The wonders of the world (part 4 of 5)

The wonders of the world (part 4 of 5)

“I now descended toward a rude space near the river, which appeared to be in the state in which the occasional overflowings and gradual retrocession of the river had left it. It was one of those wastes which the lord of the manor had not yet enabled some industrious cultivator to disguise; and in large tracts of which Great Britain still exhibits the surface of the earth in the pristine state in which it was left by the secondary causes that have given it form. The Thames, doubtless, in a remote age, covered the entire site; but it is the tendency of rivers to narrow themselves, by promoting prolific vegetable creations on their consequently increasing and encroaching banks, though the various degrees of fall produce every variety of currents, and, consequently, every variety of banks, in their devious course. In due time, the course of the river becomes choked where a flat succeeds a rapid, and the detained waters then form lakes in the interior. These lakes likewise generate encroaching banks, which finally fill up their basins, when new rivers are formed on higher levels. These in their turn, become interrupted, and repetitions of the former circle of causes produce one class of those elevations of land above the level of the sea, which have so much puzzled geologists. The only condition which a surface of dry land requires to increase and raise itself, is the absence of salt water, consequent on which is an accumulation of vegetable and animal remains. The Thames has not latterly been allowed to produce its natural effects, because for two thousand years the banks have been inhabited by man, who unable to appreciate the general laws by which the phenomena of the earth are produced, has sedulously kept open the course of the river, and prevented the formation of interior lakes. The Caspian sea, and all similar inland seas and lakes, were, for the most part, formed from the choking up of rivers which once constituted their outlets. If the course of nature be not interrupted by the misdirected industry of man, the gradual desiccation of all such collections of water will, in due time, produce land of higher levels on their sites. In like manner, the great lakes of North America, if the St. Lawrence be not sedulously kept open, will in the course of ages, be filled up by the gradual encroachment of their banks, and the raising of their bottoms with strata of vegetable and animal remains. New rivers would then flow over these increased elevations, and the ultimate effect would be to raise that part of the continent of North America several hundred feet above its present level. Even the very place on which I stand was, according to Webster, once a vast basin, extending from the Nore to near Reading, but now filled up with vegetable and animal remains; and the illustrious Cuvier has discovered a similar basin round the site of Paris. These once were Caspians, created by the choking and final disappearance of some mighty rivers; they have been filled up by gradual encroachments, and now the Thames and the Seine flow over them; but these, if left to themselves, will, in their turn, generate new lakes or basins, and the successive recurrence of a similar series of causes will continue to produce similar effects, till interrupted by superior causes.

“This situation was so sequestered, and therefore so favorable to contemplation, that I could not avoid indulging myself. What, then, are those superior causes, I exclaimed, which will interrupt this series of natural operations to which man is indebted for the enchanting visions of hill and dale, and for the elysium of beauty and plenty in which he finds himself? Alas! facts prove that all things are transitory, and that change of condition is the constant and necessary result of that motion which is the chief instrument of eternal causation, but which, in causing all phenomena, wears out existing organizations while it is generating new ones. In the motions of the earth as a planet, doubtless are to be discovered the superior causes which convert seas into continents, and continents into seas. These sublime changes are occasioned by the progress of the perihelion point of the earth’s orbit through the ecliptic, which passes from extreme northern to extreme southern declination, and vice versa, every ten thousand, four hundred and fifty years; and the maxima of the central forces in the perihelion occasion the waters to accumulate alternately upon either hemisphere. During ten thousand, four hundred and fifty years, the sea is therefore gradually retiring and encroaching in both hemispheres: hence all the varieties of marine appearances and accumulations of marine remains in particular situations; and hence the successions of layers or strata, one upon another, of marine and earthly remains. It is evident, from observation of those strata, that the periodical changes have occurred at least three times; or in other words, it appears that the site on which I now stand has been three times covered by the ocean, and three times has afforded an asylum for vegetables and animals! How sublime, how interesting, how affecting is such a contemplation! How transitory, therefore, must be the local arrangements of man, and how puerile the study of the science miscalled antiquities! How foolish the pride which vaunts itself on splendid buildings and costly mausoleums! How vain the ostentation of large estates, of extensive boundaries, and of great empires! All, all will, in due time, be swept away and defaced by the unsparing ocean; and, if recorded in the frail memorials of human science, will be spoken of like the lost Atlantis, and remembered only as a philosophical dream!”

Such are the speculations of Phillips, containing many things highly interesting and instructive; though, with our advanced knowledge of geology, we involuntarily smile at his “periods” of “ten thousand, four hundred and fifty years,” knowing, as we now do, that some of the great changes of which he speaks must have occupied the long ages of the earth’s chaotic state, before God, by his word, formed it again to life and order and beauty. The merest tyro in science now knows, that in the great facts of geology God as truly speaks by his works, as in the book of revelation he speaks by his word; and though we are far more liable to misunderstand and misinterpret the former than the latter, yet rightly understood there is no discrepancy between the two, but both speak the same language of truth. In the very structure of the earth itself, we have the evidence of the changes it has passed through. The wonderful wrecks of a former state of nature, preserved, like ancient medals or marbles in the ruins of an extinct empire, tell of the progress of the earth in past ages, and teach us that many of the changes which Phillips would refer to comparatively modern times, belong to a period far back of the creation of our first parents, when our planet, though existing, had not as yet been prepared for the habitation of mankind. We will not, however, dwell on these points; but merely allude to them, referring our readers to any of the elementary treatises on geology, where they may find the full details of facts, and also the various theories which reconcile these facts with the statements of the Mosaic history.

EXTRANEOUS FOSSILS.

The fossil remains of animals not now in existence, entombed and preserved in solid rocks, present us with durable monuments of the great changes which our planet has undergone in former ages. We are led to a period when the waters of the primitive ocean must have covered the summits of our highest mountains, and are irresistibly compelled to admit one of two conclusions: either that the sea has retired, and sunk beneath its former level; or that some power, operating from beneath, has lifted up the islands and continents, with all their hills and mountains, from the watery abyss to their present elevation above its surface.

The calcareous, or limestone mountains in Derbyshire, and at Craven, in Yorkshire, having an elevation of about two thousand feet above the present level of the sea, contain, in a greater or less abundance, and throughout their whole extent, fossil remains of zoophytes, shell-fish, and marine animals. No remains of vegetables have been found in the calcareous mountains of England; but, in the thick beds of shale and gritstone lying upon them, are found various vegetable impressions, and above these regular beds of coal, with strata, containing shells of fresh-water mussels. In the earthy limestone of the upper strata are sometimes found fossil flat-fish, with the impression of the scales and bones quite distinct. The mountains of the Pyrenees are covered in the highest part, at Mont Perdu, with calcareous rocks, containing impressions of marine animals; and, even where the impressions are not visible in the limestone, it yields a fetid cadaverous odor, when dissolved in acids, owing, in all probability, to the animal matters it contains. Mont Perdu, which rises ten thousand five hundred feet, or about two miles above the level of the sea, is the highest situation in which any marine remains have been found in Europe. In the Andes they have been observed by Humboldt at the hight of fourteen thousand feet, more than two miles and a half. Lastly, in southern countries, in and under beds of clay-covering chalk, the bones of the elephant, and of the rhinoceros are frequently found.

These bones, as they have been brought from different parts of the world, have been examined with the utmost attention by the sagacious naturalist Cuvier. He has observed characteristic variations of structure, which prove that they belong to animals not now existing on our globe: nor have many of the various zoöphytes and shell-fish, found in calcareous rocks, been discovered in our present seas. From these very curious facts he makes the following deductions.

“These bones are buried, almost everywhere, in nearly similar beds: they are often blended with some other animals resembling those of the present day. The beds are generally loose, either sandy or marly; and always neighboring, more or less, to the surface. It is, then, probable that these bones have been enveloped by the last, or by one of the last, catastrophes of this globe. In a great number of places they are accompanied by the accumulated remains of marine animals; but in some places, which are less numerous, there are none of these remains: sometimes the sand or marl, which covers them, contains only fresh-water shells. No well authenticated account proves that they have been covered by regular beds of stone, filled with sea-shells; and, consequently, that the sea has remained on them undisturbed, for a long period. The catastrophe which covered them was, therefore, a great, but transient, inundation of the sea. This inundation did not rise above the high mountains; for we find no analogous deposits covering the bones, nor are the bones themselves there met with, not even in the high valleys, unless in some of the warmer parts of America. These bones are neither rolled nor joined in a skeleton, but scattered, and in part fractured. They have not, then, been brought from afar by inundation, but found by it in places where it has covered them, as might be expected, if the animals to which they belonged had dwelt in these places, and had there successively died. Before this catastrophe, these animals lived, therefore, in the climates in which we now dig up their bones: it was this catastrophe which destroyed them there; and, as we no longer find them, it is evident that it has annihilated those species. The northern parts of the globe, therefore, nourished formerly, species belonging to the genus elephant, hippopotamus, rhinoceros, and tapir, as well as to that of the mastodon; genera of which the four first have no longer any species existing, except in the torrid zone; and the last, none in any part.”

The researches of Dr. Buckland, connected with the kind of relics of which we are speaking, have given them additional interest, especially as connected with certain points of diluvial geology, and with their assemblage in caverns. In these caverns, the bones are usually found mixed with mud, stones and fragments; and circumstances seem to show that the animals resided in them for a great length of time. The celebrated Kirkdale cavern, in Yorkshire, discovered in 1821, contains the remains of the hyena, tiger, bear, wolf, fox, weasel, elephant, rhinoceros, hippopotamus, horse, ox, deer, hare, rabbit, rat, mouse, raven, pigeon, lark, thrush, and a species of duck. From the mode in which these remains were strewed over the bottom of the cavern, from the great proportion of hyenas’ teeth over those of other animals, and from the manner in which many of the bones were gnawed and fractured, Dr. Buckland infers that this cavern was the den of hyenas for a long succession of years; that they brought in as their prey, the animals whose remains are thus mixed with their own; and that this state of things was suddenly terminated by an irruption of turbid water into the cave, which buried the whole in the mud in which they are now intermingled. In other cases, the bones of other animals have been found, indicating the same general facts as to the existence of animals now no longer known in the same latitudes.

That every part of the dry land was once covered by the ocean, is a fact on which all geologists agree; and the discovery, noticed above, of the fossil remains of many genera of quadrupeds, once existing, but which have now disappeared from the earth, leads to another fact, not less interesting, and which is at the same time coincident with the oldest records or traditions of the human race, namely, that at the period when these great changes took place, man was not an inhabitant of the planet. These fossil remains, now about to be particularized, are among the most surprising of nature’s phenomena, and irresistibly lead to most interesting speculations respecting the past and future condition of the terrestrial globe.

FOSSIL CROCODILES.

The fossil remains of crocodiles have been collected in the neighborhood of Honfleur, on the coast of France, and were found in a bed of hard limestone, of a bluish gray color, which becomes nearly black when wet, and which is found along the shore on both sides of the mouth of the Seine, being in some places covered by the sea, and in others, above its level, even at high water. Remains of crocodiles have also been found in other parts of France; as at Angers and Mans. Some of these remains seem to show, that at least one of the fossil species above noticed is also found in other parts of France besides Honfleur.

The remains of crocodiles have been also found in different parts of England; but particularly on the coast of Dorsetshire, and of Yorkshire near Whitby, in the neighborhood of Bath, and near Newark in Nottinghamshire. Somersetshire, particularly in the neighborhood of Bath, the cliffs on the Dorsetshire, or southern coast, and on the Yorkshire, or northern coast, are the places in this island in which the remains of the animals of this tribe have been chiefly found. The matrix in which they are found is in general similar to that which has been already mentioned as containing the fossils of Honfleur, a blue limestone, becoming almost black when wet. This description exactly agrees with the limestone of Charmouth, Lime, &c., in Dorsetshire, on the opposite coast to that of France on which Honfleur is situated. At Whitby and Scarborough, where these fossils are also found, the stone is indeed somewhat darker than in the former places; but no difference is observable which can be regarded as offering any forcible opposition to the probability of the original identity of this stratum, which is observed on the northern coast of France, on the opposite southern English coast, and at the opposite northern extremity of the island. Some of these remains are also found in quarries of common coarse gray and whitish limestone. Instances of this kind of matrix, for these remains, are observable in the quarries between Bath and Bristol. The Rev. Mr. Hawker, of Woodchester, in Gloucestershire, formerly had in his possession, perhaps one of the handsomest specimens of the remains of the crocodile discovered in all England. It was found by him in the neighborhood of Bath, and contained a great part of the head and of the trunk of the animal.

LARGE FOSSIL ANIMAL OF MAESTRICHT.

The large animal, whose fossil remains are found in the quarries of Maestricht, has been deservedly a frequent object of admiration; and the beautiful appearance which its remains possess, in consequence of their excellent state of preservation, in a matrix which admits of their fair display, has occasioned every specimen of this fossil to be highly valued. The lower jaw of this animal, and some other specimens, which were presented by Dr. Peter Camper to the Royal Society, and which are now in the British museum, are among the most splendid and interesting fossils in existence. In 1770, the workmen having discovered part of an enormous head of an animal imbedded in the solid stone, in one of the subterraneous passages of the mountain, gave information to M. Hoffman, who, with the most zealous assiduity, labored until he had disengaged this astonishing fossil from its matrix. But when this was done, the fruits of his labors were wrested from him by an ecclesiastic, who claimed it as being proprietor of the land over the spot on which it was found. Hoffman defended his right in a court of justice; but through the influence employed against him, he was doomed not only to the loss of this inestimable fossil, but to the payment of heavy law expenses. But in time, justice, though tardy, at last arrived; the troops of the French republic secured this treasure, which was conveyed to the national museum.

The length of the cervical, dorsal and lumbar vertebrae, appears to have been about nine feet five inches, and that of the vertebræ of the tail about ten foot; adding to which the length of the head, which may be reckoned, considering the loss of the intermaxillary bones, at least at four feet, we may safely conclude the whole length of the skeleton of the animal to have approached very nearly to twenty-four feet. The head is a sixth of the whole length of the animal; a proportion approaching very near to that of the crocodile, but differing much from that of the monitor, the head of which animal forms hardly a twelfth part of the whole length. The tail must have been very strong, and its width, at its extremity, must have rendered it a most powerful oar, and have enabled the animal to have opposed the most agitated waters, as has been well remarked by naturalists who have examined it. From this circumstance, and from the other remains which accompany those of this animal, there can be no doubt of its having been an inhabitant of the ocean. Taking all these circumstances into consideration, M. Cuvier concludes, and certainly on fair, if not indisputable grounds, that this animal must have formed an intermediate genus between those animals of the lizard tribe which have an extensive and forked tongue, which include the monitors and the common lizards, and those which have a short tongue and the palate armed with teeth, which comprise the iguanas, marbres, and anolis. This genus, he thinks, could only have been allied to the crocodile by the general characters of the lizards.

FOSSIL REMAINS OF RUMINANTIA.

Among the fossils of the British empire, none are more calculated to excite astonishment than the enormous stags’ horns which have been dug up in different parts of Ireland. Their dimensions, as given by Dr. Molyneux, are as follows.

Feet. Inch. From the extreme tip of each horn, 10 10 From the tip of the right horn to its root, 5 2 From the tip of one of the inner branches to the tip of the opposite branch, 3 7½ The length of one of the palms, within the branches, 2 5 The breadth of the same palm within the branches, 1 10½ The length of the right brow antler, 1 2

A similar pair, found ten feet under ground, in the county of Clare, was presented to Charles II. and placed in the horn-gallery, Hampton Court; but was afterward removed into the guard-room of the same palace. At Ballyward, near Ballyshannon; at Turvey, eight miles from Dublin; and at Portumery, near the river Shannon, in the county of Galway, similar horns have been found. In the common-hall of the Bishop of Armagh’s house, in Dublin, was a forehead, with two amazingly large beams of a pair of this kind of horns, which, from the magnitude of the beams, must have much exceeded in size those of which the dimensions are given above. Dr. Molyneux states, that in the last twenty years, thirty pair of these horns had been dug up by accident in the country: the observations, also, of several other persons, prove the great frequency with which these remains have been found in Ireland. Various opinions have been entertained respecting this animal and its existing prototype. This, however, does not appear to have been yet discovered; and these remains may, therefore, be regarded as having belonged to an animal now extinct.

FOSSIL REMAINS OF ELEPHANTS.

Numerous remains of elephants have been found in Italy; and, although a very considerable number of elephants were brought from Africa into that country, yet the vast extent through which these remains have been found, and the great probability that the Italians, particularly the Romans, would have known enough of the value of ivory, to have prevented them from committing the tusks to the earth, lead to the belief, that by far the greater number of these remains which have been dug up, have been deposited here, not by the hands of man, but by the changes that the surface of this globe has undergone, at very remote periods. The circumstances, indeed, under which many of these have been found, afford indubitable proof of this fact.

In France, where it is well known that living elephants have been much less frequent, at least in times of which we have any record, than either in Italy or Greece, their fossil remains have been found in a great number of places, and in situations which prove their deposition at a very remote period. The whole valley through which the Rhine passes, yields fragments of this animal, and perhaps more numerously on the side of Germany than on that of France. Not only in its course, but in the alluvia of the several streams which empty themselves into it, are these fossil remains also found. Thus Holland abounds with them, and even the most elevated parts of the Batavian kingdom are not exempt from them. Germany and Switzerland appear particularly to abound in these wonderful relics. The greater number found in these parts, is, perhaps, as is observed by M. Cuvier, not attributable to their greater abundance, but to the number of well-informed men, capable of making the necessary researches, and of reporting the interesting facts they discover. As in the banks of the Rhine, so in those of the Danube, these fossils abound. In the valley of Altmuhl is a grand deposit of these remains. The bones which have been found at Krembs, in Sweden; at Baden, near Vienna; in Moravia; in different parts of Hungary and of Transylvania; at the foot of the Hartz; in Hesse; at Hildesheim—all appear to be referable to this animal. So also are those which are found on the Elbe, the Oder, and the Vistula. Different parts of the British empire are not less productive of these remains. In London, Brentford, Harwich, Norwich, Gloucestershire, Staffordshire, Warwickshire, Salisbury, and, indeed, in several other parts of Great Britain, different remains of these animals have been found. When we add to those places which have been already enumerated, Scandinavia, Norway, Iceland, Russia, Siberia, Tunis, parts of North America, and Ibarra, in the northern part of Equador, it will appear that there is hardly a part in the known world, whose subterranean productions are known to us, in which these animal remains have not been discovered. M. Cuvier is satisfied, from the actual comparison of several skulls of the East-Indian and African elephants, that different specific characters exist in them respectively. In the Indian elephant, the top of the skull is raised in a kind of double pyramid; but in the African it is nearly rounded. In the Indian the forehead is concave, and in the African it is rather convex. Several other differences exist, not necessary to be here particularized, which seem to be fully sufficient to mark a difference of species. A cursory view is sufficient to enable us to determine that the ordinary fossil teeth of elephants are not those of the African species, and it may be further said, that the greater number of these teeth bear a close resemblance to those of the East-Indian species, showing, on their masticating surface, bands of an equal thickness through their whole length, and rudely crenulated. So great, indeed, is the resemblance, that Pallas, and most other writers, have considered the fossil elephant as being of the same species with the Asiatic. M. Cuvier, anxious to discover the degree of accordance of the fossil elephant’s skeleton with that of the living species, compared the fossil skull, found in Siberia by Messerschmidt, with those of the African and Asiatic elephants. The result of his comparison was, that in the fossil species the alveoli of the tusks are much longer; the zygomatic arch is of a different figure; the post-orbital apophysis of the frontal bone is longer, more pointed, and more crooked; and the tubercle of the os lachrymalis is considerably larger, and more projecting. To these peculiarities of the fossil skull, M. Cuvier thinks, may be added the parallelism of the molares. Comparing together the bones of the Asiatic and of the African elephant, he was able to discover some differences between them, as well as between those and some of the fossil bones which he possessed. These latter he found, in general, approached nearest to those of the Asiatic elephant. He concludes with supposing that the fossil remains are of a species differing more widely from the Asiatic elephant than the horse does from the ass, and therefore does not think it impossible but that it might have existed in a climate that would have destroyed the elephant of India.

It may, therefore, be assumed as certain, from the observations of M. Cuvier, that at least one species of elephants has existed, of which none are now known to be living; and, should the difference of structure which has been pointed out in some of the fossil teeth, be admitted as sufficient to designate a difference of species, it may be then said, that there exist the fossil remains of, at least, two species of elephants, which were different from those with which we are acquainted. From the preceding observations it appears, then, that the fossil elephantine remains, notwithstanding their resemblance in some respects to the bones of the Asiatic elephant, have belonged to one or more species, different from those which are now known. This circumstance agrees with the facts of the fossil remains of the tapir and rhinoceros, which appear to have differed materially from the living animals of the same genera. The remains of elephants obtained from Essex, Middlesex, Kent, and other parts of England, confirm the observation of Cuvier, that these remains are generally found in the looser and more superficial parts of the earth, and most frequently in the alluvia which fill the bottoms of the valleys, or which border the beds of rivers. They are generally found mingled with the bones of other quadrupeds of known genera, such as those of the rhinoceros, ox, horse, &c., and frequently, also, with the remains of marine animals.

FOSSIL REMAINS OF THE MASTODON.

We now come to the examination of one of the most stupendous animals known, either in a recent or a fossil state; one which, whether we contemplate its original mode of existence, or the period at which it lived, can not but fill our minds with astonishment. The first traces of this animal are sketched in a letter from Dr. Mather, of Boston, to Dr. Woodward, in 1712, and are transcribed from a work in manuscript, entitled Biblia Americana. In this work, teeth and bones of prodigious size, supposed to be human, are said to have been found near what is now Albany, in the state of New York. About the year 1740, numerous similar bones were found in Kentucky, on the Ohio, and were dispersed among the European virtuosi. Many bones of this animal were found, in 1799, in the state of New York, in a large plain, bounded on every side by immense mountains, in the vicinity of Newburg, situated on the Hudson or North river. These remains have also been found on the side of the Alleghany mountains, in the interior parts of Pennsylvania and Carolina, and in New Jersey, not far from Philadelphia. And quite lately (1854) the tusks of a mastodon, apparently of enormous size, were discovered protruding from the inclined side of a marshy declivity, a few miles from the city of Poughkeepsie. Measures were immediately taken to excavate the place and exhume the skeleton. We are informed that the work thus far has been remarkably successful, and the condition of the skeleton such as to promise the security of the most perfect specimen of the mastodon ever found. The location is extremely favorable. The excavation, which is prosecuted under the direction of Professor Morse, the discoverer of the magnetic telegraph, who resides at Poughkeepsie, has succeeded as far as the head and shoulders of the mammoth. The bones are partially petrified as far as the exhumation has extended, and this promises the recovery of the entire skeleton in a more perfect state than any yet discovered. If our information is correct, and it emanates from an entirely responsible source, an object of great interest will be added to the science and study of natural history.

From a careful attendance to every circumstance, M. Cuvier conceives we have a right to conclude, that this great mastodon, or animal of the Ohio, did not surpass the elephant in hight, but was a little longer in proportion, its limbs rather thicker, and its belly smaller. It seems to have very much resembled the elephant in its tusks, and, indeed, in the whole of its osteology; and it also appears to have had a trunk. But, notwithstanding its resemblance to the elephant, in so many particulars, the form and structure of the grinders are sufficiently different from those of the elephant, to demand its being placed in a distinct genus. From the later discoveries respecting this animal, M. Cuvier is also inclined to suppose that its food must have been similar to that of the hippopotamus and the boar, but preferring the roots and fleshy parts of vegetables; in the search of which species of food it would, of course, be led to such soft and marshy spots as it appears to have inhabited. It does not, however, appear to have been at all formed for swimming, or for living much in the waters, like the hippopotamus, but rather seems to have been entirely a terrestrial animal.

FOSSIL REMAINS OF THE RHINOCEROS.

There appear to be three living species of rhinoceros: 1. That of India, a unicorn, with a rugose coat, and with incisors, separated, by a space, from the grinders. 2. That of the Cape, a bicorn, the skin without rugæ, and having twenty eight grinders, and no incisors. 3. That of Sumatra, a bicorn, the skin but slightly rugose, thus far resembling that of the Cape, but having incisive teeth, like that of India. The fossil remains of the rhinoceros have been generally found in the same countries where the remains of elephants have been found; but they do not appear to have so generally excited attention; and, perhaps, but few of those who discovered them were able to determine to what animal they belonged. Thus a tooth of this animal is described by Grew merely as the tooth of a terrestrial animal; and the remains of this animal, found in the neighborhood of Canterbury, were supposed to have belonged to the hippopotamus. The first remains of this species, of which positive mention is made, were collected in England, in 1668, near Canterbury, in the course of digging a well. In 1751, a large number of bones of this kind were disinterred in the chain of the Hartz, and their form caused them at first to be taken for those of elephants; but the celebrated anatomist, Meckel, having compared one of the teeth found in this heap with the teeth of the living rhinoceros he had observed at Paris, proved, in an explicit manner, and by the same method which has yielded us such knowledge of lost species, that the bones found in the Hartz were the bones of the rhinoceros. Thence the path was clearly opened for all the paleontological researches on this kind of fossil. Twenty years after the discovery made on the slopes of the Hartz, a much more extraordinary discovery, of which Siberia was the scene, threw a truly striking light upon the question. A fossil rhinoceros, not reduced to bones alone, but entire, with its skin, was found in the month of December, 1771, on the borders of the Wiluji, a river which flows into the Lena, below Yakoutsk, in Siberia, in the forty-fourth degree of latitude. What characterized this individual, which was covered with hair, proves that the species to which it belonged, differing from that of warm countries, the only one we now know, was created to inhabit cold and temperate regions. Unfortunately, the skin of this precious animal has not been preserved. Since that time, constant attempts have been made to discover the bones of the rhinoceros, in a multitude of countries of northern Europe and Asia; and M. Cuvier, in his “Researches on Fossil Bones,” has given minute descriptions of them; but unfortunately, no individual as complete as that of Wiluji has since been discovered.

FOSSIL REMAINS OF THE SIBERIAN MAMMOTH.

It has been demonstrated by Cuvier, that this animal was of a different species from the mastodon, or American mammoth. Its bones have been found in the alluvial soil near London, Northampton, Gloucester, Harwich, Norwich, in Salisbury plain, and in other places in England; they also occur in the north of Ireland; and in Sweden, Iceland, Russia, Poland, Germany, France, Holland, and Hungary, the bones and teeth have been met with in abundance. Its teeth have also been found in North and South America, and abundantly in Asiatic Russia. Pallas says, that from the Don to the Tchutskoiness, there is scarcely a river that does not afford the remains of the mammoth, and that they are frequently imbedded in alluvial soil, containing marine productions. The skeletons, a view of one of which is given in the cut below, are seldom complete; but the following interesting narrative will show that, in one instance, the animal has been found in an entire state.

In the year 1799, a Tungusian fisherman observed a strange shapeless mass projecting from an ice-bank, near the mouth of a river in the north of Siberia, the nature of which he did not understand, and which was so high in the bank as to be beyond his reach. The next year he observed the same object, which was then rather more disengaged from among the ice, but was still unable to conceive what it was. Toward the end of the following summer, 1801, he could distinctly see that it was the frozen carcass of a huge animal, the entire flank of which, and one of its tusks, had become disengaged from the ice. In consequence of the ice beginning to melt earlier, and to a greater degree than usual, in 1803, the fifth year of this discovery, the enormous carcass became entirely disengaged, and fell down from the ice-crag on a sand-bank forming part of the coast of the Arctic ocean. In the month of March of that year, the Tungusian carried away the two tusks, which he sold for fifty rubles, about thirty-eight dollars.

Two years afterward this animal still remained on the sand-bank, where it had fallen from the ice; but its body was then greatly mutilated. The peasants had taken away considerable quantities of its flesh to feed their dogs; and the wild animals, particularly the white bears, had also feasted on the carcass; yet the skeleton remained quite entire, except that one of the fore legs was gone. The entire spine, the pelvis, one shoulder-blade, and three legs, were still held together by their ligaments, and by some remains of the skin; and the other shoulder-blade was found at a short distance. The head remained, covered by the dried skin, and the pupil of the eyes was still distinguishable. The brain also remained within the skull, but a good deal shrunk and dried up; and one of the ears was in excellent preservation, still retaining a tuft of strong bristly hair. The upper lip was a good deal eaten away, and the under lip was entirely gone, so that the teeth were distinctly seen. The animal was a male, and had a long mane on its neck.

The skin was extremely thick and heavy, and as much of it remained as required the exertions of ten men to carry away, which they did with considerable difficulty. More than thirty pounds of the hair and bristles of this animal were gathered from the wet sand-bank, having been trampled into the sand by the white bears, while devouring the carcass. The hair was of three distinct kinds: one consisting of stiff black bristles, a foot or more in length; another of thinner bristles, or coarse flexible hair, of a reddish-brown color; and the third of coarse reddish-brown wool, which grew among the roots of the hair. These afford an undeniable proof that this animal had belonged to a race of elephants inhabiting a cold region, with which we are unacquainted, and by no means fitted to dwell in the torrid zone. It is also evident that this enormous animal must have been frozen up by the ice at the moment of its death.

FOSSIL SHELLS.

At whatever elevations these shells may have been found, and however remote from the parts of the globe now occupied by water, it is certain that they were once generated in the sea, by which they were deposited. The Altain chain of primitive mountains in Siberia is flanked on each side by a chain of hills inclosing marine shells. On a comparison of the forms, contexture and composition of these shells, as they have been found imbedded in rocks, not the slightest difference can be detected between several varieties of them and those which still inhabit the sea. At Touraine, in France, a hundred miles from the ocean, and about nine feet beneath the surface, a bed of fossil shells has been found nine leagues in length, and about twenty feet in thickness. Such beds are known to exist in every part of Europe; and in South America, according to Ulloa, they are very frequent.

Great Britain abounds in these fossil productions. In the cliffs of the isle of Sheppey, bordering on the Thames, several varieties of the crab, and lobsters nearly whole, have been found in a petrified state. Within the elevated lands in the vicinity of Reading, in Berkshire, an abundance of oyster-shells has been found, many of them entire, and having both their valves united. At Broughton, in Lincolnshire, there are two quarries abounding in fresh-water shells, which are found in a blue stone, supposed to have been formerly clay, and to have been gradually indurated. A bed of shells, twelve feet thick, and lying in a greenish sand, has been found about a mile from Reculver, in Kent. At Harwich, at the entrance of the river, a sandy cliff, fifty feet in hight, contains shells, of which there are no less than twenty-eight varieties. On digging a moorish pasture, in Northamptonshire, many snails and river shells were found; and these were the more abundant in proportion as the workmen proceeded to a greater depth. And, lastly, the petrifactions known by the name of belemnites, have been found in chalk pits, in different parts of the kingdom: they are usually cylindrical, or conical, and sometimes contain a hollow nucleus. They are supposed to constitute a species of nautilus, and very frequently occur in the coarser kinds of marble.

SUBTERRANEAN FORESTS.

In the year 1708, a breach made by the Thames, at an extraordinary high tide, inundated the marshes of Dagenham and Havering, in Essex. Such was the impetuous rush of the water, that a large passage or channel was torn up, three hundred feet in width, and in some parts twenty feet in depth. In this way, a great number of trees, that had been buried there many ages before, were exposed to view. With one exception, that of a large oak, having the greatest part of its bark, and some of its heads and roots in a perfect state, these trees bore a greater resemblance to alder than to any other description of wood. They were black and hard, and their fibers were extremely tough. No doubt was entertained of their having grown on the spot where they lay; and they were so numerous, that in many places they afforded steps to the passengers. They were imbedded in a black oozy soil, on the surface of which they lay prostrate, with a covering of grey mold.

In passing along the channel torn up by the water, vast numbers of the stumps of these subterraneous trees, remaining in the posture in which they grew, were to be seen, some with their roots running down, and others branching and spreading about in the earth, as is observed in growing trees. That they were the ruins, not of the deluge, but of a later age, has been inferred from the existence of a bed of shells, which lies across the highway, on the descent near Stifford bridge, leading to South Okendon. At a perpendicular depth of twenty feet beneath this bed of shells, and at the distance of nearly two hundred feet, in the bottom of the valley, runs a brook which empties itself into the Thames at Purfleet. This brook is known to ebb and flow with the Thames; and, consequently, if the bed of shells, as has been conjectured, was deposited in that place by an inundation of the Thames, it must have been such as to have drowned a vast proportion of the surrounding country, and have overtopped the trees near the river, in West Horrock, Dagenham, and the other marshes, overturning them in its progress. In support of this hypothesis, it should be remarked, that the bed of earth in which the trees grew, was entire and undisturbed, and consisted of a spongy, light, oozy soil, filled with the roots of reeds, of a specific gravity much less than that of the stratum above it.

The levels of Hatfield chase were, in the reign of Charles I., the largest chase of red deer in England. They contained about one hundred and eighty thousand acres of land, about one-half of which was yearly inundated; but being sold to one Vermuiden, a Dutchman, he contrived, at a great labor and expense, to dischase, drain, and reduce these lands to arable and pasture grounds not subject to be overflowed. In every part of the soil, in the bottom of the river Ouse even, and in that of the adventitious soil of all marsh land, together with the skirts of the Lincolnshire wold, vast multitudes of the roots and trunks of trees of different sizes are found. The roots are fixed in the soil, in their natural position, as thick as they could have grown; and near to them lie the trunks. Many of these trees appear to have been burned, and others to have been chopped and squared; and this in such places, and at such depths, as could never have been opened, since the destruction of the forest, until the time of the drainage. That this was the work of the Romans, who were the destroyers of all the woods and forests which are now found underground in the bottoms of moors and bogs, is evidenced by the coins and utensils, belonging to that nation, which have been collected, as well in these levels, as in other parts of Great Britain where these subterraneous forests have been discovered.

MOORS, MOSSES AND BOGS.

It having been reported in Lincolnshire, that a large extent of islets of moor, situated along its coast, and visible only at the lowest ebbs of the tide, was chiefly composed of decayed trees, Dr. de Serra, accompanied by Sir Joseph Banks, proceeded, in the month of September, 1796, to examine their nature and extent. They landed on one of the largest of these islets, when the ebbs were at the lowest, and found its exposed surface to be about ninety feet in length, and seventy-five in width. They were enabled to ascertain, that these islets consist almost entirely of roots, trunks, branches, and leaves of trees and shrubs, intermixed with leaves of aquatic plants. The remains of many of the trees were still standing on their roots; but the trunks of the greater part of them lay scattered on the ground, in every direction. The bark of the trees and roots appeared in general as fresh as when they were growing; in that of the birches particularly, many of which were found, even the thin silvery membranes of the outer skin were discernible. The timber of all kinds, on the contrary, was decomposed and soft, in the greater part of the trees; in some it was firm, especially about the knots. Sound pieces of timber had been often found by the country people. In general, the trunks, branches and roots of the decayed trees were considerably flattened; a phenomenon which has been observed in the surtarbrand, or fossil wood of Iceland, and also in that found near the lake of Thun, in Switzerland. The soil was chiefly composed of rotten leaves; and, on being thrown into water, many of these were taken out in a perfect state.

These islets extended about twelve miles in length, and one in breadth, opposite the shore of Sutton, at which place, on digging a well, a moor of the same nature was found under ground, at the depth of sixteen feet, and, consequently, very nearly on the same level with that which constitutes the islets. On boring in the fields belonging to the Royal Society, in the parish of Mablethorpe, to ascertain the cause of the subterraneous stratum of decayed vegetables, a similar moor was found. The appearance of these decayed vegetables was found exactly to agree with that of the moor which was thrown up in Blankney fen, and in other parts of the east fen of Lincolnshire, in making their embankments; barks, like those of the birch-tree, being there also abundantly found. This moor has been traced as far as Peterborough, sixty miles south of Sutton. On the north side, the moory islets extend as far as Grimsby, on the south of the mouth of the Humber: and it is a remarkable circumstance, that in the large tracts of low land which lie on the south banks of that river, a little above its mouth, there is a subterraneous stratum of decayed trees and shrubs, exactly resembling those observed at Sutton. At Axholme isle, a similar stratum extends over a tract of ten miles in length, by five in breadth. The roots there also stand in the places where they grew; while the trunks lie prostrate, amid the roots of aquatic plants and reeds. Little doubt can be entertained of the moory islets of Sutton being a part of this extensive subterraneous stratum, which, by some inroad of the sea, has been there stripped of its covering of soil. The identity of the levels; that of the species of trees; the roots of these affixed, in both, to the soil where they grew; and, above all, the flattened shape of the trunks, branches, and roots, found in the islets, which can only be accounted for by the heavy pressure of a superinduced stratum, are sufficient reasons for this opinion. Such a wide-spread assemblage of vegetable ruins, lying almost in the same level, and that level generally under the common mark of low water, naturally gives rise to reflections on the epoch of this destruction, and the agency by which it was effected.

The original catastrophe which buried this immense forest must have been of very ancient date; but it is to be suspected, that the inroad of the sea which uncovered the decayed trees of the islets of Sutton, is comparatively recent. The state of the leaves, and the timber, and also the tradition of the country people, concur to strengthen this suspicion. Leaves and other delicate parts of plants, though they may be long preserved in a subterraneous situation, can not remain uninjured when exposed to the action of the waves, and of the air. The inhabitants of Sutton believe that their parish church once stood on the spot where the islets now are, and was submerged by the inroads of the sea; that, at very low water, their ancestors could even discern its ruins; and that their present church was built to supply the place of that which was washed away. So many concomitant (though weak) testimonies, render their report to a certain degree deserving of credit, and lead to a supposition, that some of the stormy inundations of the North sea, which in these last centuries have washed away such large tracts of land on its shores, may have carried away a soil resting on clay, and have finally uncovered the trees of these moory islets.

Bogs and mosses are little more than lakes filled up with vegetable matter, usually of aquatic origin. They are to be found not only in Ireland and Scotland, but also in every northern country, more especially when thinly peopled. It should be remarked, that Ireland abounds in springs, which are mostly dry in summer; and that grass and weeds grow abundantly about these spots. In the winter these springs swell and run, softening and loosening all the earth about them. Now, that sward or surface of the earth which consists of the roots of grass, being lifted up, and made fuzzy or spongy by the water in the winter, is dried in the spring, and does not fall together, but withers in a tuft. The new grass which springs through it is again lifted during the following winter; and thus the spring is still more and more stopped, and the sward grows thicker and thicker, till at length it makes what is called a quaking bog. In proportion as it rises and becomes drier, and as the grass roots and other vegetables become more putrid, together with the mud and slime of the water, it acquires a blackness, and becomes what is called a turf bog. When the vegetables rot, it is considered that the saline particles are in general carried away by the water, in which they are dissolved; but that the oily or sulphureous particles remain and float on the water; and it is thus that the turf acquires its inflammability. The highest mountains of Ireland are, as well as the plains, covered with bogs, because they abound in springs, which, on account of a defective population, are not cleared; and thus they are overrun with bogs. In that country mosses also abound; and the particular kind which grows in bogs, is remarkable on this account, that a congeries of its threads, before it is decayed, constitutes the substance of the light spongy turf, which thus becomes so tough as not to yield to the spade. This curious substance, in the north of Ireland, is called old wives’ tow, and is not unlike flax. The turf hardens by degrees, but is still stringy when broken, and at length becomes the red turf employed as fuel.

The production of the quaking bogs is as follows. When a stream or spring runs through a flat, it becomes filled with weeds in summer, and trees fall across and dam it up. During the winter season the water stagnates more and more every year, until the whole flat is covered. A coarse kind of grass, peculiar to these bogs, springs up in tufts, the roots of which are consolidated, and which, in a few years, grow to the hight of several feet. In the winter the grass rots, and falls with its seed on the tufts, thus adding to their growth the ensuing spring. The tops of flags and grass are sometimes interwoven on the surface of the water, and gradually becoming thicker, cover its surface. On this covering herbs grow; and by the interweaving of their roots, it is rendered so strong as to bear a man. Some of these bogs sink, where a man stands, to a considerable depth, and rise before and behind: underneath, the water is clear. Even these in time become red bogs; but may easily be converted into meadow land, by clearing a trench for the passage of the water.

Sir Hans Sloane, in his account of the bogs of Ireland, published in the “Philosophical Transactions,” notices a curious fact, namely, that when the turf-diggers, after having dug out the earth proper to make turf or peat, reached the bottom, so as to come to the clayey or other soil, by draining off the water, they met with the roots of fir-trees, with their stumps standing upright, and their branches spread out on every side horizontally. This was evidently the place of the growth of these trees, the branches of the roots of which are in some parts matted, as is seen in the roots of trees closely planted. Large pieces of wood have been found, not only in clay-pits, but likewise in quarries or stone-pits, in the blocks of stone raised out of their strata or layers. The black spongy mold employed for peat smells strongly of bitumen, or petroleum, a great proportion of the oil of which is yielded by distillation; so that, singular as it may appear, not only oil, but a material which may be used for candles, may be extracted from these peat-bogs in large quantities; and it has even been proposed that this business should be carried on on a large scale, with a view to giving prosperity to the country. In several parts of Ireland a singular phenomenon has been observed: on horses trampling with their feet on a space of soft ground, a sudden appearance of light ensued. On the mold, which agreed in color, lightness, &c., with peat earth, being examined with a microscope, the light was found to proceed from an abundance of small, semi-transparent, whitish, live worms which lay in it.

The commissioners appointed by parliament to inquire into the nature and extent of the bogs of Ireland, and the practicability of draining them, represent them as occupying thousands of acres, indeed, many square miles. Their nature and constituent parts are described by them as consisting of an accumulation of vegetable matter, settling in successive generations on itself, and converted by the want of ventilation and motion to a stagnant pool, which first furnished the elements of life and increase to the plants covering its surface. The progress of the accumulation may be best conceived by imagining a basin, or concave reservoir, of a certain extent and depth, formed of clay, limestone, gravel, &c., through which the water, scantily but constantly supplied, can not obtain an issue. Undisturbed in this water, a surface of bog moss grows, decays and putrefies. To this a second generation succeeds; and this is followed by others, until, at length, the bulk rises considerably above the level of its bed, forming hillocks of various hights, shapes and dimensions. The surface of a bog is not level like a lake, but undulating; and it terminates somewhat abruptly, and almost perpendicularly. The average hight of the great bogs, above the level of high-water mark in Dublin harbor, is about two hundred and fifty feet. Many acres of these bogs have been reclaimed; and the practicability of draining and cultivating the greater proportion of them has been pointed out in the reports of the commissioners.

Perthshire, in North Britain, abounds in mosses, the contents of which are computed to exceed nine thousand acres. The greatest hight of the moss, above the clay on which it lies, is fourteen feet and a half. Its surface, when viewed at a distance, seems wholly covered with heath: but when closely examined, is found to be composed of small tufts of heath, intermixed with a variety of moss-plants. Here also are found innumerable trunks of trees, lying along close to their roots, the latter being still fixed in the clay, as in the natural state.

The irruption of what is called Solway moss has greatly attracted the public attention; for, although the cause of it is obvious, still the alteration it produced on the surface of the earth, was more considerable than any known in Great Britain, as resulting from a natural cause, since the destruction of Earl Goodwin’s estate. It happened in the year 1771, after severe rains which had in many places produced great inundations of the rivers. The following is a concise description of the spot where this event happened. Along the side of the river Esk, is a vale, about a mile in breadth, bounded on the south-east by the river, and on the north-west by a steep bank, about thirty feet in hight above the level of the vale. From the top of the bank the ground rises on an easy ascent for about a quarter of a mile, where it is terminated by the moss, which extends about two miles north and south, and about a mile and a half east and west, being bounded on the north-west by the river Sark. It is probable that the solid ground, from the top of the bank above the vale, was continued in the same direction under the moss, before its irruption, for a considerable space; for the moss, at the place where the irruption happened, was inclined toward the sloping ground. From the edge of the moss there was a gully or hollow, called by the country people the gap, and said to be thirty yards deep where it entered the vale: down this hollow ran a small rill of water, which was often dry in summer, not having any other supply but what filtered from the moss.

The irruption happened, at the head of this gap, on the night of the sixteenth of November, between the hours of ten and eleven, when all the neighboring rivers and brooks were prodigiously swollen by the rains. A large body of the moss was forced, partly by the great fall of rain, and partly by the springs beneath, into a small beck or burn, which runs within a few yards of its border to the south-east. By the united pressure of the water behind it, and of this beck, which was then very high, it was carried down a narrow glen between two banks about three hundred feet high, into a wide and spacious plain, over a part of which it spread with great rapidity. The moss continued for some time to send off considerable quantities of its substance, which, being borne along by the torrent, on the back of the first great body, kept it for many hours in perpetual motion, and drove it still further on. During the first night, at least four hundred acres of fine arable land were covered with moss from three to twelve or fifteen feet in depth. Several houses were destroyed, much corn lost, &c.; but all the inhabitants escaped. When the waters subsided, the moss also ceased to flow; but two pretty considerable streams continued to run from the heart of it, and carried away some pieces of mossy matter to the place where it burst. They then joined the beck, already mentioned, which with this addition, resumed its former channel, and with a little assistance from the people of the neighborhood, made its way to the Esk, through the midst of that body of moss which obstructed its course. Thus, in a great measure drained, the new moss fell several feet, and when the fair weather came on at the end of November, it settled in a firmer and more solid body on the lands it had overrun. By this inundation about eight hundred acres of arable ground were overflowed before the moss stopped, and the habitations of twenty-seven families destroyed.

Tradition has preserved the memory of a similar inundation in another part of North Britain. At Monteith a moss changed its course in one night, and covered a great extent of ground. There is also an account in the “Philosophical Transactions” of a moving moss near Churchtown, in Lancashire, which greatly alarmed the neighborhood, and was regarded as a miracle. The moss was observed to rise to a surprising hight, and soon after to sink as much beneath the level, moving slowly toward the south.

CORAL REEFS AND ISLANDS.

Coral belongs to the class of those surprising productions of nature, which are named zoöphytes, or plant-animals, on account of their filling up the intermediate space between the animal and vegetable kingdoms; and in treating of them this curious substance will be distinctly considered. In the mean time, the production of coral reefs and islands presents one of those geological changes, by which the earth’s surface has been modified, and has received a new accession from the sea.

The common foundation of the clusters of islands discovered by modern navigators in the Pacific ocean, as well as of those belonging to New South Wales, is evidently of coral structure, immense reefs of which shoot out in all directions. There is every reason to believe that the islands which are occasionally raised by the tremendous agency of subterraneous volcanoes, do not bear any proportion to those which are perpetually forming, by the silent but persevering efforts of the sea worms by which coral is produced. Banks of coral are found at all depths, and at all distances from the shore, entirely unconnected with the land, and detached from each other. By a quick progression, they grow up toward the surface; while the winds, heaping up the coral from deeper water, rapidly accelerate the formation of these banks into shoals and islands. They become gradually shallower; and when once the sea meets with resistance, the coral is quickly thrown up by the force of the waves breaking against the bank. These coral banks have been seen in all their stages: some in deep water; others with a few rocks appearing above the surface, just formed into islands without the least appearance of vegetation; and, lastly, others covered with soil and weeds.

The loose corals, rolled inward by the billows in large pieces, strike upon the grounds, and, the reflux being unable to carry them away, become a bar to the coagulated sand with which they are always intermixed. This sand, being easiest raised, is lodged at top; and when its accumulated mass is elevated by violent storms, and no longer within the reach of common waves, it becomes a resting-place to birds whom the search of prey draws thither. Their excrement, feathers, &c., augment the soil, and prepare it for the reception of accidental roots, branches and seeds cast up by the waves, or brought thither by birds. Thus islands are formed: the leaves and rotten branches, intermixing with the sand, produce in time a light black mold, in which trees and shrubs vegetate and thrive. Cocoa-nuts, which continue long in the sea without losing their vegetative powers, having been thrown on such islands, produce trees which are particularly adapted to all soils, whether sandy, rich or rocky. The violence of the waves, within the tropics, must generally be directed to two points, according to the monsoons. Hence the islands formed from coral banks must be long and narrow, and lie nearly in a meridional direction. Even supposing the banks to be round, as they seldom are when large, the sea meeting most resistance in the middle, must heave up the matter in greater quantities there, than toward the extremities; and, by the same rule, the ends will generally be open, or at least lowest. They will also commonly have soundings there, as the remains of the banks, not accumulated, will be under water. Where the coral banks are not exposed to the common monsoon, they will alter their direction, and become either round, or extended in the parallel, or of irregular forms, according to accidental circumstances.

Captain Flinders, in his voyage to the South Pacific, gives an account of an unbroken reef of coral, three hundred and fifty miles long, on the coast of New Holland; and he states, that between that country and New Guinea, the coral formations extend through a distance of seven hundred miles, interrupted by no intervals of more than thirty miles in length. He also gives us a lively and interesting description of a coral reef on the southern coast of New South Wales. On this reef he landed, and the water being very clear round the edges, a new creation, as it were, but imitative of the old, was presented to the view. Wheat sheaves, mushrooms, stags’ horns, cabbage leaves, and a variety of other forms, were glowing under water with vivid tints of every shade betwixt green, purple, brown and white; equaling in beauty, and excelling in grandeur, the most favorite parterre of the curious florist. These were different species of coral and fungus, growing, as it were, out of the solid rock, and each had its peculiar form and shade of coloring; but, whilst contemplating the richness of the scene, the destruction with which it was pregnant could not be forgotten. Different corals in a dead state, concreted into a solid mass of a dull white color, composed the stone of the reef. The negro heads were lumps which stood higher than the rest; and being generally dry, were blackened by the weather; but even in these the forms of the different corals and some shells were distinguishable. The edges of the reef, but particularly on the outside where the sea broke, were the lightest parts; within these were pools and holes containing live corals, sponges, sea-eggs and cucumbers; and many enormous cockles were scattered upon different parts of the reef. At low water, these cockles seem most commonly to lie half open, but frequently close with much noise, and the water within the shells then spouts up in a stream, three or four feet high: it is from this noise and the spouting of the water that they are discovered, for, in other respects, they are scarcely to be distinguished from the coral rock.

His description of a coral island which he afterward visited on the same coast, is truly philosophical and throws great light on these surprising productions of nature.

“This little island, or rather the surrounding reef, which is three or four miles long, affords shelter from the south-east winds. It is scarcely more than a mile in circumference, but appears to be increasing both in elevation and extent. At no very distant period of time, it was one of those banks produced by the washing up of sand and broken coral, of which most reefs afford instances, and those of Torres’ strait a great many. These banks are in different stages of progress: some, like this, are become islands, but not yet habitable; some are above high-water mark, but destitute of vegetation; whilst others are overflowed with every returning tide. It seems to me, that, when the animalcules which form the corals at the bottom of the ocean, cease to live, their structures adhere to each other, by virtue either of the glutinous remains within, or of some property in salt water; and the interstices being gradually filled up with sand and broken pieces of coral washed by the sea, which also adhere, a mass of rock is at length formed. Future races of these animalcules erect their habitations upon the rising bank, and die in their turn, to increase, but principally to elevate, this monument of their wonderful labors. The care taken to work perpendicularly in the early stages, marks a surprising instinct in these diminutive creatures. Their wall of coral is for the most part in situations where the winds are constant, and when it reaches the surface, it affords a shelter, to the leeward of which their infant colonies may be safely sent forth; and to this their instinctive foresight it seems to be owing, that the windward side of a reef exposed to the open sea, is generally, if not always, the highest part, and rises almost perpendicular, sometimes from the depth of two hundred, and perhaps many more fathoms. To be constantly covered with water, seems necessary to the existence of the animalcules, for they do not work, except in holes upon the reef, beyond low-water mark; but the coral sand and other broken remnants thrown up by the sea adhere to the rock, and form a solid mass with it, as high as the common tides reach. That elevation surpassed, the future remnants, being rarely covered, lose their adhesive property; and remaining in a loose state, form what is usually called a key upon the tops of the reef. The new bank is not long in being visited by sea-birds; salt plants take root upon it, and a soil begins to be formed; a cocoa-nut is thrown on shore; land birds visit it and deposit the seeds of shrubs and trees; every high tide, and still more every gale, adds something to the bank; the form of an island is gradually assumed, and last of all comes man to take possession. This island is well advanced in the above progressive state; having been many years, probably some ages, above the reach of the highest spring-tides, or the wash of the surf in the heaviest gales. I distinguished, however, in the rock which forms its basis, the sand, coral and shells formerly thrown up, in a more or less perfect state of cohesion; small pieces of wood, pumice-stone, and other extraneous bodies, which chance had mixed with the calcareous substances when the cohesion began, were inclosed in the rock, and, in some cases, were still separable from it without much force. The upper part of the island is a mixture of the same substances in a loose state, with a little vegetable soil, and is covered with the casuarina and a variety of other trees and shrubs, which give food to paroquets, pigeons, and some other birds; to whose ancestors it is probable the island was originally indebted for this vegetation.”

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WIDE AND INHOSPITABLE DESERTS.

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ASIATIC DESERTS.

In Africa, as well as Asia, there are immense tracts of land called deserts, which consist of vast plains composed of loose sand. Large portions of these are utterly destitute of vegetation, and sometimes, in crossing them, the traveler sees not a hill or mountain, or human dwelling, or even a tree or shrub, or blade of grass. All around is a sea of sand; and far as the eye can reach, it is one scene of lifeless solitude and desolation. These trackless wastes are traversed by caravans, which are companies of travelers usually mounted upon camels. Horses travel in these sands with difficulty. Their feet sink in the soil; they are overcome with heat, and parched with drought. The camel, on the contrary, has a large, spongy foot, which does not sink in the sand; he can bear excessive heat, and by a curious contrivance of nature, is enabled to go without water for five or six days. This valuable creature is called the ship of the desert, because it enables the merchants of Asia and Africa to transport their merchandise over the sea of sand, just as a ship carries goods from one part of the world to another, across the briny ocean. It seems really as if Providence had provided this singular animal on purpose to enable mankind to traverse the great deserts which are spread out upon the eastern continent.

The chief Asiatic deserts are in Persia and Arabia, the former of which countries contains three of considerable extent and celebrity. The first of these commences on the east of the Tigris, in latitude thirty-three, and extends to the north of Shuster. The second reaches from the vicinity of Korn very nearly to the Zurra, in a line, from east to west, of about four hundred English miles, and from north to south, of about two hundred and fifty. In the latter direction it joins the great desert of Kerman, which, alone, extends over a tract of three hundred and fifty miles. The two may, therefore, be considered as forming one common desert, stretching north-west and south-east, over a space of about seven hundred miles; thus intersecting this wide empire into two nearly equal portions. This vast region is impregnated with niter and other salts, which taint the neighboring lakes and rivers, and has, on that account, been denominated the Great Saline Desert.

ARABIAN DESERTS.

The sandy deserts of Arabia form one of the most striking objects of that country. From the hills of Omon, which appear to be a continuation of those on the other side of the Persian gulf, as far as Mecca, the greater part of Negad is one prodigious desert, interrupted, toward the frontiers of Hejaz and Yemen, or Arabia Felix, by Kirge, containing the district of Sursa, and several oases, or fertile spots. The north-west part of Negad presents almost a continued desert, and is considered as a prolongation of the one above mentioned.

The Beled el Haram, or Holy Land of Islam, of which Mecca is the capital, is comprehended between the Red sea, and an irregular line which, commencing at Arabog, about sixty miles to the north of Djedda, forms a bend from the north-east to the south-east, in passing by Yelemlem, two days’ journey to the north-east of Mecca. It thence continues to Karna, nearly seventy miles to the east of the same place, and twenty-four miles to the west of Taif, which is without the limit of the Holy Land; after which, turning to the south-west, it passes by Drataerk, and terminates at Mehherma upon the coast, at the port named Almarsa Ibrahim, about ninety miles to the south-east of Djedda.

It therefore appears that the holy land is about one hundred and seventy miles in length, from the north-west to the south-east, and eighty-four miles in breadth, from the north-east to the south-west; which space is comprehended in that part of Arabia known by the name of El Hedjeaz, or the Land of Pilgrimage, and includes the cities of Medina and Taif. It has not any river; and the only water to be found, is that of some inconsiderable springs, which are not numerous, and the brackish water obtained from the deep wells. Thus it is a real desert. It is at Mecca and Medina alone, that cisterns have been wrought to preserve the rain-water; on which account, a garden is very rarely to be seen throughout this vast territory. The plains are composed either of sand, or barren earth, entirely abandoned; and, as the inhabitants do not, in any part of the country, sow any description of grain, they are supplied with flour, &c., from upper Egypt, Yemen and India.

AFRICAN DESERTS.

