When I was a “boy on a farm,” one of my school teachers had a small machine, which was sometimes used to print the names of students in their books. Somehow I came to want a “printing press,” and after a while I purchased an outfit for fifteen cents, but it was a poor thing and failed to satisfy me. Accordingly, I disposed of it and spent a larger sum for a typewriter, which was little more than a toy. This, too, was unsatisfactory, and I sold it. At a later date, I bought a second-hand typewriter, which was turned in as part payment for the machine I am now using to write this book, and now, after all these successive steps, I find myself possessed of a real typewriter. I will also mention my youthful desire for a watch. I wanted a timepiece and thought I would like for it to be of small size. I thought of it when awake, and, sometimes, when asleep, dreamed that I actually had the little watch in my possession. Since those days of dreams and disappointments, I have had three watches, and they have all been of small size.

In the same way, several years ago, I became possessed of a desire to see the Land of Promise, the earthly Canaan. I thought about it some, and occasionally spoke of it. There were seasons when the desire left me, but it would come back again. Some years ago, when I was doing evangelistic work in Canada, the desire returned this time to stay. It grew stronger and stronger until I decided to make the trip, which was begun on the eleventh of July, 1904. After traveling many thousands of miles, seeing numerous new and interesting sights, making many pleasant acquaintances, and having a variety of experiences, I returned to the home of my father on the fourteenth day of December, having been absent five months and three days, and having had a more extensive trip than I had at first thought of taking. There is a lesson in the foregoing that I do not want overlooked. It is this: Whatever we earnestly desire is apt to be worked out in our lives. Deeds usually begin with thoughts. If the thoughts are fostered and cultivated, the deeds will probably be performed some time. It is, therefore, important that we exercise care as to the kind of thoughts we allow to remain in our hearts. “Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life” (Prov. i.

On the way to New York, I stopped in Washington and saw some of the interesting places of the National Capital. The Bureau of Engraving and Printing, where about six hundred persons were engaged in printing paper money and stamps, was visited. I also went out to the Washington Monument and climbed to the top of the winding stairs, although I might have gone up in the free elevator if I had preferred to ride. The Medical Museum, National Museum, Treasury Building, the White House, the Capitol, and other points of interest received attention, and my short stay in this city was very enjoyable.

I spent a night in Philadelphia, after an absence of more than four years, and enjoyed a meeting with the church worshiping on Forty-sixth Street. It was very pleasant to meet those I had known when I was there before, some of whom I had been instrumental in bringing to Christ. In New York I made arrangements to sail for Glasgow on the S.S. Mongolian, of the Allan Line, which was to sail at eleven o’clock on the fourteenth of July, and the voyage was begun almost as promptly as a railway train leaves the depot. We passed the Statue of Liberty a few minutes before noon, and then I prepared some mail to be sent back by the pilot who took us down to the sea. The water was smooth almost all the way across, and we reached the desired haven on the eleventh day. I went back to my room the first morning after breakfast and was lying in my berth when a gentleman came along and told me I would have to get up, they were going to have inspection. I arose and found part of the crew scrubbing the floor and others washing down a wall. Everything was being put in good condition for the examination to be given by some of the officers who passed through each day at about ten o’clock. The seamen knew the inspection was sure to come, and they knew the hour at which it would take place, so they made ready for it. We know that there is a great “inspection” day appointed when God will judge the world, but we do not know the exact time. It is, therefore, important to be ready always, that the day may not overtake us “as a thief in the night.”

