I 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 B M 1D2 MDb 
 
 I 
 
THE 
 
 EPICUREAN, 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 N, K. WHITAKEB. 
 
 1831. 
 
Primed by J H. A. Fiost, Br-siou 
 
 GIP^ 
 

 TO 
 
 XORD JOHZV RUSSZSLZi 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS INSCRIBED, 
 
 BY ONE WHO ADMIRES HIS CHARACTER 
 AND TALENTS, 
 
 AMD IS PROUD OF HIS FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 671 
 
A 
 
 'JETTBR TO TBE TRANSLATOR, 
 
 FROM 
 
 Esq. 
 
 Cairo, June 19, 1800. 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 In a visit I lately paid to the monastery of St. Maca- 
 rius,— which is situated, as you know, in the valley of the 
 Lakes of Natron, — I was lucky enough to obtain possession 
 of a curious Greek manuscript, which, in the hope that you 
 may be induced ta translate it, I herewith send you. Ob- 
 serving one of the monks very busily occupied in tearing 
 up, into a variety of fantastic shapes, some papers which 
 had the appearance of being the leaves of old books, I in- 
 quired of him the meaning of his task, and received the fol- 
 lowing explanation. 
 
 The Arabs, it seems, who are as fond of pigeons as the 
 ancient Egyptians, have a superstitious notion that, if they 
 place in their pigeon-houses small scraps of paper, written 
 over with learned characters, the birds are always sure to 
 thrive the better for the charm ; and the monks, who are 
 never slow in profiting by superstition, have, at all times, a 
 supply of such amulets for purchasers. 
 
 In general, the holy fathers have been in the habit of 
 scribbling these mystic fragments, themselves ; but a dis- 
 covery, which they have lately made, saves them this trou- 
 ble. Having dug up (as my informant stated) a chest of 
 
VI 
 
 old manuscripts, whicli, being chiefly on the subject of 
 alchemy, must have been buried in the time of Dioclesian, 
 "we thought we could not," added the monk, "employ 
 such rubbish more properly, than in tearing it up, as you 
 see, for the pigeon-houses of the Arabs." 
 
 On my expressing a wish to rescue some part of these 
 treasures from the fate to which his indolent fraternity had 
 consigned them, he produced the manuscript which I have 
 now the pleasure of sending you, — the only one, he said, 
 remaining entire, — and I very readily paid him the price he 
 demanded for it. 
 
 You will find the story, I think, not altogether uninterest- 
 ing ; and the coincidence, in many respects, of the curious 
 details in Chap. VI. with the description of the same cere- 
 monies in the Romance of Sethos^* will, I have no doubt, 
 strike you. Hoping that you may be tempted to give a 
 tran«=lation of this Tale to the world, 
 
 I am, my dear Sir, 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 * The description, here aUuded to, may also be found, copied verbatim 
 from Sethos, in " Voyages d' Ant^nor."— " In that philosophical romance, 
 called " La Vie de S6thos," says Warburton, " we find a much juster ac- 
 count of old Egj'ptian wisdom, than in all the pretended ' Histoire du 
 Ciel.' '» Div. Leg. book 4. sect. 14. 
 
THE EPICUREAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was in the fourth year of the reign of the late 
 Emperor Valerian, that the followers of Epicurus, 
 who were at that time numerous in Athens, pro- 
 ceeded to the election of a person to fill the vacant 
 chair of their sect; — and, by the unanimous voice 
 of the School, I was the individual chosen for their 
 Chief. I was just then entering on my twenty- 
 fourth year, and no instance had ever before oc- 
 curred, of a person so young being selected for that 
 office. Youth, however, and the personal advan- 
 tages that adorn it, were not, it may be supposed, 
 among the least valid recommendations, to a sect 
 that included within its circle all the beauty as 
 well as wit of Athens, and which, though dignify- 
 ing its pursuits with the name of philosophy, was 
 little less than a pretext for the more refined culti- 
 vation of pleasure. 
 
 The character of the sect had, indeed, much 
 changed, since the time of its wise and virtuous 
 founder, who, while he asserted that pleasure is 
 the only good, inculcated also that good is the only 
 source of pleasure. The purer part of this doc- 
 trine had long evaporated, and the temperate Epi- 
 curus would have as little recognized his own sect 
 in the assemblage of refined voluptuaries who now 
 
8 
 
 usurped its name, as he would have known his own 
 quiet Garden in the luxurious groves and bowers 
 among which the meetings of the School were now 
 held. 
 
 Many causes, beside the attractiveness of its 
 doctrines, concurred, at this period, to render our 
 school the most popular of any that still survived 
 the glory of Greece. It may erpnerally be observed, 
 that the prevalence, in one htui of a community, of 
 very rigid notions on the subject of religion, pro- 
 duces the opposite extreme of laxity and infidelity 
 in the other; and this kind of reaction it was that 
 now mainly contributed to render the doctrines of 
 the Garden the most fashionable philosophy of the 
 day. The rapid progress of the Christian faith 
 had alarmed all those, who, either from piety or 
 worldliness, were interested in the continuance of 
 the old established creed — all who believed in the 
 Deities of Olympus, and all who lived by them. 
 The consequence was, a considerable increase of 
 zeal and activity, throughout the constituted au- 
 thorities and priesthood of the whole Heathen 
 world. What was wanting in sincerity of belief 
 was made up in rigour; — the weakest parts of the 
 Mythology were those, of course, most angrily de- 
 fended, and any reflections, tending to brin^ Sa- 
 turn, or his wife Ops, into contempt, were punished 
 with the utmost severity of the law. 
 
 In this state of affairs, between the alarmed bi- 
 gotry of the declining Faith, and the simple, sub- 
 lime austerity of her rival, it was not wonderful 
 that those lovers of ease and pleasure, who had no 
 interest, reversionary or otherwise, in the old re- 
 ligion, and were too indolent to inquire into the 
 sanctions of the new, should take refuge from the 
 severities of both under the shelter of a luxuriou?* 
 
philosophy, which, leaving to others the task of 
 disputing about the future, centered all its wisdom 
 in the full enjoyment of the present. 
 
 The sectaries of the Garden had, ever since the 
 death of their founder, been accustomed to dedi- 
 cate to his memory the twentieth day of every 
 month. To these monthly rites had, for some 
 time, been added a grand annual Festival, in com- 
 memoration of his birth. The feasts, given on this 
 occasion by my predecessors in the Chair, had been 
 invariably distinguished for their taste and splen- 
 dourj and it was my ambition, not merely to imi- 
 tate this example, but even to render the anniver- 
 sary, now celebrated under my auspices, so bril- 
 liant, as to efface, the recollection of all that went 
 before it. 
 
 Seldom, indeed, had Athens witnessed such a 
 scene. The grounds that formed the original site 
 of the Garden had, from time to time, received con- 
 siderable additions; and the whole extent was laid 
 out with that perfect taste, which knows how to 
 wed Nature to Art, without sacrificing her simpli- 
 city to the alliance. Walks, leading through wil- 
 dernesses of shade and fragrance — ^glades, opening, 
 as if to afford a play-ground for the sunshine — ^tem- 
 ples, rising on the very spots where imagination 
 herself would have called them up, and fountains 
 and lakes, in alternate motion and repose, either 
 wantonly courting the verdure, or calmly sleeping 
 in its embrace, — such was the variety of feature 
 that diversified these fair gardens; and, animated 
 as they were on this occasion, by all the living wit 
 and loveliness of Athens, it afforded a scene such 
 as my own youthful fancy, rich as it was then in 
 images of luxury and beauty, could hardly have 
 anticipated. 
 
10 
 
 The ceremonies of the day began with the very 
 dawn, when, according to the form of simpler and 
 better times, those among the disciples who had 
 apartments within the Garden, bore the images of 
 our Founder in procession from chamber to cham- 
 ber, chanting verses in praise of — what had long 
 ceased to be objects of our imitation — his frugality 
 and temperance. 
 
 Round a beautiful lake, in the centre of the gar- 
 den, stood four white Doric temples, in one ot 
 which was collected a library, containing all the 
 flowers of Grecian literature; while, in the re 
 maining three. Conversation, the Song, and the 
 Dance, held, uninterrupted by each other, their 
 respective rites. In the Library stood busts of all 
 the most illustrious Epicureans, both of Rome and 
 Greece — Horace, Atticus, Pliny the elder, the 
 poet Lucretius, Lucian, and the biographer of the 
 Philosophers, lately lost to us, Diogenes Laertius. 
 There were also the portraits, in marble, of all the 
 eminent female votaries of the school — Leontium 
 and her fair daughter Danae, Themista, Philaenis, 
 and others. 
 
 It was here that, in my capacity of Heresiarch, 
 on the morning of the Festival, I received the feli- 
 citations of the day from some of the fairest lips of 
 Athens; and, in pronouncing the customary ora- 
 tion to the memory of our Master, (in which it was 
 usual to dwell on the doctrines he inculcated) 
 endeavoured to attain that art, so useful before 
 such an audience, of diiFusing over tlie gravest 
 subjects a charm, which secures them listeners 
 even among the simplest and most volatile. 
 
 Though study, as may easily be supposed, en- 
 grossed but little of the mornings of the Garden, 
 yet the lighter part of learning,— that portion of 
 
11 
 
 its attic honey, for which the bee is not obliged to 
 go very deep into the flower — was zealously culti- 
 vated. Even here, however, the student had to 
 encounter distractions, which are, of all others, 
 least favourable to composure of thought; and, 
 with more than one of my fair disciples, there used 
 to occur such scenes as the follomng, which a poet 
 of the Garden, taking his picture from the life de- 
 scribed: 
 
 " As o'er the lake, in evening's glow, 
 
 That temple threw its lengthening shade, 
 Upon the marble steps below, 
 
 There sate a fair Corinthian maid, 
 Gracefully o'er some volume bending ; 
 
 While, by her side, the youthful Sage 
 Held back her ringlets, lest, descending, 
 
 They should o'er-shadow all the page." 
 
 But it was for the evening of that day, that the 
 richest of our luxuries were reserved. Every part 
 of the Garden was illuminated, with the most skil- 
 ful variety of lustre; while over the Lake of the 
 Temples were scattered wreaths of flowers, through 
 which boats, filled with beautiful children, floated, 
 as through a liquid parterre. 
 
 Between two of these boats a perpetual combat 
 was maintained; — ^their respective commanders, 
 two blooming youths, being habited to represent 
 Eros and Anteros; the former, the Celestial Love 
 of the Platonists, and the latter, that more earthly 
 spirit, which usurps the name of Love among the 
 Epicureans. Throughout the evening their con- 
 flict was carried on with various success; the timid 
 distance at which Eros kept from his more lively 
 antagonist being his only safeguard against those 
 darts of fire, with showers of which the other con- 
 
12 
 
 tinually assailed him, but which, luckily falling 
 short of their mark upon the lake, only scorched 
 the flowers upon which they fell, and were extin- 
 guished. 
 
 In another part of the gardens, on a wide ver- 
 dant glade, lighted only by the moon, an imitation 
 of the torch-race of Panathenaea was performed, 
 by young boys chosen for their fleetness, and ar- 
 rayed with wings, like Cupids; while, not far off, 
 a group of seven nymphs, with each a star on her 
 forehead, represented the movements of the plane- 
 tary choir, and embodied the dream of Pythagoras 
 into real motion and song. 
 
 At every turning some new enchantment broke 
 upon the ear or eye. Sometimes, from the depth 
 of a grove, from which a fountain at the same time 
 issued, there came a strain of music, which, ming- 
 ling with the murmur of the water, seemed like 
 the voice of the spirit that presided over its flow; 
 — while sometimes the strain rose breathing from 
 among flowers; and, again, would appear to come 
 suddenly from under ground, as if the foot had 
 just touched some spring that set it in motion. 
 
 It seems strange that I should now dwell upon 
 these minute descriptions; but every thing con- 
 nected with that memorable night — even its long- 
 repented follies — must forever live sacredly in my 
 memory. Tlie festival concluded with a banquet, 
 at which I, of course, presided; and, feeling my- 
 self to be tlie ascendant spirit of the whole scetie, 
 gave life to all around me, and saw my own hap- 
 piness reflected in that of others. 
 
13 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 The festival was over; — ^the sounds of the song 
 and dance had ceased, and I was now left in those 
 luxurious gardens, alone. Tliough so ardent and 
 active a votary of pleasure, I had, by nature, a 
 disposition full of melancholy; — an imagination 
 that presented sad thoughts, even in the midst of 
 mirth and happiness, and threw the shadow of tlie 
 future over the gayest illusions of the present. 
 Melancholy was, indeed, twin-born in my soul 
 w^ith Passion; and, not even in the fullest fervour 
 of the latter, were they separated. From the first 
 moment that I was conscious of thought and feeling, 
 the same dark thread had run across the web; and 
 images of death and annihilation mingled them- 
 selves with the most smiling scenes through which 
 my career of enjoyment led me. My very passion 
 for pleasure but deepened these gloomy fancies. 
 For, shut out, as I was by my creed, from a future 
 life, and having no hope beyond the narrow horizon 
 of this, every minute of delight, assumed a mourn- 
 ful preciousness in my eyes, and pleasure, like the 
 flower of the cemetery, grew but more luxuriant 
 from the neighbourhood of death. 
 
 This very night my triumph, my happiness had 
 seemed complete. I had been the presiding genius 
 of that voluptuous scene. Both my ambition and 
 my love x)f pleasure had drunk deep of the cup for 
 which they thirsted. Looked up to by the learned, 
 and loved by the beautiful and the young, I had 
 seen, in every eye that met mine, either the ac- 
 knowledgment of triumphs already won, or the 
 promise of others, still brighter, that awaited me. 
 Yet, even in the midst of all tliis, the same dark 
 
14 
 
 thoughts had presented themselvesj — the perisha- 
 bleness of myself and all around me every instant 
 recurred to my mind. Those liands I had prest — 
 those eyes, in which I had seen sparkling, a sy;int 
 of light and life that should never die — those 
 voices, that had talked of eternal love — all, all, I 
 felt, were but a mockery of the moment, and 
 would leave nothing eternal but the silence of 
 their dust! 
 
 Oh, were it not for this sad voice, 
 
 Stealing amid our mirth to say, 
 That all, in which we must rejoice, 
 
 Ere night may be the earth-worm's prey; — 
 Bui for this bittar — only this — 
 Full as the world is brimm'd with bliss, 
 And capable as feels my soul 
 Of draining to its depth the whole, 
 I should turn earth to heaven, zmd be, 
 If bliss made gods, a deity I 
 
 Such was the description I gave of my own feel- 
 ings, in one of those wild, passionate songs, to 
 which this ferment of my spirits, between mirth 
 and melancholy, gave birth. 
 
 Seldom had my heart more fully abandoned itself 
 to such vague sadness than at the present moment, 
 when, as I paced thoughtfully among the fading 
 lights and flowers of the banquet, the echo of my 
 own step was all that sounded, where so many gay 
 forms had lately been revelling. The moon was 
 still up, the morning had not yet glimmered, and 
 the calm glories of niglit still rested on all around. 
 Unconscious whither my pathway led, I wandered 
 along, till I, at length, found myself before that 
 fair statue of Venus, with which the chisel of Al- 
 camenes had embellished our Garden; — that image 
 of deified woman, the onlvidol to which I had ever 
 
15 
 
 bent the knee. Leaning against the pedestal, I 
 raised my eyes to heaven, and fixing them sadly 
 and intently on the ever-burning stars, as if I 
 sought to read the mournful secret in their light, 
 asked, wherefore was it that Man alone must 
 perish, while they, less wonderful, less glorious 
 than he, lived on in light unchangeable and for- 
 ever! — "Oh, that there were some spell, some 
 talisman," I exclaimed, "to make the spirit within 
 us deathless as those stars, and open to its desires 
 a career like theirs, burning and boundless through- 
 out all time!" 
 
 While I gave myself up to this train of thought, 
 that lassitude which earthly pleasure, however 
 sweet, leaves behind, — as if to show how earthly 
 it is, — came drowsily over me, and I sunk at the 
 base of the statue to sleep. 
 
 Even in sleep, however, my fancy was still 
 busy; and a dream, so vivid as to leave behind it 
 the impression of reality, thus passed through my 
 mind. I thought myself transported to a wide 
 desert plain, where nothing seemed to breathe, or 
 move, or live. The very sky above it looked pale 
 and extinct, giving the idea, not of darkness, but 
 of light that had died; and, had that region been 
 the remains of some older world, left broken up 
 and sunless, it could not have looked more dead 
 and desolate. The only thing that bespoke life, in 
 this melancholy v/aste, was a small moving spark, 
 that at first glimmered in the distance, but, at 
 length, slowly approached the spot where I stood. 
 As it drew nearer, I could perceive that its feeble 
 gleam was from a taper in the hand of a pale vene- 
 rable man, who now stood, like a messenger from 
 the grave, before me. After a few moments of 
 awful silence, during which he looked at me with a 
 
16 
 
 sadness that thrilled my very soul, he said, — 
 "Thou, who seekest eternal life, go unto the 
 shores of the dark Nile — go unto the shores of the 
 dark Nile, and thou wilt find the eternal life thou 
 seekest 1" 
 
 No sooner had he said these words than the 
 death-like hue of his cheek brightened into a smile 
 of more than human promise. The small torch 
 that he held sent forth a radiance, by which sud- 
 denly the whole surface of the desert was illumi- 
 nated, even to the fair horizon's edge, along whose 
 line were now seen gardens, palaces, and spires, 
 all bright and golden, like the architecture of the 
 clouds at sunset. Sweet music, too, was heard 
 every where, floating around, and, from all sides, 
 such varieties of splendour poured, that, with the 
 excess both of harmony and of light, I woke. 
 
 That infidels should be superstitious is an ano- 
 maly neither unusual nor strange. A belief in 
 superhuman agency seems natural and necessary 
 to the mind 5 and, if not suffered to flow in the ob- 
 vious channels, it will find a vent in some otiier. 
 Hence, many who have doubted the existence of a 
 God, have yet implicitly placed themselves under 
 the patronage of Fate or the stars. Much the same 
 inconsistency I w^as conscious of in my own feel- 
 ings. Though rejecting all belief in a Divine Pro- 
 vidence, I had yet a faith in dreams, that all my 
 philosophy could not conquer. Nor was experi- 
 ence wanting to confirm me in my delusion; for, 
 by some of those accidental coincidences, which 
 make the fortune of soothsayers and prophets, 
 dreams, more than once, had been to me 
 
 Oracles, truer far than oak, 
 Or dove, or tripod, ever spoke. 
 
