periences, with new sympathies. It takes long to learn the world or man. It takes many men to know one good or great man. Like nature he can bear to be looked on by hundreds, who are all looking at something different-something with which they sympathize, and without sympathy they can see nothing. It was with such a thought in his mind that the Apostle prayed for the Ephesian Church, "that Christ might dwell in their hearts by faith; that they, being rooted and grounded in love, might be able to comprehend with all saints what was the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; and might know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that they might be filled with all the fulness of God." (Eph. iii. 17-19.) Affection, sympathy, oneness of heart and mind with Christ is needed to know His truth. We can see His words aright only if we have the gift of insight into His life. This essential requisite for the knowing of truth and of good men is often the cause of regret. It is sad to think how men have to be removed from us in order to be understood aright. It requires us to take a journey of ten or thirty or fifty years to see what was before our eyes, and which we could not see when it was there; and by the time we have come to understand those whom we often saw and heard, their voice is silent, and the eye is closed. It is among the bitterest memories of life, and as we draw near the dark margin the memory grows more bitter, that we lived and moved in the presence of men whose fellowship we never learned to love and prize aright. To think that, when the light of kindliness and truth and intelligence was shining on us, we did not feel its warmth or power. To think that in our early home, or during our years of greater ripeness, there were among us living souls worth loving, worth learning to know, and that the gulf between them and ourselves was so wide that we never learned to love or know them; and that we attained only to some measure of sympathy with them when nothing remained of them but the memory. It is enough to make us turn with eagerness to what is left us, and to ask whether there be yet some truth in life we can learn, some living mind and heart we can gaze on and understand, some presence of goodness and purity which we can value better before it vanishes out of our sight. And if our experience tells us that this want of sympathy is the explanation of much of our loss with human goodness and truth, may it not suggest to us an explanation of 3. I notice another fact or general principle which finds expression in this remarkable incident, viz. that whilst truth, and the source of truth, are ever side by side, men may feel the influence of the truth without knowing whence it comes. These two men had a Divine companionship, and yet they did not recognise it! But even while they did not recognise Christ, they were being put in possession of the truth they were in search of. "Did not our heart burn within us, while He talked with us by the way, and while He opened to us the Scriptures?" This living fire which was kindled in their hearts derived all its warmth from His living words of truth, and yet they knew nothing more than the power of truth. They felt the presence of a living Teacher without knowing that it was His presence; order and meaning sprang up where all was disorder and mystery; that was all they knew. Their hearts burned with the opening of Scripture. Apart from knowing or being conscious of the presence of Jesus Christ, their hearts burned within them by the way. We often wish we had some living Divine presence to whom we could unfold our wishes, and to whom we might put our questions. And yet we might not know that presence, and might not recognise it even if it were before us, and after all we might have really all we needed. A living person for our teacher whom we could see and trust would, we imagine, be an infinite gain. And so it is in certain stages of our religious training; and with most persons it is a necessity out of which they never rise. A child has the living voice of parent and instructor, and so long as he is a child he hangs on the outward and visible teacher. And with the great majority of persons in all periods of their life there is more or less of dependence on the individual teacher or author. They know the man, the human voice, better than the truth itself or the voice of truth, and before they accept anything they ask who said it. They are moved to sorrow or pity, to earnestness or energy, to acts of kindness, to deeds of nobleness, by the living man whom they see and in whom they confide; they give up their faith to his words of assurance, or they withhold their assent according to his dictation; they attach great or little importance to arguments and expostulations and warnings, not in proportion to the weight of the arguments and reasonings, but in proportion to their faith in the author or teacher whom they know and trust. And as things are (and for aught we see such a state of things must last long yet) we must make the best we can of such a state of things to train men to hear not the human voice and to recognise the human style, but to hear the voice of truth and to recognise the teaching of the Spirit of God. But while there are thousands who only listen to the sound they know, there are still many who strive to pierce through the earthly to catch the heavenly, and who seek after God if haply they may find Him. There are many more who only discover that they have had a Divine teaching after they have learned the truth. We can all remember, I dare say, some occasion on which the scales fell from our eyes in regard to some truth we were in search of. Our hearts have often burned within us under the quickening influence of truth; the hour of sadness and perplexity has passed more easily, relieved, as it were, by the opening up of light in darkness. We did not think at the moment of the cause of our pleasure or relief; but in such a time we could not have had a more satisfactory proof of the nearness of a Divine Teacher to us, even had we been told that He was beside us. How little we have thought of the Divine Presence when within our hearts His spirit was moving us! When in the hour of temptation there rose up within us a voice mightier than