of its vegetation. Thence across the Arabian Sea, and a four days' passage up the Red Sea. Much depends, of course, when you first see scenes of great historic interest, in your travels, on weather, and the accidental advantage of light which enhances the view. I was in luck's way; at 5 a.m. in the Gulf of Suez we were slowly coasting along the rugged granite ranges which lie just in front of Mt. Sinai, hiding the actual mountain itself. Sunrise at hand, red yellow shafts of brilliant hue, shooting up behind the serrated range; in the foreground red granite rock in shadow, rising from a deep blue sea. The peak which shuts out the view of Sinai, Jebel Katherina, is over eight thousand feet in height,—on the other side, the Egyptian side, a magnificent mass of granite, Jebel Ghareb, rising above six thousand feet, just caught on its highest points the glory of the rising sun. Going slowly, for we were ahead of our time, I managed to get a rough water-colour sketch of the scene at its best. Under the glare of the mid-day sun it would all have been very different, for the coast line of the Gulf of Suez is as bare of vegetation as your hand, an arid wilderness, all light, with none of the mysterious beauty of colour of shade. By the way, I have seen no intenser blue than that of the Red Sea; whence came the old Greek name? Probably not from any seaweed coral, or the colour of the coast, but a literal Greek translation of the word "Edom," Red; some of the Edomites being dwellers in South Arabia, and the sea taking its title from them, "the Sea of the Red men."
I was the only passenger on deck at that early hour, and was rewarded, not only by the glorious view, but with a cup of coffee, brought me by a deck steward.