The most striking feature of Africa consists of the immense deserts which pervade its surface, and which are supposed to comprise the one-half of its whole extent. The chief of these is, by way of eminence, called Sahara, or the Desert. It stretches from the shores of the Atlantic, with few interruptions, to the confines of Egypt, a space of more than forty-five degrees, or about three thousand miles, by a breadth of twelve degrees, or about nine hundred miles; its whole extent being two-thirds as large as that of the United States. It is one prodigious expanse of red sand, and sandstone rock, of the granulations of which the red sand consists. It is, in truth, an empire of sand which seems to defy every exertion of human power or industry, although it is interspersed with various islands, and fertile and cultivated spots of different sizes, where water collects in springs or pools, around which vegetation springs up. These places, which present a delightful contrast to the surrounding sterility, and cheer the eye of the weary traveler, are called oases. Fezzan, or Fessan, is the chief of those which have been hitherto explored.

Nearly in the center of the southern line of this sandy ocean, and about midway between the Mediterranean sea and the coast of Guinea, rise the walls of Timbuctoo, a city which constitutes the great mart for the commerce of all the interior of Africa. To maintain this commerce is the laborious work of the akkabaars, or caravans, which cross this enormous desert from almost every part of the African coast. The mode in which it is traversed is highly curious. The caravans consist of several hundred loaded camels, accompanied by the Arabs who let them out to the merchants for the transportation of their goods. During their route, they are often exposed to the attacks of the roving Arabs of Sahara, who generally commit their depredations on the approach to the confines of the desert. In this tiresome journey, the caravans do not proceed to the place of their destination, in a direct line across the trackless desert, but turn occasionally eastward or westward, according to the situation of the oases of which we have spoken, which are interspersed in various parts of the Sahara, like islands in the ocean. These serve as watering-places to the men, as well as to feed, refresh and replenish the hardy and patient camel. At each of these cultivated spots, the caravan sojourns several days, and then proceeds on its journey, until it reaches another spot of the same description. In the intermediate journeys, the hot winds, denominated shume, or simoom, are often so violent and penetrating, as considerably, if not entirely, to exhale the water carried in skins by the camels for the use of the passengers and drivers. On these occasions, it is affirmed by the Arabs, five hundred dollars have been frequently given for a draught of water, and that ten or twenty dollars are often paid, when a partial exhalation has occurred. These scorching winds are sometimes called the samiel, and are supposed by some, to be pestilential in their nature.

In 1805, a caravan proceeding from Timbuctoo to Tafilet, was disappointed in not finding water at one of the usual watering-places, when, horrible to relate, the whole of the persons belonging to it, two thousand in number, besides one thousand eight hundred camels, perished of thirst! Accidents of this nature, account for the vast quantities of human and other bones which are found heaped together in various parts of the desert.

The following is the general route of the caravans, in crossing the great desert. Having left the city of Fez, they proceed at the rate of three miles and a half an hour, and travel seven hours each day. In the space of eighteen days they reach Akka, where they remain a month, as this is the place of rendezvous at which they are formed into one grand accumulated caravan. In proceeding from Akka to Tagassa, sixteen days are employed; and here again, the caravan sojourns fifteen days to refresh the camels. It then directs its course to the oasis and well of Taudeny, which is reached in seven days; and, after another stay of fifteen days, it proceeds to Arawan, a watering-place, situated at a like distance. After having sojourned there fifteen days, it sets out, and reaches Timbuctoo on the sixth day, after having performed a journey of fifty-four days of actual traveling, and seventy-five of repose; making, altogether, from Fez to Timbuctoo, one hundred and twenty-nine days, or four lunar months and nine days. Another caravan sets out from Wedinoon and Sok Assa, traversing the desert between the Black mountains of Cape Bojador and Gualata: it touches at Tagassa and El Garbie, or West Tagassa, where having staid to collect salt, it proceeds to Timbuctoo. The time occupied by this caravan is five or six months, as it proceeds as far as Gibbelel-bied, or the White mountains, near Cape Blanco, through the deserts of Mograffa and Woled Abusebah, to a place named Agadeen, where it sojourns twenty days.

The caravans which cross the desert, may be compared to fleets of merchant vessels under convoy; the stata, or convoy of the desert, consisting of a certain number of Arabs, belonging to the tribe through whose territory the caravan passes. Thus, in crossing the territory of Woled Abusebah, it is accompanied by Sebayhees, or people of that country, who, on reaching the confines of the territory of Woled Deleim, deliver their charge to the protection of the chiefs of that country. These, again, conduct it to the confines of the territory of the Mograffa Arabs, under whose care it at length reaches Timbuctoo. Any assault on the caravan during this journey, is considered as an insult to the whole tribe to which the convoy belongs; and for such an outrage they never fail to take ample revenge. Besides these grand caravans, others cross the desert, on an emergency, without a convoy or guard. This is, however, a perilous expedition, as they are too often plundered near the northern confines of the desert, by two notorious tribes, named Dikna and Emjot. In the year 1798, a caravan consisting of two thousand camels, laden with the produce of the Soudan territory, together with seven hundred slaves, was plundered and dispersed, with great slaughter. These desperate attacks are conducted in the following manner. The tribe being assembled, the horses are picketed at the entrance of the tents, and scouts sent out, to give notice when a caravan is likely to pass. These scouts being mounted on the fleet horses of the desert, quickly communicate the intelligence, and the whole tribe mount their horses, taking with them a sufficient number of female camels, on whose milk they entirely subsist. Having placed themselves in ambush near an oasis, or watering-place, they issue thence on the arrival of the caravan, which they plunder without mercy, leaving the unfortunate merchants entirely destitute.

The food, dress and accommodations of the people who compose the caravans, are simple and natural. Being prohibited by their religion the use of wine and intoxicating liquors, and exhorted by its principles to temperance in all things, they are commonly satisfied with a few nourishing dates, and a draught of water, traveling for weeks successively without any other food. At other times, when they undertake a journey of a few weeks across the desert, a little barley meal, mixed with water, constitutes their only nourishment. In following up this abstemious mode of life, they never complain, but solace themselves with the hope of reaching their native country, singing occasionally during the journey, whenever they approach a habitation, or when the camels are fatigued. Their songs are usually sung in trio; and those of the camel-drivers who have musical voices, join in the chorus. These songs have a surprising effect in renovating the camels; while the symphony and time maintained by the singers, surpass what any one would conceive who has not heard them. The day’s journey is terminated early in the afternoon, when the tents are pitched, prayers said, and the supper prepared by sunset. The guests now arrange themselves in a circle, and, the sober meal being terminated, converse till they are overcome by sleep. At day-break next morning, they again proceed on their journey.

It might seem that these inhabitants of the desert would lead a miserable life, and especially that they would often be swallowed up in the terrific sand storms, which sometimes sweep over these wastes. The sand, being loose and dry, is borne upward by the whirling tempest, and is seen driving over the plain, like a terrific thunder-cloud. The experienced traveler sees the coming danger, and prepares himself for it. He throws himself upon the ground, and covers his face so as not to be choked with the dust. The horses and camels, guided by instinct, also put their noses to the earth to prevent being suffocated. If the storm is slight, the party escapes; but sometimes, such immense waves of sand are drifted upon the wind, as to bury the traveler deeply beneath it, and make it his winding-sheet forever. Sometimes whole caravans, with their horses and camels, have been in this manner overwhelmed; thus making the waves of the desert as fatal as the waves of the sea. Yet, despite the terrors of the desert, the Arabs are a lively and cheerful race. On their march, they stop at night; and in their tents, spread beneath the starry canopy, the laugh, the jest and the song go round. There are among them professed story-tellers, who delight the listeners with fanciful tales of enchantment, adventure, and love, or perhaps they repeat, in an animated manner, some fine specimens of Arabic poetry. Thus it is, that mankind, occupying the gloomiest parts of the earth, have amusements. As the steel is made to yield its spark, so the Arab finds pleasure in the desert.

PILGRIMAGE ACROSS THE DESERTS.

The following very lively description of a pilgrimage across the desert, is given by Ali Bey, in his travels in Morocco, Tripoli, &c. It is an animated picture, which portrays in the strongest colors the perils and sufferings encountered in these enterprises.

“We continued marching on in great haste, for fear of being overtaken by the four hundred Arabs whom we wished to avoid. For this reason we never kept the common road, but passed through the middle of the desert, marching through stony places, over easy hills. This country is entirely without water; not a tree is to be seen in it, not a rock which can afford a shelter or shade. A transparent atmosphere; an intense sun, darting its beams upon our heads; a ground almost white, and commonly of a concave form, like a burning-glass; slight breezes, scorching like a flame. Such is a faithful picture of this district, through which we were passing. Every man we meet in this desert is looked upon as an enemy. Having discovered about noon a man in arms, on horseback, who kept at a certain distance, my thirteen Bedouins united the moment they perceived him, and darted like an arrow to overtake him, uttering loud cries, which they interrupted by expressions of contempt and derision; as, ‘What are you seeking, my brother?’ ‘Where are you going, my son?’ As they made these exclamations they kept playing with their guns above their heads. The discovered Bedouin profited by his advantage, and fled into the mountains, where it was impossible to follow him. We met no one else.

“We had now neither eaten nor drank since the preceding day; our horses and other beasts were equally destitute; though ever since nine in the evening we had been traveling rapidly. Shortly after noon we had not a drop of water remaining, and the men, as well as the poor animals, were worn out with fatigue. The mules, stumbling every moment, required assistance to lift them up again, and to support their burden till they rose. This terrible exertion exhausted the little strength we had left. At two o’clock in the afternoon a man dropped down stiff, and as if dead, from great fatigue and thirst. I stopped with three or four of my people to assist him. The little wet which was left in one of the leathern budgets, was squeezed out of it, and some drops of water poured into the poor man’s mouth, but without any effect. I now felt that my own strength was beginning to forsake me; and becoming very weak, I determined to mount on horseback, leaving the poor fellow behind. From this moment others of my caravan began to drop successively, and there was no possibility of giving them any assistance; they were abandoned to their unhappy destiny, as every one thought only of saving himself. Several mules with their burdens were left behind, and I found on my way two of my trunks on the ground, without knowing what was become of the mules which had been carrying them, the drivers having forsaken them as well as the care of my effects and of my instruments.

“I looked upon this loss with the greatest indifference, as if they had not belonged to me, and pushed on. But my horse began now to tremble under me, and yet he was the strongest of the whole caravan. We proceeded in silent despair. When I endeavored to encourage any of the party to increase his pace, he answered me by looking steadily at me, and by putting his fore-finger to his mouth to indicate the great thirst by which he was affected. As I was reproaching our conducting officers for their inattention, which had occasioned this want of water, they excused themselves by alleging the mutiny of the oudaias; and besides, added they, ‘Do we not suffer like the rest?’ Our fate was the more shocking, as every one of us was sensible of the impossibility of supporting the fatigue to the place where we were to meet with water again. At last, at about four in the evening, I had my turn and fell down with thirst and fatigue. Extended without consciousness on the ground in the middle of the desert, left only with four or five men, one of whom had dropped at the same moment with myself, and all without any means of assisting me, because they knew not where to find water, and, if they had known it, had not strength to fetch it, I should have perished with them on the spot, if providence, by a kind of miracle, had not preserved us.

“Half an hour had already elapsed since I had fallen senseless to the ground, (as I have since been told,) when, at some distance, a considerable caravan, of more than two thousand souls, was seen advancing. It was under the direction of a marabout or saint called Sidi Alarbi, who was sent by the sultan to Ttemsen or Tremecen. Seeing us in this distressed situation, he ordered some skins of water to be thrown over us. After I had received several of them over my face and hands, I recovered my senses, opened my eyes, and looked around me, without being able to discern anybody. At last, however, I distinguished seven or eight shereefs and faquirs, who gave me their assistance, and showed me much kindness. I endeavored to speak to them, but an invincible knot in my throat seemed to hinder me; I could only make myself understood by signs, and by pointing to my mouth with my finger. They continued pouring water over my face, arms and hands, and at last I was able to swallow small mouthfuls. This enabled me to ask, ‘Who are you?’ When they heard me speak, they expressed their joy, and answered me, ‘Fear nothing; far from being robbers, we are your friends;’ and every one mentioned his name. I began by degrees to recollect their faces, but was not able to remember their names. They then poured over me a still greater quantity of water, gave me some to drink, filled some of my leather bags, and left me in haste, as every minute spent in this place was precious to them, and could not be repaired.

“This attack of thirst is perceived all of a sudden by an extreme aridity of the skin; the eyes appear to be bloody; the tongue and mouth, both inside and outside, are covered with a crust of the thickness of a crown piece; this crust is of a dark yellow color, of an insipid taste, and of a consistence like the soft wax from a beehive. A faintness or languor takes away the power to move; a kind of knot in the throat and diaphragm, attended with great pain, interrupts respiration. Some wandering tears escape from the eyes, and at last the sufferer drops down to the earth, and in a few moments loses all consciousness. These are the symptoms which I remarked in my unfortunate fellow-travelers, and which I experienced myself. I got with difficulty on my horse again, and we proceeded on our journey. My Bedouins and my faithful Salem were gone on different directions to find out some water, and two hours afterward they returned one after another, carrying along with them some good or bad water, as they had been able to find it: every one presented to me part of what he had brought; I was obliged to taste it, and I drank twenty times, but as soon as I swallowed it my mouth became as dry as before; at last I was not able either to spit or to speak.

“The greatest part of the soil of the desert consists of pure clay, except some small traces of a calcareous nature. The whole surface is covered with a bed of chalky, calcareous stone of a whitish color, smooth, round and loose, and of the size of the fist; they are almost all of the same dimension, and their surface is carious like pieces of old mortar: I look upon this to be a true volcanic production. This bed is extended with such perfect regularity, that the whole desert is covered with it; a circumstance which makes pacing over it very fatiguing to the traveler. No animal is to be seen in this desert, neither quadrupeds, birds, reptiles, nor insects, nor any plant whatever; and the traveler who is obliged to pass through it, is surrounded by the silence of death. It was not till four in the evening that we began to distinguish some small plants burnt with the sun, and a tree of a thorny nature without blossom or fruit.”

The passage across the Nubian desert, is, in its general features, the same as that over the great desert of Sahara. The following narrative is somewhat abridged from Bayard Taylor’s “Journey to Central Africa.” “My little caravan consisted of six camels, including that of the guide. We passed the miserable hamlet of Korosko, turned a corner of the mountain chain into a narrow, stony valley, and in a few minutes lost sight of the Nile and his belt of palms. Thenceforward, for many days, the only green thing to be seen in the wilderness was myself. The first day’s journey lay among rugged hills, thrown together in confusion, with no apparent system or direction. They were of jet black sandstone, and resembled immense piles of coke or anthracite. The small glens and basins inclosed in this chaos, were filled with glowing yellow sand, which, in many places, streamed down the crevices of the black rocks, like rivulets of fire. The path was strewn with hollow globes of hard, black stones, precisely resembling cannon-balls. The guide gave me one of the size of a rifle bullet, with a seam around the center, as if cast in a mold. The thermometer showed a temperature of eighty degrees at two o’clock in the afternoon, but the heat was tempered by a pure fresh breeze. After eight hours’ travel, I made my first camp, at sunset, in a little hollow inclosed by the mountains, where a gray jackal, after being twice shot at, came and looked into the door of the tent.

“I found dromedary-riding not at all difficult. One sits on a very lofty seat, with his feet crossed over the animal’s shoulders, or resting on his neck. The body is obliged to rock backward and forward, on account of the long, swinging gait; and as there is no stay or fulcrum, except a blunt pommel, around which the legs are crossed, some little power of equilibrium is necessary. My dromedary was a strong, stately beast, of a light cream color, and of so even a gait that it would bear the Arab test: that is, one might drink a cup of coffee while going on a full trot, without spilling a drop. I found great advantage in the use of the oriental costume. My trowsers allowed the legs perfect freedom of motion, and I soon learned so many different modes of crossing those members that no day was sufficient to exhaust them. The rising and kneeling of the animal is hazardous at first, as his long legs double together like a carpenter’s rule, and you are thrown backward and then forward, and then backward again; but the trick is soon learned. The soreness and fatigue of which many travelers complain, I never felt; and I attribute much of it to the Frank dress. I rode from eight to ten hours a day, read and even dreamed in the saddle, and was at night as fresh and unwearied as when I mounted in the morning.

“My caravan was accompanied by four Arabs. They owned the burden camels, which they urged along with the cry of ‘Yoho! Shekh Abd-el Kader!’ and a shrill barbaric song, the refrain of which was, ‘O prophet of God, help the camels, and bring us safely to our journey’s end!’ They were very susceptible to cold, and a temperature of fifty degrees, which we frequently had in the morning, made them tremble like aspen leaves, and they were sometimes so benumbed that they could scarcely lead the camels. They wore long swords, carried in a leathern scabbard over the left shoulder, and sometimes favored us with a war-dance, which consisted merely in springing into the air with a brandished sword, and turning round once before coming down. They were all very devout, retiring a short distance from the road to say their prayers, at the usual hours, and performing the prescribed ablutions with sand instead of water. On the second morning, we passed through a gorge in the black hills, and entered a region called El Biban, or ‘The Gates.’ Here the mountains, though still grouped in the same disorder, were more open, and gave room to plains of sand several miles in length. The narrow openings, through which the road passes from one plain to another, gave rise to the name. The mountains are higher than on the Nile, and present the most wonderful configurations: towers, fortresses, walls, pyramids, temples in ruin, of an inky blackness near at hand, but tinged of a deep, glowing violet hue in the distance. Toward noon I saw a mirage, a lake in which the broken peaks were reflected with great distinctness. One of the Nubians who was with us, pointed out a spot where he was obliged to climb the rocks, the previous summer, to avoid being drowned. During the heavy tropical rains which sometimes fall here, the hundreds of pyramidal hills pour down such floods that the sand can not immediately drink them up, and the valleys are turned into lakes. The man described the roaring of the waters, down the clefts of the rocks, as something terrible. In summer the passage of the desert is much more arduous than in winter, and many men and camels perish. The road was strewn with bones and carcasses, and I frequently counted twenty dead camels within a stone’s throw. The stone-heaps which are seen on all the spurs of the hills, as landmarks for caravans, have become useless, since one could find his way by the bones in the sand. My guide, who was a great believer in afrites and devils, said that formerly many persons lost the way and perished from thirst, all of which was the work of evil spirits. Toward noon, on the third day, we passed the last of the ‘gates,’ and entered the Bahr bela Ma, (river without water,) a broad plain of burning yellow sand. The gateway is very imposing, especially on the eastern side, where it is broken by a valley or gorge of Tartarean blackness. As we passed the last peak, my guide, who had ridden in advance, dismounted beside what seemed to be a collection of graves—little ridges of sand, with rough head and foot stones. He sat by one which he had just made. As I came up he informed me that all travelers who crossed the Nubian desert, for the first time, are here expected to pay a toll, or fee to the guide and camel-men. ‘But what if I do not choose to pay?’ I asked. ‘Then you will immediately perish, and be buried here. The graves are those of persons who refused to pay.’ As I had no wish to occupy the beautiful mound he had heaped for me, with the thigh-bones of a camel at the head and foot, I gave the men a few piasters, and passed the place. He then plucked up the bones and threw them away, and restored the sand to its original level.[8]

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Footnote 8:

“Burckhardt gives the following account of the same custom, in his travels in Nubia. ‘In two hours and a half we came to a plain on the top of the mountain called Akabet el Benat, the Rocks of the Girls. Here the Arabs who serve as guides through these mountains, have devised a singular mode of extorting presents from the traveler: they alight at certain spots in the Akabet El Benat, and beg a present; if it is refused, they collect a heap of sand, and mold it into the form of a diminutive tomb, and then placing a stone at each of the extremities, they apprise the traveler that his tomb is made; meaning, that henceforward, there will be no security for him, in this rocky wilderness. Most persons pay a trifling contribution, rather than have their graves made before their eyes; there were, however, several tombs of this description dispersed over the plain.’”

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“The Bahr bela Ma spread out before us, glittering in the hot sun. About a mile to the eastward lay (apparently) a lake of blue water. Reeds and water-plants grew on its margin, and its smooth surface reflected the rugged outline of the hill beyond. The waterless river is about two miles in breadth, and appears to have been at one time the bed of a large stream. It crosses all the caravan routes in the desert, and is supposed to extend from the Nile to the Red sea. It may have been the outlet for the river, before its waters forced a passage through the primitive chains which cross its bed at Assouan and Kalabshee. A geological exploration of this part of Africa could not fail to produce very interesting results. Beyond the Bahr bela Ma extends the broad central plateau of the desert, fifteen hundred feet above the sea. It is a vast reach of yellow sand, dotted with low, isolated hills, which in some places are based on large beds of light-gray sandstone of an unusually fine and even grain. Small towers of stone have been erected on the hills nearest the road, in order to guide the couriers who travel by night. Near one of them the guide pointed out the grave of a merchant, who had been murdered there two years previous, by his three slaves. The latter escaped into the desert, but probably perished, as they were never heard of afterward. In the smooth, loose sand, I had an opportunity of reviving my forgotten knowledge of trackography, and soon learned to distinguish the feet of hyenas, foxes, ostriches, lame camels and other animals. The guide assured me that there were devils in the desert; but one only sees them when he travels alone.

“On this plain the mirage, which first appeared in the Biban, presented itself under a variety of wonderful aspects. Thenceforth, I saw it every day, for hours together, and tried to deduce some rules from the character of its phenomena. It appears on all sides, except that directly opposite to the sun, but rarely before nine in the morning, or after three of the afternoon. The color of the apparent water is always precisely that of the sky, and this is a good test to distinguish it from real water, which is invariably of a deeper hue. It is seen on a gravelly as well as a sandy surface, and often fills with shining pools the slight depressions in the soil at the bases of the hills. Where it extends to the horizon there is no apparent line, and it then becomes an inlet of the sky, as if the walls of heaven were melting down and flowing in upon the earth. Sometimes a whole mountain chain is lifted from the horizon and hung in the air, with its reflected image joined to it, base to base. I frequently saw, during the forenoon, lakes of sparkling blue water, apparently not a quarter of a mile distant.[9] The waves ripple in the wind; tall reeds and water-plants grow on the margin, and the desert rocks behind cast their shadows on the surface. It is impossible to believe it a delusion. You advance nearer, and suddenly, you know not how, the lake vanishes. There is a grayish film over the spot, but before you have decided whether the film is in the air or in your eyes, that too disappears, and you see only the naked sand. What you took to be reeds and water-plants probably shows itself as a streak of dark gravel. The most probable explanation of the mirage which I could think of, was, that it was actually a reflection of the sky upon a stratum of heated air, next the sand.

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Footnote 9:

In a previous chapter, Taylor says: “Before returning on board, we saw a wonderful mirage. Two lakes of blue water, glittering in the sun, lay spread in the yellow sands, apparently not more than a mile distant. There was not the least sign of vapor in the air; and as we were quite unacquainted with the appearance of the mirage, we decided that the lakes were Nile water, left from the inundation. I pointed to them, and asked the Arabs, ‘Is that water?’ ‘No, no!’ they all exclaimed; ‘that is no water; that is Bar Shaytan,’ a river of the devil!”

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“I found the desert life not only endurable but very agreeable. No matter how warm it might be at midday, the nights were always fresh and cool, and the wind blew strong from the north-west, during the greater part of the time. The temperature varied from fifty or fifty-five degrees at six in the morning, to eighty or eighty-five degrees at two in the afternoon. The extremes were forty-seven and a hundred degrees. So great a change of temperature every day was not so unpleasant as might be supposed. In my case, Nature seemed to make a special provision in order to keep the balance right. During the hot hours of the day I never suffered inconvenience from the heat, but up to eighty-five degrees felt sufficiently cool. I seemed to absorb the rays of the sun, and as night came on and the temperature of the air fell, that of my skin rose, till at last I glowed through and through, like a live coal. It was a peculiar sensation, which I never experienced before, but was rather pleasant than otherwise. My face, however, which was alternately exposed to the heat radiated from the sand, and the keen morning wind, could not accommodate itself to so much contraction and expansion. The skin cracked and peeled off more than once, and I was obliged to rub it daily with butter. I mounted my dromedary with a ‘shining morning face,’ until, from alternate buttering and burning, it attained the hue and crispness of a well-basted partridge.

“I soon fell into a regular daily routine of travel, which, during all my later experiences of the desert, never became monotonous. I rose at dawn every morning, bathed my eyes with a handful of the precious water, and drank a cup of coffee. After the tent had been struck and the camels laden, I walked ahead for two hours, often so far in advance that I lost sight and hearing of the caravan. I found an unspeakable fascination in the sublime solitude of the desert. I often beheld the sun rise, when, within the wide ring of the horizon, there was no other living creature to be seen. He came up in awful glory, and it would have been a natural act, had I cast myself upon the sand and worshiped him. The sudden change in the coloring of the landscape, on his appearance, the lighting up of the dull sand into a warm golden hue, and the tintings of purple and violet on the distant porphyry hills, was a morning miracle, which I never beheld without awe. The richness of this coloring made the desert beautiful; it was too brilliant for desolation. The scenery, so far from depressing, inspired and exhilarated me. I never felt the sensation of physical health and strength in such perfection, and was ready to shout from morning till night, from the overflow of happy spirits. The air is an elixir of life, as sweet and pure and refreshing as that which the first man breathed, on the morning of creation. You inhale the unadulterated elements of the atmosphere, for there are no exhalations from moist earth, vegetable matter, or the smokes and steams which arise from the abodes of men, to stain its purity. This air, even more than its silence and solitude, is the secret of one’s attachment to the desert. It is a beautiful illustration of the compensating care of that providence which leaves none of the waste places of the earth without some atoning glory. Where all the pleasant aspects of nature are wanting; where there is no green thing, no fount for the thirsty lip, scarcely the shadow of a rock to shield the wanderer in the blazing noon; God has breathed upon the wilderness his sweetest and tenderest breath, giving clearness to the eye, strength to the frame, and the most joyous exhilaration to the spirits.

“Achmet always insisted on my taking a saber as a protection against the hyenas, but I was never so fortunate as to see more than their tracks, which crossed the path at every step. I saw occasionally the footprints of ostriches, but they, as well as the giraffe, are scarce in this desert. Toward noon, we made a halt in the shadow of a rock, or if no rock was at hand, on the bare sand, and took our breakfast. One’s daily bread is never sweeter than in the desert. The rest of the day I jogged along patiently beside the baggage camels, and at sunset halted for the night. A divan on the sand, and a well-filled pipe, gave me patience while dinner was preparing, and afterward I made the necessary entries in my journal. I had no need to court sleep, after being rocked all day on the dromedary. Until noon of the fourth day we journeyed over a vast plain of sand, interrupted by low reefs of black rock. Soon after midday the plain was broken by low ranges of hills, and we saw in front and to the east of us many blue mountain-chains. Our road approached one of them, a range, several miles in length, the highest peak of which reached an altitude of a thousand feet. The sides were precipitous and formed of vertical strata, but the crests were agglomerations of loose stones, as if shaken out of some enormous coal-scuttle. The glens and gorges were black as ink; no speck of any other color relieved the terrible gloom of this singular group of hills. Their aspect was much more than sterile: it was infernal. The name given to them by the guide was Djilet e’ Djindee, the meaning of which I could not learn. At their foot I found a few thorny shrubs, the first sign of vegetation since leaving Korosko. We encamped half an hour before sunset on a gravelly plain, between two spurs of the savage hills, in order that our camels might browse on the shrubs, and they were only too ready to take advantage of the permission. They snapped off the hard, dry twigs, studded with cruel thorns, and devoured them as if their tongues were made of cast-iron. We were now in the haunts of the gazelle and the ostrich, but saw nothing of them.

“On the fifth day we left the plain, and entered a country of broken mountain-ranges. In one place the road passed through a long, low hill of slate rock, by a gap which had been purposely broken. The strata were vertical, the laminæ varying from one to four inches in thickness, and of as fine a quality and smooth a surface as I ever saw. A long wady, or valley, which appeared to be the outlet of some mountain-basin, was crossed by a double row of stunted doum-palms, marking a water-course made by the summer rains. Eyoub pointed it out to me, as the half-way station between Korosko and Abou-Hammed. For two hours longer we threaded the dry wadys, shut in by black, chaotic hills. It was now noonday, I was very hungry, and the time allotted by Eyoub for reaching Bir Mûrr-hàt had passed. He saw my impatience and urged his dromedary into a trot, calling out to me to follow him. We bent to the west, turned the flank of a high range, and after half an hour’s steady trotting, reached a side-valley or cul-de-sac, branching off from the main wady. A herd of loose camels, a few goats, two black camel’s-hair tents, and half a dozen half-naked Ababdehs, showed that we had reached the wells. A few shallow pits, dug in the center of the valley, furnished an abundance of bitter, greenish water, which the camels drank, but which I could not drink. The wells are called by the Arabs el morra, ‘the bitter.’ Fortunately, I had two skins of Nile-water left, which, with care, would last to Abou-Hammed. The water was always cool and fresh, though in color and taste it resembled a decoction of old shoes. We left Mûrr-hàt at sunrise, on the morning of the sixth day. I walked ahead, through the foldings of the black mountains, singing as I went, from the inspiration of the brilliant sky and the pure air. In an hour and a half, the pass opened on a broad plain of sand, and I waited for my caravan, as the day was growing hot. On either side, as we continued our journey, the blue lakes of the mirage glittered in the sun. Several isolated pyramids rose above the horizon, far to the east, and a purple mountain-range in front, apparently two or three hours distant, stretched from east to west. ‘We will breakfast in the shade of those mountains,’ I said to Achmet, but breakfast-time came and they seemed no nearer, so I sat down in the sand and made my meal. Toward noon we met large caravans of camels, coming from Berber. Some were laden with gum, but the greater part were without burdens, as they were to be sold in Egypt. In the course of the day upward of a thousand passed us. The afternoon was intensely hot, the thermometer standing at one hundred degrees, but I felt little annoyance from the heat, and used no protection against it. The sand was deep and the road a weary one for the camels, but the mountains which seemed so near at hand in the morning were not yet reached. We pushed forward; the sun went down, and the twilight was over before we encamped at their base. The tent was pitched by the light of the crescent moon, which hung over a pitchy-black peak. I had dinner at the fashionable hour of seven. Achmet was obliged to make soup of the water of Mûrr-hàt, which had an abominable taste. I was so drowsy that before my pipe was finished, I tumbled upon my mattress, and was unconscious until midnight, when I awoke with the sensation of swimming in a river of lava.

“The tent was struck in the morning starlight, at which time the thermometer stood at fifty-five degrees. I walked alone through the mountains, which rose in conical peaks to the hight of near a thousand feet. The path was rough and stony until I reached the outlet of the pass. On leaving the mountain, we entered a plain of coarse gravel, abounding with pebbles of agate and jasper. Another range, which Eyoub called Djebel Dighlee, appeared in front, and we reached it about noon. The day was again hot, the mercury rising to ninety-five degrees. It took us nearly an hour to pass Djebel Dighlee, beyond which the plain stretched away to the Nile, interrupted here and there by a distant peak. Far in advance of us lay Djebel Mokràt, the limit of the next day’s journey. From its top, said Eyoub, one may see the palm-groves along the Nile. We encamped on the open plain, not far from two black pyramidal hills, in the flush of a superb sunset. The ground was traversed by broad strata of gray granite, which lay on the surface in huge bowlders. Our camels here found a few bunches of dry, yellow grass, which had pierced the gravelly soil. To the south-east was a mountain called by the Arabs Djebel Nogàra, (the mountain of the Drum,) because, as Eyoub declared, a devil who had his residence among its rocks, frequently beat a drum at night, to scare the passing caravans.

“The stars were sparkling freshly and clearly when I rose, on the morning of the eighth day, and Djebel Mokràt lay like a faint shadow on the southern horizon. The sun revealed a few isolated peaks to the right and left, but merely distant isles on the vast, smooth ocean of the desert. It was a rapture to breathe air of such transcendent purity and sweetness. I breakfasted on the immense floor, sitting in the sun, and then jogged on all day, in a heat of ninety degrees, toward Djebel Mokràt, which seemed as far off as ever. The sun went down, and it was still ahead of us. ‘That is a Djebel Shaytan,’ I said to Eyoub; ‘or rather, it is no mountain; it is an afrite.’ ‘O effendi!’ said the old man, ‘don’t speak of afrites here. There are many in this part of the desert, and if a man travels alone here at night, one of them walks behind him and forces him to go forward and forward, until he has lost his path.’ We rode on by the light of the moon and stars; and two hours after sunset, we killed Djebel Mokràt, as the Arabs say: that is, turned its corner. The weary camels were let loose among some clumps of dry, rustling reeds, and I stretched myself out on the sand, after twelve hours in the saddle. Our water was nearly exhausted by this time, and the provisions were reduced to hermits’ fare, bread, rice and dates. I had, however, the spice of a savage appetite, which was no sooner appeased, than I fell into a profound sleep. I could not but admire the indomitable pluck of the little donkeys owned by the Kenoos. These animals not only carried provisions and water for themselves and their masters, the whole distance, but the latter rode them the greater part of the way; yet they kept up with the camels, plying their little legs as ambitiously the last day as the first. I doubt whether a horse would have accomplished as much under similar circumstances.

“The next morning we started joyfully, in hope of seeing the Nile; and even Eyoub, for the first time since leaving Korosko, helped to load the camels. In an hour we passed the mountain of Mokràt, but the same endless plain of yellow gravel extended before us to the horizon. Eyoub had promised that we should reach Abou-Hammed in half a day, and even pointed out some distant blue mountains in the south, as being beyond the Nile. Nevertheless, we traveled nearly till noon without any change of scenery, and no more appearance of river than the abundant streams of the mirage, on all sides. I drank my last cup of water for breakfast, and then continued my march in the burning sun, with rather dismal spirits. Finally, the desert, which had been rising since we left the mountain, began to descend, and I saw something like round granite bowlders lying on the edge of the horizon. ‘Effendi, see the doum-trees!’ cried Eyoub. I looked again: they were doum-palms, and so broad and green that they must certainly stand near water. Soon we descended into a hollow in the plain, looking down which I saw to the south a thick grove of trees, and over their tops the shining surface of the Nile. ‘Ali,’ I called to my sailor-servant, ‘look at that great bahr shaytan!’ The son of the Nile, who had never before, in all his life, been more than a day out of sight of its current, was almost beside himself with joy. ‘Wallah, master,’ he cried; ‘that is no river of the devil: it is the real Nile, the water of Paradise.’ It did my heart good to see his extravagant delight. ‘If you were to give me five piasters, master,’ said he, ‘I would not drink the bitter water of Mûrr-hàt.’ The guide made me a salutation, in his dry way, and the two Nubians greeted me with ‘A great welcome to you, O effendi!’ With every step the valley unfolded before me; such rich deeps of fanlike foliage, such a glory in the green of the beans and lupines, such radiance beyond description in the dance of the sunbeams on the water! The landscape was balm to my burning eyes, and the mere sight of the glorious green herbage was a sensuous delight, in which I rioted for the rest of the day.”

SANDS OF THE DESERT.

“Now o’er their head the whizzing whirlwinds breathe, And the live desert pants and heaves beneath; Tinged by the crimson sun, vast columns rise Of eddying sands, and war amid the skies, In red arcades the billowy plain surround, And stalking turrets dance upon the ground.”—DARWIN.

In the pathless desert, high mounds of sand, shifting with every change of wind, surround the traveler on every side, and conceal from his view all other objects. There the wind is of a surprising rapidity; and the sand is so extremely fine, that it forms on the ground waves which resemble those of the sea. These waves rise up so fast, that in a very few hours a hill of from twenty to thirty feet high is transported from one place to another. The shifting of these hills, however, does not take place on a sudden, as is generally believed, and is not by any means capable of surprising and burying a caravan while on the march. The mode in which the transposition of the hills takes place is not difficult of explanation. The wind sweeping the sand from the surface continually, and that with an astonishing rapidity, the ground lowers every moment: but the quantity of sand in the air increasing as quickly by successive waves, can not support itself there, but falls in heaps, and forms a new hill, leaving the place it before occupied level, and with the appearance of having been swept.

It is necessary to guard the eyes and mouth against the quantity of sand which is always flying about in the air; and the traveler has to seek the right direction, to avoid being lost in the windings made in the middle of the hills of sand which bound the sight, and which shift from one spot to another so often, as not to leave anything to be seen besides the sky and sand, without any mark by which the position can be known. Even the deepest footstep in the sand of either man or horse disappears the moment the foot is raised. The immensity, the swiftness, and the everlasting motion of these waves when the wind is blowing, disturb the sight both of men and beasts, so that they are almost continually marching as if in the dark. The camel gives here a proof of his great superiority; his long neck, perpendicularly erected, removes his head from the ground, and from the thick part of the waves; his eyes are well defended by thick eye-lids, largely provided with hair, and which he keeps half shut; the construction of his feet, broad and cushion-like, prevents his treading deep into the sand; his long legs enable him to pass the same space with only half the number of steps of any other animal, and therefore with less fatigue. These advantages give him a solid and easy gait, on a ground where all other animals walk with slow, short, and uncertain steps, and in a tottering manner. Hence the camel, intended by nature for these journeys, affords a new motive of praise to the Creator, who in his wisdom has given the camel to the African, as he has bestowed the reindeer on the Laplander.

Lieutenant Pottinger, in his travels in Beloochistan, a province of India, gives the following interesting account of those curious phenomena. He had to pass over a desert of red sand, the particles of which were so light, that when taken in the hand they were scarcely more than palpable, the whole being thrown by the winds into an irregular mass of waves, principally running east and west, and varying in hight from ten to twenty feet. The greater part of them rose perpendicularly on the opposite side to that from which the prevailing north-west wind blew, and might readily have been fancied, at a distance, to resemble a new brick wall. The side facing the wind sloped off with a gradual declivity toward the base of the next windward wave, and then again ascended in a straight line, in the same extraordinary manner as above described, so as to form a hollow or path between them. Our traveler kept as much in these paths as the direction he had to take would allow; but it was not without great difficulty and fatigue that the camels were urged over the waves, when it was requisite to do so, and more particularly when they had to clamber up the leeward or perpendicular face of them, in attempting which they were often defeated. On the oblique or shelving side they ascended pretty well, their broad feet saving them from sinking deeper than did the travelers themselves; and the instant they found the top of the wave giving way from their weight, they most expertly dropped on their knees, and in that posture gently slid down with the sand, which was luckily so unconnected, that the leading camel usually caused a sufficient breach for the others to follow on foot. The night was spent under shelter of one of these sand waves, the surrounding atmosphere being uncommonly hot and close.

On the following day, in crossing a desert of the same description, the like impediments occurred; but these were trifling compared with the distress suffered, not only by our traveler and his people, but also by the camels, from the floating particles of sand; a phenomenon for which he confesses himself at a loss to account. When he first observed it, in the morning, the desert appeared to have, at the distance of half a mile or less, an elevated and flat surface from six to twelve inches higher than the summits of the sand waves. This vapor appeared to recede as he advanced, and once or twice completely encircled his party, limiting the horizon to a very confined space, and conveying a most gloomy and unnatural sensation to the mind of the beholders, who were at the same moment imperceptibly covered with innumerable atoms of small sand, which getting into the eyes, mouth and nostrils, caused excessive irritation, attended by an extreme thirst, which was increased in no small degree by the intense heat of the sun. This annoyance is supposed by the natives to originate in the solar beams causing the dust of the desert, as they emphatically call it, to rise and float through the air; a notion which appears to be in a great measure correct, this sandy ocean being only visible during the hottest part of the day. The following simple theory of these moving sands is submitted by the author. When the violent whirlwinds which prevail in the desert, terminate in gusts of wind, they usually expand over several square miles of surface, raging with irresistible force, and bearing upward an immense body of sand, which descends as the current of air that gave it action dies away, thus creating the extraordinary appearance in question. If it should be asked what prevents the sand from subsiding altogether, when it has so far accomplished this as to rest apparently on the waves, the answer is, that all the grosser particles do settle, but that the more minute ones become rarefied to such a degree by the heat produced by the burning sand on the red soil, that they remain as it were in an undecided and undulating state, until the returning temperature restores their specific gravity; when, by an undeviating law of nature, they sink to the earth. This in some measure coincides with the opinion of the native Brahoes; but, conformably to their notion, it is evident that the floating sands would be apparent at all periods of excessive solar influence; which not being the case, it becomes necessary to find a primary cause for the phenomenon. To remove any suspicion of his having been deceived in the reality of this floating vapor of sand, he adds that he has seen this phenomenon, and the shurab, or watery illusion so frequent in deserts, called by the French mirage, in opposite quarters at the same moment, each of them being to his sight perfectly distinct. While the former had a cloudy and dim aspect, the latter was luminous, and could not be mistaken for water. To corroborate what he has here advanced, he states that he was afterward joined by a faquir from Kaboul, who informed him that he had witnessed the moving sands, in passing through the desert from Seistan, to a much greater degree than has been described; and, what is scarcely credible, he spoke of having been forced to sit down, in consequence of the density of the cloud in which he was enveloped.

Our traveler next proceeds to a curious description of the pillars or columns of sand formed in the deserts. He experienced a violent tornado, or gust of wind, which came on so suddenly, that, if he had not been apprised of its strength by the guide, it might have been disastrous to his party, in whom it would have been an act of temerity to have endeavored to sit on the camels during its impetuous fury. Before it began, the sky was clear, save a few small clouds in the north-west quarter; and the only warnings it afforded, were the oppressive sultriness of the air, and a vast number of whirlwinds springing up on all sides. These whirlwinds, he observes, might perhaps be more correctly expressed by some other name; but as the wind issued from them he adopts the term. They are vast columns of sand, which begin by a trifling agitation, with a revolving motion on the surface of the desert, and gradually ascend and expand, until their tops are lost to the view. In this manner they move about with every breath of wind, and are observed, thirty or forty of them at the same time, of different dimensions, apparently from one to twenty yards in diameter. Those who have seen a waterspout at sea, may exactly conceive the same formed of sand on shore. The moment the guide saw the whirlwinds disperse, which they did as if by magic, and a cloud of dust approaching, he advised the party to dismount, which they had hardly time to do, and lodge themselves snugly behind the camels, when a storm burst upon them with a furious blast of wind, the rain falling in huge drops, and the air being so completely darkened, that they were unable to discern any object at the distance of even five yards.

The following is Bruce’s account of this singular phenomenon, which he represents as one of the most magnificent spectacles imaginable, and by which he and his companions were at once surprised and terrified. Having reached the vast expanse of desert which lies to the west and north-west of Chendi, they saw a number of prodigious pillars of sand at different distances, at times moving with great celerity, and at others stalking on with a majestic slowness. At intervals the party thought they should be overwhelmed by these sand-pillars; and small quantities of sand did actually more than once reach them. Again, they would retreat so as to be almost out of sight, their summits reaching the very clouds. There the tops often separated from the bodies; and these once disjointed, dispersed in the air, and did not appear more. They were sometimes broken near the middle, as if struck by a large cannon-shot. About noon they began to advance with considerable swiftness upon the party, the wind being very strong at north. Eleven of them ranged alongside, at about the distance of three miles from them; and at this interval the greatest diameter of the largest of them appeared to Mr. Bruce to be about ten feet. They retired with a wind at south-east, leaving an impression on our traveler’s mind, to which he could give no name, though assuredly one of its ingredients was fear, blended with a considerable portion of wonder and surprise. It was in vain to think of fleeing: the swiftest horse, or fastest sailing ship, would have been of no use in rescuing him from his danger. The full persuasion of this riveted him as it were to the spot where he stood, and he allowed the camels to gain on him so much, that it was with difficulty he could overtake them. On a subsequent occasion, an assemblage of these moving pillars of sand, more numerous, but less in size than the former, approached Mr. Bruce’s party soon after sunrise, and appeared like a thick wood. They almost darkened the sun, the rays of which, shining through them for nearly an hour, gave them an appearance of pillars of fire. His people became desperate, some saying it was the day of judgment, and others, that the world was on fire.

Dr. Clarke, in his travels in Egypt, thus describes this phenomenon. “One of those immense columns of sand, mentioned by Bruce, came rapidly toward us, turning upon its base as upon a pivot: it crossed the Nile so near us, that the whirlwind by which it was carried, placed our vessel upon its beam-ends, bearing its large sail quite into the water, and nearly upsetting the boat. As we were engaged in righting the vessel, the column disappeared. It is probable that those columns do not fall suddenly upon any particular spot, so as to be capable of overwhelming an army or a caravan; but that, as the sand, thus driven, is gradually accumulated, it becomes gradually dispersed, and the column, diminishing in its progress, at length disappears. A great quantity of sand is no doubt precipitated, as the effect which gathers it becomes weaker; but, from witnessing such phenomena upon a smaller scale, it does not seem likely that the whole body of the sand is at once abandoned.”

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WONDERS OF ART.

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THE PYRAMIDS OF EGYPT.

From the natural wonders of the desert, let us next pass to some of the wonders of art which attract the attention of the traveler in lands that once were as flourishing and powerful, as now they are degraded and depressed. Most of these monuments are, indeed, in ruins; but many of them still stand in all their original grandeur, and all are enduring and faithful witnesses to the wealth and greatness of nations that have now passed away forever.

The pyramids of Egypt are familiar, by name, to every intelligent reader, not to say to every child. The largest of these stupendous monuments, equally famous for their enormous size and their remote antiquity, are those of Djiza, or (as now spelled) Gizeh, so called from a village of that name, on the bank of the Nile, some three or four miles above Cairo. The three which perhaps most attract the attention of travelers, stand near each other, on the west side of the river, almost opposite Cairo, and not far from the site of the ancient Memphis. A view of them, and of the celebrated sphinx, which is spoken of hereafter, is given in the engraving on the next page. When seen from a distance, peering above the horizon, they display the fine distinct appearance so often remarked by travelers in the various objects seen through the clear, transparent atmosphere of the Egyptian climate. M. Savary, having approached to within three leagues of them, in the nighttime, while the full moon shone bright upon them, describes them as appearing to him, under this particular aspect, like two points of rock crowned by the clouds. On a nearer approach, their sloping and angular forms disguise their real hight, and lessen it to the eye; independently of which, as whatever is regular is great or small by comparison, and as these masses of stone eclipse in magnitude every surrounding object, at the same time that they are inferior to a mountain, to which alone the imagination can successfully compare them, a degree of surprise is excited on finding the first impression produced by a distant view so much diminished in drawing near to them. On attempting, however, to measure any one of these gigantic works of art by some known and determinate scale, it resumes its immensity to the mind; since, on drawing near to the opening, the persons who stand beneath it appear so small that they can scarcely be taken for men.

The base of the great pyramid of Cheops, so named after a king of Egypt, is estimated by Denon at seven hundred and twenty feet, and its hight at four hundred and forty-eight feet, calculating the base by the mean proportion of the length of the stones, and the hight by the sum of that of each of the steps or stages. Its construction required so many years, and employed such a multitude of laborers, that the expenditure for garlic and onions alone, for their consumption, is said to have amounted to one thousand and sixty talents, or more than twelve hundred thousand dollars. Its interior is thus accurately described by the above traveler.

“The entrance of the first gallery is concealed by the general outer covering which invests the whole of the pyramid. It is, however, probable, that the attention of the earlier searchers was by some particular appearance directed to this spot. This gallery goes toward the center of the edifice, in a direction sloping downward to the base: it is sixty paces in length; and at the further end are two large blocks of granite, an obstacle which caused some uncertainty in the digging. A horizontal passage has been made for some distance into the mass of stone; but this undertaking was afterward abandoned.

“Returning to the extremity of the first gallery, and working upward by the side of the two granite blocks, you come to the beginning of the first sloping staircase, which proceeds in an oblique direction upward, for a hundred and twenty feet. You mount the steep and narrow gallery, helping your steps by notches cut in the ground, and by resting your hands against the sides. At the top of this gallery, which is formed of a calcareous stone cemented with mortar, you find a landing-place about fifteen feet square, within which, to the right of the entrance, is a perpendicular opening called the well. This appears, from its irregularity, to have been the result of a fruitless attempt at a search, and has a diameter of about two feet by eighteen inches. There were no means of descending it; but by throwing down a stone, it was ascertained that its perpendicular direction could not be very considerable. On a level with the landing is a horizontal gallery, a hundred and seventy feet in length, running directly toward the center of the pyramid; and at the extremity of this gallery is a small room, called the queen’s chamber. This is an oblong square of eighteen feet and two inches, by fifteen feet and eight inches; but the hight is uncertain, the floor having been turned up by the avidity of the searchers. One of the side walls has also been worked into, and the rubbish left on the spot. The roof, which is formed of a fine calcareous stone, very nearly brought together, has the form of an angle nearly equilateral, but contains neither ornament, hieroglyphic, nor the smallest trace of a sarcophagus. Whether it was intended to contain a body, is uncertain; but, in this case, the pyramid must have been built with a view of containing two bodies, and would not therefore have been closed at once. If the second tomb was really that of the queen, the two blocks of granite at the end of the first gallery, must have been finally reserved to close all the interior chambers of the pyramid.

“Returning again from the queen’s chamber to the landing-place, you ascend a few feet, and immediately find yourself at the bottom of a large and magnificent staircase, or rather inclined plane, one hundred and eighty feet in length, taking a direction upward, and still bearing toward the center of the edifice. It is six and a half feet in breadth, in which are to be included two parapets, each nineteen inches in diameter, and pierced every three and a half feet, by oblong holes twenty-two inches by three. The sarcophagus must have ascended this passage, and the series of holes must have been intended to receive a machine of some description, to assist in raising so heavy a mass as the sarcophagus up so steep an ascent.

“The side walls of this ascending gallery rise perpendicularly for twelve feet, and then form a sloping roof of an excessively high pitch, not by a regular angle, but by eight successive projections, each of them six feet in hight, rising above the other, and approaching nearer to the corresponding projection on the opposite side, till the roof is entirely shut in. The hight of this singularly contrived vault may be estimated at sixty feet from the part of the floor immediately beneath. The ascent of the staircase is facilitated by pretty regular but modern footings cut in the floor; and at the top is a small platform, in which is a thick block of granite, resembling an immense chest, imbedded in the solid building, and hollowed out so as to leave alternate projections and retirings, into which are let blocks of the same material, with corresponding grooves and projections, intended forever to conceal and protect the entrance to the principal chamber which is behind them. It must have required immense labor to construct this part of the edifice, and not less to have broken an opening through; so that the zeal of superstition has here been opposed to the eagerness of avarice, and the latter has prevailed. After mining through thirteen feet of solid granite, a door three feet and three inches square, has been discovered, which is the entrance to the principal chamber. This is a long square, sixteen feet by thirty-two, and eighteen in hight. The door is in the angle facing the gallery, corresponding to the door of the queen’s chamber, below. When it is said that the tomb is a single piece of granite, half-polished, and without cement, all that is remarkable in this strange monument, which exhibits such rigid simplicity in the midst of the utmost magnificence of human power, will have been described. The only broken part is an attempt at a search at one of the angles, and two small holes nearly round and breast high. Such is the interior of this immense edifice, in which the work of the hand of man appears to rival the gigantic forms of nature.”

To the above account by the accurate Denon, we subjoin the following pleasing one by the celebrated Dr. Clarke. The impression made by these monuments, when viewed at a distance, can never, he observes, be obliterated from his mind.

“By reflecting the sun’s rays, they appeared as white as snow, and of such surprising magnitude, that nothing we had previously conceived in our imagination had prepared us for the spectacle we beheld. The sight instantly convinced us that no power of description, no delineation, can convey ideas adequate to the effect produced in viewing these stupendous monuments. The formality of their structure is lost in their prodigious magnitude: the mind, elevated by wonder, feels at once the force of an axiom, which, however disputed, experience confirms—that in vastness, whatsoever be its nature, there dwells sublimity!

“Having arrived at the bottom of a sandy slope, leading up to the principal pyramid, a band of Bedouin Arabs, who had assembled to receive us upon our landing, were much amused by the eagerness excited in our whole party, to prove who should first set his foot upon the summit of this artificial mountain. As we drew near its base, the effect of its prodigious magnitude, and the amazement caused in viewing the enormous masses used in its construction, affected every one of us; but it was an impression of awe and fear rather than of pleasure. In the observations of travelers who had recently preceded us, we had heard the pyramids described as huge objects which gave no satisfaction to the spectator, on account of their barbarous shape, and formal appearance: yet to us it appeared hardly possible that persons susceptible of any feeling of sublimity could behold them unmoved. With what amazement did we survey the vast surface that was presented to us, when we arrived at this stupendous monument, which seemed to reach the clouds? Here and there appeared some Arab guides upon the immense masses above us, like so many pigmies, waiting to show the way up to the summit. Now and then we thought we heard voices, and listened; but it was the wind in powerful gusts, sweeping the immense ranges of stone. Already some of our party had begun the ascent, and were pausing at the tremendous depth which they saw below. One of our military companions, after having surmounted the most difficult part of the undertaking, became giddy in consequence of looking down from the elevation he had attained; and being compelled to abandon the project, he hired an Arab to assist him in effecting his descent. The rest of us, more accustomed to the business of climbing hights, with many a halt for respiration, and many an exclamation of wonder, pursued our way toward the summit. The mode of ascent has been frequently described; and yet, from the questions which are often proposed to travelers, it does not appear to be generally understood. The reader may imagine himself to be upon a staircase, every step of which, to a man of middle stature, is nearly breast high; and the breadth of each step is equal to its hight; consequently, the footing is secure; and although a retrospect, in going up, be sometimes fearful to persons unaccustomed to look down from any considerable elevation, yet there is little danger of falling. In some places, indeed, where the stones are decayed, caution may be required; and an Arab guide is always necessary, to avoid a total interruption; but, upon the whole, the means of ascent are such that almost every one may accomplish it. Our progress was impeded by other causes. We carried with us a few instruments; such as our boat-compass, a thermometer, a telescope, &c.: these could not be trusted in the hands of Arabs, and they were liable to be broken every instant. At length we reached the topmost tier, to the great delight and satisfaction of all the party. Here we found a platform, thirty-two feet square, consisting of nine large stones, each of which might weigh about a tun; although they are much inferior in size to some of the stones used in the construction of this pyramid.

“The view from the summit of the pyramid amply fulfilled our expectations; nor do the accounts which have been given of it, as it appears at this season of the year, (in the month of August,) exaggerate the novelty and grandeur of the sight. All the region toward Cairo and the delta resembled a sea covered with innumerable islands. Forests of palm-trees were seen standing in the water; the inundation spreading over the land where they stood, so as to give them an appearance of growing in the flood. To the north, as far as the eye could reach, nothing could be discerned, but a watery surface thus diversified by plantations and by villages. To the south we saw the pyramids of Sakkara; and, upon the east of these, smaller monuments of the same kind, nearer to the Nile. An appearance of ruins might indeed be traced the whole way from the pyramids of Gizeh to those of Sakkara; as if they had been once connected, so as to constitute one vast cemetery. Beyond the pyramids of Sakkara we could perceive the distant mountains of the Said; and upon an eminence near the Libyan side of the Nile appeared a monastery of considerable size. Toward the west and south-west, the eye ranged over the great Libyan desert, extending to the utmost verge of the horizon, without a single object to interrupt the dreary horror of the landscape, except dark floating spots, caused by the shadows of passing clouds upon the sand.

“The stones of the platform upon the top, as well as most of the others used in constructing the decreasing ranges from the base upward, are of soft limestone. Those employed in the construction of the pyramids, are of the same nature as the calcareous rock on which they stand, and which was apparently cut away to form them. Herodotus says, however, that they were brought from the Arabian side of the Nile.

“The French attempted to open the smallest of the three principal pyramids; and having effected a very considerable chasm in one of its sides, have left this mark behind them, as an everlasting testimony of their curiosity and zeal. The landing of our army in Egypt put a stop to their labor. Had it not been for this circumstance, the interior of that mysterious monument would probably be now submitted to the inquiry which has long been an object among literary men.

“Having collected our party upon a soft platform before the entrance of the passage leading to the interior, and lighted a number of tapers, we all descended into the dark mouth of the larger pyramid. The impression made upon every one of us, in viewing the entrance, was this: that no set of men whatever could thus have opened a passage, by uncovering precisely the part of the pyramid where the entrance was concealed, unless they had been previously acquainted with its situation; and for these reasons. First, because its position is almost in the center of one of its planes, instead of being at the base. Secondly, that not a trace appears of those dilapidations which must have been the result of any search for a passage to the interior; such as now distinguish the labors of the French upon the smaller pyramid, which they attempted to open. The persons who undertook the work, actually opened the pyramid in the only point, over all its vast surface, where, from the appearance of the stones inclined to each other above the mouth of the passage, any admission to the interior seems to have been originally intended. So marvelously concealed as this was, are we to credit the legendary story of an Arabian writer, who, discoursing of the wonders of Egypt, attributed the opening of this pyramid to Almamon, a caliph of Babylon, about nine hundred and fifty years since?

