Letter Nineteen: From Beirut to the Seven Churches of Asia

Letter XIX.
From Beirut to the Seven Churches of Asia

Late in the afternoon of July 7^th we stepped from the pavement in front of our hotel in Beirût' into an Ar'ab row-boat, and were soon on board the Austrian steamer "Ettare" ("Hector"), which rode at anchor about a mile from the shore. At about eight o'clock we set sail, full of hope as we looked forward to our distant homes, and moved with inexpressible thankfulness as we looked back over our travels in Palestine. We had seen the land of all lands, and from its hills and plains there had been reflected a new light upon the Book of all books. We had ridden on horseback for 82 days under a sun which seldom failed to shine all day, and had slept in tents beneath stars which seldom failed to shine all night; we had ridden over mountains 9000 feet above the sea, and through valleys 1000 feet below the sea; we had endured much fatigue and exposure in many ways; and although sickness had several times invaded the camp, and death had once stood at the door of my tent, not a day of the 82 had been lost from travel because of sickness or accident. We had nightly worshiped together, with reading, singing, and prayer, and we had rested from travel every Lord's day. Whenever we could, on the Lord's day, we had attended public worship in the missionary chapels, and when we could not we had made a chapel of one of our tents. The Lord had heard our prayers, and had blessed us above what we had dared to hope, and we relied with implicit confidence on the continuance of His protecting care as we turned our faces toward our distant homes. As we sailed away from the Syrian coast I left behind, far away to the north, one place unvisited which I had long desired to see. It was Antioch, for so long a time the seat of the Greek kings of Syria, who cruelly oppressed the Jews,—the city in which the disciples were first called Christians, and the headquarters of Paul during his missionary tours among the heathen. Its modern representative is a poor and squalid town of 6000 inhabitants, situated in the northwest part of the ancient city, on the south bank of the Orontes, and within the extensive ancient wall which further dwarfs its appearance. The cut on the following page is supposed to fairly represent it.

Antioch Our ship touched at Larnica, on the island of Cyprus, now the only important city on that famous island. Salamis and Paphos, the two ports visited by Paul, have long since been deserted by commerce and gone to ruin. Cyprus appears to be a white elephant in the hands of the British government, drawing much from the treasury, and putting nothing into it; but in a generation or two, if British rule shall continue, a great change for the better must certainly take place. We saw in the harbor boat-loads of watermelons just received from Joppa, and great piles of them lay on the streets. They are grown in great abundance on the Plain of Sha'ron. The next point at which we touched was the celebrated city and island of Rhodes. We went on shore to see something of the ancient city, and found it replete with the remains of dwellings, palaces, and churches, once the property of the Knights of St. John. The little harbor, across whose mouth the famous Colossus, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, once stood astride, is now filled up, and the modern harbor is too shallow for any but the smallest vessels. Here we found the first ripe grapes of the season, and a few ripe figs. From Rhodes we sailed along the eastern shore of the Ægean Sea, with islands famous in Greek history, and often seen by the Apostle Paul, continually in view. Among others, we had a distant view of Patmos, where the visions of the Revelation appeared to the Apostle John. We sailed over a smooth sea, under a warm sun by day and a bright moon by night. On Friday, July 11^th, at about noon, we steamed into the harbor of Smyrna, having been about three days and a half on the voyage from Beirût'. Here I had determined to stop, in order to visit the sites of the seven churches of Asia, while my companions, preferring to spend the time in certain parts of Europe which I did not intend to visit, determined to leave me. But they could not sail till the afternoon of the next day, so they had time to go with me to Ephesus. The ship which was to take them to Athens was already in port, so instead of going to a hotel they merely transferred their baggage to the other vessel, and went on shore with me to see Smyrna and to make preparation for a visit to Ephesus. When I stepped from the boat upon the quay, a man demanded of me my passport. I looked him in the face and said, "I have no passport; I am an American, and I go where I please." I then pushed by him. He looked at me with a puzzled expression, and let me pass without another word. As I made my way through the crowd of idlers on the quay, another man met me, and, claiming to be a custom-house officer, proposed to let my valise pass unexamined if I would give him a franc. I said, "I will give you no bribe; examine the valise if you choose." I then ordered the man who was carrying it to set it down. Pulling out my key, I stood ready to open it, but the fellow hesitated, and I ordered the servant to take the valise and move on. I now think that this chap and the passport man were both pretenders, trying to extort money from me, and that the English-speaking servant who carried my valise was conniving at their rascality. I was led to the Egyptian Hotel, and found it an elegant new building with first-rate accommodations. It was the first hotel I had visited since I left Jerusalem in which ladies sat at the table. Several Greek ladies were here on a visit.

We spent the afternoon in making arrangements for a railway excursion to the ruins of Ephesus the next day. As the regular train would not suit our purpose, we engaged an extra train to take us out early in the morning and bring us back by one o'clock. The cost to each was $10. For a larger party it would have been less in proportion. The railway was built and is operated by an English company, and it is called the Smyrna and Aidîn' Railway. It is 105 miles long. It runs nearly due south 50 miles to Avasalouk', a small village near the ruins of Ephesus, and thence it runs a little south of east to Aidîn'. The latter place is situated in the midst of the valley of the river Cayster, a broad and fertile valley reaching 150 miles farther into the interior, and drained by the Cayster, which empties into the Mediterranean at Ephesus. This valley is the greatest fig-producing portion of Asia Minor; and besides furnishing Smyrna with the supply of this fruit, which has made it the greatest fig-market in the world, it sends forth a sufficient amount of other products to make the railway profitable to its owners.