17 
 
 It was not wonderful, tlierefore, that the vision of 
 that night, touching, as it did, a cliord so ready to 
 vibrate, should have aiFected me with more than 
 ordinary power, and sunk deeper into my memory 
 with every effort I made to forget it. In vain did 
 I mock at my own weakness; — such self-derision is 
 seldom sincere. In vain did I pursue my accus- 
 tomed pleasures. Their zest was, as usual, for- 
 ever new; but still came the saddening conscious- 
 ness of mortality, and, with it, the recollection of 
 this visionary promise, to which my fancy, in de- 
 fiance of my reason, still clung. 
 
 Sometimes indulging in reveries, that were little 
 else than a continuation of my dream, I even con- 
 templated the possible existence of some secret, by 
 wliicli youth might be, if not perpetuated, at least 
 prolonged, and that dreadful vicinity of death, 
 within whose circle love pines and pleasure sickens, 
 might be for a while averted. "Who knows," 
 I would ask, "but that in Egypt, that land of 
 wonders, where Mystery hath yet unfolded but 
 half her treasures, — where so many dark secrets 
 of the antediluvian world still remain, undecipher- 
 ed, upon the pillars of Seth — who knows but some 
 charm, some amulet, may lie hid, whose discovery, 
 as this phantom hath promised, but waits my com- 
 ing — some compound of the same pure atoms, that 
 scintillate in the eternal stars, and whose infusion 
 into the frame of man might make him, too, fade- 
 less and immortal)" 
 
 Thus did I fondly speculate, in those rambling 
 moods, when the life of excitement which I led, 
 acting upon a warm heart and vivid fancy, pro- 
 duced an intoxication of spirit, during which I was 
 not wholly myself. This bewilderment, too, was 
 not a little increased by the constant stru2:gle be- 
 B 2 
 
18 
 
 tween my own natural feelings, and the cold, mor- 
 tal creed of my sect, in endeavouring to escape 
 from whose deadening bondage I but broke loose 
 into the realms of romance and fantasy. 
 
 Even, however, in my calmest and soberest mo- 
 ments, that strange vision perpetually haunted me. 
 In vain w ere all my efforts to chase it from mv 
 mind; and the deliberate conclusion to which i 
 came at last, was, that without, at least, a visit to 
 Egypt, I could not rest, nor, till convinced of my 
 folly by disappointment, be reasonable. I, there- 
 fore, announced without delay to my associates of 
 the Garden, the intention whicli I had formed to 
 pay a visit to the land of Pyramids. To none of 
 them did I dare to confess the vague, visionary im- 
 pulse that actuated me. Knowledge was the ob- 
 ject that I alleged, while Pleasure was that for 
 which they gave me credit. The interests of the 
 School, it was apprehended, would suffer by mv 
 absence; and there were some tenderer ties, whicli 
 had still more to fear from separation. But for 
 the former inconvenience a temporary remedy was 
 provided; while the latter a skilful distribution of 
 vows and sighs alleviated. Being furnished with 
 recommendatory letters to all parts of Egj^t, in 
 the summer of the year 237, A. D. I set sail for 
 Alexandria. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 To one, who extracted such sweets from everv 
 moment on land, a sea-voyage, however smootli 
 and favourable, appeared the least agreeable mode 
 of losing time that could be devised. Often did 
 
19 
 
 my imagination, in passing some isle of those seas, 
 people it with fair forms and kind hearts, to whom 
 .most willingly, if I might, would I have paused 
 to pay homage. But the wind blew direct towards 
 the land oi* Mystery ; and, still more, I heard a 
 voice within me, whispering for ever "On." 
 
 As we approached the coast of Egypt, our course 
 became less prosperous ; a'ld we had a specimen 
 of the benevolence of the divir.Hies of the Nile, 
 in the shape of a storm, or ratncr whirlwind, 
 which had nearly sunk our vessel, and which, the 
 Egyptians on board said, was the work of their 
 God, Typhon. After a day and night of danger, 
 during which we were driven out of our course to 
 the eastward, some benigner influence prevailed 
 above ; and, at length, as the morning freshly 
 broke, we saw the beautiful city of Alexandria 
 rising from the sea, with its Palace of Kin^s, its 
 portico of four hundred columns, and the fair Pil- 
 lar of Pillars, towering up to heaven in the midst. 
 
 After passing in review this splendid vision, we 
 shot rapidly round the Rock of Pharos, and, in a 
 few minutes, found ourselves in the harbour of Eu- 
 nostus. The sun had risen, but the light on the 
 Great Tower of the Rock was still burning 5 and 
 there was a languor in the first waking move- 
 ments of that voluptuous city — whose houses and 
 temples lay shining in silence round the harbour- 
 that sufficiently attested the festivities of the pre- 
 ceding night. 
 
 We were soon landed on the quay; and, as I 
 walked, through a line of palaces and shrines, up 
 the street which leads from the sea to the Gate of 
 Canopus, fresh as I was from the contemplation 
 of my own lovely Athens, I felt a glow of admira- 
 tion at the scene around me, which its novelty. 
 
20 
 
 even more than its magnificence, inspired. Nor 
 were the luxuries and delights, which such a city 
 promised, among the least of the considerations 
 tn wliich my fancy, at that moment, dwelt. On 
 die contrary, every thing around seemed proplietic 
 of future pleasure. The very forms of tlie archi- 
 tecture, to my Epicurean imagination, appeared 
 to call up images of living grace; and even the 
 dim seclusion of the temples and groves spoke only 
 of tender mysteries to my mind. As tlie M'lu)le 
 bright scene grew animated around me, I felt that 
 though Egypt might not enable me to lengtlien 
 life, she could teach the next best art, tliat of mul- 
 tiplying its enjoyments. 
 
 The population of Alexandria, at tins period, 
 consists of the most motley miscellany of nations, 
 religions, and sects, that had ever been brouglit 
 together in one city. Besides the scliool of the 
 Grecian Platonist, was seen the oratory of the ca- 
 balistic Jew; while the church of the Christian 
 stood, undisturbed, over the crypts of the Egyptian 
 Hierophant. Here, the adorer of Fire, from tlie 
 east, laughed at the superstition of the worshipper 
 of cats, from the west. Here Christianity, too, 
 unluckily had learned to emulate the vagaries of 
 Paganism; and while, on one side, her Ophite pro- 
 fessor was seen kneeling down gravely before his 
 serpent, on the other, a Nicosian was, as gravely, 
 contending that there was no chance of salvation 
 out of the pale of the Greek alphabet. Still worse, 
 the uncharitanleness of Christian schism was al- 
 ready distinguishing itself with equal vigour; and 
 J heard of nothing, on my arrival, but the rancour 
 and hate, with which the Greek and Latin church- 
 me» persecuted each other, because, foisooth, the 
 
21 
 
 one fasted on the seventh day oi- the week, and 
 the others fasted upon the fourth and sixth ! 
 
 To none of those religions or sects, however, 
 except for purposes of ridicule, did I pay much 
 attention. I was now in the most luxurious city 
 of the universe, and gave way without reserve, to 
 the seductions that surrounded me. My reputation, 
 as a philosopher and a man of pleasure, had pre- 
 ceded me 5 and Alexandria, the second Athens of 
 the world, welcomed me as her own. My cele- 
 brity, indeed, was as a talisman, that opened 
 hearts and doors at my approach. The usual no- 
 viciate of acquaintance was dispensed with in my 
 favour, and not only intimacies, but loves and 
 friendships, ripened in my path, as rapidly as ve- 
 getation springs up where the Nile has flowed. 
 The dark beauty of the Egyptian women had a 
 novelty in my eyes that enhanced its other charms; 
 and that hue of the sun on their rounded cheeks, 
 was but an earnest of the ardour he had kindled 
 in their heartS' — 
 
 Th' imbrowning of the fruit, that tells 
 
 How rich within the soul of sweetness dwells. 
 
 Some weeks rolled on in such perpetual and 
 ever-changing pleasures, that even the melancholy 
 voice in my heart, though it still spoke, was but 
 seldom listened to, and soon died away in the 
 sound of the siren songs that surrounded me. At 
 length, however, as the novelty of these scenes 
 wore off, the same gloomy bodings began to min- 
 gle witli all my joys ; and an incident that oc- 
 curred during one of my gayest revels, conduced 
 still more to deepen their gloom. v^ 
 
 The celebration of the annual festival of Serapis >^ 
 
22 
 
 took place during my stay, and I was, more than 
 once, induced to mingle with the gay multitudes, 
 that crowded to his shrine at Canopuson the occa- 
 sion. Day and night, while this festival lasted, 
 the canal, which led from Alexandria to Canopus, 
 was covered with boats full of pilgrims of both 
 sexes, all hastenino- to avail themselves of this 
 pious license, which lent the zest of a religious 
 sanction to pleasure, and gave a holiday to the 
 passions of earth, in honour of heaven. 
 
 I was returning, one lovely night, to Alexandria. 
 The north wind, that welcome visiter, freshened 
 the air, while the banks, on either side, sent forth, 
 from groves of orange and henna, the most deli- 
 cious odours. As I had left all the crowd behind 
 me at Canopus, there was not a boat to be seen on 
 the canal but my own; and 1 was just yielding to 
 the thoudits which solitude at such an hour in- 
 spires, when my reveries were broken by the sound 
 of some female voices, coming, mingled witli laugh- 
 ter and screams, from the garden of a pavilion, that 
 stood, brilliantly illuminated, upon the bank of the 
 canal. 
 
 On rowing nearer, T perceived that both the mirth 
 and the alarm had been caused by the efforts of 
 some playful girls to reach a hedge of jasmin which 
 grew near the water, and in bending towards which, 
 they had nearly fallen into the stream. Hastening 
 to proffer my assistance, I soon recognized the 
 voice of one of my fair Alexandrian friends, and, 
 springing on the bank, was surrounded by the 
 whole group, who insisted on my joining their party 
 in the pavilion, and flinging the tendrils of jasmin, 
 which they had just plucked, around me, led me, 
 no unwilling captive, to the banquet-room. 
 
 I found here an assemblage of the very flower 
 
of Alexandrian society. The unexpectedness of 
 the meeting gave it an additional zest on both sides j 
 and seldom had I felt more enlivened myself, or 
 contributed more successfully to circulate life 
 among others. 
 
 Among the company were some Greek women, 
 who, according to the fashion of their country, 
 wore veils; but, as usual, rather to set oft' than con- 
 ceal their beauty, some gleams of which v/ere con- 
 tinually escaping from under the cloud. There 
 was, however, one female, who particularly at- 
 tracted my attention, on whose head was a chaplet 
 of dark-coloured flowers, and who sat veiled and 
 silent during the whole of the banquet. She took 
 no share, I observed, in what was passing around: 
 the viands and the wine went by her untouched, 
 nor did a word that was spoken seem addressed to 
 her ear. This abstraction from a scene so spark- 
 ling with gaiety, though apparently unnoticed by 
 any one but myself, struck me as mysterious and 
 strange. I inquired of my fair neighbour the cause 
 of it, but she looked grave and was silent. 
 
 In the mean time, the lyre and the cup went 
 round; and a young maid from Athens, as if in- 
 spired by the presence of her countryman, took 
 her lute, and sung to it some of the songs of Greece, 
 with a feeling that bore me back to the banks of 
 the missus, and, even in the bosom of present plea- 
 sure, drew a sigh from my heart for that which had 
 passed away. It was day -break ere our delighted 
 party rose, and unwillingly re-embarked to return 
 to the city. 
 
 Scarcely were we afloat, when it was discovered 
 that the lute of the young Athenian had been left 
 behind; and, with my heart still full of its sweet 
 sounds, I most readily sprung on shore to seek it. 
 
24 
 
 I hastened to the banquet-room, which was novv 
 dim and solitary, except that — there, to my 
 astonishment, still sat that silent figure, which 
 had awakened my curiosity so strongly during the 
 night. A vague feeling of awe came over me, as 
 I now slowly approached it. There was no mo- 
 tion, no sound of breathing in that form; — not a 
 leaf of the dark chaplet on its brow stirred. By 
 the light of a dying lamp which stood before the 
 figure, I raised, with a hesitating hand, the veil, 
 and saw— what my fancy had already anticipated 
 — that the shape underneath was lifeless, was a 
 skeleton! vStartled and shocked, I hurried back 
 with the lute to the boat, and was almost as silent 
 as that shape for the remainder of the voyage. 
 
 This custom among the Eg>^tians of placing a 
 mummy, or skeleton, at the banquet-table, had 
 been for some time disused, except at particular 
 ceremonies; and, even on such occasions, it had 
 been the practice of the luxurious Alexandrians to 
 disguise this memorial of mortality in the manner 
 just described. But to me, who was wholly un- 
 prepared for such a spectacle, it gave a shock from 
 which my imagination did not speedily recover. 
 This silent and ghastly witness of mirth seemed to 
 embody, as it were, the shadow in my own heart. 
 The features of the grave were now stamped on the 
 idea that haunted me, and this picture of what I 
 was to be mingled itself with the sunniest aspect 
 of what I was. 
 
 The memory of the dream now recurred to me 
 more lively than ever. The briglit assuring smile 
 of that venerable Spirit, and his 'vvords, '' Go to the 
 shores of the dark Nile, and thou wilt find the eter- 
 nal life thou seekest,'' were forever before my 
 mind. But as \oU alas, I had done noticing towards 
 
25 
 
 realizing this splendid promise* Alexandria was not 
 Egjptj — ^the very soil on which I stood was not in 
 existence, when Thebes and Memphis already 
 counted ages of glory. 
 
 **lt is beneath the Pyfamids of Memphis," I 
 exclaimed, ''or in the mystic Halls of*the Laby- 
 rinth, that I must seek those holy arcana of science, 
 of which the antediluvian world has made Egypt 
 its heir, and among which — blest thought! — the 
 key to eternal life may lie." 
 
 Having formed my determination, I took leave 
 of my many Alexandrian friends, and departed for 
 Memphis. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Egypt was the country, of all others, from that 
 mixture of the melancholy and the voluptuous, 
 which marked the character of her people, her reli- 
 gion, and her scenery, to affect deeply a tempera- 
 ment and fancy like mine, and keep tremblingly 
 alive the sensibilities of both. Wherever I turned, 
 I saw the desert and the garden, mingling their 
 bloom and desolation together. I saw the love- 
 bower and the tomb standing side by side, and 
 pleasure and death keeping hourly watch upon each 
 other. In the very luxury of the climate there was 
 the same saddening influence. The monotonous 
 splendour of the days, the solemn radiance of the 
 nights — all tended to cherish that ardent melan- 
 choly, the offspring of passion and of thought, which 
 had so long been the inmate of my soul. 
 
 When I sailed from Alexandria, the inundation 
 of the Nile was at its full. The whole valley of 
 
26 
 
 Egypt lay covered by its floods and, as I saw 
 around me, in the light of the setting sun, shrines, 
 
 falaces, and monuments, encircled by the waters, 
 could almost fancy that I beheld the solitary island 
 of Atalantjs, on the last evening its temples were 
 visible above the wave. Such varieties, too, of 
 animation as presented themselves on every side I — 
 
 While, far as sight can reach, beneath as clear 
 And blue a heaven as ever bless'd this sphere. 
 Gardens, and pillar'd streets, and porphyry domes, 
 And high-built temples, fit to be the homes 
 Of mighty gods, and pyramids, whose hour 
 Outlasts all time, above the waters tower ! 
 
 Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy, that make 
 
 One theatre of this vast, peopled lake. 
 
 Where all that Love, Religion, Commerce gives 
 
 Of life and motion, ever moves and lives. 
 
 Here, up the steps of temples, from the wave x 
 
 Ascending, in procession slow and grave, 
 
 Priests, in white garments, go, with sacred v/ands 
 
 And silver cymbals gleaming in their hands : 
 
 While, there, rich barks — fresh from those sunny tracts 
 
 Far off, beyond the sounding cataracts — 
 
 Glide with their precious lading to the sea, 
 
 Plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros' ivory. 
 
 Gems from the isle of Meroe, and those grains 
 
 Of gold, wash'd down by Abyssinian rains. 
 
 Here, where the waters wind into a bay 
 
 Shadowy and cool, some pilgrims, on their way 
 
 To Sais or Bubastus, among beds 
 
 Of lotus-flowers, that close above their heads, 
 
 Push their light barks, and hid, as in a bower, 
 
 Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour ; 
 
 While haply, not far off, beneath a bank 
 
 Of blossoming acacias, many a prank 
 
 Is play'd in the cool current by a train 
 
 Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she, whose chain 
 
 Around two conquerors of the world was cast, 
 
 But, for a third too feeble, broke at last. 
 
27 
 
 Enchanted with the whole scene, I lingered on 
 my voyage, visiting all those luxurious and venera- 
 ble places, whose names have been consecrated by 
 the wonder of ages. At Sais I was present during 
 her Festival of Lamps, and read, by the blaze of 
 innumerable lights, tliose sublime words on the 
 temple of Neitha: " I am all that has been, that is, 
 and that will be, and no man hath ever lifted my 
 veil," I wandered among the prostrate obelisks 
 of Heliopolis, and saw, not without a sigh, the sun 
 smiling over her ruins, as if in mockery of the mass 
 of perishable grandeur, that had once called itself, 
 in its pride, ''The City of the Sun." But to the 
 Isle of the Golden Venus was my fondest pilgrim- 
 age; — and as I explored its shades, where bowers 
 are the only temples, I felt how far more fit to form 
 the shrine of a Deity, are the ever-living stems of 
 the garden and the grove, than the most precious 
 columns that the inanimate quarry can supply. 
 
 Every where new pleasures, new interests 
 awaited me; and though Melancholy, as usual, 
 stood always near, her shadow fell but half-way 
 over my vagrant path, and left the rest more wel- 
 comely brilliant from the contrast. To relate my 
 various adventures, during this short voyage, 
 would only detain me from events, far, far more 
 worthy of record. Amidst such endless variety of 
 attractions, the great object of my journey was for- 
 gotten; — the mysteries of this land of the sun were, 
 to me, as much mysteries as ever, and I had as yet 
 been initiated in nothing but its pleasures. 
 