Religious services were held on the ship each Lord’s day, but I missed the last meeting. On the first Sunday morning I arose as usual and ate breakfast. As there was no opportunity to meet with brethren and break bread in memory of the Lord Jesus, I read the account of the giving of the Lord’s Supper as recorded in Matthew, Mark, and John; also Paul’s language concerning the institution in the eleventh chapter of the first Corinthian letter, and was thankful that my life had been spared until another beautiful resurrection morning. At half past ten o’clock I went into one of the dining rooms where two ministers were conducting a meeting. The order of the service, as nearly as I can give it, was as follows: Responsive reading of the twenty-third and twenty-fourth Psalms; prayer; the hymn, “Onward, Christian Soldiers”; reading of the twenty-ninth Psalm; prayer; the hymn, “Lead, Kindly Light”; an address on “Knowing God”; prayer; the collection, taken while singing; and the benediction. The ship furnished Bibles and hymn-books. A large copy of the Bible was placed upon a British flag at the head of one of the tables where the speaker stood, but he read from the American Revised Version of the Scriptures. The sermon was commenced by some remarks to the effect that man is hard to please. Nothing earthly satisfies him, but Thomas expressed the correct idea when he said: “Show us the Father and it sufficeth us.” The minister then went on to speak of God as “the God of patience,” “the God of comfort,” “the God of hope,” and “the God of peace.” It was, with some exceptions, a pleasing and uplifting address. There were about thirty persons in attendance, and the collection was for the Sailors’ Orphans’ Home in Scotland. The following is one verse of the closing hymn:

“A few more years shall roll,
A few more seasons come,
And we shall be with those that rest,
Asleep within the tomb;
Then, oh, my Lord, prepare
My soul for that great day,
Oh, wash me in thy precious blood
And take my sins away.”

Before the close of the day, I read the whole of Mark’s record of the life of our Savior and turned my Bible over to Gus, the steward. We had food served four times, as usual. The sea was smooth and the day passed quietly. A Catholic gentleman said something at breakfast about “saying a few prayers” to himself, and I heard a woman, in speaking about going to church, say she had beads and a prayer-book with her. Later in the day I saw her out on the deck with a novel, and what I supposed to be the prayer-book, but she was reading the novel.

Several of the passengers had reading matter with them. Some read novels, but my Book was far better than any of these. It has a greater Author, a wider range of history, more righteous laws, purer morals, and more beautiful description than theirs. It contains a longer and better love story than theirs, and reveals a much grander Hero. The Bible both moralizes and Christianizes those who permit its holy influence to move them to loving obedience of the Lord Jesus. It can fill its thoughtful reader with holy hope and lead him into the realization of that hope. It is a Book adapted to all men everywhere, and the more carefully it is read the greater the interest in it and the profit from it become. It is the volume that teaches us how to live here that we may live hereafter, and in the dying hour no one will regret having been a diligent student of its matchless pages of divine truth and wisdom.

The last Lord’s day of the voyage the ship reached Moville, Ireland, where a small vessel came out and took off the passengers for Londonderry. The tilled land, visible from the ship, reminded me of a large garden. Some time that night we anchored in the harbor at Greenock, near the mouth of the River Clyde. About one o’clock the second steward came in, calling out: “Janes!” I answered from my berth and heard him call out: “Don Carlos Janes!” Again I answered and learned that he had some mail for me. I told him to hand it in, not remembering that the door was locked, but that made no difference, for he handed it in anyhow, but the locking arrangement on that door needed repairing after he went away. I arose and examined the two pieces of mail, which were from friends, giving me directions as to where I should go when the ship got up to Glasgow, twenty-two miles from the sea. There was but one case of sea sickness reported on the whole voyage. There was one death, but the corpse was carried into port instead of being buried at sea.

The home of Brother and Sister Henry Nelmes, which was my home while I staid in Glasgow, is nicely located. Brother Nelmes and his wife are excellent people, and treated me with much kindness. Glasgow is a large and important city, with many interesting places in it. The Municipal Building with its marble stairs, alabaster balustrade, onyx columns, and other ornamentation, is attractive on the inside, but the exterior impressed me more with the idea of stability than of beauty. The old Cathedral, which I visited twice, is in an excellent state of preservation, although founded in the eleventh century. There is an extensive burial ground adjoining the Cathedral, and one of the prominent monuments is at the grave of John Knox, the reformer. These impressive words, written from memory, were spoken by the Regent at the burial of Knox, and have been carved upon his monument: “Here lieth he who never feared the face of man, who was often threatened with dag and dagger, yet hath ended his days in peace and honor.” Carlyle spoke of him as a man “fearing God, without any other fear.”

