tleman wrapped in a cloak come into her little room, she thought it must be a doctor; and the Emperor did not undeceive her, but listened to all she said, and then wrote a few words, and bade her send her little boy to fetch that medicine. He left the paper on the table and went away. But he was scarcely gone, when home came the little boy with a real doctor, quite happy, because now he thought his mother would be well once more. She wondered very much, and could only say to this new doctor, that she had had a prescription already, and was going to send for the medicine. But who was it that gave it you," said

TO A FRIEND, ON THE LOSS OF HIS FIRST-BORN.

DEAR Friend, I will not mock thee with a page

Of worldly consolation, cold advice

To soothe unwonted sorrows, far too nice For laboured arguments, like these, to assuage.

Such "vain philosophy" suits heathen sage:

But we have brighter hopes the soul to entice

From sorrow's cell, to Heaven's own Paradise ;

And with new joys the mourner's heart

to engage.

Let Rachel weep because her babes are not:

Yet weep not thou for thy lost innocent; But o'er the rising turf of that sweet spot With thy fond spouse in gladsome sorrow bent,

Whisper, while tears her gentle eyes bedim,

"He will not come to us,-but we inay go to him." A. B.

GENTLE THOUGHTS. OH! kindly think of these few words, he said,

Perchance they seemed unkind-yet what are words

But empty sounds and airy nothingness, Which for a day fill wonder-loving minds, Then pass away as do our summer friends? Think gently then-think of his kindly words

In years gone by; when, bowed by sorrow down,

He spake to you of brighter, happier days.

My friend, said he; my good friend, cheer thee up.

The highest mountain is by patience climb'd;

The longest journey is by patience run. Despair and doubt swift fled away, and

then

Buckling life's armour on, ye fought and

won.

Think gently then; thy friend is still the

same;

His unkind words forget. Again he is The kindly counsellor-the gentle friend.

R. K.

On the 9th of December, in the company of two friends and a dragoman, I started on donkey-back, for a visit to the Pyramids of Gizeh. We left the hotel at eight, and, proceeding in a south-westerly direction, crossed the Nile above the island of Roda, on which are gardens belonging to the Pacha. There was a thick fog on the river, so that from the middle of the stream we could not see the banks, nor could we discern the town of Gizeh, lying nearly opposite Roda, until we had reached the shore. After crossing the Nile we passed through a lovely grove of palms, but owing to the continued denseness of the fog, could obtain no very distinct view of the Pyramids. The remains of the overflowings of the Nile rendered it necessary for us to be carried in one or two places, while the donkeys found their own way as best they could.

The position of the Pyramids on a raised platform of rock covered with sand on the confines of the Lybian desert recalls the Egyptian belief of the Lands of the Dead, and the expanse where departed spirits were supposed to roam for ages. I was also impressed with the apparent probability of the theory of Herodotus, that the Nile valley (which is in fact Egypt), was originally a gulf or long inlet of the Mediterranean, which was gradually filled up by the continual deposits of the Nile. The appearance of the Pyramids themselves has been too frequently described to need much comment. Until close under them, their extreme vastness is not apparent, and

it requires to ascend them to comprehend their marvellous magnitude.

Disagreeable as are the operations of ascending and descending the Great Pyramid, far more unpleasant than either is the baksheesh (present) persecution sustained by every visitor from the Arabs who lionize the monument. This would perhaps be remedied by the Egyptian government, did they not partake of the plunder by means of a heavy tax levied upon the particular village where these Arabs live.

Many of the tombs surrounding the Pyramids are nearly as old and as interesting as the Pyramids themselves. In one of these are sculptures representing various trades, boats, a feast, a farm, and butchers slaughtering an ox and sharpening their knives on a steel rod, &c. Thus long before Abraham encamped in Mamre, were the arts of human life known and practised in the great city of Memphis. The Pyramids and tombs extending along the ridge of the Lybian desert, from Dashoor and Sakkara to Gizeh, were the burying-places of Memphis and Heliopolis. Within a few years of the flood the children of Ham must have commenced peopling the valley of the Nile, and within one or two centuries some of those mighty works are supposed to have been completed.

From the summit of the great Pyramid the eye surveys the vast plain of Memphis, bounded to the east by the desert of Suez and the citadel and minarets of Cairo, and divided and watered by the broad Nile. No plain in the whole world,

Presently the Patriarch entered the room, and, being seated, conversed freely with all those present who could understand him. Orange flower marmalade and water as well as coffee and pipes, were (according to Oriental fashion) presented to each. In parting, I kissed the Patriarch's hand and received his blessing.

After leaving the house of the Patriarch, my Greek friend took me to pay some of the customary Sunday visits, where the ladies, decked out in their most splendid ornaments, again presented me with lemon-flower sweatmeat, water, and coffee.

