Jordan that has ever been published in this country.\n\nAgain. Inasmuch as the Jordan rises in the mountains, and is constantly\nfed by the melting snows of Hermon, some philosophical students have\nargued that the water must necessarily be very cold at all times. But a\nfew facts are worth a cartload of theories. And, as a matter of fact,\nthe water of the Jordan is not cold, except during the winter season;\nand even then the temperature is by no means low. I bathed in the\nJordan repeatedly; once as late as the Fifteenth of December, and the\nwater was even then of a delightful temperature for bathing.\n\nThe river valley is so deeply depressed that scarcely a breath of air\nis felt during the hot season. On this point, Dr. Geikie says: \u201cThe\nheat of the Jordan plains is very great in summer, and oppressive even\nin spring; while in autumn it becomes very unhealthy for strangers. In\nMay, the thermometer ranges from about 86 degrees in the early forenoon\nto over 100 degrees in the beginning of the afternoon, standing, even\nin the shade, at over 90 degrees.\u201d The annual mean temperature of the\nlower Jordan valley is between 70 and 75 degrees Fahrenheit. From the\nabove facts, the reader will readily see that it is quite impossible\nfor a stream flowing through this valley ever to reach a very low\ntemperature.\n\n[Illustration: VIEW IN THE VALLEY OF THE JORDAN.]\n\nThe stream is from seventy-five to three hundred feet wide, and\nprobably has an average depth of six and a half feet, or more, even\nduring the dry season. At some places, however, the depth is much\ngreater than this. Here and there, islands, robed in garments of living\ngreen, and decked with flowers of every hue, float, fairy-like, upon\nthe bosom of the river.\n\nThe terraces along the river are frequently one mass of vegetation.\nThe weeping-willow grows on the banks, and dips her flowing tresses in\nthe sacred stream. As one follows the windings of the historic river,\nhis way is continually cheered by the gushing sound of some crystal\nrivulet, by the beauty and fragrance of the flowers, by the sight and\nsong of birds. The tangled vine, the matted cane, the thick-growing\nforest trees of considerable size, and a great variety of undergrowth,\nform a general rendezvous for wild animals, and a perfect paradise for\nbirds. Hyenas, tigers, wild boars, and bears abound here, especially\non the eastern side of the river. Here hawks, herons, pigeons, ducks,\ndoves, and swallows build their nest and raise their young. Here also\nthe bulbul and the nightingale sing their songs of praise.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV.\n\nTHE DEAD SEA.\n\n A Wonderful Body of Water\u2014Receives 20,000,000 Cubic Feet of Water\n per Day\u2014Has no Outlet\u2014Never Fills Up\u2014In the Sea\u2014Johnson\u2019s\n Suggestion as to my Identity\u2014Why One Cannot Sink\u2014\u201cSalt Sea\u201d\u2014Caught\n in a Storm\u2014Danger of Death\u2014Dreary Waste\u2014Sea of Fire\u2014Johnson\u2019s\n Argument\u2014New-Born Babe\u2014Child Dies\u2014Lot\u2019s Wife\u2014Her Past History and\n Present Condition\u2014The Frenchman\u2019s Book\u2014Why the Sea is so Salt\u2014Why\n it Never Fills Up\u2014Sown with Diamonds\u2014Origin of the Dead Sea\u2014God\u2019s\n Wrath\u2014The Sodom Apple\u2014The Sea an Emblem of Death.\n\n\nTHE Dead Sea is, in many respects, the most wonderful body of water\nknown to history. It is the lowest body of water on earth. Its surface\nis 1,300 feet lower than the surface of the Mediterranean, though the\ntwo seas are only sixty-five miles apart. It receives 6,000,000 tons,\nor 20,000,000 cubic feet, of water each day; and, while it has no\npossible outlet, it never fills up. It is no fuller now than it was a\nthousand years ago. This Sea of Death is wonderful for another reason.\nWhile it is forty-six miles long, thirteen miles wide, and while the\nwater is 1,310 feet deep, I can walk across it and never get wet above\nmy waist! I walk out into the sea for a mile or more\u2014I walk not on the\nwater, but in it. I fold my hands across my breast, stretch them out\nover the water, or lock them over my head, as I choose. I try to sink\nand can not. I never felt so much like a gourd in all my life. I sit\ndown upon the water like a feather-bed. When tired I lie down. Some\nmen lie when they stand up; but when I lie I am prostrated. I lie on\nthe water, roll over, kick my feet in the air,\u2014but all my attempts\nat sinking meet with an inglorious failure. Johnson says a man who\nwill not sink in clear water must be of little weight in the world.\nDetermined to make one more effort, I climb to a projecting rock from\nwhich I plunge head foremost into the sea. A moment later I am tossed\ninto the air like a cork. Again I strike the water, and again rebound.\nI am, seemingly, about as heavy on the stomach of the Dead Sea as Jonah\nwas on the stomach of a live whale. He was spewed up\u2014so am I.\n\nComing up out of the water I find myself completely covered with a thin\ncrust of salt. I hardly know who I am. Johnson suggests that I may be\nLot\u2019s wife. One thing is sure; I have a better complexion\u2014at any rate\nI am whiter now than ever before. Johnson asks why it is that one can\nnot sink in the Dead Sea. The specific gravity of the water is very\ngreat. This, of course, makes the water very buoyant, and renders it\nimpossible for one to sink. The extra weight of the water is caused by\nthe great amount of salt in the sea. It is a much easier matter to swim\nin the ocean than in a running stream, because the former is salt and,\ntherefore, buoyant. This is true, notwithstanding the fact that only\nfour per cent of ocean water is salt. Four per cent is enough to make\nthe ocean very salt and buoyant. But of the Dead Sea water twenty-six\nto twenty-eight per cent is salt. It has, therefore, six or six and a\nhalf times as much salt as the same amount of ocean water has. Then how\ngreat its specific gravity! How buoyant its waters! How impossible to\nsink!\n\n[Illustration: THE DEAD SEA.]\n\nThis is sometimes called the \u201cSalt Sea,\u201d and, while the name is quite\nbrackish, it is not at all inappropriate; for, as has been said,\n\u201cthe water is a nauseous compound of bitters and Salts.\u201d When I\nstiffen myself and stretch out on the waters, about half of my person\nremains above the surface. The water produces something of a stinging\nsensation; not severe enough, however, to be especially objectionable,\nunless you should chance to get some of it in your eyes. The buoyancy\nof the water makes its navigation both difficult and dangerous. Lieut.\nLynch, in the following lines, gives us a vivid description of his\nexperiences on this Sea of Death.\n\n\u201cA fresh northwest wind was blowing as we rounded the point. We\nendeavored to steer a little to the north of west, to make a true west\ncourse, and threw the patent log overboard to measure the distance; but\nthe wind rose so rapidly that the boats could not keep head to wind,\nand we were obliged to haul the log in. The sea continued to rise with\nthe increasing wind, which gradually freshened to a gale, and presented\nan agitated surface of foaming brine; the spray, evaporating as it\nfell, left incrustations of salt upon our clothes, our hands and faces;\nand while it conveyed a prickly sensation wherever it touched the skin,\nwas, above all, exceedingly painful to the eyes. The boats, heavily\nladen, struggled sluggishly at first; but when the wind freshened in\nits fierceness, from the density of the water, it seemed as if their\nbows were encountering the sledgehammers of the Titans, instead of the\nopposing waves of an angry sea. The wind blew so fiercely that the\nboats could make no headway, and I began to fear that both boats would\nfounder. Finding that we were losing every moment, and that, with the\nlapse of each succeeding one, the danger increased, kept away for the\nnorthern shore, in the hope of being yet able to reach it; our arms,\nour clothes and skins coated with a greasy salt; and our eyes, lips,\nand nostrils, smarting excessively. How different was the scene before\nthe submerging of the plain, which was \u2018even as the garden of the Lord!\u2019\n\n\u201cBut, although the sea had assumed a threatening aspect, and the\nfretted mountains, sharp and incinerated, loomed terrific on either\nside, and salt and ashes mingled with its sands, and foetid sulphurous\nsprings trickled down its ravines, we did not despair: awe-struck, but\nnot terrified; fearing the worst, yet hoping for the best, we prepared\nto spend a dreary night upon the dreariest waste we had ever seen.\u201d\n\nThe foreign substance in the water gives it a peculiar appearance at\nnight. Under the influence of a full moon, the sea has a strikingly\nbright and beautiful phosphorescent glow. The breakers dashing against\nthe rocks, and beating against the shore, look like waves of consuming\nfire. The whole scene resembles a restless, turbulent sea of flame\nvainly trying to devour the very rocks that mark its limits! Going\naround the sea next morning, the rock-bound coast, and the bleak\ndesolate hills around, look as though they might have been scorched\nwith fire the night before.\n\n[Illustration: LOT\u2019S WIFE.]\n\nIn seeking for a satisfactory explanation of why this water is so salt,\nJohnson argues thus; \u201cSodom and Gomorrah once stood at the north end\nof this sea. From here Lot fled with his family when the cities were\ndestroyed. On one of the surrounding hills Lot\u2019s wife was standing,\nwhen she disobediently looked back and was immediately turned into\na pillar of salt.\u201d Johnson becomes more and more animated as he\ncontemplates the subject and expresses his views. His face is radiant\nwith gladness, and his soul is all aglow with emotion, as he closes\nwith this sentence: \u201cNow, Whittle, since Mrs. Lot was turned to a\npillar of salt upon one of these hills, we may safely account for the\npresent salty condition of the water simply by supposing that she has\nmelted and run back into the sea.\u201d This thought was born in Johnson\u2019s\nbrain, and he nurses it with all the love and passionate fondness that\ncharacterize the young mother as she tenderly caresses her new-born\nbabe.\n\nIt is therefore with sincere regret that I raise the golden hammer of\ntruth to break the young child\u2019s head, but the false theory must die.\nI say, \u201cJohnson, come with me.\u201d Going around on the east side, not far\nfrom the north end, of the Dead Sea, we come to a broad shelf of rock,\nprobably 1,000 feet above the water. Arriving at the edge of this\nstone table, and pointing to a colossal statue of salt-rock standing\non its centre, I say, \u201cJohnson, your theory is not true. Mrs. Lot has\nnot melted; for, behold, she still stands!\u201d This famous pillar is a\nslender, isolated needle of salt-rock, thirty or thirty-five feet high.\nThis, we are told, is _actually Lot\u2019s wife_. And I readily see how\na man with a diseased imagination could fancy this a woman; for, as\nProfessor Palmer remarks, \u201cIt does really bear a curious resemblance to\nan Arab woman with a child upon her shoulders.\u201d The rock lifts itself\nup solitary and alone, something like a giantess, wearing tattered\ngarments and disheveled hair, while her furrowed face is slightly\nturned over her left shoulder, as though she were still looking back on\nthe desolate plain where the ill-fated cities once stood.\n\nThe Arabs point to this pillar as Lot\u2019s wife. M. de Saulcy has written\nvery ingeniously to prove that it really and truly is Lot\u2019s wife. And,\nto do the Frenchman justice, I should add that he really did prove\nit\u2014to his own satisfaction. I dare say, however, that he utterly\nfailed to convince any of his readers. There have been men in all the\nages who found in this pillar, or some other one like it, the veritable\nMrs. Lot. Josephus relates the Scriptural incident of Lot\u2019s wife being\nturned into salt, and then says of the pillar of salt: \u201cI have seen it,\nand it remains to this day.\u201d Clement of Rome, Irenaeus, and Leland all\nspeak of Lot\u2019s wife still standing as a pillar of salt. One says she\nstill \u201cretains her members entire,\u201d and another says that as fast as\nany part of this pillar is washed away, it is supernaturally restored.\nThat Lot\u2019s wife disobeyed God, and was forthwith turned into a pillar\nof salt, I do not doubt. That this pillar of salt will ever be located\nand identified, I have no hope.\n\nLet us again recur to the question, \u201cWhy is this sea so salt?\u201d Around\nthe east side and southern end of the sea, the whole country seems to\nbe composed largely of salt. \u201cThe salt hills run round for several\nmiles nearly east and west, at a height of from three hundred to four\nhundred feet, level atop, and not very broad; the mass being a body\nof rock-salt, capped with a bed of gypsum and chalk. Dislocated,\nshattered, furrowed into deep clefts by the rains, or standing out in\nnarrow, ragged buttresses, they add to the weird associations of all\naround. Here and there, harder portions of the salt, withstanding the\nweather while all around them melts and wears off, rise up as isolated\npillars. In front of the ridge, the ground is strewn with lumps and\nmasses of salt, through which streamlets of brine run across the long\nmuddy flat towards the beach, which itself sparkles in the sun with a\ncrust of salt, shining as if the earth had been sown with diamonds.\u201d\n\nA sea whose bed and beach are salt would naturally be brackish, even\nif it had an outlet. During the rainy season this sea has probably\na thousand tributaries, all of which bring in more or less salt. It\nis always receiving salt. Bear in mind the fact that this Sea of\nDeath has no outlet. All of the water is taken up by evaporation.\nIn midsummer the heat around it is fearful to contemplate. The rays\nfrom the noon-day\u2019s sun are almost like streams of fire. The heat is\nsimply intense. The water vaporizes, is taken up into the air, and is\nthere condensed and poured out in showers of rain on the parched hills\naround, to revive the vigor of vegetation. As Thompson would say, \u201cThe\nclouds pour their garnered fullness down.\u201d Of course the sun takes up\nonly the oxygen and hydrogen, leaving all salt and other impurities\nbehind. Hence the sea never fills up; hence also the water that is left\nbehind is becoming more and more salt as the years pass by.\n\nJust a word about the origin of the Dead Sea. It is currently believed,\nand I think with good reason, that at one time there was an unbroken\nbody of water, not very deep, extending from the southern end of the\nDead Sea, up through what is now known as the Ghor or valley of the\nJordan, to the base of Mount Hermon, a distance of some two hundred\nmiles. The volcanic fires, which were then raging, and the effects\nof which are still to be seen, consumed the material underlying the\nsouthern end of what was then the vast sea. All at once, during the\nfierce rumblings of an earthquake, and the sudden outburst of a\nvolcano, there was a tremendous cleaving and lowering of the crust of\nthe earth. Thus was formed, it is supposed, the great rock-hewn basin,\nor deep depression, which we now call the Dead Sea, and whose bottom is\n4,000 feet lower than the surface of the Mediterranean.\n\nThis great natural cavity, forty-six miles long, and thirteen miles\nwide, was so very deep, and had such an enormous capacity, that it\ndrank up or drained off most of the water that formerly extended to\nthe foot of Hermon. So instead of one vast sea, two hundred miles in\nlength, as it then was, we now have Lake Huleh, the Sea of Galilee\nand the Dead Sea, lying in a straight line, directly north and\nsouth, the three joined to each other by the river Jordan. There are\nmany evidences to show that the Jordan valley was once covered with\nwater\u2014that it was once the bed of a great sea.\n\nYes, the Dead Sea was evidently caused by some fearful convulsion of\nnature. It is, indeed, a bitter Sea of Death. It is a perpetual emblem\nof God\u2019s avenging wrath! No living thing inhabits these waters. Not a\ntree, not a shrub, not even a blade of grass, grows on, or near, the\nbeach. Here and there crystal rivulets attempt to bring life down to\nthe water\u2019s edge, but a few hundred yards from the sea Death meets\nVegetation and says: \u201cHitherto shalt thou come, and no farther.\u201d The\nthing that grows nearest to the water\u2019s edge is what is known as the\nSodom apple, or Dead Sea apple. The bush is about as high as my head,\nthe apples grow in clusters. When ripe, they are red, and about the\nsize of an apricot or a peach. The apple has nothing in it but seed and\nair. It pops when crushed. Hence the old saying that it turns to ashes\non the lips.\n\nAgain I say this sea is a fit emblem of Death. Its water is bitter, and\ndestitute of life. It is locked in by fire-scorched and storm-beaten\nrocks. Above it are a fierce sun and a brazen sky. Silence reigns\nsupreme. As the traveler walks around the sea, his shadow is the only\nmoving thing he sees. If he chances to be attracted by the song of a\nbird, or by a crow flying over the water, it is only that the contrast\nmay make death and silence all the more impressive. Here is a sea whose\nhollow fruit is ashes, whose miasmatic breath is poison, whose moonlit\nwaves are fire, and whose significant name is Death!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI.\n\nTWO RUSSIAN PILGRIMS, OR A PICTURE OF LIFE.\n\n A Steep Mountain\u2014Rough Base\u2014Beautiful Summit\u2014Russian\n Pilgrims\u2014Journey up Mountain\u2014Life\u2019s Hill\u2014Courage in Heart\u2014Marriage\n Altar\u2014Long Pilgrimage\u2014Star of Hope.\n\n\nNEAR the north end of the Dead Sea, there rises up, towards the west,\na mountain steep and high. The base of this mountain is hideously\nrough. Chasms and pitfalls are numerous. Loose rocks and boulders are\nscattered promiscuously around, while thorns, thistles, and cactus\nplants everywhere abound. Higher up the mountain there are not so many\npitfalls; the rocks and boulders are fewer and smaller, and the thorns\nand thistles are by no means so numerous. Here is a sprig of growing\ngrass, and yonder is a cluster of opening flowers. Straggling olive\ntrees are occasionally seen. In climbing the mountain, one finds that\nthe roughness gradually ceases, while the grass, flowers and trees\ngradually increase respectively in freshness, fragrance and foliage.\nContinuing the ascent, the atmosphere becomes purer, the prospect grows\nbroader, and the vision is increasingly beautiful.\n\nStanding in the valley, I see two Russian pilgrims, husband and wife,\nclimbing this mountain. They are all bowed down beneath the weight of\nthree score years and ten; their heads are white with the accumulated\nfrosts of seventy winters. Their steps are slow and feeble, but on and\nup they go. Now they are side by side; and now the husband goes in\nfront to remove, as best he can, the rocks and boulders, the thorns and\nthistles, from his wife\u2019s pathway. See, they both stop! What is the\nmatter? They have come to a boulder that they can not well surmount.\nWhat is to be done? The wife puts her hand under the husband\u2019s elbow,\nand pushes him up on the rock. Then he reaches back, and, catching hold\nof her hand, pulls her up. Again he removes the rocks and thorns from\nthe wife\u2019s pathway. Again she helps him over some rough place, and he\ndraws her up after him. Now he goes out to the right and left of the\npath, and plucks flowers for his companion. Yonder they stand, high on\nthe mountain side, leaning on a rock, and resting underneath an olive\ntree. They enjoy the pure air and the wide expanse of vision. They talk\nabout the hardships they have undergone, and the difficulties they have\nencountered. They look back whence they have come, and then turn their\nfaces and their footsteps on towards Jerusalem, whither they are going.\n\nThat is a picture of life. That\u2019s the hill of life. Pilgrims of life\nare we all. The base of life\u2019s hill is rough. Rocks and boulders are\nstrewn broadcast. Thorns and thistles grow promiscuously around.\nNumberless traps and pitfalls beset the way. Many a young man knows\nall about these rough places in life. His feet have been pricked and\npierced by the thorns and thistles. Traps have been set for him. Chasms\nhave yawned before him, and pitfalls have gaped at his feet. The moral\natmosphere surrounding him is bad. But no weakling he. There is iron in\nhis blood, phosphorus in his brain, fire in his bones, and courage in\nhis heart. He is a man! He says:\n\n \u201cThe mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,\n Shall never sag with doubt or shake with fear.\u201d\n\nHe asks the girl of his choice to wear his name, and share his joys\nand sorrows. They have nothing but a firm faith in God, and a loyal\nlove for each other. He leads her to Hymen\u2019s altar, and there the twain\nare made one. Now they start up the hill of life, on the long, long\npilgrimage. They walk side by side\u2014\n\n \u201cTwo souls with but a single thought,\n Two hearts that beat as one.\u201d\n\nThe way becomes rough. The husband goes in front to ward off the\ndanger, to remove rocks and boulders, thorns and briers. He does all\nhe can to smooth his wife\u2019s pathway. Now and then he comes to some\nformidable obstacle that he can not surmount. Here the wife, with her\nkindly counsels, with her sympathy, co-operation and prayers, pushes\nher husband up on the rock. The poet says:\n\n\n \u201cUnless above himself he can\n Erect himself, how poor a thing is man!\u201d\n\nThe woman helps the man to \u201cerect himself above himself.\u201d Then the man,\nif he be a man, draws the woman up to his level.\n\nAs they climb life\u2019s hill together, the roughness decreases, the way\nbecomes smoother. Instead of the thorn, comes up the fir-tree; instead\nof the brier, comes up the myrtle-tree. The moral atmosphere grows\npurer, and the prospect more pleasing. He constantly plucks flowers\nfrom the garden of the heart, and weaves them into bouquets for his\ncompanion. And, as Byron beautifully says,\n\n \u201cThese flowers of love make glad the garden of life.\u201d\n\nStanding high on life\u2019s hillside, they lean on the Rock of Ages, and\nrest under the olive-branch of peace. Together they speak of their\nrough places in life, about their sufferings and sorrows, their\ntroubles and triumphs. They look back at the valley whence they have\ncome, and then turn their faces on towards the New Jerusalem, city of\nthe soul, to which they are journeying. Their steps are growing slow\nand feeble. They lean on each other, and both lean on Christ. They are\napproaching the end of their pilgrimage. The shadows of evening are\nfalling long and deep around them. Their white locks are streaming in\nthe winds of winter. Their latest sun is sinking fast; but, sinking,\nhe lights up the Star of Hope, and flings it out like a glorious\nchandelier to light the pilgrims home to glory and to God. Ask _me_,\n\u201cIs life worth living?\u201d I say, there\u2019s the answer. That\u2019s the poetry of\nlife. That\u2019s\n\n \u201cThe unruffled mirror of the loveliest dream\n That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beam.\u201d\n\nDo you say this is an ideal picture? Well, yes; the latter part of it\nis; but \u2018tis a fancy resting on fact. Besides,\n\n \u201cThe beings of the mind are not of clay;\n Essentially immortal, they create\n And multiply in us a brighter ray\n And more beloved existence.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII.\n\nFROM JERUSALEM, VIA BETHLEHEM AND THE POOLS OF SOLOMON, TO HEBRON.\n\n Rachel\u2019s Tomb\u2014Bethlehem\u2014Ruth and Boaz\u2014David the Shepherd Lad\u2014Cave\n of the Nativity\u2014Pools of Solomon\u2014Royal Gardens\u2014The Home of\n Abraham\u2014Abraham\u2019s Oak\u2014Abraham\u2019s Mummy.\n\n\nFIVE miles south of Jerusalem, there are two deep ravines, about a\nquarter of a mile apart, running east and west, and parallel to each\nother. The flat-topped ridge between them, which is several hundred\nfeet in altitude, is terraced by nature on both sides. The terraces\nare usually about ten feet high, and fourteen feet deep. Not content\nto remain in the valley, the ambitious olive climbs from terrace to\nterrace until its green foliage crowns the historic brow of the narrow\nridge. Yes, historic is the right word. On this ridge, Boaz lived;\nand in yonder broad valley at its northern base, Ruth, the Moabitess,\n\u201cgleaned in the wheat fields.\u201d Here Jesse lived and David played. At\nthe command of God, the prophet Samuel came hither and annointed the\nyouthful shepherd lad as future king of Israel. From here he went forth\nto fight Fate and Fortune, Sin, Saul and Satan.\n\n[Illustration: RUTH.]\n\nBut there is yet another reason why this place is historic, \u201cfor thus\nit is written by the prophet: And thou, Bethlehem, in the land of\nJudah, art not the least among the princes of Judah; for out of thee\nshall come a governor that shall rule my people, Israel.\u201d Caesar\u2019s\ndecree brought Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem. While they were there,\nGod laid Jesus in Mary\u2019s arms, and on the world\u2019s heart. That was a\nmemorable night. The stars dropped a bright light, and the angels a\nsweet song, from the skies. The valleys were flooded with light, and\nthe hills were vocal with praise. Shepherds left their flocks and went\nin search of the new-born babe. The wise men of the East mounted their\nwhite camels, and were guided across the trackless sea of sand by the\nStar of Bethlehem. O, Bethlehem! thou art indeed the \u201chouse of bread;\u201d\nand to thee the people of earth look for spiritual food. As the nations\nlearn wisdom, they follow the example of the wise men of the East, and\nseek thy child.\n\nAt present, Bethlehem has about 5,000 inhabitants, most of whom are\nCatholics. The chief industry of the place is the carving of pearl,\nwood, and bitumen. These cunningly wrought relics are sold to tourists\nfrom every clime and country. All work is done by hand, and with the\nsimplest tools; and yet it is curious to see how nearly these craftsmen\nhave approximated perfection in their art. Carving is nothing less than\nan art with them. The town, antique, dilapidated and filthy, though\nsuperior to most places in Palestine, is built along on top of the\nridge from east to west. The most prominent object in the city is the\n_Church of the Nativity_ which occupies the eastern terminus of the\nridge.\n\n[Illustration: CAVE OF THE NATIVITY.]\n\nThis immense structure, which was erected by Helena, the mother of\nConstantine the Great, is built over a natural grotto in the rock in\nwhich it is generally believed Jesus was born. The building is entered\nthrough the west end. The door is small and very low; but no knee, I\ntrow, is too stiff to bend when entering a place so dear to memory,\nand so closely related to human redemption. Once through the door, we\nstraighten ourselves and walk slowly across the building. Near the east\nend, we come to a flight of steps which leads us down to a rock grotto,\ncalled the _Cave of the Nativity_. This is forty by sixteen feet, and\nten feet high. The cave, no longer in its natural or rude state, is\nnow paved and lined throughout with marble, many-colored and costly.