strict as those found in our own sacred scriptures. And in justice to all, it cannot be said that Christendom has been much more humane in her warfare in the past; so that, although the Mohammedans rightly merit condemnation, it is only another instance of trying to take the mote out of our brother's eye, while our own is in the same condition. As to polygamy, which is rightfully repulsive to every person of enlightenment, we would say that although Mohammed is reported to have had many wives, he did not teach the practice, except in cases like his own, when suffering and want could be alleviated by an introduction of worthy women into a good home and easy circumstances.

Polygamy, also, while perhaps an evil in itself, is a remedy for many evils, somewhat more dire, in society and state. A public woman, in the immoral sense of Christian Europe and America, does not exist in Mohammedan Turkey. Let him who is somewhat skeptical of the good influences of the Mohammedan religion draw a comparison between the sobriety of the devotees with the inebrity of America. No legal restraint is employed, but crimes arising from immoderate drinking are very few, and all owing to the strong spiritual influence of a religion that Christians rightfully pronounce a mistake, but wrongfully despise. We would be far from defending Mohammedanism in all its teachings and practices. There is much to be condemned, but let us not forget that there is much to be commended, and much that should tend to link us with our somewhat mistaken but sincere brothers. In all our judgments let us be liberal, and let us not forget that our God will not judge them guilty who with heart and soul worship Him in word and life, according to the measure of the divine light shed upon their yearning hopes and waiting souls.


" 'Tis a grand sight, from off the Giant's Grave,

To watch the progress of those rolling seas,
Between the Bosphorus as they lash and lave

Europe and Asia."—Byron.

“ To see Rome and die is merely gratuitous suicide when the other Rome, the beautiful city of Constantine, remains to be visited.”LanePoole.


AN is an emotional being just as truly as he is a

thinking being. He ever admires the beautiful; his imagination is alert to grasp fancy pictures in nature and in experience. Youth has youthful admirations, maturity loftier ones. “The Queen of the East” was the dream of my youth. In the school-room, its rich historical associations were studied with enchantment; at home, around the fireside, its many stirring incidents and daily social events were the subjects of our conversation and hours of reading. In my dreams its splendid palaces, its modern and ancient temples, rose before my imagination in all their grandeur. At last the happy day came, when on my way to the American shores I beheld this Mecca of

my imagination, and spent some weeks amongst its mosques

[graphic][subsumed][merged small]

and shrines. The voyage from Samson to Constantinople was my first experience with the sea; it was short but tiresome, and rendered still further unpleasant by constant seasickness. So utterly miserable was I, that I almost hoped at times that a fairer land might be my home before I should reach America. But in the brightness of a lovely morning, when we sailed into the calm and sweet waters of the Bosphorus, my illness disappeared or was quite forgotten in the scene before me. Oh! visions of brightness, inspiration of my youth! Here was the Constantinople of my dreams, no less fair than I had deemed her, sitting supreme on her seven hills, at the juncture of Europe and Asia with a foot firmly planted on each. My curious eyes, with those of many others who crowded the deck, were strained to catch glimpses of the villas and palaces stretching from the Black Sea to the Marmora, a distance of twenty miles, now approaching, then receding, as the historic strait, narrow when we enter it, widens into a broad expanse of clear waters, washing the slopes of blue-clad, olive-crowned hills, studded with the solid palatial homes of the rich and the nestling villas of the well-to-do.

As we pass, on the European shores are the diplomatic villages of Buyukdere and Therapia, and later RoumiliHissar claims our attention, with its formidable battery below, while in the distance Robert College can be seen outlined against a perfect sky.

On the Asian shore, Anadolu-Hissar fronts Roumili

Hissar. At this point Europe and Asia stand face to face at their nearest approach, and the magnificent palaces of Oriental and Occidental aristocrats cast a deep shadow upon the blue waters of the Bosphorus. As we advance on the southern side, “Golden Horn," a curved arm of the sea, stretches before us with miles of city.

Yonder, beyond the Seraglio Point, rises the swelling dome of St. Sophia, and a thread of mosques, with glittering minarets cleaving the blue of the sky that crown the successive heights of Stamboul. Opposite this Galatian splendor rises Pera, with the pomp and dignity of aristocracy, while a famous bridge connects these two points, upon which men of every color, type and language pass to and fro in a mighty throng, to the amazing interest of any spectator, who finds Orient and Occident, hat and fez, black and white, all mixed and mingled in a common tide of humanity, everything novel and strange!

After the setting of the sun, as I glided along the historic channel, under the canopy of heaven, admiring the exquisite colors of sunset die away beyond the rolling hills of the Asian shore, and watching the stars twinkle out from their infinite vaults over the calm waters of the Bosphorus, reflecting in their depths the flags of every nation that flutter in the breeze, which at this hour creeps from peak to peak along the shore, I was thrilled with the thought of the changes these waters had seen. The nocturnal stillness which is disturbed only by the wild roar of the far-away

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