One day I visited the birth-place of Robert Burns, at Ayr, a point not far from Glasgow. I not only saw the “lowly thatched cottage,” but a monument to the poet, “Auld Kirk Alloway,” the “brig o’ Doon,” and many interesting articles in the museum. When the street car came to a standstill, I had the old church and cemetery on my right hand, and the monument on my left hand, while a man was standing in the road, ahead of us, blowing a cornet, and just beyond was the new bridge over the Doon, a short distance below the old one, which is well preserved and profusely decorated with the initials of many visitors. Along the bank of “bonny Doon” lies a little garden, on the corner of which is situated a house where liquor is sold, if I mistake not. It was before this house that I saw the musician already mentioned. As I came up from the old “brig o’ Doon,” I saw and heard a man playing a violin near the monument. When I went down the road toward the new bridge and looked over into the garden, I saw a couple of persons executing a cake-walk, and an old man with one leg off was in the cemetery that surrounds the ruined church, reciting selections from Burns. Such is the picture I beheld when I visited this Ayrshire monument, raised in memory of the sympathetic but unfortunate Scottish poet, whose “spark o’ nature’s fire” has touched so many hearts that his birth-place has more visitors per annum than Shakespeare’s has.

On the following day I had a pleasant boat-ride up Loch (Lake) Long, followed by a merry coach-ride across to the “bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond,” which is celebrated in song and story. It is twenty-two miles in length and from three-quarters of a mile to five miles wide, and is called the “Queen of Scottish lakes.” Ben Lomond, a mountain rising to a height of more than three thousand feet, stands on the shore, and it is said that Robert Bruce, the hero of Bannockburn, once hid himself in a cave in this mountain. A pleasant boat-ride down the lake brought me back to Glasgow in time to attend a meeting of the brethren in Coplaw Street that night.

Leaving my true friends who had so kindly entertained me in Glasgow, I proceeded to Edinburgh, the city where Robert Burns came into prominence. In the large Waverley Station a stranger, who knew of my coming through word from Brother Ivie Campbell, of Kirkcaldy, stopped me and asked: “Is your name Don Carlos Janes?” It was another good friend, Brother J.W. Murray. He said he told some one he was looking for me, and was told, in return, that he would not be able to find me. His answer to this was that he had picked out a man before, and he might pick out another one; and so he did, without any difficulty. After a little time spent in Waverley gardens, I ascended the Walter Scott Monument, which is two hundred feet high. The winding stairway is rather narrow, especially at the top, and it is not well lighted. As I was coming down the stairs, I met a lady and gentleman. The little woman was not at all enthusiastic over the experience she was having, and, without knowing of my presence, she was wondering what they would do if they were to meet any one. “Come on up and see,” I said, and we passed without any special difficulty, but she said she didn’t believe “two stout ones could” pass. As she went on up the winding way, she was heard expressing herself in these words: “Oh, it is a place, isn’t it? I don’t like it.” The tourist finds many “places”, and they are not all desirable. Princess Street, on which the monument is located, is the prettiest street that I have ever seen. One side is occupied by business houses and hotels, the other is a beautiful garden, where one may walk or sit down, surrounded by green grass and beautiful flowers.