\nDarkness is driven out, and the underground room is illuminated, by a\nscore and a half of gold and silver lamps that are kept perpetually\nburning. There are niches, or recesses, in two of the walls of the\ngrotto. In one, there is a silver plate bearing this inscription in\nLatin: \u201c_Here was born of the Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ the Savior of\nthe World_.\u201d\n\nIn the other niche, there is a golden star, which is said to mark the\nplace above which the Star of the East rested when the wise men sought\nfor the infant Christ. The feelings that a Christian experiences,\nwhen standing or kneeling in this sacred place, can not be translated\ninto words. The great deep of his soul is stirred to its profoundest\ndepths; his eyes become safety valves, through which the overflow of\nemotion escapes.\n\n[Illustration: BETHLEHEM.]\n\nThat Jesus was born in this cave, there is very little room to doubt.\nOn this point, Dr. Geike expresses himself thus:\n\n\u201cAs far back as the middle of the second century\u2014that is to say,\nwithin less than 120 years of our Lord\u2019s death, and within thirty or\nforty years after that of the last of the apostles, the beloved St.\nJohn\u2014Justin Martyr, himself a man of Nablus, speaks of the Savior\u2019s\nbirth as having taken place \u2018in a certain cave very close to the\nvillage;\u2019 and this particular cave, now honored as the scene of the\nSavior\u2019s birth, was already so venerated in the days of Hadrian that,\nto desecrate it, he caused a grove sacred to Adonis to be planted over\nit, so that the Syrian god might be worshipped on the very spot\u2014a form\nof idolatry peculiarly abhorrent to the pure morals of Christianity.\nOrigen, in the opening of the third century, speaks of this cave as\nrecognised even by the heathen as the birthplace of their Lord. And to\nthis spot came St. Jerome, making his home for thirty years in a cave\nclose by, that he might be near the birthplace of his Master; Hadrian\u2019s\ngrove had been destroyed sixteen years before his birth, to make room\nfor the very church now standing. There is no reason therefore so far\nas I can see, to doubt that in this cave, so hallowed by immemorial\nveneration, the Great Event associated with it actually took place.\n\n\u201cNor is there any ground for hesitation because it is a cave that is\nregarded as the sacred spot. Nothing is more common in a Palestine\nvillage, built on a hill, than to use as adjuncts of the houses, the\ncaves with which all the lime-stone rocks of the country abound;\nmaking them the store-room, perhaps, or the work-shop, or the stable,\nand building the dwellings before them so as to join the two. Canon\nTristram speaks of a farm-house he visited, north of Acre, which was a\ngranary and stable below and a dwelling-place above; and many stables\nin the neighborhood of Bethlehem are still recesses cut in the rock,\nor mere natural caves. In Egypt, I have often seen houses where goats,\nsheep, cattle, or an ass, were in one part, and the human beings in the\nother. Had the piety of the monks left the alleged site of the Nativity\nin its original state, there would have been no presumption against it\nfrom its being a cave.\u201d\n\nWe go only two miles, after leaving Bethlehem for Hebron, before coming\nto the justly celebrated _Pools of Solomon_. These are three immense\nreservoirs, situated in a narrow ravine called _Wady Urtas_. This wady\npasses Bethlehem, and finally empties its waters into the Sea of Death.\nThe first and smallest of the three pools is situated at the head of\nthe valley. It is 380 feet long, 235 feet wide, and 25 feet deep.\n\nThe second reservoir is about one hundred and fifty feet down the\nvalley from the first, and the third the same distance below the\nsecond. Perpendicularly, the second is twenty feet lower than the\nfirst, and the third twenty feet lower than the second. All three of\nthese pools are walled and paved with rock, and cemented. There are\nbroad stone steps leading down into each pool. The three pools combined\nwould equal a lake six and one half acres broad, and thirty-eight feet\ndeep.\n\n[Illustration: POOLS OF SOLOMON.]\n\nThese pools are supplied with water from a perennial fountain that\nbursts forth from the side of a hill about two hundred yards northwest\nof the upper pool. From this copious fountain, the water is carried\nto the pools by means of an aqueduct, the same aqueduct, by the way,\nthat carries water to Bethlehem and Jerusalem. The most successful and\nscientific engineers of the nineteenth century could suggest but little\nimprovement in these _Pools_ and _Aqueducts of Solomon_, which were\nconstructed between three and four thousand years ago.\n\nThe road from Jerusalem to Hebron leads directly by these pools. Having\nsatisfied our thirst, and that of our beasts, let us press on toward\nHebron, which is eighteen miles south of us.\n\nThe soil and climate of southern Palestine seem peculiarly adapted\nto the cultivation of grapes. Of course, the vine is everywhere to\nbe found in this country, but between Bethlehem and Beersheba it is\ncultivated with more care, and yields more abundantly, than anywhere\nelse.\n\n[Illustration: MOSQUE AT HEBRON.]\n\nHebron, more than any other city in the Holy Land, is associated with\nthe name of Abraham. This was the home of the Father of the Faithful.\nThe Arabs call Hebron _El Khalil_\u2014_the friend_\u2014because Abraham lived\nhere, and was _the friend of God_. This was one of the chief cities of\nPalestine during the Old Testament period; and, though we hear nothing\nof it in the New Testament times, it has again come into prominence. If\ncalled on to name five of the largest and most prosperous cities in the\nHoly Land, one could not fail to mention Hebron. It has a population\nof ten or twelve thousand souls, about half of whom are Hebrews. Some\nsigns of life are here. Traffic is not dead in Hebron, as in most\nportions of the country. The villages south, east, and west of here\ndo their trading in Hebron. Camels and asses are constantly coming\nin, laden with wine, raisins, dates, figs, wool, camels\u2019 hair, and\ngoat skins. Out of these skins, leather bottles and buckets are made.\nThere is also a glass factory here which is devoted chiefly to the\nmanufacture of colored beads, necklaces, bracelets and other articles\nof female attire.\n\nHebron, which is half a mile long, and a quarter of a mile wide, is\nbuilt on the base of a mountain which rises 2,000 feet above the upper\nedge of the city. More interest attaches to the mosque than to any\nother object in the place. But Jews and Christians are alike excluded\nfrom this sacred edifice. Because of the regal diadem suspended above\nhis brow, the Prince of Wales, was as a mark of special honor, allowed\nto enter this Mohammedan Holy of Holies. Dean Stanley who was with the\nPrince of Wales, was also permitted to tread the sacred court; and from\nhis pen has come the most complete and accurate description we have of\nthis mosque, which, some writers suppose, was built by Solomon.\n\nA mile and a half from the city is _Abraham\u2019s Oak_. We are told that\nthis is the tree under which Abraham entertained the angels. This story\ntakes our credulity; but, while we can not believe that this tree was\nhere in Abraham\u2019s day, we must acknowledge its age. It is venerable in\nappearance. It is, indeed, a patriarch of the forest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII.\n\nFROM DAN TO BEERSHEBA.\n\n Palestine\u2014Its Situation\u2014Its Dimensions\u2014Its Names\u2014Its\n Topography\u2014Its Climate\u2014Its Seasons\u2014Its Agriculture\u2014Its People\u2014The\n Pleasure of Traveling through Palestine.\n\n\nLYING between the Dead Sea and the river Jordan on the east, and the\nMediterranean on the west, and extending from Mount Hermon on the north\nto the desert of Arabia on the south, is a country whose influence has\nbeen more far-reaching than that of any other country on the globe.\nThe influence that this country has exerted upon the world is truly\nremarkable when we consider the limited extent of its territory, and\nthe previous servile condition of the people who made it famous.\nFrom the southern end of the Dead Sea to Gaza, on the Mediterranean,\nthe distance is only sixty-five miles, while it is not more than\ntwenty-three miles from the Sea of Galilee to Mt. Carmel. The average\nbreadth of the country does not exceed forty miles. Dan and Beersheba\nstand respectively for the northern and southern limits of Palestine;\nand these two cities are not more than one hundred and sixty-five miles\napart.\n\n\u201cThe whole area of the land of Palestine,\u201d says Dr. Robinson, \u201cdoes not\nvary greatly from 12,000 geographical square miles,\u2014about equal to the\narea of the two states of Massachusetts and Connecticut. Of this whole\narea, more than one-half, or 7,000 square miles, being by far the most\nimportant portion, lies on the west of the Jordan.\u201d\n\nThis small land, inhabited by a feeble folk, who for four hundred years\nhad their necks galled by the yoke of Egyptian bondage, has given to\nthe world a Church, a Creed, and a Christ! The Church has carried the\nCreed into every land under every sky. The Christ of Palestine has\nbecome the Christ of the world; and wherever He is enthroned idols fall\nand nations bow.\n\nSmall is the country, but important is the geographical position. It\nhas been called \u201cthe very out-post on the extreme western edge of the\nEast, pushed forward, as it were, by the huge continent of Asia.\u201d Cut\noff from Asia by the desert, and from Europe by the sea, Palestine\nstands alone. And yet it was the door through which Asiatic and\nEuropean nations had to pass in order to visit, trade with, or fight\neach other. There was a constant stream of commerce flowing through the\ncountry. Hostile armies frequently met upon her hillsides, and watered\nher fertile valleys with each other\u2019s blood. It was therefore of the\nvery greatest importance as a strategical point. Thus, by their unique\ngeographical position, the inhabitants of Palestine could, by staying\nat home, wield a most powerful influence upon the people of Europe,\nAsia and Africa.\n\nAgain, close study reveals the fact that Palestine is as unique\n_within itself_ as it is in relation to other countries. Within this\nsmall area, the antipodes are brought together\u2014the extremes of earth\nmeet. Palestine is a little world within itself. In the valley of the\nJordan there is perpetual summer; and, consequently, tropical fruits,\na profusion of flowers, and a great variety of birds and wild beasts\nare found. Only a few miles away, Mount Hermon rises into the region\nof perpetual snow. There the bear, and other animals natural to a cold\nclimate, take up their abode. Palestine has its highlands and lowlands;\nits hill country and valleys; its fertile plains and barren deserts;\nits oceans, rivers and lakes; its fresh water and salt; its flowing\nrivers and Dead Sea. Within these narrow limits, therefore, is found\nevery variety of climate, soil and production, of habit and occupation,\nof bird and beast.\n\nWe can see the wisdom, therefore, that God displayed in selecting this\nas the home of His chosen people. Here they were to live and learn;\nhere they were to mould national character, and influence adjacent\npeoples; here they were to commune with God, and write that Book\nwhich was to be read on land and water, by fishermen and farmers,\nby travelers on the desert and sailors on the sea. Whether chilled\nby polar snows, or scorched by tropical suns, we can all read that\nblessed Book with interest, pleasure and profit, and feel at home with\nthe writer.\n\nThis wonderful country is known by three names. The first is Palestine\nfrom Palestina, the land of the Philistines, literally, \u201cthe land of\nthe strangers, or of wanderers.\u201d Originally, this name was applied\nonly to that part of the country known as the marine plain, say from\nJaffa to Gaza, as that was pre-eminently the land of the Philistines.\nGradually, however, the word Palestine was accepted as the name of the\nwhole country.\n\nCanaan, or the Land of Canaan, is a second name given to this\nparticular country. Canaan signifies \u201cthe low land,\u201d or \u201cthe low\ncountry,\u201d as opposed to the \u201cland of Gilead,\u201d that is, the high\ntable-land the east of Jordan. It may at first seem strange that\na country so hilly and rough as this should be called \u201cthe low\nland\u201d; but it should be borne in mind that the hills are a kind of\na mountain-chain running through the country from north to south.\nApproaching the country _from the west_, one is greatly impressed\nwith the low, broad, level marine plain which begins at Mt. Carmel\nand extends far south of Gaza, getting broader and broader towards\nthe south. On entering Palestine _from the east_, one is even more\nimpressed with the low valley, or deep ghor, of the Jordan.\n\nBut no name seems so appropriate for this country as \u201cthe _Holy Land_.\u201d\nNo explanation is necessary; every one understands the reason for, and\nrecognizes the appropriateness of, this appellation.\n\nEnough has been said, even in this chapter, to give one some idea of\nthe topography of the Holy Land. Imagine a broad, level country one\nhundred and sixty-five miles long, sixty miles wide at one end, and\ntwenty at the other. On one side this country is bounded by a sea, and\non the other by a river. Now imagine that you build a house through\nthe centre of this long, narrow country from one end to the other. Let\nthe roof come down to the ground on either side of the house, leaving\na broad plateau on either side, that is, a wide valley between where\nthe roof comes to the ground and the borders of the country. From the\ntop of the house, or mountain ridge, to the Mediterranean is 3,000\nfeet, while from its top to the Jordan or Dead Sea is 4,000 feet. This\ngives an approximately correct idea of Palestine. But no one must for\na moment suppose the mountain ridge to be regular like the comb of\na house, or its sides smooth like a roof. From the central ridge, a\nsuccession of peaks rise up to various heights. Beginning at the south,\nthe peaks are Hebron, 3,029 feet above the Mediterranean; Jerusalem,\n2,610, and Mount of Olives, 2,724, Bethel, 2,400; Ebal and Gerizim,\n2,700; \u201clittle Hermon\u201d and Tabor (on the north side of the plain of\nEsdraelon) 2,000; Safed, 2,775, and Jebel Jurmuk, 4,000. To find the\nelevation of any of these peaks above the Dead Sea, just add 1,300\nfeet to the height already given. These several peaks mentioned are\njust about the centre of the country from east to west. Sometimes the\ncentral ridge is level on top, and we find a broad, elevated table-land.\n\nDuring the rainy season, which usually begins with November and ends\nwith March, a great deal of water falls upon this mountain ridge. It\ncan not stay there, so, rolling itself up into torrents, it courses\ndown the steep sides with great swiftness. This has continued for\nthousands of years, until now the ridge on both sides is seamed,\nthreaded, cut, worn and ditched by these torrents into almost every\nconceivable shape. The wadys and ravines are not far apart, and are\nfrequently quite deep. So all through Palestine there are a succession\nof ravines, running from east to west, with rocky ridges steep and high\nbetween them.\n\nOne would naturally suppose that a country like this would be barren\nand worthless; but not so with Palestine. These mountain ridges are\nof a lime-stone formation. In the summer, the climate is exceedingly\noppressive; the rays of the sun are almost like streams of fire. The\nthermometer rises in the day to 126 or 128 degrees. The nights, even\nin midsummer, are cool and pleasant. At noon day the mercury registers\n128 degrees, and at night it falls to forty and forty-five degrees.\nIn the day, when the lime-stone rocks become heated, they expand; and\nat night, when cooled, they contract. They continue to expand and\ncontract until after awhile they fall to pieces\u2014disintegration takes\nplace. This begets a great quantity of finely pulverized lime-stone\ndust, which is extremely rich and fertilizing. Nature, with her ever\nwatchful care, has so arranged these hills as to enable them to catch,\nretain, and appropriate most of this fertilizing dust. The hills are\nnaturally terraced. From base to summit we see one terrace rising above\nanother. They look like huge steps placed there to enable giants to\nascend. If the people would only build up the defective places in these\nterraces, they would catch practically all of the dust caused by the\ndecaying rocks, and the country would become richer and richer as the\nyears pass by.\n\nPalestine is still the \u201cland of the vine and fig-tree.\u201d Every hillside\nis garnished over with olive trees, as also with figs, dates, palms,\nand pomegranates. The decaying rocks feed the hungry trees they\nbear. This suggests a very important question: What do the people of\nPalestine live on? Now, as in Joshua\u2019s time, \u201cthe tree of the field is\nman\u2019s life\u201d (Deut. 20:19). The people live largely on fruits. Olives,\nespecially, are the salvation of that country. The people here eat\nthe olive as we eat peaches. They also pickle them; but the olive is\nchiefly valuable for the excellent oil it yields. Olive oil is the only\nseasoning these people have. Figs and dates are likewise plentiful at\nall seasons of the year, in one form or another. The grapes of the\nHoly Land are especially fine. They are abundant in quantity, large in\nsize, and deliciously flavored. There is a grape here that makes very\nfine raisins, and another that yields a superior quality of wine. Wine\nhere is usually mild. It is also plentiful, and is used freely.\n\nThere are many valleys in this country that are as rich and fertile as\nthe alluvial deposits of the Nile. Such, for instance, is the plain\nof Esdraelon and the valley around Lake Huleh. These garden spots are\nannually sown in wheat. To be sure, the yield is not large. We can not\nexpect it to be large when we remember that these sons of idleness use\nthe same rude implements of agriculture that their fathers used three\nthousand years ago. A camel, or a yoke of oxen, a forked stick, and a\nhalf-naked Arab, make a first class plow team for Palestine.\n\nThe fact that these people are primitive in their mode and manner of\nlife, makes it all the more delightful to the equestrian pilgrims to be\nhere. The student of history, especially of sacred history, finds the\nsame pleasure in traveling through the Holy Land that a miner does in\ntraversing a rich gold field. The shining dust glittering in the light\nof the sun stirs every faculty of his being; and now and then, when\nhe finds a nugget of the precious metal, his soul is all aglow with\nemotion.\n\nPalestine is more than a gold mine, it is a diamond field, to the\nstudent of Biblical history. New truths are constantly discovered,\nand old ones are seen in a new light. Each additional ray gives more\nbeauty, and adds new lustre, to the already resplendent gem.\n\nTo those who like novelty, and love Nature, nothing can be more\ninteresting than \u201ctent life in the East.\u201d Here one is introduced into a\nworld of novelties. True, the country is old; but its very age becomes\na novelty. The mountains, though shorn of their pristine beauty, though\n\u201crock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun,\u201d have an interest all their own.\nIf the valleys were lakes, and the hills clothed with verdure, Syria\nwould be only a repetition of the highlands of Scotland. If the purple\nhills of Judea towered to the skies, if they were covered with snow,\nand studded with waving forest trees, the Palestine world would be\nanother Switzerland. If these people were Christianized, civilized, and\ncultivated, they would differ but little from Europeans and Americans.\n\nBut such is not the case. The lakes were never here, and the primeval\nforests disappeared a thousand years ago. Here the snow scarcely ever\nfalls, and the mountains are only hills, Hermon and Tabor being the\nonly exceptions. As for the people, they are mostly Mohammedans and\nJews. Many of them never heard of Christ, nor do they want to hear of\nHim. Nineteen-twentieths of them are so illiterate that, if they were\nto see a daily newspaper printed in their own language, they could not\nread it. Not one in fifty could write his name on paper if it would\nsave his neck from the halter.\n\nNor is this all. The following sentence is as applicable as if it had\nbeen written with special reference to this special country: \u201cA land\nwithout ruins is a land without memories; a land without memories is\na land without history. But twine a few sad cypress leaves around the\nbrow of any land, and, be that land bleak, barren, and beautiless, it\nbecomes lovely in its consecrated coronet of sorrow.\u201d Palestine is\na land of ruins. It is strewn with ruins from one end to the other.\nHow could it be otherwise? Has it not been the battle-ground of the\nnations. Did not Belshazzer come hither from Babylon and Cyrus from\nPersia? Did not Alexander come from Greece and Hannibal from Carthage?\nHow often did the Ptolemies of Egypt, and the Caesars of Rome, march\ntheir devastating legions through this fair land? Think, too, of those\nbrave knights of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, who fought as\nnever men fought before, trying to wrench this Holy Land from the iron\ngrasp of the Saracen and Moslem. That was the darkest and bloodiest\nperiod of this world\u2019s history. This was the scene of action. The very\ndust is historic. Every tree has heard the tramp of armies, and felt\nthe shock of battle. Every stone has a tale to tell. In every community\nthere are stories many, and legends not a few. Yes, Palestine is a\n\u201cland of ruins.\u201d It has not a \u201cfew,\u201d but many \u201csad cypress leaves\ntwined around its brow.\u201d And, truly, it has become \u201clovely in its\nconsecrated coronet of sorrow.\u201d\n\nAnd more. All history is interesting, yet \u201ccrosses and crucifixions\ntake the deepest hold on the hearts of men.\u201d The word Palestine is\ninseparably associated with that \u201cname which is above every name.\u201d Here\nChrist was born; here he lived; among the ancestors of these people he\n\u201cwent about doing good.\u201d In these waters He was baptized; these hills\nwere the pulpits from which he preached His own everlasting gospel;\nwhile the stones of the valley, the birds of the air, and the lilies of\nthe field, furnished Him with apt illustrations to explain and enforce\ndivine truth. So in this Holy Land there are \u201cmemories which make it\nholier, and a cross which is even in itself an immortality!\u201d\n\nHence I ask, \u201ccan any one who likes novelty, and loves nature, who\nappreciates history, and worships the Lord Jesus Christ, who has a head\non him, and a heart in him, fail to enjoy tent life in the East,\u201d or\n\u201cfive hundred miles in the saddle through Palestine and Syria?\u201d If any,\nspeak; for him have I offended. Not one; then none have I offended.\nSo let us be up and going, taking a different route, and moving more\nrapidly this time than before.\n\nThere were five in the original party, but I gladly welcome the reader\ninto our midst, saying to him, \u201cCome thou and go with us and be as\neyes unto us, and we will do thee good.\u201d Yes, \u201cbe as eyes unto us.\u201d\nWe need some one to point out the road, as much so as Moses did when\nhe addressed this language to his gray-headed father-in-law. Indeed\nthere are no roads in this part of Asia, only dim bridle paths such\nas have been worn in the rock by constant use for ages. Very few of\nthese people ever saw a wheeled vehicle of any kind. Excepting four\ntowns, there is not a buggy, or a wagon, or even a wheel-barrow, in all\nPalestine and Syria. There are no roads for them nor for us. Hence we\nmust travel on horseback. Now that the reader has joined us, we are six\nin number. Making calculations for the new comer, we have eight tents,\neighteen servants and muleteers, and thirty-six head of horses, mules,\nand donkeys. Of course, the mules and donkeys are laden with tents\nand trunks, and beds and baggage, and other things, for our comfort\nand convenience, and their own board besides. They look like young\nelephants with all this luggage on their backs. Each of us has a riding\nsuit, a broad-brimmed hat, and a white umbrella.\n\n[Illustration: GOVERNMENT GUARDS.]\n\nWhile we eat breakfast in the morning, the muleteers fold the tents\nand get things ready for the road. Now Tolhamy, our Syrian dragoman,\nmounts his Arabian steed and cries out, \u201cYal-la, yal-la,\u201d which means\ncome on, come on. We follow suit, and soon all are strung out across\nthe country like a band of wild Indians. The procession is half a mile\nlong. For a while the pilgrims ride up and down the line, singing and\ntalking with the natives; then, plying the whip, they leave the caravan\nbehind. At noon, Abdo, our Arab waiter, stretches the lunch tent, or\nspreads the carpet under the grateful shade of an olive grove. Lunch\nbeing over, we sit for an hour or two reading the Bible and profane\nhistory, talking about the battles fought in this neighborhood, about\nwhat Christ and His apostles did here, and about the confusion their\nmiracles and teaching must have caused among these people. And, whether\nwe lunched on Mt. Tabor, whose heights are crowned with the ruins of a\ncrusader\u2019s church, and at whose base Barak and Deborah met Sisera in\nbattle (Ju. 4: 14 and 15); or at Endor where Saul called up the witch\n(1 Sam. 28); or at Joseph\u2019s pit, from which he was sold into Egypt\n(Gen. 27: 24-28): or at the spring where Gideon\u2019s brave band of three\nhundred lapped before going against the Midianites (Ju. 7): or at Cana,\nwhere our blessed Lord turned water into wine (John 2: 1-11); or at\nNain, where He raised the man who was the only son of a widowed mother\n(Luke 7: 11-17); or at Jacob\u2019s well, where He sat and told the woman\nall things that ever she did (John 4: 6-26); whether we lunch at one of\nthese places, or the other, or wherever we stop, we have a Bible in one\nhand, and a history in the other, and always find enough to interest\nand instruct us.\n\nWhile we are resting, reading and talking, the caravan passes by; so,\nwhen we come to the camp in the evening, our tents are up ready to\nreceive us. We usually camp near a village, so as to get water and to\nplace ourselves under the protection of the Sheik of the village. As\nsoon as our tents are pitched, the village is deserted\u2014its half-naked,\nfilthy, and ignorant population having gathered round our camp.\n\nSupper being over, the muleteers, together with the villagers, give\nsome kind of an entertainment. One night they have a marriage ceremony,\nthen an assessment and collection of taxes, an Arabic tableau, or\nmusical concert, without the music. There is no music in an Arab\u2019s\nsoul! By this we are on good terms with the natives; we go home with\nthem, go into their houses, talk with them, find out how they live,\nwhat they think about, so on. It is very seldom that we find a family\nof five to eight occupying more than one room, and often the goats,\ndogs and donkeys live in the same room with the other part of the\nfamily.