“Proceeding down this passage, which may be compared to a chimney about a yard wide, we presently arrived at a very large mass of granite: this seems to have been placed on purpose to choke up the passage; but a way has been made round it, by which we were enabled to ascend into a second channel, sloping, in a contrary direction, toward the mouth of the first. Having ascended along this channel, to the distance of one hundred and ten feet, we came to a horizontal passage, leading to a chamber with an angular roof, in the interior of the pyramid. In this passage we found, upon our right hand, the mysterious well, which has been so often mentioned. Pliny makes the depth of it equal to one hundred and twenty-nine feet; but Greaves, in sounding it with a line, found the plummet rest at the depth of twenty feet.

“We threw down some stones, and observed that they rested at about the depth which Greaves has mentioned; but being at length provided with a stone nearly as large as the mouth of the well, and about fifty pounds in weight, we let this fall, listening attentively to the result from the spot where the other stones rested: we were agreeably surprised by hearing, after a length of time which must have equaled some seconds, a loud and distinct report, seeming to come from a spacious subterraneous apartment, accompanied by a splashing noise, as if the stone had been broken in pieces, and had fallen into a reservoir of water at an amazing depth. Thus does experience always tend to confirm the accounts left us by the ancients; for this exactly answers to the description given by Pliny of this well.

“After once more regaining the passage whence these ducts diverge, we examined the chamber at the end of it, mentioned by all who have described the interior of this building. Its roof is angular; that is to say, it is formed by the inclination of large masses of stone leaning toward each other, like the appearance presented by those masses which are above the entrance to the pyramid. Then quitting the passage altogether, we climbed the slippery and difficult ascent which leads to what is called the principal chamber. The workmanship, from its perfection, and its immense proportions, is truly astonishing. All about the spectator, as he proceeds, is full of majesty, and mystery, and wonder. Presently we entered that ‘glorious roome,’ as it is justly called by Greaves, where, ‘as within some consecrated oratory, art may seem to have contended with nature.’ It stands ‘in the very heart and center of the pyramid, equidistant from all its sides, and almost in the midst between the basis and the top. The floor, the sides, the roof of it, are all made of vast and exquisite tables of Thebaick marble.’ So nicely are these masses fitted to each other upon the sides of the chamber, that, having no cement between them, it is really impossible to force the blade of a knife within the joints. This has been often related before; but we actually tried the experiment, and found it to be true. There are only six ranges of stone from the floor to the roof, which is twenty feet high; and the length of the chamber is about twelve yards. It is also about six yards wide. The roof or ceiling consists of only nine pieces, of stupendous size and length, traversing the room from side to side, and lying, like enormous beams, across the top.”

Mr. Salt, the traveler, having paid a later visit to the principal pyramid, in company with a British officer, ascertained that the short descending passage at its entrance, which afterward ascends to the two chambers, is continued in a straight line through the base of the pyramid into the rock on which it stands. This new passage, a view of which is given in the cut below, after joining what was formerly called the well, is continued forward in a horizontal line, and terminates in a well, ten feet in depth, exactly beneath the apex of the pyramid, and at the depth of one hundred feet beneath its base. Mr. Salt’s companion likewise discovered an apartment immediately above the king’s chamber, exactly of the same size, and of the same fine workmanship, but only four feet in hight.

The base of the pyramid of Cephrenes, the next in magnitude, of the pyramids of Gizeh, to that of Cheops, is estimated at six hundred and fifty-five feet, and its hight at three hundred and ninety-eight. The pyramid of Mycerinus has a base of two hundred and eighty feet, and an elevation of one hundred and sixty-two. But, as well suggested by Thompson, in his “Egypt Past and Present,” no mere detail of figures and statistics, can convey an idea of the size of these vast bodies as they impress us when we stand before them. “No idea,” he says, “can be given of the great pyramid, by the statement that it covers an area of nearly five hundred and fifty thousand square feet, measures seven hundred and fifty feet upon each of its four sides at the base, and is four hundred and sixty feet in hight, or that it would fill the whole length of Washington square in New York, and exceed its breadth by half, and would rise nearly two hundred feet higher than the spire of Trinity church. The mass of masonry is what impresses you. Eighty-five million cubic feet of solid masonry, gives you no very definite idea of the mass of stone here piled together with such mathematical precision that astronomical calculations could be based upon its angles and shadows. No, you must see the mass itself, not now smooth and polished, as when originally completed, but stripped of its outer casing, and showing tier on tier of huge stones squared and fitted at mathematical angles, and now forming a series of rude steps, each from two to four feet high, extending to the very top. That top is now a platform about thirty feet square; and the view from its elevation is unparalleled in the world! Before you is Cairo, with its lofty minarets, and its overhanging citadel, the mountains of Mokuttam skirting its rear; the green valley of the Nile is spread out for miles northward and southward; at your feet are the mounds of sand that cover the ancient Memphis; southward is the whole range of pyramids to Sakkara; behind you are fragments of other pyramids, the Libyan mountains, and the wide waste of the great desert. But the present is lost in the associations of the past. You are standing upon a monument that is known to have stood within a score of four thousand years; that was as old as are our associations of Plymouth rock, when Abraham came into Egypt, and journeyed to Memphis to enjoy the favor of the king. He looked with wondering eyes upon this self-same monument, and heard the then dim tradition of the tyrant, who, having built it for his own sepulcher by the sweat and blood of half a million of his subjects, was compelled to beg of his friends to bury him privately in some secret place, lest after his death, his body should be dragged by the people from the hated tomb!”

The pyramids of Sakkara, which are numerous, are interesting on account of the peculiarities of their structure. The largest of them is of an irregular form, the line of the terminating angle being sloped like a buttress reversed. Another, of a middling size, is composed of stages rising one above another. The smaller ones are greatly decayed; but the whole occupy an extent of two leagues. This multitude of pyramids scattered over the district of Sakkara, Denon observes, prove that this territory was the necropolis (city of the dead) to the south of Memphis, and that the village opposite to this, in which the pyramids of Gizeh are situated, was another necropolis, which formed the northern extremity of Memphis. The extent of that ancient city may thus be measured.

To these interesting accounts of this group of the pyramids, may be subjoined the graphic sketch of Bayard Taylor, who visited them so recently as 1851. “When we threw open the latticed blinds of our cabin, before sunrise the next morning, the extraordinary purity of the air gave rise to an amusing optical delusion on the part of my friend. ‘See that wall!’ said he, pointing to a space between two white houses; ‘what a brilliant color it is painted, and how those palms and these white houses are relieved against it!’ He was obliged to look twice before he perceived that what he had taken for a wall close at hand, was really the sky, and rested upon a far-off horizon. Our donkeys were in readiness on the bank, and taking Achmet with us, we rode off gayly among the mud hovels and under the date-trees of Gizeh, on our way to the pyramids. The rising sun shone redly upon them, as we rode out on the broad harvest land of the Nile. The black unctuous loam was still too moist from the inundation to be plowed, except in spots, here and there, but even where the water had scarce evaporated, millions of germs were pushing their slender blades up to the sunshine. In that prolific soil, the growth of grain is visible from day to day. The Fellahs were at work on all sides, preparing for planting, and the ungainly buffaloes drew their long plows slowly through the soil. Where freshly turned, the earth had a rich, soft luster, like dark-brown velvet, beside which the fields of young wheat, beans and lentils, glittered with the most brilliant green. The larks sang in the air and flocks of white pigeons clustered like blossoms on the tops of the sycamores. There, in November, it was the freshest and most animating picture of spring. The direct road to the pyramids was impassable, on account of the water, and we rode along the top of a dike, intersected by canals, to the edge of the Libyan desert, a distance of nearly ten miles. The ruptures in the dike obliged us occasionally to dismount, and at the last canal, which cuts off the advancing sands from the bounteous plain on the other side, our donkeys were made to swim, while we were carried across on the shoulders of two naked Arabs. They had run out in advance to meet us, hailing us with many English and French phrases, while half a dozen boys, with earthen bottles which they had just filled from the slimy canal, crowded after them, insisting, in very good English, that we should drink at once and take them with us to the pyramids.

“Our donkeys’ hoofs now sank deep in the Libyan sands, and we looked up to the great stone-piles of Cheops, Cephrenes and Mycerinus, not more than half a mile distant. Our sunrise view of the pyramids on leaving Gizeh, was sufficient, had I gone no further; and I approached them, without the violent emotion which sentimental travelers experience, but with a quiet feeling of the most perfect satisfaction. The form of the pyramid is so simple and complete, that nothing is left to the imagination. Those vast, yellowish-gray masses, whose feet are wrapped in the silent sand, and whose tops lean against the serene blue heaven, enter the mind and remain in the memory with no shock of surprise, no stir of unexpected admiration. The impression they give and leave, is calm, grand and enduring as themselves.

“The sun glared hot on the sand as we toiled up the ascent to the base of Cheops, whose sharp corners were now broken into zigzags by the layers of stone. As we dismounted in his shadow, at the foot of the path which leads up to the entrance, on the northern side, a dozen Arabs beset us. They belonged to the regular herd who have the pyramids in charge, and are so renowned for their impudence that it is customary to employ the janissary of some consulate in Cairo, as a protection. I took three of them and commenced the ascent, leaving Achmet and my friend below. Two boys followed us, with bottles of water. At first, the way seemed hazardous, for the stones were covered with sand and fragments which had fallen from above, but after we had mounted twenty courses, the hard, smooth blocks of granite formed broader and more secure steps. Two Arabs went before, one holding each of my hands, while the third shoved me up from the rear. The assistance thus rendered was not slight, for few of the stones are less than four feet in hight. The water-boys scampered up beside us with the agility of cats. We stopped a moment to take breath, at a sort of resting-place half-way up, an opening in the pyramid, communicating with the uppermost of the interior chambers. I had no sooner sat down on the nearest stone, than the Arabs stretched themselves at my feet and entertained me with most absurd mixture of flattery and menace. One, patting the calves of my legs, cried out, ‘Oh, what fine, strong legs! how fast they came up: nobody ever went up the pyramid so fast!’ while the others added, ‘Here you must give us backsheesh: everybody gives us a dollar here.’ My only answer was, to get up and begin climbing, and they did not cease pulling and pushing till they left me breathless on the summit. The whole ascent did not occupy more than ten minutes.

“The view from Cheops has been often described. I can not say that it increased my impression of the majesty and grandeur of the pyramid, for that was already complete. My eyes wandered off from the courses of granite, broadening away below my feet, to contemplate the glorious green of the Nile-plain, barred with palm-trees and divided by the gleaming flood of the ancient river; the minarets of Cairo; the purple walls of the far Arabian mountains; the pyramid groups of Sakkara and Dashoor, overlooking disinterred Memphis in the south; and the arid yellow waves of the Libyan desert, which rolled unbroken to the western sky. The clear, open heaven above, which seemed to radiate light from its entire concave, clasped in its embrace and harmonized the different features of this wonderful landscape. There was too much warmth and brilliance for desolation. Everything was alive and real; the pyramids were not ruins, and the dead Pharaohs, the worshipers of Athor and Apis, did not once enter my mind.

“My wild attendants did not long allow me to enjoy the view quietly. To escape from their importunities for backsheesh I gave them two piasters in copper coin, which instantly turned their flatteries into the most bitter complaints. It was insulting to give so little, and they preferred having none; if I would not give a dollar, I might take the money back. I took it without more ado, and put it into my pocket. This rather surprised them, and first one, and then another, came to me and begged to have it again, on his own private account. I threw the coins high into the air, and as they clattered down on the stones, there ensued such a scramble as would have sent any but Arabs over the edge of the pyramid. We then commenced the descent, two seizing my hands as before, and dragging me headlong after them. We went straight down the side, sliding and leaping from stone to stone without stopping to take breath, and reached the base in five or six minutes. I was so excited from the previous aggression of the Arabs, that I neither felt fatigue nor giddiness on the way up and down, and was not aware how violent had been my exertions. But when I touched the level sand, all my strength vanished in an instant. A black mist came over my eyes, and I sank down helpless and nearly insensible. I was scarcely able to speak, and it was an hour before I could sit upright on my donkey. I felt the pyramid in all my bones, and for two or three days afterward moved my joints with as much difficulty as a rheumatic patient.

“In returning, in about an hour and a half we reached the ruined pyramids of Abousir, where our path turned southward into the desert. After seeing Cheops and Cephrenes, these pyramids are only interesting on account of their dilapidated state and the peculiarity of their forms, some of their sides taking a more obtuse angle at half their hight. They are buried deep in the sand, which has so drifted toward the plain, that from the broad hollow lying between them and the group of Sakkara, more than a mile distant, every sign of vegetation is shut out. Vast, sloping causeways of masonry lead up to two of them, and a large mound, occupying the space between, suggests the idea that a temple formerly stood there. The whole of the desert promontory, which seemed to have been gradually blown out on the plain, from the hills in the rear, exhibits traces here and there of ruins beneath the surface. My friend and I, as we walked over the hot sand, before our panting donkeys, came instinctively to the same conclusion, that a large city must have once occupied the space between, and to the southward of the two groups of pyramids. It is not often that amateur antiquarians find such sudden and triumphant confirmation of their conjectures, as we did.

“On the way, Achmet had told us of a Frenchman who had been all summer digging in the sand, near Sakkara. After we had crawled into the subterranean dépôt of mummied ibises, and nearly choked ourselves with dust in trying to find a pot not broken open; and after one of our donkeymen went into a human mummy pit and brought out the feet and legs of some withered old Egyptian, we saw before us the residence of this Frenchman; a mud hut on a high sand-bank. It was an unfortunate building, for nearly all the front wall had tumbled down, revealing the contents of his kitchen. One or two Arabs loitered about, but a large number were employed at the end of a long trench which extended to the hills. Before reaching the house a number of deep pits barred our path, and the loose sand, stirred by our feet, slid back into the bottom, as if eager to hide the wonders they disclosed. Pavements, fresh as when first laid; basement-walls of white marble, steps, doorways, pedestals and fragments of pillars glittered in the sun, which, after the lapse of more than two thousand years, beheld them again. I slid down the side of the pit and walked in the streets of Memphis. The pavement of bitumen, which once covered the stone blocks, apparently to protect them and deaden the noise of horses and chariots, was entire in many places. Here a marble sphinx sat at the base of a temple, and stared abstractedly before her; there a sculptured cornice, with heavy moldings, leaned against the walls of the chamber into which it had fallen; and over all were scattered fragments of glazed and painted tiles and sculptured alabaster. The principal street was narrow, and was apparently occupied by private dwellings, but at its extremity were the basement-walls of a spacious edifice. All the pits opened on pavements and walls, so fresh and cleanly cut, that they seemed rather the foundations of a new city, laid yesterday, than the remains of one of the oldest capitals of the world.

“We approached the workmen, where we met the discoverer of Memphis, Mr. Auguste Mariette. On finding we were not Englishmen, (of whose visits he appeared to be rather shy,) he became very courteous and communicative. He apologized for the little he had to show us, since on account of the vandalism of the Arabs, he was obliged to cover up all his discoveries, after making his drawings and measurements. The Egyptian authorities are worse than apathetic, for they would not hesitate to burn the sphinxes for lime, and build barracks for filthy soldiers with the marble blocks. Besides this, the French influence at Cairo was then entirely overshadowed by that of England, and although M. Mariette was supported in his labors by the French academy, and a subscription headed by Louis Napoleon’s name, he was forced to be content with the simple permission to dig out these remarkable ruins and describe them. He could neither protect them nor remove the portable sculptures and inscriptions, and therefore preferred giving them again into the safe keeping of the sand. Here they will be secure from injury, until some more fortunate period, when, possibly, the lost Memphis may be entirely given to the world, as fresh as Pompeii, and far more grand and imposing.

“I asked M. Mariette what first induced him to dig for Memphis in that spot, since antiquarians had fixed upon the mounds near Mitrahenny (a village in the plain below, and about four miles distant,) as the former site of the city. He said that the tenor of an inscription which he found on one of the blocks quarried out of these mounds, induced him to believe that the principal part of the city lay to the westward, and therefore he commenced excavating in the nearest sand-hill in that direction. After sinking pits in various places he struck on an avenue of sphinxes, the clue to all his after discoveries. Following this, he came upon the remains of a temple, (probably the Serapeum, or temple of Serapis, mentioned by Strabo,) and afterward upon streets, colonnades, public and private edifices, and all other signs of a great city. The number of sphinxes alone, buried under these high sand-drifts, amounted to two thousand, and he had frequently uncovered twenty or thirty in a day. He estimated the entire number of statues, inscriptions and reliefs, at between four and five thousand. The most remarkable discovery was that of eight colossal statues, which were evidently the product of Grecian art. During thirteen months of assiduous labor, with but one assistant, he had made drawings of all these objects and forwarded them to Paris. In order to be near at hand, he had built an Arab house of unburnt bricks, the walls of which had just tumbled down for the third time. His workmen were then engaged in clearing away the sand from the dwelling of some old Memphian, and he intended spreading his roof over the massive walls, and making his residence in the exhumed city. The man’s appearance showed what he had undergone, and gave me an idea of the extraordinary zeal and patience required to make a successful antiquarian. His face was as brown as an Arab’s, his eyes severely inflamed, and his hands as rough as a bricklayer’s. His manner with the native workmen was admirable, and they labored with a hearty good-will which almost supplied the want of the needful implements. All they had were straw baskets, which they filled with a sort of rude shovel, and then handed up to be carried off on the heads of others.

“Strabo states that Memphis had a circumference of seventeen miles, and therefore both M. Mariette and the antiquarians are right. The mounds of Mitrahenny probably mark the eastern portion of the city, while its western limit extended beyond the pyramids of Sakkara, and included in its suburbs those of Abousir and Dashoor. The space explored by M. Mariette is about a mile and a half in length, and somewhat more than half a mile in breadth. He was then continuing his excavations westward, and had almost reached the first ridge of the Libyan hills, without finding the termination of the ruins. The magnitude of his discovery will be best known when his drawings and descriptions are given to the world. A few months after my visit, his labors were further rewarded by finding thirteen colossal sarcophagi of black marble, and he has recently added to his renown by discovering an entrance to the Sphinx. Yet at that time, the exhumation of the lost Memphis, second only in importance to that of Nineveh, was unknown in Europe, except to a few sarans in Paris, and the first intimation which some of my friends in Cairo and Alexandria had of it, was my own account of my visit, in the newspapers they received from America. But M. Mariette is a young man, and will yet see his name inscribed beside those of Burckhardt, Belzoni and Layard.

“We had still a long ride before us, and I took leave of Memphis and its discoverer, promising to revisit him on my return from Khartoum. As we passed the brick pyramid of Sakkara, which is built in four terraces of equal hight, the dark, grateful green of the palms and harvest-fields of the Nile appeared between two sand-hills, a genuine balm to our heated eyes. We rode through groves of the fragrant mimosa to a broad dike, the windings of which we were obliged to follow across the plain, as the soil was still wet and adhesive. It was too late to visit the beautiful pyramids of Dashoor, the first of which is more than three hundred feet in hight, and from a distance has almost as grand an effect as those of Gizeh. Our tired donkeys lagged slowly along to the palm-groves of Mitrahenny, where we saw mounds of earth, a few blocks of red granite and a colossal statue of Remeses II., (Sesostris,) which until now were supposed to be the only remains of Memphis. The statue lies on its face in a hole filled with water. The countenance is said to be very beautiful, but I could only see the top of Sesostris’s back, which bore a faint resemblance to a crocodile. Through fields of cotton in pod and beans in blossom, we rode to the Nile, dismissed our donkeys and their attendants, and lay down on some bundles of cornstalks to wait the arrival of our boat. But there had been a south wind all day, and we had ridden much faster than our men could tow. We sat till long after sunset before the stars and stripes, floating from the mizzen of the Cleopatra, turned the corner below Bedrasheyn. When, at last, we sat at our cabin-table, weary and hungry, we were ready to confess that the works of art produced by our cook, were more marvelous and interesting than Memphis and the pyramids.”

THE TOMBS AT SAKKARA.

The prediction of Taylor, quoted above, “that M. Mariette, though a young man, would yet see his name inscribed beside those of Burckhardt, Belzoni and Layard,” is in a fair way for fulfillment; for the finding of the wonderful tombs of Sakkara, and their magnificent sarcophagi, is, perhaps, the greatest discovery which has been made relative to the antiquities of Egypt, since the days of Belzoni himself. The tomb, a view of the entrance to which is given in the cut below, is situated in the desert near Sakkara, to the north-west of and near the pyramid, about four or five hours’ ride from Cairo, by way of Toura, where the Nile must be crossed. Monsieur Mariette, to whose knowledge and research this discovery is due, is employed by the French government. A passage in Strabo having led him to infer that a line of sphinxes led to the Serapeum, he commenced his search, under a firman from the viceroy of Egypt, about two years and a half since, in the moving sand-hills of Sakkara. He discovered the line of sphinxes, one of which had been found in 1832, by Signor Marucchi; but they not being in a straight direction, and turning abruptly at the entrance of the Serapeum, it was with difficulty they were traced. They were one hundred and forty in number, and sixteen feet apart. The whole avenue proved eleven hundred and twenty feet in length. At the termination were eleven Greek statues of Homer, Pindar, Solon, Lycurgus, Aristotle, and other poets, philosophers, and lawgivers of Greece. One sphinx, having the name of Apis inscribed upon it, was met with under a depth of sixty or seventy feet of sand: stone peacocks nine feet high, and colossal lions, were also found here. The tomb of Apis was now sought for, and discovered, after a whole year of labor, on the twelfth of November, 1851. From the avenue a mastaba, or bench, and passage two hundred and ninety feet long, leads to a pylon, the entrance of the great temple. The tomb runs from south to north, and the great gallery from east to west. This is about five hundred and twenty yards in length, and from four to five yards wide. The chambers are not formed throughout the whole length of the gallery, and some passages are altogether without them. The hieroglyphic inscriptions on the tomb are, in one instance, if not more, unfinished; and the doors erected at the entrance are too small to have allowed the passage of the sarcophagi, and must, therefore, have been built after the latter were introduced. The chambers are not opposite each other, but arranged alternately, in the usual manner of Egyptian places of sepulture. The appearance of this long gallery, when lighted up by numerous candles, receding in dim perspective into gloom—the massive sarcophagi, of polished granite, each in its chamber, looking tranquillity, is an imposing sight, as may be seen in the next following cut. They are of enormous size and weight: one, and that not the largest, has been estimated to weigh, including the lid, upward of sixty tuns. To have moved these and lowered them into their receptacles, which are some six feet below the floor of the gallery, in so confined a space, must have required a considerable amount of mechanical skill and power. In the walls are holes, apparently for the introduction of the ends of beams. The chambers may, however, have been filled with sand, the sarcophagus pushed in and gradually lowered by abstracting the sand. The under side of one of the sarcophagi is rounded, and it was kept steady by wooden blocks on each side. When these are removed it can be rocked by the hand. A groove, about two feet broad and two or three inches in depth, runs down the middle of the gallery. A wooden capstan was found near the tombs, and is supposed to have been used for moving the stones. The entrance is inclined. The tombs are excavated in a soft friable limestone, containing numerous small veins of gypsum, about half an inch in thickness. To prevent the roof from falling, it has been coated with flagstones, cemented to it by a gypseous cement; but, either by the hand of violence, or that of time, these have been detached, and have fallen to the ground, encumbering, and partially choking the galleries and rooms. The mortar, however, still adheres in several places to the walls, and projects where the joints of the stones have been. In one chamber is a self-sustained stone arch; another proof, if any were now necessary, that its construction was known to the ancients. This chamber contains a small sarcophagus, in which, probably, were the bones of a young bull. The bones of bulls have been found in several sarcophagi; but every one had been opened, and some heaped with stones; an eastern mark of contempt, probably the work of the Persians. At the entrance were numerous ex voto offerings of inscribed tablets inserted in small recesses in the walls. There are also inscriptions, in the Demotic character, on the outer doorway. In some chambers are large recesses to the right and left of the tomb, which in one instance contained a large granite tablet with hieroglyphics. The number of sarcophagi already discovered is twenty-five.

These tombs merit the visit of all antiquaries and travelers passing through Egypt; and M. Mariette’s work describing them is looked for with anxiety by all savans. To his kindness and courtesy, which, as well as his hospitality, are well known, the public are indebted for the greater portion of this information. Near to Sakkara, on the site of Memphis, Hekekyan Bey has been making excavations connected with the geological investigations of the Nile valley, instituted at the request of Mr. Leonard Horner and the Geological Society of London, by the viceroy, who has very recently received from the English government, through Mr. Murray, a letter of thanks for his liberal aid to the cause of science.

A view of the great gallery of these tombs, as it appears when lighted up, is given on the next page.

THE SPHINX.

Before passing to the pyramids and ruins of Meroë in Ethiopia, let us notice the celebrated Sphinx, which stands near the great pyramids of Gizeh, and the enormous bulk of which attracts the attention of every traveler. Of all the monuments of Egypt, this, in many respects, is the most mysterious and impressive. It is cut out of the solid rock, and by some is supposed to have been the sepulcher of Amasis. It is more than sixty feet from the ground to the crown of the head; more than a hundred feet around the forehead; and nearly one hundred and fifty feet in length. The nose has been shamefully mutilated. “Though its proportions are colossal, its outline,” says Denon, “is pure and graceful; the expression mild, gracious, and tranquil; the character is African; but the mouth, the lips of which are thick, has a softness and delicacy of execution truly admirable; it seems real life and flesh. Art must have been at a high pitch when this monument was executed; for, if the head is deficient in what is called style, that is, in the straight and bold lines which give expression to the figures under which the Greeks have designated their deities, yet sufficient justice has been rendered to the fine simplicity and character of nature displayed in this figure.”

Thus far the description of Denon. But Taylor, who says of this monument that “there is nothing like it in the world,” adds, that “those travelers who pronounce its features to be negro in their character, are certainly very hasty in their conclusions. That it is an Egyptian head, is plainly evident, notwithstanding its mutilation. The type, however, is rather fuller and broader than is usual in Egyptian statues.” Who reared it, and for what purpose, and by what mighty enginery, is utterly unknown. But there it stands, “on the verge of the desert whose sands are heaped around it, and in advance of the three vast pyramids that form an immovable phalanx as if to guard it from destruction, looking out in unfathomable silence over the empty plain where once stood Memphis in the pride of the earlier Pharaohs, and where Cambyses battered down that pride with the recklessness of a barbarian invader. Once an altar stood before it, and a dromos of crouching lions and other figures formed a fit approach to the gigantic symbol of Egypt deified. But now the sands drift in perpetually to hide all but the head, whose sublime repose neither the war-club of the Persian, nor tho fury of the sirocco has ever disturbed.”

RUINS AND PYRAMIDS OF MEROË.

Passing up the Nile to its great fork in about latitude seventeen degrees, we come to the wonderful ruins and pyramids of Meroë, in Ethiopia. “The discovery of these ruins,” says the well known traveler last quoted, “is of comparatively recent date; and it is only within a very short time that their true place and character in Ethiopian history have been satisfactorily established. Hoskins, Cailliaud and Ferlini were the first to direct the attention of antiquarians to this quarter, and the later and more complete researches of Lepsius leave room for little more to be discovered concerning them. It is remarkable that both Bruce and Burckhardt, who traveled by land from Berber to Shendy, failed to see the ruins, which must have been visible from the road they followed. The former, in fact, speaks of the broken pedestals, carved stones and pottery which are scattered over the plain, and sagely says, ‘It is impossible to avoid risking a guess that this is the ancient city of Meroë;’ but he does not mention the groups of pyramids which are so conspicuous a feature in the landscape. Our path led over a plain covered with thorny shrubs at first, but afterward hard black gravel, and we had not gone more than a mile before the raïs pointed out the pyramids of the ancient Ethiopian city. I knew it only from its mention in history, and had never read any description of its remains; consequently I was surprised to see before me, in the vapory morning air, what appeared to be the ruins of pylæ and porticos, as grand and lofty as those of Karnak. Rising between us and the mountains, they had an imposing effect, and I approached them with excited anticipations. As advanced, however, and the morning vapors melted away, I found that they derived much of their apparent hight from the hill upon which they are built, and that, instead of being the shattered parts of one immense temple, they were a group of separate pyramids, standing amid the ruins of others which have been completely destroyed.

“We reached them after a walk of about four miles. They stand upon a narrow, crescent-shaped hill, which rises forty or fifty feet from the plain, presenting its convex front to the Nile, while toward the east its hollow curve embraces a small valley lying between it and the mountain range. Its ridge is crowned with a long line of pyramids, standing so close to each other that their bases almost meet, but presenting no regular plan or association, except in the direction of their faces. None of them retains its apex, and they are all more or less ruined, though two are perfect to within a few courses of the top. I climbed one of the highest, from which I could overlook the whole group, as well as another cluster, which crowned the summit of a low ridge at the foot of the mountains opposite. Of those among which I stood, there were sixteen, in different degrees of ruin, besides the shapeless stone-heaps of many more. They are all built of fine red sandstone, in regular courses of masonry, the spaces of which are not filled, or cased, as in the Egyptian pyramids, except at the corners, which are covered with a narrow hem or molding, in order to give a smooth outline. The stones are about eighteen inches high, and the recession of each course varies from two to four inches, so that the hight of the structure is always much greater than the breadth of the base. A peculiarity of these pyramids is, that the sides are not straight but curved lines, of different degrees of convexity, and the breadth of the courses of stone is adjusted with the utmost nicety, so as to produce this form. They are small, compared with the enormous piles of Gizeh and Dashoor, but singularly graceful and elegant in appearance. Not one of the group is more than seventy feet in hight, nor when complete could have exceeded one hundred. All, or nearly all, have a small chamber attached to the exterior, exactly against the center of their eastern sides, but no passage leading into the interior; and from the traces of Dr. Lepsius’s labors, by which I plainly saw that he had attempted in vain to find an entrance, it is evident that they are merely solid piles of masonry, and that, if they were intended tombs, the bodies were deposited in the outer chambers. Some of these chambers are entire, except the roof, and their walls are profusely sculptured with hieroglyphics, somewhat blurred and worn down, from the effect of the summer rains. Their entrances resembled the doorways of temples, on a miniature scale, and the central stones of two of them were sculptured with the sacred winged globe. I saw on the jamb of another, a figure of the god Horus. The chambers were quite small, and not high enough to allow me to stand upright. The sculptures have a very different character from those in the tombs of Thebes, and their resemblance to those of the Ptolemaic period was evident at the first glance. The only cartouches of monarchs which I found were so obliterated that I could not identify them; but the figure of one of the kings, grasping in one hand the hair of a group of captives, while with the other he lifts a sword to slay them, bears a striking resemblance to that of Ptolemy Euergetes, on the pylon of the temple at Edfou. Many of the stones in the vast heaps which lie scattered over the hills, are covered with sculptures. I found on some the winged globe and scarabeüs, while others retained the scroll or fillet which usually covers the sloping corners of a pylon. On the northern part of the hill I found several blocks of limestone, which exhibited a procession of sculptured figures brilliantly colored.

“The last structure on the southern extremity of the hill, is rather a tower than a pyramid, consisting of a high base or foundation, upon which is raised a square building, the corners presenting a very slight slope toward the top, which is covered with ruins, indicating that there was originally another and narrower story upon it. When complete, it must have borne considerable resemblance to the Assyrian towers, the remains of which are found at Nineveh. On this part of the hill there are many small detached chambers, all facing the east, and the remains of a large building. Here Lepsius appears to have expended most of his labors; and the heaps of stone and rubbish he has left behind him, prevent one from getting a very clear idea of the original disposition of the buildings. He has quarried one of the pyramids down to its base, without finding any chamber within or pit beneath it. My raïs, who was at a loss to comprehend the object of my visit, spoke of Lepsius as a great Frank astrologer, who had kept hundreds of the people at work for many days, and at last found in the earth a multitude of chickens and pigeons, all of solid gold. He then gave the people a great deal of backsheesh and went away, taking the golden fowls with him. The most interesting object he has revealed is a vaulted room, about twenty feet long, which the raïs pointed out as the place where the treasures were found. It is possible that he here referred to the discoveries made about twenty years ago by Ferlini, who excavated a great quantity of rings and other ornaments, Greek and Roman, as well as Ethiopian, which are now in the museum at Berlin. The ceiling of this vault is on the true principle of the arch, with a keystone in the center, which circumstance, as well as the character of the sculptures, would seem to fix the age of the pyramids at a little more than two thousand years. I took a sketch of this remarkable cluster of ruins from their northern end, and afterward another from the valley below, whence each pyramid appears distinct and separate, no one covering the other. The raïs and sailors were puzzled what to make of my inspection of the place, but finally concluded that I hoped to find a few golden pigeons, which the Frank astrologer had not carried away. I next visited the eastern group, which consists of ten pyramids, more or less dilapidated, and the ruined foundations of six or eight more. The largest, which I ascended, consists of thirty-five courses of stone, and is about fifty-three feet in hight, eight or ten feet of the apex having been hurled down. Each side of the apex is seventeen paces, or about forty-two feet long, and the angle of ascent is consequently much greater than in the pyramids of Egypt. On the slope of the hill are the substructions of two or three large buildings, of which sufficient remains to show the disposition of the chambers and the location of the doorways. Toward the south, near where the valley inclosed between the two groups opens upon the plain, are the remains of other pyramids and buildings, and some large, fortress-like ruins are seen on the summits of the mountains to the east. I would willingly have visited them, but the wind was blowing fresh, and the raïs was impatient to get back to his vessel. Many of the stones of the pyramids are covered with rude attempts at sculpturing camels and horses; no doubt by the Arabs, for they resemble a school-boy’s first drawings on a slate; straight sticks for legs, squares for bodies, and triangles for humps.

“Leaving the ruins to the company of the black goats that were browsing on the dry grass, growing in bunches at their eastern base, I walked to another group of pyramids, which lay a mile and a half to the south-west, toward the Nile. As we approached them, a herd of beautiful gray gazelles started from among the stones and bounded away into the desert. ‘These were the tents of the poor people,’ said the raïs, pointing to the pyramids; ‘the Frank found no golden pigeons here.’ They were, in fact, smaller and more dilapidated than the others. Some had plain burial chambers attached to their eastern sides, but the sculptures were few and insignificant. There were sixteen in all, more or less ruined. Scattering mounds, abounding with fragments of bricks and building stones, extended from these ruins nearly to the river’s bank, a distance of more than two miles; and the foundations of many other pyramids might be seen among them. The total number of pyramids in a partial state of preservation, (some being nearly perfect, while a few retained only two or three of the lower courses,) which I counted on the site of Meroë, was forty-two. Besides these, I noticed the traces of forty or fifty others, which had been wholly demolished. The entire number, however, of which Meroë could boast, in its prime, was one hundred and ninety-six. The mounds near the river, which cover an extent of between one and two miles, point out the site of the city, the capital of the old hierarchy of Meroë, and the pyramids are no doubt the tombs of its kings and priests. It is rather singular that the city has been so completely destroyed, as the principal spoilers of Egypt, the Persians, never penetrated into Ethiopia, and there is no evidence of the stones having been used to any extent by the Arabs, as building materials.

“The examination of Meroë has solved the doubtful question of an Ethiopian civilization anterior to that of Egypt. Hoskins and Cailliaud, who attributed a great antiquity to the ruins, were misled by the fact, discovered by Lepsius, that the Ethiopian monarchs adopted as their own, and placed upon their tombs the nomens of the earlier Pharaohs. It is now established beyond a doubt, that, so far from being the oldest, these are the latest remains of Egyptian art; their inferiority displays its decadence, and not the rude, original type, whence it sprang. Starting from Memphis, where not only the oldest Egyptian, but the oldest human records yet discovered, are found, the era of civilization becomes later, as you ascend the Nile. In Nubia, there are traces of Thothmes and Amunoph III., or about fifteen centuries before the Christian era; at Napata, the ancient capital of Ethiopia, we can not get beyond King Tirhaka, eight centuries later; while at Meroë, there is no evidence which can fix the date of the pyramids earlier than the first, or at furthest, the second century before Christ. Egypt, therefore, was not civilized from Ethiopia, but Ethiopia from Egypt. The sculptures at Meroë also establish the important fact that the ancient Ethiopians, though of a darker complexion than the Egyptians, (as they are in fact represented, in Egyptian sculpture,) were, like them, an offshoot of the great Caucasian race. Whether they were originally emigrants from northern India and the regions about Cashmere, as the Egyptians are supposed to have been, or, like the Beni Koreish at a later period, crossed over from the Arabian peninsula, is not so easily determined. The theory of Pococke and other scholars, based on the presumed antiquity of Meroë, that here was the first dawning on African soil of that earliest Indian civilization, which afterward culminated at Memphis and Thebes, is overthrown but we have what is of still greater significance, the knowledge that the highest civilization, in every age of the world, has been developed by the race to which we belong.

“I walked slowly back to the boat, over the desolate plain, striving to create from those shapeless piles of ruin the splendor of which they were once a part. The sun, and the wind, and the mountains, and the Nile, were what they had ever been; but where the kings and priests of Meroë walked in the pomp of their triumphal processions, a poor, submissive peasant knelt before me with a gourd full of goat’s milk; and if I had asked him when that plain had been inhabited, he would have answered me, like Chidhar, the prophet: ‘As thou seest it now, so has it been forever!’”

PYRAMIDS AND RUINS OF MERAWE.

There are other pyramids and ruins in Ethiopia that would be worthy of extended notice, but that they are so far surpassed in number and magnificence by those already described. The principal of these are found at Merawe, the former capital of Darshygeea, to the north-west of Meroë, where the Nile, flowing south-west, reaches the frontier of Dongola. This Merawe must not be confounded with Meroë, the ruins of which have just been described. The identity of the sounds of the names, did, indeed, at first deceive antiquarians, who supposed the temples and pyramids in this neighborhood to have belonged to the capital of the old hierarchy of Meroë; but it is now satisfactorily established that they mark the site of Napata, the capital of Ethiopia up to the time of the Cæsars. It was the limit of the celebrated expedition of the Roman soldiers, under Petronius. Djebel Berkel, at whose base the principal remains are found, is in latitude eighteen degrees, thirty-five minutes, or thereabouts.

As the traveler already quoted, rose in the morning, to go over to the mountain and the ruins at its base, “I was,” says he, “enchanted with the picture which the shores presented. The air was filled with a light, silvery vapor, (a characteristic of sultry weather in Africa,) softening the deep, rich color of the landscape. The eastern bank was one bower of palms, standing motionless, in perfect groups, above the long, sloping banks of beans in blossom. Such grace and glory, such silence and repose, I thought I had never before seen in the vegetable world. Opposite, the ruined palaces of the old Shygheean kings, and the mud and stone hovels of modern Merawe, rose in picturesque piles above the river bank and below the red sandstone bluffs of the Nubian desert, which overhung them and poured the sand through deep rents and fissures upon their very roofs. The mosque, with a tall, circular minaret, stood embowered in a garden of date-palms, under one of the highest bluffs. Up the river, which stretched glittering into the distance, the forest of trees shut out the view of the desert, except Djebel Berkel, which stood high and grand above them; the morning painting its surface with red lights and purple shadows. Over the misty horizon of the river rose a single conical peak, far away. The sky was a pale, sleepy blue, and all that I saw seemed beautiful dream-pictures, everywhere grace, beauty, splendor of coloring, steeped in elysian repose. It is impossible to describe the glory of that passage across the river. It paid me for all the hardships of the desert.

“When we touched the other shore and mounted the little donkeys we had taken across with us, the ideal character of the scene disappeared, but left a reality picturesque and poetic enough. We rode under a cluster of ruined stone buildings, one of which occupied considerable space, rising pylon-like, to the hight of thirty feet. The shekh informed me that it had been the palace of a Shygheean king, before the Turks got possession of the country. It was wholly dilapidated, but a few Arab families were living in the stone dwellings which surround it. These clusters of shattered buildings extend for more than a mile along the river, and are all now known as Merawe. Our road led between fields of ripening wheat, rolling in green billows before the breeze, on one side, and on the other, not more than three yards distant, the naked sandstone walls of the desert, where a blade of grass never grew. Over the wheat, along the bank of the Nile, rose a long forest of palms, so thickly ranged that the eye could scarcely penetrate their dense, cool shade; while on the other hand the glaring sand-hills showed their burning shoulders above the bluffs. It was a most violent contrast, and yet, withal, there was a certain harmony in these opposite features. We now approached the mountain, which is between three and four miles from the town. It rises from out the sands of the Nubian desert, to the hight of five hundred feet, presenting a front completely perpendicular toward the river. It is inaccessible on all sides except the north, which in one place has an inclination of forty-five degrees. Its scarred and shattered walls of naked sandstone stand up stern and sublime in the midst of the hot and languid landscape. As we approached, a group of pyramids appeared on the brow of a sand-hill to the left, and I discerned at the base of the mountain several isolated pillars, the stone-piles of ruined pylons, and other remains of temples. The first we reached was at the south-eastern corner of the mountain. Amid heaps of sandstone blocks and disjointed segments of pillars, five columns of an exceedingly old form still point out the court of a temple, whose adyta are hewn within the mountain. They are not more than ten feet high and three in diameter, circular, and without capital or abacus, unless a larger block, rudely sculptured with the outlines of a Typhon-head, may be considered as such. The doorway is hurled down and defaced, but the cartouches of kings may still be traced on the fragments. There are three chambers in the rock, the walls of which are covered with sculptures, for the most part representing the Egyptian divinities. The temple was probably dedicated to Typhon, or the Evil Principle, as one of the columns is still faced with a caryatid of the short, plump, big-mouthed and bat-eared figure, which elsewhere represents him. Over the entrance is the sacred winged globe, and the ceiling shows the marks of brilliant coloring. The temple is not remarkable for its architecture, and can only be interesting in an antiquarian point of view. It bears some resemblance in its general style to the temple-palace of Goorneh, at Thebes.

“The eastern base of the mountain, which fronts the Nile, is strewn with hewn blocks, fragments of capitals, immense masses of dark bluish-gray granite, and other remains, which prove that a large and magnificent temple once stood there. The excavations made by Lepsius and others have uncovered the substructions sufficiently to show the general plan of two buildings. The main temple was at the north-eastern corner of the mountain, under the highest point of its perpendicular crags. The remains of its small propylons stand in advance, about two hundred yards from the rock, going toward which, you climb the mound formed by the ruins of a large pylon, at the foot of which are two colossal ram-headed sphinxes of blue granite, buried to their necks in the sand. Beyond this is a portico and pillared court, followed by other courts and labyrinths of chambers. Several large blocks of granite, all more or less broken and defaced, lie on the surface or half quarried from the rubbish. They are very finely polished and contain figures of kings, evidently arranged in genealogical order, each accompanied with his name. The shekh had a great deal to tell me of the Franks, who dug up all the place, and set the people to work at hauling away the lions and rams, which they carried off in ships. I looked in vain for the celebrated pedestal; it has probably become the spoil of Lepsius.

“It was now noon, and only the pyramids remained to be seen on that side of the river. The main group is about a third of a mile from the mountain, on the ridge of a sand-hill. There are six pyramids, nearly entire, and the foundations of others. They are almost precisely similar to those of the real Meroë, each having a small exterior chamber on the eastern side. Like the latter, they are built of sandstone blocks, only filled at the corners, which are covered with a hem or molding; the sides of two of them are convex. On all of them the last eight or ten courses next the top have been smoothed to follow the slope of the side. It was no doubt intended to finish them all in this manner. One of them has also the corner molding rounded, so as to form a scroll, like that on the cornice of many of the Egyptian temples. They are not more than fifty feet in hight, with very narrow bases. One of them, indeed, seems to be the connecting link between the pyramid and the obelisk. Nearer the river is an older pyramid, though no regular courses of stone are to be seen any longer. These sepulchral remains, however, are much inferior to those of Meroë. The oldest names found at Napata are those of Amenoph III. and Remeses II. (1630 B. C. and 1400 B. C.) both of whom subjected Nubia to their rule. The remains of Ethiopian art, however, go no further than King Tirkaka, 730 B. C.—the Ethiopian monarch, who, in the time of Hezekiah, marched into Palestine to meet Sennacherib, king of Assyria. Napata, therefore, occupies an intermediate place in history, between Thebes and Meroë, showing the gradual southward progress of Egyptian art and civilization. It is a curious fact that the old religion of Egypt should have been here met face to face, and overthrown, by Christianity, which, starting in the mountains of Abyssinia, followed the course of the Nile northward. In the sixth century of our era, Ethiopia and Nubia were converted to Christianity and remained thus until the fourteenth century, when they fell beneath the sword of Islam.

“The next morning, the shekh proposed going with me to the remains of a temple, half an hour distant, on the eastern bank of the river. After walking a mile and a half over the sands, which have here crowded the vegetation to the very water’s edge, we came to a broad mound of stones, broken bricks and pottery, with a foundation wall of heavy limestone blocks, along the western side. There were traces of doors and niches, and on the summit of the mound the pedestals of columns similar to those of El Berkel. From this place commenced a waste of ruins, extending for nearly two miles toward the north-west, while the breadth, from east to west, was about equal. For the most part, the buildings were entirely concealed by the sand, which was filled with fragments of pottery and glass, and with shining pebbles of jasper, agate and chalcedony. Half a mile further, we struck on another mound, of greater extent, though the buildings were entirely level with the earth. The foundations of pillars were abundant, and fragments of circular limestone blocks lay crumbling to pieces in the rubbish. The most interesting object was a mutilated figure of blue granite, of which only a huge pair of wings could be recognized. The shekh said that all the Frank travelers who came there broke off a piece and carried it away with them. I did not follow their example. Toward the river were many remains of crude brick walls, and the ground was strewn with pieces of excellent hard-burnt bricks. The sand evidently conceals many interesting objects. I saw in one place, where it had fallen in, the entrance to a chamber, wholly below the surface. The Arabs were at work in various parts of the plain, digging up the sand, which they filled in baskets and carried away on donkeys. The shekh said it contained salt, and was very good to make wheat grow, whence I inferred that the earth is nitrous. We walked for an hour or two over the ruins, finding everywhere the evidence that a large capital had once stood on the spot. The bits of water-jars which we picked up were frequently painted and glazed with much skill. The soil was in many places wholly composed of the debris of the former dwellings. This was, without doubt, the ancient Napata, of which Djebel Berkel was only the necropolis. Napata must have been one of the greatest cities of ancient Africa, after Thebes, Memphis and Carthage. I felt a peculiar interest in wandering over the site of that half-forgotten capital, whereof the ancient historians knew little more than we. That so little is said by them in relation to it is somewhat surprising, notwithstanding its distance from the Roman frontier.”

EGYPTIAN TEMPLES AND MONUMENTS.

Returning from Ethiopia to Egypt, we find not a few of its monuments and temples worthy of our notice as wonderful testimonies to the art and wealth of their ancient builders.

POMPEY’S PILLAR AND CLEOPATRA’S NEEDLE.

Passing out, toward the south, from modern Alexandria, one of the first objects that greets the eye of the traveler, is Pompey’s pillar, which rears its stupendous mass of polished granite in solitary grandeur, a monument of buried empires and of nations that have passed away. Though it now stands alone, it is supposed to have been but one of the four hundred stately columns of the Serapeum as it once stood in all its grandeur. “This pillar,” says Thompson, “is the one solitary monument of the old city upon its southern front, and answers to the one standing obelisk that is its solitary monument on the north. Of its origin, history is as silent as the mummy of Belzoni’s tomb; but there is no doubt that ‘Pompey’s pillar is really a misnomer;’ for the inscription ‘shows it to have been erected by Publius, the prefect of Egypt, in honor of Diocletian,’ who subdued a revolt at Alexandria by capturing the city, A. D. 296. But whether it was then first hewn from the quarry, or was transported from some decaying temple up the Nile, the Greek lettering does not inform us. If the latter, (which, considering the decline of art and the pilfering propensities of the Romans, is probable,) then this now lonely sentinel, an Egyptian column with a Greek inscription to a Roman emperor, has witnessed in turn the decay of Egypt, of Greece, and of Rome, upon the soil where it still disputes with Time the empire of the past. To the reader of Gibbon, it may seem strange that a monument should have been reared at Alexandria in honor of a conqueror, who, during a siege of eight months, wasted the city by the sword and by fire, and who, when it finally capitulated and implored his clemency, caused it to feel ‘the full extent of his severity,’ and destroyed ‘thousands of its citizens in a promiscuous slaughter.’ The fact may serve to show the worthlessness of such monuments as testimonials to character, or as expressions of public esteem. But whatever may be its history or its associations, one can not look upon this column without a feeling of astonishment and awe. Outside of the modern city walls and some six hundred yards to the south of them, away from the present homes of men, but on an eminence that overlooks the entire city, and in striking contrast with the meager, attenuated style of its present architecture, stands this stupendous column of red granite, ninety-nine feet in hight by thirty in circumference, its shaft an elegant monolith measuring seventy-three feet between the pedestal and the capital. It marks the site of an ancient stadium, and as some conjecture, of the gymnasium, which was surrounded with majestic porticos of granite.”

From Pompey’s pillar, to Cleopatra’s needles, is a distance of about a mile through the city in a north-easterly direction. “These obelisks,” says Thompson, “have no more relation to Cleopatra, than the pillar has to Pompey. Their hieroglyphics, according to Wilkinson and Lepsius, date back as far as the exodus from Egypt; and they were brought to Alexandria from the city of Heliopolis, or On, about a hundred miles to the south. Each ‘needle’ is a solid block of red granite, about seventy feet high, and nearly eight feet in diameter at the base. How such huge blocks were cut from the quarry, transported hundreds of miles, and erected upon their pedestals, is a mystery not solved by anything yet discovered of ancient mechanic arts. Only one of the obelisks is standing. The other was taken down to be transported to England, but now lies half buried in the mud and sand. On one side of the standing obelisk the hieroglyphics are distinctly legible, but on the northern or seaward side they are much defaced by the action of the weather. It stands upon the edge of the great harbor, in a line with the rock of Pharos that forms the extreme northern point of the horseshoe port.

“Besides the pillar and the needles nothing remains to testify the former splendor of Alexandria; a capital that once vied with Rome, containing a population equal to that of New York, (three hundred thousand freemen and as many slaves,) and that so late as the seventh century, according to the testimony of Amrou, its Saracenic conqueror, contained ‘four thousand palaces, four thousand baths, four hundred theaters, twelve thousand shops for the sale of vegetables, and forty thousand tributary Jews.’ A few ruins are pointed out, but these are fast disappearing with the ravages of time. Its name is the only memorial of its founder; and the long range of catacombs along the shore to the west of the city, the sole vestige of its ancient population. So rapid was the growth of the city, that at the commencement of the Christian era, it was ‘second only to Rome itself,’ and ‘comprehended a circumference of fifteen miles’ within its walls. It was a great seat of commerce. ‘Idleness was unknown. Either sex, and every age, was engaged in the pursuits of industry;’ the blowing of glass, the weaving of linen, manufacturing the papyrus, or conducting the lucrative trade of the port. Alexander, fresh from the conquest of Tyre, boasted that he would here build an emporium of commerce surpassing that which he had ruined, and thus would recreate in his own image the world he had destroyed. The site of Alexandria, more felicitous than that of Tyre, promised to realize his ambitious dream. Its gates ‘looked out on the gilded barges of the Nile, on fleets at sea under full sail, on a harbor that sheltered navies, and a light-house that was the mariner’s star, and the wonder of the world.’ But neither the felicity of its location, nor the enterprise of its Ptolemaic rulers, nor the wealth of its commerce, nor the learning that gathered to its schools the students of art, of philosophy, of medicine, of science, and of religion, could withstand the march of empire from Asia to Europe, nor the laws of trade that followed in its track.”

The present population of Alexandria is less than a hundred thousand; a mixture of all the oriental races, with many Europeans and Jews. In passing through its narrow and dirty streets, now occupied with a motley and poverty-stricken populace; in traversing the villages of hovels within its walls, where the Arab lies down with his sheep, his goat, his dog, and his donkey, all in the mud inclosure of a few feet square, which must be entered by stooping; and in climbing the huge mounds that are said to cover the ancient capital, it is difficult to realize that here once dwelt the hundred thousand Jews, for whom the seventy made their celebrated Greek version of the Old Testament; that here the eloquent Apollos was born, and the learned Athanasius conducted his theological controversies; that here Theodosius, by imperial edict, destroyed the temple of Serapis, and publicly established Christianity in place of the outcast divinities of the Egyptian Greeks; that here was a school to which the sages of Greece resorted for instruction in philosophy, science and letters, and where Jewish rabbins and Christian apologists vied with Greek dialecticians in the various pursuits of learning; and that here was a library of seven hundred thousand manuscript volumes, a British museum or a Smithsonian institute, boasting the originals or the duplicates of many of the most valuable works of the then current literature, and which, after the accidental destruction of a part of it in the insurrection against Julius Cæsar, and the willful destruction of another portion in the sanguinary religious wars under Theodosius, yet contained enough of written papyrus to heat for six months the four thousand baths of the city, under the summary decree of Omar: “If these writings of the Greeks agree with the book of God, they are useless, and need not be preserved; if they disagree, they are pernicious, and ought to be destroyed.” It is difficult amid such surroundings, to realize that here Cæsar and Antony dallied with the charms of Cleopatra. It is difficult to realize that where now bigotry, fanaticism and superstition hold sway over an ignorant and degraded people, were schools of theology, and learned fathers, and astute controversialists of the early Christian church; that here Christianity triumphed over paganism in popular tumults backed by imperial decrees; that here Mark preached the gospel of the kingdom where the Ethiopian eunuch had preceded him with the tidings of the great salvation. And yet that old Alexandria, which began to be in the fourth century before Christ, and of all whose palaces and temples and monuments only two columns are now standing, was the youngest of Egyptian cities, and was built by the conqueror of Egypt when Thebes, and Memphis, and the university city of Heliopolis, were already in their decline. Such is the antiquity that meets us at the threshold of the land of the Nile.

THE CATACOMBS OF ALEXANDRIA.

In connection with Alexandria, it is in place to speak of its cryptæ or catacombs, a range of primeval sepulchers, on which a prodigious amount of labor must have been bestowed. They are situated about half a league along the shore, to the westward of the modern city; and their intricacy is such, that formerly the guides would not enter them without a clew of thread, which they unwound as they went in, so that by following it on their return, they might secure their safe retreat. Dr. Clarke is very particular in his description of these subterranean abodes of the dead; and from his interesting narrative the following particulars have been gathered.

The original entrance to them is now closed, and is externally concealed from observation. The only place by which admittance to the interior is practicable, is a small aperture made through the soft and sandy rock, barely large enough to admit a person upon his hands and knees. Here, sometimes, the traveler has encountered jackals, escaping from the interior when alarmed by any person approaching; on which account, a gun or pistol used often to be discharged before entering, to prevent any sally of this kind. “Having passed this aperture,” says Dr. Clarke, “with lighted tapers, we arrived, by gradual descent, in a square chamber, almost filled with earth: to the right and left of this are smaller apartments, chiseled in the rock; each of these contains on either side of it, except that of the entrance, a soros for the reception of a mummy; but, owing to the accumulation of sand in all of them, this part of the catacombs can not be examined without great difficulty. Leaving the first chamber, we found a second of still larger dimensions, having four cryptæ with soroi, two on either side, and a fifth at its extremity toward the south-east. From hence, penetrating toward the west, we passed through another forced aperture, which conducted us into a square chamber, without any receptacles for dead bodies; thence, pursuing a south-western course, we persevered in effecting a passage, over heaps of sand, from one chamber to another, admiring everywhere the same extraordinary effects of labor and ingenuity, until we found ourselves bewildered with so many passages, that our clew of thread became of more importance than we at first believed it would prove to be. At last we reached the stately antechamber of the principal sepulcher, which had every appearance of being intended for a regal repository. It was of a circular form, surmounted by a beautiful dome, hewn out of the rock, with exquisite perfection, and the purest simplicity of workmanship. In a few of the chambers we observed pilasters, resembling, in their style of architecture, the Doric, with architraves, as in some of the most ancient sepulchers near Jerusalem; but they were all integral parts of the solid rock. The dome covering the circular chamber was without ornament; the entrance to it being from the north-west. Opposite to this entrance was a handsome square crypt with three soroi; and to the right and left were other cryptæ, similarly surrounded with places for the dead. Hereabouts we observed the remarkable symbol, sculptured in relief, of an orb with extending wings, evidently intended to represent the subterraneous sun, or sol inferus, as mentioned by Macrobius. We endeavored to penetrate further toward the south-west and south, and found that another complete wing of the vast fabric extended in those directions, but the labor of the research was excessive.

“The cryptæ upon the south-west side corresponded with those which we have described toward the north-east. In the middle, between the two, a long range of chambers extended from the central and circular shrine toward the north-west; and in this direction appears to have been the principal and original entrance. Proceeding toward it we came to a large room in the middle of the fabric, between the supposed Serapeum and the main outlet, or portal, toward the sea. Here the workmanship was very elaborate; and to the right and left were chambers, with receptacles ranged parallel to each other. Further on, in the same direction, is a passage with galleries and spacious apartments on either side; probably the chambers for embalming the dead, or those belonging to the priests, who constantly officiated in the Serapeum. In the front is a kind of vestibulum, or porch; but it is exceedingly difficult to ascertain precisely the nature of the excavation toward the main entrance, from the manner in which it is now choked with earth and rubbish. If this part were laid open, it is possible that something further would be known as to the design of the undertaking; and, at all events, one of the most curious of the antiquities of Egypt would then be exposed to the investigation it merits. Having passed about six hours in exploring, to the best of our ability, these gloomy mansions, we regained, by means of our clew, the aperture by which we had entered, and quitted them forever.”