Having reached Avasalouk', and employed a guide resident there who had been recommended to us, we walked about a mile in order to reach the ruins. The ruins of the Temple of Diana, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, lie but a short distance from the village. For ages past they have been completely buried beneath the ground, but they were disinterred a few years ago by Mr. T. J. Wood, an employee of the British Museum. The excavation made for the purpose is about 20 feet deep. Down in this pit lie the broken columns of white marble and the foundation walls of the grandest temple ever erected on earth. All else has been transported to other cities and used to adorn inferior buildings. From the temple to the more southern of the two eastern gates of the city are traces of a paved street nearly a mile in length, along one side of which was a continuous colonnade, with the marble coffins of the city's illustrious dead occupying the spaces between the columns. The processions of worshipers, as they marched out of the city to the temple, passed by this row of coffins, the inscriptions on which were constantly proclaiming the noble deeds of the mighty dead.

After passing the ruins of the gateway just mentioned we soon came to the ruins of a marble church, which is supposed, from some inscriptions found near it, to have been dedicated to the Apostle John; and near by is an ancient tomb supposed to be that of Luke. North of these ruins, in the face of a small mountain which was inclosed within the ancient city, are the well-preserved remains of a small theatre intended for musical entertainments. As we go westward from these points we pass among a continuous succession of ruins, the most of which are in such a state of confusion that we are at a loss to determine what class of structures they represent. But after reaching the western end of the small mountain just mentioned, we found at its western base the most interesting of all its remains. It is the theatre into which Paul's companions were dragged by the mob of the silversmiths; into which he was about to enter at imminent peril of his life when he was prevented from doing so by certain rulers who were his friends; and in which the town clerk, by a speech of wonderful ingenuity, restored the frenzied mob to order and quiet. The theatre was constructed, like most of the ancient theatres in hilly places, by excavating a suitable space in the hill, so that the tiers of marble seats might have the natural rock of the hill for a support. Many of the seats are yet in a good state of preservation, and the entire outline of the structure is easily traced.

Ancient Theatre at Ephesus

I was deeply impressed by this ruin, and as we stood on one of its high seats, gazing down upon it, I repeated to my companions the speech of the town clerk. I also pointed out the spot on which I think he stood while the surging mass of idolaters, occupying all the other space, were yelling at the top of their voices, "Great is Diana of the Ephesians!" The harbor of Ephesus, once the seat of an immense commerce, is now completely filled up, and the sea, which once washed its walls, is pushed back about two miles farther west. The same accumulation of earth from the wash of adjacent mountains and the deposit in winter of the overflowing Cayster, which have produced this result, also covered up the ruins of the great temple and hid the prostrate columns which lined the way from it to the city. So completely were the ancient landmarks of the city hidden that its ruins were a puzzle to modern visitors until the excavations made by Mr. Wood brought all into daylight once more, and revealed to the eye some of the splendors of the city concerning which ancient historians are silent. On our return from Ephesus my companions went aboard their ship, which was to sail for Athens in a few minutes, and I was left alone, to find my way as best I could in a country of which I knew but little, and of which I found that the English and American residents of the city knew almost as little as I did. I felt somewhat depressed in spirit, but the anticipation of visiting spots of the deepest interest was cheering, and I felt somewhat animated by the very thought of the difficulties which beset my way.

I spent the afternoon in searching for a suitable person to act as my guide and interpreter. By the aid of our consul, Mr. Smithers, and that of the superintendent of the railway, I succeeded in procuring as a dragoman a Greek named George Fed'ros, who, though but little acquainted with the places which I proposed to visit, was a bold, enterprising fellow, with a fair knowledge of English, and able to converse with Turks as well as Greeks. He boasted of having acted as guide for the Duke of Connaught, the third son of Queen Victoria, about the environs of Smyrna, and he had marvelous tales to tell of incidents connected with the duke's visit.

After spending Sunday in a quiet way, and attending the Episcopal services at the residence of the English consul, on Monday morning I deposited all my valuables with our consul, laid in a supply of crackers, sardines, sugar, and coffee for the journey, and took the train for Philadelphia. Now, Philadelphia lies a little north of east from Smyrna, and 108 miles distant by rail. This railway, like the other, is the property of an English company, and it is called the "Smyrna and Cas'saba Railway," because its original terminus was Cas'saba, but it has recently been extended to Philadelphia. Like the Smyrna and Aidîn' road, it has an elegant stone building of ample size for its freight and passenger depot. Its coaches and engines are of the best English make, and the track is well laid.

About 20 miles out from Smyrna we passed a thriving town called Men'amen, near which is a large cotton-factory owned by an English company, and employed in the manufacture of cotton, which is grown along the line of the railway. The country is tolerably well adapted to the growth of cotton, and may yet be made to produce a large quantity of this valuable staple.

Post-offices are almost as rare in Asia Minor as they are in Palestine, but the building of railroads necessarily brings with it many of the other arts and customs of civilization, and our train was blessed with a regular Turkish mail-agent. He sat in the same compartment with Fedros and myself, with a leather mail-bag by his side. He sat à la Turc, with his slippered feet doubled under him, and at noon he went through his prayers with all the genuflexions which the motions of the train and his seat on the narrow cushion would allow. I was amused at the way in which he managed his business. As he approached a station he would fumble through the letters in his bag, pick out those intended for that station, and make a little bundle of them. On arriving he would hand this little bundle to a man who answered the purpose of a postmaster, and receive one in return for other stations. When persons would come to him to mail letters, as they did at almost every station, he would receive from them the money for the postage, and then put stamps on the letters after the train started. I suppose that he must have been an honest man, otherwise he could have thrown many of the letters away, pocketed the money, and saved the stamps.