 It was not till that evening, when I first stood 
 
 before the Pyramids of Memphis, and saw them 
 
 towering aloft, like the v/atch-towers of Time, from 
 
 whose summit, when he expires, he will look his 
 
 ast, — it was not till this moment that the great 
 
28 
 
 secret, of which I had dreamed, aeain rose, in all 
 its inscrutable darkness, upon my thoughts. There 
 was a solemnity in the sunshine that rested upon 
 those monuments — a stillness, as of reverence, in 
 the air around them, that stole, like the music of 
 past times, into my heart. I thought what myriads 
 of the wise, the beautiful, and the brave, had sunk 
 into dust since earth first beheld those wonders; 
 and, in the sadness of my soul, I exclaimed, — 
 " Must man alone, then, perish? must minds and 
 hearts be annihilated, while pyramids endure? 
 Death, Death, even on these everlasting tablets, — 
 the only approach to immortality that kings them- 
 selves could purchase, — thou hast written our doom, 
 saying, awfully and intelligibly, * There is, for man, 
 no eternal mansion, but the tomb!'" 
 
 My heart sunk at the thought; and, for the mo- 
 ment, I yielded to that desolate feeling, which 
 overspreads the soul that hath no light from the 
 future. But a^ain the buoyancy of my nature pre- 
 vailed, and again, the willing dupe of vain dreams, 
 I deluded myself into the belief of all that I most 
 wished, with that happy facility which makes im- 
 agination stand in place of happiness. ** Yes," I 
 cried, ''immortality must be w^ithin maii's reach; 
 and, as wdsdom alone is worthy of such a blessing, 
 to the wise alone must the secret have been re- 
 vealed. Deep, it is said, under yonder pyramid, 
 has for ages lain concealed the Table of Emerald, 
 on which the Thrice-Great Hermes engraved, be- 
 fore the flood, the secret of Alchemy, that gives 
 gold at will. Why may not the mio;htier, the more 
 god-like secret, that gives life at will, be recorded 
 there also? It was by the power of gold, of endless 
 gold, that the kings, who repose in those massy 
 structures, scooped earth to the centre, and raised 
 
29 
 
 quarries into the air, to provide themselves with 
 tombs that might outstand the world. Who can 
 tell but that the gift of immortality was also theirs? 
 who knows but that they themselves, triumphant 
 over decay, still live — those mansions, which we 
 call tombs, being rich and everlasting palaces, 
 within whose depths, concealed from this wither- 
 ing world, they still wander, with the few who are 
 sharers of their gift, through a sunless, but illumi- 
 nated, elysium of their own? Else, wherefore those 
 structures? wherefore that subterraneous realm, by 
 which the whole valley of Egypt is undermined? 
 Why, else, those labyrinths, which none of earth 
 nath ever beheld — which none of heaven, except 
 that God, with the finger on his hushed lip, hath 
 trodden!" 
 
 While I indulged in these dreams, the sun, half 
 sunk beneath the horizon, was taking, calmly and 
 gloriously, his leave of the Pyramids, —as he had 
 done, evening after evening, for ages, till they had 
 become familiar to him as the earth itself. On the 
 side turned to his ray they now presented a front 
 of dazzling whiteness, while, on the other, their 
 great shadows, lengthening to the eastward, looked 
 like the first steps of Night, hastening to envelope 
 tlie hills of Araby in her shade. 
 
 No sooner had the last gleam of the sun disap- 
 peared, than, on every house-top in Memphis, gay, 
 gilded banners were seen waving aloft, to proclaim 
 his setting, — while a full burst of harmony pealed 
 from all the temples along the shores. 
 
 Startled from my musing by these sounds, I at 
 
 once recollected, that, on that very evening, the 
 
 great festival of the Moon was to be celebrated. 
 
 On a little island, half-way over between the gar- 
 
 c a 
 
30 
 
 dens of Memphis and the eastern shore, stood the 
 temple of that goddess, 
 
 Whose beams 
 Bring the sweet time of night-flowers and dreams. 
 Jfot the cold Dian of the North, who chains 
 In vestal ice the current of young veins ; 
 But she, wl ' haunts the g-ay, Bubastian grove. 
 And owns she sees, from her bright heav'n above. 
 Nothing on earth, to match that lieav'n but love ! 
 
 Thus, did I exclaim, in the words of one of their 
 own Egyptian poets, as, anticipating the various 
 delights of the festival, I cast away from my mind 
 all gloomy thoughts, and, hastening to my little 
 bark, in which I now lived, like a Nile-bird, on 
 the waters, steered my course to the island-temple 
 of the Moon. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 The rising of the Moon, slow and majestic, as 
 if conscious of the honours that awaited her upon 
 earth, was welcomed with a loud acclaim from 
 every eminence, where multitudes stood watching 
 for her first light. And seldom had she risen 
 upon a scene more beautiful. Memphis, — still 
 grand, though no longer the unrivalled Memphis, 
 Qiat had borne away from Thebes the crown of 
 supremacy, and Morn it undisputed througli so 
 many centuries, — now, softened by the moonlight 
 that harmonised with her decline, shone forth 
 among her lakes, her pyramids, and her shrines, 
 like a dream of glory that was soon to pass away. 
 Ruin, even now, was but too visible around her 
 
31 
 
 The sands of the Libyan desert gained upon her 
 like a sea; and, among solitary columns and 
 sphinxes, already half sunk from sight, Time 
 seemed to stand waiting, till all, tliat now flourish- 
 ed around, should fall beneath his desolating hand, 
 like the rest. 
 
 On the waters all was life and gaiety. As far 
 as eye could reach, the lights of innumerable boats 
 were seen, studding, like rubies, the surface of 
 the stream. Vessels of all kinds, — from the light 
 coracle, built for shooting down the cataracts, to 
 the large yacht that glides to the sound of flutes, 
 — all were afloat for this sacred festival, filled 
 with crowds of the young and the gay, not only 
 from Memphis and Babylon, but from cities still 
 farther removed from the scene. 
 
 As I approached the island, I could see, glit- 
 tering through the trees on the bank, the lamps of 
 the pilgrims hastening to the ceremony. Landing 
 in the direction which those lights pointed out, 1 
 soon joined the crowd ; and passing through a 
 long alley of sphinxes, whose spangling marble 
 shone out from the dark sycamores around them, 
 in a short time reached the grand vestibule of the 
 temple, where I found the ceremonies of the even- 
 ing already commenced. 
 
 In this vast hall, which was surrounded by a 
 double range of columns, and lay open over-head 
 to the stars of heaven, I saw a group of young 
 maidens, moving in a sort of measured step, be- 
 tween walk and dance, round a small shrine, upon 
 which stood one of those sacred birds, that, on ac- 
 count of the variegated colour of their wings, are 
 dedicated to the moon. The vestibule was dimly 
 lighted, — ^there being but one lamp of naphtlia on 
 each of the great pillars that encircled it. But, 
 
32 
 
 having taken my station, beside one of those pil- 
 lars, I had a distinct view of the young dancers, as 
 in succession they passed me. 
 
 Their long, graceful drapery was as white as 
 snow; and each wore loosely, beneath the rounded 
 bosom, a dark-blue zone, or bandelet, studded, 
 like the skies at midnight, with little silver stars. 
 Through their dark locks was wreathed the white 
 lily of the Nile, — that flower being accounted as 
 welcome to the moon, as the golden blossoms of 
 the bean-flower are to the sun. As they passed 
 under the lamp, a gleam of light flashed from their 
 bosoms, which, I could perceive, was the reflec- 
 tion of a small mirror, that, in the manner of the 
 women of the East, each wore beneath her left 
 shoulder. 
 
 There was no music to regulate their steps : but, as 
 they gracefully went round the bird on the shrine, 
 some, by the beat of the castanet, some, by the 
 shrill rin» of the sistrum, — which they held up- 
 lifted in the attitude of their own divine Isis, — 
 harmoniously timed the cadence of their feet; 
 while others, at every step, shook a small chain of 
 silver, whose sound, mingling with those of the 
 castanets and sistrums, produced a wild, but not 
 an unpleasing harmony. 
 
 They seemed all lovely; but there was one — 
 whose face the light had not yet reached, so down- 
 cast she held it, — who attracted, and, at length, 
 riveted all my attention. I knew not why, but 
 there was a something in those half-seen features, 
 —a charm in the very shadow, that hung over 
 their imagined beauty, — which took me more than 
 all the out-sliining loveliness of lier companions. 
 So enchained was my fancy by this coy mystery, 
 that her alone, of all the group, could I either see 
 
33 
 
 or think of — ^her alone I watched, as, with the 
 same downcast brow, she glided round the altar, 
 gently and aerially, as if her presence, like that of 
 a spirit, was something to be felt, not seen. 
 
 Suddenly, while I gazed, the loud crash of a 
 thousand cymbals was heard; — the massy gates of 
 the Temple flew open, as if by magic, and a flood 
 of radiance from the illuminated aisle filled the 
 whole vestibule; while, at the same instant, as if 
 the light and the sounds were borne together, a 
 peal of rich harmony came mingling with the ra- 
 diance. 
 
 It was then, — ^by that light, which shone full 
 upon the young maiden's features, as, starting at 
 the blaze, she raised her eyes to the portal, and, 
 as suddenly, let fall their lids again, — it was then 
 I beheld, what even my own ardent imagination, 
 in its most vivid dreams of beauty, had never pic- 
 tured. Not Psyche herself, when pausing on the 
 threshold of heaven, while its first glories fell on 
 her dazzled lids, could have looked more beautiful, 
 or blushed with a more innocent shame. Often as 
 I had felt the power of looks, none had ever en- 
 tered into my soul so far. It was a new feeling— 
 a new sense — coming as suddenly as that radiance 
 into the vestibule, and, at once, filling my whole 
 being; — and had that vision but lingered "another 
 moment before my eyes, I should have wholly 
 forgotten who I was and where, and thrown 
 myself, in prostrate adoration, at her feet. 
 
 But scarcely had that gush of harmony been 
 heard, when the sacred bird, which had, till now, 
 stood motionless as an image, expanded his wings, 
 and flew into the Temple; while his graceful young 
 worshippers, with a fleetness like his own, follow- 
 ed, — and she, who had left a dream in my heart 
 
34 
 
 never to be forgotten, vanished with the rest. As 
 she went rapidly past the pillar against which I 
 leaned, the ivy that encircled it caught in her dra- 
 pery, and disengaged some ornament which fell to 
 the ground. It was the small mirror which I had 
 seen shining on her bosom. Hastily and tremu- 
 lously 1 picked it up, and hurried to restore it;— 
 but she was already lost to my eyes in the crowd. 
 
 In vain I tried to follow; — the aisles were al- 
 ready filled, and numbers of eager pilgrims pressed 
 towards the portal. But the servants of the Tem- 
 ple prevented all further entrance, and still, as I 
 presented myself, their white wands barred the 
 way. Perplexed and irritated amid that crowd 
 of faces, regarding all as enemies that impeded my 
 progress, I stood on tiptoe, gazing into the busy 
 aisles, and with a heart beating as I caught, from 
 time to time, a glimpse of spangled zone, or lotus 
 wreath, which led me to fancy that I had discover- 
 ed the object of my search. But it was all in vain; 
 — in every direction, files of sacred nymphs were 
 moving, but nowhere could I see her, whom alone 
 I sought. 
 
 In this state of breathless agitation did I stand 
 for some time,—- bewildered with the confusion of 
 faces and lights, as well as with the clouds of in- 
 cense that rolled around me, — till, fevered and im- 
 patient, I could endure it no longer. Forcing my 
 way out of the vestibule into the cool air, I hurried 
 back through the alley of sphinxes to the shore, and 
 flung myself into my boat. 
 
 There is, to the north of Memphis, a solitary 
 lake (which, at this season of the year, mingles 
 with the rest of the waters,) upon wliose shores 
 stands the Necropolis, or City of the Dead— a 
 place of melanclioly grandeur, covert?d over with 
 
35 
 
 shrines and pyi'amids, where many a kingly head, 
 proud even in death, has for ages awaited the re- 
 surrection of its glories. Through a range of se- 
 pulchral grots underneath, the humbler denizens 
 of the tomb are deposited,— looking out on each 
 successive generation that visits them, with the 
 same face and features they wore centuries ago. 
 Every plant and tree, that is consecrated to death, 
 from the asphodel-flower to the mystic plantain, 
 lends its sweetness or shadow to this place of 
 tombs; and the only noise that disturbs its eternal 
 calm, is the low humming sound of the priests at 
 prayer, when a new inhabitant is added to the 
 silent city. 
 
 It was towards this place of deatli that, in a 
 mood of mind, as usual, lialf bright, half gloomy, 
 I now, almost unconsciously, directed my bark. 
 The form of the young Priestess was continually 
 before me. That one bright look of hers, the very 
 memory of which was worth all the actual smiles 
 of others, never left my mind. Absorbed in such 
 thoughts, I rowed on, scarce knowing whither I 
 went, till, startled by finding myself within the 
 shadow of the City of the Dead, I looked up, and 
 saw, rising in succession before me, pyramid be- 
 yond pyramid, each towering more loftily than the 
 other, — while all were out-topped in grandeur by 
 one, upon whose summit the moon seemed to rest, 
 as on a pedestal. 
 
 Drawing near to the shore, which was sufficient- 
 ly elevated to raise this city of monuments above 
 the level of the inundation, I lifted my oar, and let 
 the boat rock idly on the water, while my thoughts, 
 left equally without direction, fluctuated as idly. 
 How various and vague were the dreams that then 
 passed through my mind — that bright vision of the 
 
36 
 
 temple mingling itself with all! Sometimes she 
 stood before me like an aerial spirit, as pure as if 
 that element of music and lidit, into which I had 
 seen her vanish, was her only dwelling. Some- 
 times, animated witli passion, and kindling into a 
 creature of earth, she seemed to lean toward^: me 
 Avith looks of tenderness, which it were worth 
 worlds, but for one instant, to inspire; and again — 
 as the dark fancies, that ever haunted me, recur- 
 red — I saw her cold, parched, and blackening, 
 amid the gloom of those eternal sepulchres before 
 me! 
 
 Turning away with a shudder, from the cemetry 
 at this thought, I heard the sound of an oar apply- 
 ing swiftly through the water, and, in a few mo- 
 ments, saw, shooting past me towards the shore, a 
 small boat in which sat two female figures, muffled 
 up and veiled. Having landed them not far from 
 the spot where I lay, — concealed by the shadow 
 of a monument on the bank, — the boat again de- 
 parted, with the same fleetness, over the flood. 
 
 Never had the prospect of an adventure come 
 more welcome than at this moment, when my fancy 
 was weaving such chains for my heart, as threat- 
 ened a bondage, of all others, the most difficult to 
 break. To become enamoured thus of a creature 
 of my own imagination, was the worst, because the 
 most lasting of follies. Reality alone gives a 
 chance of dissolving such spells, and the idol I was 
 now creating to myself must forever remain ideal. 
 Any pursuit, therefore, that seemed likely to di- 
 vert me from such thoughts — to bring back my im- 
 agination to earth and reality, from the vaj^ue re- 
 gion in wliich it was wandering, was a relief too 
 seasonable not to be welcomed with eagerness. 
 
 I had watclu'd the course which the two figures 
 
5f 
 
 took, and, having hastily fastened my boat to the 
 bank, stepped gently on shore, and, at a little dis- 
 tance, followed them. The windings through which 
 they led were intricate; but, by the bright light of 
 the moon, I was enabled to keep their forms in 
 view, as, with rapid step, they glided among the 
 monuments. At length, in the shade of a small 
 pyramid, whose peak barely surmounted the plane- 
 trees that grew nigh, they vanished from my sight. 
 I hastened to the spot, but there was not a sign of 
 life around; and had my creed extended to an- 
 other world, I might have fancied that these forms 
 were spirits, sent from thence to mock me, — so in- 
 stantaneously they disappeared. I searched through 
 the neighbouring grove, but all there was still as 
 death. At length, in examining one of the sides 
 of the pyramid, which, for a few feet from the 
 ground, was furnished with steps, I found, midway 
 between peak and base, a part of the surface, 
 which, though presenting an appearance of smooth- 
 ness to the eye, gave to the touch, I thought, indi- 
 cations of a concealed opening. 
 
 After a variety of efforts and experiments, I, at 
 last, more by accident than skill, pressed the 
 spring that commanded this mysterious aperture. 
 In an instant the portal slid aside, and disclosed a 
 narrow stair-way within, the two or three first 
 steps of which were discernible by the mooidight, 
 while the rest were lost in utter darkness. Though 
 it was difficult to conceive that the persons wliom 
 I had followed would have ventured to pass throu^ii 
 tliis gloomy opening, yet to account tor their dis- 
 appearance otherwise, was still more difficult. At 
 all events, my curiosity was now too eager in the 
 chase to relinquish it; — the spirit of adventure* 
 once raised, could not be so easily laid. Accord- 
 
38 
 
 inglj, having sent up a gay prayer to that bliss- 
 loving Queen, whose eye alone was upon me, I 
 passed through the portal and descended into the 
 pyramid. 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 At the bottom of the stair-way I found myself 
 in a low, naiTow passage, through which, without 
 stooping almost to earth, it w^as impossible to pro- 
 ceed. Though leading through a multiplicity of 
 dark windings, this way seemed but little to ad- 
 vance my progress, — its course, I perceived, be- 
 ing chiefly circular, and 2;athering, at every turn, 
 but a deeper intensity of darkness. 
 
 " Can this," I thought, "be the sojourn of any 
 thing human .^" — and had scarcely asked myself 
 the question, when the path opened into a long 
 gallery, at the farthest end of which a gleam of 
 light was visible. This welcome glimmer appear- 
 ed to come from some cell or alcove, in which the 
 right hand w'all of the gallery terminated, and, 
 breathless with expectation, I stole gently to- 
 wards it. 
 
