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those scenes in the Acts of the Apostles stamped with so vivid and lifelike a character that, in reading, we seem transported into the very midst of the actors. Here Paul sojourned for a considerable time, and from hence he addressed his Second Epistle to the Thessalonians. The universal depravity of morals at Corinth may be gathered from the tenour of his two epistles, afterwards written to the converts he had made in that city.

On reaching the site of Corinth, and looking around, there was nothing to delay our progress for a single hour. The town had been burnt during the war with the Turks, and a few mean buildings were just beginning to lift up their heads among the blackened ruins. The only remains of former splendour were a few Doric columns, in very bad style, forming part of a temple. We put up the horses at a small wine-house, and, taking a guide, set off to ascend the Acrocorinthus, which we found to be a more fatiguing task than we had anticipated. The eastern side of the rock being absolutely inaccessible, the path is up the western side, and passes through different gateways, until it reaches the principal inclosure, which is of very considerable extent, formerly comprising some mosques and a small town, all fallen into ruin. Recruiting ourselves with a draught from the cold and limpid fountain of Pirene, we stood, at length, upon the topmost crest.

The view was so strikingly magnificent, as amply to repay the toil of the ascent. The first object that attracted our attention was the irregular summit of the rock itself, defended by an ancient wall, which follows all its indentations and hollows. From this bulwark the eye plunges sheer down eighteen hundred feet upon the isthmus below, connecting together the two gulfs. That on the right, the Saronic, is open, and expands towards its mouth, dotted over with islands, among which that of Salamis is strikingly conspicuous, and beyond, in the clear atmosphere, may be discerned the Acropolis of Athens, backed by the lofty range of Hymettus.

The other gulf, the Corinthian, is here more narrow, resembling a lake hemmed in by lofty mountains, but gradually opening to the westward, where the snowy summit of Parnassus is seen, afar off, towering above the rugged fastnesses of Delphi. The isthmus itself, the peculiar feature of the scene, is about five miles broad, partly level, and partly hilly; a defensive wall, thrown down, and built up again in different ages, once ran across it; and a canal was also commenced in the time of Nero: traces of both these works still remain.

Like so many other scenes in Greece, the view from the Acrocorinthus is grand, but mournful. The sea is still azure, as of old; the mountains still rise in all their flowing beauty of outline and purple loveliness of colour; but where are the ships that crowded the two harbours, from the eastern and western seas; the busy thousands, who might once have been seen toiling, emmet-like, across the Isthmus, or repairing to its celebrated games; the shining city with its swarming suburbs; the numerous villages which dotted the highly cultivated plain? All this has passed away, and there is only just that sprinkling of life that seems rather to deepen than relieve the melancholy of the vast and vacant area which lies outstretched in corpse-like stillness below.

The Acrocorinthus comprising nearly all that is interesting in this locality, there was nothing left after descending from it, but to refresh ourselves, and continue our route. We took the road around the head of the gulf, and passing the half-obliterated remains of the amphitheatre, reached a little port or shelter for boats, romantically situated near some hot springs, and commanding a splendid view of the rock.

A small vessel was leaving for Patras, our passage soon taken, and at sunset we were sailing down the gulf. The breeze was prosperous, and the night so soft and mild, that it was far pleasanter to sleep on deck wrapped up in a mantle, than encounter the closeness of the cabin. Next day we were abreast

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of the magnificent ranges of Delphi, surmounted by the snowcapped crest of Parnassus. Anchoring at Vostizza the next morning, our bark had reached the mouth of the gulf; and Lepanto rising on its rock, formed a striking object; recalling the famous sea-fight between the Turks and Christians, in which Cervantes was taken prisoner.

Shortly afterwards we landed on the quay at Patras. The view, as we approached, was characteristic of the present state of Greece. Under the extensive walls of a medieval chateau, were clustered a range of buildings, some of them mere hovels, but others which, by their superior construction, betokened increasing commerce and wealth. There was a considerable quantity of craft in the roads, and much bustle on, the pier; while groups of idlers flaunting in jacket and juxtønilla, or wrapped in shaggy capotes, were speculating upon the character of the new arrivals.

a

At Smyrna one hears of nothing but figs; at Patras, the souls of the inhabitants are buried in currants, which are grown all round the neighbourhood. Unless the traveller is interested in this subject, there is absolutely nothing else except the castle, of any interest, either ancient or modern.

Yet there is one event of interest, connected with the place; it is traditionally believed that here St. Andrew suffered martyrdom. The fisherman of Bethsaida, after labouring in Scythia, and on the remote borders of the Euxine Sea, and planting the Gospel in Byzantium, came by way of Thrace and the northern parts of Greece to Patræ, then the maritime capital of Achaia, where geas was then proconsul. Here he laboured with such effect that multitudes embraced the new religion; even the wife and brother of the proconsul being among the converts. Enraged at this defection, and having laboured in vain to induce the Apostle to discontinue his teaching, Egeas caused him to be crucified, by attaching his body to the cross with ropes instead of nails. He hung thus two days in lingering agony before he expired. The cross upon which he was crucified is said to have been in

the form of the letter X, hence usually known by the name of St. Andrew's Cross. His body was taken down, and after being embalmed, was honourably interred by a wealthy lady.

"As for that report of Gregory, Bishop of Tours," says Dr. Cave, "that on the anniversary day of his martyrdom there was wont to flow from St. Andrew's tomb a most fragrant and precious oil, which, according to its quantity, denoted the scarceness or plenty of the following year; and that the sick being anointed with oil, were restored to their former health,I leave to the reader's discretion to believe what he please of it. The body of the martyr was afterwards removed to Constantinople by Constantine the Great, and buried in the great church which he had built to the honour of the Apostles; which being taken down some hundred years after, by Justinian the emperor, in order to its reparation, the body was found in a wooden coffin, and again reposed in its proper place."

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CHAPTER IV.

RETURN TO SYRIA-CONSTANTINOPLE-THE PLAGUE-ASSOS-SMYRNA-COSCYPRUS-BEYROUT-CÆSAREA-JERUSALEM, AND ITS ENVIRONS.

SOME years after my disappointment at not seeing Jerusalem, though almost within a day's walk of it, I found myself, by one of those singular chances that occur but rarely in life, actually on the way a second time performing a pilgrimage to that city.

My route this time was through Germany and the Danubian principalities, then rife with rumours even more alarming than those of war.

To run with one's eyes open into a hot-bed of "the plague," even the boldest must admit to be an act of somewhat culpable rashness; and yet that name of terror was sounding in our ears all the way to Constantinople. Everybody affirmed that it was still raging at Stamboul, and, what was really alarming, in the European quarter of the city, where we should necessarily have to put up. Not even the spectacle of indescribable splendour which opened around us as we anchored in the port of Constantinople could render us insensible to the obvious peril; and as we stood on the deck of the steamer, and looked upon the dense and dirty population of Galata, through which we were destined to elbow our way, we felt half-disposed to follow the example of a certain traveller, who was so enraptured with the view of the city from the water, that he would on no account weaken his impression by any rash investigation of its interior.

Overcoming this craven reluctance, we got into a caïque, and