the voice of sin, and forced us to hear and obey, we knew not that it was any other voice than our own. How often again has the voice of truth guided us to some living spring in a desert country, and opened our eyes, as the angel did to Hagar, to find refreshing life to our soul! Whose voice was that? not our own surely, but the voice of Him who made us. Wherever the truth comes, and in whatever shape, we may judge that the Author of Truth is not far away. Christ's voice, the voice of God, reaches us through friend, and brother, and teacher, through the promptings of conscience, through the calm reflections of the heart, through the suggestions of companions, and by other channels which we never dreamt of "It is expedient for you," said Christ, "that I go away, for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come to you." The spiritual training of men's souls is the highest training they can have; to know the voice of God, the voice of Christ, the voice of truth, no matter from whose lips it seems to come, is the highest learning. It is not the discovery of Christ that makes Christ: the opening of the eye does not create the sun; and so discovery of a living Christ at our table, in our labour, on our journeys, in our streets, in our inward musings, would not be the bringing of Christ there if He is not there already. We have just as much of the presence of Christ as we have of the spirit of Christ, the spirit of His influence and life. With that we have to rest satisfied. Be what He was, and we have Him near us. "Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I.” The whole training of the individual, and of the Church too, is to live by faith, and not by sight. The craving of mankind is to live. by sight, and not by faith. People want to be set free from the heavy burden of thinking, reasoning, believing. The sorest labour of thousands is to reflect, and think, and decide for themselves on spiritual subjects, and on spiritual grounds. "Show us a sign," they cry. "What sign showest thou that we may see and believe?" And without a sign they will not put themselves to the toil of thinking and believing. To be released from the personal effort of looking at spiritual things many men will give up their own judgment and conscience to the guidance of others; as if it were possible to comprehend the real meaning of spiritual truth without personal thought and care. Spiritual difficulties are sometimes. so great and numerous that we are tempted to throw them aside, or to ask a visible and infallible guide to take them from us; but the purpose of God apparently is not to open the door of deliverance on that side. God is dealing with us as spiritual beings, whose life is spiritual and within; and His preparation of us for all life's work is by personal training of the soul through experience, and deep thought, and pure feeling. So it has been in the past. And when one looks forward beyond life's work and considers whether for the great unknown future there is any outward, sure, and unerring guide, the same truth will meet us. We ask eagerly, and of many, what can be known of the future? We wish that the outer veil could be lifted, and a glimpse could be given us of what is coming But By J. L. PORTER, D.D., LL.D., PRESIDENT OF QUEEN'S COLLEGE, BELfast. PART I. ON my way from Palestine to Constanti-reached Ayasolook, the station for Ephesus, nople it so happened that I had a few days to spare at Smyrna, and I resolved to spend one of them in a visit to Ephesus. I had not been there since the discovery of the temple of Diana, and I was naturally anxious to inspect the site and ruins of one of the most famous buildings of antiquity. The visit was easily arranged, as Ephesus is only forty-eight miles from Smyrna by rail. A party of twenty-five ladies and gentlemen was organized, a special train engaged, and leaving Smyrna at six in the morning, we soon after seven. In the station an excellent breakfast was ready for us, having been ordered beforeland by telegraph. As the ruins are about a mile distant, and most of the ground rough and overgrown with thorns and thistles, we were advised to take donkeys from Smyrna. We found, however, that this was an unnecessary expense, as a sufficient number eyen for our large party could have been provided on the spot, had a day's notice been given. After breakfast we mounted, and set out to explore. It was a grand day, clear and not too hot, with just arches of a mediæval aqueduct run in a long | MOSQUE OF THE SULTAN, OR CHURCH OF line across the plain towards Ephesus. Looking at the present state of this ancient city, and reflecting on its past glory, I was deeply impressed with the aspect of utter desolation. Many of the old cities of Greece, Egypt, and Syria are grand in their ruins. No one who has visited Thebes, or Baalbek, or Palmyra, or who has stood under the portico of the Parthenon, can ever forget their magnificence. But Ephesus is obliterated. Until exhumed by Wood a few years ago, the Temple of Diana lay buried and unknown in the bottom of a morass; and the shattered remains of the other great public buildings of the city-theatres, temples, Agora, Stadium-are almost concealed beneath rank weeds and thickets of thorns. Nature is lavish in her gifts; but the very exuberance of nature's gifts has contributed to bury some of the choicest relics of ancient art and architecture. The deposits left on the plain by the periodical overflow of the Cayster, the silting up of sand and mud at its mouth, and the growth and decay of luxuriant vegetation season after season, have covered the fallen buildings in the lower part of the city and in the plain around it, and have greatly changed the general contour of the site. The Ephesus of Greek art and superstition, of Diana and Demetrius, of St. Paul and St. John, is gone for ever. But there is much on the site still-much of fallen grandeur, and much of traditional interest, to claim the attention of the artist and the antiquary. I shall try to show my readers what I saw during a rapid but tolerably complete inspection. AYASOLOOK. Ayasolook is the name of the railway station, the castle, and the little village adjoining. It is a strange Turkish corruption of the Greek ayios Geolóyos, "Holy Theologian," which is the title given to