 Arrived at the end of the gallery, a scene pre- 
 sented itself to my eyes, for which my fondest ex- 
 pectations of adventure could not have prepared 
 me. The place from which the light proceeded 
 was a small chapel, of whose interior, from the 
 dark recess in which I stood, I had, unseen my- 
 self, a full and distant view. Over the walls of 
 this oratory were painted some of those various 
 symbols, by which the mystic wisdom of tlie Egyp- 
 tians loves to shadow out the History of the Soul — 
 
39 
 
 the winged globe with a serpent, — the rays de- 
 scending from above, like a glory, and the Theban 
 beetle", as he comes forth, after the waters have 
 passed away, and the first sunbeam falls on liis re- 
 generated wings. 
 
 In the middle of the chapel stood a low altar of 
 granite, on which lay a lifeless female form, en- 
 shrined within a case of crystal, — as they preserve 
 their dead in Ethiopia, — and looking as freshly 
 beautiful as if the soul had but a few hours de- 
 parted. Among the emblems of death, on tlie 
 front of the altar, were a slender lotus-branch, bro- 
 ken in two, and a bird, just winging its flight from 
 the spray. 
 
 To these memorials of the dead, however, I but 
 little attended 5 for there was a living object there 
 upon which my eyes were most intently fixed. 
 
 The lamp, by which the whole of the chapel was 
 illuminated, was placed at the head of the pale 
 image in the shrine^ and, between its light and me, 
 stood a female form, bending over the monument, 
 as if to gaze upon the silent features within The 
 position in which this figure was placed, intercept- 
 ing a strong light, afforded me, at first, but an im- 
 perfect and shadowy view of it. Yet even at this 
 mere outline my heart beat high, — and memory, 
 as it proved, had as much share in this feeling as 
 imagination. For, on the head changing its posi- 
 tion, so as to let a gleam fall on the features, I saw 
 with a transport, which had almost led me to be- 
 tray my lurking-place, that it was she — the young 
 worshipper of I sis — the same, the very same, whom 
 I had seen, brightening the holy place where she 
 stood, and looking like an inhabitant of some purer 
 world. 
 
 The movement, by which she had now given me 
 
40 
 
 an opportunity of recognizing her, was made in 
 raising from the shrine a small cross* of silver, 
 which lay directly over the bosom of the lifeless 
 figure. Bringing it close to her lips, she kissed it 
 with a religious fervour; then, turning her eyes 
 mournfully upwards, held them fixed with an in- 
 spired earnestness, as if, at that moment, in direct 
 communion with heaven, they saw neither roof, nor 
 any other earthly barrier between them and the 
 skies. 
 
 What a power hath innocence, whose very help- 
 lessness is its safeguard — in whose presence even 
 Passion himself stands abashed, and turns wor- 
 shipper at the altar which he came to despoil. She, 
 who, but a short hour before, had presenced her- 
 self to my imagination, as something I could have 
 risked immortality to win — she, whom gladly, from 
 the floor of her own lighted temple, in the very face 
 of its proud ministers, I would have borne away in 
 triumph, and defied all punishments, both human 
 and sacred, to make her mine, — she was now be- 
 fore me, thrown, as if by fate itself, into my power 
 — standing there, beautiful and alone, with nothing 
 but her innocence for her guard! Yet, no— so 
 touching was the purity of the whole scene,' so 
 calm and august that protection which the dead 
 seemed to extend over the living, that every earth- 
 lier feeling was forgotten as 1 gazed, and love 
 itself became exalted into reverence. 
 
 Entranced, indeed, as I felt in witnessing such 
 a scene, thus to enjoy it by stealth, seemed a wrong, 
 a sacrilege — and, rather than let her eyes meet the 
 flash of mine, or disturb, by a whisper, that sacred 
 
 * A cross was, among the Egyptians, the emblem of a 
 future lifo. 
 
41 
 
 wience, in which Youth and Death held coiamuniun 
 through Love, I would have let my heart break, 
 without a murmur, where I stood. Gently, as if 
 life depended upon every movement, I stole away 
 from that tranquil and holy scene — leaving it still 
 tranquil and holy as I found it — and, gliding back 
 through the same passages and windinos by whicli 
 I had entered, regained the narrow stair-way, and 
 again ascended into light. 
 
 The sun had just risen, and, from the summit of 
 the Arabian hills, was pouring down liis beams into 
 that vast valley of waters, — as if proud of the 
 homage that had been paid to his own Isis, now- 
 fading away in the superior light of her Lord. My 
 first impulse was to fly from this dangerous spot, 
 and in new loves and pleasures seek forgetfulness 
 of the scene which I had witnessed. ''Once out 
 of the circle of this enchantment," I exclaimed, 
 *'I know my own susceptibility to new impres- 
 sions too well, to doubt that I shall soon break 
 the spell that is around me. " 
 
 But vain were my efforts and resolves. Even 
 while I swore to fly, my steps were still lingering 
 round the pyramid — my eyes still turned towards 
 the secret portal, which severed this enchantress 
 from the world of the living. Hour after hour did 
 I wander through that City of Silence, — till, al- 
 ready, it was noon, and, under the sun's meridian 
 eye, the mighty pyramid of pyramids stood, like a 
 great spirit, shadowless. 
 
 Again did those wild and passionate feelings, 
 which had, for a moment, been subdued into reve- 
 rence by her presence, return to kindle up my 
 imagination and senses. I even reproached myself 
 for the awe, that had held me spell-bound before 
 her. '* What would my compiuiions of the Gaj- 
 
 n o 
 
42 
 
 den say, did they know that their chief, — he, whose 
 path Love had strewed with trophies — was now 
 pining for a simple Egyptian gin, in whose pre- 
 sence he had not dared to sive utterance to a sigh, 
 and who had vanquished the victor, without even 
 knowing her triumph !" 
 
 A blush came over my cheek at the humiliating 
 thought, and my determination was fixed to await 
 her coming. That she should be an inmate of those 
 gloomy caverns seemed inconceivable^ nor did 
 there appear to be any issue from their depths but 
 by the pyram'd. Again, therefore, like a sentinel 
 of the dead, did I pace up and down among these 
 tombs, contrasting, in many a mournful reflection, 
 the burning fever within my own veins with the 
 cold quiet of those who slept around. 
 
 At length the fierce glow of the sun over my 
 liead, and, still more, that ever restless agitation 
 in my heart, were too much for even strength like 
 mine to bear. Exhausted, I lay down at the base 
 of the pyraaid — placing myseli directly under the 
 portal, where, even should slumber surprise me, 
 my heart, if not my ear, might still be on the watch, 
 and her footstep, light as it was, could not fail to 
 awake me. 
 
 After many an ineffectual struggle against drow- 
 siness, I at length sunk into sleep — but not into 
 forgetfulness. The same image still haunted me, 
 in every variety of shape, with which imagination, 
 assisted by memory, could invest it. Now, like 
 Neitha, upon her throne at Sais, she seemed to sit, 
 with the veil just raised from that brow^ which 
 mortal had never, till then, beheld,— and now, 
 like the beautiful enchantress Rhodope, I saw her 
 rise out of the pyramid in which she had dwelt for 
 ages* — ' 
 
43 
 
 "Fair Rhodope, as story tells, 
 
 The bright, unearthly nymph, who dwells 
 Mid sunless gold and jewels hid, 
 The Lady of the Pyramid !" 
 
 So long, amid that unbroken silence, did my 
 sleep continue, that I found the moon again shin- 
 ing above the horizon, when I awoke. All around 
 was silent and lifeless as before, nor did a print 
 upon the herbage betray that any foot had passed 
 it since my own. Refreshed by rest, and with a 
 fancy still more excited by the mystic wonders of 
 which I had been dreaming, I now resolved to re- 
 visit the chapel in the pyramid, and put an end, 
 if possible, to this illusion that haunted me. 
 
 Having learned from the experience of the pre- 
 ceding night, the inconvenience of encountering 
 those labyrinths without a light, I now hastened 
 to provide myself with a lamp from my boat. 
 Tracking my way back with some difficulty to the 
 shore, I there found, not only my lamp, but some 
 dates and dried fruits, with a store of which, for 
 my roving life upon the waters, I was always sup- 
 plied,— and which noM', after so many hours of 
 abstinence, were a welcome and necessary relief. 
 
 Thus prepared, I again ascended the pyramid, 
 and was proceeding to search out the secret spnng, 
 when a loud, dismal noise was heard at a distance, 
 to which all the echoes of the cemetery answered. 
 It came, I knew, from the Great Temple on the 
 sliore of the Lake, and was the shriek which its 
 gates — 'the Gates of Oblivion, as they were called 
 — sent forth from their hinges, in opening at night, 
 to receive within their precincts the newly-landed 
 dead. 
 
 I had heard that sound before, and always with 
 
44 
 
 sadness; but, at this moment, it thrilled through 
 me, like a voice of ill omen, and I almost doubted 
 ^vhether I should not abandon my enterprise. The 
 hesitation, however, was but momentary; — even 
 while it passed through my mind, I had touched 
 the spring of the portal. In a few seconds more, 
 I was again in the passage beneath the pyramid, 
 and being enabled by my lamp to follow the wind- 
 ings of the way more rapidly, soon found myself 
 at the door of the small chapel in the gallery. 
 
 I entered, still awed, though there was now no- 
 thing living within. The young Priestess had fled 
 — ^liad vanished, like a spirit, into the darkness. 
 All the rest was as I had left it on the preceding 
 night. The lamp still stood burning upon the 
 crystal shrine — ^the cross lay where the hands of 
 the young mourner had placed it, and the cold 
 image beneath wore the same tranquil look, as if 
 resigned to the solitude of death — of all lone things 
 the loneliest. Remembering the lips that 1 had 
 seen kiss that cross, and kindling with the recol- 
 lection, I raised it passionately to my own;- — ^but, 
 at the same moment, I fancied the dead eyes met 
 mine, and, saddened in the midst of my ardour, I 
 replaced the cross upon the shrine. 
 
 I had now lost all clue to the object of my pur- 
 suit, and was preparing slowly to retrace my steps 
 to earth, witli that gloomy satisfaction which cer- 
 tainty, even when unwelcome, brings, — when, as 
 I held forth my lamp, on leaving the chapel, I 
 could perceive that the gallery, instead of termi- 
 nating here, took a sudden bend to the left, which 
 had before eluded my eye, and which gave a pro- 
 mise of leading still further into those recesses. 
 Re-animated by this discovery, which opened a 
 new source of hope to my heart, I cast but one 
 
45 
 
 hesitating look at my lamp, aS if to ask whether it 
 would be faithful through the gloom I was about 
 to encounter, and without further thought, rushed 
 eagerly forward. 
 
 CHAP. VII 
 
 The path led, for some time, through the same 
 sort of narrow winding as those which I had en- 
 countered in descending the stair-way; and at 
 length opened, in a smilar manner, into a straight 
 and steep gallery, along each side of which stood, 
 closely ranged and upright, a file of lifeless bodies, 
 whose glassy eyes threw a preternatural glare upon 
 me as I passed. 
 
 Arrived at the end of this gallery, I found my 
 hopes a second time vanish. The path, I per- 
 ceived, extended no further. The only object 
 that I could discern, by the glimmering of my 
 lamp, which now, every minute, burned fainter 
 and fainter, was the mouth of a huge well, that 
 lay gaping before me — a reservoir of darkness, 
 black and unfathomable. It now crossed my 
 memory that I had heard of such wells, as being 
 used occasionally for passages by the Priests. 
 Leaning down, therefore, over the edge, I looked 
 anxiously within, to discover whether it was pos- 
 sible to descend into the chasm; but the sides 
 were hard and smooth as glass, being varnished 
 all over with that dark pitch, which the Dead Sea 
 throws out on its slimy shore. 
 
 After a more attentive scrutiny, however, I ob- 
 served, at the depth of a few feet, a sort of iron 
 step, projecting dimly from the side, and, below 
 
46 
 
 it, another, which, though hardly perceptible, was 
 just sufficient to encourage an adventurous foot 
 to the trial. Though all hope of tracing the young 
 Priestess was at an end, — it being impossible the 
 female foot should have dared this descent, — ^j^et, 
 as I had so far engaged in the adventure, and 
 there was, at least, a mystery to be unravelled, I 
 determined, at all hazards, to explore the chasm. 
 Placing my lamp, (which was hollowed at the bot- 
 tom, so as to fit like a helmet) firmly on my head, 
 and having thus both hands at liberty for exertion, 
 I set mv foot cautiously on the iron step, and de- 
 scended into the well. 
 
 I found the same footing, at regular intervals, 
 to a considerable depth; and had already counted 
 near a hundred of these steps, when the ladder 
 altogether ceased, and I could descend no further. 
 In vain did I stretch down my foot in search of 
 support — the hard, slippery sides were all that it 
 encountered. At length, stooping my head, so as 
 to let the light fall below, I observed an opening 
 or window directly above the step on wliich I 
 stood, and, taking for granted that the way must 
 lie in that direction, with some little difficulty 
 clambered through the aperture. 
 
 I now found myself on a rude and narrow stair- 
 way, the steps of which were cut out of the living 
 rock, and wound spirally downward in the same 
 direction as the well. Almost dizzy with the 
 descent, which seemed as if it would never end, 
 I, at last, reached the bottom, where a pair of 
 massy iron gates closed directly across my path, 
 as if to forbid any further progress. Massy, now- 
 ever, and gigantic as they were, I found to my 
 surprise, that the hand of an infant might have 
 
47 
 
 opened them with ease — so readily did their great 
 folds give way to my touch, 
 
 "Light as a lime-busb, that receives 
 Some wandering bird among its leaves.' 
 
 No sooner, however, had I passed through, than 
 the din, with which the sates clashed together 
 again, was such as might have awakened death 
 itself. It seemed as if every echo, throughout 
 that vast subterranean world, from the Catacombs 
 of Alexandria to Thebes's Valley of Kings, had 
 caught up and repeated the thundering sound. 
 
 Startled, however, as I was, not even this su- 
 pernatural clangour could divert my attention from 
 the light that now broke upon me — soft, warm, 
 and welcome as are the stars of his own South to the 
 mariner who has been wandering through the seas 
 of the north. Looking for the source of this 
 splendour, I saw, through an archway opposite, a 
 long illuminated alley, stretching away, as far as 
 the eye could reach, and fenced on one side, with 
 thickets of odoriferous shrubs, while, along the 
 other, extended a line of lofty arcades, from which 
 the light that filled the whole area, issued. As 
 soon, too, as the din of the deep echoes had sub- 
 sided, there stole gradually on my ear a strain of 
 choral music, which appeared to come, mellowed 
 and sweetened in its passage, through many a spa- 
 cious hall within those shining arcades. Among 
 the voices I could distinguish some female tones, 
 towering high and clear over all the rest, and 
 forming the spire, as it were, into which the har- 
 mony tapered, as it rose. 
 
 So excited was my fancy by this sudden en- 
 chantment, that— though never had I caught a 
 
48 
 
 sound from the young Egyptian's lips, — ^I yet per- 
 suaded myself that the voice I now heard was 
 hers, sounding hidiest and most heavenly of ail 
 that choir, and calling to me, like a distant spirit 
 out of its sphere. Animated by this thought, I 
 flew forward to the archway, but found to my mor- 
 tification, that it was guarded by a trellis-work, 
 whose bars, though invisible at a distance, resist- 
 ed all my efforts to force them. 
 
 While occupied in these ineffectual struggles, I 
 perceived, to the left of the archway, a dark, ca- 
 vernous opening, which seemed to lead in a direc- 
 tion parallel to the lighted arcades. Notwith- 
 standing my impatience, however, the aspect of 
 this passage, as I looked shudderingly into it, 
 chilled my very blood. It was not so much dark- 
 ness, as a sort of livid and ghastly twilight, from 
 which a damp, like that of death-vaults, exhaled, 
 and through which, if my eyes did not deceive me, 
 pale, phantom-like shapes were, at that very mo- 
 ment, hovering. 
 
 Looking anxiously round, to discover some less 
 formidable outlet, I saw, over the vast folding-gates 
 through which I had just passed, a blue, tremulous 
 flame, which, after playing for a few seconds over 
 the dark ground of tne pediment, settled gradually 
 into characters of light, and formed the following 
 words: — 
 
 You, who would try 
 
 Yon terrible track, 
 To live, or to die, 
 
 But ne'er to look back — 
 
 You, who aspire 
 
 To be purified there, 
 By the terrors of Fire, 
 
 Of Water, and Air,— 
 
49 
 
 If danger, and pain, 
 
 And death you despise, 
 On — for again 
 
 Into light you shall rise ; 
 
 Rise into light 
 
 With that Secret Divine, 
 Now shrouded from sight 
 
 By the Veils of the Shrine I 
 
 But if 
 
 Here the letters faded away into a dead blank, 
 more awfully intelligible than the most eloquent 
 words. 
 
 A new hope now flashed across me. The dream 
 of the Garden, which had been for some time al- 
 most forgotten, returned to my mind. "Am I 
 then," I exclaimed, «'in the path to the promised 
 mystery? and shall the great secret of Eternal 
 Life indeed be mine.^" 
 
 '» Yes!" seemed to answer, out of the air, that 
 spirit-voice, which still was heard crowning the 
 choir with its single sweetness. I hailed the omen 
 with transport. Love and Immortality, both beck- 
 oning me onward — who could give a thought to 
 fear, with two such bright hopes in view? Having 
 invoked and blessed that unknown enchantress, 
 whose steps had led me to this abode of mystery 
 and knowledge, I plunged into the chasm. 
 
 Instead of that vague, spectral twilight which had 
 at first met my eye, I now found, as I entered, a 
 thick darkness, which, though far less horrible, 
 was, at this moment, still more disconcerting, as 
 my lamp, which had been, for some time, almost 
 useless, was fast expiring. Resolved, however, to 
 make the most of its last gleam, I hastened, with 
 rapid step, through this gloomy region, which 
 
50 
 
 geemed wider and more open to the air than any 
 that I had yet passed. Nor was it long before the 
 appearance of a bright blaze in the distance, an- 
 nounced to me that my first great Trial was at 
 hand. As I drew nearer, the flames burst high 
 and wide on all sides; — and the spectacle that now 
 presented itself, was such as might have appalled 
 even hearts more habituated to dangers than mine. 
 
