Such experiences as that winter at Assiyut show how entirely denominational differences are forgotten on the mission field. In social intercourse, in the prayer circle, in discussion of mission problems, in the church service, in the pulpit, there was never anything to remind us that we were only Presbyterians while our kind hosts were United Presbyterians. It was a delightful opportunity for the cultivation of fellowship, and for the observation of other forms and methods of mission work, under conditions very different from ours in Syria. The work in Egypt is relieved from many of the problems so insistent in Turkey. There is no hostile government, always suspicious of every move made by a foreigner. There is no such inefficiency in the government as makes the lives of Turkish subjects always insecure and travel dangerous. But, on the other hand, the climatic conditions in Egypt are far more trying than in Syria, as the heat is extremely enervating for most of the year. These climatic conditions undoubtedly account to some extent for the less virile, independent character of the people. But whatever the differences in climate, whatever the differences in the character of the people, whatever the differences in governmental relations, we came back from Egypt more than ever impressed with the fact that the conflict is one, the object aimed at is one, and the body of workers is one, under the direction of our one Lord and Master. In 1911 there came another break in the routine life of the field, but with no such sorrow in it as in the former incidents. The second Conference for Workers in Moslem Lands met in Lucknow in January 1911 and our mission chose me as its delegate to that conference. The journey through the Suez Canal and down the Red Sea and across the Arabian Sea to Bombay was one of the experiences of life never to be forgotten. There were enough of us going on the same journey to form a little group of sympathetic companions and we had many an opportunity at table and on deck to talk over the matters connected with our life work. The contrasts in the streets of Bombay are similar to those seen in all the changing Orient, but with characteristic differences calculated to catch the eye of one accustomed to the nearer East. Nowhere in Turkey do you find such broad, magnificent, paved thoroughfares as those in Bombay, and yet, beside the track of the electric trolley, you see a crude cart jogging along behind the humpbacked bullock. On the pavements you see elaborately dressed ladies from Europe, or from the wealthy Parsee families, with their Paris gowns and modern hats, and almost at their elbows the dark-skinned members of the sweeper caste, clad in a simple loin cloth. You step out of the finely appointed barber shop in your modern hotel, with its polite, English-speaking attendant, to see by the roadside a group of swarthy Indians, crouching on the ground, as one of their number shaves the crowns of their heads.