foam, and with lines of phosphoric light flashing from beneath them, only extinguished by the breaking of each successive wave on the rocks.
The next day, Sunday, we went to the Rev. Mr. Krusé's house, and, in company with Mr. Finn and his party, and Dr. Kayat and his family, we heard Dr. Bowen—the late lamented Bishop of Sierra Leone—preach a most simple, earnest, and appropriate sermon. A few Arab children belonging to the missionary school, and Mrs. Krusé and her family, with the Rev. Henry Reichart, of Cairo, completed the little congregation. Some Arab ladies of the neighboring house watched us the whole time through the open window, and seemed greatly amused. The hymns were sung with much energy in Arabic, and the liturgy—read in English—was responded to by the little Arab scholars with vehemence and clearness. I spent the remainder of the day with Mr. Finn and his party, at the new and well-built house of an Arab friend. We sat on a sheltered terrace, sweet with pinks and jasmine, overlooking the terraced house-tops and the sparkling sea. Down on our left was the southern wall of the town, and the deep dry moat. Beyond it was a sloping, stony plain, where horsemen were galloping about and displaying their skill in the use of spear and musket. Further still was the large open cemetery, with a cupola, supported on arches, in the center; children were playing, and turbaned smokers were resting, under its shade. A garden of figs, palms, and tamarisks, on a gentle declivity, bordered the sandy margin of the sea between us and the quarantine station, and the white sheets or wimples of groups of women could be distinguished among the trees. Drifted sand-hills bounded the view. The sea, calm and brightly blue, broke gently along the belt of rocks, fringing them with foam. We watched the setting of the sun, the hills in the south grew rosy, violet, and gray. The western sky was covered with dark slate-colored clouds, edged with gold. The sunset-gun was fired, and we were led by our host to a