 There lay before me, extending completely 
 across my path, a thicket, or grove of the most 
 combustible trees of Egypt — tamarind, pine, and 
 Arabian balm. Around their stems and branches 
 were coiled serpents of fire, which, twisting them- 
 selves rapidly from bough to bougii, spread their 
 own wild-fire as they went, and involved tree after 
 tree in one general blaze. It was, indeed, rapid 
 as the burning of those reed-beds of Ethiopia, whose 
 light brightens, at night, the distant cataracts of 
 the Nile. 
 
 Through the middle of this blazing grove, I per- 
 ceived, my only pathway lay. There was not a 
 moment to be lost — the conflagration gained rapidly 
 on either side, and already the narrowing path be- 
 tween was strewed with fire. Casting away my 
 now useless lamp, and holding my robe as some 
 protection over my head, with a tremor, I own, in 
 every limb, I ventured through the blaze. 
 
 Instantly, as if my presence had given new life 
 to the flames, a fresh outbreak of combustion arose 
 on all sides. The trees clustered into a bower of 
 fire above my head, while the serpents, that hung 
 hissing from the red branches, shot showers of spar- 
 kles down upon me, as I passed. Never were de- 
 cision and activity more serviceable; — one minute 
 later, and I must have perished. The narro^v 
 opening, of which I had so promptly availed my- 
 
51 
 
 self, closed instantly behind me; and, as I looked 
 back, to contemplate the ordeal which I had pass- 
 ed, I saw that trie whole grove was already one 
 mass of fire. 
 
 Happy at having escaped this first trial, I pluck- 
 ed from one of the pine-trees a bough that was 
 but just kindled, and, with this for my only 
 guide, hastened breathlessly forward. I had gone 
 but a few paces, when the path turned suddenly 
 ofi*, — leading downwards, as I could see by the 
 glimmer of my brand, into a more confined space, 
 through which a chilling air, as if from some neigh- 
 bouring waters, blew over my brow. Nor had I 
 proceeded very far, when the sound of torrents 
 fell on my ear, — ^mingled, as I thought, from time 
 to time, with shrill wailings, like the cries of per- 
 sons in danger or distress. At every step the noise 
 of the dashing waters increased, and I now per- 
 ceived that I had entered an immense rocky ca- 
 vern, through the middle of which, headlong as a 
 winter torrent, the flood, to whose roar I had been 
 listening, rushed. Upon its surface, too, there 
 floated strange, spectre-like shapes, which, as they 
 went by, sent forth those dismal shrieks, as if in 
 fear of some precipice to whose brink they were 
 hurrying. 
 
 I saw too plainly that my course must be across 
 that torrent. It was fearful; but in courage lay 
 my only hope. What awaited me on the opposite 
 shore, I knew not; for all there was wrapped in 
 impenetrable gloom, nor could the weak light I 
 held reach half so far. Dismissing, however, all 
 thoughts but that of pressing onward, I sprung 
 from the rock on whicn I stood into the flood, — 
 trusting that, with my right hand, I should be able 
 to buffet the current, while, with the other, I 
 
• 52 
 
 might contrive to hold my brand aloft, as long as 
 a glimmer of it remained, to guide me to the shore. 
 
 Long and formidable was the struggle I had to 
 maintain. More than once, overpowered by the 
 rush of the waters, I had almost given myself up, 
 as destined to follow those apparitions, that stdl 
 passed me, hurrying, with mournful cries, to their 
 doom in some invisible gulf before them. 
 
 At length, just as my strength was nearly ex- 
 hausted, and the last remains of the pine-branch 
 were falling from my hand, I saw, outstretching 
 towards me into the water, a light double balus- 
 trade, with a flight of steps between, ascending, 
 almost perpendicularly, from the wave, till they 
 seemed lost in a dense mass of clouds above. This 
 glimpse — for it was no more, as my light expired 
 in giving it— lent new spring to my courage. Hav- 
 ing now both hands at liberty, so desperate were 
 my efforts, that after a few minutes' struggle, I 
 felt my brow strike against the stair-way, and, in 
 an instant more, my feet were on the steps. 
 
 Rejoiced at my rescue from that perilous flood, 
 though I knew not whither the stair-way led, I 
 promptly ascended it. But this feeling of confi- 
 dence was of short duration. I had not mounted 
 far, when, to my horror, I perceived, that each 
 successive step, as my foot left it, broke away from 
 beneath me, — leaving me in mid-air, with no other 
 alternative than that of mounting still by the same 
 momentary footing, and with the dreadful doubt 
 whether it would even endure my tread. 
 
 And thus did I, for a few seconds, continue to 
 ascend, with nothing beneath me but that awful 
 river, in which — so tranquil it had become — I 
 could heai* the plash of the falling fragments, as 
 every step in succession gave way under my feet. 
 
5^ 
 
 It was a trying moment, but still worse remained. 
 I now found the balustrade, bj which I had held 
 during my ascent, and which had hitherto seemed 
 firm, grow tremulous in my hand, — while the step 
 to which I was about to trust myself, tottered un- 
 der my foot. Just then, a momentary flash, as if 
 of lightning, broke around, and I saw, hanging, 
 out of the clouds, within my reach, a huge brazen 
 ring. Instinctively I stretched forth my arm to 
 seize it, and, at the same instant, both balustrade 
 and steps gave way beneath me, and I was left 
 swinging by my hands in the dark void. As if, 
 too, this massy ring, which I grasped, was by some 
 magic power linked with all the winds in heaven, 
 no sooner had I seized it than, like the touching 
 of a spring, it seemed to give loose to every variety 
 of gusts and tempests, that ever strewed the sea- 
 shore with wrecks or dead; and, as I swung about, 
 the sport of this elemental strife, each new burst 
 of its fury threatened to shiver me, like a storm- 
 sail, to atoms ! 
 
 Nor was even this the worst; — still holding, 
 I know not how, by the ring, I felt myself caught 
 up, as if by a thousand whirlwinds, and round and 
 round, like a stone-shot in a sling, whirled in the 
 midst of all, this deafening chaos, till my brain 
 grew dizzy, and my recollection confused, and I 
 almost fancied myself on that wheel of the infer- 
 nal world, M'hose rotations, it is said. Eternity 
 alone can number! 
 
 Human strength could no longer sustain such a 
 tnal. I was on the point, at last, of loosing my 
 hold, when suddenlv the violence of the storm 
 moderated; — my whirl through the air gradually 
 ceased, and I felt the ring slowly descend with 
 me, till — happv as a shipwrecked mariner at the 
 R 2 
 
54 
 
 first touch of land — I found my feet once more 
 upon firm ground. 
 
 At the same moment, a liffht of the most deli- 
 cious softness filled the whole air. Music, such 
 as is heard in dreams, came floating at a distance; 
 and, as my eyes gradually recovered their powers 
 of vision, a scene of glory was revealed to them, 
 almost too briglit for imagination, and yet living 
 and real. As far as the sight could reach, en- 
 clianting gardens were seen, opening away tlirough 
 long tracts of light and verdure, and sparkling 
 every where with fountains, that circulated, like 
 streams of life, among the flowers. Not a charm 
 was here wanting, that the imagination of poet or 
 prophet, in their pictures of Elysium, ever yet 
 dreamed or promised. Vistas, opening into scenes 
 of indistinct grandeur, — streams, shining out at 
 intervals, in their shadowy course — and labyrinths 
 of flowers, leading, by mysterious windings, to 
 green, spacious glades, full of splendour and re- 
 pose. Over all this, too, there fell a light, from 
 some unseen source, resembling nothing that il- 
 lumines our upper world — a sort of golden moon- 
 light, mingling the warm radiance oi day with the 
 calm and melancholy lustre of night 
 
 Nor were there wanting inhabitants for tins 
 sunless Paradise. Through all the bright 8;ardens 
 w^ere wandering, with the serene air and step of 
 happy spirits, groups both of young and old, of 
 venerable and of lovely forms, bearing, most of 
 them, the Nile's white flowers on their heads, and 
 branches of the eternal palm in their hands; while, 
 over the verdant turf, fair children and maidens 
 went dancing to aerial music, whose source was, 
 like that of the light, invisible, but which filled 
 the whole air with its mystic sweetness. 
 
<t5 
 
 Exhausted as I was by the trials I had under- 
 gone, no sooner did I perceive those fair groups 
 m the distance, than my weariness, both of frame 
 and spirit was forgotten. A thought crossed me 
 that she, whom I sought, might be among them; 
 and, notwithstanding the awe, with which that 
 unearthly scene inspired me, I was about to fly, 
 on the instant, to ascertain my hope. But in the 
 act of making the effort, I felt my robe gently 
 pulled, and turning, beheld an aged man before 
 me, whom, by the sacred hue of his garb, I knew 
 to be a Hierophant. Placing a branch of the con- 
 secrated palm in my hand, he said, in a solemn 
 voice, "Aspirant of the Mysteries, welcome I"— 
 then, regarding me for a few seconds with grave 
 attention, added, in a tone of courteousness and 
 interest, " The victory over the body hath been 
 gained i — Follow me, young Greek, to thy resting 
 place." 
 
 I obeyed in silence, — and the Priest, turning 
 away from this scene of splendour, into a secluded 
 path, where the light faded away, as we advanced, 
 conducted me to a small pavilion, by the side of 
 a whispering stream, where the very spirit of 
 slumber seemed to preside, and pointing to a bed 
 of dried poppy-leaves within it, left me to repose. 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 Though the sight of that splendid scene which 
 opened upon me, like a momentary glimpse into 
 another world, had, for an instant, re-animated my 
 strength and spirit, so completely had fatigue over- 
 mastered mv whole frame, that, even had tlieform 
 
55 
 
 of the young Priestess stood before me, my limbs 
 would have sunk in the effort to reach her. No 
 sooner had I fallen on my leafy couch, than sleep, 
 like a sudden death, came over me; and I lay, for 
 hours, in the deep, and motionless rest, which not 
 even a shadow of life disturbs. 
 
 On awaking I saw, beside me, the same venera- 
 ble personage, who had welcomed me to this sub- 
 terranean world on the preceding night. At the 
 foot of my couch stood a statue, of Grecian work- 
 manship, representing a boy, with wings, seated 
 fracefully, on a lotus-flower, and having the fore- 
 n^er of his right hand pressed to his lips. This 
 action, together with the glory round his brows, 
 denoted, as I already knew, the God of Silence 
 and Light. 
 
 Impatient to know what further trials awaited 
 me, I was about to speak, when the Priest ex- 
 claimed, anxiously, '<Hush!" — and, pointing to 
 this statue at the foot of the couch, said — ''Let 
 the spell of that Spirit be on thy lips, youn^ 
 stranger, till the wisdom of thy instructors shall 
 think fit to remove it. Not unaptly doth the same 
 god preside over Silence and Light; since it is 
 only out of the depth of contemplative silence, 
 that the great light of the soul. Truth, arises!" 
 
 Little used to the language of dictation or in- 
 struction, I was now preparing to rise, when the 
 priest again restrained me; and, at the same mo- 
 ment, two boys, beautiful as the young Genii of the 
 stars, entered the pavilion. They were habited in 
 long garments of the purest white, and bore each 
 a small golden chalice in his hand. Advancing 
 towards me, they stopped on opposite sides of the 
 couch, and one of them, presenting to me his cha- 
 
57 
 
 lice of gold, said, in a tone between singing and 
 speaking, — 
 
 * Drink of this cup — Osiris sips 
 
 The same in his halls below ; 
 And the same he gives, to cool the lips 
 
 Of the Dead, who downward go. 
 
 " Drink of this cup— the water within 
 
 Is fresh from Lethe's stream ; 
 'Twill make the past with all its sin. 
 
 And all its pain and sorrows, seem 
 
 Like a long-forgotten dream I 
 
 " The pleasure, whose charms 
 
 Are steep'd in wo ; 
 The knowledge, that harms 
 
 The soul to know ; 
 
 »^ The hope, that, bright 
 
 As the lake of the waste, 
 Allures the sight, 
 
 But mocks the taste ; 
 
 *<- The love, that binds 
 
 Its innocent wreath. 
 Where the serpent winds, 
 
 In venom, beneath ; — 
 
 " All that, of evil or false, by thee 
 Hath ever been known or seen. 
 Shall melt away in this cup, and be 
 Forgot, as it never had been 1" 
 
 Unwilling to throw a slight on this strange cere- 
 mony, I leaned forward, with all due gravity, and 
 tasted the cup; which I had no sooner done than 
 the young cup-bearer, on the other side, invited 
 my attention, and, in his turn, presenting the cha- 
 
58 
 
 lice which he held, sung, with a voice still sweeter 
 than that of his companion, the foUomng strain: — 
 
 *' Drink of this cup — when Isis led 
 Her boy, of old, to the beaming sky, 
 
 She mingled a draught divine, and said — 
 * Drink of this cup, thou'lt never die !' 
 
 " Thus do I say and sing to thee, 
 
 Heir of that boundless heav'n on high, 
 
 Though frail, and falPn, and lost thou be» 
 Drink of this cup, thou'lt never die I" 
 
 Much as I had endeavoured to keep my phuoso- 
 phy on its guard, against the illusions with which, 
 I knew, this redon abounded, the young cup-bearer 
 had here touched a spring of imagination, over 
 which, as has been seen, my philosophy had but 
 little control. No sooner had the words, " thou 
 shalt never die," struck on mv ear, than the dream 
 of the Garden came fully to my mind, and, start- 
 ing half-way from the couch, I stretched forth my 
 hands to the cup. Recollecting myself, however, 
 and fearful of having betrayed to others a weak- 
 ness only fit for my own secret indulgence, with 
 an affected smile of indiiference I sunk back again 
 on my couch, — while the young minstrel, but lit- 
 tle interrupted by my movement, still continued 
 his strain, of .which i heard but the concluding 
 words: — 
 
 " And Memory, too, with her dreams shall come, 
 
 Dreams of a former, happier day, 
 When Heaven was still the Spirit's home, 
 
 And her wings had not yet fallen away ; 
 
 •* Glimpses of glory ne'er forgot. 
 
 That toll, like gleams on a sunset eea. 
 
69 
 
 What once hath been, what now is not. 
 But, oh, what again shall brightly be !" 
 
 Though the assurances of immortality, con 
 tained in these verses, would, at any other mo- 
 ment, — vain and visionary as I thought them, — 
 have sent my fancy wandering into reveries of the 
 future, the effort of self-control I had just made 
 enabled me to hear them with indifference. 
 
 Having gone through the form of tasting this 
 second cup, I again looked anxiously to the Hiero- 
 phant, to ascertain whether I might be permitted 
 to rise. His assent having been given, the young 
 pages brought to my couch a robe and tunic, which, 
 like their own, were of linen of the purest white; 
 and having assisted to clothe me in this sacred 
 garb, they then placed upon my head a chaplet of 
 myrtle, in which the symbol of Initiation, a gol- 
 den grashopper, was seen shining out from among 
 the dark leaves. 
 
 Though sleep had done much to refresh my 
 frame, something more was still wanting to restore 
 its strength; and it was not without a smile at my 
 own reveries I reflected, how much more welcome 
 than the young page's cup of immortality was the 
 unpretending, but real, repast now set before me, 
 — fresh fruits from the Isle of Gardens in the Nile, 
 the delicate flesh of the desert antelope, and wine 
 from the Vineyard of the Queens at Anthylla, fan- 
 ned by one of the pages with a palm-leaf, to keep 
 it cool. 
 
 Having done justice to these dainties, it was 
 with pleasure I heard the proposal of the Priest, 
 that we should now walk forth together, and medi- 
 tate among the scenes Avithout. I had not forgot- 
 ten the elysium that welcomed me last night, — 
 those enchanted gardens, that mysterious music, 
 
60 
 
 and light, and the fair forms I saw wandering 
 about, — as if, in the very midst of happiness, still 
 seeking it. The hope, which had then occurred to 
 me, that, perhaps, among tliose sparkling groups, 
 might be the maiden I sought, now returned with 
 increased strength. I had little doubt that my 
 guide was about to lead to the same Elysian scene, 
 and that the form, so fit to inhabit it, would again 
 appear before my eyes. 
 
 But far different was the region to which he con- 
 ducted me; nor could the whole world produce a 
 scene more gloomy, or more strange. It had the 
 appearance of a small, solitary valley, enclosed, 
 on every side, by rocks, which seemed to rise, al- 
 most perpendicularly, to the very sky; — for it was, 
 indeed, the blue sky that I saw shining between 
 their summits, and whose light, dimmed and half 
 lost, in its descent thus far, formed the melancholy 
 daylight of this nether world.* Down the side of 
 these rocky walls fell a cataract, whose source was 
 upon earth, and on whose waters, as they rolled 
 glassily over the edge above, a gleam of radiance 
 rested, that showed how brilliant was the sunshine 
 they left From thence, gradually darkening, and 
 broken, in its long descent, by alternate chasms 
 and projections, the stream fell, at last, in a pale 
 and tliin mist — the phantom of what it had been on 
 earth — into a small lake that lay at the base of the 
 rock to receive it. 
 
 Nothing could be more bleak and saddening from 
 the appearance of this lake. Tiie usual ornaments 
 
 * " On s'^loit meme avise, depuis la premiere construc- 
 tion de ces demeures, de percer en plusieurs endroits jusq'au 
 haunt les terras qui les couvroient ; non pas, a la v<5rit6, pour 
 tirer un jour qui n'auroit jamais 6\6 snffisaut, mais pour 
 recevoir un air salutaire, &c." — Sefhos. 
 
61 
 
 of the waters of Eot* were not wantine: the lotus 
 here uplifted her silvery flowers, and the crimson 
 flamingo floated over the tide. But they were, 
 neither of them, the same as in the upper world ;—- 
 the flower had exchanged its whiteness for a livid 
 hue, and the wings of the bird hung heavy and co- 
 lourless. Every thing wore the same half-living 
 aspect; and the only sounds that disturbed the 
 mournful stillness were the wailing cry of a heron 
 among the sedges, and that din of the waters, in 
 their midway struggle, above. 
 
 There was an unearthly sadness in the whole 
 scene, of which no heart, however light, could resist 
 the influence. Perceiving how I was affected by 
 it, "Such scenes," said the Priest, "are best suited 
 to that solemn complexion of mind, which becomes 
 him who approaches the Great Secret of futurity. 
 Behold," — and, in saying thus, he pointed to the 
 opening over our heads, through which I could per- 
 ceive a star or two twinkling in the heavens, 
 though the sun had but a short time passed his 
 meridian, — "as from this gloomy depth we can 
 see those stars, which are now invisible to the 
 dwellers upon the bright earth, even so, to the sad 
 and self-humbled spirit, doth many a mystery of 
 heaven reveal itself, of which they, who walk in 
 the light of the proud world, know not!" 
 