BATHING IN THE EAST.

Before leaving Alexandria, it may be interesting to glance at the process and luxury of oriental bathing, so often described by travelers in Turkey and Egypt. The narrative is from Taylor, who, though deceived by his dragoman as to the excellence of the bath compared with others which he might have visited, gives us a vivid picture of the process the bather undergoes, and the full comfort that follows it. He says, “The bath to which he conducted us, he declared was the finest in Alexandria, the most superb in all the orient, but it did not at all accord with our ideas of eastern luxury. Moreover, the bath-keeper was his intimate friend, and would bathe us as no Christians were ever bathed before. One fact Ibrahim kept to himself, which was, that his intimate friend and he shared the spoils of our inexperience. We were conducted to a one-story building, of very unprepossessing exterior. As we entered the low, vaulted entrance, my ears were saluted with a dolorous, groaning sound, which I at first conjectured to proceed from the persons undergoing the operation, but which I afterward ascertained was made by a wheel turned by a buffalo, employed in raising water from the well. In a sort of basement hall, smelling of soap-suds, and with a large tank of dirty water in the center, we were received by the bath-keeper, who showed us into a room containing three low divans with pillows. Here we disrobed, and Ibrahim, who had procured a quantity of napkins, enveloped our heads in turbans and swathed our loins in a simple Adamite garment. Heavy wooden clogs were attached to our feet, and an animated bronze statue led the way through gloomy passages, sometimes hot and steamy, sometimes cold and soapy, and redolent of anything but the spicy odors of Araby the blest, to a small vaulted chamber, lighted by a few apertures in the ceiling. The moist heat was almost suffocating; hot water flowed over the stone floor, and the stone benches we sat upon were somewhat cooler than kitchen stoves. The bronze individual left us, and very soon, sweating at every pore, we began to think of the three Hebrews in the furnace. Our comfort was not increased by the groaning sound which we still heard, and by seeing, through a hole in the door, five or six naked figures lying motionless along the edge of a steaming vat, in the outer room. Presently our statue returned with a pair of coarse hair-gloves on his hands. He snatched off our turbans, and then, seizing one of my friends by the shoulder as if he had been a sheep, began a sort of rasping operation upon his back. This process, varied occasionally by a dash of scalding water, was extended to each of our three bodies, and we were then suffered to rest awhile. A course of soap-suds followed, which was softer and more pleasant in its effect, except when he took us by the hair, and holding back our heads, scrubbed our faces most lustily, as if there were no such things as eyes, noses and mouths. By this time we had reached such a salamandrine temperature that the final operation of a dozen pailfuls of hot water poured over the head, was really delightful. After a plunge in a seething tank, we were led back to our chamber and enveloped in loose muslin robes. Turbans were bound on our heads and we lay on the divans to recover from the languor of the bath. The change produced by our new costume was astonishing. The stout German became a Turkish mollah, the young Smyrniote a picturesque Persian, and I—I scarcely know what, but, as my friends assured me, a much better Moslem than Frank. Cups of black coffee and pipes of inferior tobacco completed the process, and in spite of the lack of cleanliness and superabundance of fleas, we went forth lighter in body, and filled with a calm content which nothing seemed able to disturb.”

EGYPTIAN TEMPLES, MONUMENTS, &C.

The ruins of the temple of Hermopolis, or the great city of Mercury, which were thought wonderful till the later discoveries in Egypt threw them comparatively in the shade, give some idea of the great range and high perfection the arts had attained in that country. Many parts of these ruins have preserved their original position, without having been altered or deformed by the works of modern times, and have remained untouched for well nigh four thousand years. They are of freestone, of the fineness of marble, and have neither cement, nor any other means of union, except the perfect fitting of the respective parts. The colossal proportions of the edifice, evince the power the Egyptians possessed to raise such enormous masses. The portico is one hundred and twenty feet long, and its hight sixty feet. Not a spring of an arch remains, to throw light on the dimensions of the whole extent of the temple, or of the nave. The architecture is still richer than the Doric order of the Greeks. The shafts of the pillars represent fasciæ, or bundles; and the pedestal, the stem of the lotus. Under the roof between the two middle columns, are winged globes; and all the roofs are ornamented with a wreath of painted stars, of an aurora color on a blue ground.

The temple of Apollinopolis Magna is described by Denon as surpassing in extent, majesty, magnificence, and high preservation, whatever he had seen in Egypt, or elsewhere. This building is a long suite of pyramidal gates, of courts decorated with galleries, of porticos, and of covered naves, constructed, not with common stones, but with entire rocks. This superb edifice is situated on a rising ground, so as to overlook, not only its immediate vicinity, but the whole valley. On the right is the principal gate, placed between two huge mounds of buildings, on the walls of which are three orders of hieroglyphic figures, increasing in their gigantic dimensions, insomuch that the last have a length of twenty-five feet. The inner court is decorated with a gallery of columns, bearing two terraces, which come out at two gates, through which is the passage to the stairs, leading to the platform of the mounds. Behind the inner portico are several apartments, and the sanctuary of the temple. A wall of circumvallation is decorated both within and without with innumerable hieroglyphics, executed in a very finished and laborious style. This magnificent temple appears to have been dedicated to the evil genius, the figure of Typhon being represented in relief on the four sides of the plinth which surmounts each of the capitals. The entire frieze, and all the paintings within, are descriptive of Isis, defending herself against the attacks of that monster.

THE RUINS OF THEBES.

The ruins of the ancient city of Thebes, which Homer has characterized by the single expression of the city with a hundred gates, are of so immense an extent as to convince the spectator that fame has not exaggerated its size. For, as if the diameter of old Egypt was not sufficient to contain it, its monuments rest on two chains of contiguous mountains, while its tombs occupy the valleys toward the west, stretching off into the desert. The large temple on the eastern side is between two and three leagues distant from Medeenet Abou, where the most western temple is situated; and the modern village of Karnak is built on a small part of the site of a single temple, which is half a mile in circumference. Of the remains of this temple, Denon tells us, that “of the hundred columns of the portico alone, the smallest are seven feet and a half in diameter, and the largest twelve. The space occupied by the circumvallation of the temple contains lakes and mountains. In short, to be enabled to form a competent idea of so much magnificence, the reader ought to fancy what is before him to be a dream, as he who views the objects themselves rubs his eyes to know whether he is awake. The avenue leading from Karnak to Luxor, a space nearly half a league in extent, contains a constant succession of sphinxes and other chimerical figures to the right and left, together with fragments of stone walls, of small columns, and of statues.”

The village of Luxor, Denon describes “as also built on the side of the ruins of a temple, not so large as that of Karnak, but in a better state of preservation, the masses not having as yet fallen through time, and by the pressure of their own weight. The most colossal parts consist of fourteen columns of nearly eleven feet in diameter, and of two statues in granite, at the outer gate, buried up to the middle of the arms, and having in front of them the two largest and best preserved obelisks known. The French, when in Egypt, deemed their means insufficient, not to hew out, but merely to transport these two monuments, which are not more than a fragment of one of the numerous edifices of the astonishing city of Thebes. They are of rose-color granite, are still seventy feet above the ground, and to judge by the depth to which they are supposed to be covered with sand, are believed to be at least one hundred feet in hight. Their preservation is perfect, and the hieroglyphics with which they are covered being cut deep, and in relief at the bottom, show the bold hand of a master, and a beautiful finish. The chisels which could cut such hard materials must have been of an admirable temper; and the machines to drag such enormous blocks from the quarries, to transport them thither, and to set them upright, together with the time required for the labor, surpass all conception!” In speaking of the gate of the temple, which is now that of the village of Luxor, Denon remarks as follows. “Nothing can be more grand, and at the same time more simple, than the small number of objects of which this entrance is composed. No city whatever makes so proud a display at its approach as this wretched village, the population of which consists of two or three thousand souls, who have taken up their abode on the roofs and beneath the galleries of this temple, which has, nevertheless, the air of being in a manner uninhabited.”

The tombs of the kings of Thebes are grottos consisting of a regular double gallery supported by pillars, behind which is a row of chambers, often double. In proportion as the hight of these grottos increases, they become more richly decorated; and the spectator is soon convinced, by the magnificence both of the paintings and sculptures, and of the subjects they represent, that he is among the tombs of great men or heroes. Those which appear to have belonged to the ancient kings, are only distinguished from the others by the magnificence of the sarcophagi, and the mysterious solitude of their situation; the others immediately overlooking the great buildings in the city. The sculpture in all is incomparably more labored and more highly finished than that of the temples, and displays a high perfection of the art. The lines of the hieroglyphics have been cut with a firmness of touch, and a precision, of which marbles offer but few examples; and the figures have a particular elegance and correctness of contour. Small subjects taken from nature are introduced; and in these the groups of persons are given in perspective; and cut in deep relief, in simple and natural attitudes. Several of these subjects bear but little analogy to the spot in which they are immured; for bass-reliefs are seen representing games, such as rope-dancing, and asses taught to play tricks and rear on their hind legs, sculptured with all the traits of genuine nature and simplicity. The plan of these excavations is singular; and many are so vast and complicated, that they might be mistaken for labyrinths, or subterraneous temples. After passing the elegant apartments described above, long and gloomy galleries present themselves, winding backward and forward in numerous angles, and seeming to occupy a great extent of ground. They are melancholy, repulsive, and without any decoration; but open from time to time into other chambers covered with hieroglyphics, and branch out into narrow paths, leading to deep perpendicular pits. At the bottom of these pits are other adorned chambers; and lower still a new series of perpendicular pits and horizontal chambers, until at length, ascending a long flight of steps, the visitor reaches an open place on a level with the chambers he first entered.

Thus far we have followed the brief outline given by Denon, and the earlier travelers. But our ideas of these wonderful ruins will become much more enlarged, as well as accurate, by perusing the descriptions of more recent tourists and explorers; such for example as Taylor and Thompson. The former, before beginning the recital of his visit, gives an outline of the topography of Thebes. “The course of the Nile,” he says, “is here nearly north, dividing the site of the ancient city into two almost equal parts. On approaching it from Kenneh, the mountain of Goorneh which abuts on the river, marks the commencement of the western division. This mountain, a range of naked limestone crags, terminating in a pyramidal peak, gradually recedes to the distance of three miles from the Nile, which it again approaches further south. Nearly the whole of the curve, which might be called the western wall of the city, is pierced with tombs, among which are those of the queens, and the grand priestly vaults of the Assasseef. The valley of the kings’ tombs lies deep in the heart of the range, seven or eight miles from the river. After passing the corner of the mountain, the first ruin on the western bank is that of the temple-palace of Goorneh. More than a mile further, at the base of the mountain, is the Memnonium, or temple of Remeses the Great, between which and the Nile the two Memnonian colossi are seated on the plain. Nearly two miles to the south of this is the great temple of Medeenet Abou, and the fragments of other edifices are met with, still further beyond. On the eastern bank, nearly opposite Goorneh, stands the temple of Karnak, about half a mile from the river. Eight miles eastward, at the foot of the Arabian mountains, is the small temple of Medamot, which, however, does not appear to have been included in the limits of Thebes. Luxor is directly on the bank of the Nile, a mile and a half south of Karnak, and the plain extends several miles beyond it, before reaching the isolated range, whose three conical peaks are the landmarks of Thebes to voyagers on the river. These distances convey an idea of the extent of the ancient city, but fail to represent the grand proportions of the landscape, so well fitted, in its simple and majestic outlines, to inclose the most wonderful structures the world has ever seen. The green expanse of the plain; the airy coloring of the mountains; the mild, solemn blue of the cloudless Egyptian sky: these are a part of Thebes, and inseparable from the remembrance of its ruins.

“At sunrise we crossed to the western bank and moored our boat opposite Goorneh. It is advisable to commence with the tombs, and close the inspection of that side with Medeenet Abou, reserving Karnak, the grandest of all for the last. The most unimportant objects in Thebes are full of interest when seen first, whereas Karnak, once seen, fills one’s thoughts to the exclusion of everything else. There are Arab guides for each bank, who are quite familiar with all the principal points, and who have a quiet and unobtrusive way of directing the traveler; and with one of them, we set off on a stirring gallop for the temple of Goorneh and the valley of the kings’ tombs, leaving Achmet to follow with our breakfast, and the Arab boys with their water bottles. The temple of Goorneh was built for the worship of Amun, the Theban Jupiter, by Osirei and his son, Remeses the Great, the supposed Sesostris, nearly fourteen hundred years before the Christian era. It is small, compared with the other ruins, but interesting from its rude and massive style, a remnant of the early period of Egyptian architecture. The two pylons in front of it are shattered down, and the dromos of sphinxes has entirely disappeared. The portico is supported by a single row of ten columns, which neither resemble each other, nor are separated by equal spaces. What is most singular, is the fact that notwithstanding this disproportion, which is also observable in the doorways, the general effect is harmonious. We tried to fathom the secret of this, and found no other explanation than in the lowness of the building, and the rough granite blocks of which it is built. One seeks no proportion in a natural temple of rock, or a cirque of Druid stones. All that the eye requires is rude strength, with a certain approach to order. The effect produced by this temple is of a similar character, barring its historical interest. Its dimensions are too small to be imposing, and I found, after passing it several times, that I valued it more as a feature in the landscape, than for its own sake.

“The sand and pebbles clattered under the hoofs of our horses, as we galloped up the gorge of Biban el Molook, the ‘gates of the kings.’ The sides are perpendicular cliffs of yellow rock, which increased in hight, the further we advanced, and at last terminated in a sort of basin, shut in by precipices several hundred feet in hight and broken into fantastic turrets, gables and pinnacles. The bottom is filled with huge heaps of sand and broken stones, left from the excavation of the tombs in the solid rock. There are twenty-one tombs in this valley, more than half of which are of great extent and richly adorned with paintings and sculptures. Some have been filled with sand or otherwise injured by the occasional rains which visit this region, while a few are too small and plain to need visiting. Sir Gardner Wilkinson has numbered them all in red chalk at the entrances, which is very convenient to those who use his work on Egypt as a guide. I visited ten of the principal tombs, to the great delight of the old guide, who complained that travelers are frequently satisfied with four or five. The general arrangement is the same in all, but they differ greatly in extent and in the character of their decoration.

“The first we entered was the celebrated tomb of Remeses I., discovered by Belzoni. From the narrow entrance, a precipitous staircase, the walls of which are covered with columns of hieroglyphics, descends to a depth of forty feet, where it strikes a horizontal passage leading to an oblong chamber, in which was formerly a deep pit, which Belzoni filled. This pit protected the entrance to the royal chamber, which was also carefully walled up. In the grace and freedom of the drawings, and the richness of their coloring, this tomb surpasses all others. The subjects represented are the victories of the monarch, while in the sepulchral chamber he is received into the presence of the gods. The limestone rock is covered with a fine coating of plaster, on which the figures were first drawn with red chalk, and afterward carefully finished in colors. The reds, yellows, greens and blues are very brilliant, but seem to have been employed at random, the gods having faces sometimes of one color, sometimes of another. In the furthest chamber, which was left unfinished, the subjects are only sketched in red chalk. Some of them have the loose and uncertain lines of a pupil’s hand, over which one sees the bold and rapid corrections of the master. Many of the figures are remarkable for their strength and freedom of outline. I was greatly interested in a procession of men, representing the different nations of the earth. The physical peculiarities of the Persian, the Jew and the Ethiopian are therein as distinctly marked as at the present day. The blacks are perfect counterparts of those I saw daily upon the Nile, and the noses of the Jews seem newly painted from originals in New York. The burial-vault, where Belzoni found the alabaster sarcophagus of the monarch, is a noble hall, thirty feet long by nearly twenty in breadth and hight, with four massive pillars forming a corridor on one side. In addition to the light of our torches, the Arabs kindled a large bonfire in the center, which brought out in strong relief the sepulchral figures on the ceiling, painted in white on a ground of dark indigo hue. The pillars and walls of the vault glowed with the vivid variety of their colors, and the general effect was unspeakably rich and gorgeous. This tomb has already fallen a prey to worse plunderers than the Medes and Persians. Belzoni carried off the sarcophagus, Champollion cut away the splendid jambs and architrave of the entrance to the lower chambers, and Lepsius has finished by splitting the pillars and appropriating their beautiful paintings for the museum at Berlin. At one spot, where the latter has totally ruined a fine doorway, some indignant Frenchman has written in red chalk, ‘Meurtre commis par Lepsius.’ In all the tombs of Thebes, wherever you see the most flagrant and shameless spoliations, the guide says, ‘Lepsius.’ Who can blame the Arabs for wantonly defacing these precious monuments, when such an example is set them by the vanity of European antiquarians?

“Bruce’s tomb, which extends for four hundred and twenty feet into the rock, is larger than Belzoni’s, but not so fresh and brilliant. The main entrance slopes with a very gradual descent, and has on each side a number of small chambers and niches, apparently for mummies. The illustrations in these chambers are somewhat defaced, but very curious, on account of the light which they throw upon the domestic life of the ancient Egyptians. They represent the slaughtering of oxen, the preparation of fowls for the table, the kneading and baking of bread and cakes, as well as the implements and utensils of the kitchen. In other places the field laborers are employed in leading the water of the Nile into canals, cutting dourra, threshing and carrying the grain into magazines. One room is filled with furniture, and the row of chairs around the base of the walls would not be out of place in the most elegant modern drawing-room. The illustrated catalogue of the London exhibition contains few richer and more graceful patterns. In a chamber nearer the royal vault, two old, blind minstrels are seen, playing the harp in the presence of the king, whence this is sometimes called the harper’s tomb. The pillars of the grand hall, like those of all the other tombs we visited, represent the monarch, after death, received into the presence of the gods, stately figures, with a calm and serious aspect, and lips, which, like those of the Sphinx, seemed closed upon some awful mystery. The absurdity of the coloring does not destroy this effect, and a blue-faced Isis, whose hard, black eyeball stares from a brilliant white socket, is not less impressive than the same figure, cut in sandstone or granite. The delicacy and precision of the hieroglyphics, sculptured in intaglio, filled me with astonishment. In the tomb of Amunoph III., which I visited the next day, they resembled the ciphers engraved upon seals in their exquisite sharpness and regularity. Only the principal tombs, however, are thus beautified. In others the figures are either simply painted, or apparently sunken in the plaster, while it was yet fresh, by prepared patterns. The latter method accounts for the exact resemblance of long processions of figures, which would otherwise require a most marvelous skill on the part of the artist. In some unfinished chambers I detected plainly the traces of these patterns, where the outlines of the figures were blunt, and the grain of the plaster bent, and not cut. The family likeness in the faces of the monarchs is also too striking, unfortunately, for us to accept them all as faithful portraits. They are all apparently of the same age, and their attributes do not materially differ. This was probably a flattery on the part of the artists, or the effect of a royal vanity, which required to be portrayed in the freshness of youth and the full vigor of body and mind. The first faces I learned to recognize were those of Remeses II., the supposed Sesostris, and Amunoph III.

“The tomb of Memnon, as it was called by the Romans, is the most elegant of all, in its proportions, and is as symmetrical as a Grecian temple. On the walls of the entrance are several inscriptions of Greek tourists, who visited it in the era of the Ptolemies, and spent their time in carving their names, like Americans nowadays. The huge granite sarcophagus in which the monarch’s mummy was deposited, is broken, as are those of the other tombs, with a single exception. This is the tomb of Osirei I., the grandfather of Sesostris, and the oldest in the valley. I visited it by crawling through a hole barely large enough to admit my body, after which I slid on my back down a passage nearly choked with sand, to another hole, opening into the burial chamber. Here no impious hand had defaced the walls, but the figures were as perfect and the coloring as brilliant as when first executed. In the center stood an immense sarcophagus, of a single block of red granite, and the massive lid, which had been thrown off, lay beside it. The dust in the bottom gave out that peculiar mummy odor perceptible in all the tombs, and in fact long after one has left them, for the clothes become saturated with it. The guide, delighted with having dragged me into that chamber, buried deep in the dumb heart of the mountain, said not a word, and from the awful stillness of the place and the phantasmagoric gleam of the wonderful figures on the walls, I could have imagined myself a neophyte, on the threshold of the Osirian mysteries. We then rode to the western valley, a still deeper and wider glen, containing tombs of the kings of the foreign dynasty of Atin-Re. We entered the two principal ones, but found the paintings rude and insignificant. There are many lateral passages and chambers, and in some places deep pits, along the edge of which we were obliged to crawl. In the last tomb a very long and steep staircase descends into the rock. As we were groping after the guide, I called to my friend to take care, as there was but a single step, after making a slip. The words were scarcely out of my mouth before I felt a tremendous thump, followed by a number of smaller ones, and found myself sitting in a heap of sand, at the bottom, some twenty or thirty feet below. Fortunately, I came off with but a few slight bruises.

“Returning to the temple of Goorneh, we took a path over the plain, through fields of wheat, lupines and lentils, to the two colossi, which we had already seen from a distance. These immense sitting figures, fifty-three feet above the plain, which has buried their pedestals, overlook the site of vanished Thebes and assert the grandeur of which they and Karnak are the most striking remains. They were erected by Amunoph III., and though the faces are totally disfigured, the full, round, beautiful proportions of the colossal arms, shoulders and thighs do not belie the marvelous sweetness of the features which we still see in his tomb. Except the head of Antinous, I know of no ancient portrait so beautiful as Amunoph. The long and luxuriant hair, flowing in a hundred ringlets, the soft grace of the forehead, the mild serenity of the eye, the fine thin lines of the nostrils, and the feminine tenderness of the full lips, triumph over the cramped rigidity of Egyptian sculpture, and charm you with the lightness and harmony of Greek art. In looking on that head, I can not help thinking that the subject overpowered the artist, and led him to the threshold of a truer art. Amunoph, or Memnon, was a poet in soul, and it was meet that his statue should salute the rising sun with a sound like that of a harp-string. Modern research has wholly annihilated this beautiful fable. Memnon now sounds at all hours of the day, and at the command of all travelers who will pay an Arab five piasters to climb up into his lap. We engaged one, who threw off his garments, hooked his fingers and toes into the cracks of the polished granite, and soon hailed us with ‘salaam’ from the knee of the statue. There is a certain stone on Memnon’s lap, which, when sharply struck, gives out a clear, metallic ring. Behind it is a small square aperture, invisible from below, where one of the priests no doubt stationed himself to perform the daily miracle. Our Arab rapped on the arms and body of the statue, which had the usual dead sound of stone, and rendered the musical ring of the sun-smitten block the more striking.” And Thompson tells us, that while he and his associates sat before it on their donkeys, they saw “a boy of fifteen, with a solitary rag round his waist, scrambling up the side of the statue, and presently he was completely hidden in its lap, just where the sly priest used to hide himself over night. Then striking with a hammer the hollow, sonorous stone, it emitted a sharp, clear sound, like the striking of brass,” though it was “not sunrise, but the middle of a scorching afternoon.” “An avenue of sphinxes,” continues Taylor, “once led from these colossi to a grand temple, the foundations of which we found about a quarter of a mile distant. On the way are the fragments of two other colossi, one of black granite. The enormous substructions of the temple and the pedestals of its columns, have been sufficiently excavated to show what a superb edifice has been lost to the world. A crowd of troublesome Arabs, thrusting upon our attention newly baked cinerary urns, newly roasted antique wheat, and images of all kinds fresh from the maker’s hand, disturbed our quiet examination of the ruins, and in order to escape their importunities, we rode to the Memnonium. This edifice, the temple-palace of Remeses the Great, is supposed to be the Memnonium, described by Strabo. It is built on a gentle rise of land at the foot of the mountain, and looks eastward to the Nile and Luxor. The grand stone pylon which stands at the entrance of its former avenue of sphinxes, has been half leveled by the fury of the Persian conquerors; and the colossal granite statue of Remeses, in the first court of the temple, now lies in enormous fragments around its pedestal. Mere dimensions give no idea of this immense mass, the weight of which, when entire, was nearly nine hundred tuns. How poor and trifling appear the modern statues which we call colossal, when measured with this, one of whose toes is a yard in length; and how futile the appliances of modern art, when directed to its transportation for a distance of one hundred and fifty miles! The architrave at each end of the court was upheld by four caryatides, thirty feet in hight. Though much defaced, they are still standing, but are dwarfed by the mighty limbs of Remeses. It is difficult to account for the means by which the colossus was broken. There are no marks of any instruments which could have forced such a mass asunder, and the only plausible conjecture I have heard is, that the stone must have been subjected to an intense heat and afterward to the action of water. The statue, in its sitting position, must have been nearly sixty feet in hight, and is the largest in the world, though not so high as the rock-hewn monoliths of Aboo-Simbel. The Turks and Arabs have cut several mill-stones out of its head, without any apparent diminution of its size. The Memnonium differs from the other temples of Egypt in being almost faultless in its symmetry, even when measured by the strictest rules of art. I know of nothing so exquisite as the central colonnade of its grand hall—a double row of pillars, forty-five feet in hight and twenty-three in circumference, crowned with capitals resembling the bell-shaped blossoms of the lotus. One must see them to comprehend how this simple form, whose expression is all sweetness and tenderness in the flower, softens and beautifies the solid majesty of the shaft. In spite of their colossal proportions, there is nothing massive or heavy in their aspect. The cup of the capital curves gently outward from the abacus on which the architrave rests, and seems the natural blossom of the columnar stem. On either side of this perfect colonnade are four rows of Osiride pillars, of smaller size, yet the variety of their form and proportions only enhances the harmony of the whole. This is one of those enigmas in architecture which puzzle one on his first acquaintance with Egyptian temples, and which he is often forced blindly to accept as new laws of art, because his feeling tells him they are true, and his reason can not satisfactorily demonstrate that they are false.

“We waited till the yellow rays of sunset fell on the capitals of the Memnonium, and they seemed, like the lotus flowers, to exhale a vapory light, before we rode home. All night we wandered in dreams through kingly vaults, with starry ceilings and illuminated walls; but on looking out of our windows at dawn, we saw the red saddle-cloths of our horses against the dark background of the palm grove, as they came down to the boat. No second nap was possible, after such a sight, and many minutes had not elapsed before we were tasting the cool morning air in the delight of a race up and down the shore. Our old guide, however, was on his donkey betimes, and called us off to our duty. We passed Goorneh, and ascended the eastern face of the mountain to the tombs of the priests and private citizens of Thebes. For miles along the mountain side, one sees nothing but heaps of sand and rubbish, with here and there an Arab hut, built against the face of a tomb, whose chambers serve as pigeon-houses and stalls for asses. The earth is filled with fragments of mummies, and the bandages in which they were wrapped; for even the sanctity of death itself, is here neither respected by the Arabs nor the Europeans whom they imitate. The first tomb we entered almost cured us of the desire to visit another. It was that called the Assasseef, built by a wealthy priest, and it is the largest in Thebes. Its outer court measures one hundred and three by seventy-six feet, and its passages extend between eight and nine hundred feet into the mountain. We groped our way between walls as black as ink, through long, labyrinthine suites of chambers, breathing a deathlike and oppressive odor. The stairways seemed to lead into the bowels of the earth, and on either hand yawned pits of uncertain depth. As we advanced, the ghostly vaults rumbled with a sound like thunder, and hundreds of noisome bats, scared by the light, dashed against the walls and dropped at our feet. We endured this for a little while, but on reaching the entrance to some darker and deeper mystery, were so surrounded by the animals, who struck their filthy wings against our faces, that not for ten kings’ tombs would we have gone a step further. My friend was on the point of vowing never to set his foot in another tomb, but I persuaded him to wait until we had seen that of Amunoph. I followed the guide, who enticed me by flattering promises into a great many snakelike holes, and when he was tired with crawling in the dust, sent one of our water-carriers in advance, who dragged me in and out by the heels.

“The temple of Medeenet Abou is almost concealed by the ruins of a Coptic village, among which it stands, and by which it is partially buried. The outer court, pylon, and main hall of the smaller temple, rise above the mounds and overlook the plain of Thebes, but scarcely satisfy the expectation of the traveler, as he approaches. You first enter an inclosure surrounded by a low stone wall, and standing in advance of the pylon. The rear wall, facing the entrance, contains two single pillars, with bell-shaped capitals, which rise above it and stand like guards before the doorway of the pylon. Here was another enigma for us. Who among modern architects would dare to plant two single pillars before a pyramidal gateway of solid masonry, and then inclose them in a plain wall, rising to half their hight? Yet here the symmetry of the shafts is not injured by the wall in which they stand, nor oppressed by the ponderous bulk of the pylon. On the contrary, the light columns and spreading capitals, like a tuft of wild roses hanging from the crevice of a rock, brighten the rude strength of the masses of stone with a gleam of singular loveliness. What would otherwise only impress you by its size, now endears itself to you by its beauty. Is this the effect of chance, or the result of a finer art than that which flourishes in our day? I will not pretend to determine, but I must confess that Egypt, in whose ruins I had expected to find only a sort of barbaric grandeur, has given me a new insight into that vital beauty which is the soul of true art. We devoted little time to the ruined court and sanctuaries which follow the pylon, and to the lodges of the main temple, standing beside them like watch-towers, three stories in hight. The majestic pylon of the great temple of Remeses III. rose behind them, out of heaps of pottery and unburnt bricks, and the colossal figure of the monarch in his car, borne by two horses into the midst of the routed enemy, attracted us from a distance. We followed the exterior wall of the temple, for its whole length of more than six hundred feet, reading the sculptured history of his conquests. The entire outer wall of the temple presents a series of gigantic cartoons, cut in the blocks of sandstone, of which it is built. Remeses is always the central figure, distinguished from subjects and foes, no less by his superior stature, than by the royal emblems which accompany him. Here we see heralds sounding the trumpet in advance of his car, while his troops pass in review before him; there, with a lion walking by his side, he sets out on his work of conquest. His soldiers storm a town, and we see them climbing the wall with ladders, while a desperate hand-to-hand conflict is going on below. In another place, he has alighted from his chariot and stands with his foot on the neck of a slaughtered king. Again, his vessels attack a hostile navy on the sea. One of the foreign craft becomes entangled and is capsized, yet while his spearmen hurl their weapons among the dismayed enemy, the sailors rescue those who are struggling in the flood. After we have passed through these strange and stirring pictures, we find the monarch reposing on his throne, while his soldiers deposit before him the hands of the slaughtered, and his scribes present to him lists of their numbers, and his generals lead to him long processions of fettered captives. Again, he is represented as offering a group of subject kings to Amun, the Theban Jupiter, who says to him: ‘Go, my cherished and chosen, make war on foreign nations, besiege their forts and carry off their people to live as captives.’ On the front wall, he holds in his grasp the hands of a dozen monarchs, while with the other hand he raises his sword to destroy them. Their faces express the very extreme of grief and misery, but he is cold and calm as fate itself. We slid down the piles of sand and entered by a side-door into the grand hall of the temple. Here, as at Dendera, a surprise awaited us. We stood on the pavement of a magnificent court, about one hundred and thirty feet square, around which ran a colonnade of pillars, eight feet square and forty feet high. On the western side is an inner row of circular columns, twenty-four feet in circumference, with capitals representing the papyrus blossom. The entire court, with its walls, pillars and doorways, is covered with splendid sculptures and traces of paint, and the ceiling is blue as the noonday sky, and studded with stars. Against each of the square columns facing the court once stood a colossal caryatid, upholding the architrave of another colonnade of granite shafts, nearly all of which have been thrown from their bases and lie shivered on the pavement. This court opens toward the pylon into another of similar dimensions, but buried almost to the capitals of its columns in heaps of rubbish. The character of the temple is totally different from that of every other in Egypt. Its hight is small in proportion to its great extent, and it therefore loses the airy lightness of the Memnonium and the impressive grandeur of Dendera. Its expression is that of a massive magnificence, if I may use such a doubtful compound: no single epithet suffices to describe it.”

The visit to this temple ended our traveler’s survey of the western division of Thebes, “two long days of such experience,” he remarks, “as the contemplation of a lifetime can not exhaust;” and at sunset they crossed over the Nile, to

LUXOR AND ITS TEMPLE.

The temple of Luxor is imbedded in the modern village, and only the front of the pylon, facing toward Karnak, and part of the grand central colonnade, are free from its hovels and their accessories. For this reason, though of much grander proportions than the Memnonium, its effect is less agreeable and impressive. “Its plan, however,” says Taylor, “is easily traced; and having been built by only two monarchs, Remeses the Great and Amunoph III., or, to use their more familiar titles, Sesostris and Memnon, it is less bewildering, in a historical point of view, to the unstudied tourist, than most of the other temples of Egypt. The sanctuary, which stands nearest the Nile, is still protected by the ancient stone quay, though the river has made rapid advances, and threatens finally to undermine Luxor as it has already undermined the temples of Antæopolis and Antinoë. I rode into what were once the sacred chambers, but the pillars and sculptures were covered with filth, and the Arabs had built in, around and upon them, like the clay nests of the cliff-sparrow. The peristyle of majestic Osiride pillars, in front of the portico, as well as the portico itself, are buried to half their depth, and so surrounded by hovels, that to get an idea of their arrangement you must make the tour of a number of hen-houses and asses’ stalls. The pillars are now employed as drying-posts for the buffalo dung which the Arabs use as fuel. Proceeding toward the entrance, the next court, which is tolerably free from incumbrances, contains a colonnade of two rows of lotus-crowned columns, twenty-eight feet in circumference. They still uphold their architraves of giant blocks of sandstone, and rising high above the miserable dwellings of the village, are visible from every part of the plain of Thebes. The English vice-consul occupies a house between two of these pillars. He gave us the agreeable news that the consul was endeavoring to persuade the pasha to have Karnak cleared of its rubbish and preserved from further spoliation. If I possessed despotic power, (and I then wished it for the first time,) I should certainly make despotic use of it, in tearing down some dozens of villages and setting some thousands of Copts and Fellahs at work in exhuming what their ancestors have mutilated and buried. The world can not spare these remains. Tear down Roman ruins if you will; level Cyclopean walls; build bridges with the stones of Gothic abbeys and feudal fortresses; but lay no hand on the glory and grandeur of Egypt! We ascended the great pylon of the temple, on the face of the towers of which the victories of Remeses are sculptured; but his colossi, solid figures of granite, which sit on either side of the entrance, have been much defaced. The lonely obelisk, which stands a little in advance, on the left hand, is more perfect than its Parisian mate. From this stately entrance, an avenue of colossal sphinxes once extended to the Ptolemaic pylon of Karnak, a distance of a mile and a half. The sphinxes have disappeared, and the modern Arab road leads over its site, through fields of waste grass.”

KARNAK AND ITS RUINS.

“And now we galloped forward, through a long procession of camels, donkeys, and desert Arabs armed with spears, toward Karnak, the greatest ruin in the world, the crowning triumph of Egyptian power and Egyptian art. Except a broken stone here and there protruding through the soil, the plain is as desolate as if it had never been conscious of a human dwelling; and only on reaching the vicinity of the mud hamlet of Karnak, can the traveler realize that he is in Thebes. Here the camel-path drops into a broad excavated avenue, lined with fragments of sphinxes and shaded by starveling acacias. As you advance, the sphinxes are better preserved and remain seated on their pedestals, but they have all been decapitated. Though of colossal proportions, they are seated so close to each other, that it must have required nearly two thousand to form the double row to Luxor. The avenue finally reaches a single pylon, of majestic proportions, built by one of the Ptolemies, and covered with profuse hieroglyphics. Passing through this, the sphinxes lead you to another pylon, followed by a pillared court and a temple built by the later Remesides. This, I thought, while my friend was measuring the girth of the pillars, is a good beginning for Karnak, but it is certainly much less than I expect. ‘Tāāl min hennee!’ (come this way!) called the guide, as if reading my mind, and led me up the heaps of rubbish to the roof and pointed to the north. Ah, there was Karnak! Had I been blind up to this time, or had the earth suddenly heaved out of her breast the remains of the glorious temple? From all parts of the plain of Thebes I had seen it in the distance—a huge propylon, a shattered portico, and an obelisk, rising above the palms. Whence this wilderness of ruins, spreading so far as to seem a city rather than a temple; pylon after pylon, tumbling into enormous cubes of stone, long colonnades, supporting fragments of Titanic roofs, obelisks of red granite, and endless walls and avenues, branching out to isolated portals? Yet they stood as silently amid the accumulated rubbish of nearly four thousand years, and the sunshine threw its yellow luster as serenely over the despoiled sanctuaries, as if it had never been otherwise since the world began. Figures are of no use, in describing a place like this, but since I must use them, I may say that the length of the ruins before us, from west to east, was twelve hundred feet, and that the total circumference of Karnak, including its numerous pylæ, or gateways, is a mile and a half.

“We mounted and rode with fast-beating hearts to the western or main entrance, facing the Nile. The two towers of the propylon (pyramidal masses of solid stone) are three hundred and twenty-nine feet in length, and the one which is least ruined, is nearly one hundred feet in hight. On each side of the sculptured portal connecting them, is a tablet left by the French army, recording the geographical position of the principal Egyptian temples. We passed through, and entered an open court, more than three hundred feet square, with a corridor of immense pillars on each side, connecting it with the towers of a second pylon, nearly as gigantic as the first. A colonnade of lofty shafts, leading through the center of the court, once united the two entrances, but they have all been hurled down, and lay as they fell, in long lines of disjointed blocks, except one, which holds its solitary lotus-bell against the sky. Two mutilated colossi of red granite still guard the doorway, whose lintel-stones are forty feet in length. Climbing over the huge fragments which have fallen from above and almost blocked up the passage, we looked down into the grand hall of the temple. I knew the dimensions of this hall, beforehand; I knew the number and size of the pillars, but I was no more prepared for the reality than those will be, who may read this account of it and afterward visit Karnak for themselves. It is the great good luck of travel that many things must be seen to be known. Nothing could have compensated for the loss of that overwhelming confusion of awe, astonishment, and delight, which came upon me like a flood. I looked down an avenue of twelve pillars, six on each side, each of which was thirty-six feet in circumference and nearly eighty feet in hight. Crushing as were these ponderous masses of sculptured stone, the spreading bell of the lotus-blossoms which crowned them, clothed them with an atmosphere of lightness and grace. In front, over the top of another pile of colossal blocks, two obelisks rose sharp and clear, with every emblem legible on their polished sides. On each side of the main aisle are seven other rows of columns, one hundred and twenty-two in all; each of which is about fifty feet high and twenty-seven in circumference. They have the Osiride form, without capitals, and do not range with the central shafts. In the efforts of the conquerors to overthrow them, two have been hurled from their places and thrown against the neighboring ones, where they still lean, as if weary with holding up the roof of massive sandstone. I walked alone through this hall, trying to bear the weight of its unutterable majesty and beauty. That I had been so oppressed by Dendera, seemed a weakness which I was resolved to conquer, and I finally succeeded in looking on Karnak with a calmness more commensurate with its sublime repose; but not by daylight. My next visit was at night, at the time of the full moon. There was a wan haze in the air, and a pale halo around the moon, on each side of which appeared two faint mock-moons. It was a ghostly light, and the fresh north wind, coming up the Nile, rustled solemnly in the palm-trees. We trotted silently to Karnak, and leaped our horses over the fragments until we reached the foot of the first obelisk. Here we dismounted and entered the grand hall of pillars. There was no sound in all the temple, and the guide, who seemed to comprehend my wish, moved behind me as softly as a shadow, and spoke not a word. It needs this illumination to comprehend Karnak. The unsightly rubbish has disappeared: the rents in the roof are atoned for by the moonlight they admit; the fragments shivered from the lips of the mighty capitals are only the crumpled edges of the flower; a maze of shadows hides the desolation of the courts, but every pillar and obelisk, pylon and propylon is glorified by the moonlight. The soul of Karnak is soothed and tranquillized. Its halls look upon you no longer with an aspect of pain and humiliation. Every stone seems to say: ‘I am not fallen, for I have defied the ages. I am a part of that grandeur which has never seen its peer, and I shall endure forever, for the world has need of me.’ I climbed to the roof, and sat looking down into the hushed and awful colonnades, till I was thoroughly penetrated with their august and sublime expression. I should probably have remained all night, an amateur colossus, with my hands on my knees, had not the silence been disturbed by two arrivals of romantic tourists, an Englishman and two Frenchmen. We exchanged salutations, and I mounted my restless mare again, touched her side with the stirrup, and sped back to Luxor. The guide galloped beside me, occasionally hurling his spear into the air and catching it as it fell, delighted with my readiness to indulge his desert whims. I found the captain and sailors all ready and my friend smoking his pipe on deck. In half an hour we had left Thebes.”

Such is a faint view of these ruins of forty centuries, the remains of that splendid city, Thebes, in comparison with which New York is but an infant to the mighty giant! “Yes, proud upstart of this nineteenth century,” says Thompson, “the so-called Empire city, commercial emporium of the west, great metropolis of the new world, if thy rivers should sweep over and bury thee, not all the stone of the Croton reservoir, and the city hall, and the Astor house, and of a hundred churches forsooth, would make one pile like Karnak; nor could any of these furnish a single stone for the lintels of its gates. Yet Karnak, which began to be in that other nineteenth century before Christ, is not yet a ruin! Its gateways stand; its grand hall stands, its columns nearly all unbroken, and not one spire of grass, or tuft of moss, or leaf of ivy, hides its speaking sculptures. Only the sand has covered them; and when this is removed, they are as fresh as yesterday.”

“Such is the skeleton of Thebes, as we can reconstruct it of such materials and from such localities as yet mark its site. But what was Thebes when, resting upon the Lybian mountains on the west and the Arabian on the east, with the Nile flowing through its center, it filled a circuit of twenty-five miles in a plain of twice that area, teeming with fertility! What was Thebes when she could pour forth twenty thousand chariots of war, and when the grand triumphal procession of priests, and officers of state, and soldiers, and captives, swept through these colossal avenues to grace the conqueror’s return! What was Thebes when, by the way of the Red sea, Arabia and the Indies poured all their commerce into her lap, and the Nile brought her the spoils of Ethiopia and of the great sea! What was Thebes when she possessed wealth, and mechanic arts, and physical force, to rear such monuments even in the midst of war, and sometimes more than one in the reign of a single monarch! What was Thebes, with all the arts and inventions of civilized life that are sculptured upon the tombs of her kings to mark the progress of their day; from building arches and bridges, to glass-blowing and porcelain manufactures, to the making of umbrellas, fans, chairs, and divans, fine linens, and all the appurtenances of a modern drawing-room! What was Thebes when all merchants resorted thither from Persia, from Ethiopia, from Lybia, and the Levant! What was Thebes when the artists and scholars of infant Greece and Rome went thither to school! Was not Egypt the mother of nations? Where is the art of Greece or Rome that was not tutored in Egypt; that has not simply graced Egyptian forms—nor always this? Where is the philosophy of Greece or Rome that was not borrowed from Egypt? Even the divine Plato, who only waited for the true Logos, learned at Egypt’s shrine. Egypt gave birth to art, gave birth to thought, before Greece and Rome were born. She was the grand repository of human power; the originator of all great forms of human development; the originator, the inventor, the great prototype of the world’s history, here laid up in her hieroglyphic archives. In all material things, yes, and in all great intellectual forms, in poetry, in art, in philosophy, in science, and in the religion of nature, this nineteenth century is but the recipient of the mighty past. Whatever she has of these, she but inherits through Rome and Greece from their old mother Egypt. What she has better than these, she has by gift divine, through that Christianity which purifies, enfranchises, and ennobles man, reforms society, and makes free the state. If she hold fast by this, she will become resplendent with a glory that Egypt never knew; but if she slight this, and sell her birthright for luxury and power, the meanest grave at Thebes would suffice to bury this nineteenth century with its boasted inventions.“

THEBES, AS SEEN IN HISTORY.

All the mere ruins of Thebes, however, immense and magnificent as they are, fail to give us true views of her greatness, till we go back to her origin, and trace up her history; and this is so graphically done by Thompson, in his “Egypt, Past and Present,” that we quote from it, what he so appropriately calls “Dissolving Views: Panorama of Karnak.” “In order,” he says, “to a complete view of Thebes, past and present, one should reproduce its sculptured story, and make it witness for itself. The temple of Karnak, in its several parts, marks the rise, the growth, the decline, and the fall of Egypt. This temple had a growth of twenty-five hundred years, from a small sanctuary to ‘a city of temples.’ Every principal era of the national history is represented in this stupendous pile; and as we go leisurely around it, and translate into our own language, or vivify into present actual scenes, the processions, the battles, the ceremonies, the religious offerings, and the state displays, sculptured on its walls and columns, and for the most part still legible, we behold all Egypt move before us as in a panorama, whose scenes and actors are instinct with life. This animated reproduction of the sculptures, which I attempted when on the ground, I would hope to convey to the reader by following in course the histories here written on the stone.

“I stood in Karnak, under the light of the full moon. It was an hour for silence, and we enjoined this upon each other, and gave ourselves to solitary musing. The cuckoo, that had wooed us with his note as we reposed under the great pillars in the sultry noon, had gone to nestle with his mate; and the myriad birds that by day had fluttered along the corridors, had hid themselves in the crevices of the capitals. Even the owl that hooted as we entered, was still. Only the moon was there, threading the avenues with silver footsteps, and holding her clear light that we might read the sculptured chronicles of kings. We sat down in the center of the grand avenue. Twelve majestic pillars, on either hand, towered along its length, and seemed, as of old, to support an arch of azure studded with stars. The dismantled towers of the grand entrance, whose bases stand like pyramids truncated to sustain the firmament, grew more gigantic in the shadow of the columns, while their once massive gates, uncovered by the hand of time, seemed only to have lifted up their heads to let the King of Glory in. In the avenue that crossed beside our seat, (one of twelve, having each ten columns of huge dimensions,) at either extremity, a column had fallen crosswise against its neighbor, carrying with it its fragment of the stone roof, and there it hung almost ethereal in the still moonlight, a symbol of the struggle between man and time. Under the corridors, darkness brooded over the fragments of sculptured stone; but beyond the other portal, the yet perfect obelisk stood in pensive majesty among its fallen mates, and from its clear, hard face projected in the moonbeams the symbols of the power that built these halls, and of the worship that sustained them. The spell of Egypt was complete. For two months I had lived under its deepening power. At length, in the sepulchers of its kings, and on the walls and pillars of its temples, I had seen the Egypt of forty centuries revived as in a panorama fresh from the artist’s pencil, and had lived in the Egypt that the Nile then watered, as in the so-called Egypt that it waters now. And here I had come to bid it farewell, to take a last look at its grave; and yet the witching moonlight made it live again. The breath of the south fanning the columns that in their fourth decade of centuries wear no ivied wreath of age, warmed their still grandeur into life, and with Memnon’s charm they sang to the moon the great epic of the past. As I listened, all art, all learning, all religion, all poetry, all history, all empire, and all time, swept through my wondering soul. Leaving my companions, I wandered over the fragments of columns and sphinxes and colossi, till, gaining a mound that half buries the front area of the temple, I clambered up the steps worn by age in its stupendous wall, and standing in their foremost tower, looked back on Karnak. But no change of place, nor sight of fallen columns and decaying walls, could break the spell. I had walked over the grave of Egypt, I had stumbled against the fragments of its sepulcher, yet Egypt stood before me.

“First came the second son of Ham, with a long retinue of camels and of servants, lured southward by the fertile valley of the Nile, till, where the mountains widen their embrace around the well-watered plain, he pitches his tent, and founds an infant city. Generations pass, and the son who in this plain inherits the patriarchal wealth and power, greedy of the patrimony of his brethren to the north, wages a fratricidal war, and seizing upon all Mizr or ‘the land of Ham,’ effaces from it the name of his ancestors, and, investing it with his own, gives Egypt (Copt or Gurt) a name and a power in the newly divided earth. Other generations pass, and the first king of Egypt comes with barbaric pomp, from the capital he has founded at the north, to visit his native Theba, the real ‘head’ or capital, and here offers to its divinity the rude shrine whose traces linger behind yonder obelisk. Ages roll on. The swelling Nile pours out increasing fatness on the land. The earth brings forth by handfuls. Fat-fleshed, well-favored cattle come up out of the river and feed in the meadow. There is great plenteousness for man and beast. But with all the plenty there is no waste. In every city huge granaries are built, and in these the grain is piled, as the sand of the sea, without measure. There is a strange wisdom near the throne of Pharaoh. Again, the east wind blows, and the scorching sands of the Arabian desert are heaped upon the fertile Nile. In the mountains of Ethiopia there is no rain. The river shrinks away. The plain of Thebes is dry. The people cry for bread, but the keys of the great storehouses are in the hand of the ruler of the land. They bring to him their money; they bring to him their cattle; they sell to him their land: they sell to him their very selves for bread. Again, the east wind ceases; the rains fall, the river rises; the desert retreats; the land revives. And now the great Pharaoh, whom the counsel of a captive Jew has made possessor of all the treasure and all the land of Egypt, moved by a religious sentiment but half enlightened, would make a votive offering to his god. A fleet of barges covers the bosom of the Nile, which with waving banners and gorgeous emblems and increasing music, have borne the monarch from his northern to his southern capital. With solemn pomp the procession of priests and soldiers and chief officers of state, with the uplifted monarch in the midst, files from the river to the rude sanctuary of Menes, which the skill of masons and of sculptors has already surrounded with columns of rich red granite, and chambers of polished stone, and with colossal statues of the king—the offering he brings to the divinity, whom he adores as the preserver of the land; and while the monarch bows before the god, the sound of trumpets, and the fragrance of incense, and the chanting of the priests, announce to the multitude that Amun accepts the gift, and will be henceforth worshiped in their temple. Osirtasen the Great passes away.

“The ages roll. A native Theban usurps the throne of the northern Pharaohs, and succeeds to the power they had consolidated through the counsel of the Hebrew, vouchsafed to them through fourscore years. But Joseph is dead; embalmed and coffined in a royal sarcophagus; and Amosis the usurper knows him not. Oppression fills the land, and falls most heavily upon the seed of Joseph. Another Theban Pharaoh mounts the throne, and to preserve the power that the wisdom of a Hebrew gave, determines to cut off the issue of the Hebrews from the land. Yet in his own house, even as a son, in all the learning of his schools, amid all the splendors of his court, is nurtured a young Hebrew who yet shall desolate the land that Joseph blessed. But just now this rising terror has fled into the desert, and the first Thothmes comes in peaceful pomp to offer to the divinity of Thebes the gigantic obelisks that bear his name. He plants them yonder in the area before the sanctuary of Osirtasen. The third Thothmes is on the throne. There is groaning throughout the land of Egypt; there is deep sorrow in the land of Goshen. The monarch would make his name immortal by the temples, the palaces, and the monuments he rears in every city, from the great sea to the cataracts of Nubia. He adorns his native capital upon its western bank with a new sanctuary added to the temple of his father, and with another temple inclosed with brick, that bear in hieroglyphics his own initials; and here at Karnak, he builds behind the sanctuary, a thousand feet from where I stand, the grand edifice of fifty columns that surpasses all the royal architecture yet seen in Thebes. In its adytum he enshrines a colossal figure of the deified hawk that he worships. He is the great architect of Egypt, and he will fill the land with the memorials of his reign. Heliopolis and Noph, Zoan and Sin, attest his grandeur. But the voice of another God now thunders in his ear. The exiled Hebrew has returned. The land is filled with plagues, frogs, lice, flies, blood, murrain, hail, locusts, darkness, death. The king has gone from Thebes to Zoan, his most northern seat, where these judgments overtake him. The land of Goshen, that had sweltered under his exactions, breathes more freely, and he lets the people go. But gathering his chariots of war in mad haste, he pursues them, and hems them in between the mountains and the sea. Eager for his prey, he plunges into the channel God has made for them, and the proud architect of Egypt returns not, even to occupy the gorgeous tomb he had prepared for himself at Thebes.

“The ages roll on, and a mighty conqueror sits on the throne of Egypt. With his myriad chariots he sweeps Ethiopia on the south, and Canaan on the north, and gathering all the forces of the Nile, he shakes Lebanon with his tread, and scatters the hosts of Syria on the plains of the Euphrates. And now there is an unwonted stir in Thebes. From all Egypt the priests and the great men are gathered to greet the conqueror’s return. In the distance, amid clouds of infantry, is seen the chariot of the king. Bound to his chariot wheels are the captive princes he has taken in his wars. Behind him are his son, and the royal scribe who bears the record of his victories. A long line of captives, bound about the necks with cords, follow in his train. The cortege moves from temple to temple through the city, till it reaches that of Karnak. Here, alighting from his chariot, the monarch enters the temple of Amunre, to present his captives and booty to the protecting deity of Thebes; then laying his captives on the block, with a ponderous club he dashes out their brains as a sacrifice to the god, and amid the acclamations of the people, is borne like a god to his own palace. And now the conqueror, reposing on his laurels, gives himself to the work of enriching the capital with new and more splendid edifices for the honor of its divinities, and the commemoration of his reign. From all Egypt are summoned the masons and sculptors, the painters and artificers and ‘cunning workmen;’ and the army that had stormed the hights of Lebanon now levies from the mountains of the Arabian desert their tribute of limestone and sandstone and granite of various hues, of syenite and porphyry and alabaster, to construct these temples, and to adorn these avenues. The grand hall of Karnak rises in its majestic proportions, a fit approach to the sanctuary of Amun. Its gates lift up their heads. Its tenfold avenues rear their massive, lofty, graceful pillars—each a single stone hewn into a rounded, swelling shaft, with a wreathed or flowered capital—and with their roof of solid stone, compose the portico that there in the moonlight, restored to its original perfection, stands confessed the wonder of the world. The chisel sculptures on its walls and columns the battle scenes of the king and his offerings to the god, and the name of Osirei passes into history. His son succeeds to his victories and to his glory. For, on the far off plains of Asia, the great Sesostris breaks the power of the Assyrian hosts, and leads their captive chiefs in chains. Babylon bows to Egypt. There is another day of exultation in the capital; but the pomp of the returning Osirei pales before the national ovation to his son. The priests, in their sacred vestments, go forth to meet him, bearing aloft the figures of his illustrious ancestors, from Menes to Osirei. The king, alighting from his chariot, mounts the triumphal car prepared for his reception, whose fiery steeds are led by liveried grooms. His fan-bearers wave the flabella over his head, and the priests and the chief men of the nation kneel in homage at his throne. And now the grand procession forms to enter the city. Trumpeters herald its approach, and bands of music, with choristers, form the van. In long line the priests and officers of state precede the monarch, bearing scepters, arms, and other insignia, and the cushioned steps of the throne. The statues of his ancestors head the royal column, and after these is borne a statue of the god upon men’s shoulders under a gilded canopy. The sacred bull, adorned with garlands, is led by members of the sacerdotal order. The monarch is attended by his scribes, who exhibit proudly the scroll of his achievements. Behind his car are dragged the captives, their chained hands uplifted for mercy, and their cries and lamentations mingling wildly with the bursts of music and the shouts of the multitude. These are followed by the spoils of war—oxen, chariots, horses, and sacks of gold; and beyond, a corps of infantry in close array, flanked by numerous chariots, bring up the rear. The vast throng sweep from temple to temple, and rend the air with acclamations. At length the divinity, that had been taken from its shrine to welcome the victor, is brought before its own adytum. Here the high-priest offers incense to the monarch, who, in turn, alights from his throne and burns incense to the god. And now the horrid sacrifice of war is made to the patron deity. The wretched captives are beaten in the presence of the king; their right hands are cut off, and being counted by the scribes, are retained as trophies: their persons are horribly mutilated; their heads are severed by the sword or mangled by the mace, and the gorgeous, barbarous scene is closed.

“There is peace in Egypt; and the king builds, on yonder western bank, the majestic and beautiful Memnonium, covers its walls with the story of his victories, and sets before its gate the stupendous statue of himself, the symbol of the grandeur and the power of Egypt, enthroned in a sublime and an immortal repose. He builds the vast area of Luxor, with its massive gates and towers, and before these plants colossal statues of himself and lofty obelisks, and lines with huge symbolic sculptures the avenue to Karnak. Here he lays up before the shrine of Amun, as depicted on the walls, a gorgeous barge overlaid with gold without, and with silver within, a tribute from the spoils of war. He enriches the walls of the grand hall by adding to the sculptured story of his father’s reign the battle scenes of his own, and before the portico constructs this area of a hundred thousand square feet, surrounded with its covered corridor, and adorned with sphinxes and a central avenue of tufted columns, and faced with these stupendous towers. He throws around the whole a massive wall, and Karnak stands complete in the glory of the great Remeses. Then follows the resplendent dynasty of all the Osirei and the Remeses, and Egypt culminates to its meridian splendor. Her schools rise with her temples, and the epic bard of Scio sings the ‘hundred gates of Thebes,’ while the priests and the philosophers of young Greece resort to the mother of mythology and of letters, and Grecian sculptors come to study the forms and creations of the mother of art. The king of Israel, whose fame for wisdom and for wealth is known in all the earth, wooes the daughter of the king of Egypt, and she whom ‘the sun had looked upon’ on the confines of Ethiopia, shines in the golden palace at Jerusalem, ‘beautiful as Tirzeh, and comely as the tents of Kedar.’