\n\nThe people have no tables, no chairs, no bedsteads. They sit on mats,\nand sleep on pallets of straw. Whole families, sometimes ten to\ntwelve in number, eat out of the same bowl or pan. Knives and forks\nare unknown. They live chiefly on bread and fruits. Olives, figs and\ngrapes are the salvation of this country. The yield of olive oil has\nbeen greater this year than usual. I spoke a moment ago of an Asiatic\nvillage; but I am persuaded that it deserves more than a mere mention.\nI speak of the average village. It consists of a hive of rough, rock\nhuts one story, say six or seven feet, high, circular, oblong, or\ntriangular in shape. The same low, flat roof frequently extends over\nhalf or three-fourths of the town. There are covered streets and lanes,\nwinding around and among the houses. A former traveler, whose book a\nfriend has just handed me, writes as follows:\n\n\u201cA Syrian village is the sorriest sight one can fancy. When you ride\nthrough one of them at noonday, you first meet a melancholy dog that\nlooks up at you and silently begs that you will not run over him,\nbut he does not offer to get out of your way. Next you meet a young\nboy without any clothes on; and he holds out his hand and says,\n\u2018bachsheesh;\u2019 but he really does not expect a cent, for he learned\nto say that before he learned to say \u2018mother,\u2019 and he can not break\nhimself of it. Next you meet a woman with a black veil drawn over\nher face, and her bust exposed. Finally, you meet several sore-eyed\nchildren, and children in all stages of mutilation and decay; and,\nsitting humbly in the dust, and all fringed with filthy rags, is a\npoor human ruin whose arms and legs are gnarled and twisted like grape\nvines. These are all the people you are likely to see. The balance of\nthe population are asleep indoors, or abroad, tending goats on the\nplains and on the hillsides.\u201d\n\nIf it is a little cold and damp, we gather around the camp fire at\nnight, and watch the glowing flames as they crackle and leap into the\nair, and fling their wild and weird shadows right and left. Ah! what an\nartist these flames are. With one bold stroke, they draw the outlines\nof a perfect picture on the black canvas of night.\n\nWhen it is clear and pleasant, as it usually is, we go out in front of\nthe tents, and talk and sing and \u201cconsider the heavens.\u201d And often, \u201cas\nI sit and gaze into the silent sky at night, and see the myriad stars,\nthey seem like camp fires, kindled upon the plains of heaven, to light\nsome wanderer over the wastes and desolations of earth.\u201d\n\nIt may be wrong, I suppose it is, but somehow I envy the astronomer\nthe pleasure he has in reading the thoughts of God, as written in the\nlanguage of the stars. I wonder if the stars are inhabited; if so, by\nmen or angels? What becomes of these creatures when a star \u201cfalls?\u201d Dr.\nBroadus would say that this is a good subject for a public debate, as\nit can never be determined.\n\nAt ten o\u2019clock, when the others retire to rest, I take up my pen to\nrecord what has transpired during the day. Often the swift footed hours\npass by before I know it, and I find myself writing on \u201cthe other side\nof midnight.\u201d But I can not help it. In Palestine there is so much to\nsee and think about that one can not afford to sleep more than five\nhours out of the twenty-four. When at last my eyes grow heavy, I drop\nmy leaden pen and fall asleep; and often I dream about the objects and\nplaces I have seen during the day.\n\nAt six, often at five, o\u2019clock, I am up to hear the morning warbler\u2019s\nfirst hymn of praise. I find that morning, rosy-fingered now as in the\ndays of Homer, \u201chas yet a new and distant smile at every rising.\u201d Payne\nhas well said that \u201cno true lover ever yet trysted with Nature in her\nown woods, and by her own fountains, without seeing some new beauty\nnever seen before.\u201d\n\nWe have been in this country now for months. We have been many weeks\non horseback. We have made more than six hundred miles in the saddle\nthrough Palestine and Syria, and yet it has not become monotonous.\nIndeed, it grows on us; there is a fascination about it. Each day is\ndifferent from the day before. The roads are different, the people are\ndifferent, the scenery is not the same. New historical interests, new\nbiblical characters and sacred associations are hourly coming up for\nconversation and thought. Josephus is no longer dry and prosy. You read\n\u201cBen Hur,\u201d and \u201cThe Prince of the House of David,\u201d with more interest\nthan ever before; last, and greatest, the Bible\u2014the Bible becomes a\nnew book to you. Its pages are brighter, its truths simpler, and its\nChrist is more personal and real to you, than before you came here.\nPalestine is a relief map of the Bible. In our western world, a man may\nbe honestly skeptical; but, if he comes to Palestine as an earnest\nseeker after truth, he will soon dismiss all doubt, and, like Thomas of\nold, cry out: \u201cMy Lord, and my God!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIX.\n\nJERUSALEM.\n\n Approaching Jerusalem\u2014Coming Events\u2014Dreams\u2014Light Breaks\n In\u2014Serenade\u2014Zion, the City of God\u2014Prayers Answered\u2014Gratitude\u2014A\n Vision of Peace\u2014Blighted Fig-Tree\u2014Still a Holy City\u2014Prominence\n of Jerusalem\u2014Its Influence among the Nations\u2014A Melted\n Heart\u2014Tents Pitched\u2014Walk About Zion\u2014Situation of the City\u2014Its\n Walls\u2014Its Gates\u2014Afraid of Christ\u2014Crossing the Kedron\u2014Tomb of\n Virgin Mary\u2014Gethsemane\u2014What it Means, What it Is, and How it\n Looks\u2014Superstitious Monks\u2014Jerusalem Viewed from the Mount of\n Olives\u2014Architecture of the City\u2014Prominent Objects\u2014Entering the\n City\u2014Its Streets\u2014Its Population\u2014Jewish Theologues\u2014Remaining\n Portion of Solomon\u2019s Temple\u2014\u201cWailing Place\u201d of the Jews\u2014Kissing the\n Wall\u2014Weeping Aloud\u2014Fulfillment of Prophecy\u2014Only One Conclusion.\n\n\nTO-MORROW the equestrian pilgrims will pitch their tents on the holy\nhill of Zion. It will be a time of rejoicing. I think that each one of\nthe party will put down in his diary. \u201cThis is the happiest day of my\nlife.\u201d\n\nThe nearer we come to our journey\u2019s end, the more intense becomes the\nexcitement. The night before reaching the city, our tents are pitched\nin a valley. \u201cComing events\u201d have already begun to \u201ccast their shadows\nbefore them.\u201d Each one of the company is excited; each one filled\nwith life, hope, and anticipation. We all sing: \u201cI\u2019m a pilgrim; I\u2019m a\nstranger; this world is not my home,\u201d \u201cI seek a city whose builder and\nmaker is God,\u201d and \u201cOh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, my happy, happy home.\u201d\nAt length, \u201cweariness spreads her ever welcome couch,\u201d and we fall\nasleep. Some of us dream that Jerusalem is a \u201cgolden city.\u201d\n\nThe leaden-footed hours of the night pass by. About five o\u2019clock in the\nmorning,\n\n \u201cLight breaks in upon my brain.\n \u2019Tis the carol of a bird\u2014\n The sweetest song ear ever heard.\n And mine are so thankful\n That my eyes run over with glad surprise.\u201d\n\nIt is a nightingale, the queen of songsters. Perched on a swaying limb,\nnot far away, she flings her merry notes into the sleeper\u2019s tent. The\nlittle warbler sings as if the heart of melody has been broken on her\ntuneful tongue. Methinks it is the sweetest song ever wafted to human\nears on the perfumed breezes of the night. It reminds one of the time\nwhen the angel host sang to the shepherds on the plains of Bethlehem.\nI can not sleep. The morning star has dropped such a bright light from\nthe sky that it looks like day.\n\nThe pilgrims are up early enough to see the stars, one by one, fade\naway. The sun rises clear and bright above the eastern hills, and\nflings his rays of light across a cloudless sky.\n\nWe are off earlier than usual. At ten o\u2019clock we ascend the brow of a\nhill, and \u201cZion, the city of God,\u201d bursts full upon our vision! Every\nhorse is stopped. Every head is uncovered. Not a word is spoken. I can\nnever forget the flood of \u201csweetly solemn thoughts\u201d that comes to me\nduring the calm of this holy hour. Oh! the thrill of joy that goes\nthrough the soul of man when he finds his prayers answered; when he\nrealizes that the toil and sacrifice of years have not been in vain;\nwhen he sees the bud of hope ripen into golden fruit! Only one person\non this earth knows what it cost me to come here. Would you calculate\nthe cost in money? As well undertake to fathom the ocean with a fishing\ncord, or to count the stars of heaven on your fingers and toes! It\ncost\u2014\u2014!! But I forget all that, when I behold Jerusalem, \u201cThe city of\nthe great King, beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth.\u201d\n\nThe Hebrew word, Jerusalem, probably means \u201cvision of peace,\u201d and I\nhave no doubt but that in olden times the beauty of the city and the\nsurrounding country fully justified the name. It was then \u201cthe joy of\nthe whole earth;\u201d but the Lord hath covered the daughter of Zion with\na cloud, in his anger, and cast down, from heaven unto the earth, the\nbeauty of Israel. Jerusalem is withered, like its emblem, the blighted\nfig-tree. It was once a monument of the goodness, now of the severity,\nof God. The city has been twenty-seven times besieged, often taken,\npillaged, and burnt. Occasionally the very ground has been plowed up!\nAnd yet \u201cit is good to be here\u201d\u2014it is still a holy city. Mount Moriah\nhas not been removed, Calvary is still on its base, and the Mount\nof Olives is now just as it was when from it our blessed Lord \u201cwas\nreceived up into heaven.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: JERUSALEM.]\n\nIt has been said, and truthfully, too, that Jerusalem has occupied a\nmore prominent place in history than Athens, with all its arts, or\nRome, with all its arms; than Nineveh, with all its overgrown power, or\nBabylon, with all its nameless abominations. Jerusalem has done more to\nmould the opinions, to animate the hopes, to decide the creeds, and to\ninfluence the destinies, of humanity than all other cities combined.\nHere Solomon reigned. Here David sang, and Isaiah prophesied. Here\nChrist the Lord lived, and taught us how to live. Here, too, he was\nnailed to the tree, there to die, \u201cthe Just for the unjust.\u201d\n\nMrs. Watson, an earnest, devout, Christian lady from Detroit, is a\nmember of our party. As we stand upon this hill and look upon Jerusalem\nfor the first time, she is completely overcome. Her heart has melted\nwithin her, and is flowing freely through her eyes. She weeps like a\nchild, and her tears do credit to her heart.\n\nWe camp in a beautiful olive grove on the north side of the city.\nOur mail is soon brought. After devouring letters, newspapers, and a\nhearty lunch, I say to the party: \u201c\u2018Walk about Zion; go round about\nher; tell the towers thereof; mark ye well her bulwarks; consider her\npalaces,\u2014that ye may tell it to\u2019 your friends in America.\u201d With Bible\nin hand, with prayer and praise in our heart, we are now ready to begin\nour \u201cwalk about Zion.\u201d It takes four eyes or more to see the beauty of\na picture, and four ears or more to extract the melody from music. I\nshall therefore ask the reader to join us in this walk about the \u201ccity\nof the great king.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: HILLS AND WALLS OF JERUSALEM.]\n\nWe find the city perched, like an eagles nest, among the hills of\nJudea. \u201cAs the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is\nround about them that fear him.\u201d It stands 2,650 feet above the level\nof the Mediterranean, and 3,800 feet above the Dead Sea. Imagine two\nravines, deep and narrow, coming together so that the table-land\nbetween them forms the letter V, the sharp point of the letter being to\nthe south, while the open part extends northward. Jerusalem is built\non such a V, though it does not run down into the sharp point of the\nletter. The ravine, or brook, on the east is Kedron, that on the west\nis Hinnom. We find the city surrounded on all sides by massive walls\nof stone, rising forty to sixty feet above the ground. The east and\nwest walls run close along the edge of the chasms, so that, coming up\nout of the valley to either one of them, one would find it steep and\ndifficult. The south wall cuts off the sharp part of the V. The north\nwall is much stronger than any of the others, because that part of the\ncity is not protected by ravines, as are the other three sides.\n\nWe have now completed the circuit around the walls of Zion, and in so\ndoing we have walked two and a half miles, and compassed an area of\ntwo hundred and nine acres of land. These walls, some portions of which\nprobably date from the time of our Lord, are pierced by four gates; the\nDamascus gate, on the north; Stephen\u2019s gate, on the east; on the south\nis the Zion, and on the west, the Jaffa gate. Each one of these gates\nis guarded day and night by Turkish soldiers.\n\nUntil recently there was another entrance to the city\u2014the Golden gate.\nThis \u201cgateway of glory\u201d entered the sacred enclosure from the east. It\nwas through this, supposedly, that our blessed Lord made His triumphal\nentry into the Holy City. This gate, a work of art, has been closed\nup. And why? Because the Mohammedans fear Christ. The Jews say that He\nis soon to come out of the East, across the Mount of Olives, through\nthe Golden gate, into the Mosque of Omar. Then He will overthrow\nthe Mohammedan government, proclaim himself king of the Jews, and,\nsubsequently, of the world. These Jewish prophecies have aroused dread\nsuspicions in the Mohammedan mind, and to keep Christ out of the city,\nthe devotees of the false prophet have actually barred up the gate with\ngreat stones. These are fastened together with bolts and bars of iron,\nsteel, and brass. I am told that the Mohammedans, especially during\nJewish feasts, even station guards at the Golden gate to prevent the\nMessiah from entering the city.\n\nI am rejoiced to know that I worship a Christ who, when His time is\nfulfilled, will come. But, blessed be His name, He will come no more\nas the Babe of Bethlehem; no more as the lowly Nazarene; no more as\nthe despised and rejected of men. He will come as the glorified Son\nof God, as Judge of all the earth. He will come crowned and sceptred;\nrobed in splendor; seated upon the clouds, as a chariot of fire drawn\nby angels of light. It was He of whom it was said: \u201cHe openeth, and no\nman shutteth; he shutteth, and no man openeth.\u201d So, why need they try\nto keep your Lord and mine out of His own city?\n\nBefore entering the gates, it will be well for us to cross the brook\nKedron, go over to the Mount of Olives, and from there get a bird\u2019s eye\nview of the holy city. On the left, just after crossing the Kedron,\nwe come to the so-called tomb of the Virgin Mary, over which has\nbeen built a Catholic cathedral. In the cathedral, and around this\ntomb, many candles and lamps are kept burning day and night. By the\nflickering flame of these tapers, turbaned monks constantly count their\nbeads and swing their censers. A hundred yards down the valley, to the\nright, are the tombs of Absalom, James, and Hezekiah.\n\nFrom base to summit, the Mount of Olives is garnished over with\nolive trees. Now, as through past ages, the olives are gathered and\npoured into a rock-hewn vat in the mountain side. The vat before me\nis well filled. In it are an old, gray-bearded man and a sprightly\nyoung maiden, walking round and round, side by side, treading the\nolives with their bare feet, pressing out the oil. This is rather a\nhomely sight, but it suggests a holy name. A name around which cluster\nmany tender and sacred associations. The word, Gethsemane, means\n_oil-press_. Lifting my eyes from the vat, I behold, about half way up\nthe mountain side, and a hundred yards to the right of the road, the\ngarden of Gethsemane, or the garden of the oil-press.\n\nThis garden of prayer is at present surrounded by a substantial rock\nwall ten or twelve feet high. The entrance is through the upper or\neastern wall. The door, or gate, is scarcely three feet high; but one\nis willing to bow and humble himself on entering a garden so filled\nwith holy memories. Here Christ suffered and agonized and prayed\nuntil \u201chis sweat was, as it were, great drops of blood falling to the\nground.\u201d Here Judas betrayed the Master with a kiss. This garden, which\nis 150 by 160 feet, is laid out in six large flower beds, beautifully\ndesigned and well kept. There are a dozen, or more of fir and olive\ntrees enclosed within these walls.\n\nThe superstitious monks, keeping the garden, assure us that these are\nthe identical trees under which the Lord knelt and prayed. But my\nincredulous mind entertains serious doubts on this subject. In the\nfirst place, we are not sure that the present garden is identical with\nthe one that our Lord frequented. We know, however, if the two are not\nidentical, they certainly are not far removed from each other. Ever\nsince the days of Constantine (330, A. D.), the present garden has been\nrecognized as the place of agony and betrayal.\n\n[Illustration: OLD OLIVE TREES IN GETHSEMANE.]\n\nI grant that our Lord was betrayed in this garden, or another,\nprobably not a stone\u2019s throw from it. I grant, also, that the olive\ntrees are remarkably long-lived, and that these within this enclosure\nstand like patriarchs of their race, like sentinels of the centuries\npast and gone. But Josephus tells us that during the siege of Jerusalem\nby Titus (A. D. 70), the Roman soldiers cut down all of the trees\naround about Jerusalem. Josephus was present during this siege. He\nwrote from personal knowledge. And we can not accept his statements\nwithout discrediting those of the papal priests. But what care I? I\npin my faith to no rock, nor hang it upon the bough of any olive tree.\nSomewhere on this mountain side, probably near where I stand, the\nblessed Lord drank the bitter cup. That is enough for me.\n\nBear in mind the fact that we are on the eastern side of Jerusalem. We\nfind the summit of Olivet crowned with a large Russian convent. We go\nup on the top of this convent. With our backs toward Jerusalem, and our\neyes toward the rising sun, we look down upon the Dead Sea, 4,000 feet\nbelow us, and in a straight line, only eighteen miles away. The valley\nof the Jordan is plainly seen, but its waters are not visible.\n\n\u201cAbout face.\u201d We are now looking down on the \u201cCity of David.\u201d I say\n\u201cdown,\u201d because the Mount of Olives is two hundred feet higher than\nJerusalem, and the convent gives us an additional elevation of fifty\nfeet. Jerusalem is now spread out before us like a map; and, although\nit is three-fourths of a mile away, the atmosphere is so pure that we\ncan see it as plainly as if we were standing on a tower in the midst of\nthe city. It is built on two hills, Mt. Zion and Mt. Moriah, the former\nbeing a little to the west of, and a few feet higher than, the latter.\nThe intervening valley, once very deep, is now so nearly filled up that\nthe two hills are practically one.\n\nThere is little variety about the architecture of Jerusalem. The\nhouses, generally, are built of white stone, and are usually ten or\ntwelve feet high, with flat, stone roofs. Frequently one roof extends\nover many houses. So, when viewed from the Mount of Olives, Jerusalem\nhas the appearance of a broad sea of low, level, white roofs. The\nmonotony is relieved by five distinct objects that lift themselves up\nabove the surface and stand out in bold relief.\n\nThese five objects of prominence are, first, the Mosque of Omar on\nMt. Moriah; second, the Jewish Synagogue, beyond Moriah, on Mt. Zion;\nthird, Pilate\u2019s Judgment Hall, or the Tower of Antonio; fourth, the\nChurch of the Holy Sepulchre; fifth, the Tower of David, near the\nJaffa gate. These five towers and buildings lift their haughty heads\nhigh above the humble structures around them, and are clearly outlined\nagainst the golden splendors of the evening sky.\n\nThe Mosque of Omar, standing on Mt. Moriah, in the southeastern corner\nof the city, is by far the most conspicuous of all. This marks the\nsight that was occupied by the old Jewish temple. The Mosque is truly\na gem of architecture, but the Christian heart revolts at the idea of\nthis Mohammedan ensign of bigamy and bloodshed standing where once\nstood the splendid temple of Solomon. Alas! it is too true. But more of\nthe Mosque hereafter.\n\nWe came here to see the city; and when we behold the churches and\ncathedrals, the mosques and synagogues, the towers and minarets, rising\nup here and there above the white stone buildings around them, we\nare half inclined to believe \u201cZion\u201d is yet wreathed round with some\nof her ancient glory. But candor compels me to say that here, as at\nConstantinople, \u201cdistance lends enchantment to the view.\u201d I love a\npretty picture, and am always loath to break the mirror of admiration\ninto fragments of analysis; but it now becomes us to descend the Mount\nof Olives, recross the Kedron, and, entering by the Stephen\u2019s gate, to\nbegin an inspection of the city.\n\n[Illustration: STREET IN JERUSALEM.]\n\nWe find the streets, which are from six to twelve feet wide, paved\nwith round stones, varying all the way from a goose egg to a man\u2019s\nhead. These stones are half buried in filth, the other half being left\nexposed, and have been trodden over until they are almost as smooth as\nglass. No wheeled vehicle can enter the city, for the reasons that the\nstreets are too narrow to allow a chariot or wagon to pass through; and\nif they were wide enough, the stones are too sleek and slippery for\na camel to walk on, and, with safety, draw a vehicle. You can follow\none of these streets, or lanes, only a short distance without facing\nevery point of the compass. In many places you have to hold your nose,\nand carefully pick your way through the dirt and filth. These narrow,\ncorkscrew streets (?) are lined on either side by a lot of stalls, from\nfive to ten feet wide, called shops, or bazaars. Traffic seems to be at\na stand-still. The people are mostly idle. They produce nothing, and\nconsume\u2014very little! Filth, ignorance, and poverty, those emblems of\nMohammedan rule, more unmistakeable than the Star and Crescent itself,\neverywhere abound!\n\nThe population of Jerusalem is variously estimated, the estimates\nranging anywhere from 25,000 to 45,000. I think the city probably\nhas 35,000 inhabitants, proportioned as follows: 18,000 Mohammedans,\n12,000 Jews, and 5,000 Christians, each occupying separate and distinct\nquarters of the city. All the Christians, except a hundred or more,\nare Catholics. While there are a few wealthy Jew merchants and bankers\nin Jerusalem, most of the Hebrews here are mainly supported by a\nsystematic benevolence, Jews in all parts of the world contributing to\nthis object.\n\nThere are many synagogues here, but only one worthy of special note.\nThe Jews have fifteen or twenty theological students who daily assemble\nin the chief synagogue, and seat themselves on mats at the feet of\ntheir instructor, who sits on a thick, deep-tufted cushion in the\ncentre of the circle. But there is no Gamaliel among the teachers, no\nPaul among the pupils.\n\n[Illustration: WAILING PLACE OF THE JEWS.]\n\nThe Mosque of Omar is surrounded by a wall, some thirty feet high,\nwhich cuts off thirty-five acres, or one-fifth of the city. One part\nof this wall has been identified, with more or less certainty, as a\nportion of Solomon\u2019s Temple\u2014the only remaining portion. It is believed\nthat this is the nearest approach to what was once the Holy of Holies.\nEvery Friday afternoon, at three o\u2019clock, the devout Jews of the city,\nold and young, of high and low degree, assemble around these sacred\nstones for worship. Here they chant the Psalms of David, and read\naloud from their prayer books and Hebrew Bibles. They kiss, and press\nthemselves against, these stones for hours. They weep and lament and\npray and cry aloud, as if their hearts would break. Hundreds of these\nunfortunate children of Abraham assemble at the \u201cwailing-place.\u201d When\neach one has kissed the stones for probably a hundred times or more,\nthey all seat themselves flat down on the stones in the dirt and filth.\n\nHere they are, all seated in rows on the ground, facing the wall, row\nbehind row, until the last row is forty or fifty feet from the wall. In\nthe crowd I see a mother and babe who remind me of Hannah and Samuel.\nThere, to the right, is a tall, stoop-shouldered, old man, with grey\nhair and a wrinkled brow. His long, white beard hangs gracefully over\nhis breast, and falls in his lap, as he sits with uncovered head and\nbowed. That, methinks, is a perfect picture of Abraham as he sat\nweeping o\u2019er Sarah\u2019s grave. Here I can pick out a Paul, yonder a John,\nan Andrew, and a Peter. Ah! these are the remnants of a race that have\nleft their imprint upon every page of human history. They sit and pray\nand weep, and will not be comforted.\n\nClose to the wall stand six Rabbis eight or ten feet apart. With\ntheir palms upon the wall, they repeatedly bend their elbows and kiss\nthe stones. And then, in a voice as sad as sadness\u2019s very self, they\nin concert cry out: \u201cO Lord God Almighty, thou has smitten us and\nscattered us abroad among the heathen nations of earth; yet, O God,\nwill we praise and adore thee.\u201d\n\nThe people, seated on the ground, sway to and fro and cry out:\n\u201cA-m-e-n, a-m-e-n.\u201d\n\nThe Rabbis, still standing, kiss the wall and exclaim: \u201cOh! for the\nTemple that is no more\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nSwaying to and fro, the people say: \u201cWe sit in solitude and mourn.\u201d\n\nRabbis. \u201cOh! for the Palace that is torn down\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nPeople. \u201cWe sit in solitude and mourn.\u201d\n\nRabbis. \u201cOh! for the walls that are demolished\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nPeople. \u201cWe sit in solitude and mourn.\u201d\n\nRabbis. \u201cOh! for the great stones that are burned into dust\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nPeople. \u201cWe sit in solitude and mourn.\u201d\n\nRabbis. \u201cOh! for our kings and mighty men that have fallen\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nPeople. \u201cWe sit in solitude and mourn.\u201d\n\nRabbis. \u201cOh! for the glory that has departed; oh! for the delay of thy\ncoming\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nPeople. \u201cWe sit in solitude and mourn.