St. John in the superscription to the Book of Revelation. "St. John the Divine" is our more familiar appellation. The name thus serves to connect the author of the Apocalypse with the city in which he is said to have passed the last years of his long life. The buildings on the little hill, though striking in appearance, are without historical interest. They consist of a Turkish castle, and the foundations of mosques and baths, built out of the ruins of Ephesus, possibly about the thirteenth century, when the old site was abandoned and Ayasolook founded by the Osmanlis. ST. JOHN. The large mosque on the southern side of the castle hill is a beautiful specimen of Saracenic architecture, and some say that it occupies the site of the Church of St. John, in which the famous council met to investigate the Nestorian heresy. Be this as it may, the building deserves a visit. One of the minarets still retains a portion of its coating of glazed tiles, showing how brilliant the whole must have looked when perfect. The Arabic inscriptions over the gates are very fine in their exquisitely interlaced caligraphy, reminding one of those on the mosques of Cairo and Damascus. The pulpit, now unfortunately a heap of ruins, must have been singularly rich in mosaics and Arabesque carvings. The columns of the interior were evidently rifled from buildings of the Greek age. TEMPLE OF DIANA. Descending a few hundred yards towards the south-west I reached the site of the Temple of Diana. My first feeling on seeing all that remains of one of the most renowned temples of the ancient world, was bitter disappointment. The temples of Athens, Corinth, Sunium, Ægina, are magnificent in their ruins. Their sites were admirably chosen to display to the best advantage their symmetry and beauty. Their architects seem to have understood that the Greek style requires a commanding position. Hence they selected in each case an eminence; and, in addition, they raised the building on a massive stylobate, to give it the requisite altitude. The temple of Diana, on the contrary, was built in a depressed section of the plain. In such a situation, much of its imposing appearance must have been lost. Had it stood on the top of Mount Prion, or on the hill of Ayasolook, its ruins would, in all probability, have remained to this day, rivalling the Parthenon in grandeur. It has been stated that the marshy site was chosen to protect the temple against the effects of earthquakes, which are so destructive in this region. DISCOVERY OF THE SITE. Sunk in a morass, and covered to a depth of nearly twenty feet by alluvial deposits, the ruins of the temple remained unknown for many centuries. The narrative of their discovery by Mr. Wood has much of the character and interest of a romance. He began his explorations, as he tells us, without funds and without friends, at least, such friends as bow. On the contrary, the image enshrined in the temple was a grotesque monster, resembling a rude Indian fetich rather than the beautiful creation of Greek art. On its head was a kind of mural crown; the trunk was studded round with mamma; while the lower part was a block of wood covered with rudely carved figures of animals and mystic inscriptions. This was the idol which, according to tradition, came down direct from heaven (Acts xix. 35; see also Pliny, H. N., xvi. 79); and which was of such wondrous sanctity and potency that people came from far and near to pay it homage and seek its aid. Miniature models of it in the precious metals, and scraps of inscriptions copied from it, were worn as amulets, and supposed to protect against all forms of evil, and to secure, besides, for the happy possessor all blessings of the field, flock, and family; for Diana was believed to be the primal source and sole dispenser of the productive powers of nature. The manufacture of shrines and amulets became in time the staple trade of Ephesus, from which a large section of the people got their wealth. Hence the uproar raised by Demetrius the silversmith, "who made silver shrines for Diana," when the preaching of Paul endangered his craft. (Acts xix. 23, sq.) His appeal at once to avarice and superstition created. a panic among the designers (Texvirai), and workers (épyárai), and at length roused the whole city (verses 24, 25, and 29). It is probable that the opposition of Alexander the coppersmith, which the Apostle mentions so pointedly in his letter to Timothy (2 Tim. iv. 14, 15), proceeded from the same cause. The religion, therefore, which St. Paul encountered at Ephesus, was not a system of refined Greek philosophy or mythology; it Diana of Ephesus. In the Museum at Naples.) was a dark and degrading Oriental superstition, consisting chiefly of charms and incantations and magical rites, by which the gods were supposed to be propitiated, diseases cured, evil spirits exorcised, dangers averted, and various other miracles performed by touch or mystic sign. The minds of the people had become so grossly perverted by these delusive practices, that the Apostle found it necessary to adopt a new mode of action. They were not open to conviction by logical argument, or the simple preaching of the truth. Hence he appealed to Divine power-a power which would put to shame the quackeries of magic; and he exercised it in a way suited to the circumstances of the place and the superstitious feelings of the people. "Special miracles," we are told, were wrought by him; that is, miracles different in kind from those which he performed elsewhere. (To be concluded next month.) ST FOUNDERS OF NEW ENGLAND. By W. FRASER RAE. ROGER WILLIAMS. IX months after Winthrop and his fellow | This ship, the Lyon, which sailed from Bristol Puritans settled in Massachusetts they on the 1st of December, 1630, under the were in great straits for food. The supply command of William Peirce, had a very temwhich they brought with them on landing in pestuous voyage, and did not reach the New the early summer was soon exhausted. They England coast till the first week in February. expected that a ship laden with an additional The famished settlers, who had chiefly substore of provisions from the motherland would sisted on wild-fowl and shell-fish, were glad to arrive before the winter was far advanced. learn that the needful stores arrived in good |