“But again the hosts of Egypt are marshaled for battle; again they sweep the borders of the north; again is heard the shout of victory; again Thebes is astir for the conqueror’s return. Now Shishak brings to the temple of Amun the treasures of the house of Jehovah at Jerusalem; the golden shields of Solomon, and the treasures of the palace he had built. Twelve hundred chariots, and sixty thousand horsemen, and footmen without number, swell the train of the victorious king. Nailing the heads of his wretched captives to the block of the executioner, he whets his sword to sacrifice them to the god; and the blood of Israel once more cries to God from the land of Egypt. From afar the voice of the prophet speaks the answer of Jehovah to that cry: ‘Behold, I am against Pharaoh king of Egypt, and will break his arms; and I will cause the sword to fall out of his hand. Howl ye; woe, woe the day! For the day is near, even the day of the Lord is near, a cloudy day. The sword shall come upon Egypt; and the pride of her power shall come down.’ Again a mighty host, sweeping from the north, hovers upon the plain of Thebes. The idols are moved in their temples, the cry of the people is in the streets. But it is not now the return of her victorious king that stirs the royal city. The great ram from the plains of Persia, pushing westward and southward, gores Egypt with his horns, overthrows her temples and her statues, treads Memnon and Remeses in the dust, drinks up the river and devours the valley. There is sorrow and groaning in the land of Egypt for a hundred years, when lo! again the dust of mighty hosts sweeps from the north. The he-goat from the west, moved with choler at the ram, that drinks up the great rivers, rushes upon him in the fury of his power, and casts him down and stamps upon him. The Persian conqueror of Thebes retires before the Macedonian conqueror of Persia. Greece, though a conqueror, pays homage to Egypt as her mistress. New cities are built; temples and monuments are restored. Upon the plain of Thebes, new works of art unite the sculptured records of the Ptolemies with the broken tablets of the Pharaohs. Karnak itself opens new portals, and revives its ancient splendor. Again the schools of Egypt are visited from Greece. And where Homer drank his inspiration, and Herodotus pored over the hieroglyphics, and the papyrus records, and the dim traditions of the then old world, Plato comes to ponder the great mysteries of the soul’s existence, and its relations to the infinite.

“But the doom of Egypt is not yet fulfilled. Her resurrection can not now come. The gigantic horn that sweeps the stars, trails the young Egypt of Alexander in the dust. Again she lifts her head and wooes her conqueror to repose awhile in the lap of luxury. Beauty usurps the dominion of power; and the golden barge of Cleopatra sweeps up the Nile with silken sails perfumed with sweetest odors, or moves with silver oars attuned to the soft melody of lutes. Rome adds her tamer art to the great majesty of Egypt, and restores yet further what the Persian had destroyed. Yet Egypt may not rise. A new power enters to possess the land. Under the Roman name, the religion that had visited the land with Abraham, with Joseph, and with Moses, comes to enshrine itself in these old temples, emptied of their gods and broken in their forms. The voice of prayer and praise to the God of Israel is heard in the temple built by their oppressor, and the name of the infant whom Egypt sheltered, is spoken with reverence and adoration in all her holy places. Yonder, in the furthest temple of this mighty pile, a Christian church assembles; there, in the court of Luxor, stands another Christian altar, while, across the river, the colonnade of Medeenet Abou encompasses the lesser columns of a Christian temple built within its folds. But the spirit of the old temple lingers in its form, and with it embraces the new. Again the liveried priests march through the corridors, bearing mysterious symbols, and chanting unknown strains. Again the pomp of state is blended with the pomp of worship, and the pictured saint but plasters over the sculptured deity. The religion and the empire of Rome are alike effete, and can give no life to Egypt. And now barbaric hordes from the east pour in upon the land, and sweep these both away. The sword of the Moslem, hacking the plastered walls, writes there in blood the forgotten truth, there is one God, though it add thereto the stupendous lie, that makes the other cardinal of his religion. The wild man of the desert pitches his tent upon the plain where Mizraim halted centuries before, or hides himself under the cover of broken tombs and temples. He hardly moves from his retreat, when the imperious Turk, his brother Moslem, proclaims himself master of Egypt and Arabia by the will of God. And now here sits the Arab on this luxurious plain, among these crumbling giants of the past, startled at his own shadow, without the spirit to fight either for himself against his tyrant, or for his country in that tyrant’s service. Here he sits, where Osirei and Remeses and Shishak have chronicled their names and deeds beside their own gigantic portraits. Here he sits, where moved in royal state the conqueror of Ethiopia, of Judah, of Syria, and of Babylon. Here he sits, where the fierce Cambyses dealt his retribution; where Alexander moved with a pomp that none but he could boast; where Cæsar followed in the train of mighty men—yet owned the greater might of woman. Here he sits—‘Il faut descendre,’ said my guide, who had tortured his Arabic gutturals into a rude French; ‘il faut descendre,’ (it is necessary to go down.) Il faut descendre, repeated I, as I looked over upon the tombs of the kings, all drear and ghostly in the moonlight; and looked where Memnon stood, and all was desolate; and looked toward Luxor, where the moonlight stole faintly through its broken towers; and turned and looked at Karnak, as the meridian moon now shone upon heaps of rubbish, and broken columns, and crumbling walls. Il faut descendre, IT MUST GO DOWN; and, turning to descend, I stumbled over an Arab hovel, plastered upon the very top of the tower of Sesostris, and heard the yelping of the dogs from the huts that bury the side temple of the conqueror of Babylon. The spell was broken; and Egypt was a dream. Riding back, amid barking dogs and shivering, shrinking Arabs, over the dusty plain to Luxor, I lay down upon the divan where, two months before, I had dreamed of Egypt, when, entering the Nile, I felt her resistless spell. But no dream of Egypt came. Egypt herself had vanished. As a dream when one awaketh, so, O Lord, when thou awakedst, thou didst despise her image.”

OTHER RUINS IN EGYPT, &C.

There are in Egypt and the valley of the Nile, numerous other ruins, relics and monuments of the mighty past, on which it would be most interesting and instructive to dwell, were they not overshadowed by the wonderful structures we have been considering. Some of these, however, ought not to be passed without notice.

THE TEMPLE OF DENDERA.

The temple of Dendera (formerly Tentyra) is on the western bank of the Nile, nearly opposite Kenneh. Passing from the latter place, the path of the traveler leads through a palm grove, where the lofty shafts of the date and the vaulted foliage of the doum-palm, blend in the most picturesque groupage, and in contrast with the lace-like texture of the flowering mimosa, and the cloudy boughs of a kind of gray cypress. Crossing the meadows to Dendera, leagues of rank grass roll away toward the desert in shining billows, while the wind wafts the rich and mingled odors of the various flowers on the traveler’s course. In the midst of this beautiful plain, rise the earthy mounds of Dendera; and the portico of the temple, almost buried beneath them, stands like a beacon, marking the boundary of the desert. “We galloped our animals along the dike,” says a late traveler, “and dismounted at a small pylon, which stands two or three hundred paces in front of the temple. The huge jambs of sandstone, covered with sharply cut hieroglyphics and figures of the Egyptian gods, and surmounted by a single block, bearing the mysterious winged globe and serpent, detained us but a moment, and we hurried down what was once the dromos of the temple, now represented by a double wall of unburnt bricks. The portico, more than a hundred feet in length, and supported by six columns, united by screens of masonry, no stone of which, or of the columns themselves, is unsculptured, is massive and imposing, but struck me as being too depressed to produce a very grand effect. What was my astonishment, on arriving at the entrance, to find that I had approached the temple on a level with half its hight, and that the pavement of the portico was as far below as the scrolls of its cornice were above me. The six columns I had seen, covered three other rows, of six each, all adorned with the most elaborate sculpture and exhibiting traces of the brilliant coloring which they once possessed. The entire temple, which is in an excellent state of preservation, except where the hand of the Coptic Christian has defaced its sculptures, was cleaned out by order of Mohammed Ali, and as all its chambers, as well as the roof of enormous sandstone blocks, are entire, it is considered one of the most complete relics of Egyptian art. I find my pen at fault, when I attempt to describe the impression produced by the splendid portico. The twenty-four columns, each of which is sixty feet in hight, and eight feet in diameter, crowded upon a surface of one hundred feet by seventy, are oppressive in their grandeur. The dim light, admitted through the half closed front, which faces the north, spreads a mysterious gloom around these mighty shafts, crowned with the fourfold visage of Athor, still rebuking the impious hands that have marred her solemn beauty. On the walls, between columns of hieroglyphics, and the cartouches of the Cæsars and the Ptolemies, appear the principal Egyptian deities, the rigid Osiris, the stately Isis and the hawk-headed Orus. Around the bases of the columns spring the leaves of the sacred lotus, and the dark-blue ceiling is spangled with stars, between the wings of the divine emblem. The sculptures are all in raised relief, and there is no stone in the temple without them. I can not explain to myself the unusual emotion I felt while contemplating this wonderful combination of a simple and sublime architectural style with the utmost elaboration of ornament. My blood pulsed fast and warm on my first view of the Roman forum, but in Dendera I was so saddened and oppressed, that I scarcely dared speak for fear of betraying an unmanly weakness. The portico opens into a hall, supported by six beautiful columns, of smaller proportions, and lighted by a square aperture in the solid roof. On either side are chambers connected with dim and lofty passages, and beyond is the sanctuary and various other apartments, which receive no light from without. We examined their sculptures by the aid of torches, and our Arab attendants kindled large fires of dry corn-stalks, which cast a strong red light on the walls. The temple is devoted to Athor, the Egyptian Venus, and her image is everywhere seen, receiving the homage of her worshipers. Even the dark staircase, leading to the roof, up which we climbed over heaps of sand and rubbish, is decorated throughout with processions of symbolical figures. The drawing has little of that grotesque stiffness which I expected to find in Egyptian sculptures, and the execution is so admirable in its gradations of light and shade, as to resemble, at a little distance, a monochromatic painting. The antiquarians view these remains with little interest, as they date from the comparatively recent era of the Ptolemies, at which time sculpture and architecture were on the decline. We, who had seen nothing else of the kind, were charmed with the grace and elegance of this sumptuous mode of decoration. Part of the temple was built by Cleopatra, whose portrait, with that of her son Cæsarion, may still be seen on the exterior wall. The face of the colossal figure has been nearly destroyed, but there is a smaller one, whose soft, voluptuous outline is still sufficient evidence of the justness of her renown. The profile is exquisitely beautiful. The forehead and nose approach the Greek standard, but the mouth is more roundly and delicately curved, and the chin and cheek are fuller. Were such an outline made plastic, were the blank face colored with a pale olive hue, through which should blush a faint, rosy tinge, lighted with bold black eyes and irradiated with the lightning of a passionate nature, it would even now ‘move the mighty hearts of captains and of kings.’ Besides the temple, there are also the remains of a chapel of Isis, with a pylon, erected by Augustus Cæsar, and a small temple, nearly whelmed in the sand, supposed to be one of the mammeisi, or lying-in houses of the goddess Athor, who was honored in this form, on account of having given birth to the third member of the divine triad.”

THE TEMPLES OF HERMONTIS AND OF ESNEH.

Passing up the Nile, on the same side of it, and nearly opposite Luxor and Karnak, is the village of Erment, the ancient Hermontis, which is still graced with a small temple to the goddess Reto. “The group of pillars in the outer court,” says Taylor, “charmed us by the richness and variety of their designs. No two capitals are of similar pattern, while in their combinations of the papyrus, the lotus and the palm-leaf, they harmonize one with another and as a whole. The abacus, between the capital and the architrave, is so high as almost to resemble a second shaft. In Karnak and the Memnonium it is narrow, and lifts the ponderous beam just enough to prevent its oppressing the lightness of the capital. I was so delighted with the pillars of Hermontis that I scarcely knew whether to call this peculiarity a grace or a defect. I have never seen it employed in modern architecture, and judge therefore that it has either been condemned by our rules or that our architects have not the skill and daring of the Egyptians. We reached Esneh the same night, but were obliged to remain all the next day in order to allow our sailors to bake their bread. We employed the time in visiting the temple, the only remnant of the ancient Latopolis, and the palace of Abbas Pasha, on the bank of the Nile. The portico of the temple, half buried in rubbish, like that of Dendera, which it resembles in design, is exceedingly beautiful. Each of its twenty-four columns is crowned with a different capital, so chaste and elegant in their execution that it is impossible to give any one the preference. The designs are mostly copied from the doum-palm, the date-palm, and the lotus, but the cane, the vine, and various water-plants are also introduced. The building dates from the time of the Ptolemies, and its sculptures are uninteresting. We devoted all our time to the study of the capitals, a labyrinth of beauty, in which we were soon entangled. The governor of Esneh, a most friendly and agreeable Arab, accompanied us through the temple, and pointed out all the fishes, birds and crocodiles he could find, to him the most interesting things in it.” The same day they also visited the rock tombs of El-Kab, the ancient Eleuthyas, which are among the most curious in Egypt. “There are a large number of these, but only two are worth visiting, on account of the light which they throw on the social life of the Egyptians. The owner of the tomb and his wife, a red man and a yellow woman, are here seen, receiving the delighted guests. Seats are given them, and each is presented with an aromatic flower, while the servants in the kitchen hasten to prepare savory dishes. In other compartments, all the most minute processes of agriculture are represented with wonderful fidelity. So little change has taken place in three thousand years, that they would answer, with scarcely a correction, as illustrations of the Fellah agriculture of modern Egypt.”

The northern part of Nubia abounds in Egyptian remains, such, for example, as the temples of Dabod, Kalabshee, Dakkeh, Dendoor, Sebooa, &c., &c.; and the whole valley of the Nile is filled with the ruins of cities whose names have hardly survived their overthrow. Noticing but two or three more of these ruins, we will then pass on to other themes.

ABYDOS, AND THE TEMPLE OF MEMNON.

Abydos was the reputed burial-place of Osiris, one of the most sacred gods of ancient Egypt. According to Strabo, it formerly held the next rank to Thebes, and judging from its ruins, Wilkinson thinks it yielded to few cities in upper Egypt in size and magnificence. Going toward it from Girgeh, says Thompson, “we came upon a mound of sand and dust, and broken bricks and pottery, strewed over with bleaching human bones, and ascending this for several rods, and to an elevation of about sixty feet, we came out upon the massive blocks of stone that form the roof of the old temple-palace of Memnon. Here, crawling upon our hands and knees, we got under the roof far enough to see that it covers two large halls supported by rows of massive columns, whose capitals are in the form of the lotus bud, still distinctly preserved. The walls, as far as could be seen, are covered with sculptures, among which the ibis frequently recurs; there are also ceremonial processions and battle scenes, such as are usually depicted in the sculptures of Egyptian temples. No doubt, if this temple should be excavated, it would be one of the most remarkable monuments in Egypt. It dates back nearly fourteen hundred years before Christ. The formation of the roof was peculiar. Large blocks of stone were laid endwise from one row of columns to the other, and then an arch was hollowed out of this solid masonry, still leaving a roof two feet in thickness at its center. The stones were so nicely adjusted, that they fitted closely without cement. The ceiling was studded with stars, and with sculptures beautifully colored. I have not seen in Egypt more exquisite workmanship. Yet the visitor is doomed to disappointment through the great difficulty of access to the temple, in consequence of the drifting in of the sand from the desert and the neighboring mountains. Near by is another temple, also inaccessible, the temple of Osiris, built by the great Remeses, and enriched with alabaster walls, some fragments of which may yet be found. The neighboring mountains are filled with tombs, some of which are nearly four thousand years old. Everything indicates that here was the site of a great city, a city of wealth, population and power, enriched with trophies of conquest and monuments of religion. But these buried temples alone remain, and the Arabs, who now squat in their rags upon the top of the splendid sanctuary of Osiris, have given to the place the expressive name of ‘The Buried.’”

THE TEMPLES OF ABOU SIMBEL.

Passing up the Nile to about latitude twenty-two degrees, on its west side, nearly up to the second cataract, we come to the temples of Abou Simbel. Reaching the bank of the river about midnight, the traveler we have so often quoted tells us: “As I was awakened from a deep sleep by the shock of the boat striking the shore, I saw a huge wall of rock before me, against which six enormous statues leaned as they looked from deep niches cut in its front. Their solemn faces were touched by the moon, which shone full on the cliff, and only their feet were wrapped in shadow. The lines of deep-cut hieroglyphics over the portal of this rocky temple were also filled with shadow, and painted legibly on the gray, moonlit rock. Below them yawned the door, a square of complete darkness. A little to the left, over a long drift of sand that sloped from the summit of the cliff nearly to the water’s edge, peered the mitered head of a statue of still more colossal proportions. I gazed on this broad, dim, and wonderful picture for a moment, so awed by its majesty that I did not ask myself where nor what it was. This is some grand Egyptian dream, was my first thought, and I closed my eyes for a few seconds, to see whether it would vanish. But it stood fast and silent as ever, and I knew it to be Abou Simbel. My servants all slept, and the raïs and boys noiselessly moored the boat to the shore, and then lay down and slept also. Still I lay, and the great statues looked solemnly down upon me, and the moon painted their kingly nomens and banners with yet darker distinctness on the gray rock. In the morning, I found that we lay at the foot of the smaller temple. I quietly waited for my cup of coffee, for the morning reality was infinitely less grand than my vision of the night. I then climbed to the door and entered. The interior is not large nor imposing, after one has seen the temples of Egypt. The exterior, however, is on such a colossal scale, that, notwithstanding the want of proportion in the different statues, the effect is very striking. The largest ones are about thirty-five feet high, and not identical, as are those of the great temple. One, who stands with one leg advanced, while he holds a sword with the handle pressed against his breast, is executed with much more spirit than is usually met with in statues of this period. The sculptures of the interior are interesting, and being of the time of Remeses the Great, whose history they illustrate, are executed with much skill and labor. The head of the goddess Athor, on the face of the columns in the hall, is much less beautiful than that of the same goddess at Dendera. It is, in fact, almost broad and distorted enough to represent the genius Typhon.

“The front of the great temple is not parallel to that of the other, nor does it face the river, which here flows in a north-east course. The line of the cliff is broken between the two, so that the figures of the great Remeses, seated on each side of the door, look to the east, the direction of the line of the face being nearly north. Through the gap in front, the sands have poured down from the desert behind, almost wholly filling up the space between the two cliffs; and though since the temple was first opened, in 1817, it has been cleared nearly to the base more than once, the rapid accumulation of sand has again almost closed the entrance. The southern colossus is only buried about half-way to the knee, but of the two northern ones there is little else to be seen except the heads. Obscured as is the effect of this grand front, it is still without parallel in the world. I had not thought it possible that in statues of such enormous magnitude there could be such singular beauty of expression. The face of Remeses, the same in each, is undoubtedly a portrait, as it resembles the faces of the statues in the interior, and those of the king in other places. Besides, there is an individuality in some of the features which is too marked to represent any general type of the Egyptian head. The fullness of the drooping eyelid, which yet does not cover the large, oblong Egyptian eye; the nose, at first slightly inclining to the aquiline, but curving to the round, broad nostrils; the generous breadth of the calm lips, and the placid, serene expression of the face, are worthy of the conqueror of Africa and the builder of Karnak and Medeenet Abou. The statue next the door, on the southern side, has been shivered to the throne on which it is seated, and the fragments are not to be seen, except a few which lie upon the knees. The great doorway of the temple is so choked up with sand, that I was obliged to creep in on my knees. The sun by this time had risen exactly to the only point where it can illumine the interior; and the rays, taking a more yellow hue from the rock and sand on which they fell, shone down the long drift between the double row of colossal statues, and lighted up the entrance to the second hall of the temple. I sat down in the sand, awed and half frightened by the singular appearance of the place. The sunshine, falling obliquely on the sands, struck a dim reflection against the sculptured roof, and even lighted up the furthest recesses of the grand hall sufficiently to show its imposing dimensions. Eight square pillars, four on either side of the central aisle, seem to uphold the roof, and on their inner sides, facing each other, are eight statues of the king. The features of all are preserved, and have something of the grace and serenity, though not the majesty, of the great statues outside. They look into each other’s eyes, with an eternal question on their fixed countenances, but none can give answer. There was something so stern and strange in these eight faces, that I felt a shudder of fear creep over me. The strong arms are all crossed on their breasts, and the hands hold various sacred and regal symbols, conspicuous among which is something resembling a flail, which one sees often in Egyptian sculpture. I thought of a marvelous story I once read, in which a genie, armed with a brazen flail, stands at the entrance of an enchanted castle, crushing with the stroke of his terrible weapon all who come to seek the treasure within. For a moment the childish faith in the supernatural was as strong as ever, and I looked at the gloomy entrance beyond, wishing to enter, but fearing the stony flails of the terrible Remesi on either hand. The faces were once partially colored, and the black eyeball, still remaining on the blank eye of stone, gives them an expression of stupor, of death in life, which accounted to me for the nervous shock I experienced on entering.

“There is nothing in Egypt which can be likened to the great temple of Abou-Simbel. Karnak is grander, but its grandeur is human. This belongs rather to the superhuman fancies of the East—the halls of the Afrites—or to the realm of the dethroned Titans, of early Greek mythology. This impression is not diminished, on passing the second hall and corridor, and entering the adytum, or sacred chamber of the temple. There the granite altar yet stands in the center, before the undestroyed figures of the gods, who, seated side by side, calmly await the offerings of their worshipers. The peculiar individuality of each deity is strikingly shown in these large statues, and their attitude is much less constrained than in the sitting statues in the tombs of Thebes. These look as if they could rise, if they would. The walls are covered with sculptures of them and of the contemplar deities, in the grand, bold style of the age of Remeses. Some visitors had left a supply of dry palm-branches near the entrance, and of these I made torches, which blazed and crackled fiercely, flaring with a rich red light on the sculptured and painted walls. There was sufficient to enable me to examine all the smaller chambers, of which there are eight or nine, cut laterally into the rock, without any attempt at symmetry of form, or regularity of arrangement. Several of them have seats running around three sides, exactly like the divans in modern Egyptian houses. They were probably designed for the apartments of the priests or servants connected with the temple. The sculptures on the walls of the grand hall are, after those of Medeenet Abou, and on the exterior wall of Karnak, the most interesting I have seen in Egypt. On the end wall, on either side of the entrance, is a colossal bass-relief, representing Remeses slaying a group of captive kings, whom he holds by the hair of their heads. There are ten or twelve in each group, and the features, though they are not colored, exhibit the same distinction of race as I had previously remarked in Belzoni’s tomb, at Thebes. There is the negro, the Persian, the Jew, and one other form of countenance which I could not make out, all imploring with uplifted hands the mercy of the conqueror. On the southern wall, the distinction between the negro and the Egyptian is made still more obvious by the coloring of the figures. In fact, I see no reason whatever to doubt that the peculiar characteristics of the different races of men were as strongly marked in the days of Remeses as at present. The sculptures on the side walls of the temple represent the wars of Remeses, who, as at Medeenet Abou, stands in a chariot which two horses at full speed whirl into the ranks of the enemy. The king discharges his arrows against them, and directly in front of him a charioteer, mortally wounded, is hurled from his overthrown chariot. The groups are chiseled with great spirit and boldness; the figures of the king and his horses are full of life. Towering over all, as well by his superior proportions as by the majesty and courage of his attitude, Remeses stands erect and motionless amid the shock and jar and riot of battle. There is no exultation in his face; only the inflexible calmness of destiny. I spent some time contemplating these grand and remarkable memorials of the greatest age of Egypt, and left with my feeling for Egyptian art even stronger than before.”

THE RIVER NILE.

“With annual pomp, Rich king of floods! o’erflows the swelling Nile!”—THOMPSON.

Though the river Nile is properly to be classified with the wonders of nature, rather than with those of art, yet as it is so intimately and constantly associated with the wonderful ruins that everywhere line its banks, it may be well to notice it before passing from the wonders of Egypt and of the regions south of it. This celebrated river, which divides Egypt into two parts, and passes on south through Nubia, Ethiopia, &c., is formed mainly by two streams, the Blue Nile and the White Nile. The Blue Nile, the sources of which were discovered by Bruce, rises near latitude eleven degrees north, in the mountains of Godjam, on the south-western frontier of Abyssinia, and flows with a winding course some eight hundred miles to Khartoum, where it unites with the western branch of the river, thus forming the main stream. The sources of the White Nile (so called from the light brown, muddy color of its waters, as the Blue is from the dark bluish-green of its stream) are as yet undiscovered. Twelve hundred miles above its junction, and thirty-three hundred above the Mediterranean, it is still a broad and powerful stream, of whose source even the tribes that dwell in those far off regions are ignorant. Taylor is confident, that when its hidden fountains shall at last be reached, and the problem of twenty centuries solved, the entire length of the Nile will be found to be not less than four thousand miles, and that it will take rank with the Mississippi and the Amazon, as one of the three great streams of the world. In some respects, he says, “there is a striking resemblance between the Nile and the former river. The Missouri is the true Mississippi, rolling the largest flood, and giving its color to the mingled streams. So the White Nile, which is broad and turbid, pollutes the clear blue flood that has usurped his name and dignity. In spite of what geographers may say, and they are still far from being united on the subject, the Blue Nile is not the true Nile. There, at the point of junction, his volume of water is greater, but he is fresh from the mountains and constantly fed by large, unfailing affluents, while the White Nile has rolled for more than a thousand miles on nearly a dead level, through a porous, alluvial soil, in which he loses more water than he brings with him.” The two rivers meet at right angles, but do not mingle their waters till they have rolled some eight or ten miles in their common bed. Both rivers are of about the same breadth at the point of confluence, but the current of the Blue branch is the strongest. On this account, the native boatmen speak of the Blue river as he, and of the White as she. And it is remarkable that the name Nile, which is never heard in Egypt, (where the river is called el-bahr, “the sea,”) is retained in Ethiopia, and there applied to the Blue Nile, probably for the same reason.

The White Nile has been traced up by Dr. Knoblecher and his associates further than by any one before him. In January, 1850, he passed the furthest point reached by any previous expedition; and on the sixteenth of that month reached the village of Logwek, which takes its name from a solitary granite peak about six hundred feet high, which stands on the left bank of the Nile. This is in latitude four degrees and ten minutes north, and is the most southern point which has yet been reached on the White Nile. Dr. Knoblecher ascended the mountain, which commanded a view of almost the entire Bari country. Toward the south-west the river wound out of sight between the mountains Rego and Kidi, near which is the mountain of Kereg, containing rich iron mines which are worked by the natives; and to the south, on the very verge of the horizon, rose a long range of hills, whose forms could not be observed with exactness, owing to the great distance. Beyond the Logwaya range, which appeared in the east, dwell the Berri tribes, whose language is distinct from the Baris, and who are neighbors of the Gallas, that warlike race, whose domain extends from Abyssinia to the wilds of Mozambique, along the great central plateau of Uniamesi. The natives of Logwek knew nothing whatever of the country to the south. The furthest mountain range was probably under the parallel of latitude three degrees north, so that the White Nile has now been traced nearly to the equator. At Logwek, it was about six hundred and fifty feet wide, and from five to eight feet deep, at the time of Dr. Knoblecher’s visit, which was during the dry season. Such an abundance of water allows us to estimate with tolerable certainty the distance to its unknown sources, which must undoubtedly lie beyond the equator. The great snow mountain of Kilimandjarò, discovered in 1850 by Dr. Krapf, the German missionary, on his journey inland from Mombas, on the coast of Zanzibar, has been located by geographers in latitude three degrees south. It is therefore most probable that the source of the White Nile will be found in the range of mountains, of which Kilimandjarò is the crowning apex. The geographer Berghaus, in a long and labored article, endeavors to prove that the Gazelle river is the true Nile, and makes it rise in the great lake N’Yassi, in latitude thirteen degrees south. Dr. Knoblecher, however, who examined the Bahr el-Ghazàl at its mouth, says it is an unimportant stream, with a scarcely perceptible current. He considers the White Nile as being, beyond all question, the true river.

Following the river on to its mouth, the greater part of lower Egypt is contained in a triangular island, formed by the Mediterranean sea, and the two great branches of the Nile, which dividing itself five or six miles from Old Cairo, flows on the one side to the north-east, falling into the sea at Damietta; while the other branch runs to the north-west, and enters the sea at Rosetta. What is called the Delta, resembling the Greek letter of that name, and constituting a triangle, is thus formed. The water of the Nile is here, for the most part, thick and muddy, more particularly when the river is swollen by the heavy rains which constantly fall within the tropics in the beginning of the summer season, and which are doubtless the principal cause of its overflowing the low lands of Egypt. A similar phenomenon is found in the Ganges; and it is the same with all the rivers which have either their rise or course within the tropics: they annually break their bounds, and cover the lands for many miles on each side, before they reach the sea. They likewise leave prolific mud, which, like that of the Nile, fertilizes the land; beside which, the north winds prevailing about the latter end of May, drive in the waters from the sea, and keep back those of the river, in such a manner as considerably to assist the swell. The Egyptians, and the Copts more especially, are persuaded that the Nile always begins to rise on the same day of the year; as, indeed, it generally commences about the same time in June. Its rise was observed for three successive years by Dr. Pococke, who found it to ascend during the first five days from five to ten inches; and it thus continued rising till it had attained the hight of nine feet, when the canal of Cairo was cut. It then rose from three to five inches only in the day; for, having spread over the land and entered the canal, although more water might have descended than before, its rise was less considerable. The other canals were now laid open at stated times, and those which water the lower grounds the last. These canals are carried along the highest parts of the country, so that from their elevation the water may be conveyed to the valleys. So important is this matter of the rise and fall of the river to the whole country, that a thin column or pillar, called the Nilometer, has been erected, to mark the elevation or depression of its waters. A view of it is given in the cut following. It is situated in the middle of a round tower, on the island of Rhoda, not far from Cairo, in the middle of the river. In this tower is a marble cistern, through which the Nile flows; its bottom and the bottom of the river being on the same level. From the center of this cistern rises a slender pillar, as seen in the engraving, marked off into twenty divisions of twenty inches each; the entire space marked on the column being somewhat more than thirty-six feet. This column is of the greatest interest to the people, as connected with their prospects of a harvest; and of the greatest importance to the government, as enabling it to fix the tribute, or tax, according to the hight of the inundation. The tower in which it is placed, is lighted by some eighteen or twenty windows, which form a belt around the base of the dome; and beneath these, and above the cistern, are rooms or apartments for those who come to see the hight of the waters, from which rooms a flight of some thirty stone steps leads to the marble pavement in the center of which the cistern and Nilometer are placed. As soon as the attendants ascertain that the overflow will be such as to fertilize all the land, the large canals are all opened with great ceremony and rejoicing. And as soon as the waters retire again from the fields, they are sown with all kinds of grain, so that in a short space of time the whole face of the country is variegated with the rich hues of the flowering plants and the ripening grain.

The Nile has one peculiar characteristic. Other rivers being supplied by rivulets, the ground is lowest near their banks; but as no water flows into the Nile in its passage throughout Egypt, and as it is necessary that this river should overflow the land, the country is generally lower at a distance from, than near to it; and, in most parts, the land has a gradual descent from the river to the foot of the hills, which terminate the sandy plains most benefited by the irrigation. Among other remarkable appearances, the celebrated Bruce notices a very singular one attendant on the inundation of the Nile. In Abyssinia, the early part of the morning is constantly clear in that season, with a fine sunshine. About nine, a small cloud, not above four feet in apparent breadth, appears in the east, whirling violently round as if on an axis; but having approached nearly to the zenith, it first abates its motion, and then loses its form, extending itself greatly, and seeming to call up vapors from all the opposite quarters. The clouds thus formed having attained nearly the same hight, rush against each other with great violence, and remind the spectator of Elisha foretelling rain on Mount Carmel. The air being impelled before the heaviest mass, or swiftest mover, makes an impression of its form on the collection of clouds opposite; and the moment it has taken possession of the space made to receive it, the most violent thunder possible to be conceived follows instantly, attended by rain. After some hours the sky again clears, with a wind at north; and it is always disagreeably cold when the thermometer is below sixty-three degrees.

Dr. Clarke, in his travels, draws the following elegant picture of this most interesting river.

“Here we were unexpectedly greeted with an astonishing view of the Nile, the Delta, and the numerous groves in the neighborhood of Rosetta. The scene is beyond description. The sudden contrast it offers, opposed to the desert we had traversed, the display of riches and abundance poured forth by the fertility of this African paradise, with all the local circumstances of reflection excited by an extensive prospect of the Nile, and of the plains of Egypt, render it one of the most interesting sights in the world. The beautiful boats of the Nile, with their large, wide-spreading sails, were passing up and down the river. Unable to quit the spot, we dismissed our guides, and remained some time contemplating the delightful picture. Afterward, descending on foot, close by the superb mosque of Abu-Mandur, we continued our walks along the bank of the river, through gardens richer than imagination can portray, beneath the shade of enormous overhanging branches of sycamore and fig trees, amid bowers of roses, and through groves of date, citron, lime and banana trees, to Rosetta.”

THE BARRAGE, OR GREAT DAM OF THE NILE.

We end our sketches of Egypt, and the Nile, by a notice of the barrage, or great dam, at the northern part of the Delta, just below where the river divides into the two great streams which empty themselves at Rosetta on the west, and Damietta on the east. This immense work, which is hardly heard of out of Egypt, is one of the greatest undertakings of modern times. It is nothing less than a damming of the Nile, so as to hold back its waters and keep them in reserve, till, by letting them out, at the proper seasons, two inundations may be produced each year, and so the crops doubled throughout the Delta. This great work is not only projected, but far advanced toward completion. Each branch of the river is to be spanned by sixty-two arches, besides a central gateway ninety feet in breadth, and flanked by lofty stone towers. The point of the Delta, between the two dams, is protected by a curtain of solid masonry, and the abutments which it joins are fortified by towers sixty or seventy feet in hight. The piers have curved breakwaters on the upper side, while the opposite parapet of the arches rises high above them, so that the dam consists of three successive terraces, and presents itself like a wedge, against the force of such an immense body of water. The material is brick, faced with stone. When complete, it is intended to close the side arches during low water, leaving only the central gateway open. By this means sufficient water will be gained to fill all the irrigating canals, while a new channel, cut through the center of the Delta, will render productive a vast tract of fertile land. The project is a grand one, and the only obstacle to its success is the light, porous character of the alluvial soil on which the piers are founded. The undertaking was planned and commenced by M. Linant, and has been continued by other engineers. “The Egyptian boatmen,” says Taylor, “have reason to complain of the barrage. The main force of the river is poured through the narrow space wherein the piers have not yet been sunk, which can not be passed without a strong north wind. Forty or fifty boats were lying along the shore, waiting the favorable moment. We obtained permission from the engineer to attach our boat to a large government barge, which was to be drawn up by a stationary windlass. As we put off, the wind freshened, and we were slowly urged against the current to the main rapid, and at last reached smoother water, and sailed off gaily for Cairo.”

THE AFRICAN BIRDS’ NEST.

Before passing to the ruins of some of the cities of antiquity, we would here, by way of variety, briefly describe the wonderful and curious nest of the “sociable weavers,” as they are called, which abound in some parts of Africa; a view of which is given in the engraving below. Hundreds of these birds, in one community, join to form a structure of interwoven grass, containing various apartments, all covered by a sloping roof, which is extended, from year to year, as the increase of their numbers may require. A traveler, having examined one of these huge nests, found it to consist mainly of grass, without any mixture, but so firmly basketed together as to be impenetrable to the rain, and extending like a canopy over all the particular nests built by the individual birds. The one he examined contained no less than three hundred and twenty cells.

Returning from this digression, we now pass to the notice of some of the ruins of the cities of antiquity; and first to the

RUINS OF PALMYRA.

This noble city of ancient Syria, also called Tadmor, is of uncertain date and origin, but is thought by some to have been the “Tadmor in the wilderness” built by Solomon. The first view of the city is exceedingly magnificent, the snow-white appearance of the innumerable columns and buildings, contrasting strikingly with the yellow sand of the desert. Its ruins are not to be compared, as to the size of the gates, columns and temples, with those of Balbec or Thebes; but they are more remarkable for their vast extent, and are less encumbered with modern fabrics than most ancient remains. They consist of temples, palaces, gateways and porticos of Grecian architecture, scattered over an extent of several miles. One of the most remarkable of them is the temple of the Sun, the ruins of which extend over a square of more than two hundred yards. The temple itself, which points north and south, is thirty-three yards in length and about fourteen in width. At its center, on the west side, is a magnificent entry, on the remains of which vines and clusters of grapes are carved in a bold and masterly imitation of nature. Over the door is a pair of wings, extending the whole breadth. Its north extremity is adorned with curious fret-work and bass-relief, and in the center is a dome, or cupola, about ten feet in diameter, of solid stone. To the north of this is an obelisk of seven large stones, which probably once supported a statue; and about a quarter of a mile distant are others similar to it, as if forming originally part of a continued row.

About one hundred paces from the middle obelisk, straight forward, is a magnificent entry to a piazza, forty feet in breadth and more than half a mile in length, inclosed with two rows of marble pillars twenty-six feet high, and eight or nine feet in compass. Of these there still remain one hundred and twenty-nine; and by a moderate computation, there could not have been originally less than five hundred and sixty. At the west side of this piazza are several apertures for gates into the court of the palace, each of them ornamented with four porphyry pillars, not standing in a line with those of the wall, but placed by couples in the front of the gate facing the palace, two on each side. Two of these only remain entire, and one only standing in its place. They are thirty feet in length, and nine in circumference. On the east side of the piazza stand a great number of marble pillars, some perfect, but the greater part mutilated. In one place eleven of them are ranged in a square, the space they inclose being paved with broad flat stones, but without any remains of a roof. At a little distance are the remains of a small temple, also without a roof, and having its walls much defaced. Before the entry, which faces the south, is a piazza supported by six pillars, two on each side of the door, and one at each end. The pedestals of those in front have been filled with inscriptions, both in the Greek and Palmyrene languages, which are become totally illegible. Among these ruins are many sepulchers, ranged on each side of a hollow way toward the north part of the city, and extending more than a mile; some being mere heaps of rubbish; others half fallen, exposing their shattered chambers; while one or two remain almost entire. They are built in the shape of square towers, from three to four stories in hight, each forming a sepulchral chamber, with recesses divided into compartments for the reception of the bodies. Some of the chambers are beautifully ornamented with Corinthian pilasters and sculptures, almost in perfect preservation, executed in bold relief; the walls are of white stucco, and the ceilings are divided into diamond-shaped compartments, delicately ornamented with white stars on a blue ground; while over the doorways are inscriptions both in the Greek and Palmyrene languages. The outsides are of common stone; but the floors and partitions of each story are of marble. A walk crosses the center of this range of buildings, and the space on each side is subdivided by thick walls, into six partitions, the space between which is wide enough to receive the largest corpse. In these niches six or seven are piled on one another.

RUINS OF BALBEC.

Baal-bec, or Balbec, is supposed by many to be the same as Baal-ath, built by Solomon in Lebanon, as mentioned in the eighth chapter of the second book of Chronicles. Its magnificent ruins are described by Mr. Bruce as even surpassing what he had seen at Palmyra. He was particularly struck by the splendid vestiges of the great temple, supposed to have been dedicated to the sun. The castle of Balbec, or tower of Lebanon, is described by Leander, a Carmelite monk, in his interesting travels, as a surprising monument of antiquity, built according to the tradition of the natives, by Solomon. His relation is as follows. “Balbec is distant from Damascus, toward the north, about fifty miles, and on the southern side is watered by springs and rivulets, brought thither, no doubt, to fill the ditches by which it was to have been surrounded for defense, but which were not completed. It is situated on the lofty summit of a hill, in approaching which the façade of the castle is seen, having two towers at its right angles, between which is a great portico, resembling the mouth of a vast cave, and provided with very strong walls. That on the right hand, by which the portico is attached to the tower, from the west to the north, is composed of four stones only, the fifth, which was to have completed the fabric, being deficient. The length of each of these stones is not less than sixty-two feet, and their breadth and hight thirteen. They are so artfully brought together, without any cement, that they appear to be only one solid block. The remainder of the wall to the left is of hewn stones, well cemented with quick-lime, the smallest of which are six feet in length, and four feet and six inches in hight: there are many which are upward of fifteen feet in length, but the hight of all of them is the same.

“Having entered the cavern by the grand portico, the traveler proceeds in obscurity to the distance of eighteen paces, when he at length perceives a ray of light proceeding from the aperture of the door which conducts to the center. At each of the sides, and within this grand portico, is a flight of stone steps which leads to the subterraneous prisons. Their aspect is horrid, and they were formerly dangerous, being frequented by banditti and robbers, who would plunder, kill, and here bury such wretched travelers as were imprudently led by their curiosity to penetrate, and risk the descent without being well escorted. Following the road above, by the cavern, to the extent of fifty paces, an ample area of a spherical figure presents itself, surrounded by majestic columns of granite, some of them of a single piece, and others formed of two pieces, the whole of them of so large a dimension, that two men can with difficulty girt them. They are of the Ionic order of architecture, and are placed on bases of the same stone, at such distances from each other that a coach and six might commodiously turn between them. They support a flat tower or roof, from which projects a cornice wrought with figures of matchless workmanship: these rise above the capitals with so nice an union, that the eye can not distinguish the place where they are joined. At the present time the greater part of this colonnade is destroyed, the western part alone remaining perfect and upright. This fabric has an elevation of five hundred feet, and is four hundred feet in length. In its exterior, and behind, it is flanked by two other towers similar to those of the first façade, the whole projecting from the wall, which within is provided with loop-holes, to keep off the enemy, in case of necessity, by the means of stones, fire, &c. It also surrounds the colonnade, more particularly in the part which looks toward the east. At the left flank rises a temple, which tradition says was the hall of audience of Solomon, in hight at least eighty feet, and long and large in proportion. Its stones are all sculptured with bass-reliefs, similar to those which ornament Trajan’s column at Rome, representing many triumphs and naval engagements. Several of these bass-reliefs have been defaced by the Saracens, who are the decided enemies of all sculptures. Without this grand hall is an avenue of the same size and breadth, where the traveler admires a large portal constructed with three stones only, attached to which, in the middle part, serving as an architrave, is seen, in a garland of laurel interwoven with flowers, a large eagle admirably sculptured in bass-relief. At the sides of the portal are placed two columns, in one of which, although formed of a single stone, is a winding staircase by which to ascend to the architrave: the passage is however very narrow. There is in the vicinity another temple, of an octangular shape, with a portico of superb architecture, and having three windows on the side opposite to the former.”

Three times Leander returned to visit this splendid vestige of antiquity; and on the last of these occasions, being well escorted, he proceeded to the distance of about a mile, to the foot of the mountains of Damascus, whence the stones employed in its construction were brought. He measured the stone which remained there, and which has already been noticed as having been intended for the fifth in the construction of the wall: it had been hewn out on all sides, was lying on the ground, and was simply attached to the rock at the lower part. Its length and dimensions were such that he could not conceive how it would have been possible to detach it, and still less with what machines to move, transport, and raise it to the hight at which other stones are placed, more especially as the sites, the roads, and the masses of rock are such, as to exceed in roughness and difficulty whatever the imagination can picture to itself. In the vicinity of the cave whence the stones were drawn is a very beautiful sepulcher supported by columns of porphyry, over which is a dome of the finest symmetry, and of great beauty.

RUINS OF BABYLON.

The ruins of Babylon are deeply interesting, not only on account of their great antiquity, but from the associations connected with them. They have been visited and described by Mr. Rich, resident for the East India company at Bagdad; and the result of his researches is given by the Rev. Mr. Maurice, author of “Indian Antiquities,” and assistant librarian to the British museum, in his elaborate work entitled “Observations connected with Astronomy and Ancient History, Sacred and Profane, on the Ruins of Babylon.”

Babylon was situated in a plain of vast extent, and bisected by the noble river Euphrates. Over this river was thrown a bridge of massive masonry, strongly compacted with iron and lead, by which the two sides of the city were connected; and the embankments on each side, to restrain its current, were lofty, and formed of the same durable materials as the walls of the city. The city itself is represented by Herodotus to have been a perfect square, inclosed by a wall in circumference four hundred and eighty furlongs. It is stated to have abounded in houses three or four stories in hight, and to have been regularly divided into streets, running parallel to each other, with tranverse avenues occasionally opening to the river. It was surrounded with a wide and deep trench, the earth dug out of which was formed into square bricks and baked in a furnace. With these, cemented together with heated bitumen, intermixed with reeds to bind the viscid mass, the sides of the trenches were lined; and of the same solid materials the walls of the vast dimensions above described were formed. At certain regular distances on them, watch-towers were erected; and below they were divided and adorned with a hundred immense gates of brass. As you float down the river from Bagdad, you pass a plain that hears the name of Dura, which tradition says, is the very place where Nebuchadnezzar set up the golden image, and commanded all to bow down and worship it: it is now a wilderness, with here and there a shapeless mound, the remains of some ancient habitation. And still further down, as you approach the city, is a tower, some two hundred feet high, on the east bank of the river, with an ascending way winding round it on the outside, like the spiral of a screw, as seen in the cut below, reminding the traveler of the common ideal pictures of the tower of Babel. It marks the site of the ancient city of Samarrah, where the Roman army under Jovian rested after marching and fighting a long summer’s day. It was afterward the capital of the eighth caliph of the Abbasside dynasty.

In the center of each of the grand divisions of the city itself, a stupendous public fabric was erected. In one (the eastern side) stood the temple of Belus, and in the other, (or western division,) in a large or strongly fortified inclosure, the royal palace, intended, doubtless, for defense as well as for ornament. The temple of Belus was a square pile, on each side of the extent of two furlongs. The tower erected in its center was a furlong in breadth, and as much in hight, the latter of which (taking the furlong at only five hundred feet) is enormous, being higher, by twenty feet, than the great pyramid of Memphis. On this tower, as a base, seven other lofty towers were erected in regular succession; and the whole was crowned, we are told by Diodorus, with a brazen statue of Belus, forty feet high! The palace, intended also as a citadel, was erected on an area a mile and a half square, and was surrounded with three vast circular walls, which, as we are informed by Diodorus Siculus, were ornamented with sculptured animals resembling life, richly painted in their natural colors on the bricks of which they were composed, and afterward burnt in. This may be mentioned as nearly the earliest specimen of enameling on record. Indeed, it was scarcely possible for a nation, who were so well practiced in the burning of bricks even to a vitreous hardness, to have been ignorant of this fine art; and that they could also engrave upon them, is evident, as we may soon see, from the characters at this day sculptured upon those that have been dug up and brought to Europe, many of which are preserved in the British museum. On the far-famed hanging gardens, and the subterraneous vault or tunnel constructed by Semiramis, or Nitocris, or the founder of Babylon, whoever he was, there is no necessity to dilate, as every trace of them, except what the idle fancy of travelers has surmised, must long since have disappeared; but such, in its general outline, was the mighty Babylon—BABYLON THE GREAT.

Mr. Rich, whose residence at the court of Bagdad, with the powerful protection of the pacha, afforded him every facility for comprehensive investigation, describes the whole country between Bagdad and Hella, a distance of forty-eight miles, as a perfectly flat, and, for the greater part, uncultivated waste; though it is evident, from the number of canals by which it is traversed, and the immense ruins that cover its surface, that it must formerly have been both well peopled and cultivated. About two miles above Hella, the more prominent ruins commence, among which, at intervals, are discovered, in considerable quantities, burnt and unburnt bricks and bitumen: two vast mounds in particular attract attention from their size, and these are situated on the eastern bank of the Euphrates. At the time of his visit, there were scarcely any remains of ruins visible, immediately opposite on the western bank, but there were some of stupendous magnitude on that side, about six miles to the south-west of Hella.

The first grand mass of ruins described by Mr. Rich, extends one thousand one hundred yards in length, and eight hundred in its greatest breadth, its figure nearly resembling that of a quadrant; its hight is irregular; but the most elevated part may be about fifty or sixty feet above the level of the plain, and it has been dug into for the purpose of procuring bricks. On the north is a valley of five hundred and fifty yards in length, the area of which is covered with tussocks of rank grass, and crossed by a line of ruins of very little elevation. To this succeeds the second grand heap of ruins, the shape of which is nearly a square, seven hundred yards in length and breadth, and having its south-west angle connected with the north-west angle of the mounds of Amran, by a ridge of considerable hight, and nearly one hundred yards in breadth. This he thought the most interesting part of the ruins of Babylon; every vestige discoverable in it declaring it to have been composed of buildings far superior to all the rest which had left traces in the eastern quarter: the bricks were of the finest description; and, notwithstanding this was the grand storehouse of them, and that the greatest supplies had been and then were constantly drawn from it, they appeared still to be abundant. But the operation of extracting the bricks had caused great confusion, and contributed much to increase the difficulty of deciphering the original design of this mound, as, in search of them, the workmen had pierced into it in every direction, hollowing out deep ravines and pits, and throwing up the rubbish in heaps on the surface. In some places they had bored into the solid mass, forming winding caverns and subterraneous passages, which, from their being left without adequate support, sometimes fell and buried the workmen in the rubbish. In all these excavations, walls of burnt brick, laid in lime mortar of a very good quality, are seen; and, in addition to the substances generally strewed on the surfaces of all these mounds, here are found fragments of alabaster vessels, fine earthenware, marble, and great quantities of varnished tiles, the glazing and coloring of which are surprisingly fresh. In a hollow near the southern part, Mr. Rich found a sepulchral urn of earthenware, which had been broken in digging, and near it lay some human bones, which pulverized with the touch.

“Not more than two hundred yards,” he says, “from the northern extremity of the above mound is a ravine hollowed out by those who dig for bricks, in length nearly a hundred yards, and thirty feet wide, by forty or fifty deep. On one side of it, a few yards of wall remain standing, the face of which is very clean and perfect, and which appears to have been the front of some building. The opposite side is so confused a mass of rubbish, that it would seem as if the ravine had been worked through a solid building. Under the foundations at the southern end an opening is made, which discovers a subterraneous passage seven feet in hight, and winding to the south, floored and walled with large brick, laid in bitumen and covered over with pieces of sandstone, a yard thick, and several yards long, on which the whole pressure is so great as to have given a considerable degree of obliquity to the side walls of the passage. The superstructure is cemented with bitumen, other parts of the ravine with mortar, and the bricks all have writing on them. The northern end of the ravine appears to have been crossed by an extremely thick wall of yellowish brick, cemented with a brilliant white mortar, which has been broken through in hollowing it out; and a little to the north is sculptured a lion of colossal dimensions, standing on a pedestal, of a coarse kind of gray granite, and of rude workmanship; in the mouth is a circular aperture, into which a man may introduce his fist.”

The next considerable mass to that of Amran is the Kasr, or palace, as it is called by the natives, and it is thus described by Mr. Rich.

“It is a very remarkable ruin, which, being uncovered, and in part detached from the rubbish, is visible from a considerable distance, but so surprisingly fresh in its appearance, that it was only after a minute inspection I was satisfied of its being in reality a Babylonian remain. It consists of several walls and piers, (which face the cardinal points,) eight feet in thickness, in some places ornamented with niches, and in others, strengthened by pilasters and buttresses, built of fine burnt brick, (still perfectly clean and sharp,) laid in lime cement, of such tenacity, that those whose business it is have given up working, on account of the extreme difficulty of extracting them whole. The tops of these walls are broken, and may have been much higher. On the outside, they have in some places been cleared nearly to the foundations; but the internal spaces, formed by them, are yet filled with rubbish, in some parts almost to their summit. One part of the wall has been split into three parts, and overthrown, as if by an earthquake; some detached walls of the same kind, standing at different distances, show what remains to have been only a small part of the original fabric; indeed, it appears that the passage in the ravine, together with the wall which crosses its upper end, were connected with it. There are some hollows underneath, in which several persons have lost their lives; so that no one will now venture into them, and their entrances have become choked up with rubbish. Near this ruin is a heap of rubbish, the sides of which are curiously streaked by the alternation of its materials, the chief part of which, it is probable, was unburnt brick, of which I found a small quantity in the neighborhood; but no reeds were discoverable in the interstices.

“A mile to the north of the Kasr, or full five miles distant from Hella, and nine hundred and fifty yards from the river bank, is the last ruin of this series, which has been described by Pietro Della Valle, who determines it to have been the tower of Belus, an opinion adopted by Rennel. The natives call it Mukallibe, or, according to the vulgar Arab pronunciation of these parts, Mujelibe, meaning overturned; they sometimes also apply this term to the mounds of the Kasr. It is of an oblong shape, irregular in its hight and the measurement of its sides, which face the cardinal points; the northern side being two hundred yards in length, the southern two hundred and nineteen, the eastern one hundred and eighty-two, and the western one hundred and thirty-six; the elevation of the south-east, or highest angle, one hundred and forty-one feet. The western face, which is the least elevated, is the most interesting, on account of the appearance of building it presents. Near the summit of it appears a low wall, with interruptions, built of unburnt bricks, mixed up with chopped straw or reeds, and cemented with clay-mortar of great thickness, having between every layer a layer of reeds; and on the north side are, also, some vestiges of a similar construction. The south-west angle is crowned by something like a turret, or lantern: the other angles are in a less perfect state, but may originally have been ornamented in a similar manner. The western face is lowest and easiest of ascent, the northern the most difficult. All are worn into furrows by the weather; and in some places, where several channels of rain have united together, these furrows are of great depth, and penetrate a considerable way into the mound. The summit is covered with heaps of rubbish, in digging into some of which, layers of broken burnt brick, cemented with mortar, are discovered, and whole bricks, with inscriptions on them, are here and there found. The whole is covered with innumerable fragments of pottery, brick, bitumen, pebbles, vitrified brick, or scoria, and even shells, bits of glass, and mother of pearl.”

Mr. Rich, having now finished his observations on the ruins of the east bank of the Euphrates, enters upon the examination of what, on the opposite west bank, have been by some travelers supposed (and their suppositions have been adopted by Major Rennel) to be the remains of this great city. Those, however, which Mr. Rich describes, are of the most trifling kind, scarcely exceeding one hundred yards in extent, and wholly consisting of two or three insignificant mounds of earth, overgrown with rank grass. The country, too, being marshy, he doubts the possibility of there having been any buildings of considerable magnitude erected in that spot, and, much less, buildings of the astonishing dimensions of those described by the classical writers of antiquity. He then opens to our view a new and almost unexplored remain of ancient grandeur, in the following passage.

“But, although there are not any ruins in the immediate vicinity of the river, by far the most stupendous and surprising mass of all the remains of Babylon is situated in the desert about six miles to the south-west of Hella. It is called by the Arabs Birs Nimrod, by the Jews, Nebuchadnezzar’s prison. It is a mound of an oblong figure, the total circumference of which is seven hundred and sixty-two yards. At the eastern side it is cloven by a deep furrow, and is not more than fifty or sixty feet high; but at the western it rises in a conical figure to the elevation of one hundred and ninety-eight feet; and on its summit is a solid pile of brick, thirty-seven feet high by twenty-eight in breadth, diminishing in thickness to the top, which is broken and irregular, and rent by a large fissure extending through a third of its hight. It is perforated by small square holes, disposed in rhomboids. The fine burnt bricks of which it is built have inscriptions on them; and so admirable is the cement, which appears to be lime-mortar, that, though the layers are so close together that it is difficult to discern what substance is between them, it is nearly impossible to extract one of the bricks whole. The other parts of the summit of this hill are occupied by immense fragments of brick-work, of no determinate figure, tumbled together and converted into solid vitrified masses, as if they had undergone the action of the fiercest fire, or been blown up with gunpowder, the layers of the bricks being perfectly discernible; a curious fact, and one for which I am utterly incapable of accounting. Round the Birs are traces of ruins to a considerable extent. To the north is the canal which supplies Mesjiid Ali with water, which was dug at the expense of the Nuwaub Shujahed Doulah, and called after his country, Hindia. We are informed that, from the summit of the Birs, in a clear morning, the gilt dome of Mesjiid Ali may be seen.”

Before passing on to a brief notice of the later discoveries at Babylon, a word may be said on the subject of the

BABYLONIAN BRICKS.

One of the ancient methods of writing, was on stone or brick, of which, as the earliest example on record, if allowable to be cited, may be adduced that of the two pillars of Seth, the one of brick and the other of stone, said by Josephus to have been erected before the deluge, and to have contained the history of antediluvian arts and sciences. However disputable this account may be, that of the tables of stone on which the decalogue was written by the finger of the Deity, and delivered to Moses on Mount Sinai, can admit of no doubt, no more than can the hieroglyphic characters in the most ancient periods, engraved on the marbles of Egypt, at present so abundant in the collections of Europe, and which remain to this day, and will be, for centuries to come, a lasting proof of the high advance in the engraving art, as well as in chemical science, of a nation, who, at that early period, could fabricate instruments to cut them so deep and indelibly on the almost impenetrable granite.