Edinburgh Castle is an old fortification on the summit of a lofty hill overlooking the city. It is now used as barracks for soldiers, and is capable of accommodating twelve hundred men. Queen Mary’s room is a small chamber, where her son, James the First of Scotland and the Sixth of England, was born. I was in the old castle in Glasgow where she spent the night before the Battle of Langside, and later stood by her tomb in Westminster Abbey. Her history, a brief sketch of which is given here, is interesting and pathetic. “Mary Queen of Scots was born in Linlithgow Palace, 1542; fatherless at seven days old; became Queen December 8th, 1542, and was crowned at Stirling, September 9th, 1543; carried to France, 1548; married to the Dauphin, 1558; became Queen of France, 1559; a widow, 1560; returned to Scotland, 1561; married Lord Darnley, 1565; her son (and successor), James VI., born at Edinburgh Castle, 1566; Lord Darnley murdered, February, 1567; Mary married to the Earl of Bothwell, May, 1567, and was compelled to abdicate in favor of her infant son. She escaped from Lochleven Castle, lost the Battle of Langside, and fled to England, 1568. She was beheaded February 8th, 1587, at Fotheringay Castle, in the forty-fifth year of her age, almost nineteen years of which she passed in captivity.

“Puir Mary was born and was cradled in tears,
Grief cam’ wi’ her birth, and grief grew wi’ her years.”

In the crown-room are to be seen the regalia of Scotland, consisting of the crown, scepter, sword of state, a silver rod of office, and other jewels, all enclosed in a glass case surrounded by iron work. St. Margaret’s Chapel, seventeen feet long and eleven feet wide, stands within the castle enclosure and is the oldest building in the city. A very old cannon, called Mons Meg, was brought back to the castle through the efforts of Walter Scott, and is now on exhibition. I visited the Hall of Statuary in the National Gallery, the Royal Blind Asylum, passed St. Giles Cathedral, where John Knox preached, dined with Brother Murray, and boarded the train for Kirkcaldy, where I as easily found Brother Campbell at the station as Brother Murray had found me in Edinburgh.

I had been in correspondence with Brother Campbell for some years, and our meeting was a pleasure, and my stay at Kirkcaldy was very enjoyable. We went up to St. Andrews, and visited the ruins of the old Cathedral, the University, a monument to certain martyrs, and the home of a sister in Christ. But little of the Cathedral remains to be seen. It was founded in 1159, and was the most magnificent of Scottish churches. St. Rule’s Tower, one hundred and ten feet high, still stands, and we had a fine view from the top. The time to leave Kirkcaldy came too soon, but I moved on toward Wigan, England, to attend the annual meeting of churches of Christ. Brother Campbell accompanied me as far as Edinburgh, and I then proceeded to Melrose, where I stopped off and visited Abbotsford, the home of Sir Walter Scott. It is situated on the River Tweed, a short distance from Melrose, and was founded in 1811. By the expenditure of a considerable sum of money it was made to present such an appearance as to be called “a romance in stone and lime.” Part of this large house is occupied as a dwelling, but some of the rooms are kept open for the numerous visitors who call from time to time. The young lady who was guide the day I was at Abbotsford, first showed us Sir Walter’s study. It is a small room, with book shelves from the floor to the ceiling, the desk on which Scott wrote his novels sitting in the middle of the floor. A writing-box, made of wood taken from one of the ships of the Spanish Armada, sits on the desk, and the clothes worn by the great novelist a short time before his death are kept under glass in a case by the window, while a cast of his face is to be seen in a small room adjoining the study. We next passed into the library, which, with the books in the study, contains about twenty thousand volumes. In the armory are numerous guns, pistols, swords, and other relics. There is some fine furniture in one of the rooms, and the walls are covered with paper printed by hand in China nearly ninety years ago. Perhaps some who read these lines will recall the sad story of Genivra, who hid herself in an oaken chest in an attic, and perished there, being imprisoned by the spring lock. This oaken chest was received at Abbotsford a short time before Scott’s death, and is now on exhibition. Sir Walter, as the guide repeatedly called him, spent the last years of his life under the burden of a heavy debt, but instead of making use of the bankrupt law, he set to work heroically with his pen to clear up the indebtedness. He wrote rapidly, and his books sold well, but he was one day compelled to lay down his pen before the task was done. The King of England gave him a trip to the Mediterranean, for the benefit of his health, but it was of no avail. Sir Walter returned to his home on the bank of the Tweed, and died September twenty-first, 1832. In his last illness, this great author, who had produced so many volumes that were being read then and are still being read, asked his son-in-law to read to him. The son-in-law asked what book he should read, to which Sir Walter replied: “Book? There is but one Book! Read me the Bible.” In Melrose I visited the ruins of the Abbey, and then went on to Wigan.