We reached Philadelphia on time at 2.35 P. M., having run at the average rate of 16 miles to the hour. There was no such thing as a hotel in the city, and we were somewhat puzzled to know where we would find lodging, until the conductor of our train proposed to take us to his boarding-house, where he said everything was clean and neat. We found it a large and indescribable old tenement, but it had a very broad open porch along one side, and we were led into a very airy room in the second story opening into this porch. By having some of our own coffee prepared and a chicken stewed we secured a good supper, and all went well with us till bedtime. We ordered mattresses to be spread in the porch, where it was pleasantly cool, and where we expected to escape the bugs which might be in the rooms. But our expectations were vain,—at least mine were, for I had scarcely begun to sink into unconsciousness when the tormentors began their work. I lit the candle two or three times, and made vigorous assaults upon my enemies, but they finally drove me from the bed. I retired to the most distant corner of the porch, wrapped myself in my shawl, and tried the hard floor. There the fleas attacked me, and between them and the hardness of my bed I was prevented from sleeping soundly. I was the earliest riser in the house the next morning, and I wondered at Fed'ros and the conductor, who slept like logs all night, and scarcely knew that there was a bug or a flea in the house. I thought there was nothing like being used to a thing. The railway, in starting from Smyrna, first winds around the western terminus of a mountain range a few miles northwest of Smyrna, and then runs almost due east, following the southern edge of the valley of the river Hermus. This valley is subject to overflow in very wet winters, for the river lies in a shallow bed, with a sluggish current, and it is very easily swelled to overflow by the rush of water from the mountains which bound its valley on both the north and the south. The railway lies near the foot of the southern range of mountains, and all the towns along the plain are built on the mountain slopes. Philadelphia, like the other towns, is situated on the slope at the southern side of the valley, and the valley is here about nine miles wide. Immediately south of it rises a ridge about 270 feet high above the plain, and extending about a mile north and south. The ancient wall, now much broken, runs along the summit of this ridge, and there is a large castle of irregular shape at its western extremity. This castle was at the southwestern corner of the city. From this corner the western wall descends the hill toward the north, and reaches out nearly a mile into the plain. The northern wall runs at a right angle to the western, and is more than a mile in length. The eastern wall first runs south, then east, leaving out of the city at the northeast a piece of low, wet ground, and then runs south again till it joins the southern wall. The ancient city, if the present wall marks its limits, was nearly a mile and a half long from east to west, and a mile wide from north to south. On the hill, in the southern edge of the town, is a space artificially shaped, which has every appearance of a Greek stadium, or race-course, for foot-races and chariot-races. There is also a recess in the hill, evidently made for an amphitheatre. Both of these were admirably located, for they were 200 feet above the plain, and the spectators, whose faces, when witnessing the games, were toward the north, at moments when their attention was not occupied by the performance in the arena, could look out over the city, across the plain, and along the face of the mountain-range beyond, enjoying a view with which the eye would never grow weary. The present city occupies but a small part of the space within the walls. It is built chiefly of small stones of irregular shape laid in a large quantity of cement; but the meaner houses, of which there are many, are of sun-dried bricks. Nearly all the houses are covered with tiles, very heavy and very rudely made. The streets are from six to eight feet wide and very crooked. In the middle of each there is usually a gutter two feet wide and four inches deep, intended for the feet of passing animals, and also to convey a little stream of water formed by the waste from many public fountains. These fountains, like those in Damascus, are supplied by pipes which lead the water from a spring on the mountain-side. The water issues from a pipe projecting from the wall of the building, falls into a stone trough which it keeps full, and then overflows into the street. Many of these troughs are sarcophagi dug from the ancient burial-grounds, and they were once filled with dead men's bones. The population of the place is not exactly known, and it is estimated by houses. A Greek priest, who showed us much kindness by acting as our local guide, stated that the Turkish houses are commonly estimated at 2000, and those of the Greeks at 400. Allowing 5 persons to a house, which is the usual estimate, this would give a population of 12,000. Five minarets rise above the city, representing as many mosques, and there are two Greek churches.

Columns, broken pieces of statuary, and large building stones are seen in every part of the city and about the open spaces within the walls; but there is only one ancient structure whose outline can be traced. This is an old church called The Church of the Apocalypse. Three of the four stone piers that once supported its massive roof are still standing, the fourth having been torn down by the English railroad-builders, and its stones used for making culverts. These piers are 20 feet square and 40 feet high; and they are crowned with the remains of brick arches of immense thickness, which constituted, when entire, the vaulted ceiling and roof of the immense building. The piers were once covered with paintings in fresco, which the Mohammedans covered over with plaster when they took possession of the country; but now the plastering is broken in places, and the colors can be distinctly seen. The Greeks believe that this church was built in the days of the Apostle John, but this cannot be true, for all churches of such magnificence belong to the period following Constantine's conversion, when the public treasury was taxed for their erection. When we were about to enter the inclosure surrounding the old church, a Turkish servant stood in the door and forbade us to enter because we were Christians. After much altercation, and some pushing, we got him out of the way, but he followed us and looked daggers at us all the time we were there. When we were leaving I offered him some buckshish, but he refused it with a disdainful upturning of his nose. I remarked that the best thing for him would be a man's fist planted on his mouth.