In countries destitute of stone, like Chaldea, an artificial substance, clay, intermixed with reeds, and indurated by fire, was made use of for that purpose. Of this substance, formed into square masses, covered with mystic characters, the walls and palaces of Babylon were, for the most part, constructed: and it has been seen in the accounts of travelers who have visited these ruins, examined the bricks, and observed those reeds intermingled with their substance, how durable, through a vast succession of ages, those bricks, with their inscribed characters, have remained. Their real meaning, or that of the Persepolitan arrow-headed obelistical characters, and the still more complicated hieroglyphics of Egypt, however partially deciphered by the labors of the learned, will, perhaps, never be fathomed in its full extent, by the utmost ingenuity of man.

Of the bitumen with which these Babylonian bricks were cemented together, and which was plentifully produced in the neighborhood of Babylon, it may be proper in this place to remark, that it binds stronger than mortar, and in time becomes harder than the brick itself. It was also impenetrable to water, as was formerly well known, for both the outside and the inside of the ark was incrusted with it. Gen. vi. 14. It may be proper to add here, that the bitumen, to deprive it of its brittleness, and render it capable of being applied to the brick, must be boiled with a certain proportion of oil, and that it retains its tenacity longest in a humid situation. Mr. Rich informs us, that it is “at present principally used for calking boats, coating cisterns, baths, and other places which usually come in contact with water. The fragments of it scattered over the ruins of Babylon are black, shining and brittle, somewhat resembling pit-coal in substance and appearance.” It will not be forgotten, that the custom above alluded to, of mixing straw or reeds with bricks baked in the sun, in order to bind them closer, and so make them more firm and compact, was also used in Egypt, as may be inferred from Exodus v. 7, where Pharaoh commands the taskmasters of the oppressed Israelites “not to give them straw to make bricks,” in order to multiply their vexations and increase their toil.

Speaking of the Babylonian bricks, and their variety in respect to size, color, hardness, &c., Mr. Rich tells us, that the general size of the kiln-burnt brick is thirteen inches square, by three thick; and that some are of about half these dimensions, and a few of different shapes for particular purposes, such as rounding corners, &c. They are of different colors: white, with a yellowish tinge, like what are called fire-brick; red, like our ordinary brick, which are the coarsest of all; and some blackish, and very hard. The sun-dried brick are generally the largest, and more or less mixed with chopped straw, for the obvious purpose of binding them; and some even of the fire-burnt bricks seem to have been made of the same material. In the palace, or Kasr, Mr. Rich found far finer specimens of art than the mere brick-work affords; for in addition to the substances usually strewed on the surfaces of all these mounds, he saw fragments of alabaster vessels, fine earthen-ware, marble, and great quantities of varnished tiles, the glazing and coloring of which was surprisingly fresh. The process from making pottery to molding figures in clay, was not difficult; but the designs in brass, and the grouping of figures, must have required much greater skill and labor.

LATER DISCOVERIES AT BABYLON.

As the traveler approaches very near to Babylon, from the north, the first great ruin, as we have already said, is the “mound of Babel,” better known as the Mujelibé, or the “overturned,” a vast mound, from the top of which rises a solitary mass of brick-work, and beyond which are long undulating heaps of earth, bricks and pottery. On all sides are fragments of glass, marble, earthen-ware, and inscribed brick, mingled with that peculiar nitrous and blanched soil, which, bred from the remains of ancient habitations, checks or destroys vegetation, and renders the site of Babylon a naked and hideous waste, fit only for the abode of owls and jackals. Southward from this spot, for nearly three miles, there is an almost uninterrupted line of mounds, the ruins of the vast edifices which once formed part of the city. Mr. Layard commenced his excavations in one of these mounds, finding arrow-heads of iron and bronze, glass bottles, colored and ribbed, and of various forms and sizes, &c., &c., &c. On going deeper, the workmen soon reached solid piers and walls of brick masonry, many of the bricks bearing the usual superscription of Nebuchadnezzar; and the remains of similar buildings were found in various places. But though Mr. Layard’s discoveries of this kind were numerous, few things were brought to light materially different from what had been found and described by others before him.

About the year 1850, however, the French government sent out three gentlemen to make scientific and artistic researches in Media, Mesopotamia, and Babylon. One, M. Jules Oppert, has just returned to Paris, (1854,) and it appears, from his report, that he and his colleagues thought it advisable to begin by confining themselves to the exploration of ancient Babylon. This task was one of immense difficulty, and it was enhanced by the excessive heat of the sun, by privations of all kinds, and by the incessant hostility of the Arabs. After a while M. Oppert’s two colleagues fell ill, so that all the labors of the expedition devolved on him. He first of all made excavations of the ruins of the famous suspended gardens of Babylon, which are now known by the name of the hall of Amran-ibn-Ali; and obtained in them a number of curious architectural and other objects, which are destined to be placed in the Louvre at Paris. He next, in obedience to the special orders of his government, took measures for ascertaining the precise extent of Babylon, a matter which the reader is aware has always been open to controversy. He has succeeded in making a series of minute surveys, and in drawing up detailed plans of the immense city. His opinion is, that even the largest calculations as to its vast extent are not exaggerated; and he puts down that extent at the astounding figure of five hundred square kilometres, French measure, (the square kilometre is eleven hundred and ninety-six square yards.) This is very nearly eighteen times the size of Paris. But, of course, he does not say that this enormous area was occupied, or anything like it: it comprised within the walls huge tracts of cultivated lands and gardens, for supplying the population with food in the event of a siege. M. Oppert has discovered the Babylonian and Assyrian measures, and by means of them has ascertained exactly what part of the city was inhabited, and what part was in fields and gardens. On the limits of the town, properly so called, stands at present the flourishing town of Hillah. This town, situated on the banks of the Euphrates, is built with bricks from the ruins, and many of the household utensils, and personal ornaments of its inhabitants, are taken from them also. Beyond this town is the vast fortress, strengthened by Nebuchadnezzar, and in the midst of it is the royal palace, itself almost as large as a town. M. Oppert says, that he was also able to distinguish the ruins of the famous tower of Babel; they are most imposing, and stand on a site formerly called Borsippa, or the tower of languages. The royal town, situated on the two banks of the Euphrates, covers a space of nearly seven square kilometres, and contains most interesting ruins. Amongst them are those of the royal palace, the fortress, and the suspended gardens. In the collection of curiosities which M. Oppert has brought away with him, is a vase, which he declares to date from the time of one of the Chaldean sovereigns named Narambel, that is, somewhere about sixteen hundred years before Christ; also a number of copies of cuneiform inscriptions which he has every reason to believe that he will be able to decipher. It may not be out of place, to add, here, that in the excavations recently made in Persia, it is said that the palace of Shushan and the tomb of Daniel have probably been found; and also the very pavement described in Esther i. 6, “of red, and blue, and white, and black marble.” On the tomb is the sculptured figure of a man bound hand and foot, with a huge lion in the act of springing upon him to devour him. No history could speak more graphically the story of Daniel in the lion’s den. Various other discoveries have also been made, all of which bear out the statements of the Old Testament history as to the times of the prophet, and the nation of which he speaks.

RUINS OF NINEVEH.

Nineveh, famous in the ancient world, as the splendid capital of the Assyrian empire, had been hidden some two thousand years in its unknown grave, when a French savant and a wandering English scholar sought out the seat of that once mighty power, and throwing off its shroud of sand and ruin, revealed to the astonished world its temples, palaces, and idols, the representations of the wars of the ancient Assyrians, and their triumphs in civilization and art. Niebuhr was one of the first to give attention to these ruins, and especially to stimulate the curiosity and enterprise of others. And after him Rich, Botta, and others, and especially and above all, Layard, carried on investigations which have brought to light the wonderful remains of this long-buried city. The earliest successful excavations were made by Botta at Khorsabad, in 1843; and by these he was led on to the discovery of an immense monument worthy to be compared in richness and ornament to the most sumptuous productions bequeathed us by ancient Egypt. The first discovery was of the remains of a chamber, which evidently was but part of a large building buried in the mound, the walls of which were covered with bass-reliefs. And next, finding a bronze lion, and the heads and wings of the winged bulls, M. Botta was satisfied that the whole space was full of ancient remains. After various difficulties and obstacles, which were at length overcome, in 1844, he had three hundred laborers at work making excavations, while an artist copied the bass-reliefs and inscriptions as fast as they were uncovered. These, with the most remarkable and best preserved pieces of sculpture, were sent to Paris, where they arrived in 1846, and where they now form one of the greatest attractions in the noble museum of the Louvre.

The last and most important, however, of the laborers in the field of Assyrian antiquities, is Austen Henry Layard, who visited this region in 1840, and again in 1842. In 1845, under the patronage, and through the assistance of Sir Stratford Canning, he again went to Assyria, and commencing his excavations, first discovered the long wished for bass-reliefs on the twenty-eighth of November. Soon afterward he dug up a gigantic human head, much to the terror of the Arabs, who believed it to be the head of Nimrod himself. Next, he came upon a rich collection of sculptures, in an excellent state of preservation, among which were kings, priests, griffins, eunuchs, symbolic trees, &c., &c. Another discovery was that of a vaulted chamber, in the center of a wall some fifty feet thick, and fifteen feet below the surface of the mound, the top of which was as regularly arched as any modern room could be. Tubular drain-tiles for carrying off the water that fell from the roofs of buildings, and thin layers of bitumen under the floors and slabs, to keep them from the dampness of the ground beneath, were also discovered in various places. The gigantic lions which M. Botta had seen, were also examined by Mr. Layard; and new chambers, covered with bass-reliefs of battles, sieges, victories, triumphs, banquetings, sacrifices, &c., were explored. A large obelisk of black marble was shipped for England; and from some twenty chambers explored within about four months, numerous articles were gathered and sent forward to the same country.

As a specimen of the wonderful sculptures brought to light by the indefatigable labors of Layard, we may mention the colossal winged bull, represented in the cut on page 584. The features of the face, the cap on the head, and the arrangement of the hair and beard, are Persian. The wings extend over the back. The figure is supposed to represent one of the Assyrian deities, as the attributes of intelligence, strength, and swiftness, are typified by the head of a man, the body of a bull, and the wings of an eagle. Somewhat similar to this was another large sculpture of a colossal winged lion, on a slab nine feet square. The countenance of this figure is noble and benevolent in expression; the features being of a true Persian type. It wears an egg-shaped cap, with a cord round the base of it. The hair at the back of the head has seven ranges of curls; the beard being divided into three ranges of curls, with intervals of wavy hair. The elaborately sculptured wings extend over the back of the animal to the very verge of the slab. All the flat surface is covered with what is termed a cuneiform inscription. Round the loins is a succession of numerous cords, which are drawn into four separate knots; at the extremities are fringes, forming as many distinct tassels. The strength of the lion is admirably delineated in the sculpture, showing that the artist had a complete acquaintance with the details of its figure and anatomy. Both these huge sculptures were sent to England, though only with immense labor and expense; and they are now in the British museum.

In the brief space which can be allotted to the ruins of Nineveh, it would be impossible to give more than a glance at all the wonderful discoveries made there. A mere outline is all that will be attempted, while for the complete description, the reader is referred to the published volumes of Layard himself. The platform of Khorsabad, for example, was in somewhat the shape of the letter T; and the latter, or south-eastern end of this was nine hundred and seventy-five feet wide, by four hundred and twenty deep; and here some of the principal monuments were found. The great portal to the building, forming the center of the façade, consisted, on each side, of three colossal bulls, with human heads and eagles’ wings, and a gigantic figure of a man, each formed of a single block of alabaster. Passing through this gateway, we come to a court three hundred and forty by one hundred and fifty-seven feet, the entrance of which is guarded by symbolic figures which are combinations of the man, the bull, and the eagle, bearing a general resemblance to those spoken of above. Near by is a gigantic figure, supposed to be intended for Nimrod himself; and also another of a winged man, or divinity, with four wings, offering a pine cone with one hand, and holding a basket in the other. In the different chambers, are bass-reliefs of the great king and his officers, in their various appropriate dresses; the sword, the sandals, the bracelets, the ear-rings, and even the fly-flappers of the attending eunuchs, all being perfectly distinct as if carved but yesterday. Not far from these, are seen the king’s cup-bearers, and his grooms leading horses; a representation of the building of a port, or road, and ships bringing timber and other materials to be used in the work; and then come sea-monsters and various inhabitants of the deep, among which are the shell-fish which furnished the famous Tyrian dye. In another apartment, the gate of which was fastened by a huge wooden lock, are seen the figures of tribute-bearers from the various conquered nations, the governors of provinces, &c., bringing their offerings; and in another, priests, and the eagle-headed divinity, the king himself, and images of baked clay, of frightful aspect, which seem to have been teraphim or idols of some kind. In still other apartments, are the symbolic trees; sieges of highly fortified places, with battering-rams and other instruments of war; manacled prisoners; bow-men and spear-men; eunuchs engaged, in one place in weighing spoil, and in another in hewing a prisoner to pieces; the magi, and philosophers; courts of justice; prisoners bound for trial or punishment; the king putting out the eyes of a captive; full illustrations of the pleasures of the table and the chase; the king and his sons engaged in hunting, and also in shooting at a target; various kinds of birds and animals; full historical pictures of various events; the burning of forts and besieged cities; chairs, altars, chariots, horses, tables, vases, &c.: in a word, almost everything connected with the daily life, or social customs, or civil history of the people. The king’s court, the historical chamber, the inner chamber, the divining-chamber, the hall of judgment, the hall of historical records, the chamber of audience, the presence-chamber, the banqueting-hall, the retiring-chamber—all these are but a part of the names of apartments in this single palace, each of which abounds in the sculptures and bass-reliefs which are naturally suggested by their respective titles.

A large number of these wonderful sculptures have been transported to England, and are now in the British museum. The great winged lion and bull are there, to fix the attention and excite the wonder of every visitor; and with these, more than a hundred other sculptures or bass-reliefs representing scenes like those already described. Many of these are from Nimroud, where have been found some representations not mentioned above, such, for example, as various forms of chariots; mummers dancing; stables, and horses being curried; the interior of the royal kitchen; birds of prey, picking at the dead and dying on the battle-field; troops crossing rivers; the siege of Damascus; lion and bull hunts; Parthian bow-men; the felling of trees; elephants, camels, and monkeys, &c., &c., all in a style of both art and sculpture quite different from those at Khorsabad, and apparently less ancient than the latter. And in addition to all these things, the sculptures relating to costume and dress are quite numerous in many of the apartments of these ruins. The head-dress, the mode of wearing the beard and hair, vases, rings, bracelets, umbrellas, bronzes, the arrangement of funerals, ivory caskets and ornaments, carved heads of various animals, (used as ornaments,) and many other kinds of curiosities, have been found in great numbers.

Among the more recent discoveries, made so lately as 1850, Mr. Layard thinks he has found, in the Nimroud mound, the very throne on which the reigning monarch of some three thousand years ago sat in his splendid palace. It is composed of metal and ivory; the former being richly wrought, and the latter most beautifully carved. It seems to have been separated from the state apartments by means of a large curtain, the rings by which this was drawn and undrawn being still preserved. No human remains have been found, and everything indicates the destruction of the palace by fire; the throne itself being partially fused, as if by great heat. Beautifully engraved copper vessels have been found at Nimroud; and in Nineveh, a large assortment of slabs illustrative of the rule, conquests, domestic life, and arts of the ancient Assyrians; and apparently there can be no limit to the number of such discoveries, if they are but prosecuted for a sufficient length of time, and with a sufficient number of laborers. In 1852, Mr. Layard was appointed to an important official post at home, by the British government, so that his personal attention to the researches he had so long carried on, was of course suspended. But since that date, the French explorers have been able to examine the whole palace of Khorsabad and its dependencies; in doing which, they have obtained proof that the Assyrians were not ignorant of any of the principles or resources of architecture. Among their discoveries, is a gate twelve feet high, apparently one of the entrances to the city; several constructions in marble, beautifully wrought; the cellar of the palace, with regular rows of wine jars, which have at the bottom the violet-colored deposit from the evaporated wine, &c. And in the adjoining mounds and hills within a few leagues of Khorsabad, they have found monuments, tombs, jewelry, articles of gold and stone, colossal figures and bass-reliefs, and last, but far from least, a series of full length portraits of the kings of Assyria! All these discoveries, as soon as made, are copied by the photographic process, and sent to Paris, so that ere long, doubtless, all will be able to see how they appear when reproduced by the skill of the engraver.

THE RUINS OF PERSEPOLIS.

The most striking feature, on a first approach to these splendid ruins, is the staircase and its surrounding walls, and the tall slender columns which stand out so prominently to view. Two grand flights of stairs, facing each other, lead to the principal platform. To their right is an immense wall of the finest masonry, and of the most massive stones; to the left, are other walls, equally well built, but not so imposing. On arriving at the summit of the staircase, the first objects which present themselves directly facing the platform, are four vast portals and two columns. Two portals first, then the columns, and then two portals again. On the front of each are represented, in bass-relief, figures of animals, which, for want of a better name, may be called sphinxes. The two sphinxes on the first portals face outwardly, i. e., toward the plain and the front of the building. The two others, on the second portals, face inwardly, i. e., toward the mountain. From the first, (to the right, on a straight line,) at the distance of fifty-four paces, is a staircase of thirty steps, the sides of which are ornamented with bass-reliefs, originally in three rows, but now partly reduced by the accumulation of earth beneath, and by mutilations above. This staircase leads to the principal compartment of the whole ruins, which may be called a small plain, thickly studded with columns, sixteen of which are now erect. Having crossed this plain, on an eminence are numerous stupendous remains of frames, both of windows and doors, formed by blocks of marble of sizes most magnificent. These frames are ranged in a square and indicate an apartment the most royal that can be conceived. On each side of the frames are sculptured figures, and the marble still retains a polish which, in its original state, must have vied with the finest mirrors. On each corner of this room are pedestals, of an elevation much more considerable than the surrounding frames: one is formed of a single block of marble. The front of this apartment seems to have been to the south-west, for few marks of masonry are to be seen on that exposure, and the base of that side is richly sculptured and ornamented. This front opens upon a square platform, on which no building appears to have been raised. But on the side opposite to the room just mentioned, there is the same appearance of a corresponding apartment, although nothing but the bases of some small columns, and the square of its floor, attest it to have been such. The interval between these two rooms, (on those angles which are the most distant from the grand front of the building,) is filled up by the base of a sculpture, similar to the bases of the two rooms, excepting that the center of it is occupied by a small flight of steps. Behind, and contiguous to these ruins, are the remains of another square room, surrounded on all sides by frames of doors and windows. On the floor are the bases of columns: from the order in which they appear to have stood, they formed six rows, each of six columns. A staircase, cut into an immense mass of rock, leads into the lesser and inclosed plain below. Toward the plain are also three smaller rooms, or rather one room and the bases of two closets. Everything on this part of the building indicates rooms of rest or retirement.

In the rear of the whole of these remains, are the beds of aqueducts, which are cut into the solid rock. They occur in every part of the building, and are probably, therefore, as extensive in their course, as they are magnificent in their construction. The great aqueduct is to be discovered among a confused heap of stones, not far behind the buildings described above, on that quarter of the palace, and almost adjoining to a ruined staircase. Its bed in some places is cut ten feet into the rock. This bed leads east and west; to the eastward its descent is rapid, about twenty-five paces; it there narrows, but again enlarges, so that a man of common hight may stand upright in it. It terminates by an abrupt rock.

Proceeding from this toward the mountains, situated in the rear of the great hall of columns, stand the remains of a magnificent room. Here are still left walls, frames and porticos, the sides of which are thickly ornamented with bass-reliefs of a variety of compositions. This hall is a perfect square. To the right of this, and further to the southward, are more fragments, the walls and component parts apparently of another room. To the left of this, and therefore to the northward of the building, are the remains of a portal, on which are to be traced the features of a sphinx. Still toward the north, in a separate collection, is the ruin of a column, which, from the fragments about it, must have supported a sphinx. In a recess of the mountain, to the northward, is a portico. Almost in a line with the center of the hall of columns, on the surface of the mountain, is a tomb. To the southward of that is another, in like manner on the mountain’s surface; between both, and just on the point where the ascent from the plain commences, is a reservoir of water. These, according to Mr. Morier, in the account of his embassy to Persia, constitute some of the principal objects among the ruins of Persepolis; and this is confirmed by Sir Robert Ker Porter, who gives still more copious accounts of these ruins, as may be seen in the very interesting narrative of his travels.

ROYAL PALACE OF ISPAHAN.

The palaces of the king are inclosed in a fort of lofty walls, which is estimated to have a circumference of three miles. The palace of the Chehel Sitoon, or ‘forty pillars,’ is situated in the middle of an immense square, which is intersected by various canals, and planted in different directions by the beautiful chenar tree. In front is an extensive square basin of water, from the furthest extremity of which the palace is beautiful beyond either the power of language or the correctness of pencil to delineate. The first saloon is open toward the garden, is supported by eighteen pillars, all inlaid with mirrors, and, the glass being in a much greater proportion than the wood, appears at a distance to be formed of glass only. Each pillar has a marble base, which is carved into the figures of four lions placed in such attitudes, that the shaft seems to rest on their four united backs. The walls, which form its termination behind, are also covered with mirrors placed in such a variety of symmetrical positions, that the mass of the structure appears to be of glass, and when new must have glittered with most magnificent splendor. The ceiling is painted in gold flowers, which are still fresh and brilliant. Large curtains are suspended on the outside, which are occasionally lowered to lessen the heat of the sun.

THE TEMPLE OF MECCA.

This magnificent temple, to which pilgrims resort from every quarter of the globe where the religion of Islamism is practiced, is known by the Mussulmans under the name of El Haram, or the temple of excellence. It is situated nearly in the middle of the city, which is built in a valley, having a considerable slope from the north to the south. It is composed of the house of God, Beit Allah, or as it is called also, La Kaaba; of the well of Zemzem, Bir Zemzem; of the Cobba, or place of Abraham, Makham Ibrahim; of the places of the four orthodox rites, Makam Hhaneffi, Makam Shaffi, Makam Maleki, and Makam Hhanbeli; of two Cobbas, or chapels, El-Cobbatain; of an arch, called Babes-selem, (in the same style as a triumphal arch,) near the place of Abraham; of El-Monbar or the tribune for the priest; of the wooden staircase, Daureh, which leads to the saloon of the house of God; of an immense court, surrounded by a triple row of arches; of two smaller courts, surrounded with elegant piazzas; of nineteen doors; and of seven towers, or minarets, five of which adhere to the edifice, and the other two are placed between the neighboring houses out of the inclosure.

La Kaaba, Beit Allah, or the house of God, is a quadrilateral tower, the sides and angles of which are unequal, so that its plan forms a true trapezium. The size of the edifice, and the black cloth which covers it, make this irregularity disappear, and give to it the figure of a perfect square. The black stone, Hhajera el Assouad, or heavenly stone, which all true Mussulmans believe to have been brought thither by the angel Gabriel, is raised forty-two inches above the surface, and is bordered all round with a large plate of silver, about a foot broad. The part of the stone that is not covered by the silver at the angle is almost a semicircle, six inches in hight, by about eight inches diameter at its base. El Bir Zemzem, or the well of Zemzem, is situated fifty-one feet distant to the north-east of the black stone. It is about seven feet and eight inches in diameter, and fifty-six feet deep to the surface of the water. The brim is of fine white marble, five feet high. Tradition says that this well was miraculously opened by the angel of the Lord for Hagar, when she was nearly perishing from thirst in the desert with her son Ishmael, after having been sent from Abraham’s house. The Kaaba, and the stones of Ishmael, are situated nearly in the center of the temple, and occupy the middle of an oval or irregular elliptical surface, which forms a zone of thirty-nine feet wide round the edifice, upon which the pilgrims make their tours round the Kaaba. It is paved with fine marble, and is situated upon the lowest plane of the temple.

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THE HOLY LAND.

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The entire country known as Palestine, or Judea, or the Holy Land, is full of interest, and associated to our minds with the wonders and miracles connected with the advent of Christ to our world. Time would fail to notice all the localities of this country, on which the mind loves to linger; but a few of them will be alluded to. One of these, a view of which is given in the cut below, is

JACOB’S WELL.

This was near to Shechem, one of the most ancient cities of Canaan, which was the capital of the kingdom of Israel in the time of Jeroboam, and was associated with some of the most interesting events of patriarchal times, as well as with the discourse of Christ to the woman of Samaria, which resulted in the conversion of several of the Samaritans to the true faith. “I found this well,” says a late traveler, “in the midst of the ruins of a magnificent building that once covered and adorned it. Hewn stones, blocks of marble, and fragments of granite columns, were to be seen amid the general wreck. The narrow mouth of the well was stopped up with large loose stones, at which we all tugged until I nearly broke my back; but one of them defied our utmost endeavors. I kneeled down and peeped into the arched chamber, from the floor of which the well proper is sunk into the living rock some hundred feet or more. A little, gray-headed old Arab held my horse; the younger men stood around and looked on, while I sat down at the indubitable well of the patriarch, and read: ‘Jesus, therefore, being wearied with his journey, sat thus on the well: and it was about the sixth hour. There cometh a woman of Samaria to draw water. Jesus saith unto her, Give me to drink. (For his disciples had gone away unto the city to buy meat.) Then saith the woman unto him, How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me, who am a woman of Samaria? (for the Jews have no dealings with the Samaritans.) Jesus answered and said unto her, If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink, thou wouldst have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water. The woman saith unto him, Sir, thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep; from whence, then, hast thou that living water? Art thou greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank thereof himself, and his children, and his cattle? Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again; but whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.’ Here I closed the book, and with a gush of unutterable joy, exclaimed,

‘Spring up, O well, I ever cry, spring up within MY soul!’”

BETHLEHEM.

Bethlehem, celebrated throughout the world as the birthplace of the Redeemer, is situated at the distance of six miles south-west from Jerusalem, in a fine country, blest with a salubrious air, and abundant fertility. The water is conveyed in a low aqueduct which formerly passed to Jerusalem. The fons signatus is a charming spring, yielding a constant supply of water to three large cisterns, one of which is still in good preservation. At a small distance from these, a beautiful rivulet called the deliciæ Solomonis, laves the herbage of the valley, and fertilizes several fine gardens, while the circumjacent soil is richly clothed with an elegant assemblage of fig-trees, vines and olives.

Bethlehem received its name, which signifies the house of bread, from Abraham; and it was surnamed Ephratah, the fruitful, after Caleb’s wife, to distinguish it from another Bethlehem, in the tribe of Zebulon. It belonged to the tribe of Judah, and also went by the name of the city of David, that monarch having there been born, and tended sheep in his childhood. Elimelech, Obed, Jesse, and Boaz, were, like David, natives of Bethlehem, and here must be placed the scene of the admirable eclogue of Ruth. Matthew, the apostle, was also born in the village of Bethlehem.

The convent now at Bethlehem is connected with the church by a court inclosed with lofty walls. This court leads by a small side door into the church. The edifice is certainly of high antiquity, and though often destroyed and as often repaired, it still retains marks of its Grecian origin. On the pavement at the foot of the altar, you observe a marble star, which corresponds, as tradition would have us believe, with the point of the heavens where the miraculous star that conducted the three kings became stationary. The Greeks occupy the choir of the Magi, as well as the two other naves formed by the transform of the cross. These last are empty, and without altars. Two spiral staircases, each composed of fifteen steps, open on the sides of the outer church, and conduct to the subterraneous church situated beneath this choir. At the further extremity of the crypt, on the east side, is the spot where tradition reports that the Redeemer of mankind was born. This spot is marked by a white marble, incrusted with jasper, and surrounded by a circle of silver, having rays resembling those with which the sun is represented. Around it are inscribed these words:

HIC DE VIRGINE MARIA JESUS CHRISTUS NATUS EST.

At the distance of seven paces toward the south, after you have passed the foot of one of the staircases leading to the upper church, you find what is called “the Manger.” You go down to it by two steps, for it is not upon a level with the rest of the crypt. It is a low recess, hewn out of the rock. A block of white marble, raised about a foot above the floor, and hollowed in the form of a manger, indicates the spot where tradition says our Saviour was laid upon straw. Two paces further, opposite to the manger, stands an altar, which, the same tradition would teach, occupies the place where Mary sat when she presented the Child of Sorrow to the adoration of the Magi.

Nothing can be more pleasing to the view than this subterraneous church. It is adorned with pictures of the Italian and Spanish schools. These pictures represent the mysteries of the place, the Virgin and Child, after Raphael, the annunciation, the adoration of the wise men, the coming of the shepherds, and all those miracles of mingled grandeur and innocence. The ornaments of the manger are of blue satin embroidered with silver. Incense is continually smoking before the cradle of the Saviour. The grotto of the Nativity leads to the subterraneous chapel, where tradition places the sepulcher of the Innocents: “Herod sent forth and slew all the children that were in Bethlehem, and in all the coasts thereof, from two years old and under. Then was fulfilled that which was spoken by Jeremiah the prophet, saying: In Rama was there a voice heard,” &c.

NAZARETH.

The village of Nazareth is situated in a long valley, surrounded by lofty hills, between which a road leads to the neighboring plain of Esdraelon, and to Jerusalem. The convent is situated in the lower part of the village; and the church belonging to it, a very handsome edifice, is erected over the grotto, or cave, in which (tradition says) the Virgin Mary took up her residence. The other objects of interest in Nazareth are, the synagogue, where Christ is said to have read the Scriptures to the Jews, at present a church; a precipice without the town, where, they say, the Jews endeavored to cast Christ down after his speech in the synagogue; and a church called “the church of the Annunciation,” erected, as they say, on the spot where Mary, the mother of our Lord, received the divine message. It is the most magnificent church in the land except that of the Holy Sepulcher at Jerusalem.

THE HOLY SEPULCHER AT JERUSALEM.

The church of the Holy Sepulcher, a view of which is given on the next page, is very irregular, owing to the nature and situation of the places which it was designed to comprehend. It is nearly in the form of a cross, being one hundred and twenty paces in length, exclusive of the descent to what is called the place of the discovery of the Holy Cross, and seventy in breadth. It has three domes, of which that covering the Holy Sepulcher serves for the nave of the church. It is thirty feet in diameter, and is covered at the top like the rotunda at Rome. There is not any cupola, the roof being supported by large rafters, brought from Mount Lebanon. On entering the church, you come to the “stone of unction,” on which tradition says the body of our Lord was anointed with myrrh and aloes, before it was laid in the sepulcher. Some say, that it is of the same rock as Mount Calvary; and others assert, that it was brought to this place by Joseph and Nicodemus, secret disciples of Jesus Christ, who performed this pious office, and that it is of a greenish color. Be that as it may, on account of the indiscretion of certain pilgrims, who broke off pieces, it was found necessary to cover it with white marble, and to surround it with an iron railing, lest people should walk over it. This stone is eight feet, wanting three inches, in length, and two feet, wanting one inch, in breadth: and above it, eight lamps are kept continually burning.

The Holy Sepulcher, as it is called, is thirty paces from this stone, exactly in the center of the great dome: it resembles a small closet, hewn out of the solid rock. The entrance, which faces the east, is only four feet high, and two feet and a quarter broad. The interior of the sepulcher is nearly square. It is six feet, wanting an inch, in length, and six feet, wanting two inches, in breadth, and from the floor to the roof, eight feet and one inch. There is a solid block of the same stone, which was left in excavating the other part: this is two feet, four inches and a half high, and occupies half of the sepulcher, for it is six feet, wanting one inch, in length, and two feet and five-sixths wide. On this table, tradition says, the body of our Lord was laid, with the head toward the west, and the feet to the east; but, on account of the superstitious devotion of the Orientals, who imagine that, if they leave their hair upon this stone, God will never forsake them, and also, because the pilgrims broke off pieces, it has received a covering of white marble, on which mass is now celebrated. Forty-four lamps are constantly burning in this sacred place, and three holes have been made in the roof for the emission of the smoke. The exterior of the sepulcher is also faced with slabs of marble, and adorned with several columns, having a dome above.

The Holy Sepulcher is composed of three churches: that of the Holy Sepulcher, properly so called; that of Calvary; and the church of the Discovery of the Holy Cross. The first is built in the valley at the foot of Calvary, on the spot where tradition reports that the body of Christ was deposited. This church was in the form of a cross, the chapel of the Holy Sepulcher constituting, in fact, the nave of the edifice. It is circular, like the Pantheon at Rome, and is lighted only by a dome, beneath which is the sepulcher. Sixteen marble columns adorn the circumference of this rotunda: they are connected by seventeen arches, and support an upper gallery, likewise composed of sixteen columns and seventeen arches, of smaller dimensions than those of the lower range. Niches, corresponding with the arches, appear above the frieze of the second gallery, and the dome springs from the arch of these niches.

The origin of the church of the Holy Sepulcher is of high antiquity. The author of the “Epitome of the Holy War” asserts, that forty-six years after the destruction of Jerusalem by Vespasian and Titus, the Christians obtained permission of Adrian to build, or rather rebuild, a church over the tomb of their Lord, and to inclose, in the new city, the other places venerated by the Christians. This church, he adds, was greatly enlarged and repaired by Helena, the mother of Constantine.

MOUNT TABOR.

This remarkable mountain, a view of which is given in the cut on the next page, is on the confines of Zebulon and Naphthali, on the north-east border of the plain of Esdraelon, about six miles south of Nazareth. It is graceful and picturesque in its outlines, presenting different appearances as viewed from different points, which accounts for the diversities in the pictorial representations we have of it. From the north it has the appearance of the segment of a sphere, and appears beautifully wooded on the summit, affording retreats to the animals for whom “the net was spread on Tabor.” (Hosea v. 1.) From the west it is like a truncated cone, appearing much steeper and higher, with the southern side almost destitute of trees. But on all sides it is a marked and prominent object, as the prophet intimates when he says, “as Tabor is among the mountains.” (Jeremiah xlvi. 18.) The view from the summit is truly beautiful. The foundations of ancient buildings, and the remains of water-tanks, in which cool water is still collected from the drippings of the rocks, are still to be seen on the top of Tabor. On this mountain was the encampment of Barak’s army on the eve of its battle with the hosts of Sisera. (Judges iv. 6, 14.) Tradition indicates this as the scene of Christ’s transfiguration. This may well be doubted, owing to the distance of this mountain from Cæsarea Philippi, near which place our Lord left the nine disciples the day before. Besides, this mountain was at the time occupied by a fortified town, and thus did not, as well as some other hights, answer the description of “a high mountain apart,” or solitary. (Matthew xvii. 1.) No doubt the name of the mountain was concealed by design, to avoid giving occasion to the superstitious observances of place, which our Lord foresaw would be practiced, in after ages, by many calling themselves after his name. The Arab name of Tabor is Jebel-Tur. There was a Levitical city on Tabor of the same name. (1 Chronicles vi. 77.) The Tabor mentioned in 1 Samuel x. 3, was not Mount Tabor, but a place in the vicinity of the territory of Benjamin.

THE MOUNT OF OLIVES.

The following descriptions of some of the spots in the Holy Land which excite a more particular interest, are extracted from Dr. Clarke’s very valuable “Travels in Europe, Asia, and Africa.”

“As we advanced, our journey led through an open campaign country, until, upon our right, the guides showed us the mount where it is believed that Christ preached to his disciples that memorable sermon, concentrating the sum and substance of every Christian virtue. We left our route to visit this elevated spot; and, having attained the highest point of it, a view was presented, which, for its grandeur, independently of the interest excited by the different objects contained in it, has no parallel in the Holy Land. From this situation we perceived that the plain, over which we had been so long riding, was itself very elevated. Far beneath appeared other plains, one lower than the other, and extending to the surface of the sea of Tiberias, or sea of Galilee. This immense lake, almost equal, in the grandeur of its appearance, to that of Geneva, spreads its waters over all the lower territory, extending from the north-east toward the south-west, and then bearing east of us. Its eastern shores present a sublime scene of mountains, extending toward the north and south, and seeming to close it in at either extremity, both toward Chorazin, where the Jordan enters, and the Aulon, or Campus-magnus, through which it flows to the Dead sea. The cultivated plains reaching to its borders, which we beheld at an amazing depth below our view, resembled, by the various hues their different produce exhibited, the motley pattern of a vast carpet. To the north appeared snowy summits, towering, beyond a series of intervening mountains, with unspeakable greatness. We considered them as the summits of Libanus; but the Arabs belonging to our caravan called the principal eminence Jebel el Sieh, saying it was near Damascus; probably, therefore, a part of the chain of Libanus. This summit was so lofty, that the snow entirely covered the upper part of it; not lying in patches, as I have seen it, during summer, upon the tops of very elevated mountains, (for instance, upon that of Ben Nevis, in Scotland,) but investing all the higher part with that perfect white and smooth, velvet-like appearance which snow exhibits when it is very deep; a striking spectacle in such a climate, where the beholder, seeking protection from a burning sun, almost considers the firmament to be on fire.”

OTHER REVERED SITES.

“As we rode toward the sea of Tiberias, the guides pointed to a sloping spot from the hights upon our right, whence we had descended, as the place where the miracle was accomplished by which our Saviour fed the multitude: it is therefore called the Multiplication of Bread; as the mount above, where the sermon was preached to his disciples, is called the Mountain of Beatitudes, from the expressions used in the beginning of that discourse. The lake now continued in view upon our left. The wind rendered its surface rough, and called to mind the situation of our Saviour’s disciples, when, in one of the small vessels which traverse these waters, they were tossed in a storm, and saw Jesus in the fourth watch of the night, walking to them upon the waves. Often as this subject has been painted, combining a number of circumstances adapted for the representation of sublimity, no artist has been aware of the uncommon grandeur of the scenery, memorable on account of the transaction. The lake of Genesareth is surrounded by objects well calculated to highten the solemn impression made by such a picture; and, independent of the local feelings likely to be excited in its contemplation, affords one of the most striking prospects in the Holy Land. Along the borders of this lake may still be seen the remains of those ancient tombs, hewn by the earliest inhabitants of Galilee, in the rocks which face the water. Similar works were before noticed among the ruins of Telmessus. They were deserted in the time of our Saviour, and had become the resort of wretched men, afflicted by diseases, and made outcasts of society; for in the account of the cure performed by our Saviour upon a maniac in the country of the Gadarenes, these tombs are particularly alluded to; and their existence to this day, (although they have been neither noticed by priests nor pilgrims, and have escaped the ravages of the empress Helena, who would undoubtedly have shaped them into churches,) offers strong internal evidence of the accuracy of the evangelist who has recorded the transaction: ‘There met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit, who had his dwelling among the tombs.’”

MOUNT CARMEL.

Mount Carmel is a tall promontory, forming the termination of a range of hills, in the northern part of Palestine, and toward the sea. It is fifteen hundred feet high, and is famous for its caverns, which are said to be more than a thousand in number. Most of them are in the western part of it. Here also was the cave of the prophet Elijah. Both Elijah and Elisha used to resort to this mountain, and here it was that the former opposed the prophets of Baal with such success. Here it was, too, that this prophet went up, when he told his servant to look forth toward the sea yet seven times, and the seventh time he saw a cloud coming from the sea “like a man’s hand;” when the prophet knew the promised rain was at hand, and girded up his loins and ran before Ahab’s chariot even to the gates of Jezreel. (See 1 Kings xviii. 4-46.)

MOUNT ARARAT.

This mountain, which is highly worthy of our notice as the one on which the ark rested, is, by the general consent of western Asia and of Europe, decided to be the mountain of Ara Dagh in Armenia; and that this opinion is correct, would seem plain from the statement of the Bible that Ararat was in Armenia, taken in connection with the fact, that in all that country there is no mountain comparable to this. It is in all respects a most noble mountain, and one of the finest in the world. “When our eyes first beheld it,” says Kitto, “we had already seen the loftiest and most remarkable mountains of the old world; but yet the effect of the view of this mountain was new and surprising. The reason appeared to be this, that most of the loftiest mountains of the world are but peaks of the uppermost ridge of mountain chains; but Ararat, though not so high as many of these, is far more grand and impressive, because it is not merely the summit of a ridge, but a whole and perfect mountain.” “Nothing,” as Mr. Morier well remarks, “can be more beautiful than its shape, or more awful than its hight; all the surrounding mountains sink into insignificance when compared with it. It is perfect in all its parts; having no hard, rugged features, and no unnatural prominences; but everything is in harmony, and all combines to render it one of the sublimest objects of nature.” It rises from the valley of the river Aras, the ancient Araxes, gradually towering from its broad base, till it reaches the region of perpetual snow, (which is about one-third below its summit,) when it becomes more conical and steep, and is surmounted with a crown of ice which glitters in the sun with peculiar brightness. And near to this peak, and rising from the same broad base, is another almost exactly like it, but smaller, which is doubtless the reason why the sacred text speaks of “the mountains of Ararat,” rather than of a single mountain. The tallest of the two is seventeen thousand, seven hundred and fifty, and the lowest thirteen thousand, four hundred and twenty feet above the level of the sea, which is some three thousand feet lower than the plain on which Ararat stands. The top of the mountain, it is said, was never reached till 1829, when Mr. Parrot, a German, succeeded in climbing to it, and there found a slightly convex, and almost circular plain, some two hundred and twenty feet in diameter, declining steeply on all sides; from which some suppose, that the ark must have rested on the lesser Ararat, as it would have been difficult for its inmates, including heavy cattle, to have descended from the higher summit.

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WONDERS OF ART RESUMED.

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THE MOSQUE OF OMAR.

Dr. Clarke, on viewing this mosque, observes, that “the sight was so grand, that he did not hesitate to pronounce it the most magnificent piece of architecture in the Turkish empire, and considered it, externally, far superior to the mosque of St. Sophia, in Constantinople.” By the sides of the spacious area in which it stands, are certain vaulted remains, which plainly denote the masonry of the ancients; and he thinks that evidence may be adduced to prove, that they belonged to the foundations of Solomon’s temple. He observed also that reticulated stucco, which is commonly considered as an evidence of Roman work. Phocas believed the whole space surrounding this building to be the ancient area of the temple; and Golius, in his notes upon the Astronomy of Alferganes, says that the whole foundation of the original edifice remained. As to the mosque itself, there is no building at Jerusalem that can be compared with it, either in beauty or riches. The lofty Saracenic pomp so nobly displayed in the style of the building; its numerous arcades; its capacious dome, with all the stately decorations of the place; its extensive area, paved and variegated with the choicest marbles; the extreme neatness observed in every avenue toward it; and, lastly, the sumptuous costume observable in the dresses of all the eastern devotees, passing to and from the sanctuary, make it altogether one of the finest sights the Mohammedans have to boast.

MOSQUE OF ST. SOPHIA AT CONSTANTINOPLE.

The dome of this celebrated structure is one hundred and thirteen feet in diameter, and is built on arches, sustained by vast pillars of marble. The pavement and staircase are also of marble. There are two rows of galleries supported by pillars of party-colored marble, and the entire roof is of fine mosaic work. In this mosque is the superb tomb of the emperor Constantine, for which the Turks have the highest veneration.

Beside the above, two other mosques attract the particular notice of travelers who visit the Turkish capital. That of the Valide-Sultan, founded by the mother of Mohammed IV., is the largest, and is built entirely of marble. Its proportions are stupendous; and it boasts the finest symmetry. The mosque of Sultan Solyman is an exact square, with four line towers in the angles; in the center is a noble cupola, supported by beautiful marble pillars. Two smaller ones at the extremities are supported in the same manner. The pavement and gallery surrounding the mosque are of marble; and under the great cupola is a fountain, adorned with such finely colored pillars, that they can scarcely be deemed of natural marble. On one side is the pulpit, of white marble; and on the other the little gallery for the grand seignior. A fine staircase leads to it; and it is built up with gilt lattices. At the upper end is a kind of altar, on which the name of God is inscribed: and before it stand two candlesticks, six feet in hight, with wax candles in proportion. The pavement is spread with fine carpets, and the mosque illuminated by a vast number of lamps. The court leading to it is very spacious, with galleries of marble, supported by green columns, and covered by twenty-eight leaden cupolas on the sides, with a fine fountain in the center.

The mosque of Sultan Selim I. at Adrianople, is another surprising monument of Turkish architecture. It is situated in the center and most elevated part of the city, so as to make a very noble display. The first court has four gates, and the innermost three; both being surrounded by cloisters, with marble pillars of the Ionic order, finely polished, and of very lively colors: the entire pavement is of white marble, and the roof of the cloisters is divided into several cupolas or domes, surmounted with gilt balls. In the midst of each court are fine fountains of white marble; and, before the grand entrance, is a portico, with green marble pillars, provided with five gates. The body of the mosque is one prodigious dome, adorned with lofty towers, whence the imaums, or priests, call the people to prayers. The ascent to each of these towers is very artfully contrived: there is but one door, which leads to three different staircases, going to three different stories of the tower, in such a manner, that three priests may ascend and descend, by a spiral progress, without meeting each other. The walls of the interior are inlaid with porcelain, ornamented with small flowers and other natural objects, in very lively colors. In the center hangs a vast lamp of gilt silver, besides which there are at least two thousand smaller ones: the whole, when lighted, have a very splendid effect.

RUINS OF CARTHAGE.

The remains of the grandeur and magnificence of Carthage, the rival of Rome, and one of the most commercial cities of the ancient world, are not so striking as might be expected; and, at a little distance, can scarcely be distinguished from the ground on which they lie. The vestiges of triumphal arches, of superb specimens of Grecian architecture, of columns of porphyry or granite, or of curious entablatures, are no longer discernible: all are vanished; and thus will it be in future ages with the most renowned cities now on earth!

To discover these ruins requires some method. Leaving Tunis, the traveler rides along the shore in an east-north-east direction, and reaches, in about half an hour, the salt-pits, which extend toward the west, as far as a fragment of wall, very near to the “great reservoirs.” Passing between these salt-pits and the sea, jetties are seen running out to a considerable distance under water. The sea and the jetties are on his right; on his left he perceives a great quantity of ruins, upon eminences of unequal hight; and below these ruins a basin of a circular form, and of considerable depth, which formerly communicated with the sea by means of a canal, traces of which are still to be seen. This basin appears to have been the “Cothon,” or inner port of Carthage. The remains of the immense works discernible in the sea, in this case indicate the site of the outer mole. Some piles of the dam said to have been constructed by Scipio, for the purpose of blocking up the port, may be still distinguished. A second inner canal is conjectured to have been the cut made by the Carthaginians, when they opened a new passage for their fleet.

The greater part of Carthage was built on three hills. On a spot which overlooks the eastern shore is the area of a spacious room, with several smaller ones adjoining: some of them have tesselated pavements; and in all are found broken pieces of columns of fine marble and porphyry. They are conjectured to have been summer apartments beneath one of the palaces, such as the intense heat of the climate must have required. In rowing along the shore, the common sewers are still visible, and are but little impaired by time. With the exception of these, the cisterns have suffered the least. Besides such as belong to private houses, there are two sets for the public use of the Tunisians. The largest of these was the grand reservoir, and received the water of the aqueduct. It lay near the western wall of the city, and consisted of upward of twenty contiguous cisterns, each about one hundred feet in length, and thirty in breadth. They form a series of vaults, communicating with each other, and are bordered throughout their whole length by a corridor. The smaller reservoir has a greater elevation, and lies near the Cothon or inner port.

The ruins of the noble aqueduct which conveyed the water into the larger cisterns, may be traced as far as Zawan and Zungar, at least fifty miles distant. This must have been a truly magnificent, and at the same time, a very expensive work. That part of it which extends along the peninsula was beautifully faced with stone. At Arriana, a village to the north of Tunis, are several entire arches each seventy feet high, and supported by piers sixteen feet square. The water-channel is vaulted over, and plastered with a strong cement. A person of an ordinary hight may walk upright in it; and at intervals are apertures, left open, as well for the admission of fresh air, as for the convenience of cleansing it. The water-mark is nearly three feet high; but it is impossible to determine the quantity daily conveyed to Carthage by this channel, without knowing the angle of descent, which, in its present imperfect state, can not be ascertained.

Temples were erected at Zawan and Zungar, over the fountains by which this aqueduct was supplied. That at Zungar appears to have been of the Corinthian order, and terminates very beautifully in a dome with three niches, probably intended for the statues of the divinity of the spring.

THE PLAIN OF TROY.

According to Homer’s description of the Trojan territory, it combined certain prominent and remarkable features, not likely to be affected by any lapse of time. Of this nature was the Hellespont; the island of Tenedos; the plain itself; the river by whose inundations it was occasionally overflowed; and the mountain whence that river issued. The following is an abstract of Dr. Clarke’s accurate account of the vestiges of high antiquity contained in this truly classic spot.

“We entered an immense plain, in which some Turks were engaged in hunting wild-boars. Peasants were also employed in plowing a deep and rich soil of vegetable earth. Proceeding toward the east, and round the bay distinctly pointed out by Strabo as the harbor in which the Grecian fleet was stationed, we arrived at the sepulcher of Ajax, upon the ancient Rhœtean promontory. The view here afforded of the Hellespont and the plain of Troy is one of the finest the country affords. From the Aianteum we passed over a heathy country to Halil Elly, a village near the Thymbrius, in whose vicinity we had been instructed to seek the remains of a temple once sacred to the Thymbrean Apollo. The ruins we found were rather the remains of ten temples than of one. The earth to a very considerable extent was covered by subverted and broken columns of marble, granite, and of every order in architecture. Doric, Ionic and Corinthian capitals lay dispersed in all directions, and some of these were of great beauty. We observed a bass-relief representing a person on horseback pursued by a winged figure; also a beautiful representation, sculptured after the same manner, of Ceres in her car drawn by two scaly serpents.

“At the town or village of Tchiblack, we noticed very considerable remains of ancient sculpture, but in such a state of disorder and ruin, that no precise description of them can be given. The most remarkable are upon the top of a hill called Beyan Mezaley, near the town, in the midst of a beautiful grove of oak-trees, toward the village of Callifat. Here the ruins of a Doric temple of white marble lay heaped in the most striking manner, mixed with broken stelæ, cippi, sarcophagi, cornices and capitals of very enormous size, entablatures and pillars. All of these have reference to some peculiar sanctity by which this hill was anciently characterized. We proceeded hence toward the plain; and no sooner reached it, than a tumulus of very remarkable size and situation drew our attention, for a short time, from the main object of our pursuit. This tumulus, of a high conical form and very regular structure, stands altogether insulated. Of its great antiquity no doubt can be entertained by persons accustomed to view the everlasting sepulchers of the ancients. On the southern side of its base is a long natural mound of limestone: this, beginning to rise close to the artificial tumulus, extends toward the village of Callifat, in a direction nearly from north to south across the middle of the plain. It is of such hight that an army encamped on the eastern side of it, would be concealed from all observation of persons stationed on the coast, by the mouth of the Mender. If the poems of Homer, with reference to the plain of Troy, have similarly associated an artificial tumulus and a natural mound, a conclusion seems warranted, that these are the objects to which he alludes. This appears to be the case in the account he has given of the tomb of Ilus and the mound of the plain. From this tomb we descended into the plain, when our guides brought us to the western side of it, near its southern termination, to notice a tumulus, less considerable than the last described, about three hundred paces from the mound, almost concealed from observation by being continually overflowed, upon whose top two small oak-trees were then growing.

“We now came to an elevated spot of ground, surrounded on all sides by a level plain, watered by the Callifat Osmack, and which there is every reason to believe the Simoisian. Here we found, not only the traces, but also the remains of an ancient citadel. Turks were then employed raising enormous blocks of marble, from foundations surrounding the place; possibly the identical works constructed by Lysimachus, who fenced New Ilium with a wall. All the territory within these foundations was covered by broken pottery, whose fragments were parts of those ancient vases now held in such high estimation. Many Greek medals had been discovered in consequence of the excavations made there by the Turks. As these medals, bearing indisputable legends to designate the people by whom they were fabricated, have also, in the circumstances of their discovery, a peculiar connection with the ruins here, they may be considered as indicating, with tolerable certainty, the situation of the city to which they belonged. These ruins evidently appear to be the remains of New Ilium; whether we regard the testimony afforded by their situation, as accordant with the text of Strabo, or the discovery there made of medals of the city.”

The conclusions relative to Troas, drawn by this learned writer, are as follows. “That the river Mender is the Scamander of Homer, Strabo, and Pliny. The amnis navigabilis of Pliny flows into the archipelago, to the south of Sigeum. That the Aianteum, or tomb of Ajax, still remains, answering the description given of its situation by ancient authors, and thereby determining also the exact position of the naval station of the Greeks. That the Thymbrius is yet recognized, both in its present appellation Thymbreck, and in its geographical position. That the spacious plain lying on the north-eastern side of the Mender, and watered by the Callifat Osmack, is the Simoisian, and that stream the Simois. That the ruins of Palaio Callifat are those of the Ilium of Strabo. Eastward is the Throsmos, or mound of the plain. That Udjek Tepe is the tomb of Æsyetes. The other tombs mentioned by Strabo, as at Sigeum, are all in the situation he describes. That the springs of Bonarbashy may possibly have been the ‘Doiai Pelai’ of Homer; but they are not sources of the Scamander. They are, moreover, warm springs. That the source of the Scamander is in Gargarus, now called Kasdaghy, the highest mountain of all the Idæan chain. That the altars of Jupiter, mentioned by Homer, and by Eschylus, were on the hill called Kuchunlu Tepe, at the foot of Gargarus; where the ruins of the temple now remain. That Palae Scepsis is yet recognized in the appellation Esky Skupshu; that Æna is the Ainei of Strabo; and Æne Tepe, perhaps, the tomb of Æneas. That the extremity of the Adramyttian gulf inclines round the ridge of Gargarus, toward the north-east; so that the circumstance of Xerxes having this mountain upon his left, in his march from Antandrus to Abydus, is thereby explained. And lastly, that Gargarus affords a view, not only of all the plain of Troy, but of all the district of Troas, and a very considerable portion of the rest of Asia Minor.”

ATHENS.

The approach to this celebrated city by sea, presents a spectacle, which was viewed by Dr. Clarke and his companions with great transports of joy. It was no sooner descried, than its lofty edifices, catching the sun’s rays, rendered the buildings in the Acropolis visible at the distance of fifteen miles.

“The reflected light gave them a white appearance. The Parthenon appeared first, above a long chain of hills in the front; presently we saw the top of Mount Anchesmus, to the left of the temple; the whole being backed by a lofty mountainous ridge, which we supposed to be Parnes. As we drew near to the walls, we beheld the vast Cecropian citadel, crowned with temples that originated in the veneration once paid to the memory of the illustrious dead, surrounded by objects telling the same theme of sepulchral grandeur, and now monuments of departed greatness, gradually moldering in all the solemnity of ruin. So paramount is this funeral character in the approach to Athens from the Piræeus, that, as we passed the hill of the Museum, which was, in fact, an ancient cemetery of the Athenians, we might have imagined ourselves to be among the tombs of Telmessus, from the number of the sepulchers hewn in the rock, and from the antiquity of the workmanship, evidently not of later date than anything of the kind in Asia Minor. In other respects the city exhibits nearly the appearance so briefly described by Strabo eighteen centuries before our coming; and, perhaps, it wears a more magnificent aspect, owing to the splendid remains of Adrian’s temple of Olympian Jove, which did not exist when Athens was visited by the disciple of Xenarchus. The prodigious columns belonging to this temple appeared full in view between the citadel and the bed of the Ilissus: high upon our left rose the Acropolis, in the most impressive grandeur: an advanced part of the rock upon the western side of it is the hill of the Areopagus, a view of which is given in the cut on the next page, where St. Paul preached to the Athenians, and where their most solemn tribunal was held. Beyond all, appeared the beautiful plain of Athens, bounded by Mount Hymettus. We rode toward the craggy rock of the citadel, passing some tiers of circular arches at the foot of it; these are the remains of the Odeum of Herodes Atticus, built in memory of his wife Regilla. Thence continuing to skirt the base of the Acropolis, the road winding rather toward the north, we saw also, upon our left, scooped in the solid rock, the circular sweep on which the Athenians were wont to assemble to hear the plays of Eschylus, and where the theater of Bacchus was afterward constructed.

