worded thus:  “On the east bank of the Euphrates, nearly opposite the ‘Hermitage,’ there is the sunken fragment of a bronze Gate, formerly belonging to the Palace of the Babylonian Kings.  Three miles and a half to the southwest of this fragment and in a direct line with it, straight across country, will be found a fallen pillar of red granite half buried in the earth.  The square tract of land extending beyond this broken column is the field known to the Prophet Esdras as the ’field of Ardath’”

He was on the east bank of the Euphrates already,—­and a walk of three miles and a half could surely be accomplished in an hour or very little over that time.  Hesitating no longer he made his way out of the house, deciding that if he met Elzear he would say he was going for a moonlight stroll before retiring to rest.  That venerable recluse, however, was nowhere to be seen,—­and as the door of the “Hermitage” was only fastened with a light latch he had no difficulty in effecting a noiseless exit.  Once in the open air he stopped, . . startled by the sound of full, fresh, youthful voices singing in clear and harmonious unison ...  “Kyrie eleison!  Christe eleison!  Kyrie eleison!” He listened, . . looking everywhere about him in utter amazement.  There was no habitation in sight save Elzear’s,—­and the chorus certainly did not proceed from thence, but rather seemed to rise upward through the earth, floating in released sweet echoes to and fro upon the hushed air.  “Kyrie eleison! ...  Christe eleison!” How it swayed about him like a close chime of bells!

He stood motionless, perplexed and. wondering, ... was there a subterranean grotto near at hand where devotional chants were sung?—­or, . . and a slight tremor ran through him at the thought, . . was there something supernatural in the music, notwithstanding its human-seeming speech and sound?  Just then it ceased, ... all was again silent as before, . . and angry with himself for his own foolish fancies, he set about the task of discovering the “sunken fragment” Heliobas had mentioned.  Very soon he found it, driven deep into the soil and so blackened and defaced by time that it was impossible to trace any of the elaborate carvings that must have once adorned it.  In fact it would not have been recognizable as a portion of a gate at all, had it not still possessed an enormous hinge which partly clung to it by means of one huge thickly rusted nail, dose beside it, grew a tree of weird and melancholy appearance—­its trunk was split asunder and one half of it was withered.  The other half leaning mournfully on one side bent down its branches to the ground, trailing a wealth of long, glossy green leaves in the dust of the ruined city.  This was the famous tree called by the natives Athel, of which old legends say that it used to be a favorite evergreen much cultivated and prized by the Babylonian nobility, who loving its pleasant