Southeast of the city, about half a mile, there is a copious spring of mineral water, much used by the people as a promoter of digestion. It has a very strong taste of mineral matter, and it makes a slight deposit of iron. I filled a glass bottle with the water to bring home for analysis. About half a mile farther to the southeast, in a ravine descending from a mountain of basalt, there is a warm spring whose temperature is 90° with a cold one on each side of it. Two bathing pools have been excavated in the rock, one for warm water and the other for cold, and they are frequented by a large number of persons from the city. In passing along the streets of Philadelphia I frequently heard the cooing of doves, and on looking up I saw ring-doves walking about on the roofs of houses, on the banisters of porticos, and on all places about the houses which afforded them a perch. On inquiry, I learned that this dove is a kind of sacred bird with the Philadelphians, and that it is allowed to roost and build where it chooses without molestation. I had observed, as I came from Smyrna, a great many storks standing on house-tops and walking about the fields, and I observed at Philadelphia that many of them were constantly standing on the remnants of the old wall where they had built their nests. They are held as a sacred bird in all this part of Asia Minor, and it is as great a sin here to kill a stork as to kill a dog in Damascus. The solemn bird is allowed to build his nest wherever he chooses, and I have often seen half a dozen of the huge nests, four or five feet in diameter, and built chiefly of large sticks, on the roof of a single house. Sometimes I have seen a dozen storks standing with solemn mien on the top of a house, maintaining all the gravity of a tall undertaker at a funeral, and appearing as if everybody in the house was dead and they had come to the burial.

Letter XX.
Sardis, Thyatira, Pergamos, And Smyrna From Philadelphia I returned by rail to Sardis, having passed by it on my way out. It is about 24 miles west of Philadelphia, and 84 miles by rail from Smyrna. Sardis, unlike Philadelphia, has ceased to be a city. It is utterly desolate. My only opportunity to find lodging while visiting it was at the small depot building, and the superintendent of the road at Smyrna, Mr. Purser, had kindly given me a note to the young man who has charge of the station requesting him to give me a bed. The young man was absent at another station during the night, and I occupied his bed. A native family near by cooked a chicken for us and made our coffee. With these and the crackers which we had brought from Smyrna we made our supper and breakfast.

Sardis, like Philadelphia, is situated at the southern edge of the plain of the Hermus, which is here 10 or 12 miles wide; it is at the foot of a mountain ridge, which constituted its acropolis; its southern wall passed along the backbone of this ridge, and in the front of this acropolis were the stadium and the theatre. But here its likeness to Philadelphia terminates. The acropolis of Sardis is about 1000 feet high,—nearly four times as high as that of Philadelphia. In front it is so steep as to be climbed on foot only in one place, and on its southern side is a precipice 500 or 600 feet deep, reaching to an elevated valley between it and other mountains farther south. The acropolis is itself a magnificent ruin. It is not a mountain of solid rock, but one of pebbles and rounded stones intermixed with sand. It would be a mass of concrete but it has no cohesion, and it has been washed into all the jagged forms of sharp peak, knife-like ridge, and deep ravine that such a mountain could be made to assume. The view along its sides as we climbed it was full of sublimity, and this was heightened by the peculiar combination of art and nature on its summit. The sky-piercing peaks are crowned with ragged sections of an ancient wall, the bases of which often project beyond the surface which supports them, so that they appear ready to topple from their lofty perches. At the southeastern corner a section of the wall, about a quarter of a mile long, is so nearly undermined by the crumbling of the bill beneath it that it made me nervous to walk upon its top and cast my eye below.

Arundel says that the ascent of this mountain is not worth the trouble; but I have seen nothing in my travel much more magnificent than the view which it affords. To the south, across a rough intervening valley, rise the mountains of Tmolus, about 2000 feet high, and here thickly wooded. To the west, across a narrow valley, is a ridge like the one on which we stand, jagged and peaked in the wildest manner. The ruins of the Temple of Cyb'ele lie in this valley, its two columns that are, still erect standing in loneliness amid a mass of marble blocks lying in confusion about them. To the north the eye takes in the Valley of the Hermus, which stretches to the right and left until it is lost in the dim distance, and it traces the serpentine course of the river itself for many miles along this valley. We see, just before us on the bank of this stream, the place where Alexander the Great was encamped when Sardis opened her gates to him without resistance, and we gaze on the same landscape which he beheld when, standing on this very acropolis, he resolved to erect here a temple to Jupiter. Still nearer in the plain is the battle-field in which the army of the rich Crœsus, of whose kingdom Sardis was the capital, was defeated by Cyrus, after which event the city fell into the hands of this Persian conqueror. Across the plain, on a long, low ridge with a smooth surface, we see a large number of mounds, or tumuli, in which the rock-built tombs of ancient kings and men of wealth are covered thick with earth,—the largest of them the tumulus of Halyattes, the father of Crœsus. Beyond this ridge lies a beautiful sheet of water, the Gygean Lake, and beyond it rises the mountain-range which bounds the Valley of the Hermus on the north. To the east, in a valley at the foot of the mountain on which we stand, is the river Pactolus, whose sand was said of old to be mingled with gold; and we trace the silvery thread of its water across the plain until it unites with the Hermus. The sections of the city wall which I have mentioned, together with some on the plain below, are reconstructions, as appears from the pieces of columns, sculptured slabs, and other remains of more ancient structures, which are worked in with coarser material. All of the wall of the acropolis except these fragmentary remains has disappeared, having fallen with the ground on which it stood, rolled down the precipice, and been covered beneath the mass of sand and pebbles which followed. The summit of the mountain must have been far more extensive formerly than at present, but earthquakes and winter rains have carried it down upon the city below, which lies buried many feet beneath the present surface. That once broad summit is now so narrow in one place that the path by which the visitor goes from one part to another is scarcely 10 inches wide, with a deep precipice below. When we came to this, Fed'ros halted and would go no farther. He said it made his head swim to go across such places, and I must excuse him. But the native guide whom we had employed to show us the way walked boldly across, and I followed. Beyond this pass I obtained the view which I have described above, and I felt compensated for the little risk which I had run. As we were descending the mountain the guide told me that a few weeks previous he was guiding a German traveler across that place, when the gentleman's foot slipped, and he would have fallen had not he (the guide) reached back to him a staff which he carried and helped him to recover his footing. The chief part of the city stood at the northern foot of the mountain. Here the remains of only a few buildings now project above the surface. The most conspicuous of these is the first that is reached in approaching the city from the railway-station. Its walls, which are built of alternate layers of broad, thin bricks, and small stones embedded in cement, still stand from 30 to 40 feet above the surface, and they inclose two immense halls standing end to end with a square passage between them. The northern hall is 150 feet long and 40 wide, while the southern is of the same width and 175 feet long. The roof was an arch of brick. Wings extended to the east and west from the southern hall, but their ruins are in such confusion, and so nearly covered with earth, that I could not determine their exact dimensions. At one side of the southern hall an excavation to its foundation shows that earth has accumulated around the building to a depth of at least 20 feet. It is called the House of Croesus; but while it was large enough, and probably fine enough, for that richest of all kings to dwell in, it can scarcely be old enough.