“We proceeded toward the east, to ascend Mount Anchesmus, and to enjoy in one panoramic survey the glorious prospect presented from its summit, of all the antiquities and natural beauties in the Athenian plain. We ascended to the commanding eminence of the mount, once occupied by a temple of Anchesmian Jupiter. The pagan shrine has, as usual, been succeeded by a small Christian sanctuary: it is dedicated to St. George. Of the view from this rock, even Wheeler could not write without emotion. ‘Here,’ said he, ‘a Democritus might sit and laugh at the pomps and vanities of the world, whose glories so soon vanish; or a Heraclitus weep over its manifold misfortunes, telling sad stories of the various changes and events of fate.’ The prospect embraces every object, excepting only those upon the south-west side of the castle. The situation of the observer is north-east of the city; and the reader may suppose him to be looking, in a contrary direction, toward the Acropolis, which is in the center of this fine picture; thence regarding the whole circuit of the citadel, from its north-western side, toward the south and cast, the different parts of it occur in the following order, although to a spectator they all appear to be comprehended in one view. The lofty rocks of the Acropolis, crowned with its majestic temples, the Parthenon, Erectheum, &c., constitute the central object. In the foreground is displayed the whole of the modern city of Athens, with its gardens, ruins, mosques, and walls, spreading into the plain beneath the citadel. On the right, or north-west wing, is the temple of Theseus; and on the left, or south-west wing, the temple of Jupiter Olympius. Proceeding from the west to the south and east, the view beyond the citadel displays the Areopagus, the Pnyx, the Ilissus, the site of the temple of Ceres in Agræ, the fountain Callirhoe, the Stadium Panthenaium, the site of the Lyceum, &c. In a parallel circuit, with a more extended radius, are seen the hills and defile of Daphne, or the Via Sacra, the Piræeus, Munychia and Phalerum, Salmais, Ægina, the more distant isles, and Hymettus. A similar circuit, but still more extended, embraces Parnes, the mountains beyond Elusis and Megara, the Acropolis of Corinth, the Peloponnesian mountains, and the Ægean and distant islands. And lastly, immediately beneath the eye, lies the plain of Athens.”

Of the many ruins without the city of Athens, the tourist notices with peculiar interest those of the temple of Jupiter Olympius, as it was the first conceived and the last executed of all the sacred monuments of Athens. It was begun by Pisistratus, but was not finished till the time of the Roman emperor Adrian, which was some seven hundred years afterward. All that remains of this once magnificent building, is seen in the cut on the previous page. Originally there were one hundred and twenty columns supporting this noble temple; but of all these, only some sixteen remain; standing in their silent and solitary grandeur to testify of the triumphs of ancient art, and to the power of Time the destroyer.

TEMPLES OF ELEPHANTA.

The island of Elephanta, distant about two leagues from Bombay, has a circumference of about three miles, and consists of two rocky mountains, covered with trees and brushwood. Near the landing-place is the figure of an elephant, as large as life, shaped out of a rock, and supposed to have given its name to the island. Having ascended the mountain by a narrow path, the visitor reaches the excavation which has so long excited the attention of the curious, and afforded such ample scope for the discussion of antiquarians. With the strongest emotions of surprise and admiration, he beholds four rows of massive columns cut out of the solid rock, uniform in their order, and placed at regular distances, so as to form three magnificent avenues from the principal entrance to the grand idol which terminates the middle vista; the general effect being hightened by the blueness of the light, or rather gloom, peculiar to the situation. The central image is composed of three colossal heads, reaching nearly from the floor to the roof, a hight of fifteen feet. It represents the triad deity in the Hindoo mythology, Brama, Vishnu, and Siva, in the characters of the creator, preserver, and destroyer. The middle face displays regular features, and a mild and serene character; the towering head-dress is much ornamented, as are those on each side, which appear in profile, lofty, and richly adorned with jewels. The countenance of Vishnu has the same mild aspect as that of Brama; but the visage of Siva is very different: severity and revenge, characteristic of his destroying attribute, are strongly depicted; one of the hands embraces a large cobra de capello; while the others contain fruit, flowers, and blessings for mankind, among which the lotus and pomegranate are readily distinguishable. The former of these, the lotus, so often introduced into the Hindoo mythology, forms a principal object in the sculpture and paintings of their temples, is the ornament of their sacred lakes, and the most conspicuous beauty in their flowery sacrifices.

On either side of the Elephanta triad, is a gigantic figure leaning on a dwarf, an object frequently introduced in these excavations. The giants guard the triple deity, and separate it from a large recess filled with a variety of figures, male and female, in different attitudes: they are in tolerable proportion, but do not express any particular character of countenance: one conspicuous female, like the Amazons, is single-breasted; the rest, whether intended for goddesses or mortals, are generally adorned, like the modern Hindoo women, with bracelets and rings for the ankles; the men have bracelets only. The intervening space between these figures is occupied by small aerial beings, hovering about them in infinite variety. The larger images in these groups are in alto-relievo, and most of the smaller in basso-relievo, brought sufficiently forward from the rock to produce a good effect. The sides of the temple are adorned with similar compositions, placed at regular distances, and terminating the avenues formed by the colonnades, so that only one group is seen at a time, except on a near approach; and the regularity and proportion of the whole are remarkably striking. The figures are in general in graceful attitudes; but those of herculean stature do not indicate any extraordinary muscular strength. Among many thousands of them, few of the countenances express any particular passion, or mark a decided character: they have generally a sleepy aspect, and bear a greater resemblance to the tame sculpture of Egypt than to the animated works of the Grecian chisel. From the right and left avenues of the principal temple are passages to smaller excavations on each side: that on the right is much decayed, and very little of the sculpture remains entire. A pool of water penetrates from it into a dark cavern far under the rock; but whether natural or artificial, has not been decided. A small corresponding temple on the left side, contains two baths, one of them elegantly finished: the front is open, and the roof supported by pillars of a different order from those in the large temple; the sides are adorned with sculpture, and the roof and cornice painted in mosaic patterns; some of the colors are still bright. The opposite bath, of the same proportions, is less ornamented; and between them is a room detached from the rock, containing a colossal representation of the lingam, or symbol of Siva. Several small caves branch out from the grand excavations.

An anecdote is related by Mr. Forbes, in his “Oriental Memoirs,” relative to these sculptured monuments. He accompanied an eminent English artist on his first visit to the Elephanta. “After the glare of a tropical sun, during the walk from the landing-place, it was some time before the eye had accommodated itself to the gloom of these subterraneous chambers, sufficiently to discriminate objects in that somber light. We remained for several minutes without speaking, or looking particularly at each other: at length, when more familiarized to the cavern, my companion still remaining silent, I expressed some fear of having been too warm in my description, and that like most other objects, the reality fell short of the anticipated pleasure. He soon relieved my anxiety by declaring, that however highly I had raised his imagination, he was so absorbed in astonishment and delight, on entering this stupendous scene, as to forget where he was. He had seen the most striking objects of art in Italy and Greece; but never anything which filled his mind with such extraordinary sensations.” So enraptured was this artist with the spot, that after staying until a late hour, he quitted it most reluctantly. The caves of the isle of Elephanta can not be sufficiently admired, when the immensity of such an undertaking, the number of artificers employed, and the extraordinary genius of its projector, are considered, in a country until lately accounted rude and barbarous by the now enlightened nations of Europe. Had this work been raised from a foundation, like other structures, it would have excited the admiration of the curious; but when the reflection is made, that it is hewn inch by inch in the hard and solid rock, how great must the astonishment be at the conception and completion of the enterprise!

TEMPLES OF SALSETTE.

The excavations of the island of Salsette, also contiguous to Bombay, are hewn in the central mountains. The great temple is excavated at some distance from the summit of a steep mountain, in a commanding situation. This stupendous work is upward of ninety feet long, thirty-eight wide, and of a proportionate hight, hewn out of the solid rock, and forming an oblong square, with a fluted concave roof. The area is divided into three aisles by regular colonnades, similar to the ancient basilic, a pile of building twice as long as it was wide, and one of the extremities of which terminated in a hemicycle, two rows of columns forming a spacious area in the center, and leaving a narrow walk between the columns and the wall. In these basilici the Roman emperors of the east frequently administered justice. This magnificent excavation at Salsette appears to be on the same plan, although, doubtless, intended for a place of worship. Toward the termination of the temple, fronting the entrance, is a circular pile of solid rock, nineteen feet high, and forty-eight in circumference, most probably a representation of the lingam, the symbol already alluded to in the description of the temples of Elephanta. In this temple there are not any images, nor any kind of sculpture, except on the capitals of the pillars, which are in general finished in a very masterly style, and are little impaired by time. Several have been left in an unfinished state; and on the summit of others is something like a bell, between elephants, horses, lions, and animals of different kinds.

The lofty pillars and concave roof of the principal temple at Salsette present a much grander appearance than the largest excavation at the Elephanta, although that is much richer in statues and bass-reliefs. The portico at Salsette, of the same hight and breadth as the temple, is richly decorated: on each side a large niche contains a colossal statue, well executed; and facing the entrance are small single figures, with groups in various attitudes, all of them in good preservation. The outer front of the portico, and the area before it, corresponding in grandeur with the interior, are now injured by time, and the moldering sculpture intermingled with a variety of rock-plants. On the square pillars at the entrance are long inscriptions, the characters of which are obsolete, and which modern ingenuity has not as yet succeeded in deciphering. Further up the mountain, a flight of steps, hewn in the rock, and continued to the summit, leads, by various intricate paths, to smaller excavations, most of which consist of two rooms, a portico and benches, cut in the rock. To each is annexed a cistern of about three cubic feet, also hewn in the rock, for the preservation of rain-water. Some of these excavations are larger and better finished than others; and a few, although inferior in size and decoration, in their general effect resemble the principal temple.

The whole appearance of this excavated mountain indicates it to have had a city hewn in its rocky sides, capable of containing many thousand inhabitants. The largest temple was, doubtless, their principal place of worship; and the smaller, on the same plan, inferior ones. The rest were appropriated as dwellings for the inhabitants, differing in size and accommodation according to their respective ranks in society; or, as it is still more probable, these habitations were the abode of religious Bramins, and of their pupils, when India was the nursery of art and science, and the nations of Europe were involved in ignorance and barbarism.

MAUSOLEUM OF HYDER ALI.

This splendid monument of oriental grandeur is situated at the western extremity of the great garden of Seringapatam, a city of Hindoostan, and capital of the Mysore territory. It is surrounded by a grove of beautiful cypress-trees, and was erected by Tippoo Saib in honor of the deceased sovereign, his father. Beneath tombs of black marble, elevated about eighteen inches from the ground, lie the bodies of Hyder Ali, his consort, and Tippoo Saib. They are covered with rich cloths, and have canopies over them. The whole of this sumptuous edifice is, together with its dome, supported by brilliantly polished black marble columns. It is surrounded by a magnificent area, within which the faquirs have cells allotted to them; and on an elevated platform are the tombs of several faithful servants. The mosque annexed to it is flanked by two towers. The moulahs stationed there still publicly read the Koran; and three pagodas are daily distributed in charity at the mausoleum.

THE TAJE MAHAL.

This grand mausoleum, which stands due north and south, on the southern bank of the river Jumna, was built by command of the emperor Shah Jehan for the interment of his favorite sultana Momtaz-mehl, or Montazal Zumani, the “preëminent in the seraglio,” or “paragon of the age,” and at his death his remains were also here deposited, by order of his son Aurungzebe. This building, in point of design and execution, is one of the most extensive, elegant, commodious, and perfect works ever undertaken and finished by one man. To this celebrated architect Shah Jehan gave the title of Zerreer-dust, or “jewel-handed,” to distinguish him from all other artists. It is built entirely of pure white marble, on an immense square platform of the same material, having a lofty minaret of equal beauty at every corner. On each side and behind the imperial mausoleum, is a suite of elegant apartments, also of white marble, highly decorated with colored stones. The tombs and other principal parts of this vast fabric are inlaid with wreaths of flowers and foliage in their natural colors, entirely composed of carnelians, onyxes, verd-antique, lapis lazuli, and a variety of agates, so admirably finished as to have the appearance of an ivory model set with jewels. It was commenced in the fifth year of the reign of the emperor Shah Jehan, and the whole completed in sixteen years, four months, and twenty-one days. It cost ninety-eight lacs, or nine million, eight hundred and fifteen thousand rupees, equal to more than six million dollars, although the price of labor then was, and still continues to be, very reasonable in India.

GREAT WALL OF CHINA.

This stupendous wall, a view of which is given in the cut below, extends across the northern boundary of the Chinese empire, and is deservedly ranked among the grandest labors of art. It is conducted over the summits of high mountains, several of which have an elevation of over five thousand feet, across deep valleys and over wide rivers, by means of arches: in many parts it is doubled or trebled, to command important passes; and at the distance of nearly every hundred yards is a tower or massive bastion. Its extent is computed at fifteen hundred miles; but in some parts, where less danger is apprehended, it is not equally strong or complete, and toward the north-west consists merely of a strong rampart of earth. Near Kookpekoo it is twenty-five feet in hight, and the top about fifteen feet thick: some of the towers, which are square, are forty-eight feet high, and about forty feet in width. In its strongest parts, and for hundreds of miles in extent, this wall is so thick as to allow six men on horseback to ride upon it. The structure consists of two parallel walls of solid masonry, filled in between with earth; the top is paved with stone. The stone employed in the foundations, angles, &c., is a strong gray granite; but the materials for the most part consist of bluish bricks, and the mortar is remarkably pure and white. The amount of materials used in constructing this wall, is immense. In a lecture on China, given a year or two since in England, Dr. Bowring said it had been calculated, that if all the bricks, stones and masonry of Great Britain were gathered together, they would not be able to furnish materials enough for the wall of China; and that all the buildings in London put together would not make the towers and turrets which adorn it.

The area of the construction of this great barrier, which has been and will continue to be the wonder and admiration of ages, is considered by Sir George Staunton as having been absolutely ascertained; and he asserts that it has existed for two thousand years. In this assertion he appears to have followed Du Halde, who informs us that “this prodigious work was constructed two hundred and fifteen years before the birth of Christ, by order of the first emperor of the family of Tsin, to protect three large provinces from the irruptions of the Tartars.” However, in the history of China, contained in his first volume, he ascribes this erection to the second emperor of the dynasty of Tsin, named Chi Hoang Ti; and the date immediately preceding the narrative of this construction is the year 137 before the birth of Christ. Hence suspicions may arise, not only concerning the epoch when this work was undertaken, but also as to the purity and precision of the Chinese annals in general. Mr. Bell, who resided some time in China, and whose travels are deservedly esteemed for the accuracy of their information, assures us that this wall was built somewhere about the year 1160, by one of the emperors, to prevent the frequent incursions of the Monguls, whose numerous cavalry used to ravage the provinces, and effect their escape before an army could be assembled to oppose them. Renaudot observes that this wall is not mentioned by any oriental geographer whose writings boast a higher antiquity than three hundred years; and it is surprising that it should have escaped Marco Paulo, who, admitting that he entered China by a different route, can hardly be supposed, during his long residence in the north of China, and in the country of the Monguls, to have remained ignorant of so stupendous a work. Amid these difficulties, it may be reasonably conjectured, that similar modes of defense had been adopted in different ages; and that the ancient rude barrier, having fallen into decay, was replaced by the present erection, which, even from its state of preservation, can scarcely aspire to a very remote antiquity.

PORCELAIN TOWER AT NANKIN.

This elegant and commodious building, a very correct idea of which may be formed from the cut on the preceding page, may be regarded as a fine specimen of the oriental pagodas. The tower is about two hundred feet in hight, and derives its name from its having a porcelain coating. The Portuguese were the first to bestow on these superb edifices the title of pagodas, and to attribute them to devotional purposes. There can be little doubt, however, that in many instances they have been rather erected as public memorials or ornaments, like the columns of the Greeks and Romans. Mr. Ellis, in his “Journal of the Embassy to China,” relates that, in company with three gentlemen of the embassy, he succeeded in passing completely through the uninhabited part of the city of Nankin, and in reaching the gateway visible from the Lion hill. The object of the party was to have penetrated through the streets to the porcelain tower, apparently distant two miles. To this, however, the soldiers who accompanied them, and who from their willingness in allowing them to proceed thus far, were entitled to consideration, made so many objections, that they were forced to desist, and to content themselves with proceeding to a temple on a neighboring hill, from which they had a complete view of the city. From this station the porcelain tower presented itself as a most magnificent object.

THE SHOEMADOO AT PEGU.

The object in Pegu that most attracts and most merits notice, says Mr. Symes in his “Embassy to Ava,” is the noble edifice of Shoemadoo, or the Golden Supreme. This extraordinary pile of buildings is erected on a double terrace, one raised upon another. The lower and greater terrace is about ten feet above the natural level of the ground, forming an exact parallelogram: the upper and lesser terrace is similar in shape, rising about twenty feet above the lower terrace, or thirty above the level of the country. Mr. Symes judged a side of the lower terrace to be thirteen hundred and ninety-one feet; of the upper, six hundred and eighty-four. The walls that sustained the sides of the terrace, both upper and lower, are in a ruinous state; they were formerly covered with plaster, wrought into various figures; the area of the lower is strewed with the fragments of small decayed buildings, but the upper is kept free from filth, and is in tolerable good order. There is reason to conclude that this building and the fortress are coeval, as the earth of which the terraces are composed appears to have been taken from the ditch; there being no other excavation in the city, or in its neighborhood, that could have afforded a tenth part of the quantity.

The terraces are ascended by flights of stone steps, which are now broken and neglected. On each side are dwellings of the Rhahaans, raised on timbers four or five feet from the ground: these houses consist only of a large hall; the wooden pillars that support them are turned with neatness; the roofs are covered with tiles, and the sides are made of boards; and there are a number of bare benches in every house, on which the Rhahaans sleep; but we saw no other furniture.

The Shoemadoo is a pyramidal building composed of brick and mortar, without excavation or aperture of any sort; octagonal at the base, and spiral at the top: each side of the base measures one hundred and sixty-two feet; this immense breadth diminishes abruptly, and a similar building has not unaptly been compared in shape to a large speaking-trumpet. Six feet from the ground there is a wide projection that surrounds the base, on the plane of which are fifty-seven small spires of equal size, and equidistant; one of them measured twenty-seven feet in hight, and forty in circumference at the bottom. On a higher ledge there is another row consisting of fifty-three spires of similar shape and measurement. A great variety of moldings encircle the building; and ornaments somewhat resembling the fleur de lis surround the lower part of the spire: circular moldings likewise girt it to a considerable hight, above which there are ornaments in stucco not unlike the leaves of a Corinthian capital; and the whole is crowned by a tee, or umbrella, of open iron-work, from which rises a rod with a gilded pennant.

The tee or umbrella is to be seen on every sacred building that is of a spiral form. The raising and consecration of this last and indispensable appendage, is an act of high religious solemnity, and a season of festivity and relaxation. The king himself bestowed the tee that covers the Shoemadoo. It was made at the capital; and many of the principal nobility came down from Ummerapoora to be present at the ceremony of its elevation. The circumference of the tee is fifty-six feet; it rests on an iron axis fixed in the building, and is further secured by large chains strongly riveted to the spire. Round the lower rim of the tee are appended a number of bells, which, agitated by the wind, make a continual jingling. The tee is gilt, and it was said to be the intention of the king to gild the whole of the spire. All the lesser pagodas are ornamented with proportionable umbrellas of similar workmanship, which are likewise encircled by small bells. The extreme hight of the edifice, from the level of the country, is three hundred and sixty-one feet, and above the interior terrace, three hundred and thirty one feet.

On the south-east angle of the upper terrace there are two handsome saloons, or kioums, the roofs of which are composed of different stages, supported by pillars. Mr. S. judged each to be about sixty feet in length, and in breadth thirty. The ceiling of one is embellished with gold leaf, and the pillars are lacquered; the decoration of the other is not yet completed. They are made entirely of wood; and the carving on the outside is laborious and minute. Mr. Symes saw several unfinished figures of animals and men in grotesque attitudes, designed as ornaments for different parts of the building. Some images of Gaudama, the supreme object of Birman adoration, lay scattered around. At each angle of the interior and higher terrace, there is a temple sixty-seven feet high, resembling, in miniature, the great temple: in front of that, in the south-west corner, are four gigantic representations, in masonry, of Palloo, or the evil genius, half beast, half human, seated on their hams, each with a large club on the right shoulder. The pundit who accompanied Mr. Symes, said that they resembled the Rakuss of the Hindoos. These are guardians of the temple. Nearly in the center of the east face of the area are two human figures in stucco, beneath a gilded umbrella. One, standing, represents a man with a book before him and a pen in his hand: he is called Thasiamee, the recorder of mortal merits and mortal misdeeds. The other, a female figure kneeling, is Mahasumdera, the protectress of the universe, so long as the universe is doomed to last; but when the time of general dissolution arrives, by her hand the world is to be overwhelmed and everlastingly destroyed. A small brick building near the north-east angle contains an upright marble slab, four feet high, and three feet wide: there was a long legible inscription on it. This, Mr. Symes was told, was an account of the donations of pilgrims of only a recent date.

Along the whole extent of the north face of the upper terrace, there is a wooden shed for the convenience of devotees who come from distant parts of the country. On the north side of the temple are three large bells of good workmanship, suspended near the ground, between pillars; several deers’ horns lie strewed around: those who come to pay their devotions first take up one of the horns, and strike the bell three times, giving an alternate stroke to the ground: this act is to announce to the spirit of Gaudama the approach of a suppliant. There are several low benches near the foot of the temple, on which the person who comes to pray, places his offering, commonly consisting of boiled rice, a plate of sweetmeats, or cocoa-nut fried in oil: when it is given, the devotee cares not what becomes of it; the crows and wild dogs often devour it in presence of the donor, who never attempts to disturb the animals. Mr. Symes saw several plates of victuals disposed of in this manner, and understood it to be the case with all that was brought.

There are many small temples on the areas of both terraces, which are neglected, and suffered to fall into decay. Numberless images of Gaudama lie indiscriminately scattered around. A pious Birman who purchases an idol, first procures the ceremony of consecration to be performed by the Rhahaans; he then takes his purchase to whatever sacred building is most convenient, and there places it in the shelter of a kioum, or on the open ground before the temple; nor does he ever again seem to have any anxiety about its preservation, but leaves the divinity to shift for itself. Some of those idols are made of marble that is found in the neighborhood of the capital of the Birman dominions, which admits of a very fine polish; many are formed of wood, and gilded, and a few are of silver; the latter, however, are not usually exposed and neglected like the others. Silver and gold are rarely used, except in the composition of household gods. On both the terraces are a number of white cylindrical flags, raised on bamboo poles; these flags are peculiar to the Rhahaans, and are considered as emblematical of purity, and of their sacred function. On the top of the staff there is a henza or goose, the symbol both of the Birman and Pegu nations.

COLOSSAL FIGURE OF JUPITER PLUVIUS, OR THE APENNINE JUPITER.

Statues above the ordinary size, were named by the ancients, colossi, from a Greek word which signifies “members.” That at Rhodes was the most famous, executed by Carelus, a pupil of Lysippus. There were several at Rome; the most considerable was that of Vespasian, in the amphitheater, that bore the name of Colisæa. Claudius caused a colossal statue of himself to be raised on a rock exposed to the sea waves, in front of the port of Ostium. Nero had his person and figure painted on a linen cloth, one hundred and twenty feet in hight. In the court of the Capitol, and in the palace Farnesi, &c., are colossi, either entire or mutilated.

The colossal figure of Jupiter Pluvius is found at Pratolino, in Italy. The space in which it stands is planted round, on all sides, with lofty fir and beech trees, the trunks of which are hid by a wood of laurel, wherein niches have been cut for statues. The middle part is a green lawn, and at a little distance, is a semicircular basin of water, behind which rises the colossal statue of the Apennine Jupiter. Enchased, as it were, in the groves, it can only be surveyed in front, and from a point of view marked by the artist, in the adjoining engraving. Elevated on a base to appearance irregular, and of itself lofty, at which the astonished spectator arrives through two balustrades that run round the basin, this colossus, a view of which is given in the cut above, looks, at first, like a pyramidal rock, on which the hand of man might have executed some project analogous to what the statuary Stasicrates had conceived respecting Mount Athos,[10] and which Alexander nobly rejected. But soon he recognizes the genius of a pupil and worthy rival of Michael Angelo.

Footnote 10:

Stasicrates proposed to Alexander to transform Mount Athos into a durable statue of himself, and one that would be most prominent to a world of beholders. His left hand to contain a city peopled with ten thousand inhabitants, and from the right a great river to flow, its waters descending to the sea. The proposition of this gigantesque monument was rejected by Alexander, who, in reply to his proposal, said, “The passage of Mount Caucasus, the Tanais, and the Caspian, which I have forced, shall be my monuments.”

It was, in fact, John of Bologna, who, by an inspiration derived from the ancients, executed their beau ideal of Jupiter Pluvius. This name seems more suitable to the figure than that of Father Apennine, which has been assigned to it. The style, in point of magnitude, is of the largest, and the character of the head is in perfect conformity to the subject. His brows and front brave the tempest, and seem the region of the hoar-frost; his locks descend in icicles on his broad shoulders, and the flakes of his immense beard resemble stalactites; his limbs seem covered with hoar-frost, but with no alteration in their contour, or in the form of the muscles. To add to the extraordinary effect, about the head is a kind of crown, formed of little jetteaux, that drop on the shoulders and trickle down the figure, shedding a sort of supernatural luster, when irradiated by the sun.

It would be difficult to imagine a composition more picturesque and perfect in all its proportions. The figure harmonizes with the surrounding objects, but its real magnitude is best shown by comparison with the groups promenading about the water, and which in comparison, at a certain distance, resemble pigmies. A nearer approach exhibits a truly striking proportion of the limbs. A number of apartments have been fabricated in the interior, and within the head is a beautiful belvedere, wherein the eyeballs serve for windows. The extremities are of stone; the trunk is of bricks overlaid with a mortar or cement that has contracted the hardness of marble, and which, when fresh, it was easy to model in due forms.

It is related in the life of John of Bologna, that several of his pupils, unaccustomed to work with the hand, while engaged in this work, forgot the correct standard of dimensions, both as to the eye and hand, and that Father Apennine and his enormous muscles made them spoil a number of statues. The greatest difficulty in the workmanship was to impress on the mass, the character of monumental durability. The artist has succeeded in uniting the rules of the statuary with those of construction, in combining the beauty of the one with the solidity of the other. All the parts refer to a common center of gravity, and the members are arranged so as to serve for a scaffolding to the body, without impairing its dignity or magnitude. The colossal statues of the ancients may have suggested the idea of this configuration, or as before hinted, the artist may have aimed to represent the Jupiter Pluvius. However, it seems probable that Poussin, in his painting of the plains of Sicily, has, from this, formed his Polyphemus, seated on the summit of a lofty rock. From the beauty of its proportions, and skill in the execution, all artists who have to work on colossal figures, ought to cherish the preservation of this, as an imposing object, that can not be too profoundly studied.

THE LEANING, OR HANGING TOWER OF PISA, IN TUSCANY.

This celebrated tower, a view of which is given in the cut below, likewise called the Campanile, on account of its having been erected for the purpose of containing bells, stands in a square close to the cathedral of Pisa. It is built entirely of white marble, and is a beautiful cylinder of eight stories, each adorned with a round of columns, rising one above another. It inclines so far on one side from the perpendicular, that dropping a plummet from the top, which is one hundred and eighty-eight feet in hight, it falls sixteen feet from the base. Much pains have been taken by connoisseurs to prove that this was done purposely by the architect; but it is evident that the inclination has proceeded from another cause, namely, from an accidental subsidence of the foundation on that side. The pillars are there considerably sunk; and this is also the case with the very threshold, which shows that the position of the building is accidental, caused by the settling of the ground on one side, and not, as some think, by the ambition of the architect, endeavoring to show how far he could with safety deviate from the perpendicular, and thus display a novel specimen of his art; for had this been his design, he would have shortened the pilasters on that side, so as to exhibit them entire, without the appearance of sinking.

This tower, from its singular appearance and position, has attracted the notice of all travelers passing near Pisa, who, of course, fail not to visit it. We give the impressions of two of these: Professor Silliman, who saw it in 1851; and Mr. Hillard, who was there at a still later date. The former says, “This structure has excited so much surprise, and been seen with such deep interest by thousands of travelers for more than six hundred years, that it is almost universally known, and it is not difficult for one who has not seen it to form a clear and distinct conception of it. Still, on approaching the tower, you are strongly impressed by its grandeur and beauty; and when you ascend it, you obtain an almost overwhelming conception of its majesty; although it is perfectly safe; and if you do not feel apprehension that it will fall, you may not be able to keep that idea quite out of your mind. The hight of the leaning tower is one hundred and seventy-eight feet, the thickness of the wall ten feet, and the diameter is fifty feet at the base. It is composed of eight stories, all adorned by columns and arches. Its form is slightly conical. It is ascended by three hundred and thirty very easy steps, very well lighted, and it is a pleasant journey to the top. There are seven bells in this grand belfry; they were rung while we were near, and the sound is very soft and musical, especially of the great bell, which weighs twelve thousand pounds, and is placed upon the side of the tower, opposite to that which overhangs. It was this bell which was formerly used to give notice of public executions. The leaning of the tower of Pisa was evidently caused by unequal subsidence of the ground; and it is obvious that the architect, as the work rose, before the tower was half up, perceived it, and he endeavored to counteract it as far as possible by balancing his materials. After a particular hight, the columns are higher on the leaning side, and, of course, shorter on the other. The builder appeared to be aiming to bring the upper part of the tower into a vertical position, although he did not succeed. It is about thirteen or fourteen feet beyond the vertical; but the center of gravity still falls within the base; and as the blocks of stone, being now firmly united by cement, can not slide upon each other, they, in fact, form one mass. The walls are, moreover, fortified by iron bars, and it is not probable that anything short of an earthquake can produce its downfall. I can not think with some, that it requires strong nerves to ascend the leaning tower of Pisa. We ascended with a perfect consciousness of security, and it is certain that were it filled in every story by an armed host, it would not quiver or vibrate. The view from the summit of the tower is most splendid. The beautiful city is at your feet, and you are in the midst of it. The Mediterranean is in the horizon, Leghorn is visible in the distance, the Arno shows its windings, here and there, and a rich plain in full cultivation reaches far inland to the lofty Apennines, in the vicinity of Lucca. It is said, that, in clear weather, Corsica may be discerned. This tower is one of the most beautiful objects in Italy, and one would never be tired with looking at it or from it; so beautiful is it, that its leaning becomes a mere incident, interesting indeed, but the tower possesses commanding attractions independently of this circumstance. We can not descend from it without remembering that here Galileo made his decisive experiments upon the law of the descent of falling bodies, and upon the vibration of the pendulum. His great name is associated with the permanent glory of his country, and will be honored to the end of time, while his persecutors are remembered only to be despised and detested.”

Mr. Hillard, the other tourist to whom we have alluded, says, “On a bright, sunny morning, I first saw the leaning tower of Pisa. This piece of architectural eccentricity was, and I suppose is, one of the common-places of geography, and is put into the same educational state-room with the wall of China, the great tun of Heidelberg, and the natural bridge of Virginia. I can not recall the time when its name was not familiar to me; and now, here it was, bodily before me; no vision, no delusion, but a very decided fact, with a most undeniable inclination on one side; so much so, that a nervous person would not sleep soundly in the house that stands under its lee, on a windy night. This singular structure is simply a campanile, or bell-tower, appurtenant to the cathedral, as is the general custom in Italy. It is not merely quaint, but beautiful; that is, take away the quaintness, and the beauty will remain. It is built of white marble, wonderfully fresh and pure, when we remember that nearly seven centuries have swept over it. I will not describe it, nor give its dimensions, for these may be found in every guide-book, and nearly every book of travels; nor will I condense the arguments which have been called forth by the question, whether the inclination be accidental or designed. To one who has been on the spot, and observed the spongy nature of the soil, as evidenced by the slight subsidence of the cathedral, there is really no room for argument or doubt. The ascent is very easy and gradual. The summit is secured by double rails, and the inclination is less perceptible when on the top than when it is observed from the ground. There is no peculiar sense of danger to interfere with the full enjoyment of the beauty of the view, which embraces mountain and plain, land and sea; a combination at once varied, extensive and picturesque. This was my first sight of the Mediterranean, whose blue waters blended in the distant horizon with the blue of the sky. To the eye, it was but common water reflecting the universal sky; but a man must be very insensible, not to recognize peculiar elements in his first view of that many-nationed sea, upon whose shores so much of the poetry and history of the world has grown.”

THE COLISEUM AT ROME.

On approaching the majestic ruins of this vast amphitheater, the most stupendous work of the kind antiquity can boast, a sweet and gently moving astonishment is the first sensation which seizes the beholder; and soon afterward the grand spectacle swims before him like a cloud. To give an adequate idea of this sublime building, is a task to which the pen is unequal: it must be seen to be duly appreciated. It is upward of sixteen hundred feet in circumference, and of such an elevation that it has been justly observed by a writer, (Ammiamus,) “the human eye scarcely measures its hight.” Nearly the one-half of the external circuit still remains, consisting of four tiers of arcades, adorned with columns of four orders, the Doric, Ionian, Corinthian, and composite. Its extent, as well as its elevation, may be estimated by the number of spectators it contained, amounting, according to some accounts, to eighty thousand, and agreeably to others, to one hundred thousand.

Thirty thousand captive Jews are said to have been engaged by Vespasian, whose name it occasionally bears, in the construction of this vast edifice; and they have not discredited their forefathers, the builders of Solomon’s temple, by the performance. It was not finished, however, until the reign of his son Titus, who, on the first day of its being opened, introduced into the arena not less than five thousand, or, according to Dio Cassius, nine thousand wild beasts, between whom, and the primitive Christians held captive by the Romans, combats were fought. At the conclusion of this cruel spectacle the whole place was put under water, and two fleets, named the Corcyrian and the Corinthian, represented a naval engagement. To render the vapor from such a multitude of persons less noxious, sweet-scented water, and frequently wine mixed with saffron, was showered down from a grated work above, on the heads of the spectators.

The Roman emperors who succeeded Titus were careful of the preservation of this superb edifice: even the voluptuous Heliogabalus caused it to be repaired after a great fire. The rude Goths, who sacked the city of Rome, were contented with despoiling it of its internal ornaments, but respected the structure itself. The Christians, however, through an excess of zeal, have not been satisfied with allowing it gradually to decay. Pope Paul II. had as much of it leveled as was necessary to furnish materials for building the palace of St. Mark, and his pernicious example was imitated by Cardinal Riario, in the construction of what is now called the Chancery. Lastly, a portion of it was employed by Pope Paul III. in the erection of the palace Farnese. Notwithstanding all these dilapidations, there still exists enough of it to inspire the spectator with awe. Immense masses appear fastened to and upon one another without any mortar or cement; and these alone, from their structure, are calculated for a duration of many thousands of years. Occasionally, where the destroyers have not effectually attained their object, the half-loosened masses appear to be holden in the air, as if by some invisible power; for the wide interstices among them leave no other support than their joints, which seem every moment as if about to yield unavoidably to the superior force of gravitation. “They will fall;” “they must fall;” “they are falling;” is, and has been the language of all beholders during the vast periods through which this stupendous edifice has thus hung together in the air.

Silliman, speaking of the Coliseum, says, “It is the most magnificent and imposing monument of ancient Rome. After all the spoliation it has suffered for many centuries, by which two-thirds of its materials have been plundered, to build palaces and other structures, it still stands a stupendous ruin, solemn, awful, and even in desolation beautiful. Its position is very near to the forum, and we pass to it through the arch of Titus. We felicitate ourselves that we saw the almost perfect amphitheater at Nismes, as from that, and even from the less perfect one at Arles, we obtained those strong and correct impressions, which have enabled us more justly to appreciate the gigantic ruin, which still towers in venerable majesty, above both the Rome of the Cæsars, and the Rome of the popes. The Coliseum was begun A. D. 73, by Vespasian, and finished by Titus, A. D. 80, ten years after the conquest of Jerusalem. Church tradition states that its architect was Gaudentius, a Christian martyr, and that some twelve thousand captive Jews and Christians were employed in its construction. It is built chiefly of travertine, although there are large quantities of bricks and tufa in the structure. Its form is elliptical: there are four stories adorned by columns: the lower is Doric, thirty feet high: the second is Ionic, thirty-three feet high; the third, Corinthian, fifty-four feet, and above this, was the frieze and cornice. The hight of the outer wall was one hundred and fifty-seven English feet. The longer axis, walls included, was six hundred and twenty feet; the shorter, five hundred and thirteen; circumference, seventeen hundred and seventy feet; the arena, two hundred and eighty-seven feet long and a hundred and eighty feet broad. The superficial area was nearly six acres. The arches were numbered, externally, from one to eighty. One arch is not numbered, and this is believed to have been the private entrance of the emperor. There were, within the amphitheater, four groups of seats, corresponding, as at Nismes, to the different orders of people. The seats could receive eighty-seven thousand persons, or one hundred and ten thousand, including those who stood. The interior has been very much despoiled, and the seats are almost ruined; but a staircase has been constructed, by which we ascended securely to the top of the building, and enjoyed a grand view, not only by day, but by a full moon. Byron’s splendid description in Manfred, does it no more than justice.”

The building, as may be seen in the cut on the preceding page, is much decayed; and it is, also, “deformed by innumerable holes on the outside, believed to have been produced by the extraction of the dowels of bronze, which were originally placed in the joints to keep the stones in place. At the dedication of the amphitheater by Titus, five thousand, or according to some, nine thousand wild beasts were slaughtered, and the savage exhibition went on during one hundred days. On the occasion of the triumph of Trajan over the Dacians, the shows were continued one hundred and twenty-three days; eleven thousand animals were slain, and one thousand gladiators matched against each other. Besides malefactors, captives and slaves, freeborn citizens, even those of noble birth, hired themselves as gladiators; and women volunteered on the arena, to exhibit their skill in murder. The barbarous gladiatorial games were continued during four hundred years; the last show of the wild beasts was under Theodoric, and these brutal entertainments were abolished by Honorius.”

THE PANTHEON.

The Pantheon, says a late tourist, “is the most perfect, as a whole, of all the structures which have come down to us from ancient Rome. The invasion of time alone would not have injured it materially, and, notwithstanding the spoliations of popes and other depredators, it still remains a grand and beautiful building. It stands in a dirty, disagreeable herb market, and the accumulations of earth and rubbish have almost entirely covered its lofty steps, which were seven in number, until its floor is now nearly on a level with the street. Its dome was covered with gilt bronze, and its portico lined with the same metal, which was plundered to be cast for the pillars and other parts of the baldacchino in St. Peter’s. On this occasion, four hundred and fifty thousand pounds were taken. The emperor Constans II. had previously, in 657, stripped the roof, and plundered the silver from the interior of the dome. He destined these things for the ornament of his imperial palace at Constantinople; but being murdered at Syracuse, on his return, the plunder was borne to Alexandria. It was, originally, the spoils of Egypt after the battle of Actium, and now returned to Egypt again. The external facings of polished marble, have also been torn off; but although thus despoiled, the Pantheon is still magnificent, notwithstanding that the fires have often heated it, the overflowing Tiber has deluged its floor, and the rains have poured in at the only opening, which is in the dome. This is a circular hole in the center of the dome, twenty-eight feet in diameter, and is said to have been once glazed. The rich marble facings and magnificent columns of the interior, still remain. The beautiful columns are of polished granite and porphyry. The niches, originally filled by the statues of the pagan gods, have not been disturbed; but they are now occupied by saints, and virgins, and other symbols of Catholic worship. The interior is one vast room, one hundred and forty-three feet in diameter, exclusive of the walls, which are twenty feet thick, and it is of the same hight, one hundred and forty-three feet: the dome occupies one-half of the hight. It is not inaptly illustrated by the rotunda of the Capitol at Washington, which, although smaller, is of the same form. When in the Roman Pantheon, you look up to its sky-lighted dome, there is an impression of simple grandeur which even St. Peter’s does not produce:

“‘Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime— Shrine of all saints, and temple of all gods.’

“An inscription on the frieze records that the Pantheon was erected by Agrippa, B. C. anno 26; and another inscription on the architrave records its subsequent restoration by Septimius Severus. In 608, Boniface obtained from the emperor Phocas permission to consecrate the Pantheon as a Christian church, which, doubtless, saved it from destruction. How much is it to be regretted that a similar protection had not saved the Coliseum and other precious works, whose ruins bear testimony to the misdirected zeal of the Christian church in early ages. The portico is one hundred and ten feet long and forty-four deep. It contains sixteen Corinthian monolithic columns of oriental granite, forty six and one-half feet high and five feet in diameter, with capitals and bases of Greek marble. The pediment still shows where the figures in bass-relief were attached.

“The magnificent bronze doors are thirty-nine feet high, and the entire opening is nineteen wide. It is believed that they are the original doors erected by Agrippa. No doubt they would have been used for the decoration of St. Peter’s, had not the Pantheon been consecrated as a church. The interior cornice at the bottom of the dome has been perfectly preserved, with its rich sculptures. The pavement of the Pantheon is of porphyry, alternating with other polished stones in geometric figures. Some antiquarians have argued that the Pantheon was originally an appendage of the baths of Agrippa, and that the portico was of subsequent construction, when the building was converted into a temple. However this may be, it is one of the most interesting structures of ancient or modern times; and had it not been most shamefully robbed it would have stood to-day perfect in beauty as it was when Christ died, and when Paul preached and suffered in Rome. We bent with deep interest over the grave of Raphael, whose remains still slumber beneath the pavement of the Pantheon, marked only by a humble slab of marble level with the floor. It is well known that until 1833 his place of interment was only matter of conjecture; in that year, owing to unexpected evidence, the present grave was opened in presence of the pope and numerous artists. The skull was of a singularly fine form; and its discovery spoiled the speculations of the phrenologists on another skull in the academy of St. Luke’s, which had before been supposed to be that of the great painter.”

ROMAN AMPHITHEATER AT NISMES.

Nismes, anciently Nemausis, was formerly a flourishing colony of Romans, established by Augustus Cæsar, after the battle of Actium. Among its splendid monuments of antiquity, the amphitheater, being infinitely better preserved than those of Rome and Verona, is the finest monument of the kind now extant. It was built in the reign of Antonius Pius, who contributed a large sum of money toward its erection. It is of an oval figure, one thousand and eighty feet in circumference, sufficiently capacious to contain twenty thousand spectators. The architecture is of the Tuscan order, sixty feet high, composed of two open galleries, built one over another, consisting each of sixty arcades. The entrance into the arena was by four great gates, with porticos; and the seats, of which there were thirty-two rows, sufficient to contain some twenty-five thousand people, rising one above another, consisted of great blocks of stone, many of which still remain. Over the north gate, appear two bulls, in alto-relievo, extremely well executed, emblems which, according to the usage of the Romans, signified that the amphitheater was erected at the expense of the people. In other parts are heads, busts, and other sculptures in bass-relief.

This magnificent structure stands in the lower part of the city, and strikes the spectator with awe and veneration. The external architecture is almost entire in its whole circuit. It was fortified as a citadel by the Visigoths, in the beginning of the sixth century: they raised within it a castle, two towers of which are still extant, and surrounded it with a broad and deep moat, which was filled up in the thirteenth century. In all the subsequent wars to which the city of Nismes was exposed, it served as the last refuge of the citizens, and sustained a great number of successive attacks; so that its fine preservation is almost miraculous.

Silliman says of this amphitheater, that it gives a very exact idea of the Coliseum at Rome, though it is of course smaller. “It is built,” he adds, “of limestone in immense blocks, laid in courses with perfect regularity and without mortar. Mortise holes in the center of the upper surface of each block show that the Romans employed the same means still in use, to raise and handle large masses of stone. The accuracy of the masonry seems the more remarkable if we consider the elliptical form of the structure, making all the vertical joints converge to the foci of the ellipse. In one place we saw a line of light through a joint of this sort where the wall was at least four feet thick. The passages, of course, all expand outward also, and thus admit of a speedy evacuation of the amphitheater through its sixty vomitoriæ. The dimensions of this ellipse are four hundred and thirty-seven by three hundred and twenty-two feet. By walking deliberately around the structure, these dimensions are more readily realized than by a numerical statement: the circuit is a quarter of a mile. The cornice was decorated with carving and finished with a frieze; except in the portion corresponding to nine or ten arches, the capping and cornice are complete around the entire circuit. In the part where the cornice is deficient, the Saracens, more than eleven hundred years ago, erected two towers, which were destroyed by Charles Martel, and fire applied by him disfigured the amphitheater. As it was all of stone he could not destroy it, but the wood placed in its arches and corridors burned as in a furnace. He wished to destroy the building, which had often been used as a fortress in the numerous wars that followed the downfall of the Roman empire. He succeeded only in blackening it with smoke which remains to this day. The heat, however, caused some portions of the limestone to flake off; but very little progress was made toward the destruction of the amphitheater. The building is national property, and the French government has restored many of the arches, laid anew the pavements, and has taken precautions to guard against further dilapidation. The exterior of the building is, indeed, somewhat corroded by time, but had war and violence been restrained, this noble monument of antiquity would have remained, an architectural wonder to all future ages. Many of the rows of marble seats remain entire, and enable the observer perfectly to understand the whole arrangement. The emperor and his household entered by a lower and special corridor, and the vestal virgins by a corresponding opening on the opposite side. The senators and patricians entered higher up, while the plebeians, entering still higher, occupied the more elevated positions, and the slaves the uppermost of all. The police also had their appointed place.

“Projecting outward from the cornice at regular intervals were stones, pierced with holes six inches or more in diameter, through which passed poles to sustain the awning, the lower ends of the poles being sustained by corbel stones projecting from the wall below. The amphitheater had no other covering but the awning, and this, on occasions of the use of the building for public games, was stretched upon ropes crossing from side to side of the arena. This covering secured the spectators from sun and rain, while it permitted free ventilation. The gladiators entered on one side of the arena and the wild beasts on the other, and probably the same rule prevailed when gladiator was to contend with gladiator. Here man fought his fellow-man, or with the fierce wild beast, to pamper the cruel appetite for blood. Strange feelings of awe and grandeur are excited by seeing the vast space which was so often filled with human beings, and one’s mind runs wild with excitement when he sees in imagination, the lion’s eye glancing at the grating until he was enlarged to spring upon his victim. The weeds and grass now grow among the seats, and green-sward covers the once ensanguined arena. The little lizards leap from stone to stone, and their brief generations are now the sole tenants of these ancient piles.”

TRAJAN’S PILLAR.

This historical column was erected at Rome by the emperor Trajan to commemorate his victories over the Dacians, and is considered the masterpiece of the splendid monuments of art elevated by that emperor in the Roman capital. Its celebrity is chiefly owing to the beautifully wrought bass-reliefs, containing about two thousand figures, with which it is ornamented. It stands in the middle of a square, to form which, a hill, one hundred and forty feet in hight, was leveled; and was intended, as appears by the inscription on its base, both as a tomb for the emperor, and to display the hight of the hill, which had thus with incredible labor, been reduced to a plane surface. It was erected in the year 114 of the Christian era; and the emperor Constantine, two centuries and a half afterward, regarded it as the most magnificent structure by which Rome was even at that time embellished. This pillar is built of white marble, its base consisting of twelve stones of enormous size, being raised on a socle, or foot of eight steps; and within it is a staircase illuminated by forty-four windows. Its hight, equaling that of the hill which had been leveled, to give place to the large square called the Forum Romanum, is one hundred and forty feet, being thirty-five feet less elevated than the Antonine column.

COLUMN OF ANTONINE.

This grand column is one of the most conspicuous monuments of ancient Rome. It is near the present post-office, in a busy, populous square—the Piazza Colonna—in the midst of the modern city. The hight of the column of Antonine is one hundred and sixty-eight feet; diameter, eleven and one-half; the pedestal is twenty-five feet and eight inches high. It was erected by the senate and people of Rome to Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, A. D. 174. Bass-reliefs, as in Trajan’s column, run spirally around the monument, representing military movements and victories. One of the reliefs represents Jupiter as dropping rain from his extended arms. This has been supposed to allude to the effect attributed to the prayers of the Christian legion from Mytilene, in the army of the emperor, who, at his request, prayed for rain when there was a great drought. The column is composed of pieces of white marble, and in the interior are one hundred and ninety steps lighted by forty-two loopholes. By a strange incongruity, a statue of St. Paul, ten feet high, has been made to replace the emperor on the top of the column. This was done by Sixtus V. It is said that the drawn sword which the apostle holds in his hand proves a conductor to the lightning, and that the column has been several times injured.

MAISON CARRE, AT NISMES.

If the amphitheater of Nismes strikes the spectator with an idea of greatness and sublimity, the Maison Carré enchants him with the most exquisite beauties of architecture and sculpture. This fine structure, as is evidenced by the inscription discovered on its front, was built by the inhabitants of Nismes, in honor of Caius Cæsar, and Lucius Cæsar, grandchildren of Augustus, by his daughter Julia, the wife of Agrippa. It stands upon a pediment six feet high, is eighty-two feet long, thirty-five broad, and thirty-seven in hight, without reckoning the pediment. The body of it is adorned with twenty columns engaged in the wall; and the peristyle, which is open, with ten detached pillars that support the entablature. They are all of the Corinthian order, fluted and embellished with capitals of the most exquisite sculpture: the frieze and cornice are much admired, and the foliage is esteemed inimitable. The proportions of the building are so happily blended, as to give it an air of majesty and grandeur, which the most indifferent spectator can not behold without emotion. To enjoy these beauties, it is not necessary to be a connoisseur in architecture: they are indeed so exquisite that they may be visited with a fresh appetite for years together. What renders them still more interesting is, that they are entire, and very little affected, either by the ravages of time, or the havoc of war. Cardinal Alberoni declared this elegant structure to be a jewel which deserved a cover of gold to preserve it from external injuries. An Italian painter, perceiving a small part of the roof repaired by modern French masonry, tore his hair, and exclaimed in a rage, “Zounds! what do I see? Harlequin’s hat on the head of Augustus!” In its general architectural effect, as well as in all its details of sculpture and ornament, the Maison Carré of Nismes is ravishingly beautiful, and can not be paralleled by any structure of ancient or modern times. That which most excites the astonishment of the admiring spectator, is to see it standing entire, like the effect of enchantment, after such a succession of ages, subjected as several of them were, to the ravages of the barbarians who overran the most interesting parts of Europe.

In the progress of many centuries, the Maison Carré has been used as a Christian church, and also for many ordinary purposes, some of them of the lowest character. The fine Corinthian columns of this building have been much corroded by time, and two that were contiguous, were mutilated in the flutings to make more room for the passage of a farmer’s cart when the temple was used as a barn or stable; and, to afford more accommodations, walls were built up between the columns of the portico. In the eleventh century it was used as town-house, or hôtel de ville. When attached to the Augustine convent it was employed as a sepulcher; and in the days of terror, the revolutionary tribunal held its meetings here. The building is at present occupied as a museum. It contains many interesting objects, especially Roman antiquities: the pictures are not remarkable. There is in it a beautiful mosaic pavement taken up entire from a Roman house. This temple is supposed to have been only the center of a much larger building, extending with wings and long colonnades to the right and left, whose foundations have been discovered.

THE PONT DU GARD.

This celebrated Roman monument is distant about three leagues from the city of Nismes. Instead of finding it in a ruinous condition, as he might reasonably have expected, the traveler, on approaching it, is agreeably disappointed when he perceives that it looks as fresh as a modern bridge of a few years’ standing. The climate is either so pure and dry, or the freestone with which it is built is so hard, that the very angles of the stones remain as acute as if they had been recently cut. A few of them have, indeed, dropped out of the arches; but the whole is admirably preserved, and presents the eye with a piece of architecture, so unaffectedly elegant, so simple, and, at the same time, so majestic, that it defies the most phlegmatic spectator to view it without admiration. It was raised in the Augustan age, by the Roman colony of Nismes, to convey a stream of water between two mountains, for the use of that city. By means of it the arena of the amphitheater could be flooded for the naumachiæ. It stands over the river Gardon, a beautiful pastoral stream, brawling among rocks which form a number of pretty natural cascades, and overshadowed on each side by trees and shrubs, which add greatly to the rural beauties of the scene.

This elegant structure consists of three bridges, or tiers of arches, one above another; the first of six, the second of eleven, and the third of thirty-six arches. The hight, comprehending the aqueduct on the top, is one hundred and seventy-four feet and three inches, and the length, between the two mountains, which it unites, is seven hundred and twenty-three feet. The order of the architecture is Tuscan; but its symmetry is inconceivable. By scooping the bases of the pilasters of the second tier of arches, a passage was made for foot-travelers; but although the ancients far excelled the moderns in point of beauty and magnificence, they certainly fell short of them in point of convenience. The inhabitants of Avignon have, in this particular, improved the Roman work by a new bridge by apposition, constructed on the same plan with that of the lower tier of arches, of which indeed it seems to be a part, affording a broad and commodious passage over the river, to horses and carriages. The aqueduct for the continuance of which this superb work was raised, conveyed a stream of pure water from the fountain of Eure, near the city of Uzes, and extended nearly six leagues in length.

ANCIENT AQUEDUCT NEAR ROME.

In this connection, we may notice an ancient Roman aqueduct, the arches of which may still be seen by the tourist as he approaches the “eternal city;” and a view of which is given in the cut on the next page. It reminds us, in its general outlines, of the Pont du Gard which has just been described, except that the latter has three tiers of arches while this has but two; and the styles of architecture in the two are different. These immense structures, carried for miles over valleys and through hills, were reared by the ancients at the cost of vast expense and labor, that they might supply themselves with pure water for domestic and public uses. And their ruins still bear witness to the gigantic scale on which such works were planned and completed, at an age and among a people that we are accustomed to think of as far inferior to our own.

THE ROMAN FORUM.

There has been much discussion as to the form and extent of the Roman forum, and as to the use of some of the structures whose ruins are found within its area. Sometimes the word forum was applied to market-places—forum boarium, fora venalia, as well as to places where justice was administered, fora civilia. The great Roman Forum at the foot of the Capitol, and contiguous to the Palatine hill, was, no doubt, intended by Romulus for the assemblies of the people. It was adorned with an immense number of Grecian statues, among which were twelve gilt statues of the principal gods. Numerous relics of its former grandeur now fill the campo vaccino—broken porticos, ruined arches, single columns, and the remains of temples. To each of these belongs a story of curious antiquarian research. Without wishing to follow the beaten path of all travelers, it is impossible to pass these world-renowned memorials of a by-gone age without some brief notice. One of these is

THE ARCH OF SEVERUS.

The arch of Septimius Severus stands in the Forum, on the eastern front of the Capitol. The soil and rubbish there accumulated was fifteen feet deep, but the ground was excavated under Napoleon, and the whole of this fine monument was thus brought into view. It was erected A. D. 205, by the senate and people of Rome, in honor of the emperor and his sons, on account of their conquests of the Parthians and Persians. This is recorded upon the monument, in an inscription which is still perfectly legible. The monument was constructed entirely of Grecian marble. There is a large and lofty middle arch, and there are two lateral arches. In one of the columns is a staircase of fifty steps, leading to the top, on which there was originally a car drawn by six horses, containing the figures of the emperor and of his two sons, Geta and Caracalla. Geta was murdered by his brother, and the inscription which alluded to both was mutilated by Caracalla, so as to leave out the name of Geta; this obliteration is obvious on inspection. There are on the panels many figures in high relief, representing deeds of war, in which the Romans so much delighted.

THE ARCH OF TITUS.

This, which is one of the most beautiful of the Roman arches, and a view of which is given in the cut on the next page, was erected to commemorate the conquest of Jerusalem by Titus. It stands at the eastern end of the Forum, and the via sacra passes beneath it. It is built of Grecian marble, and has only a single arch, with fluted columns on each side. On the side toward the Forum there is a mutilated figure of Victory standing over the arch. The side toward the Coliseum is the most perfect; and nearly all the cornice and the antæ are preserved. This arch has a peculiar interest attached to it, because it illustrates Scripture history. On one of the bass-reliefs, inside of the arch, a procession are bearing the spoils of the temple—the golden candlestick and the silver trumpets—the only authentic representations of those sacred objects, and perfectly corresponding with the description given by Josephus. The seven-branched candlestick itself was lost in the Tiber, and now reposes amidst its yellow sands.

THE CAPITOL.

The modern Capitol is erected on the foundation of the ancient. The huge blocks of peperino stone which underlie the present Capitol rise from the area of the Forum, far below; and it is quite obvious that the modern structure is superimposed. The Capitol hill is the highest ground in old Rome; and the summit of its tower is, as already observed, higher than any other building in Rome east of the Tiber. We ascend to the present Capitol from the west, by a series of marble steps. On the right and left, at the top of the stairs, are antique equestrian and colossal statues of Castor and Pollux, mounted upon high pedestals. In the middle of the area, in front of the Capitol, is the colossal equestrian statue believed to be that of Marcus Aurelius. It is in bronze, and is a most noble specimen of ancient art. The emperor is truly imperial, and the horse is admirable; it can not be exceeded in symmetry and grandeur. This statue, had it not been mistaken for a statue of Constantine, would have shared the fate of other productions of pagan art. It was originally gilded, and the gold is still visible upon it here and there. The head and neck of the horse are copied by modern sculptors, as being the best specimens of the form of this part of the noble animal in existence.

THE MUSEUM OF THE CAPITOL.