 He now led me towards a rustic seat or alcove, 
 beside which stood an image of that dark Deity, 
 that God without a smile, who presides over the 
 kingdom of the Dead.* The same livid and life 
 less hue was upon his features, that hung over every 
 thing in this dim valley; and, with his right hand, 
 he pointed directly downwards, to denote that his 
 
 * Osiris. 
 
62 
 
 melancholy kingdom lay there. A plantain — that 
 favourite tree of the genii of Death — stood behind 
 the statue, and spread its branches over the alcove, 
 in which the Priest now, seating himself, signified 
 that I should take my place by his side. 
 
 After a long pause, as if of thought and prepara- 
 tion, — '* Nobly," said he, "youn^ Greek, hast 
 thou sustained the first trials oi Initiation. What 
 remains, though of vital import to the soul, brings 
 with it neither pain nor peril to the body. Having 
 now proved and chastened thy mortal frame, by 
 the three ordeals of Fire, of Water, and of Air, 
 the next task to which we are called is the purifica- 
 tion of thy spirit, — the cleansing of that inward and 
 immortal part, so as to render it fit for the recep- 
 tion of the last luminous revealment, when the 
 Veils of the Sanctuary shall be thrown aside, and 
 the Great Secret of Secrets unfolded to thee! — 
 Towards this object, the primary and most essen- 
 tial step is, instruction. What the three purifying 
 elements, through which thou hast passed, have 
 done for thy body, instruction will effect for — " 
 
 "But that lovely maiden!" I exclaimed, burst- 
 ing from my silence, having fallen, during his 
 speech, into a deep revery, in which I had for- 
 gotten him, myself, the Great Secret, every thing 
 — ^but her. 
 
 Startled by this profane interruption, he cast a 
 look of alarm towards the statue, as if fearful lest 
 the God should have heard my words. Then, 
 turning to me, in a tone of mild solemnity, *• It is 
 but too plain," said he, "^that thoughts of the 
 upper world, and of its vain delights, still engross 
 thee too much, to let the lessons of Truth sink pro- 
 fitably into thy heart. A few hours of meditation 
 amid "this solemn scenerv— of that wholesome me- 
 
G3 
 
 dilation, which purifies, by saddening — ^may haply 
 dispose thee to receive, with reverence, the holy 
 and immortal knowledge that is in store for thee. 
 With this hope, I now leave thee to thy own 
 thoughts, and to that God, before whose calm and 
 mournful eye the vanities of the world, from which 
 thou comest, wither!" 
 
 Thus saying, he turned slowly away, and pass- 
 ing behind the statue, towards wliich he had pointed 
 during the last sentence, suddenly, and as if by 
 enchantment, disappeared from my sight 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 Being left to my own solitary thoughts, I had 
 now leisure to reflect, with coolness, on the incon- 
 veniences, if not dangers, of the situation into 
 which my love of adventure had hurried me. How- 
 ever ready my imagination was, to kindle, in its 
 own ideal sphere, I have ever found that, when 
 brought into contact with reality, it as suddenly 
 cooled; — like those meteors, that seem stars in the 
 air, but, the moment they touch earth, a: : extin- 
 guished. Such was the disenchantment that now 
 succeeded to the dreams in which I had been in- 
 dulging. As long as fancy had the field of the 
 future to herself, even immortality did not seem 
 too distant a race for her. But when human instru- 
 ments interposed, the illusion vanished. From 
 mortal lips the promise of immortality seemed a 
 mockery, and imagination herself had no wings 
 that could carry beyond the grave. 
 
 Nor was this disappointment the only feeling 
 that occupied me; — ^the imprudence of the step, 
 
64 
 
 which I had taken, now appeared in its full extent 
 before mj eyes. I had thrown myself into the 
 power of the most artful priestliood in the world, 
 without a chance of being able to escape from their 
 toils, or to resist any machinations with which they 
 might beset me. It seemed evident, from the state 
 of preparation in which I had found all that won- 
 derful apparatus, by which the terrors and splen- 
 dours of Initiation are produced, that my descent 
 into the pyramid was not unexpected. Numerous, 
 indeed, and active as were the spies of the Sacred 
 College of Memphis, there could be but little doubt 
 that all my movements, since my arrival, had been 
 tracked J and the many hours I had passed in 
 watching and wandering round the pyramid, be- 
 trayed a curiosity which might well inspire these 
 wily priests with the hope of drawing an Epicu- 
 rean into their superstitious toils. 
 
 I well knew their hatred to the sect of which I 
 was Chief; — that they considered the Epicureans 
 as, next to the Christians, the most formidable 
 enemies of their craft and power. " How thought- 
 less, then," I exclaimed, '^to have placed myself 
 in a situation, where I am equally helpless against 
 their fraud and violence, and must either seem to 
 be the dupe of their impostures, or submit to be- 
 come the victim of their vengeance." Of these 
 alternatives, bitter as tliey were, the latter ap- 
 peared by far the more welcome. I blushed even 
 to think of the mockeries to which I already had 
 yielded; and the prospect of being put through still 
 further ceremonials, and of being tutored and 
 preached to by hypocrites I despised, appeared to 
 me, in my present temper, a trial of patience, to 
 which the names and the wliirlwinds I had already 
 encountered, were pastime. 
 
i 
 
 G5 
 
 Often and impatienllj did I look up, betvvfen 
 those rocky walls, to the bright sky that appeared 
 to rest upon their summits, as, round and round, 
 through every part of the valley, I endeavoured to 
 find an outlet from its gloomy precincts. But in 
 vain I endeavoured; — that rocky barrier, which 
 seemed to end but in heaven, interposed itself 
 every where. Neither did the image of the young 
 maiden, though constantly in my mind, now bring 
 with it the least consolation or hope. Of what avail 
 was it that she, perhaps, was ah inhabitant of this 
 region, if I could neither see her smile, nor catch 
 the sound of her voice, — if, while among preaching 
 priests I wasted away my hours, her presence dif- 
 fused its enchantment elsewhere. 
 
 At length exhausted, I lay down by the brink 
 of the lake, and gave myself up to all the melan- 
 choly of my fancy. The pale semblance of day- 
 light, which had hitherto shone around, grew, everv 
 moment, more dim and dismal. Even the rich 
 gleam, at the summit of the cascade, had faded; 
 and the sunshine, like the water, exhausted in its 
 descent, had now dwindled into a ghostly glimmer, 
 far worse than darkness. The birds upon the lake, 
 as if about to die with the dying light, sunk down 
 their heads; and, as I looked to the statue, the 
 deepening shadows gave an expression to its mourn- 
 ful features that chilled my very soul. 
 
 The thought of death, ever ready to present 
 itself to my imagination, now came with a dis- 
 heartening weight, such as I had never before felt. 
 I almost mncied myself already in the dark vesti- 
 bule of the grave, — separated, for ever, from the 
 world above, and with nothing but the blank of an 
 eternal sleep before me. It had often, I knew, 
 happened that the visitant** of tliis mysteriou:^ 
 
realm were, after their descent from earth, never 
 seen or heard of j — ^being condemned, for some 
 failure in their initiatory trials, to pine away their 
 lives in the dark dungeons, with which, as well as 
 with altars, this region abounded. Such, I shud- 
 dered to think, might probably be my destiny; 
 and so appalling was the thought, that even the 
 spirit of defiance died within me, and I was al- 
 ready giving myself up to helplessness and des- 
 pair. 
 
 At length, after some hours of this gloomy 
 musing, I heard a rustling in the sacred grove 
 behind the statue; and, soon after, the sound of 
 the Priest's voice — ^more welcome than I had evei 
 thought such voice could be— brought the assur 
 ance that I was not yet, at least, wholly abandon- 
 ed. Finding his way to me through the gloom, 
 he now led me to the same spot, on which we had 
 parted so many hours before; and, in a voice that 
 retained no trace of displeasure, bespoke my at 
 tention, while he should reveal to me some of 
 those divine truths, by whose infusion, he said, 
 into the soul of man, its purification can alone be 
 effected. 
 
 The valley had now become so wholly dark, 
 that we could no longer discern each other's faces, 
 as we sat. There was a melancholy in the voice 
 of my instructor that well accorded with the 
 gloom around us; and, saddened and subdued, I 
 now listened with resignation, if not with interest, 
 to those sublime, but, alas, I thouglit, vain tenets, 
 which, with the warmth of a believer, this Hiero- 
 phant expounded to me. 
 
 He spoke of the pre-existence of tlie soul,— -of 
 its abode, from all eternity, in a place of bliss, of 
 which all that we have most beautiful in our con- 
 
67 
 
 ceplions here is but a him transcript, a clouded 
 remembrance. In the blue depths of ether, he 
 said, lay that *^ Country of the boul," — its boun- 
 dary alone visible in the line of milky light, that 
 separates it, as by a barrier of stars, from the 
 dark earth. ''Oh, realm of purity! Home of the 
 yet unfallen Spirit! — where, in the days of her 
 primal innocence, she wandered, ere her beauty 
 was soiled by the touch of earth, or her resplendent 
 wings had withered away. Methinks," he cried, 
 ♦'I see, at this moment, those fields of radiance, — 
 I look back, through the mists of life, into that 
 luminous world, w^nere the souls that have never 
 lost their high, heavenly rank, still soar, without 
 a stain, above the shadowless stars, and dwell to- 
 gether in infinite perfection and bliss!" 
 
 As he spoke these words, a burst of pure, bril- 
 liant light, like a sudden opening of heaven, broke 
 through the valley; and, as soon as my eyes were 
 able to endure the splendour, such a vision of 
 loveliness and glory opened upon them, as took 
 even my sceptical spirit by surprise, and made it 
 yield, at once, to the potency of the spell. 
 
 Suspended, as I thought, in air, and occupying 
 the whole of the opposite region of the valley, 
 there appeared an immense orb of light, within 
 which, through a haze of radiance, I could see dis- 
 tinctly, groups of young female spirits, who, in 
 silent, but harmonious movement, like that of 
 the stars, wound slowly through a variety of fan- 
 ciful evolutions; and, as they linked and unlinked 
 each other's arais, formed a living labyrinth of 
 beauty and grace. Though their feet seemed to 
 tread along a field of light, they had also wings, 
 of the richest hue, which, like rainbows over wa- 
 
68 
 
 terfalls, when played with by the breeze, at every 
 moment reflected a new variety of glory. 
 
 As I stood, gazing with wonder, the orb, with 
 all its ethereal inmates, gradually receded into the 
 dark void, lessening, as it went, and growing 
 more bright, as it lessened; — till, at length, dis- 
 tant, apparently, as a retiring comet, this little 
 world of Spirits, in one small point of intense 
 radiance, shone its last and vanished. " Go," ex- 
 claimed the rapt Priest, "ye happy souls, of 
 whose dwelling a glimpse is thus given to our 
 eyes, go, wander, in your orb, through the bound 
 less heaven, nor ever let a thought of this peri sha 
 ble world come to mingle its dross with your di- 
 vine nature, or tempt you to that earthward fall, 
 by which spirits, as bright have been ruined!" 
 
 A pause ensued, during which, still under the 
 influence of wonder, I sent my fancy wandering 
 after the inhabitants of that orb, — almost wishing 
 myself credulous enough to believe in a heaven, 
 of which creatures, so like all that I most loved on 
 earth, were inmates. 
 
 At length, tlie Priest, with a sigh at the con- 
 trast he was about to draw, between the happy 
 spirits we had just seen, and the fallen ones of 
 earth, resumed his melancholy History of the 
 Soul. Tracing it, from the first moment of earth- 
 ward desire, to its final eclipse in the shadows of 
 this world, he dwelt upon every stage of its dark- 
 enino- descent, with a pathos tliat sent sadness 
 into the very depths of the heart. The first down- 
 ward look of the Spirit towards earth — the trem- 
 ble of her wings on the edge of Heaven — the gid- 
 dy slide, at length, down that fatal descent, and 
 the Lethaean cup, midway in the skv, of which 
 when she has once tasted, Heaven is forgot,— 
 
69 
 
 through all these gradations he mournfully traced 
 her fall, to the last stage of darkness, when, wholly 
 immersed in this world, her celestial nature is 
 changed, she can no longer rise above earth, nor 
 remembers her home, but by glimpses so vague, 
 that, mistaking for hope what is only memory, 
 she believes them to be a light from the Future, 
 not the past. 
 
 " To retrieve this ruin of the once blessed Soul 
 — to clear away, from around her, the clouds of 
 earth, and, restoring her lost wings,* facilitate their 
 return to Heaven — such," said 9ie reverend man, 
 '< is the great task of our religion, and such the 
 triumph of those divine Mysteries, in which the 
 life and essence of our religion lie. How ever sunk 
 and changed and clouded may be the Spirit, as long 
 as a single trace of her original light remains, there 
 is yet hope that " 
 
 Here his voice was interrupted by a strain of 
 mournful music, of which the low, distant breath- 
 ings had been, for some minutes, heard, but which 
 now gained upon the ear too thrillingly to let it 
 listen to any more earthly sound. A taint light, 
 too, at that instant broke through the valley, — 
 and I could perceive, not far from the spot where 
 we sat, a female figure, veiled, and crouching to 
 earth, as if subdued by soitow, or under the in- 
 fluence of shame. 
 
 The light, by which I saw her, was from a pale, 
 moon-like meteor, which had formed itself in the 
 air as the music approached, and shed over the 
 rocks and the lake a glimmer as cold as that by 
 which the Dead, in their own realm, gaze on each 
 
 * In the language of Plato, Hierocles, kc. to " restore to 
 the Boul its wings," is the main object both of religion and 
 philosophy. 
 
70 
 
 other. The music, too, which appeared to rise di- 
 rectly out of the lake, and to come full of the 
 breath of its dark waters, spoke a despondency in 
 every note which no language could express: — and, 
 as I listened to its tones^ and looked upon that 
 fallen Spirit, (for such the holy man whispered, 
 was the form before us,) so entirely did the illusion 
 of the scene take possession of me, that, with 
 breathless anxiety, I waited the result. 
 
 Nor had I gazed long before that form rose slow- 
 ly from its drooping position; — the air around it 
 grew brio-ht, and the pale meteor overhead assumed 
 a more cheerful and living light. The veil, which 
 had before shrouded the face of the figure became 
 gradually transparent, and the features, one by 
 one, disclosed themselves through it. Having 
 tremblingly watched the progress of the apparition, 
 I now started from my seat, and half exclaimed, 
 "It is she!" In another minute, this veil had, 
 like a thin mist, melted away, and the young 
 Priestess of the Moon stood, for the third time, 
 revealed before my eyes. 
 
 To rush instantly towards her was my first im- 
 pulse — ^but the arm of the Priest held me firmly 
 back. The fresh light, which had begun to flow 
 in from all sides, collected itself in a glory round 
 the spot where she stood. Instead of melancholy 
 music, strains of the most exalted rapture were 
 heard: and the young maiden, buoyant as the 
 inhabitants of the fairy orb, amid, a blaze of light 
 like that which fell upon her in the Temple, ascend- 
 ed into the air. 
 
 " Stay, beautiful vision, stay!" I exclaimed, as, 
 breaking from the hold of the Priest, I flung my- 
 self prostrate on the ground, — the only mode by 
 v^hich I cculd express tlie admiration, even to 
 
71 
 
 worship, with which I was filled. But the vanish- 
 ing spirit heard me not: — receding into the dark- 
 ness, like that orb, whose track she seemed to fol- 
 low, her form lessened away, till she was seen no 
 more. Gazing, till the last luminous speck had 
 disappeared, 1 suftered myself unconsciously to be 
 led away by my reverend guide, who, placing me 
 once more on my bed of poppy-leaves, left me to 
 such repose as it was possible, after such a scene, 
 to enjoy. 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 The apparition with which I had been blessed 
 in that Valley of Visions — as the place where I 
 had witnessed these wonders was called — brought 
 back to my heart all the hopes and fancies, in 
 which I had indulged during my descent from 
 earth. I had now seen once more that matchless 
 creature, who had been my guiding star into this 
 mysterious world; and that slie was, in some way, 
 connected with the further revelations that awaited 
 me, I saw no reason to doubt. There was a sub- 
 limity, too, in the doctrines of my reverend 
 teacher, and even a hope in the promises of im- 
 mortality held out by him, which, in spite of rea- 
 son, won insensibly both upon my fancy and my 
 pride. 
 
 The Future, however, was now but of secondary 
 consideration; — the Present, and that deity of the 
 Present, woman, were the objects that engrossed 
 my whole soul. For the sake, indeed, of such be- 
 ings alone did I think immortality desirable, — nor, 
 without them, would eternal life have appeared to 
 
72 
 
 me worth a prayer. To every further trial of my 
 patience and faith, I now made up my mind to sub- 
 mit without a murmur. Some propitious chance, 
 ;I fondly persuaded myself, might yet bring me 
 nearer to the object of my adoration, and enable 
 me to address, as mortal woman, her who had 
 hitherto been to me but as a vision, a shade. 
 
 The period of my probation, however, was nearly 
 at an end. Both frame and spirit had now been 
 tried; and, as the crowning test of the purification 
 of the latter was that power of seeing into the world 
 of spirits, with which, in the Valley of Visions, I 
 had proved myself to be endowed, there remained 
 now, to perfect my Initiation, but this one night 
 more, when in the Temple of Isis, and in the pre- 
 sence of her unveiled image, the last grand revela- 
 tion of the Secret of Secrets was to open upon me. 
 
 I passed the morning of this day in company with 
 the same venerable personage, who had, from the 
 first, presided over the ceremonies of my instruc- 
 tion; and who, to inspire me with due reverence 
 for the power and magnificence of his religion, now 
 conducted me through the long range, of illumi- 
 nated galleries and shrines, that extend under the 
 site upon which Memphis and the Pyramids stand, 
 and form a counterpart underground, to that mighty 
 city of temples upon earth. 
 
