bird, and with human voice." Then followed a pedigree: "It sprang from the union of Orthos with the Chimæra, or of Typhon with | Echidna, or of Typhon with Chimera; that it was sent by Juno into the neighbourhood of Thebes to punish the family of Cadmus, which she persecuted with great hatred;" that the Sphinx proposed riddles, devouring the inhabitants in default of guessing them; that the most famous riddle was, "What animal is it that first walks on four feet, then on two, and finally on three?" That Creon, King of Thebes, was so distressed at the wholesale devouring of his people consequent on the non-discovery of these riddles, that he promised his crown, and his sister Jocasta in marriage, to anyone who could answer the enigma. The people of Thebes meanwhile had in their dire need consulted the oracle, and learned, not the answer to the riddle, but the very comforting information that, "should the answer be discovered, the Sphinx would destroy herself." Here, then, was a most favourable chance for adventurers! a crown and a wife prizes for the victor, and certain destruction to the Sphinx as a consequence of success. Edipus was equal to the emergency, and solved the riddle by declaring that it was man who walked first on all fours in childhood, then on two feet in full age, and finally on three feet, two being supplemented by a staff in old age. No doubt Edipus gained his crown and wife, and history further adds that the Sphinx at once dashed out her brains against a rock. Another authority informed me that there were several statues of the Sphinx in Egypt; and that "the Sphinx was a symbol of religion." Research, however, as to the history of the particular Sphinx situate in close proximity to the Pyramids, utterly failed me till I alighted on an old work on "The Process of Embalming," by Thomas Greenhill, chirurgus, proposing a better method of embalming, and published in 1705, A.D. From this learned work I beg leave to extract the following before resuming the thread of my personal narrative: "At some distance south-east of the biggest Pyramid stands the Sphinx, so famous among the ancients. 'Tis a statue or image cut out of the main rock, representing the head of a woman with half her breast, but is at present sunk or buried in the sand to the very neck. It is an extraordinary great mass, but withal proportionable, although the head of itself be 26 foot high, and from the ear to the chin 15 foot, according to the measure the Sieur Thevenot took of it. At a distance it seems five stones joined together, but coming nearer one may discover what was taken for the joinings of the stones was properly nothing but the veins in the rock. Pliny says that this served for a tomb to King Amasis**** Some will have it a certain Egyptian king caused this Sphinx to be made in memory of Rhodope of Corinth, with whom he was passionately in love." My only apology for inserting the above lies in the probability that, from the difficulty I experienced in learning even so

much of the history of this wonderful figure, little as the information be, it may yet be not universally known. To return, however, to the thread of my personal narrative: we duly inspected as much of the Sphinx as is visible above ground, and, although a great part is still hidden by sand, a much greater portion of the body is now visible than was the case at the time described in the rare and curious work of Mr. Greenhill, from which I have quoted. The features, which are of course colossal in size, have been much injured by time and the action of the weather, if not by some more insensate and mischievous action. The face, however, still retains enough of its original expression to vouch for its having been a pleasant one. Besides the Pyramids and the Sphinx, there is in their locality a further object of interest presented by the famous rock-cut caves. These caves, or as Abdallah called them, "Colonel Campbell's Tombs," were evidently intended for the purposes of sepulture, and in some cases were ornamented with hieroglyphics. Our first impression on hearing Abdallah's invitation, Come see Colonel Cambell tombs," was that we were about to visit the last resting-place of some distinguished compatriot who had perhaps met his death in the vicinity. A moment's inspection, however, served to remove our first impression, and to substitute for it the conclusion that this Colonel Campbell must have been the most recent excavator.

Having at length completed our examination of the wonders in this locality, it was resolved

to

begin our homeward journey. Little occurred in the way of incident such as to distinguish our return journey to Cairo from that of the early morning's ride. The day was still young when we reached Shepherd's Hotel, and, as the sun was at its greatest heat, we resolved to have luncheon and remain withindoors for a couple of hours. Our dragoman, meanwhile, applied at the office of the Consul for the permission in writing required for admission to the country palace of the Pacha. The "Pacha's Gardens," as this luxurious retreat is called, lie but a short way from the city, and furnish an object for a pleasant carriagedrive. As soon as the fierce heat of the sun had abated, we found the dragoman in waiting, and were soon seated in comfortable open carriages, and enroute to the country palace. We had scarcely got over the first half-mile or so of our drive ere the cavalcade was broken, by the refusal of one pair of horses to draw their carriage any further. Now, as the road was level, and a good one, this interruption was most unexpected and annoying. We had no time to waste in prolonging the fruitless endeavours of the driver to coax his horses into obedience; so, unharnessing them, we caused him to ride back "post haste" for another pair. These latter at length arrived, heralded by the usual cloud of dust, and were soon hurrying us after our more fortunate companions in advance. Finally, after a very dusty drive, we reached

the beautiful gardens, the extent and magnificence of which might well cause the visitor to envy the lucky possessor. Subsequent history, however, could we have had a knowledge by anticipation of its plots, &c., might have tempered that feeling.

