But the goal was

détour, and defer the consummation of our wishes. Patience was never more difficult to practice, and an even temper required an effort. We rode through deep ra vines, crossed bridges that trembled with our weight, passed villages bereft of beauty, and encountered caravans of merchants bound for Bagdad. not far. An hour later, and we were at the gates of ancient Nineveh. On our right was the palace of Sennacherib; on our left was the tomb of Jonah. A mile beyond was the landing where we waited for the boat. Swollen by the vernal rains and the melted snows on northern mountains, the Tigris rushed by with unwonted force. In the bed of the river are several islands, which were now nearly submerged. From the main-land on the east to the edge of the largest of the several channels of the river, and where the current is strongest and the stream deepest, there is a brick bridge supported by forty arches, and constructed some two hundred years ago. Owing to the rapidity of the current and the ac cumulated waters, the main channel is spanned by a bridge of boats, extending from the end of the brick bridge to the western bank of the Tigris. These boats are held together by iron chains, and covered with planks, on which earth is spread. When the river is high, the boats are removed, and a ferry is established. And such was the case when we reached the Tigris. It was a sore disappointment, as we had had enough of Turkish ferries for all practical purposes. But it was the harvest-time for the boatmen, who clamored for our patronage with loud vociferations and violent gestures. Had we been Arabs, we could have crossed for one-half less than was demanded, but we cheerfully paid double the amount for the privilege of being Americans. The boat was similar in construction and form to the one in which we had

It

crossed the Greater Zab, but of larger dimensions. was a moment of intense excitement when we entered the swift current, with an island on our right and a pier of the brick bridge on our left, with imminent danger of being dashed against the latter. At such a time minutes are magnified into hours. How wishfully we watched the opposite shore! Never was relief more sweet than when the rude boat thumped against the river-bank. Nor was the landing-place inviting-high, steep banks, down

which flowed the blood of slaughtered sheep, and the colored waters from the tanners' yards which lined the bluffs. It required the aid of many Arabs to assist us up the slippery paths; and not a few men and boys proffered their aid, certain of a reward of a few piasters.

A letter of introduction secured us a temporary home in the house of Abboo Jizrawee, dragoman to the French consulate. Mr. Jizrawee was a large, fine-looking, richly dressed, genial Mosulian. He was jovial, volatile, talk

ative, of unbounded hospitality, and popular with his townsmen. His great fat face beamed with smiles, and his laughter was uproarious. His long connection with the consulate had made him familiar with the manners of foreigners, and he considered himself honored to be the host of three American travelers. His residence was large and comfortable, and the guest-chamber was the best of all his apartments. His wife was beautiful, and was unwearied in her attendance to our "elect lady."

Our apartments were furnished in Oriental style. There were divans for bedsteads, rugs for carpets, elegant cimeters and richly ornamented rifles for decorations on the walls.

It was soon known in Mosul that Americans had arrived. A letter of introduction to Khowaja Meekha brought that worthy Christian to our abode. He was the elder in the American Presbyterian Mission Church, and universally esteemed for his intelligence and piety. His generosity prompted him to invite Mr. Collins to