blage of temples, what a view presents itself! Beneath, lies that verdant and flowery islet, strewn with marble, wrought into every beautiful form known to ancient art; over that pile of prostrate pillars a grove of palms is waving; from between the columns of yon small temple the acacia's foliage seems to gush, and its blossoms stream. Round all the islands flows the clear, bright river; and opposite, lies the old Temple of Osiris, now called the Bed of Pharaoh.

Beyond the river are patches of cultivation, intermingled with drifts, of desert sands, palms, rocks, villages, and wastes; and, over all, darkly encircling this paradise, rises the chain of the Hemaceuta, or Golden Mountains. Apart from the Great Temple (or accumulation of temples, as it seems to be), there is a very beautiful lesser one, nearly perfect. Its dedication is uncertain, but places like these acquire little interest from the names of the deities who were worshipped within their walls. The island at large was consecrated to the great triad, Osiris, Isis, and Horus; but it is somewhat disappointing to find that none of these edifices were erected until the comparative yesterday of two thousand years ago.

The whole island is not above fifty acres in extent, but it is richer perhaps in objects of interest than any spot of similar extent in the world. Here the student might live for years, finding each day reveal some new source of knowledge, and the antiquities of the island inexhaustible, until he became one himself.

There are numbers of travellers' names, from Burckhardt and Belzoni down, mingling their hieroglyphics with those of the gods and kings of the elder world. For my own part, I do not look upon these records as the desecration that most writers seem to consider them; I felt a lively pleasure in recognizing the hand-writing of several friends in this remote and lonely spot, and even in renewing the fading letters of their names. Who is so unfortunate in his friends and friendships, that their names will not recal multiplied and pleasant associations, which it does not require the depths of Africa to intensify?

There was one case, however, of autographism, which amused me not a little. Mr. Stephens, the American traveller, whose

appreciation of the perfections of his own country is consider. ably at issue with that of any other, gives us an account of having carved his name on the same slab that bore the inscription written there by Dessaix, in 1799, to commemorate his arrival with a French army in pursuit of the Mamelukes. Now, after Mr. Stephens, came a French traveller, who thought it bad taste, even in an American, to obtrude his identity into the company of the French hero; the rather, perhaps, as there were some acres of "spare" wall, equally available for the purpose: this last enthusiast has carefully eradicated the name of Stephens, and appended, moreover, the following aphorism,-" La page de l'histoire ne doit pas être salie."

The evening breeze found us ready to start with its first breath for Wady Halfa.

CHAPTER XXV.

NUBIA

Where rippling wave and dashing oar,
That midnight chant attend;

Or whispering palm-leaves, from the shore,
With midnight silence blend.

KEBLE.

Light was her form, and darkly delicate
That brow, whereon her native sun had set,
But had not marred.

Tom Cringle's Log.

As our boat shot away from beautiful Philo, the dark precipitous cliffs closed gradually round us, and the Sacred Island remained but as a vision. If the days of hermitage were ever to return, the Solitary could find no place on earth like this, wherein to cultivate self-discipline, to study uninterruptedly, and, whilst preparing for his translation to another world, to communicate his own high hope of immortality to the gentle and intelligent savages that surrounded him.

Nubia differs very widely, in the character of its scenery, from the land we have just left. It is true, we had still the palm. the river, and the desert, like those we left behind us, but there are no more forests; the cliffs, dark red, assume wilder forms and approach nearer to the river, the stream itself is narrower and more rapid, the line of vegetation is more limited but brighter, and the desert appears more frequently. The inhabitants, also, exhibit a striking change, becoming more savage as their scenery becomes wilder, and darker in complexion, as the sun increases in intensity. They are a very mixed race, even between the Cataracts, and the people bordering on Egypt speak one dialect called Kenooz, while those above Kalabshe speak an

other called Kenzee. There are, moreover, several distinct tribes, such as the Ababdé, the Moggrebyns, and the Bisharein, who have each their settlements and their own peculiar customs. Generally speaking, the men have laid aside the turban, and rely upon the covering which nature has supplied, in the shape of profuse and thickly-matted hair, falling down on either side of the face, and plentifully impregnated with castor-oil. Few of the young men wear any covering but a napkin round their loins, and none of the virgins have any garments except the leather girdle I have before alluded to, and a blue or white scarf which hangs down from the back of their heads. The matrons wear a single garment, consisting of a long and very loose blue robe; and the old men use turbans, and voluminous cotton robes like those of Egypt. Every man we meet with now carries a long spear ornamented with the skin of serpents or crocodiles, or a heavy club of ebony, which is brought from the interior by the slave-dealers. Many of them also carry a circular shield of hippopotamus' hide, with a boss in the centre, forming a hollow for the hand, which grasps an iron bar.

Great numbers of Nubians, oppressed by hard labor and heavy taxes, leave their country to seek subsistence as servants at Cairo, where they are in great request from their character for honesty and courage. In this particular, they resemble the Swiss in Paris, and, like them, only strive to amass wealth, in the hope of enjoying it in their own country in the evening of their lives.

The Egyptians call their language, or languages, Barabra, and themselves Berberi; and this is probably a modification of the term Barbari, which the Greeks and Romans applied to all foreigners indiscriminately. As a nation, they appear industrious, simple, and much given to war, at least in the shape of intestine feuds. Their principal vice appears to be drunkenness, but I must say that I have this only from hear-say, as I never saw an instance of intoxication, except in our Nubian pilot, who deeply expiated his offence. Their dram is distilled from rice, and called Raki; but they have also a very tempting liquor called Boozy, distilled from barley.

The Nubian woman is more free than her Egyptian neighbor,

and is also far more virtuous; she seldom wears a veil, and, as she bends over the river to fill her water-jar, or walks away, supporting it with one hand, no statuary could imagine a more graceful picture than she presents. Her light and elegant figure has that serpent sinuousness when she moves, that constitutes the very poetry of motion, and resembles gliding rather than walking. Her face is finely oval, and her dark eyes have a gentle and inquiring, though somewhat sad expression, that seems to bespeak great intelligence. Her complexion is very dark, but it is of that bronze color so familiar to our eyes in statues, that it forms no detraction from the general beauty of this graceful and winning savage.

There was a girl at Philoe, who, I think, approached more nearly the ideal of perfect loveliness than any other I have ever seen; and might have passed for the very spirit of that wild and beautiful region. Whether she lay couched under the shade of the palms, weaving the cotton whose pale yellow flowers were strewn around her, or led her sheep to pasture, or smiled upon the children at their play, or gazed upon the strangers with her large, lustrous, gentle eyes-in every phase of her simple life, she was what Eve might well have been.

The voices of these women are very sweet, and low, and plaintive; and though their language conveyed to my ear as little meaning as the song of birds, yet there was something in its tones that seemed familiar. Often, when our boat lay moored under the shadow of the palm, have I lain and listened to the murmur of their voices, with a pleasure such as the richest notes of the Italian music never thrilled me with. There is nothing so associative as sound: there are tones, which our heart in its youth has heard, that never leave it; that lie hushed from the wild tumult of the world we live in, until some sistersound bids it start to life, and with it recalls not only the time, but the feelings we enjoyed or suffered when first we heard its music. Under such a spell, the wild and savage scenery of Africa passed from my eyes; far distant climes and times replaced it on Memory's mirage, and came thronging by as rapidly as those hours had fleeted, when I was roused froin my reverie by Mahmoud's informing me, with an execration, that