\u201d\n\nRabbis. \u201cCome, yea, come, O Messiah! come quickly. Enthrone thyself in\nJerusalem. Reign thou over us. Be thou our God. We will be thy people,\nand thou shalt subdue the heathen nations of earth.\u201d\n\nThese Jews now, as did those in olden times, cling with a death-like\ntenacity to the idea of a temporal ruler. They forgot that Christ said,\n\u201cMy kingdom is not of this world.\u201d He once \u201ccame to His own, and His\nown received Him not;\u201d and now they \u201csit in solitude and mourn.\u201d\n\nI have visited this \u201cwailing-place\u201d several times. It is a pitiable\nsight. I see men, old men, men patriarchal in appearance, barefooted,\ndressed in sackcloth and covered with ashes. They put their mouths in\nthe dust, and cry aloud unto God in a most distressing manner.\n\nIt were enough to wring tears of blood from the heart of a stone, to\nsee a _nation_ \u201csmitten\u201d and \u201cscattered\u201d and \u201ccursed\u201d of God, as are\nthe Jews. Verily, they are cursed. They said, \u201cLet His blood be upon\nus and our children,\u201d and so it _is_ upon them. They are homeless\nwanderers. They have no common country, no flag they can call their\nown. Wherever man has gone on land, or ships on sea, the face and\nfigure of the Jew are seen; and always and everywhere he rests under\nthe curse of God. The blood is still upon him. Truly, \u201cit is a fearful\nthing to fall into the hands of the living God.\u201d\n\nStrange as it may appear, all these visitations of wrath are in direct\nfulfillment of prophecy. In his lamentations over the city, Jeremiah\nsays: \u201cThe Lord hath accomplished his fury; He hath poured out His\nfierce anger, and hath kindled a fire in Zion, and it hath devoured\nthe foundations thereof. How doth the city sit solitary! How hath she\nbecome a widow! The Lord hath afflicted her for the multitude of her\ntransgressions. She weepeth sore in the night, and her tears are on her\ncheeks. Jerusalem hath grievously sinned; therefore is she removed. Her\nfilthiness is in her skirts. Zion spreadeth forth her hands, and there\nis none to comfort her. _All her people sigh and seek bread._\u201d\n\nReader, notice carefully the above sentence, and then hold your breath\nas I tell you that every morning, about nine o\u2019clock, hundreds and\nhundreds of Jews assemble at one place in the city, and each receives a\nloaf of bread gratis; and that bread, with what fruit he can get, keeps\nsoul and body together until next day. \u201cYea, they sigh and seek bread.\u201d\n\nThe prophet continues: \u201cThe Lord hath cast off His Altar; He hath\nabhorred His sanctuary; He hath given up into the hand of the enemy\nthe walls of her palaces. The elders of the daughters of Zion sit on\nthe ground and keep silence. They have cast dust upon their heads. For\nthe sins of her prophets and the iniquities of her priests, that have\nshed the blood of the Just One in the midst of her, they have polluted\nthemselves with blood, so that men could not touch their garments.\u201d\n\nWe should remember that these prophecies of Jeremiah, and others just\nas striking from Isaiah, were uttered hundreds of years before Christ\nwas born. And yet, as we read this Scripture to-day, it sounds like\nhistory written yesterday. It is literally fulfilled. The Hebrews\n_did_ \u201cslay the Just One.\u201d They _did_ \u201cpollute themselves with blood.\u201d\nBecause of this, God _has_ \u201cpoured out His wrath upon them,\u201d their\ncity, and their country. Jerusalem _has_ been \u201cremoved,\u201d and its\n\u201cfoundations\u201d _have_ been \u201cconsumed with fire.\u201d Her \u201cfilthiness\u201d _is_\n\u201cin her skirts.\u201d God _has_ \u201ccast off His altar, and abhorred His\nsanctuary.\u201d He _has_ \u201cgiven into the hand of the enemy the walls of\nthe palaces,\u201d and to-day the children of Solomon have to petition the\nrulers of a heathen government for permission to approach the remaining\nwall of their father\u2019s Temple. To-day the people _actually_ \u201csit on the\nground\u201d with \u201ctears on their cheeks.\u201d They _do actually_ \u201csigh and seek\nfor bread.\u201d\n\nNow I submit the question. Can any man, who has a mind to think and\na heart to feel, read this Scripture, in the light of the present\ncondition of Jerusalem and of the Jews, without seeing in it an\nunanswerable argument in favor of the _inspiration_ of the Bible? If\nthe Old Testament writers were not inspired, if they wrote as men, and\nonly as men, how was it that they could write of future events, of\nevents thousands of years in the future, as though they were present\nor past? There is only one rational conclusion to be reached, and\nthat is, that these men of old wrote as they were moved by the Holy\nSpirit\u2014that they climbed high upon the Mt. of Inspiration, and from\nthere they, with the field-glass of prophecy, scanned the whole horizon\nof knowledge.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XL.\n\nJERUSALEM CONTINUED\u2014MOSQUE OF OMAR.\n\n Haram Area\u2014Its Past and Present\u2014Wall\u2014Gates\u2014Stopped at the Point of\n Daggers\u2014Legal Papers and Special Escort\u2014Mosque of Omar\u2014Its Exterior\n and Interior\u2014A Great Rock Within\u2014History and Legends Connected\n with the Rock\u2014Mohammed\u2019s Ascent to Heaven\u2014Place of Departed\n Spirits\u2014Their Rescue\u2014Ark of the Covenant\u2014Golden Key.\n\n\nAS previously stated, an area of thirty-five acres in the southeastern\ncorner of Jerusalem is surrounded by an extra wall. The plot of\nground thus cut off from the rest of the city is, approximately, a\nparallelogram, and is known as the Haram, or Sacred Inclosure. The\nsurface of the area is not exactly level, and was formerly less so than\nat present. It was originally highest at the northern end; thence it\nsloped southward. From a longitudinal line running through the centre\nof the inclosure, the surface sloped also eastward and westward. This\nnorthern elevation, which was of solid rock, has been cut down twenty\nfeet or more. The southern end, and also the east and west sides, of\nthe inclosure have been considerably filled up. So, evidently, the\nappearance of the Haram is materially changed from what it once was.\n\nThe massive wall surrounding the Haram serves as the rear wall of many\nof the dwelling-houses of the city. These houses join each other, and\nare all built close back against the Haram wall, the top of the wall\nforming part of the floor of the second story of the buildings. When\nthe houses are only one story high, the top of the Haram wall is on a\nlevel with their flat roofs.\n\nThere are eight gateways leading into the Haram, five through the\nwestern, and three through the northern, wall. The numerous entrances,\nhowever, by no means argue that the Haram is easy of access. To enter\nthis sacred inclosure, a Christian must secure permission from the\nTurkish authorities. Not knowing this, I, all alone, start to the Haram\nthrough one of the gates in the north wall. Just as I am about to step\nin upon the sacred area, up spring three Arabs with javelins in their\nhands, and daggers in their eyes. As the Arabs draw their javelins, I\n_with_draw my head.\n\nBefore making another attempt to enter, I obtain, through the American\nConsul, the necessary permission. The Consul also kindly sends his\nCavass, that is, his official body-guard, with me. Going down David\nStreet, we enter the Haram through a gate about midway of the west\nwall. Standing at this gate and looking directly eastward, we see,\nabout a hundred yards in front of us, a broad, level platform paved\nwith smooth, white, marble-like lime-stone. The platform is higher than\nwe are, and must be reached by ascending two long flights of marble\nsteps. The first flight brings us up on a broad, level terrace which,\nto our right, supports several old olive and cypress trees. Ascending\nthe second stairway, we find ourselves standing on the edge of the\npaved platform already mentioned. We are now face to face with the\nfamous Mosque of Omar, or, to speak more correctly, the Dome of the\nRock. Next to Mecca, this is the most sacred shrine in the Mohammedan\nworld. And, before leaving, we shall find that it is not without\ninterest to the Jew, and also to the Christian.\n\nThe building is octagonal, each of its eight sides being sixty-six\nfeet long, and forty-six feet high. Hence it is five hundred and\ntwenty-eight feet in circumference, and one hundred and seventy-six in\ndiameter. The walls, for the first sixteen feet above the foundation,\nare made of, or incased in, different-colored marble, the colors so\nblending as to form beautifully designed panels. The walls above the\nmarble casing are built of enamelled, or porcelain, tiles of various\ncolors. The blue, black, yellow, white, and green tiles are interwoven\nwith great artistic taste and skill. Above the marble casing, each of\nthe eight walls has five tall, arched windows of richly-stained glass.\nThe walls are adorned here and there with numerous quotations from the\nKoran, beautifully inwrought in the tiles.\n\n[Illustration: MOSQUE OF OMAR.]\n\nThe most striking feature of the external appearance of this Mosque is\nthe splendid dome that gracefully rises from the centre of its flat\nroof. The base, or drum, of the dome is twenty-seven feet high, and\nis pierced by sixteen mosaic windows. For oddity of design, delicacy\nof workmanship, and beauty of effect, I have seldom seen anything to\nequal these windows. McGarvey, with his usual grace and eloquence,\nsays: \u201cThis dome is 65 feet in diameter at its base, and 97 feet high\nfrom the base to apex. The apex is 170 feet high from the ground. It\nis covered with lead, almost black from exposure, and is surmounted\nwith a large gilt crescent. The peculiar grace of the curve with which\nit springs from the drum on which it rests, and that with which it\nreaches its crescent-crowned apex, distinguish it for beauty of outline\nfrom all other domes, perhaps, in the world. From whatever point it\nis viewed, whether from the Haram area, the city wall, the Mount of\nOlives, or any other height about the city, it is the most prominent\nand pleasing object in Jerusalem.\u201d\n\nThe Mosque has four doors, before reaching any one of which, we must\npass through a vestibule. We enter from the east side. On reaching\nthe door, a tall Arab, patriarchal and reverential in appearance,\napproaches and informs us that no Mohammedan, much less a Frank, is\nallowed to enter this _Haram es Sheriff_, this \u201cNoble Sanctuary,\u201d with\nhis shoes on. The patriarchal Arab has a supply of slippers on hand\nwhich can be had for a few piasters. Taking off our boots, we put on\nthe rented slippers, and continue to examine and admire the mighty\nstructure.\n\nThe building, being eight-sided, is practically round. Since coming on\nthe inside, this is even more noticeable than when we were without.\nWithin the building, and thirteen feet from the wall, there is a\nlarge circle composed of eight huge square piers and sixteen round\ncolumns\u2014there being two columns between each two piers. The piers,\nor pillars, are built of different-colored marble arranged in showy\npanels. The columns are of the finest marble, and are so highly\npolished that they reflect like mirrors. Each is crowned with a\nCorinthian capital overlaid with gold. From column to column, and also\nfrom column to pier, there springs a beautifully rounded arch built\nof marble blocks, alternately black and white. These several arches\nfurnish a strong support to the roof above.\n\nNearer the centre of the building, and thirty feet from the pillars\njust mentioned, there is an inner and smaller circle, formed by four\npiers and twelve columns, there being three columns between each two\nof the pillars. The centre of each column and pier in the outer circle\nis thirteen feet from the wall. The columns of the inner circle are\nlikewise thirty feet from those in the outer one. As from the columns\nand piers of the outer circle, so also from those of the smaller one,\nmarble arches spring. These latter arches support the mighty dome, the\nexterior of which has already been described.\n\nLook now at the vast structure around you, at the sunny dome above\nyou! Look at the paneled piers, at the mirror-like columns, at the\ngilded capitals, at the marble arches adorned with rich mosaics and\nbordered above with inscriptions from the Koran beautifully wrought\nin interlaced letters of burnished gold. It is evening. The sun is\nsinking. Banks of golden clouds are floating over the city. The airy\ndome above us seems suspended in the air and belted with fire. The\nstained windows in the dome receive, transmit, and reflect the glowing\nlight, until every part of the \u201cNoble Sanctuary\u201d is flooded with golden\nfire. In the language of Dr. Geikie, \u201cThere could, I suppose, be no\nbuilding more perfectly lovely than the Mosque of Omar, more correctly\nknown as the Dome of the Rock.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy is it called the Dome of the Rock?\u201d the reader asks. I am now\nready to answer this question. Within the inner circle of columns,\nand directly underneath the dome, a huge rock rises up through the\nfloor. It is seven feet high, and is fifty-three feet across! The whole\nedifice about us was built in honor of this stone, and hence the name\nof the structure\u2014\u201cThe Dome of the Rock.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: SOLOMON\u2019S TEMPLE AS IT WAS.]\n\n\u201cWhy should this rock be so highly honored?\u201d For many reasons. It\nis honored alike by Jew, Christian, and Mohammedan. According to\ntradition, this rock was the summit of Mt. Moriah, and on it Abraham\noffered up Isaac. It was on this rock that Jacob saw the ladder\nextending from earth to heaven on which angels were ascending and\ndescending. This rock was David\u2019s threshing-floor that he bought from\nthe Jebusite. On it David built an altar and offered the sacrifice\nthat stayed the wrath of the angel, and thus saved the city. Over\nthis rock Solomon built his Temple. On this rock Christ stood, when\ntwelve years of age, and confounded the doctors with His questions and\nanswers. On this same rock He stood, in later life, and preached the\nriches of His own everlasting gospel.\n\nSince these traditions are wide-spread, and currently believed, it is\nnot at all strange that this rock has imbedded itself in all Jewish and\nChristian hearts. \u201cBut\u201d says the reader, \u201cthere is nothing in these\nstories, be they mythical or historical, to enkindle in the Mohammedan\nheart a reverence for this rock.\u201d I admit your argument. \u201cWhy then,\u201d\nyou ask, \u201cdid the Mohammedans build the \u2018Dome,\u2019 and why does the Koran\nteach that one prayer offered here is worth a _thousand_ offered\nelsewhere?\u201d\n\nYour questions are reasonable, and I will solve the mystery for you.\nAccording to Moslem belief, Mohammed was an incarnation of deity. From\nthis rock he ascended to heaven. He being a divine personage, the rock\ndid not want to leave him. So, when Mohammed began the ascent, the rock\nstarted up also. It would have gone on to heaven with him, but Gabriel\nhappened to be present, and when the rock was only seven feet high,\nhe laid his hand upon it and stopped its upward flight. Since that\ntime the rock has remained just where Gabriel left it. God performs a\nperpetual miracle by keeping the sacred rock suspended in the air.\n\nThe superstitious followers of the false prophet really believe these\nmarvelous stories. They show us the imprint that Gabriel\u2019s fingers\nmade on the rock when, with a touch of his hand, he stayed its upward\nflight. They show us also deep impressions in the rock which, they\naffirm, were made by Mohammed\u2019s feet as he leaped from the rock into\nthe air! The fact that each impress is as large as a peck measure\ncauses Johnson to remark Mohammed must have had at least a half bushel\nof feet.\n\nThe Moslems believe, as before stated, that this rock is suspended\nin the air, and we shall see how the credulous creatures are taught\nto believe such absurdities. Underneath the uplifted stone there is\nan artificial chamber, twenty-four feet square, and eight feet from\nfloor to ceiling. The stone walls are whitewashed, but the floor and\nceiling are left bare. This cavern is reached by a flight of stairs\nwhich leads down from the edge of the rock above. When devotees of the\nArab prophet come into the building, they are shown the famous rock and\ntold that it is suspended in the air. To convince them of the truth of\nthis statement, they are brought down into this underground cavern.\nNow, waving the burning candle above his head, the attending dignitary\nsays to the stranger: \u201cBehold! See for yourself! The rock above you\nhas no support. It rests on nothing. It is perpetually kept up by the\nAlmighty God in honor of Mohammed, His prophet.\u201d\n\nStamping my foot upon the stone floor of this rock-hewn chamber, and\nnoticing the strange echo, I say to the Mohammedan guard: \u201cWhat means\nthis hollow sound? There is evidently another cavern still below us.\nFor what is it used?\u201d The astonished guide replies: \u201cWhat is it used\nfor? Why, sir, the opening beneath us is the pit of departed spirits.\nWhen a true believer dies, his soul goes into this pit, and there he\nstays until Mohammed reaches down and draws him out by the hair of the\nhead.\u201d\n\nLet the author remark, in this connection, that an Arab regards it\nas the worst calamity that could possibly befall him to marry some\nDelilah, and have her clip his hair, or _pull it out_, and for him to\ndie before it grows out again. Should this happen, Mohammed could get\nno hold upon his slick head, and he would be lost forever. Mark Twain\ncomments on this, and closes by saying: \u201cThe wicked scoundrels need not\nbe so particular, from the fact most of them are going to be damned,\nmatters not how they are barbered.\u201d\n\nIt is not at all improbable that this secret chamber contains objects\nof great interest to the Christian world. When Herod\u2019s temple was\ndestroyed, Titus, we are told, carried the golden candle-stick to\nRome. But the Ark of the Covenant was not mentioned. The Ark was the\nmost highly prized thing on earth to the Hebrews. It is natural,\ntherefore, that they should have done everything possible to keep it\nout of the hands of the Romans. To do this, it is supposed that the\npious Hebrews hid the Ark in some niche, or corner, of the honey-combed\nrock underneath the Temple. The Christian world would be glad to\nexplore the secret caverns under the Mosque of Omar. But the Turkish\ngovernment stands here, like a fiery fiend waving a sword of vengeance,\nsaying: \u201cHands off. Stand back, or I will let this sword fall upon your\nunprotected head.\u201d And we do stand back. But I believe the day will\ncome when the golden key of science will unlock all of these closed\ndoors, and when the electric light of civilization will be turned on.\nThen will these dark passages yield up their hoarded treasures to the\nChristian Church, to the lovers of history, of truth, and of God.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLI.\n\nIN AND AROUND JERUSALEM.\n\n Church of the Holy Sepulchre\u2014Peculiar Architecture\u2014Strange\n Partnership\u2014The Centre of the Earth\u2014The Grave of Adam\u2014Unaccountable\n Superstitions\u2014An Underground World\u2014Pool of Siloam\u2014Kedron\n Valley\u2014The Final Judgment\u2014Tomb of the Kings\u2014Valley of Hinnom\u2014Lower\n Pool of Gihon\u2014Moloch\u2014Gehenna\u2014Upper Pool of Gihon\u2014Calvary\u2014The\n Savior\u2019s Tomb.\n\n\nIN giving a bird\u2019s eye view of Jerusalem, I stated that the Church of\nthe Holy Sepulchre was one of the most prominent objects in the city.\nThis famous building is located about midway the city, from east to\nwest, but not more than one hundred and fifty or two hundred yards from\nthe northern wall. It is, therefore, near the Damascus gate. Although\nthus centrally situated, although it covers an area of 200 by 230 feet,\nand although it lifts its double dome high in the air, this church is\nfrequently passed by without attracting the slightest notice.\n\nThe reader naturally asks, \u201cHow is it possible that a building at once\nso historic and prominent as this attracts little or no attention?\u201d The\nquestion is easily answered. Except a few feet on the south side, the\nstructure is entirely surrounded by other buildings that join close\non to it. These houses, which serve both for business purposes and\nresidences, are built one upon another, until they reach high in air.\nThe church is thus almost entirely shut out from the view of the street\nwalker. To be seen externally, this edifice must be viewed from the\ncity walls, from the Tower of David, from the Mosque of Omar, from the\nhill on the west, or from the Mount of Olives, on the east. When viewed\nfrom any one of these elevations, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is\nindeed prominent. From an architectural standpoint, the building is\n\u201cwithout form and void.\u201d But there it is, its two blue domes, like\never-open eyes, of unequal size, continually staring you in the face.\n\nThe building is owned jointly by the Latins, the Greeks, the Armenians,\nand the Copts, each sect having its separate chapels and apartments,\nneither one being allowed to trespass upon the rights of any of the\nothers. The building proper is owned by so-called Christian sects,\nas stated above, but the _door is the property of the Mohammedans_!\nAnd jealously do they guard their property. The ponderous door works\non rough hinges, and is fastened with bolts of iron. But to open it,\nthe worshippers and even the priests who minister at the altars, are\ncompelled to use a golden key. When the gold glitters, the door opens.\nTo avoid this unparalleled imposition, many priests have actually taken\nup their abode in the sanctuary, their meals being passed to them\nthrough small apertures in the wall. The people are not so fortunate as\nthe priests. They can not live in seclusion. They must work for bread\nand blanket, for Church and children. It is all they can do to keep\nsoul and body together, yet will they divide their scanty living with\nthe Mohammedans who own the door of the Sepulchre.\n\nDoes the reader ask, \u201cWhy do they not worship elsewhere, and save their\nmoney?\u201d The answer is twofold. The priests are in the church; and\nwith a catholic there is no prayer without penance, no pardon without\na priest. Besides, they are taught to believe that this church is a\npeculiarly sacred place; that within this building is the geographical\ncentre of the earth. A stone pillar marks the central spot. Here God\ngot the dust to make Adam. Here, also, is Adam\u2019s grave. Here was\ncaught the ram that Abraham sacrificed on the altar of burnt offering\ninstead of Isaac. Within this building is a stone prison where Christ\nwas confined, Calvary, where he was crucified, the Sepulchre, where\nhe was buried. They point out the graves of Nicodemus, and Joseph of\nArimathea. These places are all crowded together under one roof; and\nyet they are pointed out by the Latin priests with an air of certainty\nthat seems to say: \u201cI have told you the truth. To doubt is to be\ndamned.\u201d\n\nThe building is not _on_ Calvary, but _over_ it. As if one would turn\na tea-cup bottom upwards, and then turn a large glass globe over that.\nThe floor of the building accommodates itself to the rough surface\nof the mount. So the mount is entirely covered up, and one no more\nrealizes that he is about Calvary than if he were in Tremont Temple,\nin Boston. Entering the door from the south, one sees the Stone of\nAnointing directly in front of him, and about fifteen feet away. This\nmarble slab is raised about twelve inches from the floor, and rests\non a wooden block. It is also covered by wooden planks, so only the\nedge of the stone is visible. The stone had to be covered to keep the\nsuperstitious Catholics from kissing it away.\n\nTurning now to the left, we find that the building resembles a large\nrotunda. Near the centre of the rotunda we see a small building,\ntwenty-six by sixteen feet, and fifteen feet high. This small\nbuilding is a thing of beauty. It is made of many-colored marble,\nrichly polished and elaborately carved. It looks like the model of\nsome magnificent cathedral. It is divided into two rooms, the first\nbeing sixteen feet, and the second ten feet long. The larger room is\ncalled the Chapel of the Angels, while the second is said to contain\nthe Sepulchre of our Lord. The two rooms are lighted day and night\nby fifty-three gold and silver lamps. Numerous candles are also kept\nburning.\n\n[Illustration: HOLY SEPULCHRE.]\n\nChristmas morning, thousands of Greek Christians crowd in and around\nthe Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The Greek Patriarch enters this small\nstructure, and extinguishes all the lamps and candles. Silence and awe\nfall upon the multitude, each of whom has an unlighted candle in his\nhand. Suddenly the Patriarch from within announces that he has received\nfresh fire from Heaven. The Patriarch stands at a small opening in\nthe marble wall with the sacred fire in his hand. The frenzied crowd\nvie with each other, each trying to light his taper first. One man\nignites his candle from the Patriarch\u2019s fire, and a dozen others\nlight from him. Presently, a deafening shout goes up from the excited\nmultitude. Every man waves a burning taper above his head. The whole\nscene resembles a restless sea of flame. Expert horsemen now leap upon\nswift-footed coursers which have been held in waiting. The new-fallen\nfire is conveyed to different parts of the country. Ships are at Jaffa\nto bear the Heavenly gift to Greece and Russia. This sacred flame burns\ncontinually in the Greek churches until next Christmas, at which time\nthis shameful imposition will again be practiced on the superstitious\npeople.\n\nAscending a flight of stairs, we find ourselves on what is falsely\ncalled Calvary. Removing a few planks in the floor, the priest shows\nthe bare top of Calvary, the round holes in the mountain where the\nthree crosses stood, and the rent in the rock, which was caused by the\nconvulsion of nature at the time of the Crucifixion. And many other\nthings they show us, whereof if I should write, this book would not\nhold all I should say.\n\nNow, if we had time, we might spend two or three days, pleasantly\nand profitably, _down under_ the city. For, be it understood, that\nthese hills on which Jerusalem is built are honey-combed with\nancient stables, caves, caverns, quarries, catacombs, and other\nsubterranean passages. Captain Warren, chief agent of the Palestine\nExploration Fund, is my authority for saying that Jerusalem, so far as\ncatacombs and underground passages are concerned, is far richer than\nConstantinople, Paris, or even Rome itself.\n\nJust outside of the north wall, and a little to the east of the\nDamascus gate, we enter through an iron-barred door into a great\ncavern, known as Solomon\u2019s Quarry or the quarry out of which Solomon\ngot the stones to build his Temple. With a strong body-guard, and a\ndozen or more burning tapers, we wander for hours and hours in this\nunderground world, which in many respects rivals Mammoth Cave. It is\nco-extensive with the city above. A forest of natural columns support\nthe ceiling, which in many places is exceedingly high. Here and there,\nwe find huge blocks of detached stone, which were long ago dressed, but\nnever removed from the quarry. They were probably dressed by Solomon\u2019s\nworkmen, but were never honored with a place in his splendid Temple.