Leaving this house to the left, and crossing the western foot of the acropolis, I found on a low piece of ground the celebrated Temple of Cyb'ele, the mother of Jupiter. Two marble columns about 35 feet above the surface, and reaching, as excavations recently made show, about 20 feet under the present surface, are all that can be seen at a distance, unless it be from the summit of the adjacent mountain. The columns are 7 feet in diameter, and their capitals are beautiful specimens of the Ionic order. The blocks of other columns like them lie in a confused mass upon the broken walls of the temple and about the space which it inclosed. It is impossible, without removing the accumulated earth, to determine the exact form and dimensions of the temple, but the English engineers who built the railway have made a stone-quarry of this as well as of other ruins along the line of their road, and from the excavations which they have made it is safe to conclude that the foundations of the temple are yet entire. The marble of which the whole building was constructed has a coarse grain, but it is white and glistening, and I was told by the natives that it was quarried in the mountains a few miles distant, where masses of the same marble still exist. In the northeastern part of the city are the ruins of two ancient churches, one very large and built of original material. It has a striking resemblance to the Church of the Apocalypse at Philadelphia. The other was evidently built of material from some heathen temple, including capitals, friezes, broken columns, and sculptured slabs worked into the walls without regard to their original design. At various places within the area of the city excavations have been made in search of building stones, and they were found in every instance. There are many mounds and irregular protuberances on the surface which indicate the sites of buried buildings. I have no doubt that a thorough system of excavations here would reveal many relics of antiquity, and they might throw much light on the history of this famous city. The only inhabitants about the place are a few families at the northeastern corner, who have a mill operated by water drawn from the Pactolus, and a few at the southwestern corner, who occupy in winter some rude stone huts without windows, and in summer a few permanent tents covered partly with goats' hair cloth and partly with leafy branches from the trees. We stopped at one of these tents, and while sipping the inevitable coffee which the old Turcoman ordered for us I asked the old man why his people made no windows to their houses. The answer was, "We live in them only in the winter, and then we need no windows."

After completing my exploration of Sardis, I next directed my course toward Thyatira. I found that the most practicable method of reaching this place was to return to Magnesî'a, about thirty-six miles back toward Smyrna on the railway, and there procure horses for the trip. I found Magnesî'a a very stirring city, claiming 25,000 inhabitants. I counted twenty-six minarets, indicating more than half that number of mosques, and I saw there a convent of the Dancing Dervishes. I also found, to my great gratification, a neat little hotel with clean beds, airy rooms, and a good table. The fare was only five francs a day. I learned from my Greek landlord that there was an American missionary in the city, and under his guidance I visited the mission premises. I found them consisting of a large dwelling and a small chapel, both the property of the mission, which is under the control of the central station at Constantinople. I had a pleasant but brief interview with the missionary and his wife, and found that their work was not encouraged by any decided success. The fast of Ramadân', during which Mohammedans are required to fast all day, though they may feast all night, was in progress, and at night the twenty-six minarets were all illuminated by three rows of lamps hung around every one. It was a very pretty sight.

We found in the city a large khân, kept by a Turk, and supplied with both horses and carriages for hire. When we called, he constrained us to take seats and drink some coffee while we bargained for horses and waited for them to be led out for inspection. I hired three horses and a Turkish servant, at one dollar a day each, for my journey to Thyatira and Pergamos. After trying them by a short ride, I selected the best one for myself, a strongly-built iron-gray with a good walk, and let Fed'ros have second choice. He and the Turk divided between them our baggage, consisting of two pairs of well-loaded Turkish saddle-pockets, and thus equipped we set out on the morning of July 17^th for Thyatira. The country through which we were to pass was new to Fed'ros, and he was afraid to traverse it without a military escort. We called on the Turkish governor, who had a regiment of soldiers at his command, and made known to him our intended journey. He said that he thought the road was free from robbers, but he would not assume any responsibility for our safety. This made Fed'ros the more anxious for an escort, but the missionary told me that he was accustomed to go anywhere he wished alone, and I thought if he could go alone I could certainly go with two attendants, so I positively refused to ask for a guard. We set out unarmed into a region known only by the stable-servant, but he had traversed it many times in his present capacity, and I knew the general direction and distance.

