Smyrna has been utterly destroyed six times.  If her crown of life had been an insurance policy, she would have had an opportunity to collect on it the first time she fell.  But she holds it on sufferance and by a complimentary construction of language which does not refer to her.  Six different times, however, I suppose some infatuated prophecy-enthusiast blundered along and said, to the infinite disgust of Smyrna and the Smyrniotes:  “In sooth, here is astounding fulfillment of prophecy!  Smyrna hath not been faithful unto death, and behold her crown of life is vanished from her head.  Verily, these things be astonishing!”

Such things have a bad influence.  They provoke worldly men into using light conversation concerning sacred subjects.  Thick-headed commentators upon the Bible, and stupid preachers and teachers, work more damage to religion than sensible, cool-brained clergymen can fight away again, toil as they may.  It is not good judgment to fit a crown of life upon a city which has been destroyed six times.  That other class of wiseacres who twist prophecy in such a manner as to make it promise the destruction and desolation of the same city, use judgment just as bad, since the city is in a very flourishing condition now, unhappily for them.  These things put arguments into the mouth of infidelity.

A portion of the city is pretty exclusively Turkish; the Jews have a quarter to themselves; the Franks another quarter; so, also, with the Armenians.  The Armenians, of course, are Christians.  Their houses are large, clean, airy, handsomely paved with black and white squares of marble, and in the centre of many of them is a square court, which has in it a luxuriant flower-garden and a sparkling fountain; the doors of all the rooms open on this.  A very wide hall leads to the street door, and in this the women sit, the most of the day.  In the cool of the evening they dress up in their best raiment and show themselves at the door.  They are all comely of countenance, and exceedingly neat and cleanly; they look as if they were just out of a band-box.  Some of the young ladies—­many of them, I may say—­are even very beautiful; they average a shade better than American girls—­which treasonable words I pray may be forgiven me.  They are very sociable, and will smile back when a stranger smiles at them, bow back when he bows, and talk back if he speaks to them.  No introduction is required.  An hour’s chat at the door with a pretty girl one never saw before, is easily obtained, and is very pleasant.  I have tried it.  I could not talk anything but English, and the girl knew nothing but Greek, or Armenian, or some such barbarous tongue, but we got along very well.  I find that in cases like these, the fact that you can not comprehend each other isn’t much of a drawback.  In that Russia n town of Yalta I danced an astonishing sort of dance an hour long, and one I had not heard of before, with a very pretty girl,