\nThat this was at one time a quarry, is evident from the abundance of\nstone chips and fragments that everywhere abound. In this cave, it is\nclaimed, the Masonic order was organized. It has no river of eyeless\nfish, as has the Kentucky Cave, but it boasts a never-failing spring\nof pure and sparkling water. Think of all this underneath the Holy\nCity! O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, there is none like thee in all the earth!\n\n[Illustration: POOL OF SILOAM.]\n\nOn the white ceiling above me, I wrote with the smoke of my candle,\n\u201cGod is love.\u201d I sang, and the music went ringing and reverberating\nadown the long, winding labyrinths of rock as I sang:\n\n \u201cRock of Ages, cleft for me,\n Let me hide myself in Thee.\u201d\n\nLeaving this cave, let us now go down south of the city. Just where\nthe two ravines meet, we come to the Pool of Siloam. Here our Blessed\nLord once spat upon the ground, made clay of the spittle, anointed a\nblind man\u2019s eyes, and told him to wash in this Pool of Siloam. The man\ndid wash his eyes, and at once received sight for blindness. The Pool\nis preserved to this day. Its length is fifty feet. It is fourteen\nfeet wide at one end, and seventeen at the other, and has a depth of\neighteen feet. It is walled up with rock. A flight of stone steps leads\ndown into it from the southern end. Rev. Mr. El Kary, of Shechem, the\nonly Baptist preacher in Palestine and Syria, was baptised in this\nPool. It is now partially filled up with mud; still it contains a\nconsiderable quantity of water, and I go down into it and bathe my face.\n\nIn the valley, below the Pool, is a large vegetable garden and olive\norchard. Vegetation luxuriates in this rich valley, which is constantly\nsupplied, by means of irrigation, with water from the Pool of Siloam.\n\nThe ravine east of Jerusalem, the one which separates the city from\nthe Mount of Olives, is known as _The Brook Kedron_. But the lower\nend of this \u201cbrook,\u201d near the Pool of Siloam, is called The Valley of\nJehoshaphat. This is the Jewish cemetery. The valley and the mountain\nsides on either side of the brook is one vast graveyard, and it is\nbristling thick with white stone slabs, which serve as head-boards to\nthe graves. Jews from all parts of the world are constantly coming\nback here to be buried. According to their belief, the Final Judgment\nwill take place in this Valley of Jehoshaphat. They say the name is\nsignificant\u2014Jehoshaphat, \u201cJehovah judgeth.\u201d They quote Joel III: 2\nand 12\u2014\u201cI will also gather all nations, and will bring them down into\nthe valley of Jehoshaphat.\u201d \u201cLet the heathen be awakened, and come up\nto the valley of Jehoshaphat; for there will I sit to judge all the\nheathen around about.\u201d\n\nContinuing up this valley, we soon come to the tombs of Zachariah,\nAbsalom, and St. James, which were mentioned in a previous chapter.\nPassing these by, we follow the valley northward for a mile or more,\nand finally come to the celebrated _Tombs of the Kings_. The peculiar\nconstruction of these tombs, as well as the historical interest\nattaching to them, entitles them to a more elaborate description than\nmy limited space will allow.\n\n[Illustration: TOMBS OF THE KINGS OF JUDAH.]\n\nReader, imagine that you are standing with me on a broad, level\nshelf of rock. Approaching its centre, we see what might be called a\nhuge cistern, ninety feet square, hewn into the rock to a depth of\ntwenty feet. A long flight of broad, stone steps leads us down into\nthis excavation, whose rocky walls are perpendicular. A door, cut\nin the south wall, conducts us into a series of rock-hewn chambers.\nWith lighted candles, we pass into the first room, thence through a\nsmall door to the second, the third, and so on. All these chambers\nare honey-combed with vaults, cut in the rock, for the reception\nof the ancient dead. This underground mansion of the dead extends\nseventy-five feet from north to south, and fifty feet from east to\nwest. It is a perfect network of rooms. The ceiling is elaborately\nadorned with carved wreaths and roses, with vines, leaves, trees, and\nfruits. Everywhere the chisel has left undeniable evidence of the\nsculptor\u2019s skill. The outside door is usually closed by a large flat,\ncircular stone, which looks much like a wheel, or a block sawn off of\nthe end of a log. Before entering, we have to \u201croll the stone away from\nthe door of the Sepulchre.\u201d\n\nLet us now return to the Pool of Siloam, and walk up the other ravine,\nwhich is known as the _Valley of Hinnom_. Of this valley, Doctor\nGeikie, who is always a safe man to quote from, says: \u201cIsraelites once\noffered their children to Moloch, and these very rocks on each side\nhave echoed the screams of the innocent victims, and reverberated\nwith the chants and drums of the priests, raised to drown the cries\nof agony. It is well called the Valley of Hinnom\u2014\u2018the Valley of the\nGroans of the Children:\u2019 a name which perpetrates the horror once\nexcited by the scenes it witnessed; especially, it would seem, in\nthis lower part. Here, under Ahaz, Manasseh, and Amon, the hideous\nox-headed human figure of Moloch\u2014the summer sun in his glowing and\nwithering might\u2014was raised in brass and copper, with extended arms,\non which were laid, helplessly bound, the children given up by their\nparents \u2018to pass through the fire\u2019 to him; a heated furnace behind the\nidol sending its flames through the hollow limbs, till the innocents\nwrithed off into a burning fire beneath. Ahaz and Manasseh had set a\nroyal example in this horrible travesty of worship, by burning alive\nsome of their own children; and what kings did commoners would be\nready to copy. In later times the very words Ge-Hinnom\u2014\u2018the Valley\nof Hinnom\u2019\u2014slightly changed into Gehenna, became the common name\nfor hell. The destruction of Assyria is pictured by Isaiah as a huge\nfuneral pile, \u2018deep and large,\u2019 with \u2018much wood,\u2019 \u2018prepared for the\nking,\u2019 and kindled by the breath of Jehovah, as if by \u2018a stream of\nbrimstone.\u2019 Jeremiah speaks of \u2018high places\u2019 in this valley, as if\nchildren had been burned on different altars; and he can think of no\nmore vivid image of the curse impending over Jerusalem than that it\nshould become an abomination before God, like this accursed place.\u201d\n\nIn this same valley are two pools, known as the Upper and Lower Pools\nof Gihon. The lower and larger of the two is near the southwest corner\nof the city. This immense reservoir is, approximately, 600 feet long,\n160 feet broad, and 40 feet deep. It has a capacity for 19,000,000\ngallons. The other pool is about three hundred yards farther up the\nvalley. It, also, is very large, but not so capacious as the lower one.\nFrom this Upper Pool of Gihon, water is conveyed through an aqueduct to\nthe different pools in the city, of which there are quite a number.\n\n[Illustration: BURIAL OF CHRIST.]\n\nStanding on the city wall just above the Damascus gate, and looking\ndirectly north, we see, about two hundred yards away, a mount rising up\nsomewhat higher than we are. It looks like the upturned face of a man.\nWe see first the chin, then the eyeless sockets, and then the forehead\nbeyond. It is Golgotha, the place of a skull. Here is where the world\u2019s\ngreatest tragedy occurred. No mark is left to show where the cross\nstood; yet Calvary has become the centre of the world\u2019s thought.\n\nSome two hundred and fifty yards west of Calvary, there are some tombs\ncut in the solid rock. One of these has been pointed out by Captain\nConder as the probable one in which our blessed Lord lay for three days\nand nights. When we remember that Captain Conder is a scientist of a\nhigh order, that he has been in Palestine twenty years, sometimes with\ntwenty and sometimes with forty men with and under him, searching out\nancient names, places, and history, we must acknowledge that he is good\nauthority on these subjects. Of this tomb, he says: \u201cIt would be bold\nto hazard the suggestion that the single Jewish sepulchre thus found,\nwhich dates from about the time of Christ, is indeed the tomb in the\ngarden, nigh unto the place called Golgotha, which belonged to the\nrich Joseph of Arimathaea. Yet its appearance, so near the old place\nof execution, and so far from the other old cemeteries of the city, is\nextremely remarkable.\u201d\n\nI believe God has wisely and purposely hidden these places from His\nchildren. He knows our imperfections. He knows we would make too much\nof crosses and tombs. He wants us to think more of Him who died on the\ncross, and rose from the tomb, who ascended on high, sat down at the\nright hand of the Father, and ever liveth to make intercession for us.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLII.\n\nEGYPT.\n\n Jaffa\u2014Its History and its Orange Orchard\u2014On the Mediterranean\u2014Port\n Said\u2014Suez Canal\u2014The Red Sea\u2014Pharaoh and his Host Swallowed\n Up\u2014From Suez to Cairo\u2014Arabian Nights\u2014Egyptian Museum\u2014Royal\n Mummies\u2014A Look at Pharaoh\u2014A Mummy 5,700 Years Old\u2014A Talk with\n the King\u2014Christmas-Day and a Generous Rivalry\u2014Donkey-Boys of\n Cairo\u2014Wolves around a Helpless Lamb\u2014Johnson on his Knees\u2014Yankee\n Doodle\u2014The Nile\u2014The Prince of Wales\u2014Pyramid in the Distance\u2014Face\n to Face with the Pyramid of Cheops\u2014Ascending the Pyramid\u2014Going in\n it\u2014Johnson Cries for Help\u2014The Sphinx, and what it is Thinking about.\n\n\nJAFFA, \u201cthe high,\u201d or \u201cthe beautiful,\u201d situated on the Mediterranean,\nforty-two miles from Jerusalem, is the principal seaport in Palestine.\nIt has always been a favorite shipping point. From here, Jonah started\non that famous voyage that ended on the inside of a whale. Not until\nthe time of the Maccabees, second century before Christ, did Jaffa,\nancient Joppa, fall into the hands of the Jews. Soon, however, it was\nwrenched from them by the Romans. Augustus returned it to them. \u201cSince\nthen,\u201d Doctor Geikie remarks, \u201cits fortunes have been various; now\nRoman, next Saracen, next under the Crusaders, then under the Mamelukes\nof Egypt, and next under the Turks, to whom, to its misfortune, it\nstill belongs.\u201d\n\nIt was here that Napoleon I. had several thousand Arab prisoners\nof war shot. The great chieftain has been severely censured for\nthis \u201ccold-blooded murder.\u201d I am not sure, however, but that his\n\u201ccold-blooded\u201d critics are as heartless in stabbing him with the pen,\nas he was in ordering those Arabs executed. He was thousands of miles\nfrom home. He had no provisions to feed, and no men to guard, the\nprisoners. To turn them loose was to strengthen the enemy, who already\noutnumbered him ten to one. In the name of Mars, I ask, what else could\nNapoleon do?\n\nWhile in Joppa, staying with one Simon a tanner, who lived by the\nseaside, Peter went upon the housetop and, in a vision, saw a sheet\nlet down from Heaven, filled with all manner of four footed beasts.\nThere is to-day in Jaffa a tannery, by the seaside. The stone vats are\nexceedingly old. The most pleasant place in Jaffa is on the housetops.\nStanding upon the flat roof of the house in the tan-yard, I easily\nthrow pebbles into the Sea.\n\nJaffa is worthy of her name. Situated in the midst of an extensive\norange orchard, which slopes at first steeply, and then gently, up\nfrom the water\u2019s edge, she may well be called, \u201cThe Beautiful.\u201d I have\neaten oranges in different countries, but nowhere have I found them\nso delicately and deliciously flavored as here in Jaffa. The orchard\nstretches itself along the seashore for two miles, or more, and extends\nabout the same distance back towards the hill-country. Not oranges\nonly, but figs, dates, pomegranates, pears, peaches, bananas, apricots\nand other tropical fruits flourish about Jaffa. This is a great summer\nresort for the people of Bethlehem, Nazareth, and Jerusalem. And why\nshould it not be? The sea breeze is refreshing, the foliage of the\norange trees is always green, and the blossoms always fragrant. The\nten thousand people who live in Jaffa walk through filthy streets, and\nlive in sorry houses, many of them in miserable huts. They are not,\nhowever, so poverty-stricken as are their kinsmen in other portions of\nthe country, for the showers of golden fruit are constantly bringing\nstreams of golden coin into the Beautiful City.\n\n[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF DAVID AND JAFFA GATE.]\n\nWith pockets full of oranges, and hearts full of gratitude that God\nhas graciously permitted us to traverse the Holy Land from Dan to\nBeersheba, and from the river to the Great Sea, we take shipping at\nJaffa for the land of the Pharaohs. The voyage is rendered thoroughly\nuncomfortable because of a cargo of sheep. The helpless creatures\nare crowded together almost as if they were cut up and salted down\nas mutton. During a rough sea, they are so shaken up and jostled\ntogether that they, like Peter\u2019s wife\u2019s mother, lie sick of a fever.\nThe fumes arising from these fevered victims have a most distressing\neffect upon the passengers. But for the sea breeze, we should all go\ncrazy, or should ourselves die of the fever. Night brings no sleep to\nour pillows, no relief to our throbbing temples. I feel that I would\nalmost be glad to be thrown overboard, like Jonah, and trust to some\npassing whale to carry me ashore. It is therefore with great pleasure\nthat we step off of this sheep-cursed ship on Egyptian soil, in Port\nSaid, at the mouth of the Suez Canal. Port Said, which now has five to\neight thousand inhabitants, has been built since the opening of the\nSuez Canal which, as the reader knows, connects the Mediterranean and\nRed seas. It is, perhaps, according to its length, the most important\nstream or \u201cconnecting body\u201d of water in the world.\n\nLeaving Port Said on a steamer, I soon find myself gliding through this\nCanal, whose construction is regarded as one of the grandest triumphs\nof modern science. Great banks of sand rise on either side, and the\nblue sky stretches above our merchant ship. We are constantly passing\nlarge merchant ships going to south Africa and to India, and meeting\nothers coming from there. Every few hundred yards, we see a dredging\nmachine at work deepening and widening the Canal. The desert sands are\never encroaching upon it. I believe it will finally have to be walled\nup with rock. The Suez Canal was opened, more than twenty years ago, in\nthe presence of representatives of nearly every civilized government.\nIt is 110 miles long, 26 feet deep, 72 feet wide at the bottom, and 140\nfeet at the top, and was constructed at a cost of almost one hundred\nmillion dollars. \u201cThe great advantage of the Canal,\u201d says the _London\nTimes_, \u201cis, of course, the decrease of the distance to be traveled\nbetween Europe and India; for, while it is about 11,200 miles from\nLondon or Hamburg, by the Cape of Good Hope, to Bombay, by the Suez\nit is only 6,332. This reduces the voyage by twenty-four days. From\nMarseilles or Genoa, a saving of thirty days is effected, and from\nTrieste thirty-seven.\u201d The rates at which steamers are allowed to pass\nis from five to six miles per hour.\n\nWhile the French furnished the brains and the money for the\nconstruction of the Canal, it is at present chiefly owned by Great\nBritain, Disraeli having bought up a great part of the stock, when\nconsiderably below par, for 4,000,000 pounds. Since that time,\nhowever, the value has increased to nearly 11,000,000 pounds. It\nwas, therefore, a paying investment. Out of every one hundred vessels\npassing this way, seventy-five of them belong to England. The Canal is\njealously guarded by English forts and English men-of-war. The British\nLion has laid his paw upon Egypt, and ere long a change will come over\nthe spirit of somebody\u2019s dreams.\n\nPassing through the land of Goshen, where Israel dwelt, then through\na series of lakes, and finally by the town of Suez, we enter the Red\nSea. There is more life in or on this sea than around its waters.\nNevertheless, it is of surpassing interest to the students of sacred\nand profane history. The place where Moses led the children of Israel\nacross the sea can not be determined with certainty. The authorities\nare about equally divided between each of two places. Pharaoh and his\nhost were swallowed up by the sea, and no one has ever thought enough\nof them even to fish for their chariot wheels. A thinking man, with\na devout heart in him, trembles as he stands upon the shore of this\nsea, and reads the thirteenth and fourteenth chapters of Exodus, and\nespecially when in the vicinity of Mount Sinai he reads the nineteenth\nand twentieth chapters.\n\nReturning to Suez, we find a rude contrivance, by courtesy called a\ntrain, which makes occasional trips to Cairo. It is by all odds the\nmost uncomfortable \u201cclap-trap\u201d I have ever been in. It is constructed\nmuch after the order of our cattle-cars. During the trip, we encounter\na sand storm and are almost suffocated. I suppose, however, I should do\nlike other folk, and praise the bridge that brings me over safely.\n\nAt all events, I am now in Egypt, the oldest country in the world, the\ncradle of civilization. It is here that the god of thought first waved\nhis enchanted wand, and separated intellectual light from the long\nnight of ignorance. I am in Cairo, the capital of Egypt, and, next to\nDamascus, the most exclusively Oriental city in the Levant. It is still\nthe city of \u201cArabian Nights.\u201d It is as Eastern and as odd now as when\n\u201cRaselas\u201d roamed through its streets. I should like to describe Cairo,\nwith its mosques and minarets, with its flower gardens and palm groves,\nwith its narrow streets and curious bazaars, thronged and crowded with\na moving mass of turbaned men and veiled women.\n\nI should like especially to speak of my trip up the Nile, of my visits\nto the place where it is said Pharaoh\u2019s daughter \u201ccame down to wash\nherself in the river,\u201d and found Moses in the ark of bulrushes (Ex.\nXI: 1-10), to the Virgin\u2019s tree, in the ward where it is claimed that\nJoseph and Mary lived during their stay in Egypt, to the petrified\nforests, and to other places of interest; but Time, that restless,\nsleepless, ever-watchful tyrant, forbids. If I were Joshua, I would\ncommand the sun to stand still while I finish this chapter. As that is\nimpossible, I will do the next best thing\u2014turn my watch back half an\nhour, and write on.\n\n[Illustration: NUBIAN.]\n\nPeculiar interest attaches to the museum of this place, because of its\nmummies. The old Egyptians could not paint a beautiful picture, or\nchisel a graceful statue, but they certainly knew how to embalm and\npreserve the human body. Let us pass by the \u201ccommon dead,\u201d and go at\nonce into the Hall of Royal Mummies. Here we find the almost perfectly\npreserved bodies of twelve or fifteen of Egypt\u2019s kings. Among them is\nthe mummy of Rameses II., the Pharaoh who ruled at the time when Moses\nwas born. All these mummies are, of course, in air tight glass cases,\nbut are plainly visible. Rameses II. was a man of powerful physique, a\nsmall head which is full in front, heavy features and hard. Albeit, his\nface betokens strength of character and an iron will. There is a far\naway, dreamy appearance playing over his countenance. He looks as if he\nis thinking about the past. We will not disturb his peaceful slumbers.\nWe come next into the presence of His Royal Highness, King So Karimsap,\nwho is thus labelled: \u201cThis is the oldest known mummy and is probably\n5,700 years old.\u201d As the king has rather a pleasant and familiar\nlooking face, I presume to speak to him. I say:\n\n\u201cIf your Royal Highness will have the goodness to excuse a stranger, I\nshould like to ask you a few questions.\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite excusable, sir, proceed,\u201d is the fancied reply.\n\nQuestion. \u201cWhile ruling Egypt of old, you were much honored and revered\nby your subjects. Why, then, did you decide to change your mode of\nexistence?\u201d\n\nReply\u2014\n\n \u201cThe boast of Heraldry, the pomp of Pow\u2019r,\n And all that Beauty, all that Wealth e\u2019er gave,\n Await, alike, th\u2019 inevitable hour;\n The paths of Glory lead but to the grave.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you receive the same reverence and homage now as when you occupied\nthe throne of Egypt?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; in the world of departed spirits, where I now dwell, there is no\ndifference between prince and peasant.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! Did not your title and regal attire secure you a seat of honor?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! no. Purple robes and jeweled crowns are no passport to honor here.\nThe robe of Christ\u2019s righteousness is the only garment that admits one\ninto the presence of the pure.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut is the robe of righteousness you speak of a sure guarantee of\nDivine favor?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever yet has it failed. In your world, a man may live in poverty and\ndie in distress; yet, when he comes into this world with that spotless\ngarment on, all the fiends of hell shrink back in horror at his\napproach, and all the angels of Heaven greet him with shouts of joy and\nanthems of praise. The Master places a crown of gold on his brow, and\nsilver slippers on his feet.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I see you have great riches in your coffin with you; could you not\nbribe the doorkeeper, and buy your way in?\u201d\n\n\u201cYour questions mock me. What were my paltry sum to Him who holds the\nworld in His hands. My advice to you is to seek first the kingdom of\nGod and His righteousness; to seek peace and pursue it; to buy the\ntruth and sell it not. These will be worth more to you than wealth and\ntitles of honor and power and dominion all combined. I would rather be\na true disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ than wear the brightest diadem\nthat ever graced a monarch\u2019s brow, and know Him not.\u201d\n\nThanking the king for his kindness, and his words of wisdom, I bow\nmyself out of his presence. The people here talk of \u201cKing So Karimsap\u201d\nas though he had lived yesterday, when the truth is his light of life\nwent out more than fifty centuries before we were born! It is said\nthat \u201cthe railroads in Egypt use mummies for fuel; and on wet days the\nengineers are heard frequently to cry out?: \u2018These plebeians won\u2019t burn\nworth a cent; hand me out a king!\u2019 On express trains, it is claimed,\nthey use nothing but kings.\u201d\n\nChristmas morning I am up before the lamps of night are dimmed by the\nrising god of day. There seems to be a rivalry among the stella host,\neach trying to outshine its neighbor. Each star twinkles and smiles\nand laughs and pours a flood of glory down. I never saw anything like\nit\u2014there is less of earth than of Heaven in the scene. I say \u201cSurely,\nthese are creatures singing the praise of their Master\u2014of Him whose\nbirthday they fain would celebrate.\u201d While yet these balls of fire\ngleam bright from the blue sky above, Johnson and I are in the saddle\non our way to the Pyramids. Yes, in the saddle. In Cairo, saddles are\nstreet-cars. Egyptian boys, each with a fresh-barbered donkey, bridled\nand saddled, throng the streets. The moment a traveler steps on the\nsidewalk, he is doomed. These boys leading their donkeys, crowd around\nhim like hungry wolves around a helpless lamb. He can not get away. The\nboys are irresistible. They take hold of you, and throw you into the\nsaddle, and instantly the donkey moves off. Then all the boys throw up\ntheir caps and halloo, except the one whose donkey you are on. He, of\ncourse, follows you, one hand grasping the donkey\u2019s tail and the other\nclutching a stick. The tail is used as a rudder to guide the animal,\nand the stick as an argument to persuade him to quicken his already\nflying steps. Every one rides as if he were carrying the mail. Indeed,\nhe can not help it. The donkey is running for life\u2014he must move, or be\nbrained on the spot. All persons give way for the coming donkey as if\nhe were a steam engine.\n\n[Illustration: DONKEY BOYS OF CAIRO, EGYPT.]\n\nChristmas Eve was our first experience. We had gotten here the night\nbefore. I had heard of the donkey boys, but had forgotten all about\nthem. Well, as soon as we stepped on the streets, \u201cthey came, they saw,\nthey conquered!\u201d They capture Johnson first. In five minutes, they had\nhim on a zebra-looking ass, and were rushing him down Palm Avenue at a\ntwo-forty pace. I was bringing up the rear, but the zebra was all the\ntime gaining on me. I would, probably, soon have been left far behind,\nif things had moved on smoothly. But Johnson\u2019s \u201cflying Dutchman\u201d\nfell\u2014he spilt his rider on one side of the street, and he took the\nother. When I rode up, the boy was trying to bring the donkey to by\ntwisting his tail. Johnson was on his knees\u2014not at prayer\u2014and his hat\nwas gone. In five minutes more, we were on our way again. We reached\nthe American Consul\u2019s office in due time, and without any broken bones.\nOn our way back, \u201cYankee Doodle\u201d stumbled, and I fell straddle of his\nneck; but on he rushed, faster than before. In vain I struggled to\nget back to the saddle. All other efforts having failed, I, in order\nto regain my position, placed my feet on the embankments rising up on\neither side of the rock-hewn path. With my feet upon these embankments,\nI lifted myself up for a moment, expecting at the right time to sit\ndown in the saddle. But the donkey was too quick for me; when I sat\ndown on him he was not there. A moment later found my head in the\nditch, and my heels in the air. We called at the drug store, and got\nsome salve\u2014Johnson is better now.\n\n[Illustration: THE PYRAMID AND SPHYNX.]\n\nWell, as I was going on to say, we get an early start to the Pyramids.\nWe meet hundreds of camels coming off of the great desert, and donkeys\nwithout number going into market, laden with hay and clover, fish,\nfuel and vegetables. Where we cross the Nile, both banks are lined with\ntall, majestic palm trees, the finest I have ever seen. The rising sun\nthrows the palm shadows on the river\u2019s broad bosom. The shadows sink\ninto the blue depths below; we see two palm groves standing end to\nend\u2014one above, and one below the water.