Thyatira is about 35 miles from Magnesî'a, a little east of north. After riding about two miles we crossed the Hermus, which is here a shallow stream not over two and a half feet deep and about forty yards wide. In crossing its valley we frequently came upon long stretches of a paved road, but it was so rough, and the stones were worn so slick on top, that we avoided it except where muddy places compelled us to take it. During the ride we saw some ill-constructed wagons, with large beds made of wicker-work, and with wheels so void of grease that they screeched hideously at every turn. We saw very large wheat-farms, covering in some instances more than a square mile of territory, each with a large building in it intended for the lodging of laborers during seed-time and harvest, and for the storing of grain and straw. The laborers dwell in villages often remote from these farms.

After crossing the plain of the Hermus our road followed another plain, which enters into this at a right angle, and is drained by a stream almost as large as the Hermus above their junction. This stream heads near Thyatira, and the plain is terminated there by a mountain-range that rises back of the city. All the way the plain is bounded by low mountains on the east and west. The Turkish name of Thyatira is Akhissar, the white tower. Seen at a distance from the south it is almost hidden by groves of tall cypress-trees, but white minarets gleaming through these, and occasional groups of houses coming into view, combine with the dark foliage and tapering forms of the trees and the purple mountain-wall in the distance to present an Oriental landscape of the most pleasing character. The cypress groves occupy the old graveyards of the city, the trees having been planted by the graves as signs of mourning, and it was sad to observe the fact that these cities of the dead occupy far more space than the city of the living. The same is true of many other cities and villages which I saw in Asia Minor, and yet these large cemeteries have been filled up during the comparatively short period of Turkish dominion, all the graves, tombs, and sepulchres of the early Christian period and of the still earlier heathen period having been long ago swept away or hidden beneath the surface. As we approached the city by a road winding among these groves I saw many relics of antiquity, such as broken columns from ancient temples used as head-stones for some of the graves, sculptured slabs of marble or granite used as side-stones for other graves, and blocks of rich material built in among the unhewed stones of the rude walls by which the cemeteries are inclosed. The city, like all the other interior Asiatic towns, is composed chiefly of one-story houses built of small stones laid in a thick mass of poorly-tempered mortar. The walls are frequently strengthened by pieces of timber built in horizontally at intervals of two or three feet, and in some instances they are plastered on the outside. The roofs are of rude tiles, supported by rafters made of round poplar poles, and they project about two feet beyond the walls so as to protect the latter from the drip in the rainy season. In these walls, as in those of the villages of Palestine, I frequently saw well-shaped stones from ancient buildings. On the streets I saw sarcophagi used for watering-troughs, and Corinthian capitals used for door-steps or perforated for the mouths of wells and cisterns.

Within a few years past the city has been visited three times by destructive fires. The last of these, which occurred in October, 1878, destroyed about one-third of the houses. We rode through the burnt district as we entered the city, and found large numbers of men engaged in rebuilding the houses. They were under the general superintendence of a Greek engineer from Smyrna, named Vitallis. He was laying off new and straight streets 16 and 22 feet wide, and forbidding under an edict of the government the erection of any but stone houses. Some of the burnt houses were of sun-dried bricks, and all these were now but masses of earth. These improvements excited the disgust of some of the Turks, and one old fellow was so rebellious that he had been thrown into prison. The only place of lodging for travelers to be found in the city was a filthy khân, full of dirt and night-prowling insects. I told Fed'ros that if we could not find a better house I would spread my shawl under a shade-tree at the edge of the town and sleep there. After much inquiry he finally appealed to the engineer, Vitallis, who said that he had a room in the house of a widow, and that we might possibly find lodging with her. He sent a servant to show us the way, and the widow promptly agreed to let us have a room, though she had nothing for us to eat. Fed'ros contracted with a man, who kept a small cook-shop where men called and ordered what they wished to eat, to prepare and send us our supper and breakfast. The engineer, when he came in from his work, took supper with us, and so did a Greek doctor who called to make the engineer a visit. The doctor was a native of Thessalonica, and the engineer had lived as an officer of the sultan in Constantinople; so they were full of information most interesting to me, and they remained with us to a late hour. The only drawback to the conversation was the impertinence of Fed'ros, who, while acting as my interpreter, persisted in putting in at least two words for himself to one for me. The next morning Vitallis led us to a colossal statue recently disinterred in the western part of the town; pointed out to us a portion of the ancient wall exposed in one of the streets, and showed us in a private yard a large sarcophagus whose sides were covered with wreaths and crowns. He was a young man of handsome person and fine address, and he treated us with much kindness. The present population of Thyatira is about 9000. The plain around it is flat, and much of it is wet. I could not resist the conviction that it is an unhealthy city, though all with whom I conversed contended that it is not. It is well supplied with water, which is distributed through the city in pipes, while the waste from fountains and watering-troughs is frequently seen flowing along the narrow streets. The people are nearly all Turks. At 8 A. M. on the 18^th of July I left Thyatira for Pergamos, which I found to be about 48 miles distant. For about 12 miles the direction was northwest, across the head of the plain in which Thyatira stands. I then reached, by a slight ascent, the Plain of Kirgagatch, a beautiful circular basin about six miles in diameter, surrounded by smooth mountains. It is noted for the production of superior watermelons, cotton, and fruits. Watermelons were not quite ripe. The city of Kirgagatch, containing a population of 12,000 or 14,000, and several cotton-mills, is beautifully situated at the southern side of the plain, with precipitous mountains towering grandly above it. This plain is drained by the river Caicus, and from it we passed westward into the Caicus Plain. This plain, after extending about 28 miles almost due west, and maintaining an average width of about six miles, is then contracted to about one-third of its previous width, the mountains on the north closing upon it by a curve to the south. There it turns toward the southwest, widens again after a few miles, and stretches away 20 miles farther to the sea. The entire plain is rich and well watered.