After traversing the tastefully-laid-out grounds we were conducted into the palace itself. This consists of a quadrangular range of buildings, enclosing in the centre an extensive marble fish-pond. We passed through several magnificently-furnished saloons and chambers, and spent considerable time in examining the rich and costly Parisian meubles they contained.

On returning to our hotel, we found that one carriage-load of our companions had failed altogether in reaching the palace; and had, through the obstinacy of their horses, to return ingloriously to Cairo. Next morning we began our return journey to Alexandria; as the scenes however, through which we steamed along, were similar even in the chance groupings of the wandering Arabs to those I have already described, I shall not weary the reader by any reiterating description of them. Instead of any such course, I shall take the liberty of transporting him at once to the sites of Pompey's Pillar and Cleopatra's Needle in succession. The pillar, so much associated with the name of Pompey, is said by modern savans to have been dedicated, if not originally at all events even tually, to the Emperor Dioclesian. In proof of this, an inscription interpreted in modern days is adduced. Be the origin or first purpose what it may, the existence of a pillar of upwards of one hundred feet in height is in itself an object of great interest, and presents perhaps the most ornamental record of antiquity. The base of Pompey's Pillar measures 12 feet; the shaft, which is of one unbroken stone, measures 90 feet in length and is 9 feet in diameter. The stone of which the shaft is composed is porphyry, and not granite, as is sometimes stated. The capital adds 10 feet to the general height. This latter is said to be of sufficient area to have once accommodated a dinner-party of twelve persons. Without pausing to remark upon the trite saying "there is no accounting for taste," one can scarcely believe in any dozen diners being so hardy as to venture on a banquet there. We were told that a British sailor did on one occasion ascend this pillar to hoist a Union-Jack upon it; but the feat, however flattering to the national hardihood of the "tar," led to an interdict upon any subsequent feat of the same sort. Some writers have suggested that Pompey's Pillar was originally one of four, constituting part of a temple. For this opinion, however, so far as corroborative evidence is concerned, there is little ground, inasmuch as there are no remains of any of the pillars, and history is silent as to the existence of any such temple. On the base of the pillar were, at the time of my visit, and perchance yet remain, painted the characters" G. Bulton," in black. Some snob

of the first water had, undoubtedly, by thus adscribing his illustrious name, sought to achieve imperishable fame. The unavoidable feeling, however, produced by sight of this signature of a Goth, is one of unmixed disgust. G. Bulton, however, would not, I am certain, either understand why this should be or appreciate the feeling, so I gladly leave him to his notoriety, such as it is, without inquiring further as to who he may have been. The only remaining lion now to be described, is the far-famed obelisk known as Cleopatra's Needle. This really wonderful shaft is covered with hieroglyphics, and stands in the middle of a slate and timber yard. Its shape is quadrangular, and slightly larger at the base than at top. It seems merely to rest upon the earth, without any counter-sinking, or foundation. Near to the site of the needle lies another similar but recumbent pillar, said to be the property of the Crystal Palace Company. The juxta-position of slates and rubbish exercises, it must be admitted, a depreciating influence upon these stone-book vouchers of a by-gone age. The neglected state in which the fallen pillar is left, being, as we were told, the gift of the Pacha to the British people, contrasts unfavourably with the care taken of its sister, the third of this trio, now set up in the Place de la Concorde in Paris.

The Needle was the last of our sights, so without making any bad puns on the eye, I may go on to say that we now at once returned to our carriages and drove to the transit wharf. Boats were here easily obtained, and our party was soon duly embarked. An hour's pull, however, was rather damping to our enthusiasm, and we were not sorry to perceive signs of approaching the ship. Our boatmen pulled lustily to their own songs' time. Of the song I cannot say much in commendation, seeing that it was a mere repetition of the words "Allah Anabin." The translation of these words I am not, I regret to say, able to subjoin; and the reiteration of them lasted till we got alongside. Thus ends the account of an excursion, pleasant at the time, and living still greenly in the minds of all who took part in it.