 He ther; descended with me, still lower, into 
 those winding crypts, where lay the Seven Tables 
 of stone, found by Hermes in the valley of Hebron. • 
 **0n these tables," said he, *'is written all the 
 knowledge of the antediluvian race, — the decrees 
 of the stars from the beginnini^ of time, the annals 
 of a still earlier world, and afl the mai-vellous se- 
 crets both of heaven and earth, which would have 
 been, 
 
73 
 
 " But for this key 
 Lost in the Universal Sea." 
 
 Ret'jrning to the region, from which we Imd de- 
 scended, we next visited, in succession, a series 
 of small shrines, representing the various objects 
 of adoration through Egypt, and thus furnishing 
 to the Priest, an occasion for explaining the mys- 
 terious nature of animal worship, and the refined 
 doctrines of theology that lay veiled under its 
 forms. Every shrine was consecrated to a parti- 
 cular faith, and contained a living image of the 
 deity which it adored. Beside the goat of Mendes, 
 with his refulgent star upon his breast, I saw the 
 crocodile, as pi-esented to the eves of its idolaters 
 at Arsinoe, with costly gems in'^its loathsome ears, 
 and rich bracelets of gold encircling its feet. Here, 
 floating through a tank in the centre of a temple, 
 tlie sacred carp of Lepidotum exhibited its silvery 
 scales; while, there, the Isiac serpents trailed lan- 
 guidly over the altar, with that movement which 
 most insiiires the hopes of their votaries. In one 
 of the small chapels we found a beautiful child, 
 feeding and watching over those golden beetles, 
 which are adored for their brightness as emblems 
 of the sun; while, in another, stood a sacred ibis 
 upon its pedestal, so like, in plumage and attitude, 
 to the bird of- the young Priestess, that I could 
 gladly have knelt down and worshipped it for her 
 sake. 
 
 . After visiting these various shrines, and listen- 
 ing to the reflections which they suggested, I was 
 next led, by my guide, to the Great Hall of the 
 Zodiac, on whose ceiling, in bright and undying 
 colours, was delineated the map of the firmament, 
 as it appeared at the first dav/n of time. — Here, in 
 
 G 
 
74 
 
 pointing out the track of the sun, among the 
 spheres, he spoke eloquently of the analogy that 
 exists between moral and physical darkness — of 
 ""the sympathy with which all spiritual creatures 
 regard the sun, so as to sadden and droop when 
 he sinks into his wintry hemisphere, and to rejoice 
 when he resumes his own empire of light. Hence, 
 the festivals and hymns, with which most of the 
 nations of the earth are wont to welcome the re- 
 surrection of his orb in spring, as an emblem and 
 pledge of the re-ascent of the soul to heaven. 
 Hence, the songs of sorrow, the mournful cere- 
 monies, — ^like those Mysteries of the Night, upon 
 the Lake of Sais, in which they brood over his au- 
 tumnal descent into the shades, as a type of the 
 Spirit's fall into this world of death. 
 ' In discourses such as these the hours passed 
 away; and though there was nothing in the light of 
 this sunless region to mark to the eye the decline 
 of day, my own feelings told me that the night 
 drew near; — nor, in spite of my incredulity, could 
 I refrain from a flutter of hope, as that promised 
 moment of revelation approached, when the Mys- 
 tery of Mysteries was to be made all my own. 
 This consummation, however, was less near than 
 I expected. My patience had still further trials 
 to encounter. It was necessary, I now found, that 
 I should keep watch, during the greater part of the 
 night, in the Sanctuary of the Temple, alone, and 
 in darkness, — and thus prepare myself, by medi- 
 tation, for the awful moment, when the irradiation 
 from behind the sacred Veils was to burst upon me. 
 At the appointed hour, we left the Hall of the 
 Zodiac, and proceeded through a line of long mar- 
 ble galleries, where the lamps were more thinly 
 scattered as we advanced, till, at length, we found 
 
75 
 
 ourselves in total darkness. Here the Priest, 
 taking me by the hand, and leading me down a 
 flight of steps, into a place where the same deep 
 gloom prevailed, said, with a voice trembling, as 
 if from excess of awe, — "Thou art now in the 
 Sanctuary of our goddess, Isis, and the dark veils, 
 that hang over her image, are before thee!" 
 
 After exhorting me earnestly to that train of 
 thought, which best accorded with the spirit of the 
 place where I stood, and, above. all, to that full 
 and unhesitating faith, with which alone, he said, 
 the manifestation of such mysteries should be ap- 
 proached, the holy man took leave of me, and re- 
 ascended the steps;— while, so spell-bound did I 
 feel by that deep darkness, that the last sound of 
 his footsteps died upon my ear, before I ventured 
 to stir a limb from the position in which he had 
 left me. 
 
 The prospect of the long watch, now before me, 
 was dreadful. Even danger itself, in an active 
 form, would have been preferable to this sort of 
 safe, but dull, probation, by which patience was 
 the only virtue put to the proof. Having ascer- 
 tained how far the space around me was free from 
 obstacles, I endeavoured to beguile the time by 
 pacing up and down within those limits, till I be- 
 came tired of the echoes of my own tread. Find- 
 ing my way, then, to what I felt to be a massive 
 pillar, and, leaning wearily against it, I surren- 
 dered myself to a train of thoughts and feelings, 
 far different from those with which the Hierophant 
 had hoped to inspire me. 
 
 "Why," I again asked, "if these priests pos- 
 sess the secret of life, why are they themselves the 
 victims of death .^ why sink into the grave with the 
 cup of immortality in their hands? But no, safe 
 
re 
 
 boasters, the eternity they so lavishly promise is 
 reserved for another^ a future world — that ready 
 resource of all priestly promises — that depository 
 of the airy pledges of all creeds. Another world! 
 — alas, where does it lie? or, what spirit hath ever 
 come to say that Life is there?" 
 
 The conclusion, to which, half sadly, half pas- 
 sionately, I arrived, was that, life being but a 
 dream of the moment, never to come again, every 
 bliss that is promised for hereafter should be se- 
 cured by the wise man here. And, as no heaven 
 I had ever heard of from these visionary priests, 
 opened half such certainty of happiness as that 
 smile which I beheld last night, — "Let me," I 
 exclaimed, impatiently, striking the massy pillar, 
 till it rung, *' let me but make that beautiful 
 Priestess my oivn, and I here willingly excliange 
 for her every chance of immortality, mat the com- 
 bined wisdom of Egypt's Twelve Temples can of- 
 fer me!" 
 
 No sooner had I uttered these words, than a 
 tremendous peal, like that of thunder, rolled over 
 the Sanctuary, and seemed to shake its walls. On 
 every side, too, a succession of blue, vivid flashes 
 pierced, like so many lances of light, through the 
 gloom, revealing to me, at intervals, the mighty 
 dome in which I stood— its ceiling of azure, stud- 
 ded with stars, its colossal columns, towering aloft, 
 and those dark, mysterious veils, which hung, in 
 massy drapery, from the roof to the floor, and 
 covered the rich glories of the Shrine under their 
 folds. 
 
 So weary had I grown of my tedious watch, tb.at 
 this stormy and fitful illumination, during which 
 the Sanctuary seemed to rock to its base, was by 
 no means an 'unwelcome interruption of the mono- 
 
I 
 
 77 
 
 tony under which my impatience suffered. After 
 a short interval, however, the flashes ceased; — the 
 sounds died away, like exhausted thunder, through 
 the abyss, and darkness and silence, like that of 
 the grave, succeeded. 
 
 Resting my back once more against the pillar, 
 and fixing my eyes upon that side of the Sanctu- 
 ary, from whicli the promised irradiation was to 
 burst, I now resolved to await the awful moment 
 in patience. Resigned and immoveable, I had re- 
 mained thus, for nearly another hour, when, sud- 
 denly, along the edges of the mighty Veils, I per- 
 ceived a thin rim of light, as if from some brilliant 
 object under them; — like that border which encir- 
 cles a cloud at sunset, when the radiance, from be- 
 hind, is escaping at its edges. 
 
 This indication of concealed glories grew every 
 instant more strong; till, at last, vividly marked as 
 it was upon the darkness, the narrow fringe of 
 lustre almost pained the eye, giving promise of a 
 splendour too bright to be endured. My expecta* 
 tions were now wound to the highest pitch, and all 
 the scepticism, into which I had been cooling down 
 my mind, was forgotten. The wonders that had 
 been presented to me since my descent from earth 
 — ^that glimpse into Elysium on the first niglit of 
 my coming — ^those visitants from the Land of Spi- 
 rits in the mysterious valley, — all led me to ex 
 pect, in this "last and brightest revelation, such 
 visions of glory and knowledge as might transcend 
 even fancy itself, nor leave a doubt that they be 
 longed less to earth than heaven. 
 
 While, with an imagination thus excited, I stood 
 
 waiting the result, an increased gush of light still 
 
 more awakened my attention; and I saw, with an 
 
 intenseness of interest, which made my heart beat 
 
 G 2 
 
79 
 
 aloud, one of the corners of the mighty Veil slowly 
 raised up. 1 now felt that tlie Great Secret — 
 whatever it might be — was at hand. A vague hope 
 even crossed my mind — so wholly hadimaghiation 
 resumed her empire — that the splendid promise of 
 my dream was on the point of bein^ realised! 
 
 With surprise, however, and — tor a moment — 
 with disappointment, I perceived, that the massy 
 corner of the Veil was but raised sufficiently to 
 allow a female iigure to emerge from under it, — 
 and then fell again, over its mystic splendours, as 
 dark as before. By the strong light, too, that issued 
 when the drapery was lifted, and illuminated the 
 profile of the emerging iigure, I either saw, or fiin- 
 cied tiiat I saw, the same bright features, that had 
 already mocked me so often with their momentary 
 charm, and seemed destined to haunt my heart as 
 unavailingly as the fond, vain dream of Immor- 
 tality itsen. 
 
 Dazzled, as I had been, by that short gush of 
 splendour, and distrusting even my senses, when 
 under the influence of a fancy so excited, I had 
 hardly time to question myself as to the reality of 
 my impression, when I heard the sounds of liglit 
 footsteps approaching me through the gloom. In 
 a second or two more, the figure stopped before 
 me, and, placing the end of a riband gently in my 
 hand, said, in a tremulous whisper, "Follow, and 
 be silent." 
 
 So sudden and strange was the adventure, that, 
 for a moment, I hesitated, — fearful lest my eyes 
 should have beea deceived as to the object they 
 had seen. Casting a look towards the Veil, which 
 seemed bursting with its luminous secret, I was 
 almost doubting to which of the two chances I 
 should commit myself, when I felt the riband iu 
 
79 
 
 my hand pulled softly at the other extremity. This 
 movement, at once, like a touch of magic, decided 
 me. Without further deliberation, I yielded to the 
 silent summons, and following my guide, who was 
 already at some distance before me, found myself 
 led up" the same flight of marble steps, by wliich 
 the Priest had conducted me into the Sanctuary. 
 Arrived at their summit, I felt the pace of my con- 
 ductress quicken, and, giving one more look to the 
 Veiled Shrine, whose glories we left burning inef- 
 fectually behind us, hastened into the gloom, full 
 of confidence in the belief, that she, who now held 
 the other end of that clue, was one whom I could 
 follow devotedly through the world. 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 So rapidly was I hurried along by my unseen 
 conductress, full of wonder at the speed with which 
 she ventured through these labyrinths, that I had 
 but little time to reflect upon the strangeness of 
 the adventure to which I had committed myself. 
 My knowledge of the character of the priests, as 
 well as the fearful rumours that had reached me, 
 of the fate that often attended unbelievers in their 
 hands, waked a" momentary suspicion of treacl^iCry 
 in my mind. But, when I recalled the face of my 
 guide, as 1 had seen it in the chapel, with that di- 
 vine look, the very memory of which brought purity 
 into the heart, this suspicion all vanished, and 1 
 felt shame at having harboured it but an instant. 
 
 In the mean while, our course continued unin- 
 terrupted, through windings more capriciously in- 
 tricate than any that I had yet passed, and whose 
 
80 
 
 darkness seemed never to have been disturbed by 
 a single glimmer. My conductress still continued 
 at some distance before me, and the clue, to which 
 I clung as if it were the thread of Destiny herself, 
 was still kept, by her speed, at full stretch between 
 us. At len^h, suddenly stopping, she said, in a 
 breathless whisper, '^ Seat thyself here, " and, at the 
 same moment, led me by the hand to a sort of low 
 car, in which I lost not a moment in placing my- 
 self, as desired, while the maiden, as promptly, 
 took her seat by my side. 
 
 A sudden click, like the touching of a spring, 
 was then heard, and the car, — which, as I had 
 felt in entering it, leaned half-way over a steep 
 descent, — on being loosed from its station, shot 
 down, almost perpendicularly, into the darkness, 
 with a rapidity, which, at first, nearly deprived 
 me of breath. The wheels slid smoothly and 
 noiselessly in grooves, and the impetus, which the 
 car acquired in descending, was sufficient, I per- 
 ceived, to carry it up an eminence that succeeded, 
 — from the summit of which it again rushed down 
 another declivity, even still more long and preci- 
 pitous than the former. In this manner we pro- 
 ceeded, by alternate falls and rises, till, at length, 
 from the last and steepest elevation, the car de- 
 scended upon a level of deep sand, where, after 
 running for a few yards, it by degrees lost its mo- 
 tion and stopped. 
 
 Here, the maiden alighting, again placed the 
 riband in my hands, — and again I followed her, 
 though with more slowness and difficulty than be- 
 fore, as our way led up a flight of damp and time- 
 worn steps, whose ascent seemed to the weary and 
 insecure foot interminable. Perceiving with what 
 languor my guide now a<lvanced, I was on the 
 
81 
 
 point of making an effort to assist her progress, 
 when the creak of an opening door above, and a 
 faint gleam of light which, at the same moment, 
 shone upon her figure, apprised me that we were 
 arrived within reach of sunshine. 
 
 Joyfully I followed through this opening, and, 
 by the dim light, could discern, that we were now 
 in the sanctuary of a vast, ruined temple, — having 
 entered by a passage under the lofty pedestal, 
 upon which an image of the idol of the place once 
 stood. The first movement of the maiden, afler 
 replacing the portal under the pedestal, was with- 
 out even a look towards me, to cast herself down 
 on her knees, with her hands clasped and i^plift- 
 ed, as if for the purpose of thanksgiving or prayer. 
 But she was unable to sustain herself in this po- 
 sition; — her strength could hold out no longer. 
 Overcome by agitation and fatigue, she sunk sense- 
 less upon t!ie pavement. 
 
 Bewildered as I was, myself, by the events of 
 the night, I stood for some minutes looking upon 
 her in a state of helplessness and alarm. But 
 reminded, by my own feverish sensations, of the 
 reviving effects of the air, I raised her gently in 
 rr\j arms, and crossing the corridor that surround- 
 ecl the sanctuary, found my way to the outer ves- 
 tibule of the temple. Here, shading her eyes 
 from the sun, I placed her, reclining, upon the 
 steps, where tte cool wind, then blowing freshly 
 from the north, might play, with free draught, be- 
 tween the pillars over iier brow. 
 
 It was, indeed, — I now saw, with certainty,— 
 the same beautiful and mysterious girl, who had 
 been the cause of my descent into that subterra- 
 nean world, and who now, under such strange 
 and unaccountable circumstances, was my guide 
 
82 
 
 back again to the realms of day. I looked round, 
 to discover where we were, and beheld such a 
 scene of grandeur, as — could my eyes have wan- 
 dered to any other object from the pale form re- 
 clining at my side — ^might well have won them to 
 dwell on its splendid beauties. 
 
 I was now standing, I found, on the small 
 island in the centre of Lake Moerisj and that 
 sanctuary, where we had emerged from darkness, 
 formed part of the ruins of a temple, which (as I 
 have since learned) was, in the grander days of 
 Memphis, a place of pilgrimage for worshippers 
 from all parts of Egypt. The fair Lake, itself, 
 out of whose waters once rose pavilions, palaces, 
 and even lofty pyi-amids, was still, though divest- 
 ed of many of these wonders, a scene of interest 
 and splendour such as the whole world could not 
 equal. While the shores still sparkled with man- 
 sions and temples, that bore testimony to the lux- 
 ury of a living race, the voice of the Past, speak- 
 ing out of unnumbered ruins, whose summits here 
 and there, rose blackly above the wave, told of 
 times long fled and generations long swept away, 
 before whose giant remains all the glory of the 
 present stood humbled. Over the southern bank 
 of the Lake hung the dark relics of the I^aby- 
 rinth; — its twelve Royal Palaces, like the man- 
 sions of the Zodiac, — its thundering portals and 
 constellated halls, having left nothing behind but 
 a few frowning ruins, which, contrasted with the 
 soft groves of olive and acacia around them, seem- 
 ed to rebuke the luxuriant smiles of nature, and 
 threw a melancholy grandeur over the whole 
 scene. 
 
 The effects of the air, in re-animating the young 
 Priestess, were less speedy than I had expected; — 
 
83 
 
 her eyes were still closed, and she remained pale 
 and insensible. Alarmed, I now rested her head 
 (which had been, for some time, supported by my 
 arm,) against the base of a column, with my cloak 
 for its pillow, while I hastened to procure some 
 water from the Lake. The temple stood high, and 
 the descent to the shore was precipitous. But, my 
 Epicurean habits having but little impaired my ac- 
 tivity, I soon !loscended, with the lightness of a 
 desert deer, to the bottom. Here, plucking from 
 a lofty bean-tree whose flowers stood, shining like 
 eold, above the water, one of those large hollowed 
 leaves that serve as cups for the Hebes of the Nile, 
 I filled it from the Lake, and hurried back with the 
 cool draught to the temple. It was not without 
 some difficulty and delay that I succeeded, in 
 bearing my rustic chalice steadily up the steep; 
 more than once did an unlucky slip waste its con- 
 tents, and as often did I impatiently return to re- 
 fiil it. 
 
 During this time, the young maiden was fast re- 
 covering her animation and consciousness; and, at 
 the moment when I appeared above the edge of the 
 steep, was just rising from the steps, with her hand 
 pressed to her forehead, as if confusedly recalling 
 the recollection of what had occurred. No sooner 
 did she observe me, than a short cry of alarm 
 broke from her lips^. Looking anxiously round, as 
 though she sought for protection, and half audibly 
 uttering the words, *' Where is he.^" she made an 
 eflfort, as I approached, to retreat into the temple. 
 