Pergamos is situated at this southward curve of the mountains, the modern city at the foot of the range, and the ancient city on the summit of a mountain 2000 feet high. We entered the former through the doorway of an immense building called the Church of St. John. So vast were its proportions, and so fort-like its appearance, that I at first took it to be an old castle built to defend the gate. We rode to the principal khân and put up our horses and our servant, and then struck out to find lodgings for ourselves in some private house. A young Greek from the bazaar volunteered to go with us where he thought we could find lodging, and while we were making inquiries along the street a Turkish policeman, heavily armed, stopped our Greek friend and began to denounce him for helping the strangers to find lodging among the families. Turks have a great horror of allowing men such privileges. Fed'ros was equal to the occasion. He walked up to the policeman with an air of importance and said, "Get away from here, you impudent dog! Say another word, and I will have you strapped up and taken to Smyrna and punished for your interference with a gentleman!" The Turk, taking him to be some high official, and thinking me perhaps to be some lord from a distant realm, immediately apologized and got out of the way. We finally succeeded in finding a room in which we would be allowed to sleep, and Fed'ros boldly asked the owner if there were any "bugs" in it. He said there was none. Fed'ros demanded, "Are you certain there are none?" The man answered, "Yes; I will eat every one you can find there." With this assurance we took the room and ordered our supper and breakfast, as at Thyatira, from a bake-shop in the bazaar.

Modern Pergamos is almost a facsimile of Philadelphia and Thyatira, with a population of about 10,000. The ascent from it to the ancient city is by a steep and winding road which reaches the old wall on the eastern brow of the mountain, and enters through a ruined portal. After entering the inclosure, which covers the entire top of the mountain, we followed the ancient pavement, which continues to wind about and ascend toward the highest part of the summit. It was the pavement of a street, yet it follows such curves as secure it the most gradual ascent to the acropolis, which occupied the most northern part of the mountain-top, and was separated from the lower part of the city by another wall. Immediately in front of this separating wall we found about 50 workmen engaged in uncovering the ruins of a large temple, and in boxing the pieces of statuary which they found, preparatory to shipping them. They were in the employ of a Mr. Humans, agent of the German Empire, who had been engaged for about eight months in making excavations here, and had already taken out 160 pieces of statuary, most of which he had forwarded to Berlin. Many pieces were still on the ground, and new discoveries were being made every day. I saw none which could compare with the exquisite masterpieces of Greece which are in the museums of Rome and Naples, but I saw some that were very well worth the expense of disinterment and removal. The interior of the acropolis and of the whole city is covered with ruins; and cisterns for rain-water, which was a necessity to the inhabitants, are very numerous. The city walls are everywhere in a state of ruin except on the extreme northern end of the acropolis, where a piece of the original wall still stands in an almost perfect condition. It is a splendid piece of masonry. The view from the summit of the acropolis is not excelled by any that I saw in my whole journey. In every direction mountains are seen, near by or far away, and they present every variety of form and every shade of color known to mountain scenery. The broad plain of the Caicus stretches away to the east, terminated by a mountain barrier dim in the distance, and the same plain continues its course to the southwest until its varied hues of yellow and green are exchanged for the deep blue of the sea, and this is limited by the dim mountains of the island of Mityle'ne, the ancient Lesbos. The Caicus is seen at intervals winding its way along this plain, and in the mountain passes in other directions many smaller streams are traced as they thread their way through crooked valleys. All the elements of a magnificent landscape, mountains, plains, rivers, and the sea, combine to make this one of the most magnificent ever enjoyed by the people of an entire city looking abroad from their own house-tops. Its commanding site made the city itself also a magnificent object when seen from the plain below, and especially from the plain toward the southwest, whence it stands out distinctly against the sky and seems to exalt itself above all the hills. In the plain just south of the city there are three tumuli, similar to those in the plain of the Hermus over against Sardis; but of the origin and history of these nothing is known. They are about 200 feet in diameter at the base, and fifty feet in perpendicular height. Excavations will some day bring to light the story which they are able to tell. At night we made a short call at the residence of Mr. Humans, and found him pleasantly situated, with his wife and two or three children, in a suite of rooms where they kept house. They could speak some English, and I spent an hour or two with them very pleasantly.

I left Pergamos on Sunday morning, July 20^th, and rode that day more than forty miles, to Menimen, a station of the railroad about twenty miles from Smyrna. My general course was nearly due south, but it veered somewhat to the right, and I passed several times near the seashore. It was the first Sunday that I had given to land travel since I left home, and I would have devoted it to rest but for the fact that the ship in which I was to sail for Constantinople was to leave Smyrna the next day, and the whole plan of my journey homeward would have been deranged had I missed it. Having a long day's journey before me, I gave orders the night before for an early start; but Fed'ros, who was far more dilatory than any Ar'ab or Syrian whom I had employed, detained me at least half an hour in getting ready, and when we reached the khân we found our Turk just out of bed and quietly smoking his pipe though he had not yet fed our horses. Here was another half-hour's delay. The consequence of this was that when we reached Menimen, a train on which I could have proceeded to Smyrna that night had been gone about twenty minutes, and I had to hunt up private quarters again for a night's lodging. Fortunately, Fed'ros was acquainted with a Greek family here who had a comfortable house, and they agreed to lodge and feed us on the condition that I would advance enough money to enable them to buy meat for our supper and breakfast. It is astonishing how little meat is eaten in these Eastern countries, and how few persons can afford to buy it. I found, however, that in all the families where I bought meat for them to cook they were as hungry for it as I was, and they always took a seat with me and helped me to eat it.

