In the saloon, such as it was, we had as shipmate a certain elderly American general, who told us that he was an attorney, own correspondent to seven transatlantic newspapers, and that his journals were looked forward to by some of the leading families in various cities, unknown to me. As a man of letters he greatly admired Shakespeare. “Yes, sir!” he said, “Shakespeare is quite an institution. Emerson can write some poetry, but I guess he can’t come up to that. With the Bible, Shakespeare and Webster’s Dictionary, a man can get along. They are as good documents as a man need have for a library.” A dear, innocent, unsophisticated man was the Attorney-General, very good-natured, and a source of great amusement during all the time that he remained sticking to us with the affection of a burr. Our lucky star was in the ascendant, for almost the first person whom we met in Smyrna was Mr. Wood, who most kindly agreed to go with us to Ephesus the next morning. When we reached the ruins, he showed us all his plans and explained his discoveries, setting forth the work of his eight years in an hour’s pregnant talk. When he had made all clear, the good General said, “Then, sir, I gather from your conversation that the Temple of Diana was a round building.” “Round, sir, round!” said Mr. Wood, “haven’t I been telling you all the time that it was square?” Nothing abashed, the General looked round him and said: “Waal! if this was the site of the City of Ephesus, I’m glad to know it. It was quite considerable of a city, and the men that built it had some snap in ’em.” Steered by our learned pilot, we visited all the wonders that his patience and science had revealed—the Odeion, a beautiful little building with white marble steps decorated with carved lions’ feet—the Wool Exchange, a most ingenious discovery—the marble tomb of Androclus. I have already spoken of the theatre, the stadium and other great witnesses of the past. Did we pass by the tomb of Mary Magdalene, that sweet woman whom the great Pope Gregory, for no earthly reason and without one scintilla of evidence, came to identify with the woman “which was a sinner”? Did we see the tomb of St. Luke, who told that unnamed sinner’s touching story? Again I say, why not? These are secrets which will not be revealed until the Last Day, when the graves shall give up their dead. But even an Evangelist must die somewhere, and what is more probable than that the early Christians, knowing where his remains lay in some place outside the city, should have brought them hither with pious pomp and reburied them in yonder round building, faced with marble and bearing as its device the bull, or buffalo, surmounted with a cross?