After the annual meeting, I went to Birmingham and stayed a short while. From here I made a little journey to the birth-place of Shakespeare, at Stratford-on-Avon, a small, quiet town, where, to the best of my recollection, I saw neither street cars nor omnibuses. After being in several large cities, it was an agreeable change to spend a day in this quiet place, where the greatest writer in the English tongue spent his boyhood and the last days of his life on earth. The house where he was born was first visited. A fee of sixpence (about twelve cents) secures admission, but another sixpence is required if the library and museum are visited. The house stands as it was in the poet’s early days, with a few exceptions. Since that time, however, part of it has been used as a meat market and part as an inn. In 1847, the property was announced for sale, and it fell into the hands of persons who restored it as nearly as possible to its original condition.

It has two stories and an attic, with three gables in the roof facing the street. At the left of the door by which the tourist is admitted, is a portion of the house where the valuable documents of the corporation are stored, while to the right are the rooms formerly used as the “Swan and Maidenhead Inn,” now converted into a library and museum. The windows in the upstairs room where the poet was born are fully occupied with the autographs of visitors who have scratched their names there. I was told that the glass is now valuable simply as old glass, and of course the autographs enhance the value. The names of Scott and Carlyle are pointed out by the attendant in charge. From a back window one can look down into the garden, where, as far as possible, all the trees and flowers mentioned in Shakespeare’s works have been planted. For some years past the average number of visitors to this house has been seven thousand a year. The poet’s grave is in Trinity Church, at Stratford, beneath a stone slab in the floor bearing these lines:

“Good friend, for Jesus’ sake, forbear
To digg the dust enclosed here.
Blest be ye man y spares these stones,
And curst be he ty moves my bones.”

On the wall, just at hand, is a bust made from a cast taken after his death. Near by is a stained-glass window with the inscription, “America’s gift to Shakespeare’s church,” and not far away is a card above a collection-box with an inscription which informs “visitors from U.S.A.” that there is yet due on the window more than three hundred dollars. The original cost was about two thousand five hundred dollars. The Shakespeare Memorial is a small theater by the side of the Avon, with a library and picture gallery attached. The first stone was laid in 1877, and the building was opened in 1879 with a performance of “Much Ado About Nothing.” The old school once attended by the poet still stands, and is in use, as is also the cottage of Anne Hathaway, situated a short distance from Stratford. I returned to Birmingham, and soon went on to Bristol and saw the orphans’ homes founded by George Muller.

These homes, capable of accommodating two thousand and fifty orphans, are beautifully situated on Ashley Downs. Brother William Kempster and I visited them together, and were shown through a portion of one of the five large buildings by an elderly gentleman, neat, clean, and humble, who was sent down by the manager of the institution, a son-in-law of Mr. Muller, who died in 1898, at the advanced age of ninety-three years. We saw one of the dormitories, which was plainly furnished, but everything was neat and clean. We were also shown two dining-rooms, and the library-room in which Mr. Muller conducted a prayer-meeting only a night or two before his death. In this room we saw a fine, large picture of the deceased, and were told by the “helper” who was showing us around that Mr. Muller was accustomed to saying: “Oh, I am such a happy man!” The expression on his face in this picture is quite in harmony with his words just quoted. One of his sayings was: “When anxiety begins, faith ends; when faith begins, anxiety ends.”