That same evening, I saw the sun-set from the citadel of Cairo. The vast and closely packed city, with its forest of minarets, lay beneath my feet, and the broad plain, divided by the Nile, stretched to the western horizon of sandy mountains, where the race of Memphis laid their dead. Sakkära and Gizeh with their Pyramids are visible in the distance, and the great River of Egypt may be seen for thirty miles or more, while the foreground of the city and its surrounding tombs, lie, map-like, just below. I thought of Florence from Fiesole, and of Rome from Monte Mario, but I could not make up my mind that this surpassed those Italian views, lovely as it is. And then the gorgeous colouring of the sunset, gilding the rich tapering minarets of the lovely city, crowned the beauty of the whole. The minarets of Cairo are as numerous as the domes and campaniles of Rome, and are remarkable for their architectural elegance and beauty. On the summit of the citadel-rock whence I beheld this sunset view, is the new, and still unfinished, Mosque of Mehemet Ali. It is constructed in Oriental Alabaster, and is the work of an Italian Architect, who,

while attempting to use the style and decorations of the old Cairene and Arabian edifices, has too much kept in mind his country's designs of such churches as Santa Maria degli Angeli, or San Giovanni Laterano. In front of the Mosque is a large quadrangular court sur rounded with cloisters or colonades, supported by Saracenic columns, and roofed with a series of small domes. The Italian Architect has, I think, mistaken the genius of the Arabian style in adopting uniform capitals. Variety is a characteristic of the Saracenic, as well as of the Gothic style. In the centre of the quadrangle is a fountain for the ablutions of the worshippers. The interior of the Mosque itself is remarkable for its loftiness; and its domes are richly decorated, so as in some measure to lessen the coldness of the Moslem sanctuary. The Mosque is in the form of a Greek cross, so that there is a large centre dome, and grouped around it, four smaller domes, one on each projection of the cross; the Mekkineh, or projection pointing towards Mekkeh being East by South-East. This is a sort of apology for an altar. It has been well said that even false religions possess some rays of that Light of Truth which is concentrated in the Church; and, among the many which may be found in the Moslem faith, is the spirit of devoting costly works to God's service. The number and external beauty of the Mosques of Cairo, shew that the Mahommedans are not so niggardly in their worship as many who profess themselves more favoured and holy.

CHARITY.

"Concerning charity, the final object whereof is that incomprehensible beauty which sheweth us the countenance of Christ, the Son of the living God."-Hooker.

THE GOLD AND SILVER
FISHES.

(Not by Hans Christian Andersen.)

There was a glass globe upon a side-table, about half full of spring water, fresh from the pump, clear as crystal: within it lived, if life be ever such a tame dull thing, a pair of fishes. They were said to be sisters by the cherub-cheeked boy with golden hair, to whom they belonged. He called them Mit and Kit, names very much alike, yet unlike; for so were the fishes; the one had scales of silver, the other of gold; the one was fair as a lily, the other as a rose. His delight was, to creep sometimes into the room on tiptoe, in hopes of catching them asleep but this he never did do; their fins and tails were always waving to and fro; both the eyes of both were still wide open; their mouths and gills went on opening and shutting, shutting and opening, for ever more. They never seemed to sleep, never seemed to eat; and a good reason why; they had no other food to make a meal of, breakfast, luncheon, dinner, or supper, but the clear hard cold water, which the maid Mary changed for fresh, nearly every other day. But though they did not seem to eat, their mouths were always opening and shutting about something. Perhaps they were speaking to one another; do you know, I should not much wonder if they were!

"Dear Kit!" perhaps, said the silver one, who was the eldest, "I have been thinking" and then she stopped.

"Indeed, have you?" it is not unlikely, the other merry one replied, "there is nothing strange in that: thinking, about what, pray, Mit?"

"How nice and pleasant it is to

lead this quiet life here! I like it far, far better than a brook or pond."

"Well!" said Kit, musing, "I myself would very, very much rather be a gold fish than a minnow or a herring, any day :-there are so many of them."

"The best of it is, too," quoth Mit, we did not get here of ourselves; we were put here."

"Yes, dear Mit, and what a comfort it is to have everything so bright and clear about us. I see so plainly into the room where our kind dear master lives there, that I almost fancy I may swim out into it sometimes, until I hit my nose against the glass."

"To be sure, Kit; but we can see the pictures along the wall, and the flowers in the vases, and these knicknacks here on the table, all the same."

"Yes, Mit; and though it is rather rough handling in the net, when maid Mary changes the water, yet how much cooler and fresher it feels afterwards."

"Very true, Kit; and we must not complain, if we do turn a little faintish sometimes, after enjoying the beautiful sunshine which gleams in upon us at noon, through the garden window."

"I should think not, dear Mit; it may leave us a little drowsy, but our dear good master there shall never catch us asleep. We are very happy indeed."

And then, perhaps, she would give one of those sudden jumps out of the water, which are apt to startle people's nerves who sit working or nodding over the fender.

And so, I dare say, they have gone on sailing round and round their little bright globe, speaking in sweet whispers, and preserving a wise silence, but never sleeping, until this very day.