FOR some months past I have been breathing the atmosphere of Asia and Africa. While there I was completely shut out from civilization. I have not received a paper or the scratch of a pen from any one in many weeks. I must have a letter soon, if I have to write it myself. Since leaving Egypt I have been four days on the Mediterranean—I had almost said “four days in Gehenna.” I flattered myself that I was a moderately good sailor, but this time I lost my sea legs in half an hour after going on board the steamer, nor did I discover their whereabouts until twelve hours after landing. I thought of Paul’s experience when making a similar voyage. In Acts 27:6 we are told that Paul was put in a ship “sailing from Alexandria to Italy.” So was I. Paul’s vessel was struck with a “tempestuous wind, called Euroclydon,” and was “exceedingly tossed with a tempest.” So was mine. Paul sailed close by the islands of Crete and Clauda. So did I. I was sea-sick—so was Paul, I suppose. Indeed it was a voyage long to be remembered. I am a splendid sailor—on land—but I can not navigate a “tempestuous sea.” Europe again! I feel as one who has been keeping company with the dead, and has now been raised from the grave and brought back to the land of the living. Verily, the people of Asia and Africa are dead—dead spiritually, dead in trespasses and sin, dead to literature and learning, dead to the progress the world is making. Not only dead, but buried—buried in conceit, in selfishness, in filth and ignorance. Yes, these people are dead and buried in a sepulchre, and against the door of that sepulchre Poverty has placed a stone which naught but the angels of God can remove. Come, O winged angel, come quickly. Roll away this stone, that these benighted people may be raised up to the nineteenth century and to God! I am now on Italian soil in Naples, under a soft Italian sky, and God’s bright and cheerful sunshine, streaming through my window, is falling in golden ringlets upon the floor. Naples boasts 1,000,000 inhabitants, and possesses many charms for the traveler. In approaching the city from the bay the scene is peculiarly striking. It was perhaps this charming picture that gave rise to the saying: “See Naples and die.” [Illustration: STREET OF CORNELIUS RUFUS, POMPEII.] A fine day this to visit Pompeii, which is only fifteen miles away. It is situated on a narrow table-land which on one side slopes gently down to the bay, and on the other side rises up steeply to the crest of Mt. Vesuvius. We go by train. In half an hour after leaving Naples, we hear the conductor shouting: “Pompeii! Pompeii!!” Fifteen minutes later we are standing before “Porta della Marina,” knocking for entrance.