\n\nNow, leaving the Nile, and turning directly west, we travel along a\nroad that was constructed a few years ago by the Khedive for the use of\nthe Prince of Wales and party. Unfortunately, I am not informed whether\nthe Prince made this trip on a donkey or not. I know this, however,\nwhether he walked, rode an ass, or was driven in a carriage of state,\nhe enjoyed the Pyramids not one whit more than I do. I can not help\nenjoying them. They are already looming up before me, clearly outlined\nagainst the sky. At first, they seem to swim in a sea of mirage that\nrises up from the surrounding country\u2014they are composed of such stuff\nas dreams are made of. But, as I come nearer, that airy nothingness\nassumes definite shape, and takes on colossal proportions. At last I\nstand face to face with a Miracle in Stone, the only remaining one of\nthe seven wonders of the ancient world. It is at once the most massive\nand mysterious, the most towering and majestic, the oldest, and yet the\nmost enduring, of all the works of man. It bursts upon me, at once, in\nall the \u201cflower of its highest perfection.\u201d I go \u201cback down the stream\nof time,\u201d and breathe the atmosphere of five thousand years ago. I\nsee, in my imagination, thousands and thousands of human slaves, deep\ndown in the bowels of some far off mountain, blasting these stones.\nI see them piling the stones upon rough barges, and floating them a\nthousand miles down yonder Nile. I see them out here on the desert,\nclearing away a thirteen-acre base, on which to erect a hand-made\nmountain. On this thirteen-acre foundation, I see the Pyramid rise,\nblock after block, course upon course, up, and still up, it goes. These\nblocks of rock, one of which it takes on an average two hundred men\nto raise the eighth of an inch from the ground, are lifted high up in\nthe air and swung into their destined places with an exactness that\nvaries not the fraction of an inch. Yes, here is the Pyramid, with its\nbroad base, sloping sides, and cloud-piercing summit; but who were its\nbuilders? and where are they? Echo answers, \u201cwho? where?\u201d\n\n\u201cForty centuries look down upon us from the Pyramids,\u201d and speak\nto us in trumpet tones of the folly of human ambition. Think of\nthe straining, the suffering and the sorrowing, that those foolish\nPyramid-builders caused, in order to have their bodies preserved, and\ntheir memories perpetuated. Their work still stands, but long ago their\nvery bones have been ground into powder, and even their names are\nunknown to man.\n\nThe Great Pyramid is 730 feet square at the base, and is 460 feet high.\n\u201cThe usual process in Egyptian Pyramid building seems to have been to\nstart with an upright column, or needle, of rock, and enclose it in a\nseries of steps formed of huge blocks of stone. Fresh series of steps\nwere added to the outside, till the requisite dimensions were obtained.\nThen the steps were filled up with smooth polished stones, covered with\nsculpture and inscriptions.\u201d Deep down in the Pyramids were left open\nchambers and passages, as the burial places of the illustrious builder\nand his family. Of course, these interior chambers were closed and\nhermetically sealed. From the Great Pyramid, or the Pyramid of Cheops,\nthe outer polished stones have been removed, so now there remains a\nseries of colossal steps, up which some visitors climb to the top.\n\nTo ascend the Pyramid, one must pay a fee to the Sheik, who furnishes\nhim with two strong Arabs\u2014some travelers require four\u2014to assist him\nup. It would be both difficult and dangerous to attempt the ascent\nalone. The steps are often five feet high. There is no chance to catch\na hand hold, and you have only twelve, and sometimes six, inches to\nstand on while you struggle to get up. We had two assistants each, yet\nJohnson came very near falling. I was amused, and excited, too, when I\nheard him cry out to the Arabs, \u201cHold me! _hold me!_\u201d\n\nAt the top of the Pyramid, there is a level platform, about thirty feet\nsquare, from which one gets a fine view of the surrounding country.\nLooking eastward, I can trace the majestic Nile, in its onward sweep\ntoward the ocean, and its fertile valley, once the granary of the\nworld. Turning toward the setting sun, I look out for miles and miles\nover the arid desert. Not a living thing do I see, but a caravan of\ncamels, those ships of the desert, just starting out on their long\njourney. After descending almost to the ground, we have then to slide\non our stomachs up an inclined plane, on the inside of the Pyramid in\norder to reach the interior chamber, which was long ago robbed of its\nmummied kings.\n\nA few hundred yards from the Pyramid of Cheops stands the colossal\nSphynx, which, if possible, is a greater wonder than the Pyramid\nitself. The Sphynx is a huge lion with a human head. It is therefore\nan emblematic sovereign, combining the greatest earthly wisdom with\nthe greatest possible strength. I said the Sphynx is colossal. Look\nat it and see for yourself. Its paws are fifty feet, and its body one\nhundred and forty feet in length. Its massive head is of proportionate\nsize. This image is hewn out of solid stone, and stands out before us\nin giant-like proportions. And yet it is so graceful and symmetrical,\nwithal, that we half-way forget its size. We are wondering why it does\nnot move and walk, why we can not see it breathe and roll its eyes. If\nGod would only touch the Sphynx, it would instantly become a living\ncreature! Its countenance has been described as wearing \u201can expression\nof the softest beauty and most winning grace.\u201d This, however, must\nhave been in the days of its youth. At present, it has a furrowed brow\nand wrinkled. Its eyes are deep back in its head, and its jaws are\nfirmly set. It wears a pensive, thoughtful look.\n\nI speak to the Sphynx, but, paying no attention, it stands \u201cstaring\nright on, with calm eternal eyes.\u201d As an old man in his dotage, forgets\nall that took place during the days of his strength and manly glory,\nand thinks only of those things which occurred in early life, so this\nSphynx stands, with memory stretching like rainbow from old age to\nchildhood. It is thinking about the confusion of tongues that took\nplace around the tower of Babel; about the morning when the city of\nDamascus was laid out by Uz, the great-grandson of Noah; about the day\nwhen God appeared to Abraham, and told him to leave the land of Ur and\ngo into the land of Canaan. It is thinking about the time when Joseph\nruled Egypt; when Moses was found in the ark of bulrushes, on the bosom\nof yonder Nile; when Pharaoh was swallowed up by the Red Sea. In middle\nlife, this \u201ceternal statue\u201d saw Troy fall and Athens rise. In old age,\nit saw Rome flourish, fade and fall.\n\nStanding side by side, are the Sphynx and the Pyramids, both huge in\ndimensions, both graceful in appearance, both impressive to behold,\nboth \u201cancient as the sun,\u201d and both I believe, will be among the last\nearthly objects to yield to the \u201cwasting tooth of Time.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIII.\n\nA BURIED CITY\u2014POMPEII.\n\n Long Shut Out of Civilization\u2014Four Days in Gehenna\u2014Paul\u2019s\n Experience Co-Incides with Ours\u2014Dead\u2014Buried\u2014A Stone Against\n the Door\u2014Raised from the Grave\u2014Under an Italian Sky\u2014\u201cSee\n Naples and Die\u201d\u2014Off for the City of the Dead\u2014Knocking for\n Entrance\u2014Earthquake\u2014Re-Built\u2014Location of the City\u2014Boasted\n Perfection\u2014City Destroyed by a Volcano\u2014Vivid Description by an\n Eye-Witness\u2014Rich Field for Excavation\u2014What Has been Found\u2014Returns\n to Get Gold\u2014Poetical Inspiration\u2014Pompeii at Present\u2014Mistaken\n Dedication.\n\n\nFOR some months past I have been breathing the atmosphere of Asia and\nAfrica. While there I was completely shut out from civilization. I\nhave not received a paper or the scratch of a pen from any one in many\nweeks. I must have a letter soon, if I have to write it myself.\n\nSince leaving Egypt I have been four days on the Mediterranean\u2014I had\nalmost said \u201cfour days in Gehenna.\u201d I flattered myself that I was\na moderately good sailor, but this time I lost my sea legs in half\nan hour after going on board the steamer, nor did I discover their\nwhereabouts until twelve hours after landing. I thought of Paul\u2019s\nexperience when making a similar voyage. In Acts 27:6 we are told that\nPaul was put in a ship \u201csailing from Alexandria to Italy.\u201d So was I.\nPaul\u2019s vessel was struck with a \u201ctempestuous wind, called Euroclydon,\u201d\nand was \u201cexceedingly tossed with a tempest.\u201d So was mine. Paul sailed\nclose by the islands of Crete and Clauda. So did I. I was sea-sick\u2014so\nwas Paul, I suppose. Indeed it was a voyage long to be remembered. I am\na splendid sailor\u2014on land\u2014but I can not navigate a \u201ctempestuous sea.\u201d\n\nEurope again! I feel as one who has been keeping company with the dead,\nand has now been raised from the grave and brought back to the land\nof the living. Verily, the people of Asia and Africa are dead\u2014dead\nspiritually, dead in trespasses and sin, dead to literature and\nlearning, dead to the progress the world is making. Not only dead, but\nburied\u2014buried in conceit, in selfishness, in filth and ignorance.\nYes, these people are dead and buried in a sepulchre, and against the\ndoor of that sepulchre Poverty has placed a stone which naught but the\nangels of God can remove. Come, O winged angel, come quickly. Roll\naway this stone, that these benighted people may be raised up to the\nnineteenth century and to God!\n\nI am now on Italian soil in Naples, under a soft Italian sky, and God\u2019s\nbright and cheerful sunshine, streaming through my window, is falling\nin golden ringlets upon the floor. Naples boasts 1,000,000 inhabitants,\nand possesses many charms for the traveler. In approaching the city\nfrom the bay the scene is peculiarly striking. It was perhaps this\ncharming picture that gave rise to the saying: \u201cSee Naples and die.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: STREET OF CORNELIUS RUFUS, POMPEII.]\n\nA fine day this to visit Pompeii, which is only fifteen miles away. It\nis situated on a narrow table-land which on one side slopes gently down\nto the bay, and on the other side rises up steeply to the crest of Mt.\nVesuvius. We go by train. In half an hour after leaving Naples, we hear\nthe conductor shouting: \u201cPompeii! Pompeii!!\u201d Fifteen minutes later we\nare standing before \u201cPorta della Marina,\u201d knocking for entrance.\n\nWhile waiting for the keeper to open the gate, let me relate as briefly\nas possible the history of this \u201cCity of the Dead,\u201d as Sir Walter Scott\ncalls Pompeii. This city (pro. Pom-_pay_-ee) was in a flourishing\ncondition hundreds of years before the Christian era. It was founded\nby the Oscans, but soon fell under Greek influence and civilization.\nThe Greeks, in turn, were subdued by the strong hand of the Caesars and\nPompeii became a Roman town.\n\nIn A. D. 63, there came an earthquake and a slight eruption of\nVesuvius, which together destroyed the greater part of the city. As\nsoon, however, as the earth ceased to tremble, and the mountain to\nsmoke, the work of re-construction began. As in Chicago, after the\ngreat fire, the debris was removed, the city was enlarged, the streets\nwere laid out with greater care and more regularity than before.\nStreams of gold now flowed in from every direction. The magician waved\nhis wand, and lo! from the wreck and ruin of the past, there rose a\ncity of palatial residences and marble temples. Art flourished. Every\nwall was pictured, every niche held a statue, every column was wreathed\nwith a garland of sculptured roses. Fountains played, monuments arose\nin honor of Augustus and Nero, triumphal arches were flung across the\nprincipal entrances to the city, the marble forms of mythological gods\nfilled the public squares and stood at every street corner. On the\nfifteenth page of \u201cThe Last Days of Pompeii\u201d the author says: \u201cPompeii\nwas the miniature of the civilization of that age. Within the narrow\ncompass of its walks was contained, as it were, a specimen of every\ngift which Luxury offered to Power. In its minute but glittering shops,\nits tiny palaces, its baths, its forum, its theater, its circus, in the\nenergy yet corruption, in the refinement yet the vice of its people,\nyou beheld a model of the whole empire. It was a toy, a play thing, a\nshow-box, in which the gods seemed pleased to keep the representation\nof the great monarchy of Earth, and which they afterward hid from Time\nto give to the wonder of Posterity!\u201d\n\nThis \u201cminiature city,\u201d rising from the midst of a luxuriant vineyard,\nstood on a beautiful table land and was girt around with a strong wall.\nBack behind the city, and close at hand, rose the awful form of that\nsleeping volcano. The ambitious vine had climbed up and spread its\nfruitful branches over the crater itself. Purple clusters of luscious\nfruit silently slept in the sunshine, high aloft on the mountain side.\nJust below the city, in front and to the south, was the glassy Bay of\nNaples covered with vessels of commerce, and gilded galleys of the\nrich. All in all, Pompeii and its surroundings formed one of the most\npleasing pictures that ever greeted the human eye.\n\nPompeii had just reached its boasted perfection when, on the 24th of\nAugust, A. D. 79, fifty years after the Crucifixion, it was destroyed\nby Vesuvius. Pliny, whose mother was among those buried alive, wrote\ntwo letters to his friend, the historian Tacitus, in which letters\nhe gives a graphic description of this fearful scene. He speaks of\n\u201cthe premonitory earthquakes, day turned into night the extraordinary\nagitation of the sea, the dense clouds overhanging the land and sea,\nand riven by incessant flashes of lightning, the emission of fire\nand ashes, the descent of streams of lava, and the universal terror\nof men, who believed the end of the world had arrived.\u201d At the time\nof the eruption many of the houses were closed; hence they were not\nfilled, but simply surrounded by and covered with ashes. This of course\nexcluded all air. Thus many houses were hermetically sealed, as was\nalso the city itself. Of the 30,000 souls dwelling in Pompeii, 2,000 or\nmore perished with the city. Pompeii, being built entirely of stone,\nmarble and granite did not burn, but was simply buried beneath this\nincumbent mass. For 1,700 years it was wrapped in ashes and hid from\nthe face of the earth. For centuries its very site was unknown, and\neven its name forgotten. \u201cBut earth, with faithful watch, has hoarded\nall,\u201d and during the last few years much of the buried city has been\nunearthed and brought to light.\n\nWhat a rich field for excavation! It has proved an inexhaustible\nstore-house of wealth, and a perfect treasury of art. Great quantities\nof gold and silver coins and jewelry, frescoes, pictures, statuary,\nhousehold furniture, and cooking utensils, have been found; also\nseveral large loaves of bread in a perfect state of preservation, and\njars of pickled olives. How strange to have one\u2019s appetite tempted by\narticles of food that were prepared for those who lived 1,700 years ago!\n\nMany dogs and horses, and not less than three to four hundred human\nbodies, have been discovered. Eighteen bodies were in one room. You see\nto-day the contortions their bodies were in, and the expression their\ncountenances wore, at the moment of death. Their tangled and disheveled\nhair is clotted with ashes. In the excitement and confusion of that\nawful hour, the terror-stricken inhabitants of the doomed city ran to\nand fro through the streets, calling upon their gods for safety and\ndeliverance. They were over-powered by the falling shower of ashes and\ncinders. They threw themselves upon the ground, their faces upon their\narms. At this moment, the sluggish stream of wet ashes which poured\nforth from Vesuvius passed over them. Many no doubt welcomed death. For\nseventeen centuries their quiet slumbers were undisturbed.\n\nOne man was found with ten pieces of gold in one hand, and a large key\nin the other. Gold, however, was no bribe to the fiery fiend. But for\nthat gold, the owner might have escaped; but no, he must return to get\nit. He would not leave it. Hence he did not leave at all. I know many\nmen who are acting as foolishly to-day, as this citizen of Pompeii\ndid ages ago. Many a man says: \u201cI will make my fortune; I will get\nmy gold first, and then look to my soul\u2019s welfare.\u201d O reader, the day\nof judgment is at hand! \u201cFlee from the wrath to come;\u201d \u201cflee for thy\nlife.\u201d \u201cSeek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness,\u201d and then\nget your gold.\n\nSome of these bodies are adorned now as on the day of death, with rings\nand bracelets and necklaces.\n\nThe most poetical thing, perhaps, that Pompeii has yielded to modern\nresearch is two bodies, male and female, who died in each other\u2019s arms.\nLet us imagine these persons in the spring-time of life, with the dew\nof youth still fresh upon their brows; that the girl was beautiful and\naccomplished, the man strong and true and brave; that their hearts had\nbeen touched by Love\u2019s magic wand, and made one; that when on that\nAugust day darkness came, when the earth shook, and the volcano poured\nforth molten streams of fire and consternation, he could have escaped,\nbut he would not go without her. He sought her and she sought him. But\nwhen they found each other she was weak and exhausted and could go no\nfarther. She said: \u201cGo, loved one; go save, save thyself!\u201d He replied:\n\u201cLeave thee, never! Let the thunder roar and the lightnings flash; let\nthe earth reel and the mountains pour forth their fiery streams of\ndeath; I die with you rather than live without you!\u201d So saying, they\nembraced each other and perished. That embrace is still unbroken.\n\nAs I gaze upon the bodies of these faithful lovers, I fancy, for the\ntime, that I am a poet with the harp of Apollo in my hand. Heavenly\nbreezes sweep across the strings of that golden lyre, and wake for me a\nsong which, for pathos and sweetness, rivals the minstrelsy of angels.\n\nAt present Pompeii is protected by the same wall that surrounded it\nwhen Christ was born in Bethlehem. The city is laid bare. Every thing\nis clean and neat. The streets are narrow, but straight and well paved\nwith broad flags of lava. These stone-like pavements are worn in some\nplaces eight or ten inches deep by the chariot wheels that used to\nthunder along these busy streets.\n\nAll houses of Pompeii are now roofless, though otherwise most of them\nare perfectly preserved. They are usually one story high. The walls\nwere, and are still, covered with beautiful frescoes. Mythology was\na favorite subject for the painter\u2014everywhere we see pictures of\nMinerva, Apollo, Jupiter, Bacchus, and Hercules performing his twelve\nlabors. The floors, clean as any parlor, are inlaid with rich mosaics,\nrepresenting historical events, gladitorial contests, etc.\n\nAs one walks the streets of Pompeii on a moonlight night, the ghost of\nthe past rises up before him. He has read in history about the luxury,\npomp, and splendor of ancient Rome, but here he sees a Roman city as\nit was in the golden days of Nero. One who has a vivid imagination,\ncan stand here at night and easily people these palaces, streets,\nand theatres with the pleasure-loving Romans of 2,000 years ago. Ah,\nhow they thronged these streets! How eagerly they crowded into the\namphitheatre to see the gladiators measure swords with each other; to\nsee men pitted against ferocious lions and tigers, against wild bulls\nand boars!\n\nWhen their city was finished and the wall around it completed, the\nPompeiians decided that they needed a protector. Finally the honor was\naccorded to Minerva. Accordingly a huge and magnificent marble statue\nof this Goddess was prepared and erected near Porta della Marina\u2014the\nMarine Gate\u2014the principal entrance to the city. This faultless statue\nwas itself about twelve feet high, and stood upon a pedestal of equal\naltitude. In her left hand the Goddess held a shield, her right\ngrasped a spear, while her brow was graced with the victor\u2019s wreath.\nThe appointed day came. The people assembled around the statue, while\nthe best orators of Rome and the world pronounced glowing eulogies\nupon the new city and the wise Goddess. Thus Pompeii was dedicated and\nformally turned over to Minerva for her protection. And protect it\nshe did as long as it needed no protection. But wait until that fatal\nnight. The protector was then insensible to the trembling earth, deaf\nto the pealing thunder, blind to the flashing lightning that wreathed\nher brow. She heard not the cries of her terror-stricken people. She\nraised not her shield nor lifted her spear to stay the calamity. The\nheavens darkened, the ocean heaved, the mountain reeled, cataracts of\nfire came leaping down the steeps and rolling on towards the city. Yet\nthere stood Minerva blind, dumb, mute, and motionless, able to protect\nneither herself nor the city!\n\nIf the Pompeiians had dedicated their city to the Great I Am, who\n\u201cguides His people with His eye,\u201d and whose \u201cear is ever open to their\ncries,\u201d its history might have been different. Now reader, allow the\nauthor to suggest that you dedicate your life, not to the blind goddess\nof wealth or of fashion, but to that God who is \u201ca very present help in\nevery time of need\u201d\u2014to that God who delivered Peter from prison, and\nrescued Daniel from the lion\u2019s den.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIV.\n\nVESUVIUS IN ACTION\u2014AS IT LOOKS BY DAY AND BY NIGHT.\n\n As it Looks by Day and by Night\u2014Leaving Naples\u2014First Sight\n of Vesuvius\u2014Description\u2014The Number of Volcanoes\u2014Off to See\n the Burning Mountain\u2014A Nameless Horse\u2014Respect for Age\u2014Refuse\n Portantina\u2014Mountain of Shot\u2014A Dweller in a Cave\u2014A Slimy Serpent\n for a Companion\u2014Jets of Steam\u2014Vulcan\u2019s Forge\u2014Exposed to a Horrible\n Death\u2014Upheavals of Lava\u2014Showers of Fire\u2014Fiery Fiends\u2014Winged\n Devils\u2014Tongue of Fire\u2014A Voice of Thunder.\n\n\nITALY, as the reader will remember, is in the shape of a boot, and you\nfind Mt. Vesuvius on the instep of that boot.\n\nLeaving Naples by train we skirt along the beautiful bay by the same\nname and step off, as in the last chapter, at Pompeii, some fifteen\nmiles from the starting point. Mt. Vesuvius now lifts its majestic\nform before us, and I am sure that if we should live to be as old\nas Methuselah, we can never forget its awful, yet picturesque and\nbeautiful appearance.\n\nTake if you please a deep soup plate and turn it bottom upwards on your\ntable. Next get a tea-cup and turn that bottom upwards on the center of\nthe plate. Now imagine the table to be a broad, fertile field covered\nwith vines. Imagine the plate to be fifteen miles in circumference, and\nthat it swells from the plain and lifts itself up until the cup, rising\nsharp-pointed like a huge pyramid, reaches to the height of 4,200 feet.\nThis is Mt. Vesuvius, and you must know that it is as black as charcoal\nand rough as a tree that has been a thousand times struck by lightning.\nIt is hollow like a cup and is open at the top as the inverted cup\nwould be if the bottom were out.\n\n[Illustration: _THE GAST ART PRESS, N.Y._\n\nMOUNT VESUVIUS IN ACTION.]\n\nAs I stand gazing at Vesuvius, it is slowly emitting a huge volume of\nwhite, sulphurous smoke or steam which rises straight like a mighty\nshaft of marble for a thousand feet above the crater, then gracefully\ncurving, the column stretches itself across the glassy bay of Naples\nfor ten miles or more until finally it joins itself with the fleecy\nclouds. What a picture it presents! There is the great city throbbing\nwith life; the silvery bay flecked with white-winged and smoke-plumed\nvessels; there is the broad, fertile plain, covered with fruit-bearing\nvineyards, and dotted here and there with small, rude and dilapidated\npeasant villages; there are the black mountain and the white column\nof steam, clearly outlined against the rich blue, Italian sky. Such\na scene, I am sure, could not fail to wake a song from the poet, or\ninspire the artist to put forth his best endeavors.\n\nThere are about 650 volcanoes in existence, but Dr. Hartwig says, \u201cFor\nthe naturalist\u2019s researches, for the traveler\u2019s curiosity and the\npoet\u2019s song, Etna and Vesuvius surpass in renown all other volcanic\nregions in the world.\u201d Knowing that Vesuvius is so noted, I am anxious\nto observe the phenomena closely, and to do this I must cross the plain\nand ascend the mountain. We can not go alone and it is too far to walk.\nSecuring our horses and a guide, we set out on the journey.\n\n[Illustration: CLIMBING MOUNT VESUVIUS.]\n\nJohnson\u2019s horse is named Maccaroni; mine has no name; he had one\nonce, but has long ago worn it out. I am at a loss to know what to\nname him. I can not conscientiously call him Baalbek, for he is not\na \u201cmagnificent\u201d ruin. But I can with perfect propriety, and without\na sacrifice of principle, call him Pompeii, \u201can ancient ruin.\u201d He\nlooks as if he might have been in the doomed city on that fatal day,\nand as if he has not yet recovered from the ill effects of that day\u2019s\nexperience. His teeth are out, his mane is gone, he has no tail.\nHis backbone is so much in the shape of a razor blade, that it has\nsplit the saddle wide open, fore and aft. The two parts are roped\ntogether, and carelessly thrown across the skeleton. This protects\nme somewhat, and I would be moderately comfortable if the saddle did\nnot hang too far to the starboard side. Albeit I have great respect\nfor that horse\u2014his age demands it. No horse can go higher than the\nfoot of the cone\u2014the cup. Here dismounting, I am at once accosted by\na swarm of Italians who want to assist me up the cone. It takes four\nof these swarthy athletes to carry one pilgrim up. They put him in\na \u201cportantina,\u201d a kind of chair made for the purpose. The four men,\ntaking this chair on their shoulders, begin the ascent, stopping quite\nfrequently to rest. Other assistants have straps or ropes, which they\nput around the pilgrim just below the arms; then two men, each holding\none end of the rope, walk in front and thus draw their victim up. Many\nItalians earn a livelihood in this way. I do not avail myself of their\nproffered help\u2014I can not bear to impose on good nature.\n\nYes, I go alone, but I frankly confess it is hard work. The ascent is\nvery steep. In my schoolboy days I climbed many trees, tall, smooth\nbodied and limbless, after young squirrels, grapes and chestnuts. Since\nthen I have climbed many mountains. I have climbed the Rocky Mountains.