This museum is situated in two wings, on the right and left of the Capitoline hill. They do not form a part of the same structure. It is exceedingly instructive, as the statues are very numerous; and we can not doubt that they exhibit faithfully the persons of the ancient Romans, with their features and costumes. Many of the most distinguished Roman emperors, poets, historians, and orators, are represented in marble or bronze; Trajan, Caligula, Hadrian, Nero, Nerva, Julius Cæsar and his murderer Brutus, Cicero, Virgil, Caracalla, and a multitude more. Some of the statues are colossal. There are several parts of an immense statue of Nero, which was designed to be one hundred and fifty feet high, and to rival in altitude the Coliseum itself. In crime and infamy, he was indeed a colossus. His countenance has a groveling, animal expression, very strongly marked in a bust contained in a private museum, where, as if to correspond with the blackness of his character, he is sculptured in basalt, or black marble.

“We saw in the museum of the Capitol,” says Professor Silliman, “the original of that bust of Cicero, which represents him as a large man with a full face and round head, the very reverse of the bust formerly said to be Cicero’s, and which I saw in 1805 in the Earl of Pembroke’s palace, near Salisbury, England. That bust made Cicero’s features lean, muscular, and sharp, with a wart on the right cheek, near the nose. Artists and antiquaries have no doubt, I believe, of the authenticity of the bust in the Capitol, which bears his name, and was found in a villa of Mecænas. An excellent copy of this bust, by our countryman, Crawford, is in the Trumbull gallery in Yale college, along with copies by the same artist of the busts of Demosthenes and Homer, the originals of which we saw in the Capitol museum. In this museum is also to be seen the celebrated Venus of the Capitol, to which a separate saloon is devoted. The dying Gladiator is in a room with other noble antique statues. Byron has completely embalmed this figure in his memorable description in the fifth canto of Childe Harold’s pilgrimage. It is probable that the artist himself, could he have read the passage, would have confessed that it expressed his sentiment even more perfectly than the marble. Any one who has traversed Italy with Byron in his hand, will readily appreciate not only the wonderful fidelity of his descriptions, but that all other language seems poverty-stricken and unmeaning when compared with the masterly touches by which he has painted the various monuments of antiquity which adorn his pictured page. For example, besides the passage just alluded to, we have his tomb of Cecilia Metella, the Thunder-stricken Nurse of Rome! the Coliseum, the Pantheon, and St. Peter’s, &c. The original bronze wolf, representing the early nursing of Romulus and Remus, is in the Capitol museum. The little urchins, also in bronze, are eagerly drawing from the savage wet-nurse the means of life. This fable affords not an unapt symbol of the ferocious disposition of Romulus, who slew his brother, and of most of the Roman people, of whatever rank, to whom human blood seems to have been a delightful nectar. There has been much discussion as to the antiquity of this wolf. It appears probable that this is the image referred to by Cicero; and it bears marks of having been struck by lightning, according to tradition. There is a large piece of metal torn out of one of the hind legs of the wolf, and this is stated by tradition to have happened from a thunder-stroke, (to which, of course, Byron alludes in his immortal lines,) which fell upon the wolf the moment when it was announced in the Capitol that Julius Cæsar was dead.”

ST. PETER’S OF ROME.

The piazza of this masterpiece of architecture, a view of which as seen from the Tiber is given in the cut on the next page, is altogether sublime. The double colonnade on each side, extending in a semicircular sweep, the stupendous Egyptian obelisk, the two fountains, the portico, and the admirable façade of the church, form such an assemblage of magnificent objects, as can not fail to impress the mind with awe and admiration. The church appears in the background, and on each side is a row of quadruple arches, resting on two hundred and eighty-four pillars, and eighty-eight pilasters: these arches support one hundred and ninety-two statues, twelve feet in hight. The two noble fountains throw a mass of water to the hight of nine feet, from which it falls in a very picturesque manner, and adds greatly to the beauty of the scene. In the center is the fine obelisk.

At the first entrance into St. Peter’s, the effect is not so striking as might be expected: it enlarges itself, however, insensibly on all sides, and improves on the eye every moment. The proportions are so accurately observed, that each of the parts are seen to an equal advantage, without distinguishing itself above the rest. It appears neither extremely high, nor long, nor broad, because a just equality is preserved throughout. Although every object in this church is admirable, the most astonishing part of it is the cupola. On ascending to it, the spectator is surprised to find, that the dome which he sees in the church, is not the same with the one he had examined without doors, the latter being a kind of case to the other, and the stairs by which he ascends into the ball lying between the two. Had there been the outward dome only, it would not have been seen to advantage by those who are within the church; or had there been the inward one only, it would scarcely have been seen by those who are without; and had both been one solid dome of so great a thickness, the pillars would have been too weak to have supported it.

It is not easy to conceive a more glorious architectural display than the one which presents itself to the spectator who stands beneath the dome. If he looks upward, he is astonished at the spacious hollow of the cupola, and has a vault on every side of him, which makes one of the most beautiful vistas the eye can possibly have to penetrate. To convey an idea of its magnitude, it will suffice to say, that the hight of the body of the church, from the ground to the upper part of its ceiling, is four hundred and thirty-two feet, and that sixteen persons may place themselves, without inconvenience, in the globular top over the dome, which is annually lighted, on the twenty-ninth of June, by four thousand lamps and two thousand fire-pots, presenting a most delightful spectacle. The vestibule of St. Peter’s is grand and beautiful. Over the second entrance is a fine mosaic from Giotto, executed in the year 1303; and at the corners, to the right and left, are the equestrian statues of Constantine and Charlemagne. Of the five doors leading to the church itself, one, called the holy door, is generally shut up by brick-work, and is only opened at the time of the jubilee. The middle gate is of bronze, with bass-reliefs.

Of the one hundred and thirty statues with which this church is adorned, that of St. Peter is the most conspicuous: it is said to have been recast from a bronze statue of Jupiter Capitolinus. One hundred and twelve lamps are constantly burning around the tomb of this saint; and the high altar close to it, on which the pope alone reads mass, is overshadowed by a ceiling, which exceeds in loftiness that of any palace of Rome. The splendid sacristy was built by Pius VI. But by far the greatest ornaments of the interior are the excellent works in mosaic, all copied from the most celebrated pictures, which are thus guarded from oblivion.

The great and truly awful dome of St. Peter’s is only two feet less in diameter than that of the Pantheon, being one hundred and thirty-seven feet; but it exceeds the latter in hight by twenty feet, being one hundred and fifty-nine feet, besides the lantern, the basis pedestal of the top, the globular top itself, and the cross above it, which, collectively, measure one hundred and twenty feet. The roof of the church is ascended by easy steps; and here the visitor seems to have entered a small town, for he suddenly finds himself among a number of houses, which either serve as repositories of implements and materials for repairing the church, or are inhabited by the workmen. The dome, at the foot of which he now arrives, appears to be the parish church of this town; and the inferior domes seem as if intended only for ornaments to fill up the vacuities. Add to this, that he can not see the streets of Rome, on account of the surrounding high gallery and its colossal statues, and the singularity of such a scene may be easily conceived. It is besides said, that a market is occasionally held here for the aerial inhabitants.

But although the adventurous stranger is now on the roof, he has still a great hight to ascend before he reaches the summit of the dome. Previously to his engaging in this enterprise, he is conducted to the inside gallery of the dome. From this spot the people within the body of the church appear like children. The higher he goes, the more uncomfortable he finds himself, on account of the oblique walls over the narrow staircase; and he is often compelled to lean with his whole body quite to one side. Several marble plates are affixed in those walls, containing the names of the distinguished personages who have had the courage to ascend to the dome, and even to climb up to the lantern, and the top. The emperor Joseph II. is twice mentioned; and Paul I. as grand duke. In some parts, where the stairs are too steep, more commodious steps of wood have been placed. By these the lantern can be reached with greater facility; and the view which there waits the visitor, is magnificent beyond description: it is an immense panorama, bounded by the sea.

Silliman, in his late “Visit to Europe,” adds points of interest with regard to St. Peter’s not given above, which therefore we quote. “The interior,” he says, “is beyond description rich and magnificent. It is said to have cost fifty million dollars. The circumference of each of the four great pillars which support the dome, is two hundred and thirty-four feet. The diameter of the dome is one hundred and ninety-five feet; the hight of the dome to the lantern, is four hundred and five feet; to the top of the cross, is four hundred and thirty-four feet. The floor is composed entirely of marble of various colors, and disposed in ornamental forms; indeed, the whole interior of the church, the columns and pilasters excepted, is faced with the most beautiful marble, highly polished; while numerous medallions, exquisite monuments, and splendid mosaic copies of the best pictures, adorn the interior, and form an integral part of its walls. The roof, or ceiling, is stuccoed in sunken squares or panels, richly gilt. There is no part which is not sumptuously decorated. It seems as if ingenuity, art, taste, talent, and skill, all the resources of wealth, and of Nature herself, through all her vast storehouse of materials, had been laid under contribution, to make St. Peter’s the most glorious of the structures reared by man. With a pure faith, it would be a temple worthy of the God who created all the materials with which it is built, and who furnished man with all the faculties, which have enabled him to rear and adorn this unrivaled structure, a fit abode, like the glorious fane of Jerusalem, for the habitation of the spiritual influence of Jehovah. St. Peter’s was one hundred and seventy-six years in building. Indeed, including all its vicissitudes, the period was three hundred and fifty years, under forty-three popes. It was finally dedicated by Urban VIII., November eighteenth, 1626. The vases for holding holy water serve to give an idea of the immensity of the building. They are supported by cherubs, which, on first entering the church, appear like children, but on approaching them they are found to be six feet high. Another illustration is derived from the mosaic figures of the four evangelists, with their emblems over the arches. The pen in the hand of St. Mark is six feet long. Upon the frieze running round the basis of the dome is this inscription, each letter of which is six feet long, and yet the writing is only conveniently legible below: TV ES PETRVS ET SVPER HANC PETRAM AEDIFICABO ECCLESIAM MEAM ET TIBI DABO CLAVES REGNI.”

THE SOIL OF ROME.

In leaving the wonders of Rome, and the city itself, we will quote an interesting extract from Townsend’s “Tour in Italy,” in 1850. “Many authors,” he says, “have asserted, as their interpretation of some parts of the Apocalypse, that Rome will be destroyed by fire from heaven, or swallowed up by earthquakes, or overwhelmed with destruction by volcanoes, as the visible punishment of the Almighty, for its popery and its crimes. I am unwilling, having read so many books on the interpretation of the prophecy, to deduce any argument of this kind from the prophecies which are unfulfilled; but I behold everywhere—in Rome, near Rome, and through the whole region from Rome to Naples—the most astounding proofs, not merely of the possibility, but the probability that the whole region of central Italy will one day be destroyed by such a catastrophe. The soil of Rome is tufa, with a volcanic subterranean action still going on. At Naples the boiling sulphur is to be seen bubbling near the surface of the earth. When I drew a stick along upon the ground, the sulphurous smoke followed the indentation; and it would never surprise me to hear of the utter destruction of the southern peninsula of Italy. The entire country and district is volcanic. It is saturated with beds of sulphur and the substrata of destruction. It seems as certainly prepared for the flames as the wood and coal on the hearth are prepared for the taper which shall kindle the fire to consume them. I again read the remarks of Dr. Cumming: ‘Rome,’ he believes, ‘is to be overthrown by judgment; not to be converted by the agency of the gospel, nor to be exhausted by political assaults. It is literally to be consumed by fire.’ Whether he is correct in regarding such an event as the fulfillment of the prophecies, and the demonstration of the anger of the Creator against the incorrigible assumption of an erring and influential church, I know not; but the divine hand alone seems to me to hold the element of fire in check by a miracle as great as that which protected the cities of the plain, till the righteous Lot had made his escape to the mountains.”

EDDYSTONE LIGHT-HOUSE.

The Eddystone rocks, on which this celebrated light-house is built, are situated nearly south-south-west from the middle of Plymouth sound, being distant from the port of Plymouth nearly fourteen miles, and from the promontory called Ramshead, about ten miles. They are almost in the line, but somewhat within it, which joins the Start and the Lizard points; and as they lie nearly in the direction of vessels coasting up and down the channel, they were necessarily, before the establishment of a light-house, very dangerous, and often fatal to ships under such circumstances. Their situation, likewise, relatively to the bay of Biscay and the Atlantic ocean, is such that they lie open to the swells of both from all the south-western points of the compass; which swells are generally allowed by mariners to be very great and heavy in those seas, and particularly in the bay of Biscay. It is to be observed, that the soundings of the sea, from the south-west toward the Eddystone, are from eighty fathoms to forty, and that in every part, until the rocks are approached, the sea has a depth of at least thirty fathoms; insomuch that all the heavy seas from the south-west reach them uncontrolled, and break on them with the utmost fury.

The force and hight of these seas are increased by the fact that the rocks stretch across the channel, in a direction north and south, to the length of above one hundred fathoms, and by their lying in a sloping manner toward the south-west quarter. This striving of the rocks, as it is technically called, does not cease at low-water, but still goes on progressively; so that, at fifty fathoms westward, there are twelve fathoms of water; neither does it terminate at the distance of a mile. From this configuration it happens, that the seas are swollen to such a degree, in storms and heavy gales of wind, as to break on the rocks with the utmost violence. It is not surprising, therefore, that the dangers to which navigators were exposed by the Eddystone rocks should have made a great commercial nation desirous to have a light-house erected on them. The wonder is that any one should have had sufficient resolution to undertake its construction. Such a man was, however, found in the person of Mr. Henry Winstanley, of Littleburgh, in Essex, who, being furnished with the necessary powers to carry the design into execution, entered on his undertaking in 1696, and completed it in four years. So certain was he of the stability of his structure, that he declared it to be his wish to be in it “during the greatest storm which ever blew under the face of the heavens.” In this wish he was but too amply gratified; for while he was there with his workmen and light-keepers, that dreadful storm began, which raged most violently on the night of the twenty-sixth of November, 1703; and of all the accounts of the kind with which history has furnished us, no one has exceeded this in Great Britain, nor has been more injurious or extensive in its devastations. On the following morning, when the storm was so much abated, that an inquiry could be made, whether the light-house had suffered from it, nothing was to be seen standing, with the exception of some of the large irons by which the work was fixed on the rock; nor were any of the people, nor any of the materials of the building ever found afterward.

In 1709, another light-house was built of wood, on a very different construction, by Mr. John Rudyerd, then a silk-mercer on Ludgate hill. This very ingenious structure, after having braved the elements for forty-six years, was burned to the ground in 1755. On the destruction of this light-house, that excellent mechanic and engineer, Mr. Smeaton, was selected as the fittest person to build another. He found some difficulty in persuading the proprietors, that a stone building, properly constructed, would be in every respect preferable to one of wood; but having at length convinced them, he turned his thoughts to the shape which would be most suitable to a building so critically situated. Reflecting on the structure of the former buildings, it seemed to him a material improvement to procure, if possible, an enlargement of the base, without increasing the size of the waist, or that part of the building placed between the top of the rock and the top of the solid work. Hence he thought a greater degree of strength and stiffness would be gained, accompanied with less resistance to the acting power. On this occasion, the natural figure of the waist, or bole of a large spreading oak, occurred to our sagacious engineer.

With these very enlightened views, as to the proper form of the superstructure, Mr. Smeaton began the work on the second of April, 1757, and completed it on the fourth of August, 1759. Its appearance, as completed, may be seen in the cut on the preceding page. The rock, which slopes toward the south-west, is cut into horizontal steps, into which are dovetailed, and united by a strong cement, Portland stone and granite. The whole to the hight of thirty-five feet from the foundation, is a solid body of stones, engrafted into each other, and united by every means of additional strength that could be devised. The building has four rooms, one over the other, and at the top a gallery and lantern. The stone floors are flat above, but concave beneath, and are kept from pressing against the sides of the building by a chain let into the walls. It is nearly eighty feet in hight, and since its completion has been assaulted by the fury of the elements, without suffering the smallest injury. To trace the progress of so vast an undertaking, and to show with what skill and judgment this unparalleled engineer overcame the greatest difficulties, would far exceed the limits of this work.

BELL ROCK LIGHT-HOUSE.

The Bell rock, or Inch cape, is situated on the north-east coast of Great Britain, twelve miles south-west from the town of Arbroath, in Fifeshire, and thirty miles north-east from St. Abb’s head, in the county of Berwick. It lies in the direct trace of the firth of Tay, and of a great proportion of the shipping of the firth of Forth, embracing a very extensive local trade. This estuary is besides the principal inlet on the northern coast of Britain, in which the shipping of the German ocean and North sea take refuge when overtaken by easterly storms. At neap-tides, or at the quadratures of the moon, the Bell rock is scarcely uncovered at low-water; but in spring-tides, when the ebbs are greatest, that part of the rock which is exposed to view at low-water, measures about four hundred and twenty-seven feet in length, by two hundred and thirty in breadth; and in this low state of the tides, its average perpendicular hight above the surface of the sea is about four feet. Beyond the space included in these measurements, at very low tides, a reef extends about a thousand feet in a south-west direction, from the higher part of the rock just described; and on this reef the light-house is erected.

In the erection of a light-house on the Bell rock, independently of its distance from the main land, a serious difficulty presented itself, arising from the greater depth of water at which it was necessary to carry on the operations, than in the case of the Eddystone light-house, described above, or of any other building of the same kind, ancient or modern, which had been hitherto undertaken. Its description is as follows.

The Bell rock light-house, which has not improperly been termed the Scottish Pharos, is a circular building, the foundation stone of which is nearly on a level with the surface of the sea at low-water of ordinary spring-tides; and, consequently, at high-water of these tides the building is immersed to the hight of about fifteen feet. The first two, or lowest courses of the masonry, are imbedded, or sunk into the rock, and the stones of all the courses are curiously dovetailed and joined with each other, forming one connected mass from the center to the circumference. The successive courses of the work are also attached to each other by joggles of stone; and, to prevent the stones from being lifted up by the force of the sea, while the work was in progress, each stone of the solid part of the building had two holes bored through it, entering six inches into the course immediately below, into which oaken tree-nails, two inches in diameter, were driven, after Mr. Smeaton’s plan at the Eddystone light-house. The cement used at the Bell rock, like that at the latter, was a mixture of pozzuolana, earth, lime, and sand, in equal parts, by measure.

The stones employed in this surprising structure weigh from two tuns to half a tun each. The ground course measures forty-two feet in diameter, and the building diminishes as it rises to the top, where the parapet wall of the light-room has a diameter of thirteen feet only. It is solid from the ground course to the hight of thirty feet, where the entry door is placed, the ascent to which is by a kind of rope-ladder, with wooden steps, hung out at ebb-tide, and taken into the building again when the water covers the rock; but strangers to this sort of climbing are taken up in a kind of chair, by a small movable crane projected from the door, from which a narrow passage leads to a stone staircase thirteen feet in hight. Here the walls are seven feet thick, but they gradually diminish from the top of the staircase to the parapet wall of the light-room, where they measure one foot only in thickness. The upper part of the building is divided into six apartments for the use of the light-house keepers, and for containing the light-house stores. The lower, or first of these floors, contains the water-tanks, fuel, and other bulky articles; the second, the oil-cisterns, glass, and other light-room stores; the third is occupied as a kitchen; the fourth is the bed-room; the fifth, the library, or stranger’s room; and the upper apartment forms the light-room. The floors of the several apartments are of stone, and the communication from the one to the other is effected by wooden ladders, except in the case of the light-room, where every article being fire-proof, the steps are made of iron. In each of the three lower apartments are two windows; but the upper rooms have four windows each. The casements of the windows are double, and are glazed with plate-glass, having besides an outer storm-shutter, or dead-light, of timber, to defend the glass from the waves and spray of the sea. The parapet wall of the light-room is six feet in hight, and has a door leading out to the balcony, or walk, formed by the cornice round the upper part of the building, which is surrounded by a cast-iron rail, curiously wrought like net-work. This rail reposes on batts of brass, and has a massive coping, or top-rail, of the same metal.

The light-room was, with the whole of its apparatus, framed and prepared at Edinburgh. It is of an octagonal figure, measuring twelve feet across, and fifteen feet in hight, formed with cast-iron sashes, or window frames, glazed with large plates of polished glass, measuring about two feet and six inches, by two feet and a quarter, and the fourth of an inch in thickness. It is covered with a dome roof of copper, terminating in a large gilt ball, with a vent-hole in the top. The light is very powerful, and is readily seen at the distance of seven leagues, when the atmosphere is clear. It is from oil, with argand burners, placed in the focus of silver-plated reflectors, measuring two feet over the lips, the silver surface being hollowed, or wrought to the parabolic curve. That this splendid light may be the more easily distinguished from all the other lights on the coast, the reflectors are ranged on a frame with four faces, or sides, which, by a train of machinery, is made to revolve on a perpendicular axis once in six minutes. Between the observer and the reflectors, on two opposite sides of the revolving frame, shades of red glass are interposed in such a manner, that, during each entire revolution of the reflectors, two appearances, distinctly differing from each other, are produced: one is the common bright light familiar to all; but on the other, or shaded sides, the rays are tinged of a red color. These red and bright lights, in the course of each revolution, alternate with intervals of darkness, and thus in a very beautiful and simple manner, characterize this light.

As a further warning to the mariner in foggy weather, two large bells, each weighing about twelve hundred pounds, are tolled day and night by the same machinery which moves the lights. As these bells, in moderate weather, may be heard considerably beyond the limits of the rock, vessels, by this expedient, get warning to put about, and are thereby prevented from running on the rock in thick and hazy weather, a disaster to which ships might otherwise be liable, notwithstanding the erection of the light-house. The establishment consists of a principal light-keeper, with three assistants, two of whom are constantly at the light-house, while the third is stationed at a tower erected at Arbroath, where he corresponds by signals with the light-keepers at the rock. This stupendous undertaking is highly creditable to Mr. Stevenson, the engineer, and does honor to the age in which it has been produced. The lights were exhibited, for the first time, on the first of February, 1811.

STONEHENGE.

This celebrated monument of antiquity, a view of which is given in the cut on the next page, stands in the middle of a flat area near the summit of a hill, six miles distant from Salisbury. It is inclosed by a double circular bank and ditch, nearly thirty feet broad, after crossing which an ascent of thirty yards leads to the work. The whole fabric, of which the cut exhibits only a section, was originally composed of two circles and two ovals. The outer circle is about one hundred and eight feet in diameter, consisting, when entire, of sixty stones, thirty uprights, and thirty imposts, of which there now remain twenty-four uprights only, seventeen standing, and seven down, three feet and a half asunder, and eight imposts. Eleven uprights have their five imposts on them at the grand entrance: these stones are from thirteen to twenty feet high. The smaller circle is somewhat more than eight feet from the inside of the outer one, and consisted of forty smaller stones, the highest measuring about six feet, nineteen only of which now remain, and only eleven standing. The walk between these two circles is three hundred feet in circumference. The adytum, or cell, is an oval formed of ten stones, from sixteen to twenty-two feet high, in pairs, and with imposts above thirty feet high, rising in hight as they go round, and each pair separate, and not connected as the outer pair: the highest eight feet. Within these, are nineteen other smaller single stones, of which six only are standing. At the upper end of the adytum is the altar, a large slab of blue coarse marble, twenty inches thick, sixteen feet long, and four broad: it is pressed down by the weight of the vast stones which have fallen upon it. The whole number of stones, uprights and imposts, comprehending the altar, is one hundred and forty. The stones, which have been by some considered artificial, were most probably brought from those called the gray weathers on Marlborough downs, distant fifteen or sixteen miles; and if tried with a tool, appear of the same hardness, grain and color, being generally reddish. The heads of oxen, deer, and other beasts, have been found in digging in and about Stonehenge; and in the circumjacent barrows, human bones. From the plain to this structure there are three entrances, the most considerable of which is from the north-east; and at each of them were raised, on the outside of the trench, two huge stones, with two smaller parallel ones within.

Geoffrey of Monmouth, in his history of the Britons, written in the reign of King Stephen, represents this monument as having been erected at the command of Aurelius Ambrosius, the last British king, in memory of four hundred and sixty Britons who were murdered by Hengist the Saxon. Polydore Virgil says that it was erected by the Britons as the sepulchral monument of Aurelius Ambrosius, and other writers consider it to have been that of the famous British queen Boadicea. Inigo Jones is of opinion that it was a Roman temple; and this conclusion he draws from a stone sixteen feet in length, and four in breadth, placed in an exact position to the eastward, altar-fashion. By Charlton it is ascribed to the Danes, who were two years masters of Wiltshire; a tin tablet, on which were some unknown characters, having been dug up in the vicinity, in the reign of Henry VIII. This tablet, which is lost, might have given some information respecting its founders. Its common name, Stonehenge, is Saxon, and signifies a “stone gallows,” to which the stones, having transverse imposts, bear some resemblance. It is also called in Welch, choir gour, or the giants’ dance. Mr. Grose, the antiquary, is of opinion that Doctor Stukely has completely proved this structure to have been a British temple, in which the Druids officiated. He supposes it to have been the metropolitan temple of Great Britain, and translates the words choir gour, “the great choir or temple.” It was customary with the Druids to place one large stone on another for a religious memorial; and these they often placed so equably, that even a breath of wind would sometimes make them vibrate. Of such stones one remains at this day in the pile of Stonehenge. The ancients distinguished stones erected with a religious view, by the name of ambrosiæ petræ, amber stones, the word amber implying whatever is solar and divine. According to Bryant, Stonehenge is composed of these amber stones; and hence the next town is denominated Ambresbury.

ROCKING STONES.

The rocking stone, or logan, is a stone of a prodigious size, so nicely poised, that it rocks or shakes with the smallest force. Several of the consecrated stones mentioned above, were rocking stones; and there was a wonderful monument of this kind near Penzance in Cornwall, which still retains the name of main-amber, or the sacred stones. With these stones the ancients were not unacquainted. Pliny relates that at Harpasa, a town of Asia, there was a rock of such a wonderful nature, that, if touched with the finger, it would shake, but could not be moved from its place with the whole force of the body. Ptolemy Hephistion mentions a stone of this description near the ocean, which was agitated when struck by the stalk of the plant asphodel, or day-lily, but could not be removed by a great exertion of force. Another is cited by Apollonius Rhodius, supposed to have been raised in the time of the Argonauts, in the island Tenos, as the monument of the two-winged sons of Boreas, slain by Hercules; and there are others in China, and in other countries.

Many rocking stones are to be found in different parts of Great Britain; some natural, and others artificial, or placed in their position by human art. That the latter are monuments erected by the Druids, many suppose can not be doubted; but tradition has not handed down the precise purpose for which they were intended. In the parish of St. Leven, Cornwall, there is a promontory called Castle Treryn. On the western side of the middle group, near the top, lies a very large stone, so evenly poised, that a hand may move it from one side to the other; yet so fixed on its base, that no lever, or other mechanical force, can remove it from its present situation. It is called the logan-stone, and is at such a hight from the ground as to render it incredible that it was raised to its present position by art. There are, however, other rocking stones, so shaped and situated, that there can not be any doubt of their having been erected by human strength. Of this kind the great quoit, or karn-le hau, in the parish of Tywidnek, in Wales, is considered. It is thirty-nine feet in circumference, and four feet thick at a medium, and stands on a single pedestal. In the island of St. Agnes, Scilly, is a remarkable stone of the same kind. The under rock is ten and a half feet high, forty-seven feet round the middle, and touches the ground with not more than half its base. The upper rock rests on one point only, and is so nicely balanced, that two or three men with a pole can move it. It is eight and a half feet high, and forty-seven in circumference. On the top is a basin hollowed out, three feet and eleven inches in diameter at a medium, but wider at the brim, and three feet in depth. From the globular shape of the upper stone, it is highly probable that it was rounded by human art, and perhaps even placed on its pedestal by human strength. In Sithney parish, near Helston, in Cornwall, stood the famous logan, or rocking stone, commonly called Men Amber, that is, Men an Bar, or the top stone. It was eleven feet by six, and four high, and so nicely poised on another stone, that a little child could move it. It was much visited by travelers; but Shrubsall, the governor of Pendennis castle, under Cromwell, caused it to be undermined, by dint of much labor, to the great grief of the country. There are some marks of the tool on it; and it seems probable, by its triangular shape, that it was dedicated to Mercury.

THE ROUND TOWERS OF IRELAND.

Every one, almost, has heard of the round towers of Ireland; and yet, who has been able to explain their origin, or solve the mystery that hangs over the history of their builders, and the purposes for which they were erected?

Of these towers, one hundred and seven are known to have existed; but probably there were many more. Some are still perfect, others are in ruins. They bear a general resemblance to each other, seeming, therefore, to have had the same object in view; yet there were many minute points of difference. Some were but forty feet high; others sixty, eighty, and one a hundred and twenty feet. The common hight is about eighty or ninety feet. Most of them were of a cylindrical form, and were covered with a conical roof. They were generally divided into three stories, with a window to each. The door of entrance was from six to twenty-four feet from the ground; but how this was reached is not known. In some cases, they were built of hewn stone, nicely laid in mortar; in others, the stones are merely hammered; in others still, they are small and of all shapes, but always firmly cemented by mortar, nearly as hard as the rock itself.

That these towers are very ancient, is clear from the fact that when Ireland was first invaded by the English, in the twelfth century, they were then deemed antiquities, and no one was able to tell their origin or design. Some have been used as towers and belfries of churches; but these churches were built in later times, and this use of the towers was, evidently, but an adaptation of old structures to new purposes. The fact that near them, in most cases, ancient churches, or their remains, are found, has led to the belief that they were ecclesiastical structures, erected by the early Christians of Ireland. This idea is exploded by the circumstance that no such buildings have ever been known to be erected in any other part of the world, in connection with the Christian religion; nor is it possible to conjecture for what object, as part of Christian worship, they could have been designed.

The more prevalent and probable opinion, on the subject, seems to be this: that they were erected by the Phœnicians or Carthaginians, who are known to have had settlements in Ireland before the Christian era; or that they were built by the remote Irish, who bore the name of Scoti, and who were of Asiatic origin. The object of these buildings, on this supposition, was the preservation of the sacred fire, kindled in honor of Bel, or Baal, a heathen divinity of the east, and who is known to have been worshiped in Ireland. Indeed, to the present day, some of the religious rites of the Irish are evidently but the perpetuation of the ceremonies of their ancestors, turned from their pagan origin and blended with Catholic observances. This view of the origin and object of the round towers is strongly confirmed by the fact that in their vicinity are still to be found the well known relics of ancient paganism, such as the sun-stone, the cromlech, the fire-house, the spring of sacred water, necessary in mystic rites, &c. To this it may be added, that in Persia and India, where fire-worship originated, and has had its most extensive and enduring seat, there are towers of various forms and sizes, ascribed, in their origin, to this species of idolatry. It is probable, therefore, that the early settlers of Ireland brought from Asia, their original country, ideas of religion, which became modified in the course of ages, but which, still remaining essentially the same, displayed themselves in the structures which we have described. The fact that Christian churches, or their remains, are found near these towers in Ireland, does not controvert the opinion we express, as, in the first place, they are evidently more modern than the towers themselves, and are of a different style of architecture; and, moreover, we know that the early Christians often chose, as the seat of their churches, the very sites on which paganism had reared its structures, and not unfrequently adapted the structures themselves to the purposes of Christian worship; a fact which rather confirms than opposes the common theory as to these towers.

ST. PAUL’S CATHEDRAL.

The chief ecclesiastical ornament of London is the cathedral church of St. Paul, which stands in the center of the metropolis, on an eminence rising from the valley of the Fleet. The body of the church is in the form of a cross. Over the space where the lines of that figure intersect each other, rises a stately dome, from the top of which springs a lantern adorned with Corinthian columns, and surrounded at its base by a balcony; on the lantern rests a gilded ball, and on that a cross (gilt also) crowning the ornaments of the edifice. The length of the church, including the portico, is five hundred and ten feet; the breadth, two hundred and eighty-two; the hight to the top of the cross, four hundred and four; the exterior diameter of the dome, one hundred and forty-five; and the entire circumference of the building, twenty-two hundred and ninety-two feet. A dwarf stone wall, supporting a balustrade of cast iron, surrounds the church, and separates a large area, which is properly the church-yard, from a spacious carriage and foot-way on the south side, and a foot pavement on the north.

The dimensions of this cathedral are great; but the grandeur of the design, and the beauty and elegance of its proportions, more justly rank it among the noblest edifices of the modern world. It is adorned with three porticos; one at the principal entrance, facing the west, and running parallel with the opening of Ludgate street and the other two facing the north and south, at the extremities of the cross aisle, and corresponding in their architecture. The western portico combines as much grace and magnificence as any specimen of the kind in the world. It consists of twelve lofty Corinthian columns below, and eight composite above, supporting a grand pediment; the whole resting on an elevated base, the ascent to which is by a flight of twenty-two square steps of black marble, running the entire length of the portico. The portico at the northern entrance consists of a dome, supported by six Corinthian columns, with an ascent of twelve circular steps, of black marble. The southern portico is similar, except that the ascent consists of twenty-five steps, the ground on that side being lower.

The great dome is ornamented with thirty-two columns below, and a range of pilasters above. At the eastern extremity of the church is a circular projection, forming a recess within for the communion table. The walls are wrought in rustic, and strengthened and ornamented by two rows of coupled pilasters, one above the other, the lower being Corinthian, and the other composite. The northern and southern sides have an air of uncommon elegance. The corners of the western front are crowned with turrets of an airy and light form. To relieve the heavy style of the interior, statues and monuments have been erected to the memory of great men. The statues are plain full-length figures, standing on marble pedestals, with appropriate inscriptions, in honor of such men as Dr. Samuel Johnson, Howard the philanthropist, Sir William Jones, &c., &c. Several of the monuments would disgrace the most barbarous age, and ought to be removed. The tomb of the great Nelson is beneath the pavement immediately under the dome.

The two turrets on the right and left of the west front are each two hundred and eight feet in hight. In the one on the southern side is the great clock, the bell of which, weighing eleven thousand, four hundred and seventy-four pounds, and being ten feet in diameter, may be heard in the most distant part of London, when the wind blows toward that quarter. The entire pavement, up to the altar, is of marble, chiefly consisting of square slabs, alternately black and white, and is very justly admired. The floor round the communion table is of the same kind of marble, mingled with porphyry. The communion table has no other beauty; for, though it is ornamented with four fluted pilasters, which are very noble in their form, they are merely painted and veined with gold, in imitation of lapis lazuli. Eight Corinthian columns of blue and white marble, of exquisite beauty, support the organ gallery. The stalls in the choir are beautifully carved, and the other ornaments are of equal workmanship.

This cathedral was built at the national expense, and cost over thirty-five hundred thousand dollars. The iron balustrade on the wall surrounding the space that is properly the church-yard, including its seven iron gates, weighs two hundred tuns, and cost over fifty thousand dollars. This immense edifice was reared in thirty-five years, the first stone being laid on the twenty-first of June, 1675, and the building completed in 1710, exclusive of some of the decorations, which were not finished till 1723. The highest stone of the lantern was laid on by Mr. Christopher Wren, son of the architect, in 1710. It was built by one architect, Sir Christopher Wren; by one mason, Mr. Strong; and while one prelate, Dr. Henry Compton, filled the see of London.

The dimensions of St. Paul’s, from east to west, within the walls, are five hundred and ten feet; from north to south, within the doors of the porticos, two hundred and eighty-two; the breadth of the west entrance, one hundred; its circuit, twenty-two hundred and ninety-two; its hight within, from the center of the floor to the cross, three hundred and forty feet. The circumference of the dome is four hundred and thirty feet; the diameter of the ball, six; from the ball to the top of the cross, thirty; and the diameter of the columns of the porticos, four feet. The hight to the top of the west pediment, under the figure of St. Paul, is one hundred and twenty feet; and that of the tower of the west front, two hundred and eighty-seven. From the bottom of the whispering-gallery are two hundred and eighty steps; including those to the golden gallery, five hundred and thirty-four, and to the ball, in all, six hundred and sixteen steps. The weight of the ball is fifty-six hundred pounds. The weight of the cross is thirty-three hundred and sixty. The extent of the ground whereon this cathedral stands, is two acres and sixteen perches. The length of the hour figures, two feet and two and a half inches; the circumference of the dial is fifty-seven feet.

The whispering-gallery is a very great curiosity. It is one hundred and forty yards in circumference. A stone seat runs round the gallery along the foot of the wall. On the side directly opposite the door by which the visitor enters, several yards of the seat are covered with matting, on which the visitor being seated, the man who shows the gallery, whispers, with the mouth close to the wall, near the door, at the distance of one hundred and forty feet from the visitor, who hears his words in a loud voice, seemingly at his ear. The mere shutting of the door produces a sound to those on the opposite seat like violent claps of thunder. The effect is not so perfect if the visitor sits down half-way between the door and the matted seat, and still less so if he stands near the man who speaks, but on the other side of the door.

The marble pavement of the church is extremely beautiful, seen from this gallery. The paintings on the inner side of the dome, by Sir James Thornhill, are viewed with most advantage here. The ascent to the ball is attended with some difficulty, and is encountered by few, yet both the ball and passage to it well deserve the labor. The diameter of the interior of the ball is nearly six feet, and twelve persons may sit within it.

The prospect from every part of the ascent to the top of St. Paul’s, wherever an opening presents itself, is extremely curious. The effect is most complete from the gallery surrounding the foot of the lantern. The metropolis, from that spot, has a mimic appearance, like the objects in a fantoccino. The streets, the pavements, the carriages, and foot-passengers, have the appearance of fairy ground and fairy objects. The spectator, contemplating the bustle of the diminutive throng below, is moved a little out of the sphere of his usual sympathy with them; and, as if they were emmets, asks himself involuntarily, “About what are those little, inconsequential animals engaged?”

The form of the metropolis, and the adjacent country, is most perfectly seen from the gallery at the foot of the lantern, on a bright summer day. The ascent to this gallery is by five hundred and thirty-four steps, of which two hundred and sixty, nearest the bottom, are extremely easy; those above difficult, and in some parts dark and unpleasant. In the ascent to this gallery may be seen the brick cone that supports the lantern, with its ball and cross; the outer dome being turned on the outside of the cone, and the inner dome turned on the inside. The entire contrivance to produce the effect within the church and on the outside, intended by the architect, is extremely fine, even marvelous. From the pavement of the church, the interior appears one uninterrupted dome to the upper extremity; but it consists, in fact, of two parts, the lower and principal dome having a large circular aperture at its top, through which is seen a small dome, which appears to be part of the great and lower dome, although entirely separated from it, being turned also within the cone, though considerably above it.

THE FIRST CHURCH IN ENGLAND.

Before passing to speak of Westminster Abbey, which next to St. Paul’s is the great ecclesiastical edifice of London, it may be interesting to go back to the earliest church-building in Britain, and notice the kind of edifices in which our remote ancestors assembled for divine worship. One of these buildings is represented in the cut below; as to which only a few words of explanation will be needed. About the close of the sixth century, it is said, the pope sent Austin, with some forty missionaries, to convert Britain to popery. Many of the ancient Britons, however, shut themselves up in the fastnesses of Wales, and refused to be either persuaded or driven to embrace the new faith which he proclaimed. Still Austin went on with his work, and the more efficiently to fulfill it, erected rude edifices, in which to gather the people, to teach them, and train them to the forms of worship. The first building erected under his auspices, was at Glastonbury, in the county of Somerset. The view given of it above is from Somme’s “Britannia Antiqua Illustrata;” and the following particulars about the building itself are taken mainly from the “Chronicles of William of Malmesbury.” Its length was sixty feet, and its breadth twenty-six. Its walls were made of twigs winded and twisted together, “after the ancient custom that kings’ palaces were used to be built.” “Nay, castles themselves in those daies were formed of the same materials, and weaved together.” Its roof was of straw, “or, after the nature of the soil in that place, of hay or rushes.” The top of the door reached to the roof; it had three windows on the south side, and one on the east, over the altar, or communion-table. Such was the rude and humble building in which Austin first preached to those that he was able to gather to hear the gospel from his lips.

WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

This interesting edifice derives its name of Westminster Abbey from its situation in the western part of the metropolis, and its original destination as the church of a monastery. The present church was built by Henry III. and his successors, with the exception of the two towers at the western entrance, which are the work of Sir Christopher Wren. The length of the church is three hundred and sixty feet; the breadth of the nave seventy-two feet; and the cross aisle one hundred and ninety-five feet. The roof of the nave and of the cross aisle is supported by two rows of arches, one above the other, each of the pillars of which is a union of one ponderous round pillar, and four of similar form, but extremely slender. These aisles being extremely lofty, and one of the small pillars continued, throughout, from the base to the roof, produce an effect uncommonly grand and impressive. The choir is one of the most beautiful in Europe. It is divided from the western part of the great aisle by a pair of noble iron gates, and is terminated at the east by an elegant altar of white marble. The altar is inclosed with a very fine balustrade, and in the center of its floor is a large square of curious mosaic work, of porphyry, and other stones of various colors. In this choir, near the altar, is performed the ceremony of crowning the kings and queens of England.

At the southern extremity of the cross aisle are erected monuments to the memory of several of the most eminent poets. This interesting spot is called the poet’s corner; and never could place be named with more propriety; for here are to be found the names of Chaucer, Spenser, Shakspeare, Ben Jonson, Milton, Dryden, Butler, Thomson, Gay, Goldsmith, Addison, Johnson, &c. Here also, as if this spot was dedicated to all genius of the highest rank, are the tombs of Handel, Chambers, and Garrick.

The curiosities of Westminster Abbey consist chiefly of its highly interesting chapels, at the eastern end of the church, with their tombs. Immediately behind the altar stands a chapel dedicated to Edward the Confessor, upon an elevated floor, to which there is a flight of steps on the northern side. The shrine of the Confessor, which stands in the center, was erected by Henry III., and was curiously ornamented with mosaic work of colored stones, which have been picked away in every part within reach. Within the shrine is a chest, containing the ashes of the Confessor. The frieze representing his history from his birth to his death, put up in the time of Henry III., is highly curious, and deserves the study and attention of every lover of antiquity. The tomb of Henry III. is in this chapel: it has been extremely splendid, but is now mutilated. The table on which lies the king’s effigy in brass, is supported by four twisted pillars, enameled with gilt. This tomb, which is a fine specimen of its kind, is almost entire on the side next the area. It likewise contains the tombs of Edward I. and his queen, Eleanor; of Edward III. and Queen Philippa; of Richard II. and his queen; of Margaret, daughter of King Edward IV.; of King Henry V.; and of Elizabeth, daughter of King Henry VII.

The grand monument of Henry V. is inclosed by an iron gate. The great arch over the tomb is full of ribs and panels, and the headless figure of Henry still remains: the head was of solid silver, and was stolen during the civil wars. There was a chantry directly over the tomb, which had an altarpiece of fine carved work. The armor of Henry once hung round this chantry; his helmet yet remains on the bar, and the very saddle which he rode at the battle of Agincourt, stripped of everything which composed it, except the wood and iron, hangs on the right.

Contiguous to the eastern extremity of the church, and opening into it, stands the famous chapel of Henry VII. dedicated to the Virgin Mary, one of the finest and most highly finished pieces of Gothic architecture in the world. On its site formerly stood a chapel, dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and also a tavern, distinguished by the sign of the White Rose. Henry, resolving to erect a superb mausoleum for himself and his family, pulled down the old chapel and tavern; and on the eleventh of February, 1503, the first stone of the present edifice was laid by Abbot Islip, at the command of the king. It cost seventy thousand dollars, a prodigious sum for that period, (equal to fourteen hundred thousand dollars of our money;) and still more so, considering the parsimonious temper of the king. The labor merely of working the materials will, at a glance, be seen to be immense, and almost incredible; and the genius employed both in this structure and Henry’s tomb, must be mentioned with admiration.

The exterior of this chapel is remarkable for the richness and variety of its form, occasioned chiefly by fourteen towers, in an elegant proportion to the body of the edifice, and projecting in different angles from the outermost wall. It has of late years been repaired and renewed with exquisite taste, and at great cost. The inside is approached by the area behind the chapels of Edward the Confessor and Henry V. The floor is elevated above that of the area, and the ascent is by a flight of marble steps. The entrance is ornamented with a beautiful Gothic portico of stone, within which are three large gates of gilt brass, of most curious open workmanship, every panel being adorned with a rose and a portcullis alternately.

The chapel consists of the nave and two small aisles. The center is ninety-nine feet in length, sixty-six in breadth, and fifty-four in hight, and terminates at the east in a curve, having five deep recesses of the same form. The entrance to these recesses being by open arches, they add greatly to the relief and beauty of the building. It is probable that they were originally so many smaller chapels, destined to various uses. The side aisles are in a just proportion to the center, with which they communicate by four arches, turned on Gothic pillars. Each of them is relieved by four recesses, a window running the whole hight of each recess, and being most minute and curious in its divisions. The upper part of the nave has its four windows on each side, and ten at the eastern extremity, five above and five below. The entire roof of the chapel, including the side aisles, and the curve at the end, is of wrought stone, in the Gothic style, and of most exquisite beauty.

An altar tomb, erected by Henry, at the cost of fifty thousand dollars, to receive his last remains, stands in the center of the chapel. It is of basaltic stone, ornamented with gilt brass, and is surrounded with a magnificent railing of the same. This monument is by Pietro Torregiano, a Florentine sculptor, and possesses uncommon merit. Six devices in bass-relief, and four statues, all of gilt brass, adorn the tomb. It is impossible to conceive Gothic beauty of a higher degree than the whole of the interior of Henry the Seventh’s chapel; and it is with regret that the antiquary sees the stalls of the knights reared against the pillars and arches of the nave, forming screens that separate the smaller aisles from the body of the chapel, and diminish the airiness, and interrupt the harmony of the plan. Since its restoration in 1820, this chapel has formed one of the most beautiful adjuncts of the abbey, affording one of the most beautiful specimens of its peculiar style.

The prospect from the top of one of the western towers, the ascent to which consists of two hundred and eighty-three steps, is infinitely more beautiful, though less extensive, than that from St. Paul’s. The many fine situations and open sites at the west end of the town, and its environs, occasion the difference. The banqueting-house at Whitehall, St. James’s park, with the parade and Horse-guards, Carlton house, the gardens of the queen’s palace, the Green park, the western end of Piccadilly, and Hyde park, with its river, lie at once under the eye, and compose a most grand and delightful scene. The bridges of Westminster, Waterloo, and Blackfriars, with the broad expanse of water between them, the Adelphi and Somerset house on its banks, St. Paul’s stupendous pile, and the light Gothic steeple of St. Dunstan’s in the East, are alike embraced with one glance, and happily contrast with the former prospect. From this tower, the exterior form of St. Paul’s, when the sun falls upon it, is distinctly seen: and here its exquisite beauty will be more fully comprehended than in any part of the city, for a sufficient area to take in the entire outline is not there to be found.

CATHEDRAL OF NOTRE DAME.

Passing from England to the continent, one of the first church edifices that attracts attention, both as to its antiquity and grandeur, is the cathedral of Notre Dame, in Paris. This vast erection of world-wide fame, stands on an island in the Seine, where was the center of the old city of the Parisii in the days of Julius Cæsar. It is a cruciform structure, four hundred and forty-two feet long, one hundred and sixty-two wide, and more than one hundred feet high to the vaulting of the roof, having all the characteristics of a vast ancient Gothic cathedral. It was begun in the year 1010, and was nearly four hundred years in building, not being finished till 1407. At the west end are two lofty towers, each two hundred and thirty-five feet high, designed as bases for steeples, which as yet have never been added. The inside of the church has a very splendid and imposing appearance, owing to its numerous aisles and chapels; and the west front, with its three large gates, and circular window, and noble gateway, is worthy of the highest admiration. In its imposing appearance, no church in Paris will compare with it.

STRASBURG CATHEDRAL.

But by far the most magnificent church edifice in all France, is the cathedral of Strasburg, a view of which is given in the cut, and which is famous all over the world. Till the time of Louis XIV., Strasburg was a free imperial city; but he seized, and the French have for one hundred and fifty years held it, as a frontier fortress, and the key to Germany. In the city there are many objects of interest, one of the most conspicuous of which is a colossal bronze statue of John Guttenberg, who here first practiced the art of printing; another is a colossal bronze monument, in honor of General Kleber; and still another is a beautiful monument to the memory of Marshal Saxe. But the wonder of the city is the cathedral, the spire of which rises four hundred and seventy-four feet above the pavement, which is nearly as high as the great pyramid of Egypt, and one hundred and forty feet higher than St. Paul’s. Still, owing to the large dimensions of the building, and the light and graceful structure of the spire, it does not impress the observer as being of this extraordinary altitude. The nave of the church is two hundred and thirty feet high, and the round window at the end is forty-eight feet in diameter. This wonderful structure was begun nearly eight hundred years ago. The material is red sandstone, obtained in the vicinity, which has proved very enduring; the church has therefore suffered very little from time, and the chiseled and carved material, after so many centuries of exposure to the weather, retains the sharpness of outline which it had when first finished.

The artist who designed this admirable masterpiece of airy open-work, was Erwin, of Steinbach: his plans are still preserved in the town. He died in 1318, when the work was only half finished: it was continued by his son, and afterward by his daughter Sabina. The tower, begun 1277, was not completed till 1439, long after their deaths, and four hundred and twenty-four years after the church was commenced. It was then finished by John Hültz, of Cologne, who was summoned to Strasburg for this end. Had the original design been carried into execution, both the towers would have been raised to the same hight. A doorway, in the south side of the truncated tower, leads to the summit of the spire. On the platform, about two-thirds of the way up, is a telegraph, and a station for the watchmen, who are set to look out for fires. One of them will accompany those who wish to mount the upper spire, and will unlock the iron gate which closes the passage. There is no difficulty or danger in the ascent, to a person of ordinary nerve or steadiness of head; but the stone-work of the steeple is so completely open, and the pillars which support it are so wide apart, and cut so thin, that they more nearly resemble a collection of bars of iron or wood; so that at such a hight one might almost fancy one’s self in a cage, high up, over the city, rather than in the steeple of a church that has stood firm for ages.

The cathedral, as already said, was intended to have two towers, like those of the cathedrals of York and Westminster, in England; but as the expense is enormous, it is probable that the existing tower will remain solitary. This deficiency gives the building a disfigured appearance, especially as the unfinished tower, which is square, rises but half-way. Externally, Strasburg cathedral is distinguished by a light and airy gracefulness, both of structure and material; the sandstone is cut and carved into a thousand forms, some of them, especially in the finished tower, extremely delicate and beautiful. Even the statues and images, which are very numerous, are chiseled out of sandstone, which has an agreeable color of reddish gray. There is not an image of marble upon the whole building. The number of images that cluster around the portal and adhere to its walls is very great: they form a host of little beings, in addition to the statues of full size. Indeed, the profusion of these decorations appears to be extravagant both in point of taste and economy, and some are quite out of place. In a temple, a building devoted to religion, it is not easy to understand the propriety of mounting men on horseback high up in the towers; for such aerial equestrians are to be seen here, sentinel-like, in positions where saints and angels would seem more appropriate ornaments. In the interior of this cathedral there is a simple dignity and grandeur, a holy majesty that is almost overpowering. The magnificent rows of columns of gigantic dimensions and altitude, seen in long perspective, exceed in effect all we can well imagine. The extreme richness of the windows, filled on both sides with stained glass, commemorating, both historically and allegorically, the events of the Bible, and the characters and catastrophes of saints and martyrs, fills both the eye and the mind with delight; and when we turn from gazing to the right and the left along the extended line of lateral windows, and look upon the vast circle of gorgeous light which streams down from the great picture luminary at the end, (a circular window forty-eight feet in diameter, and presenting, in radiating lines, more than the colors of the rainbow,) we are ready to exclaim that Art has not fallen short of Nature in beauty, while she excels her in the permanency of her hues, which have not here been dimmed by the lapse of centuries; and if no violence is committed on this temple, they will be equally brilliant after a thousand years more shall have passed away.

There is in this cathedral a wonderful clock, which has been substituted for an older one that has been removed. The present clock was constructed by a man who is still living; it appears to be about fifty feet high, and more than half that width; it was mute for fifty years, but is now again a living chronometer. Among its many performances are the following. It tells the hours, half-hours and quarter-hours, and the bells which make the report of the flight of time, are struck by automaton figures. A youth strikes the quarter, a mature man the half-hour, and an old man, as the figure of Time, the full hour. This clock tells also the times and seasons of ecclesiastical events, as far as they are associated with astronomical phenomena, and it gives the phases of the moon and the equation of time. At noon, a cock, mounted on a pillar, crows thrice, when a procession of the apostles comes out, and passes in view of the Saviour: among them is Peter, who, shrinking from the eye of his Lord, shows, by his embarrassed demeanor, that he has heard the crowing of the cock, and has fully understood its meaning. Among the movements of its automatons, is that of a beautiful youth, who turns an hour-glass every fifteen minutes. There is also a celestial orrery, that shows the motions of the heavenly bodies with great accuracy and beauty.

CATHEDRAL OF COLOGNE.

The cathedral of Cologne is at once its ornament and its reproach. It was begun in 1248 by the elector Conrad, more than six hundred years ago, but it is not yet finished, although the present Prussian king is expending vast sums upon it. Since the city has passed under the Prussian dominion, and more especially since the accession of the present king, important aid has been obtained from the government. The unfinished towers are rising year by year; and if the annual supplies that have been granted are continued, another fifteen years may possibly see it completed. The estimated expense of finishing it is five million dollars. It is considered as a very fine specimen of the Gothic architecture. One tower, that on the front, is completed. This cathedral is exceedingly gorgeous in decorations, combining all the features that belong to that species of architecture. The choir is finished, and exceeds in splendid beauty almost everything of the kind which the traveler will meet with in Europe. It is very rich in stained glass, and this is true also of the body of the church. Much of the pictured glass is modern: it is set in the same window with the ancient, and is not inferior to it in splendor. The cathedral is paved with rude, common stones, doubtless intended to be temporary only, and to be in due time replaced by marble. It was originally intended that the towers of this cathedral should be five hundred feet high. The dimensions on the ground are four hundred feet by one hundred and eighty. The nave is supported by one hundred columns, of which the middle ones are forty feet in circumference.

CHURCH OF ST. MARK, AT VENICE.

This splendid old church has well been described as “a stupendous pile of oriental magnificence.” A thousand years do not cover the whole period of its existence. It is adorned with the columns and gems of the east, and no wonder, for every Venetian captain of a ship and every traveler of that nation was required to bring home something to adorn this temple: Greece and Constantinople, Palestine and all Europe, have contributed to its embellishment. It is totally unlike almost every other temple. It has round arches and regular domes, and from every part of them, there look down upon you, in permanent mosaic of gold and colored stones, and even precious gems, colossal images of the Saviour, of the virgin mother, of apostles and saints, and of multiform beings of religious allegory, so numerous and various, and so fresh, rich, and gorgeous, that you are quite bewildered, and involuntarily drop your eyes to the floor, where you are almost equally dazzled by the precious marbles, and jaspers, and serpentines, and verd-antique, and red porphyry, disposed in endless variety of most beautiful patterns, as if it had been the work of a magician artist. You read there also the instability of human glory in the worn and mutilated condition of parts of the pavement, and in the waving hollows and upward curves which prove that its foundations were laid in the sea. You again lift your eyes, and in the permanent mosaics (for no perishable frescoes or oil paintings are here) you read in large and distinct historical figures the early Bible history of our race, and the annals of the patriarchal families. Around the church, hang rich lamps of silver and gold. Huge candles and lights perpetually burning, symbolize the immortality of the soul. Passing out of the church, precious columns are on your right and on your left, columns of marble and porphyry brought from Constantinople, and Jerusalem, and St. Jean d’Acre. Lifting your eyes again to the roof, you there see domes, and dome upon dome; minarets and carvings in arabesque, and other rich forms of oriental architecture, with images and statues innumerable, standing as sentinels on all the cornices and angles, and in the niches.

THE CATHEDRAL OF MILAN.

Passing on to the last of the church edifices to be described, we come to the cathedral of Milan. A good picture is necessary to give even a faint impression of the richness and harmonious proportions of this wonderful building; but it is possible, from description, to form a correct conception of its magnitude, and of its principal parts. Its length is four hundred and eighty-five feet; breadth, two hundred and fifty-two; breadth across the transepts, two hundred and eighty-seven feet; hight of the nave, one hundred and fifty-three feet. The hight from the pavement to the top of the crown of the Madonna, on the summit of the spire, is three hundred and fifty-five feet. This cathedral is one of the most stupendous piles ever erected; but it is not yet finished, although it has been almost five hundred years in building. Several duomos have been destroyed that once occupied this place. The first cathedral was destroyed by Attila in the fifth century; the second was burnt by accident in 1075; and the third was partially ruined by Frederic Barbarossa. A lofty bell-tower, demolished by him, crushed the duomo in its fall. The first stone of the present cathedral was laid in March, 1386, by G. G. Visconti.

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