Mr. Muller spent seventy years of his life in England and became so thoroughly Anglicized that he wished his name pronounced “Miller.” He was the founder of the “Scriptural Knowledge Institution for Home and Abroad” and was a man of much more than ordinary faith. His work began about 1834, with the distribution of literature, and the orphan work, if I mistake not, was begun two years later. “As the result of prayer to God” more than five millions of dollars have been applied for the benefit of the orphans. He never asked help of man, but made his wants known to God, and those who are now carrying on the work pursue the same course, but the collection-boxes put up where visitors can see them might be considered by some as an invitation to give. The following quotation from the founder of the orphanages will give some idea of the kind of man he was. “In carrying on this work simply through the instrumentality of prayer and faith, without applying to any human being for help, my great desire was, that it might be seen that, now, in the nineteenth century, God is still the Living God, and now, as well as thousands of years ago, he listens to the prayers of his children and helps those who trust in him. In all the forty-two countries through which I traveled during the twenty-one years of my missionary service, numberless instances came before me of the benefit which this orphan institution has been, in this respect, not only in making men of the world see the reality of the things of God, and by converting them, but especially by leading the children of God more abundantly to give themselves to prayer, and by strengthening their faith. Far beyond what I at first expected to accomplish, the Lord has been pleased to give me. But what I have seen as the fruit of my labor in this way may not be the thousandth part of what I shall see when the Lord Jesus comes again; as day by day, for sixty-one years, I have earnestly labored, in believing prayer, that God would be pleased, most abundantly, to bless this service in the way I have stated.”

The objects of the Scriptural Knowledge Institution are set forth as follows: “To assist day schools and Sunday-schools in which instruction is given upon scriptural principles,” etc. By day schools conducted on scriptural principles, they mean “those in which the teachers are believers; where the way of salvation is pointed out, and in which no instruction is given opposed to the principles of the Gospel.” In these schools the Scriptures are read daily by the children. In the Sunday-schools the “teachers are believers, and the Holy Scriptures alone are the foundation of instruction.” The second object of the Institution is “to circulate the Holy Scriptures.” In one year four thousand three hundred and fifty Bibles were sold, and five hundred and twenty-five were given away; seven thousand eight hundred and eighty-one New Testament were sold, and one thousand five hundred and seventy-four were given away; fifty-five copies of the Psalms were sold, and thirty-eight were given away; two thousand one hundred and sixty-three portions of the Holy Scriptures were sold, and one hundred and sixty-two were given away; and three thousand one hundred illustrated portions of the Scriptures were given away. There have been circulated through this medium, since March, 1834, three hundred and eleven thousand two hundred and seventy-eight Bibles, and one million five hundred and seven thousand eight hundred and one copies of the New Testament. They keep in stock almost four hundred sorts of Bibles, ranging in price from twelve cents each to more than six dollars a copy.

Another object of the Institution is to aid in missionary efforts. “During the past year one hundred and eighty laborers in the Word and doctrine in various parts of the world have been assisted.” The fourth object is to circulate such publications as may be of benefit both to believers and unbelievers. In a single year one million six hundred and eleven thousand two hundred and sixty-six books and tracts were distributed gratuitously. The fifth object is to board, clothe, and scientifically educate destitute orphans. Mr. Muller belonged to that class of religious people who call themselves Brethren, and are called by others “Plymouth Brethren.”

After leaving Bristol, I went to London, the metropolis of the world. The first important place visited was Westminster Abbey, an old church, founded in the seventh century, rebuilt in 1049, and restored to its present form in the thirteenth century. Many eminent men and women are buried here. Chaucer, the first poet to find a resting place in the Abbey, was interred in 1400. The place where Major Andre is buried is marked by a small piece of the pavement bearing his name. On the wall close by is a monument to him. Here are the graves of Isaac Newton, Charles Dickens, Alfred Tennyson, Charles Darwin, and many others, including Kings and Queens of England for centuries. In the Poets’ Corner are monuments to Coleridge, Southey, Shakespeare, Burns, Tennyson, Milton, Gray, Spencer, and others, and one bearing the inscription “O Rare Ben Jonson.” There is also a bust of Longfellow, the only foreigner accorded a memorial in the Abbey. The grave of David Livingstone, the African explorer and missionary, is covered with a black stone of some kind, which forms a part of the floor or pavement, and contains an inscription in brass letters, of which the following quotation is a part: “All I can add in my solitude is, may heaven’s rich blessings come down on every one, American, English, or Turk, who will help to heal this open sore of the world.”