\nI have climbed mountains in Mexico, in Virginia, West Virginia, Maine,\nNew Hampshire, Vermont and Canada. I have climbed mountains in England,\nIreland, Scotland and Wales; in Germany and France, in Switzerland and\nItaly, in Austria and Hungary, in Servia and Roumania, in Bulgaria\nand Slavonia, in Greece, Russia and Asia Minor, in Palestine, Syria\nand Arabia. I have climbed the Pyramids of Egypt. But I have never\nclimbed anything that wearied me as does the ascent of Vesuvius. It is\nlike climbing a mountain of shot. I sink at each step half leg deep\nin charcoal and ashes. I frequently stumble and fall. It is uphill\nbusiness. I am walking on snow and sniffing the mountain breeze, yet\nthe perspiration rolls off of me like rain\u2014a light shower of course.\n\nBy this time we come to where the footing is more firm and solid,\nbut the way not less trying and difficult. There are many narrow and\nyawning crevices to cross, many deep openings to shun on the right\nand left\u2014some of them large enough to swallow a good-sized house.\nPerchance it was one of these dark caverns wherein dwelt that lazy\nhag, with a fox and a slimy serpent as her sole companions\u2014I mean\nthat weird witch who cursed Glaucus and Ione and helped Arbaces, the\nEgyptian, to work out his diabolical purposes. This part of the cone\nis composed of black and hardened lava, hideously rough and jagged,\nporous as honeycomb. Here and there small jets of smoke and hot steam,\nsome of them no larger than my thumb, others as large as my arm, or\ntwice as large, can be seen spouting from the crevices and openings.\nWe frequently stop and warm our feet at these \u201cflues,\u201d but the flames\nare so strongly impregnated with sulphur that we can not stand it long\nat a time. We are now within two hundred yards of the top. It looks\ndangerous to go farther, but our guide says we have only to follow him,\nand follow him we do. After scaling with great difficulty and some\ndanger the steep and rocky sides, we reach the crater\u2019s brink and look\ndown into Vulcan\u2019s Forge, into that deep and awful abyss from which\nclouds of sulphurous vapors are rising as from the gates of perdition.\nA strong wind blowing from the north drives the smoke and steam in the\nopposite direction. This enables us to see better and induces us to\nventure too near the edge. All at once the wind changes and suddenly\nwe are enveloped in dense fumes of sulphur. To retreat in the dark is\nperilous\u2014to remain long in this sulphur is death. I swallow some of\nthe steam which is so strong with sulphur that it instantly scalds\nmy throat and lungs. What can be done! Johnson and I have hold of\neach other\u2019s hands. I fall to the ground pulling him with me. Thus by\nkeeping our mouths close to the ground, we manage to get fresh air\nenough to keep from being suffocated. When the wind shifts and the\nsmoke lifts, we lose no time in changing to a less dangerous place.\nSome time ago a German was unfortunate enough to fall into this fearful\nchasm. What an awful death! How thankful I am for God\u2019s preserving care!\n\nBy this time night has come, and as we stand in darkness, looking down\ninto this fearful abyss, we can see the lurid flames writhing and\nleaping, casting up great quantities of glowing brimstone and red-hot\nlava hundreds of feet into the air. The next moment the lava is falling\naround us in showers of living fire. The pieces are of all shapes and\nvary greatly in size. While some of them are no larger than a marble,\nothers are large as a saucer\u2014perchance as large as a plate.\n\nDeep down below us we hear the boiling caldrons of lava grinding,\ngurgling, growling. Now we hear the report of big guns and little\nguns, of musketry and of cannon, as if the damned are bombarding each\nother with the artillery of hell! Report chases report through the\nsubterranean caverns like deep thunder galloping after thunder. The\nangry flames continue to leap and crackle. Occasionally the whole\ncrater, which looks like the veritable mouth of hell, glows with\nintense brilliancy and glitters and sparkles with ten thousand points\nof dazzling light. The volume of steam, or \u201cthe mighty column of\nwreaths and curling heaps of lighted vapor,\u201d continue to pour forth\nwith frightful rapidity. Every moment witnesses a new upheaval of\nred-hot lava and consequently a fresh shower of fire.\n\nThe guide now informs me (I did not know it before) that the night\nis far spent, and yet there are other things to see. Going round on\nthe northeast side of the mountain and descending a few hundred yards\nfrom the top, we come to a stream of red-hot lava\u2014an actual river\nof fire\u2014bursting forth from the mountain side and flowing down into\nthe valley. It looks like a stream of melted iron slowly winding its\nway adown the blackened mountain-side, bearing upon its heated bosom\ngreat quantities of glowing brimstone and red-hot rocks. Ever and anon\nthe rocks in the stream dash against each other with such force as to\nbreak themselves to pieces, then follow a slight explosion and blaze.\nThe angry flames like fiery fiends leap into the air and vanish. As\none stands enveloped in the blackness of the night, contemplating this\nwonderful phenomenon\u2014these flames, suddenly bursting and vanishing,\nchasing each other in quick succession, look like the incessant flashes\nof lurid lightning! Flame rises after flame, vanishing away in the\ndarkness like winged devils chasing each other! I am filled with\nadmiration, and at the same time struck with awe and chilled with fear.\nI do not know at what moment the whole volcano may boil over and pour\nforth a thousand cataracts of fire, as in 1872. I feel that I want to\ngo, that I must go, yet I can not leave. I go a few paces and stop,\nlooking first at the glowing column above me, then at the winding,\nfiery stream below.\n\nI have seen many mountains, some of them rising to heaven, covered\nwith snow, and at night crowned with stars; but never before have I\nseen one smoke-plumed and wreathed with flame, one belching forth\nfire and brimstone, one whose iron-belted sides poured forth a river\nof fire\u2014a moving flood of flame. But why continue? Why describe the\nindescribable? For, reader, I assure you that unless I, like Vesuvius,\nhad a tongue of fire and a voice of thunder, unless words were gems\nthat would flame and flash with many-colored light upon the canvas and\nthrow thence a tremulous glimmer into the beholder\u2019s eyes, it were vain\nindeed to attempt a description of God\u2019s imperial fireworks.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLV.\n\nROME\u2014ANCIENT AND MODERN.\n\n The Mother of Empires\u2014Weeps and Will not be Comforted\u2014Nero\u2019s Golden\n Palace\u2014Ruined Greatness\u2014Time, the Tomb-Builder\u2014Papal Rome\u2014The\n Last Siege\u2014Self-Congratulations\u2014Better Out-Look\u2014The Seven-Hilled\n City\u2014Vanity of Vanities\u2014The Pantheon\u2014Nature Slew Him\u2014The Shrine of\n All Saints.\n\n\nCAESER and Cicero, Horace and Hadrian Claudius and Cataline, have all\npassed away, but \u201cthe mother of empires\u201d is still enthroned upon her\nseven hill. \u201cStill enthroned?\u201d Yes, but her regal brow is no longer\ncrowned with glory. From her right hand has fallen that golden scepter\nwhich once ruled the world, and from her left, the palm branch of\nvictory which she once proudly waved on high. The luster has faded from\nher eyes. She sits to-day upon her seven hills, not as a queen, but as\na mourner. She is as a widow in her weeds, as a mother broken-hearted\nand sad. Like Rachel of old she weeps for her children, she weeps and\nwill not be comforted, for they are not.\n\nNo, \u201cthey are not.\u201d In vain the traveler searches for Julius Caesar and\nAugustus. He finds where the one fell at the base of Pompey\u2019s statue,\nand where the ashes of the other were laid to rest in that splendid\nmausoleum. Nothing more. Only enough of that precious metal was\nrescued from \u201cNero\u2019s golden palace\u201d to gild one page of history; that\nis all.\n\nModern Rome, compared with the imperial city, is nothing but a confused\nmass of \u201cruined greatness\u201d thrown into the deep, dark chasm lying\nbetween the past and the present. \u201cIf we consider the present city\nas at all connected with the famous one of old,\u201d says Hawthorne, \u201cit\nis only because it is built over its grave.\u201d Imperial Rome was a\ncorpse that no survivor was mighty enough to bury. But Time\u2014\u201cTime the\ntomb-builder\u201d\u2014did not despair. Age after age passed by, each shaking\nthe dust of his feet upon the ruined city, until now the \u201cRome of\nancient days\u201d is thirty feet below surface. Time silently boasts of\nhis triumphs, but the day is coming when even Time himself will be\nswallowed up by eternity!\n\nGibbon can tell you more about ancient Rome than I can. I shall\ntherefore deal with the past only in so far as \u201cthe very dust of Rome\nis historic,\u201d and that dust inevitably settles down upon my page and\nmixes with my ink.\n\nUntil seventeen years ago Rome was an independent city; it belonged to\nno government and formed a part of no country; it was \u201cPapal Rome.\u201d In\nother words, it wholly belonged to, and was entirely controlled by, the\nPope of Rome\u2014the spiritual head\u2014I had almost said the \u201cspiritless\nhead\u201d\u2014of the Catholic church. Thirty thousand French soldiers were\nstationed in Rome to protect the Pope and defend the city. When, in\n1870, the Franco-German war broke out Napoleon the Third was compelled\nto recall his troops from Rome, that they might join the army against\nGermany. As soon as the French withdrew, Victor Emmanuel, King of\nItaly, marched an army against the Papal city, saying, \u201cAgain, I swear\nthe Eternal City shall be free!\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THE COLOSSEUM, ROME.]\n\nResistance was of short duration. The national flag was soon unfurled\nfrom the dome of the Pantheon and from that day Rome has been the home\nof the king, the capital of United Italy. The Rome of that period\n(1870) was described as a city of \u201csunless alleys,\u201d and \u201ca thousand\nevil smells mixed up with fragrance of rich incense, diffused from as\nmany censers; everywhere a cross, and nastiness at the foot of it.\u201d\n\u201cThe city is filled,\u201d the writer continues, \u201cwith a gloom and languor\nthat depress it beyond any depth of melancholic sentiment that can\nelsewhere be known.\u201d One-seventh of the city was occupied by convents\nand monasteries. Rome at that time had a population of 216,000 souls,\nmore than half of whom could neither read nor write! This, then, is\nCatholicism\u2014ignorance clothed in rags, living in poverty, walking in\nfilth, praying to saints and bowing to an ambitious Pope! If this be\nreligion, the less I have of it the more I congratulate myself. For\ncenturies the city belonged to the church, and it is natural to suppose\nthat Popery created for itself an atmosphere that was most congenial\nto its own spirit. Ignorance is the handmaid of Popery. Indeed, a man\nto be a good Catholic must be ignorant. He may, perchance, be legally\nlearned, he may be thoroughly versed in the laws of logic and language;\nbut to be a devout Romanist he must at least be ignorant of the Bible.\nAs civilization advances, as the light of God\u2019s truth becomes more\nwidely diffused and the warmth of His Spirit more generally felt,\ndarkness will flee away, truth will be revealed in its purity, and\nChrist, Christ the Lord, will be elevated to the position which the\nPapal world of to-day assigns to Peter.\n\nGreat changes have been wrought in Rome within the last seventeen\nyears. A number of the streets have been broadened and straightened and\nothers are being worked on. Most of them now, though still narrow, are\nwell paved and clean. The population has increased to 350,000, sixty\nschools have been established with 550 teachers and 25,000 pupils. Most\nof the improvements and inventions of the age have been introduced into\nthe city, a healthy trade with the outside world has been established,\nand last, and greatest, the gospel of Christ has again been brought to\nthese people. The populace welcome these changes.\n\nVictor Emmanuel, who died ten years ago, is called the father of his\ncountry; and his son, the present king, is the idol of Italy. The Pope\nand the king are at enmity. Each is jealous of the other. The king is\nfast gaining favor. Papacy must go.\n\nNow, turning from the moral, I must tell you something about the\nphysical appearance of the city at present. Of course every one knows\nthat Rome is situated on seven hills, that it is divided into two parts\nby the river Tiber and that it is surrounded by a massive wall thirty\nfeet high and sixteen miles long.\n\nLet us now go into the midst of the city and take our stand on the\nCapitoline Hill. From there we can easily \u201cview the landscape o\u2019er.\u201d\nBeneath us, as we stand on this elevation, the city spreads wide away\nin all directions. We look out over a sea of red-tile roofs, above\nwhich rise hundreds of imposing palaces, of tall and stately mansions.\nOf church spires and cathedral towers there is no end. Yonder to the\nsouth is the Mausoleum of Augustus, a huge circular building with a\nlow, flat dome of glass. After death the emperor was burnt. His ashes,\nwhich were here laid to rest, have long since been scattered to the\nfour winds of heaven and the mausoleum is now used as a theatre. There,\ntoo, in the same direction, but beyond the Tiber, is the tomb of\nHadrian, looking like an old castle perched high upon an uplifted rock.\nThe unscrupulous Italians of the present have no respect for the dead\nof ancient days. Their desecrating hands have turned this tomb into a\nmilitary stronghold\u2014a citadel. What is fame? Once upon a time Augustus\nruled the world. To-day the populace assemble in his mausoleum; there\nthey wildly clap their hands, and, stretching their mouths from ear to\near, they shout aloud and grin like apes as they see the vile actor\ndancing over Caesar\u2019s ashes. Hadrian, once adored as a God, is no\nlonger respected. The half-paid soldiers of to-day have entered his\nvery tomb; there they fight, drink and curse and play cards. If they\ncould find it they would use his skull as a soup-dish or a billiard\nball, and his thigh bones they would use for drum-sticks or as mallets\nto crack nuts! \u201cVanity of vanities, all is vanity!\u201d\n\nTurning our eyes in a northwest direction, we see the Antonine column\nrising majestically above the red roofs. In close proximity to this\ncolumn, we see the circular dome of that world-renowned Pantheon\n\u201clooking heavenward with its ever open eye.\u201d We leave the Capitoline\nHill for a few minutes while we go to visit the Pantheon. It commands\nour respect. It was built almost a half century before the angel host\nvisited the shepherds upon the plains of Bethlehem, and yet it is as\nperfect to-day as though it had been finished yesterday. It looks as if\nit might stand until Gabriel comes. It is the noblest structure that\nthe old Romans bequeathed to posterity. Its massive walls and solid,\nwhich are twenty feet thick, rise to an immense height, and yet the\ndome, broad as it is high, towers 140 feet above the walls.\n\nThe portico (110 feet wide and 45 feet deep) is borne by sixteen\nCorinthian columns of granite, thirteen feet in circumference and forty\nfeet high.\n\nThe spacious interior, lighted by a single aperture in the centre of\nthe dome, produces in the beholder a most pleasing sensation. Indeed,\nit is by some supposed that the beautiful effect produced upon the\ninterior by the light streaming in through this one opening, is what\nfirst suggested the name of Pantheon\u2014a resemblance to the blue vault\nof heaven. But of course the current belief is that the purpose for\nwhich the building was used determined its name\u2014_Pantheon_ (Pan, all,\nand Theos, god)\u2014a temple dedicated to all gods. The smooth surface\nof the walls is broken by seven niches, in which stood marble statues\nof Roman divinities, among which may be mentioned Mars and Venus. And\nafter his assassination, Caesar himself was elevated to the dignity\nof a god. His statue graced one of the niches, and was, no doubt,\nworshiped by the same fickle multitude who rejoiced when the dagger\ndrank his blood.\n\nThis splendid edifice, built by the ancients, and dedicated two\nthousand years ago to the worship of heathen gods, is now used as a\nChristian Church. To the left of the door as we enter is the tomb of\nRaphael, the greatest of all painters. In accordance with his will, a\nmarble statue of Madonna has been placed above his splendid tomb. The\nfollowing beautiful inscription shows the high esteem Italians have for\nthis divinely gifted artist:\n\n \u201cBeneath this stone rest the ashes of Raphael,\n the greatest of all painters.\n Nature, becoming jealous of him\n lest he should surpass her,\n Slew him while he was yet young.\u201d\n\nVictor Emmanuel, and many other men of renown, are also buried within\nthese time-honored walls. Of the Pantheon Lord Byron says:\n\n \u201cSimple, erect, severe, austere, sublime\u2014\n Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods,\n From Jove to Jesus\u2014spared and blest by time;\n Looking tranquillity while falls and nods\n Arch empire each thing round thee and man plods\n His way through thorns to ashes\u2014glorious dome!\n Shalt thou not last? Time\u2019s scythe and tyrants\u2019 rods\n Shiver upon thee\u2014sanctuary and home\n Of art and piety\u2014Pantheon!\u2014pride of Rome!\n Relic of nobler days and noblest arts!\n Despoiled, yet perfect, with thy circle spreads\n A holiness appealing to all hearts\u2014To\n art a model; and to him who treads\n Rome for the sake of ages, Glory sheds\n Her light through thy sole aperture; to those\n Who worship, here are altars for their beads;\n And they who feel for genius may repose\n Their eyes on honored forms, whose busts around the close.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVI.\n\nROME\u2014ITS ART AND ARCHITECTURE.\n\n A Question Asked\u2014Answer Given\u2014Nature as Teacher\u2014Italians\n as Pupils\u2014Great Artists\u2014The Inferno\u2014The Cardinal in\n Hell\u2014The Pope\u2019s Reply\u2014A Thing of Beauty\u2014The Beloved\u2014The\n Transfiguration\u2014Architecture\u2014Marble Men Struggle to\n Speak\u2014Resplendent Gems.\n\n\n\u201cWHAT are the chief features of Rome?\u201d was the second question asked\nme by a friend whom I met yesterday. \u201cArt and Architecture,\u201d was the\nunhesitating reply. Indeed hesitation was unnecessary; my mind was\nalready made up on that point, and there can be no question as to the\ncorrectness of the answer.\n\nNature seems to have implanted a love for Art in the sons of Italy, and\nwhispered its secrets to them as to no other people. She teaches them\nby object lessons. At night she embosoms the moon in her soft blue sky\nlike a silver crescent in a velvet cushion, and the stars with their\nnew polished lustre seem to bestud God\u2019s diamond throne. In the morning\nthe same azure sky is \u201cflecked with blushes and gattled with fire.\u201d\nAs the Italian at the evening hour stands under the sunny vine, on\nthe green hillside, looking at the glowing, lighted west through the\nmolten bars of twilight; as he sees the purple clouds, lying along the\nhorizon, fade from rich purple to pale blue\u2014from blue to lavender\u2014to\npink\u2014to scarlet\u2014then to banks of molten gold; as he beholds the\nimperial splendors of the setting sun \u201cvast mirrored on the sea,\u201d\u2014he\ngathers inspiration\u2014his soul catches the fire\u2014the whole scene is\nphotographed on the landscape of his memory. He there learns how best\nto blend his colors, and next day as he stands before his canvas beauty\nhangs upon his brush like sparks of livid light.\n\nAngelo, Raphael, and Di Vinci were pupils of Nature. Once upon a time\nSocrates, after listening to his pupils discourse on philosophy, arose\nand, pointing to them, said: \u201cWhat greater honor could a teacher ask\nthan to have such pupils as Plato and Xenophon?\u201d And methinks after\nseeing the Final Judgment of the first, The Transfiguration of the\nsecond, and The Last Supper of the third, Nature herself would rise\nand, pointing to them with pride, say: \u201cWhat greater honor could I,\neven I, ask than to have such pupils as Angelo, Raphael, and Di Vinci!\u201d\n\nAfter Dante had written \u201cThe Inferno,\u201d the people of Florence as\nthey saw him walking through the streets, would shrink from him and\nwhisper, \u201c_That is the man who was in hell_.\u201d \u201cIt were impossible,\u201d\nthey said, \u201cfor one to write about the infernal world as Dante did,\nwithout having seen it.\u201d The same thought impresses itself upon one\nas he beholds The Final Judgment. One says, \u201cthat picture was surely\npainted by an eye-witness.\u201d Indeed you see no picture\u2014you see the\nfinal judgment itself. You see Christ as judge, coming on the clouds,\npreceded by Gabriel and followed by a legion of angels. You see the\nassembled multitude, people from every nation, kindred, tribe and\ntongue, standing in the back ground breathless, awaiting the decision\nof the Judge. You see the remorse, the anguish, the misery, the woe of\nthose who are led to the left and hurled headlong into the fiery pit\nbelow! Their expression convinces you that they realize in their hearts\nthat no rainbow of hope will ever again brighten their skies, no note\nof mercy will ever more peal in their ears. You see the pleasure, the\njoy, the rapture, the ecstasy, that gladdens the hearts and illuminates\nthe faces, of those who hear the welcome plaudit\u2014\u201cWell done, good and\nfaithful servants\u2014enter ye into the joy of your Lord.\u201d After seeing\nthis picture one can but say: \u201cMichael Angelo saw the final judgment,\nand showed it me.\u201d\n\nSoon after this picture was begun, one of the Cardinals of Rome,\nobjecting to the artist\u2019s design, interfered with the work. Angelo\nrefused to make any alterations in his plan. The Cardinal demanded a\nchange, whereupon Angelo gave up the engagement. The Cardinal then sent\nfor other celebrated artists and requested them to finish the picture.\nEach and all of them declared that the work was beyond their scope and\npower. They all agreed that Michael Angelo was the only living man\nwho could finish so perfect a piece of work. The Cardinal now sent\nfor Angelo but he refused to have any further communication with that\nprelate.\n\nFinally the Pope himself interviewed the artist on the subject and\nagreed that he might finish the picture according to the first design,\nor according to any other design that he might choose. The Pope further\nagreed that the artist should not be interfered with in his work, and\nwhen once finished the picture should never be altered or changed. With\nthis understanding Angelo resumed, and in due time finished, his work.\n\nWhen the day of exhibition came, thousands of people gathered to see\nthe picture. When the curtain was drawn aside the astonished multitude\nrecognized the Cardinal in hell. \u201cIn hell he lifted up his eyes.\u201d When\nthe Cardinal saw himself among the damned his wrath was kindled more\nthan a little. He went to the Pope in a rage and asked to be rescued.\nThe Pope replied to the Cardinal, \u201cIf you were in purgatory I could get\nyou out, but you know that according to the Catholic faith, when a man\nis once in hell he has to stay there. I can do nothing for you.\u201d So the\npoor Cardinal is in hell\u2014according to the picture.\n\nThis wonderful picture sixty-four feet in breadth covers almost the\nentire south end of the world-famed Sistine Chapel. This is a private\nchapel in the Vatican, the Pope\u2019s palace. \u201cSistine,\u201d because built by\nSixtus, and famous because of the picture just mentioned, and the\nfrescoes on the ceiling by the same gifted artist.\n\nThese frescoes represent Bible scenes, large as life, impressive\nas death, yet beautiful beyond description. The artist begins at a\ntime when everything is \u201cwithout form and void.\u201d The first picture\nrepresents God, with motion of his arms, bringing law and order out of\nchaos and confusion. In the second, God with outstretched hands creates\nthe sun and moon. We see the creation of Adam and the formation of\nEve, then the temptation in and expulsion from Eden. Finally we see\nthe ark floating on the waters with several small boats clinging to\nand following after it. Some of the mountain-tops, not yet submerged,\nare crowded with terror-stricken multitudes, who, in their excitement,\nwildly but vainly stretch out their hands and silently implore Noah\nto take them in. Each of these pictures is realistic and life-like.\nAnd yet the entire series is so arranged as sweetly to blend into one\nharmonious whole. And whether contemplating one of its parts, or the\nscene as a whole, you involuntary exclaim\u2014\u201cIt is a thing of beauty,\u201d\nand must therefore be \u201ca joy forever.\u201d\n\nRaphael was to the painters of Italy what John was to the Disciples of\nChrist, \u201cThe Beloved.\u201d I think, too, that as John was the disciple,\nso Raphael was the painter \u201cwhom Jesus loved.\u201d Though strong and\ndetermined as a man, he was mild and gentle as a woman. He had the\n\u201cSunshine of life\u201d in his heart, and the \u201clook of eternal youth\u201d in\nhis face. Methinks he was like David, \u201ca man after God\u2019s own heart.\u201d\nSuch a man could not paint hell. He had not seen it and knew nothing\nabout it. His mission was to paint angels and innocence, Heaven and\nholiness, God and glory; and his fitness for this high calling amounted\nalmost to divine inspiration. Never did the fires of genius burn more\nbrightly upon the altar of devotion, than in the breast of Raphael.\nNever before, nor since, has divine glory been so perfectly pictured\non canvas as in The Transfiguration. You see Christ at that supreme\nmoment when \u201cHis face did shine as the sun, and His garments were white\nas the light.\u201d Moses and Elias, from the other world are there with\ntheir happy hearts, bright faces and glorified bodies. Below them are\nPeter, James, and John, reverently bowing to the earth, and shielding\ntheir faces from the light. Above all, but half enveloped in clouds,\nyou see God the Father whose very expression says: \u201cThis is my beloved\nSon in whom I am well pleased, hear ye Him.\u201d Hawthorne makes one of his\ncharacters in the _Marble Faun_ say: \u201cIt is the spectator\u2019s mood that\ntransfigures The Transfiguration itself.\u201d This may be\u2014I suppose it\nis\u2014true, to some extent, but somehow I was in the mood. I admired this\npicture, I sat down before it \u201cuntil it sank into my heart.\u201d I said:\n\u201cLord, it is good to be here, it seems only one step from Heaven and\nHome.\u201d\n\nThe beloved painter came to do what the beloved Disciple left undone.\nJohn in his gospel failed to mention the Transfiguration, so Raphael\nwas sent to fill up the omission with a picture.