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rose as to the best means of relieving Gordon。 Each had his own favourite general。 Presently the doctor exclaimed： 'Why don't they put the thing into the hands of Cook？ I'll be bound to say he would undertake it； and do the job better than anyone else。'
'Do you know Cook； sir？' asked one of the smokers who had hitherto been silent。
'No； I never saw him； but everybody knows he has a genius for organisation； and I don't believe there is a general in the British Army to match him。'
When the company broke up； the silent stranger asked the doctor his name and address； and introduced himself as Thomas Cook。 The following winter Dr。 Bird received a letter enclosing tickets for himself and Miss Bird for a trip to Egypt and back； free of expense； 'in return for his good opinion and good wishes。'
After my General's departure； and a month up the Nile； I … already disillusioned； alas！ … rode through Syria； following the beaten track from Jerusalem to Damascus。 On my way from Alexandria to Jaffa I had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of an agreeable fellow…traveller； Mr。 Henry Lopes； afterwards member for Northampton； also bound for Palestine。 We went to Constantinople and to the Crimea together； then through Greece； and only parted at Charing Cross。
It was easy to understand Sir Frederick Stephenson's （supposed） unwillingness to visit Jerusalem。 It was probably far from being what it is now； or even what it was when Pierre Loti saw it； for there was no railway from Jaffa in our time。 Still； what Loti pathetically describes as 'une banalite de banlieue parisienne；' was even then too painfully casting its vulgar shadows before it。 And it was rather with the forlorn eyes of the sentimental Frenchman than with the veneration of Dean Stanley； that we wandered about the ever… sacred Aceldama of mortally wounded and dying Christianity。
One dares not； one could never； speak irreverently of Jerusalem。 One cannot think heartlessly of a disappointed love。 One cannot tear out creeds interwoven with the tenderest fibres of one's heart。 It is better to be silent。 Yet is it a place for unwept tears； for the deep sadness and hard resignation borne in upon us by the eternal loss of something dearer once than life。 All we who are weary and heavy laden； in whom now shall we seek the rest which is not nothingness？
My story is told； but I fain would take my leave with words less sorrowful。 If a man has no better legacy to bequeath than bid his fellow…beings despair； he had better take it with him to his grave。
We know all this； we know！
But it is in what we do not know that our hope and our religion lies。 Thrice blessed are we in the certainty that here our range is infinite。 This infinite that makes our brains reel； that begets the feeling that makes us 'shrink；' is perhaps the most portentous argument in the logic of the sceptic。 Since the days of Laplace； we have been haunted in some form or other with the ghost of the MECANIQUE CELESTE。 Take one or two commonplaces from the text…books of astronomy：
Every half…hour we are about ten thousand miles nearer to the constellation of Lyra。 'The sun and his system must travel at his present rate for far more than a million years （divide this into half…hours） before we have crossed the abyss between our present position and the frontiers of Lyra' （Ball's 'Story of the Heavens'）。
'Sirius is about one million times as far from us as the sun。 If we take the distance of Sirius from the earth and subdivide it into one million equal parts； each of these parts would be long enough to span the great distance of 92；700；000 miles from the earth to the sun；' yet Sirius is one of the NEAREST of the stars to us。
The velocity with which light traverses space is 186；300 miles a second； at which rate it has taken the rays from Sirius which we may see to…night； nine years to reach us。 The proper motion of Sirius through space is about one thousand miles a minute。 Yet 'careful alignment of the eye would hardly detect that Sirius was moving； in 。 。 。 even three or four centuries。'
'There may be； and probably are； stars from which Noah might be seen stepping into the Ark； Eve listening to the temptation of the serpent； or that older race； eating the oysters and leaving the shell…heaps behind them； when the Baltic was an open sea' （Froude's 'Science of History'）。
Facts and figures such as these simply stupefy us。 They vaguely convey the idea of something immeasurably great； but nothing further。 They have no more effect upon us than words addressed to some poor 'bewildered creature； stunned and paralysed by awe； no more than the sentence of death to the terror…stricken wretch at the bar。 Indeed； it is in this sense that the sceptic uses them for our warning。
'Seit Kopernikus；' says Schopenhauer； 'kommen die Theologen mit dem lieben Gott in Verlegenheit。' 'No one；' he adds； 'has so damaged Theism as Copernicus。' As if limitation and imperfection in the celestial mechanism would make for the belief in God； or； as if immortality were incompatible with dependence。 Des Cartes； for one； （and he counts for many；） held just the opposite opinion。
Our sun and all the millions upon millions of suns whose light will never reach us are but the aggregation of atoms drawn together by the same force that governs their orbit； and which makes the apple fall。 When their heat； however generated； is expended； they die to frozen cinders； possibly to be again diffused as nebulae； to begin again the eternal round of change。
What is life amidst this change？ 'When I consider the work of Thy fingers； the moon and the stars which Thou hast ordained； what is man that Thou art mindful of him？'
But is He mindful of us？ That is what the sceptic asks。 Is He mindful of life here or anywhere in all this boundless space？ We have no ground for supposing （so we are told） that life； if it exists at all elsewhere； in the solar system at least； is any better than it is here？ 'Analogy compels us to think；' says M。 France； one of the most thoughtful of living writers； 'that our entire solar system is a gehenna where the animal is born for suffering。 。 。 。 This alone would suffice to disgust me with the universe。' But M。 France is too deep a thinker to abide by such a verdict。 There must be something 'behind the veil。' 'Je sens que ces immensites ne sont rien； et qu'enfin； s'il y a quelque chose； ce quelque chose n'est pas ce que nous voyons。' That is it。 All these immensities are not 'rien；' but they are assuredly not what we take them to be。 They are the veil of the Infinite； behind which we are not permitted to see。
It were the seeing Him； no flesh shall dare。
The very greatness proves our impotence to grasp it； proves the futility of our speculations； and should help us best of all though outwardly so appalling； to stand calm while the snake of unbelief writhes beneath our feet。 The unutterable insignificance of man and his little world connotes the infinity which leaves his possibilities as limitless as itself。
Spectrology informs us that the chemical