ibitions
of the raw material and the fabrics of all nations are the order of the
day; while good-will between man and man--to say nothing of woman--is so
prevalent, that I really find it hard to believe in the possibility of a
great European war."

"Nevertheless," replied Mr Whitlaw, in a tone of cynicism, to which at
times he gave pretty free indulgence, "the Crimean war occurred in the
nineteenth century, and the American civil war, and the young widows of
the Franco-Prussian war are not yet grey-haired, while their children
have scarcely reached their teens. Truly, civilisation and the progress
of knowledge, which men boast of so much, seem to be of little value."

I pointed out to Mr Whitlaw that he was wrong in supposing that
civilisation is of little value. "If you compare the condition of the
United States or England," I said, "with that of the Red Indians of your
own land, or with the semi-barbarous states of Asia, you must allow that
civilisation has done much. It seems to me that the fault of mankind
lies in expecting too much of that condition. Civilisation teaches man
how to make the world most comfortable to himself and to his fellows;
but there is a higher attainment than that, and it is only Christianity
which can teach man how to sacrifice himself for others, and, in so
doing, to attain the same ends as those arrived at by civilisation, with
more important and lasting ends in addition."

"Well, then, on that principle," objected the skipper, "you ought to
expect war just now, for there is very little Christianity going that I
can see, though plenty of civilisation."

"On these points we differ, Mr Whitlaw," said I, "for there seems to me
very little civilisation at present, considering the age of the world;
and, on the other hand, there is much genuine Christianity,--more, I
believe, than meets the careless or the jaundiced eye. However, now
that war _has_ been declared, it becomes necessary that we should get
out of the Danube as fast as possible."

Accordingly, the yacht's head was turned eastward, and we descended
rapidly with the stream. My intention was good, but the result was
disastrous; not an unwonted state of things, the best intentions in
human affairs being frequently doomed to miscarry.

I must ask the reader now to turn aside with me from my own personal
adventures, to events which had occurred near the banks of the Pruth,--
the river that divides Russia from Turkey.

Here, on