I found Menimen a place of about 8000 inhabitants, consisting of Turks, Greeks, Armenians, and Jews in the order of numbers. It is a place of considerable business, which has chiefly grown up since the construction of the railroad. The effect of the railroad thus far has not been so much to increase the products of the country as to facilitate the transportation of its surplus. An increase of capital must necessarily result, and that will be followed by an increase of products. On Monday morning, July 21^st, I took the train for Smyrna about 10 o'clock, and reached my hotel in that city about noon. As my vessel was to set sail at 5 P. M., I had little more than time to call on the consul for my valuables and the letters which had come for me in my absence, and prepare for another voyage by sea.

I had now traversed all of Asia Minor that my limited time and resources would allow, and I had seen the sites of all of the Seven Churches of Asia, except that of Laodicea. This was so remote from the others that it would have required nearly a week of extra time and of very expensive travel to see it. The Smyrna and Aidîn' Railway terminates at Aidîn', within 16 miles of it, and this would have been the nearest route by which to reach it. It is east of Aidîn', and about 110 miles a little south of east from Ephesus. I learned from the old book of Mr. Arundel, and from conversation with persons who had visited it, that the ancient city is now totally uninhabited. Its ruins cover six or seven hills. Innumerable sarcophagi, sure sign of former wealth, are scattered about its area; it contains the ruins of three theatres, and many sculptured figures have been disinterred by laborers in excavating for building stones to be used in neighboring villages. The river Lycus, a branch of the Meander, flows past it about a mile distant on the north.

I was struck, wherever I went in Asia Minor, with the striking likeness between its natural features and those of Palestine. Its seasons are the same,—a short wet season and a long dry one; its temperature is only a little lower; its vegetation, both natural and cultivated, is almost identical; it is equally stripped of its original forests; and it has in summer the same bare and desolate appearance. It gives constant evidence, too, of having once been, like Palestine, a very rich and splendid country. One would not have to read Greek history, after seeing this country, to know something of what it has been, as he would not have to read the Bible after seeing Palestine to know that it is but the shadow of its former self.

Smyrna is by far the most important city not only on this coast, but in all Asia Minor. It has a population variously estimated from 150,000 to 200,000, of which nearly half are Greeks and Europeans. By far the greater portion of its business is in the hands of these nationalities, though the Turkish bazaar is far superior to that of Damascus, and inferior to none, perhaps, in the Turkish empire, except that at Constantinople. The city is situated on a flat plain between the harbor and a mountain, which rises in its rear more than 300 feet high. It fills all the space back to the foot of the mountain. Its harbor is completely land-locked. It is a beautiful sheet of water nearly two miles wide, and extending due west for six or eight miles, with a mountain ridge rising from its shores on either side. An island with a mountainous elevation, stretches across the mouth of the harbor to the west, leaving ample space for the passage of ships, but completely shutting off the westerly winds. The deep water extends up to the quay, and all vessels, except the largest iron steamers, can tie up to the quay for loading and unloading. Many vessels, both large and small, are constantly anchored in the harbor, some are constantly arriving and departing, and the surface of the harbor is always alive with row-boats, lightly built and painted in gay colors. The most pleasing sight that I witnessed in Smyrna was the gathering of the people on the quay after sunset. The quay is the water street of the city, and it extends along the harbor for fully a mile, with the water only three feet below its outer edge, and an almost continuous row of handsome buildings on the opposite side. It is about 60 feet wide, and it is smoothly paved with flag-stones. As soon as the sun is down every summer evening the people begin to pour out of the sweltering city upon this quay, men, women, and children, from the oldest matron to the youngest child that can walk, all neatly dressed for the occasion, and here they promenade, filling the street from end to end, until nine o'clock. At intervals along the inner side of the street there are open squares in front of cafés, that are filled with small tables and chairs, where the promenaders may take seats if they choose and call for ices, lemonade, candies, cakes, or wine, eat and drink at their leisure, and then join again the moving throng. Several bands of music are stationed at intervals along the way, and policemen are on duty in sufficient numbers to quell the slightest disorder should any occur. I walked out and mingled with that crowd on three different evenings, and I saw not the slightest departure from good manners. There was no hurry or bustle, no loud talking or loud laughing, and not the slightest appearance of intoxication. I could but wonder at the fact that the population of a commercial city like this could thus turn out en masse on a pleasure excursion, and preserve decorum so perfect. I doubt whether the same could be done in any city of 100,000 people in the United States. The student of the Bible will recognize some correspondence between the condition of these seven cities and what was predicted concerning the seven churches which were first planted in them. The fate of a church is not to be confounded with that of the city in which it is located, yet it often occurs, as in some of these instances, that the one shares the fate of the other. The candlestick of Ephesus has been entirely removed out of its place. Smyrna, which was poor in purse but rich in faith, has become rich in purse but poor in faith; the sharp two-edged sword with which Pergamos was threatened has done its work, leaving nothing but the silent stones to tell the story; the Lord came to Sardis as a thief, shattering it into ruins with an earthquake; Philadelphia has been kept, if not "from the hour of temptation," at least from the hour of destruction; and Laodicea, whose ruins attest the riches of which she once boasted, has long since been spewed out of the mouth of the Lord.