embarrassing; and Sabbathai, one old chronicler gravely remarks, was ‘horribly puzzled for a miracle.’ But in a moment the cynical humour of the man came to his help, and where the true prophet, in honest humility, might have hesitated, with ‘Lord, I cannot speak; I am a child,’ on his lips, our charlatan was ready and self-possessed and equal to the occasion. With solemn gait and rapt gaze, which, as a contemporary record expresses it, he had ‘starcht on,’ Sabbathai stood for some seconds silent; then, suddenly throwing up his hands to heaven, ‘Behold!’ he exclaimed in thrilling accents, ‘see you not yon pillar of fire?’ And the expectant crowd turned, and in their eager, almost hysterical, excitement many believed they saw, and many, who did not see, doubted their sight and not the vision. Those who looked and looked in vain were silent, hardly daring to own that to their unworthy eyes the blessed assurance had been denied. So Sabbathai returned to his home in triumph. No further miracles were asked or needed, and doubters in his Messiahship were henceforth accounted by the synagogue as heretics and infidels and fit subjects for excommunication. In his character of prophet no religious ceremonial was henceforth considered complete without the presence of Sabbathai, and in his character of prince and leader unlimited wealth was at his command. Here, however, came in the one redeeming point. Sabbathai’s ambition had no taint of avarice about it. He took of no man’s gold and of no woman’s jewels, though both were laid unstintingly at his feet. And then, suddenly, at this period of his greatest success, subtly appreciating, it may be, the wisdom of taking fortune at the flood, Sabbathai announced his intention of leaving Smyrna, and the month of January, 1667, saw him embark in a small coasting-vessel bound for Constantinople. Here a reception altogether unexpected and unprophesied was awaiting him. There had been great weeping and lamentation among the disciples he left, and there was proportionately great rejoicing among the larger community his presence was to favour, for, by virtue of the curious system of intercommunication which has always prevailed among the dispersed race, the news of Sabbathai’s movements and intentions spread quickly and in ever-widening circles. It reached at length some ears which had not been reckoned upon, and penetrated to a brain which had preserved its balance. The Sultan of Turkey, Mahomet IV., heard of this expected visitor to his capital, and when, after nine-and-thirty days of stormy passage, the sea-sick prophet was entering the port, the first thing he saw was two State barges, fully manned, putting out to meet him. It may be hoped that he was too sea-sick to indulge in any audible predictions, or to put in sonorous words any bright dream born of that brief glimpse of a brother potentate hastening to greet his spiritual sovereign. For any such prophecy would have been all too rudely and too quickly