AN IDEA-TRUE AND BEAUTIFUL.-"I cannot believe that the earth is man's abiding place. It cannot be that our life is cast up by the ocean of eternity to float a moment upon its waves and sink into nothingness! Else why is it that the aspirations which heap like angels from the temple of our hearts that the rainbow and the cloud come over us with a are forever wandering about unsatisfied? Why is it beauty that is not of earth, then pass off and leave us to muse upon their faded loveliness? Why is it that the stars who hold their festival around the midnight throne are set above the grasp of our limited faculties, forever mocking us with their unapproachable glory? And, finally, why is it that bright forms of human beauty are presented to our view, and then taken from us? We are born for a higher destiny than that of earth.”

We often hear of grand old picture-galleries, through which the gothic windows the mellow light of an Italian sun comes streaming in upon many an ancient picture, wrought by the skilful hands of the great masters. Thither throng the art-pilgrims from every land; and as they wander through the silent corridors, within the soul-entrancing presence of an ideal humanity, and study with reverential zeal each creation of the painter's imainatgion, they forget the many weary miles of their pilgrimage; and, drinking full draughts of inspiration from the very fountain of art, yield themselves to the absorbing pleasures of an art-student's life. Thus would we enter through the majestic portals into the grand temple of Shakspeare's genius, wherein are gathered all those wondrous portraits which the great master painted in living, burning words of " English undefiled." Here, in the sparkling sunlight, we see the laughing, loving Juliet; there, in the gloomy shadow, the incarnate fiend Lady Macbeth; here the "jolly tun of flesh," that mocking riddle, Sir John Falstaff, with his capon and his quart of sack; there the noblehearted Brutus, soul-sick and weary, surely working out his mournful destiny.

Christian, Pagan, Greek, and Roman, kings and jesters, knaves and nobles, "queenlie soules" of noble women, mobs of "the sweaty night-cap," airy sprites and "tricksy faeries," witches, ghosts, and sea-nymphs lovely-all humanity, and the spirits to boot, find we in this magic world of Shakspeare,

From the motley crowd that throngs around us, we select for notice and development Marcus Brutus, the hero of the tragedy of Julius Cæsar.

It is as the hero of a tragedy that Brutus claims our notice, and that a Christian tragedy; for Shakspeare is by pre-eminecne the Christian poet. His tragic idea is not that of heathenish fatalism, that represents the strong man relentlessly pursued by inexorable fate, and struggling with all the energy of despair against its invincible decrees; for with him, in the words of Ulrici, "the tragic element consists in the sufferings and final ruin of the humanly great, noble, and beautiful which have fallen a prey to human weakness." The simple story of the "young man whom Jesus loved," around whose unspoken fate hangs such an air of ineffable sadness, contains the essence of the Christian

tragedy. Sophocles, master of the heathen art, plunges his dipus Tyrannus into the blackest gulf of torment and despair, because, in obedi ence to the inevitable decree of the gods, he unwittingly kills his father, and dishonours bis bed. But Shakspeare, the great creator, as well as the unrivalled master of the Christian art, makes his "noble Brutus," endowed with an almost perfect manhood, bring upon himself, by his own moral and intellectual weakness, the awful punishment of outraged justice.

The development of the central character of a play must of necessity be the development of the plot. So it was that Shakspeare wrote. One grand central thought expressed in the plot, and every other thought and feeling centering in that. One character, the incarnation of his grand idea, and every other character tributary and subservient to its development. Thus it was that he reared those mighty monuments to the lasting glory of his name, and the increasing wonder of humanity: not a part superfluous, not a stone wanting; stupendous as the Pyramids, beautiful as the palace of the "Faerie Queen." His genius was the architect. His characters are the outgrowth of his soul. And if it were permitted us to deify genius, most aptly would Emerson's exquisite lines develope our meaning:

"These temples grew as grows the grass;
Art might obey, but not surpass.
The passive master lent his hand
To the vast soul that o'er him planned.
And out of thought's interior sphere,
These wonders rose to upper air;
And Nature gladly gave them place,
Adopted them into her race,
And granted them an equal date
With Andes and with Ararat,

The hand that rounded Peter's dome,
And groined the isles of Christian Rome,
Wrought in a sad sincerity;

Himself from God he could not free;
He builded better than he knew,
The conscious stone to beauty grew."

When we speak, then, of Shakspeare's art we speak of it so far as he himself is concerned, objectively. As we follow in his giant strides, there is revealed to us at every step an uncon scious skill, of which, as he strode onward to his one grand thought, he knew not. When we look at the consummate art of Antony's oration to the people, it is Antony's skill that commends