Concerning this interesting old place which is visited by more than fifty thousand Americans annually, Jeremy Taylor wrote: “Where our Kings are crowned, their ancestors lie interred, and they must walk over their grandsires to take the crown. There is an acre sown with royal seed, the copy of the greatest change, from rich to naked, from ceiled roofs to arched coffins, from living like gods to die like men. There the warlike and the peaceful, the fortunate and the miserable, the beloved and despised princes mingle their dust and pay down their symbol of mortality, and tell all the world that when we die our ashes shall be equal to Kings, and our accounts easier, and our pains for our sins shall be less.” While walking about in the Abbey, I also found these lines from Walter Scott:

“Here, where the end of earthly things
Lays heroes, patriots, bards and kings;
Where stiff the hand and still the tongue
Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung;
Here, where the fretted aisles prolong
The distant notes of holy song,
As if some Angel spoke again
‘All peace on earth, good will to men’;
If ever from an English heart,
Here let prejudice depart.”

Bunhill Fields is an old cemetery where one hundred and twenty thousand burials have taken place. Here lie the ashes of Isaac Watts, the hymn writer; of Daniel De Foe, author of “Robinson Crusoe,” and of John Bunyan, who in Bedford jail wrote “Pilgrim’s Progress.” The monuments are all plain. The one at the grave of De Foe was purchased with the contributions of seventeen hundred people, who responded to a call made by some paper. On the top of Bunyan’s tomb rests the figure of a man, perhaps a representation of him whose body was laid in the grave below. On one of the monuments in this cemetery are the following words concerning the deceased: “In sixty-seven months she was tapped sixty-six times. Had taken away two hundred and forty gallons of water without ever repining at her case or ever fearing the operation.”

Just across the street from Bunhill Fields stands the house once occupied by John Wesley (now containing a museum) and a meeting-house which was built in Wesley’s day. The old pulpit from which Mr. Wesley preached is still in use, but it has been lowered somewhat. In front of the chapel is a statue of Wesley, and at the rear is his grave, and close by is the last resting place of the remains of Adam Clarke, the commentator.

A trip to Greenwich was quite interesting. I visited the museum and saw much of interest, including the painted hall, the coat worn by Nelson at the Battle of the Nile, and the clothing he wore when he was mortally wounded at Trafalgar. I went up the hill to the Observatory, and walked through an open door to the grounds where a gentleman informed me that visitors are not admitted without a pass; but he kindly gave me some information and told me that I was standing on the prime meridian. On the outside of the enclosure are scales of linear measure up to one yard, and a large clock.

After the trip to Greenwich, I went over the London Bridge, passed the fire monument, and came back across the Thames by the Tower Bridge, a peculiar structure, having two levels in one span, so passengers can go up the stairs in one of the towers, cross the upper level, and go down the other stairs when the lower level is opened for boats to pass up and down the river. While in Scotland, I twice crossed the great Forth Bridge, which is more than a mile and a half long and was erected at a cost of above fifteen millions of dollars. There are ten spans in the south approach, eight in the north approach, and two central spans each seventeen hundred feet long. The loftiest part of the structure is three hundred and sixty-one feet above high-water mark.

The Albert Memorial is perhaps the finest monument seen on the whole trip. The Victoria and Albert Museum contains the original Singer sewing-machine, and a printing-press supposed to have been used by Benjamin Franklin, and many other interesting things. The Natural History Museum also contains much to attract the visitor’s attention. Here I saw the skeleton of a mastodon about ten feet tall and twenty feet long; also the tusks of an extinct species of Indian elephant, which were nine feet and nine inches long. There is also an elephant tusk on exhibition ten feet long and weighing two hundred and eighty pounds.