\n\nWhile it is true, as stated in the outset, that Art and Architecture\nare the chief features of modern Rome, yet Art is of primary, and\nArchitecture of secondary consideration. Italians build fine houses,\nnot for the sake of the houses themselves, but that they may display\ntheir \u201ctasteful talents\u201d in ornamenting and decorating them. I speak\nespecially of churches, from the very fact that the Italians have not,\nnor do they want, fine Court-houses and costly Capitol buildings, as\nwe have. They exercise their taste, and lavish all their wealth and\nart upon the churches or cathedrals. There are eighty odd cathedrals\nin Rome dedicated to the Virgin Mary alone. Besides these there are\nscores of others dedicated to men, and monks, seraphs, saints and\nsinners\u2014one, I believe, a small one, to Christ. Some of these, St.\nPeter\u2019s and St. Paul\u2019s especially are reckoned among the finest\ncathedrals in existence; and yet the external appearance of these\nbuildings is not so imposing as one might imagine. It is their interior\nthat has rendered them famous.\n\nWithout entering these palaces of worship, one can have no just\nconception of their resplendent glory. They shine with burnished gold.\nThey glow with pictures. The mirror-like pavements are a mosaic of\nrare workmanship. The walls, columns, and arches seem a vast quarry\nof precious stones, so rich and costly are the many-colored marbles\nwith which they are inlaid. Their lofty cornices have flights of\nsculptured angels, and white doves bearing green olive branches gemmed\nwith pearls and emeralds. And within the vaults of the ceiling, and the\nswelling interior of the dome, there are frescoes of such brilliancy,\nand wrought with such artful perspective, that the sky, peopled with\nsainted forms, appears to be opened only a little way above the\nspectator.\n\nAny one of the four churches mentioned has at least a dozen altars\u2014St.\nPeter\u2019s has twenty-nine\u2014and upon each altar princely fortunes have\nbeen lavished. Each is a marvel of artistic beauty; each glows with\nburnished gold, and sparkles with precious stones. The evening sun,\nsoftened and mellowed by the many-colored glass through which it is\nreflected, falls like golden fire upon these shrines. The statues\nstanding around and the angels hovering above the altars seem warmed\ninto life by this radiant glow; the marble men struggle to speak,\nand the sculptured angels spread their wings and try to rise in the\nglorified atmosphere. One would naturally think that, in these shrines,\nthe unspeakable splendor of the whole edifice would be intensified and\ngathered to a focus, but not so. It would be true elsewhere, but here\nthey are of no separate account. They all \u201cmelt away into the vast,\nsunny breath,\u201d each contributing its little toward \u201cthe grandeur of\nthe whole.\u201d\n\nImagine \u201ca casket, all inlaid in the inside with precious stones of\nvarious hues, so that there would not be a hair\u2019s breadth of the small\ninterior unadorned with resplendent gems. Then conceive this minute\nwonder of a mosaic box increased to the magnitude of a miniature sky,\u201d\nand you have the interior of the greatest structure ever built by the\nhands of man, the Cathedral of St. Peter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVII.\n\nBAPTIST MISSION WORK IN ITALY.\n\nBY JOHN H. EAGER, ROME, ITALY.\n\n Why Italy is a Mission-Field\u2014Beginning of the\n Work\u2014Difficulties\u2014Increase of Forces\u2014Growth of Work\u2014Sanguine\n Expectations\n\n\nTHIS subject will awaken doubts in many minds, and give rise to\nnumerous questions. Why should Italy be a mission-field? Did not Paul\npreach the gospel there? Did not Christianity flourish vigorously in\nItalian soil during the early centuries? Has not Italy been prolific\nof good men, men unsullied in character, invincible in the midst of\npersecution, and unflinching in the presence of death? Is not Italy\nthe home and headquarters of a great ecclesiastical organization,\ncalling itself _par excellence_ the Christian Church of the world? Are\nthere not in Italy to-day thousands of magnificent churches, hosts of\nreligious teachers? Then why speak of Italy as a mission-field? Because\nthe great mass of the people are really without the Gospel. The pure\nform of the truth once preached in Rome and other parts of this sunny\nland has undergone such radical changes since the early centuries that\nit is no longer the Gospel, but a threefold mixture of Christianity,\nJudaism and Heathenism. Religion has degenerated into a mere form of\nGodliness without the power thereof. All attempts at reform, however\npromising in the beginning, have failed. The spark that began to glow\nso brightly in the days of Luther, that seemed about to kindle into a\nbrilliant flame destined to bring light and peace to many a troubled\nsoul, was soon crushed and smothered, for those in authority loved\ndarkness rather than light, and desired neither reform nor reformers.\nThe long-continued and fatal supremacy of Romanism has made Italy a\nneedy and most difficult mission-field.\n\n[Illustration: REV. JOHN H. EAGER, ROME, ITALY.]\n\nAs early as 1850, the Foreign Mission Board of the Southern Baptist\nConvention began to turn its attention to Europe. In 1869, the Board,\nin its annual report to the Convention, expressed the conviction that\na solemn obligation was resting upon Baptists to give a pure gospel\nto Catholic Europe, and Italy was recommended as probably the best\nplace for a new mission, and as a field in special need of Baptist\nprinciples. In the spring of 1870, Rev. W. M. Cote, of Paris, was\nappointed to take charge of the Italian mission. This was a momentous\nperiod in the history of Italy, and marvelous things were about to take\nplace. The great Ecumenical Council of the Catholic Church was then in\nsession in Rome, and on July 18th the dogma of Papal Infallibility was\nproclaimed to the world. A few days later the Franco-Prussian war broke\nout, and the French troops were withdrawn from Rome, where for years\nthey had been the strong defense of the Pope. Seizing the God-given\nopportunity, Garibaldi, ever ready for an emergency, again sounded\nthe tocsin of war, and the Italian army marched forth and pitched its\ntents before the walls of the Eternal City. The siege was brief, for\non September 20th the victorious army entered the city amid the cheers\nand congratulations of the entire population; the Pope, by a popular\nvote, lost his temporal power, and became the self-imposed prisoner\nof the Vatican; Rome was proclaimed the permanent capital of Italy,\nthus making the long-cherished dream of Italian patriots a blessed\nreality. This victory opened Rome and the whole Italian Peninsula to\nthe preaching of the Gospel, and Christian workers from many quarters\nhastened to the rescue. Dr. Cote entered the city at once and began his\nnovel work. Tracts were distributed, Bibles and Testaments were sold in\nlarge numbers, and hundreds flocked to hear the Gospel. It seemed that\nthe people were about to renounce Romanism and its errors, to become\ntrue Bible Christians, and the missionaries fondly hoped that they\nwere on the eve of a great revival. Would that their hopes had been\nwell-founded!\n\nIn 1872, Rev. Geo. B. Taylor D. D., of Virginia, was chosen by the\nForeign Mission Board as the man best suited to meet the crisis through\nwhich the Italian mission was then passing. He brought to his arduous\ntask rare wisdom and patience, and, undaunted by almost insuperable\ndifficulties, conducted the affairs of the mission with much prudence\nand great self-denial. After several years he succeeded in buying a\nvaluable mission property in Rome, not far from the Pantheon, which\ngave American Baptists \u201ca local habitation and a name.\u201d The good work\nwas vigorously prosecuted in other parts of Italy, new stations were\nopened, other Italian evangelists were appointed, new churches were\norganized, a religious journal was established, and substantial\nprogress was made all along the line.\n\nIn November 1880, Rev. John H. Eager and wife, appointed as\nmissionaries to Italy, reached Rome, where they have since resided\nand labored, realizing more and more that mission work in Papal Rome\npresents peculiar difficulties and discouragements. Yet each year finds\nthem more resolved to make it their life work, assured that they preach\nthe same gospel which wrought such wonders in pagan Rome, and believing\nthe Scripture which saith, \u201cBe not weary in well-doing, for in due\nseason ye shall reap, if ye faint not.\u201d\n\nWhile results have not corresponded with the sanguine expectations\nof earlier years, still God\u2019s people have not labored in vain. The\npresent working force of the American Baptist mission consists of two\nmissionaries, thirteen native preachers, and three colporteurs, who are\npreaching the Gospel in more than thirty cities and towns, extending\nfrom the snow-capped mountains of the North, to the vine-covered plains\nof the South. Among the thirteen native preachers are men of more\nthan ordinary ability. One, educated in Geneva, is a fine linguist,\nbeing acquainted with six or seven languages, and able to preach in\nthree of them. He is said to be one of the best Hebrew scholars in\nItaly. Another was once a priest in high standing, the director and\nfather-confessor of a monastery, and a friend of the present Pope. One,\nthough uneducated, is deeply versed in the Scriptures, and can quote\nalmost any passage at will, giving book, chapter, and often verse.\nThis knowledge he uses most effectually in public and in private. Two\nwere educated at Spurgeon\u2019s College. One is perhaps the only native\nSardinian who ever became an evangelical minister. These brethren\npreach to thousands during the year, for people are coming and going\nduring every service. Some enter by accident, or through curiosity,\ndrawn in by the singing or speaking, then pass on to be heard from no\nmore. But who can tell what influence such a visit may have upon their\nfuture life?\n\nChurches have been organized at all the principal stations, and in\naddition to the mission property in Rome two other chapels have been\nsecured, one in Torre Pellice, about thirty miles above Turin, and the\nother in Carpi, not far from Bologna. At all other stations services\nare held in rented halls. Two churches have been organized on the\nIsland of Sardinia, where the work is peculiarity interesting and\npromising, but greatly in need of other laborers to sow the seed and\nreap the harvest.\n\n(Persons wishing further information about Sardinia or Italy, can write\nto Rev. John H. Eager, via Arenula, Palazzo Gualdi, Rome, Italy.)\n\n[Illustration: BAPTIST CHAPEL, TORRE PELLICE, ITALY.]\n\nEnglish Baptists have long had a mission in Italy. In 1866, Mr. Clark\nestablished himself in Spezia, where he has succeeded in building up\nan excellent school, a good church and an orphanage. He has associated\nwith him eight Italian evangelists, who occupy about twenty stations.\nThis mission is independent, being supported by private contributions.\nThe mission force of the Particular Baptists of England consists of\nfour missionaries, Rev. James Wall and Rev. J. C. Wall, of Rome, Rev.\nW. K. Landels of Turin, and Rev. Robt. Walker of Naples, assisted by\nnine native preachers. They have two medical dispensaries, a religious\njournal, printing-press and other auxiliaries to mission work. The\nGeneral Baptists of England also have two mission stations in Rome,\nunder the superintendence of Rev. N. H. Shaw, who brings to bear upon\nhis work Anglo-Saxon energy, and the varied experience acquired in a\nsuccessful pastorate at home.\n\nBesides these, several individual Baptists are consecrating their\nprivate means to the evangelization of Italy. Among them may be\nmentioned Count Papengouth, who expends large sums annually in Naples\nand vicinity; and Miss Emery, an English lady of fortune, who devotes\nthe whole of her time and income to Christian work in Italy, especially\nthe publication and distribution of tracts.\n\nIn estimating the success of mission work in Italy, one should be\ncareful not to lose sight of the peculiar difficulties that confront\nthe missionary. Under the old regime, in the days of papal supremacy,\ngood schools were rare and great ignorance prevailed. Even as late\nas 1881 nearly five per cent. of the entire population of Italy were\nunable to read, which means that about twenty million Italians can be\nreached with the Gospel only by means of the living voice, the tracts\nand the Bible being to them a dead letter.\n\nPrejudice is another serious hindrance. Some of the best and most\nsincere among the people honestly believe that protestantism is rank\ninfidelity. A priest once said to a young man, in the writers hearing,\n\u201cAh! beware of protestantism, beware of protestantism! Why, don\u2019t you\nknow that protestantism was founded by Voltaire and Tom Paine?\u201d The\nabuses of Romanism have yielded a rich harvest of materialism and\ninfidelity. The salt has lost its savor and men have cast it out and\ntrodden it under foot. One of our greatest difficulties, especially\nin Rome, lies in the stolid indifference of the great mass of the\npeople to all spiritual things. Thousands have been taught to depend on\nforms and ceremonies, and to relegate all personal responsibility to\nthe Church and the priest, and to such our doctrines are by no means\nacceptable.\n\nIn a land like Italy, where a great system of error has kept the people\nin ignorance and spiritual darkness, and bound them with fetters of\niron, one must not expect too much. A few days ago, we were asked by a\nChristian woman, \u201cHow are you succeeding in your work?\u201d And on hearing\nthe response she replied: \u201cI know Rome well, and I can assure you that\nit is a great marvel that you can do anything at all.\u201d But despite\ndifficulties and Satanic hatred and opposition much has been done.\nItaly has become a united and free country and liberty of speech is\neverywhere enjoyed; the Pope has lost his temporal power, and with it\nthe right to interfere with the missionary of the Cross; hundreds and\nthousands of tracts and Bibles have been scattered among the people,\nas silent but powerful witnesses for the Truth; prejudices have been\novercome, and public opinion has been greatly modified and enlightened\nwith reference to protestants and protestantism; more than three\nhundred Christian workers have been raised upon the field, and not\nless than 10,000 persons have professed faith in Christ. It should not\nbe forgotten that previous to 1848 not one publicly declared Italian\nevangelical could be found in Italy, and that before 1870, to preach or\nprofess evangelical doctrine in Rome, meant certain imprisonment and\npossible death. While praying and hoping and earnestly laboring for\nmuch greater results, we can but exclaim, \u201cThe Lord hath done great\nthings for us, whereof we are glad.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVIII.\n\nFROM ROME, VIA PISA AND FLORENCE, TO VENICE.\n\n Peasants\u2014A Three-Fold Crop\u2014Elba, the Exiled Home of\n Napoleon\u2014Pisa\u2014Leaning Tower\u2014An Odd Burial-Ground\u2014Florence\u2014The\n Home of Savonarola, Dante, and Michael Angelo\u2014Art Galleries\u2014On\n to Venice\u2014A Flood\u2014Johnson Excited\u2014Storm Raging\u2014Lightening the\n Ship\u2014Venice, a Water-Lily\u2014No Streets but Water\u2014No Carriages but\n Gondolas\u2014Shylocks.\n\n\nWITH our face to the northward, we are now skirting along the western\ncoast of Italy. The air is crisp and cold, the sky soft and clear.\nYonder, scattered over the bare hillside to our right, are many rude\nhuts and humble peasant homes. The smoke slowly rising from the low\nchimneys curls up and on, and still up, until it stands like so many\nslender columns leaning against the sky for support.\n\nThe peasants are at work, one feeding the chickens, the second holding\nthe cow to grass, while the third is milking the goats. Everywhere the\ncountry is cut up into one, two, and three-acre plots by narrow ditches\nand low hedges which serve as fences to divide one peasant\u2019s patch\nfrom another. Each plot of ground is a vineyard, a wheat field and a\nmulberry orchard, the three growing together.\n\nThe wheat is, of course, sown broadcast. The trees, twelve to eighteen\nfeet high, are planted in straight rows, fifteen feet apart. The\nhealthy vines clamber up the mulberries, and wreathe themselves into\nhuge and rich festoons from tree to tree. The ground rapidly glides\nfrom under us, the orchards, the villages and peasant homes, one by one\ndash by us. Now the sun is bending low in the evening sky, and, looking\nout over the broad expanse of waters on our left, we see not far away\nthe island of Elba, the first exiled home of Napoleon Bonaparte. But\nthis beautiful island was too small for so great a spirit. After one\nyear\u2019s confinement here, Napoleon, rising up in his madness and might,\nbroke the political fetters which the allied Powers had placed upon\nhim, returned to Paris, gathered an army and marched to Waterloo. There\nhis already waning star went down in blood to rise no more (1815).\n\nAs the dying day begins to wrap herself in the sombre folds of evening,\nwe find ourselves in Pisa, a quiet little town of 26,000 inhabitants,\nbeautifully situated on both banks of the Arno, six miles from the\nsea. The night comes and goes. Next morning I am standing on the top\nof Pisa\u2019s \u201cLeaning Tower,\u201d in time to see the sun rise. This tower\nis one of the wonders, not of the ancient, but modern world. It is\nsome thirty-three feet in diameter and one hundred and eighty feet in\nheight, and leans thirteen feet out of the perpendicular. This oblique\nor leaning position gives it a very peculiar appearance. It looks as\nif it were falling; you expect every moment to see it dashed to pieces\nagainst the ground. But it has been in this position some 650 years,\nand, if we may argue from the past, many moons will wax and wane before\nit strikes the ground. No one knows whether the original design was to\nbuild a leaning tower, or whether in the course of construction one\nside of the foundation gave way, and thus left the tower in an oblique\nposition. It was by dropping balls from the summit of this tower that\nGalileo verified his theories regarding the laws of gravitation. It was\nthe swaying of the bronze lamp which still hangs in the cathedral at\nthe foot of this tower that first suggested to Galileo the idea of a\npendulum.\n\n[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL AND LEANING TOWER OF PISA.]\n\nThe Campo Santo, or burial-ground, of Pisa is interesting because of\nits history. After the Crusaders were driven out of the Holy Land, in\nthe year 1190, Archbishop Ubaldo had fifty-three ship-loads of earth\nbrought hither from Mount Calvary in order that the dead might repose\nin \u201choly ground.\u201d What men need to-day is not the earth of Calvary for\ntheir dead bodies, but the Christ of Calvary for their living spirits.\n\nThree hours after leaving Pisa, I am walking through the streets of\nFlorence, looking at her monuments, statues, palaces and cathedrals.\nAmong the monuments, if so it might be named, is a splendid water\nfountain which marks the site of the stake at which Savonarola was\nburned, in 1498, six years after the discovery of America. Like Elijah\nof old, Savonarola went from earth to Heaven in a chariot of fire.\nThe flames that wafted his spirit to the glory world are still burning\nbrightly upon the pages of history. The martyr\u2019s ashes were thrown into\nthe Arno, and were carried thence to the ocean. So the stream of Time\nwill bear his influence on to the ocean of eternity.\n\nOf the many statues in the city, I will mention only Dante\u2019s. This\nexcellent statue of white marble is nine feet high, on a pedestal\ntwenty-three feet high. It was unveiled with great solemnity, in 1865,\nin commemoration of the 600th anniversary of the immortal poet. Dante\u2019s\ngreatest work was the \u201cDivine Comedy.\u201d I also visited the house in\nwhich he was born in 1265. The house in which Michael Angelo was born\nin 1475 is now used as a picture gallery. He died in Rome in 1564. His\nashes were brought back to his native city, and now repose in a vault\nin the church of Santa Croce.\n\nThe art galleries I found worthy of their fame, so beautiful in\narchitectural design, so vast in extent, so rich in the productions of\nthe best artists of every school. \u201cEach street of Florence contains\na world of art. The walls of the city are the calyx containing the\nfairest flowers of the human mind; and this is but the richest gem\nin the diadem with which the Italian people have adorned the earth.\u201d\nFlorence has been the home of many of the greatest artists that have\nlived since the twelfth century. The main centres of art in Florence\nare the Pitti and the Uffizi galleries; these, being on the opposite\nsides of the Arno, are connected by a suspension gallery which spans\nthe river. Thus one passes from one gallery to the other by means of\nthis swinging corridor, which is itself flanked on both sides with\nfaultless statues and lined with pictures that no money could buy.\n\nI wandered, one day after another, through the stately halls of\nmany-colored marble in Florence. Many of these pictures I should like\nto show you, but I know full well that words can not copy them. To copy\nRaphael\u2019s \u201cMadonna\u201d would require the hand of genius, and paints as\nbeautiful, and as delicately mixed, as are the colors of the rainbow.\n\n\u201cVariety is the spice of life,\u201d and truly it is refreshing to come to\nthis land of Art and Music after spending a few months in Asia and\nAfrica. Since leaving home, more of my time has been spent among the\nmountains and around the lakes than in the cities; or, in other words,\n\n \u201cI have been accustomed to entwine\n My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields\n Than art in galleries.\u201d\n\n\u201cOn to Venice\u201d is the war cry. To reach there, we tunnel mountains,\ndash through a blinding snow-storm, and encounter a heavy rainfall.\nPresently we are surrounded by water. The train stops. Johnson is\nexcited; he thinks the bridge is washed away. Looking out of the\nwindow, and pointing to the water, I ask a by-stander, \u201cIs that the\nocean?\u201d The reply is, \u201cNo; it is Venice.\u201d \u201cA flood!\u201d exclaims Johnson;\n\u201cif it continues to rain in this way two hours longer, the whole city\nwill be washed away, and we, where will we be?\u201d By this time, as there\nis a gondola near, we, like Jonah, pay the fare thereof, and go down\ninto it. We are soon on the way to the hotel.\n\nThe storm is raging, the waves are dashing high. The gondola, which\nis black, and really reminds one of a hearse, seems to be bearing us\naway to a watery grave. The boat must be lightened, or we will all go\ndown. What to do, I know not. Hope wanes. \u201cMy latest sun is sinking\nfast.\u201d In the extremity of that hour, I say: \u201cThis I will do. I will\nthrow overboard all hatred, envy and strife, all contention, malice and\njealousy, all egotism, selfishness and pride.\u201d When I have emptied my\nheart of all these, a surprising change occurs. It is as if some divine\none has whispered, \u201cPeace, be still.\u201d\n\nReader, this experience points a moral, if it does not adorn a tale. We\nare all voyagers on the Sea of Life. Tempests frequently come, and our\nfrail bark is often threatened; but if we will only throw overboard our\nignoble feelings and baser selves, a holy calm will settle on the face\nof the deep, and in our hearts we will have that \u201cpeace which passeth\nall understanding.\u201d\n\nVenice, you remember, is situated two miles from the mainland, in a\nshallow part of the Adriatic. Its 15,000 houses and palaces are built\non 117 islands. Streets are unknown. There are 150 canals and 380\nbridges in the city. The population is 130,000, one-fourth of whom are\npaupers.\n\nYes, here is Venice rising above the surface like a water nymph, and\nfloating like a sea fowl on the ocean wave. She was once the ruler of\nthe waters and their powers. Those days are past, but beauty is still\nhere. \u201cStates fall, arts fade, but nature doth not die.\u201d There was\nnever a horse, carriage, or wheel-barrow in the city. I presume there\nare half grown persons here who never saw any of these. The Venetians\ngo visiting in boats, they go to market, to church, to the theatre, to\nthe grave, in boats.\n\nThe houses rise up out of the water; the gondola, graceful in its\nmotion as a serpent, glides up to the door, the people step in, and\noff they go. The gondola is a contrivance peculiar to Venice. It is\ntwenty-five or thirty feet long, and is deep and narrow like a canoe.\nIts sharp bow and stern sweep upwards from the water like the horns of\na crescent, with the abruptness of the curve slightly modified. The\nbow, which rises some six feet above the water, is ornamented with\na steel comb and a broad battle ax. In the centre of the boat is a\nlittle house something like the body of a carriage. This is elegantly\nfitted up with cushioned seats, silk curtains, and glass windows. The\ngondolier, who is usually a picturesque rascal, stands erect in the\nstern of the boat, and with one oar he manages to guide and propel his\nboat with an accuracy and a speed that are truly surprising. Almost\nevery moment you expect your gondola to collide with some other; but\nby some timely turn the two glide gracefully by each other without\ntouching. All the gondolas are painted black\u2014the color of mourning.\nWell may Venice mourn. Her glory has departed. She is great only in\nhistory.\n\nThe chief industry of Venice is glass manufacture. The first glass\nmirror that was ever made was manufactured here about the year 1,300.\nThe Venetians are yet ahead in this kind of work. They now make men and\nmonkeys, horses and houses, doves and donkeys, of glass. I saw them\nspinning glass; and without handling the thread one could not tell it\nfrom silk. They fashion glass into buds and blossoms which need little\nelse than perfume to make them as perfect as those wrought by Nature\u2019s\nhand. Perhaps the most delicate glass work I saw going on was the\nmanufacture of human eyes. This, you may rest assured, requires skilled\nworkmen. It is a large and remunerative business. God and Venice\nfurnish eyes for the world. In bargaining with the glass dealers, one\nsoon finds that now, as in the days of Shakespeare, many Shylocks live\nin Venice, and each one contends for his \u201cpound of flesh.\u201d\n\nIf I had time to write another chapter concerning this \u201cOcean Queen,\u201d\nI would tell you something about the Bridge of Sighs \u201cwith a palace\nand a prison on each hand,\u201d about St. Mark\u2019s Cathedral, which \u201clooks\nmore like the work of angels than of men,\u201d about the granite columns,\none surmounted by \u201cthe winged lion and the other by St. Theodore, the\nprotector of the republic.\u201d Of course it is a great pity (?) that you\ncan not read what I would write on these subjects if I had time, but,\nas this is impossible, perhaps the next best thing you could read would\nbe \u201cChilde Harold,\u201d \u201cStones of Venice,\u201d and \u201cSt. Mark\u2019s Rest.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n TRANSCRIBER\u2019S NOTE:\n\n\u2014Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.","title":"A Baptist Abroad: Travels and Adventures of Europe and all Bible Lands","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":118563}