Madam Tussaud’s exhibition of wax figures and relics is both interesting and instructive, and well repays one for the time and expense of a visit. Several American Presidents are represented in life-size figures, along with Kings and others who have been prominent in the affairs of men. In the Napoleon room are three of the great warrior’s carriages, the one used at Waterloo being in the number. London Tower is a series of strong buildings, which have in turn served as a fortress, a palace, and a prison. I saw the site of Anne Boleyn’s execution, but that which had the most interest for me was the room containing the crown jewels. They are kept in a glass case ten or twelve feet in diameter, in a small, circular room. Outside of the case there is an iron cage surrounded by a network of wire. The King’s crown is at the top of the collection, which contains other crowns, scepters, swords, and different costly articles. This crown, which was first made in 1838 for Queen Victoria, was enlarged for Edward, the present King. It contains two thousand eight hundred and eighteen diamonds, two hundred and ninety-seven pearls, and many other jewels. One of the scepters is supposed to contain a part of the cross of Christ, but the supposition had no weight with me. One of the attendants told me the value of the whole collection was estimated at four million pounds, and that it would probably bring five times that much if sold at auction. As the English pound is worth about four dollars and eighty-seven cents, this little room contains a vast treasure worth upwards of a hundred million dollars.

I will only mention Nelson’s monument in Trafalgar Square, the Parliament Buildings, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Kew Gardens, Hampton Court Palace, and the Zoological Gardens. I also visited the Bank of England, which “stands on ground valued at two hundred and fifty dollars per square foot. If the bank should ever find itself pressed for money, it could sell its site for thirty-two million seven hundred and seventy thousand dollars.” It is a low building that is not noted for its beauty. If it were located in New York, probably one of the tall buildings characteristic of that city would be erected on the site.

The British Museum occupied my time for hours, and I shall not undertake to give a catalogue of the things I saw there, but will mention a few of them. There are manuscripts of early writers in the English tongue, including a copy of Beowulf, the oldest poem in the language; autograph works of Daniel De Foe, Ben Jonson, and others; the original articles of agreement between John Milton and Samuel Symmons relating to the sale of the copyright of “a poem entitled ‘Paradise Lost.’” There was a small stone inscribed in Phoenician, with the name of Nehemiah, the son of Macaiah, and pieces of rock that were brought from the great temple of Diana at Ephesus; a fragment of the Koran; objects illustrating Buddhism in India; books printed by William Caxton, who printed the first book in English; and Greek vases dating back to 600 B.C. In the first verse of the twentieth chapter of Isaiah we have mention of “Sargon, the king of Assyria.” For centuries this was all the history the world had of this king, who reigned more than seven hundred years before Christ. Within recent times his history has been dug up in making excavations in the east, and I saw one of his inscribed bricks and two very large, human-headed, winged bulls from a doorway of his palace.

The carvings from the palace of Sennacherib, tablets from the library of Asur-Banipal, and brick of Ur-Gur, king of Ur about twenty-five centuries before Christ, attracted my attention, as did also the colossal left arm of a statue of Thotmes III., which measures about nine feet. The Rosetta stone, by which the Egyptian hieroglyphics were translated, and hundreds of other objects were seen. In the mummy-room are embalmed bodies, skeletons, and coffins that were many centuries old when Jesus came to earth, some of them bearing dates as early as 2600 B.C., and in the case of a part of a body found in the third pyramid the date attached is 3633 B.C. Being weary, I sat down, and my note book contains this entry: “1:45 P.M., August 20. Resting here in the midst of mummies and sarcophagi thousands of years old.”

From the top of the Monument I took a bird’s-eye view of the largest of all earthly cities, or at least I looked as far as the smoky atmosphere would permit, and then returned to my stopping place at Twynholm. As I rode back on the top of an omnibus, the houses of one of the Rothschild family and the Duke of Wellington were pointed out. My sight-seeing in Scotland and England was now at an end, and the journey so far had been very enjoyable and highly profitable. I packed up and went down to Harwich, on the English Channel, where I embarked on the Cambridge for Antwerp, in Belgium. In this chapter I have purposely omitted reference to my association with the churches, as that will come up for consideration in another chapter.