 Already, however, I was by her side, and taking 
 her hand gently, as she turned away, " Whom 
 dost thou seek, fair Priestess.^" I asked, — for the 
 first time breaking tlirougli the silence she had en- 
 joined, and in a tone that might have re-assurcd 
 
84 
 
 the most timid spirit. But my words had no effect 
 in calming her apprehension. Tremblin<^> and 
 with her eyes still averted towards the Temple, 
 she continued in a voice of suppressed aiai m, — 
 '* Where can he be.'^ — that venerable Athenian, 
 that philosopher, who " 
 
 *' Here, here," I exclaimed, anxiously interrupt- 
 ing her, — " behold him still by thy side — the same, 
 the very same who saw thee steal from under the 
 lighted Veils of the Sanctuary, whom thou hast 
 guided by a clue through those labyrinths below, 
 and who now but waits his command from those 
 lips, to devote himself through life and death to 
 thy service. " As I spoke these words, she turned 
 slowly round, and looking timidly in my face, 
 while her own burned with blushes, said, in a tone 
 of doubt and wonder, ''Thoul" and hid her eyes 
 in her hands. 
 
 I knew not how to interpret a reception so un- 
 expected. That some mistake or disappointment 
 had occurred was evident; but so inexplicable did 
 the whole adventure appear, that it was in vain to 
 think of unravelling any part of it. Weak and 
 agitated, she now tottered to the steps of the tem- 
 ple, and there seating herself, with her forehead 
 against the cold marble, seemed for some moments 
 absorbed in the most anxious thought, — while si- 
 lent and watchful I waited her decision, with a 
 prophetic feeling, however, that my destiny would 
 be henceforth linked with hers. 
 
 The inward struggle by which she was agitated, 
 though violent, was not of long continuance. Start- 
 ing suddenly from her seat, with a look of terror 
 towards the temple, as if the fear of immediate 
 pursuit had alone decided her, she pointed eagerly 
 towards the East^ and exclaimed, ""To the Nile, 
 
85 
 
 without delay!" — clasping her hands, when she 
 had spoken, with the most suppliant fervour, as if 
 to soften tlie abruptness of the mandate she had 
 given, and appealing to me with a look that would 
 have taught Stoics tenderness. 
 
 1 lost no time in obeying the welcome command. 
 While a thousand wild hopes and wishes crowded 
 upon my fancy, at the prospect which a voyage, 
 under such auspices, presented, I descended ra- 
 pidly to the shore, and hailing one of tlie nume- 
 rous boats that ply upon the Lake for hire, ar- 
 ranged speedily for a passage down the canal to 
 the Nile. Having learned, too, from the boainien, 
 a more easy path up the rock, I hastened back to 
 the Temple for my fair charge^ and without a word, 
 a look, tliat could alarm, even by its kindness, or 
 disturb that innocent confidence which she now 
 placed in me, led her down by the winding path to 
 the boat. 
 
 Every thing looked smiling around us as we em- 
 barked. The morning was now in its first fresh- 
 ness, and the path of the breeze might be traced 
 over the Lake, wakening up its waters from their 
 sleep of the night. The gay, golden-winged birds 
 that haunt these shores, were, in every direction, 
 skimming along tlie Lake; while, with a graver con- 
 sciousness of beauty, the swan and the pelican were 
 seen dressing their white plumage in the mirror of 
 its wave. To add to the animation of the scene, 
 a sweet tinkling of musical instruments came, at 
 intervals, on the breeze, from boats at a distance, 
 employed thus early in pursuing the fish of these 
 waters, that suffer themselves to be decoyed into 
 the nets by music. 
 
 The vessel which I selected for our voyage, was 
 one of those small pleasui-e-boats or yachts,* — so 
 
86 
 
 much in use among the luxurious navigators of the 
 Nile, — in the centre of which rises a pavilion of 
 cedar or express wood, gilded gorgeously, without, 
 with religious emblems, and fitted up, within, for 
 all the purposes of feasting and repose. To the 
 door of this pavilion I now led my companion, and, 
 after a few words of kindness — tempered with as 
 much respectful reserve as the deep tenderness 
 which I felt would admit of — left her in solitude 
 to court that restoring rest, which the agitation of 
 her spirits but too much required. 
 
 For myself, thouo;h repose was hardly less ne- 
 cessary to me, the ^rment in which my thoughts 
 had been kept seemed to render it hopeless. — 
 Throwing myself upon the deck, under an awn- 
 ing which the sailors had raised for me, I continu- 
 ed, for some hours, in a sort of vague day-dream, 
 — sometimes passing in review the scenes of that 
 subterranean drama, and sometimes, with my eyes 
 fixed in drowsy vacancy, receiving passively the 
 impressions of the bright scenery through which we 
 passed. 
 
 The banks of the canal were then luxuriantly 
 wooded. Under the tufts of the light and tower- 
 ing palm, were seen the orange and the citron, in- 
 terlacing their boughs; while, here and there, huge 
 tamarisks thickened tlie shade, and, at the very 
 edge of tlie bank, the willow of Babylon stood 
 bending its graceful branches into the water. Oc- 
 casionally, out of the depth of these groves, there 
 shone a small temple or pleasure house; — while, 
 now and then, an opening in their line of foliage 
 allowed the eye to wander over extensive fields, 
 all covered with beds of those pale, sweet roses, 
 for which this district of Egypt is so celebrated. 
 
 The activity of the morning hour was visible 
 
87 
 
 every where. Flights of doves and lapwings were 
 fluttering among the leaves, and the white heron, 
 which had roosted all night in some date-tree, now 
 stood sunning its wings upon the green bank, or 
 floated, like living silver, over the flood. The 
 flowers, too, both of land and water, looked freshly 
 awakened; — and, most of all, the superb lotus, 
 which had risen with the sun from the wave, and 
 was now holding up her chalice for a full draught 
 of his light 
 
 Such were the scenes that now passed before 
 my eyes, and mingled with the reveries that float- 
 ed through my mind, as our boat, with its high, 
 capacious sail, swept over the flood. Though the 
 occurrences of the last few days appeared to me 
 one series of wonders, yet by far the most miracu- 
 lous wonder of all was, that she, whose first look 
 had sent wild-fire into my heart, — whom I had 
 thought of ever since with a restlessness of pas- 
 sion, that would have dared any thing on earth to 
 obtain its object, — ^was now sleeping sacredly in 
 that small pavilion, while guarding her, even from 
 myself, I lay calmly at its threshold. 
 
 Meanwhile, the sun had reached his meridian. 
 The busy hum of the morning had died gradually 
 away, and all around was sleeping in the hot still- 
 ness of noon. The Nile-goose, folding her splen- 
 did wings, was lying motionless on the shadow of 
 the sycamores in the water. Even the nimble 
 lizards upon the bank seemed to move more lan- 
 guidly, as the light fell upon their gold and azure 
 hues. Overcome as I was with watching, and 
 weary with thought, it was not long before I yield- 
 ed to the becalming influence of the hour. Look- 
 ing fixedly at the pavilion, — as if once more to as- 
 sure my^enses, that I was not already in a dream, 
 
89 
 
 but that the young Egyptian was really there,— I 
 felt my eves close as 1 looked, and in a few mi- 
 nutes sunk into a profound sleep. 
 
 CHAP. XII 
 
 It was by the canal through which we now sail- 
 ed, that, in the more prosperous days of Memphis, 
 the commerce of Upper Egypt and Nubia was 
 transported to her magnificent Lake, and from 
 thence, having paid tribuic to the queen of cities, 
 was poured out again, through the Nile, into the 
 ocean. The course of this canal to the river was 
 not direct^ but ascending in a south-easterly direc- 
 tion, towards the Said; and in calms, or with ad- 
 verse winds, the passage was tedious. But as the 
 breeze was now blowing freshly from the north, 
 there w^as every prospect of our reaching the river 
 before night-fall. Rapidly, too, as our galley 
 swept along the flood, its motion was so smooth as 
 to be liardly felt; and the quiet gurgle of the wa- 
 ters underneath, and the drowsy song of the boat- 
 man at the prow% alone disturbed the deep silence 
 that prevailed. 
 
 The sun, indeed, had nearly sunk behind the 
 Libyan hills, before the sleep, in which these 
 sounds lulled me, was broken; and the first object, 
 on which my eyes rested, in waking, was that fair 
 young Priestess, — sealed under a porch by which 
 the door of the pavilion was shaded, and bending 
 intently over a small. volume that lay unrolled on 
 her lap. 
 
 Her face was but half turned towards me, and 
 as, once or twice, she raised her eves to the wann 
 
/ 
 
 89 
 
 sky, whose light fell, softened through the trellis, 
 over her cheek, I found every feeling of reverence, 
 with which she had inspired me in the chapel, re- 
 turn. There was even a purer and holier charm 
 around her countenance, thus seen by the natural 
 light of day, than in those dim and unhallowed re- 
 gions below. She could now, too, look direct to 
 the glorious sky, and that heaven and her eyes, so 
 worthy of each other, met. 
 
 After contemplating her for a few moments, 
 with little less than adoration, I rose gently from 
 my resting-place, and approached the pavilion. 
 But the mere movement had startled her from her 
 devotion, and, blushing and confused, she cover- 
 ed the volume with the folds of her robe. 
 
 In the art of winning upon female confidence, 
 I had long been schooled; and, now that to the 
 lessons of gallantry the inspiration of love was 
 added, my ambition to please and to interest 
 could hardly, it may be supposed, fail of success. 
 I soon found, however, how much less fluent is 
 the heart than the fancy, and how very distinct 
 are the operations of making love and feeling it. 
 In the few words of greeting now exchanged be- 
 tween us, it" was evident that the gay, the enter- 
 prising Epicurean was little less embarrassed than 
 the secluded Priestess; — and, after one or two in- 
 eiFectual efforts to bring our voices acquainted 
 with each other, the eyes of both turned bashfully 
 away, and we relapsed into silence. 
 
 From this situation — the result of timidity on 
 the one side, and of a feeling altogether new, on 
 the other — we were, at length, after an interval 
 of estrangement, relieved, by the boatmen an- 
 nouncing that the Nile was in sight. The coun- 
 tenance of the young Egyptian brightened at this 
 
90 
 
 intelligence; and the smile with which I congra- 
 tulated her on the speed of our voyage was an- 
 swered by another, so full of gratitude, that al- 
 ready an instinctive sympathy seemed established 
 between us. 
 
 We x'v-ere now on the point of entering that sa- 
 cred river, of whose sweet waters the exile drinks 
 in his dreams, — for a draught of whose flood the 
 daugliters of tlie Ptolemies, when wedded to 
 foreign kings, sighed in the midst of their splen- 
 dour. As our boat, with slackened sail, glided 
 into the current, an inquiry from the boatmen, 
 whether they should anchor for the night in the 
 Nile, first reminded me of the ignorance, in which 
 I still remained, with respect to either the motive 
 or destination of our voyage. Embarrassed by 
 their question I directed my eyes towards the 
 Priestess, whom I saw waiting for my answer with 
 a look of anxiety, which this silent reference to 
 her wishes at once dispelled. Eagerly unfolding 
 the volume with which I had seen her occupied, 
 she took from its folds a small leaf of papyrus, on 
 which there appeared to be some faint lines of 
 drawing, and after thoughtfully looking upon it, 
 herself, for a moment, placed it, with an agitated 
 liand in mine. 
 
 In the mean time, the boatmen had taken in 
 their sail, and the yacht drove slowly down tlie 
 river with the current, while, by a light which 
 had been kindled at sunset on the deck, I stood 
 examining the leaf that the Priestess had given 
 me — her dark eyes fixed anxiously on my coun- 
 tenance all the while. The lines traced upon the 
 papyrus were so faint as to be almost invisible, 
 and I was for some time at a loss to divine their 
 import. At length, I could perceive that tliey 
 
91 
 
 were the outlines, or map — traced slightly and 
 unsteadily with a Memphian reed — of a part of 
 that mountainous ridge by which Upper Egpyt 
 is bounded to the east, together with the names, 
 or rather emblems, of the chief towns in the neigh- 
 bou rhood. 
 
 It was thither, I could not doubt, that the 
 young Priestess wished to pursue her course. 
 Without a moment's delay, therefore, I gave or- 
 ders to the boatmen to set our yacht before the 
 wind and ascend the current. My command was 
 promptly obeyed: the white sail again rose into 
 the region of the breeze, and the satisfaction that 
 beamed in every feature of the fair Egyptian show- 
 ed that the quickness with which 1 had obeyed 
 her wishes was not unfelt by her. Tlie moon had 
 jiow risen; and though the current was against 
 41S, the Etesian wind of the season blew strongly 
 up the river, and we were soon floating before it, 
 jhrougli the rich plains and groves of the Said. 
 
 The love, with which tliis simple girl liad in- 
 spired me, was — possibly from the mystic scenes 
 ^md situations in which I had seen her — not un- 
 niingled with a tinge of superstitious awe, under 
 the influence of which I felt the buoyancy of my 
 spirit checked. The few words that had passed 
 between us on the subject of our route had some- 
 Vvhat loosened this spell; and what I wanted of 
 vivacity and confidence, was more than made up 
 by the tone of deep sensibility which love had 
 awakened in their place. 
 
 We had not proceeded far before the glittering 
 of lights at a distance, and the shooting up of 
 fireworks, at intervals, into the air, apprised us 
 that we were approaching one of those night-fairs, 
 or marts, which it is the custom, at this season, to 
 
92 
 
 hold upon the Nile. To me the scene was familiar; 
 but to my young companion it was evidently a new 
 world; and the mixture of alarm and delight with 
 which she gazed, from under her veil, upon the 
 busy sc^ne into which we now sailed, gave an air 
 of innocence to her beauty, which still more height- 
 ened its every charm. 
 
 It was one of the widest parts of the river; and 
 tlie whole surface, from one bank to the other, was 
 covered with boats. Along the banks of a green 
 island, in the middle of the stream, lay anchored 
 the galleys of the principal traders — large floating 
 bazaars, bearing each the name of its owner, em- 
 blazoned in letters of flame, upon the stern. Over 
 their decks were spread out, in gay confusion, the 
 products of the loom and needle of Egypt — rich 
 carpets of Memphis, and those variegated veils, 
 for which the female embroiderers of the Nile are 
 so celebrated, and to which the name of Cleopatra 
 lends a traditional value. In each of the other 
 galleys was exhibited some branch of Egyptian 
 workmanship — ^vases of the fragrant porcelain of 
 On, — cups of that frail crystal, whose hues change 
 like those of the pigeon's plumage, — enamelled 
 amulets graven with the head of Anubis, and 
 necklaces and bracelets of the black beans of Abys- 
 sinia. 
 
 While Commerce thus displayed her luxuries in 
 one quarter, in every other direction Pleasure, 
 multiplied into her.thousand shapes, swarmed over 
 the waters. Nor was the festivity confined to the 
 river only. All along the banks of the island and 
 on the shores, lighted up mansions were seen 
 tlirough the trees, from which sounds of music and 
 merriment came. In some of the boats were bands 
 of minstrels, who, from time to time, answered 
 
93 
 
 each other, like echoes, across the wave; and the 
 notes of tlie lyre, the flageolet, and the sweet lotus- 
 wood flute, were heard, in the pauses of revelry, 
 dying along the waters. 
 
 Meanwhile, from other boats stationed in the 
 least lighted places, the workers of fire sent forth 
 their wonders into the air. Bursting out from time 
 to time, as if in the very exuberance of joy, tliese 
 sallies of flame seemed to reach the sky, and there 
 breaking into a shower of sparkles, shed such a 
 splendour round, as brightened even the white Ara- 
 bian hills — making them shine like the brow of 
 Mount Atlas at night, when the fire from his own 
 bosom is playing around its snows. 
 
 The opportunity which this luxurious mart af- 
 forded us, of providing ourselves with other and 
 less remarkable habiliments than those in which we 
 had escaped from that nether world, was too sea- 
 sonable not to be gladly taken advantage of by 
 both. For myself, the strange mystic garb tliat I 
 wore, was sufficiently concealed by my Grecian 
 mantle, which I had luckily thrown round me on 
 the night of my watch. But the thin veil of my 
 companion was a far less efficient disguise. She 
 had, indeed, flung away the golden beetles from 
 her hair; but the sacred robe of her order was still 
 too visible, and the stars of the bandelet shone 
 brightly through lier veil. 
 
 Most gladly, therefore, did she avail herself of 
 this opportunity of a change; and, as she took from 
 a casket — which, with the volume I had seen her 
 reading, appeared to be her only treasure — ^a small 
 jewel, to exchange for the simple garments she had 
 chosen, there fell out, at the same time, the very 
 cross of silver, which I had seen her kiss, as may 
 bo remembered, in tlie monumental chapel, and 
 
94 
 
 which was afterwards pressed to my own lips. 
 This link (for such it appeared to my imagination) 
 between us, now revived in my heart all tlie burn- 
 ing feelings of that moment — and, had I not ab- 
 ruptly turned away, my agitation, would but too 
 plainly, have betrayed itself. 
 
 The object, for which we had delayed in this gay 
 scene, being accomplished, the sail was again 
 spread, and we proceeded on our course up the 
 river. The sounds and the lights we left behind 
 died gradually away, and we now floated along in 
 moonlight and silence once more. Sweet dews, 
 worthy of being called ''the tears of Isis," fell 
 through the air, and every plant and flower sent 
 its fragrance to meet them. The wind, just strong 
 enough to bear us smoothly against the current, 
 scarcely stirred the shadow of the tamarisks on the 
 water. As the inhabitants, from all quarters, were 
 collected at the night fair, the Nile was more than 
 usually still and solitary. Such a silence, indeed, 
 prevailed, that, as we glided near the shore, we 
 could hear the rustling of the acacias, as the cha- 
 meleons ran up their stems. It was, altogether, a 
 night such as only the clime of Egypt can boast, 
 when every thing lies lulled in that sort of bright 
 tranquillity, which, we may imagine, sliines ove. 
 the sleep of those happy spirits, who are supposed 
 to rest in the Valley of the Moon, on their way to 
 heaven. 
 
 By such a light, and at such an hour, seated, 
 side by side, on the deck of that bark, did we pur- 
 sue our course up the lonely Nile — each a mystery 
 to the other — our thoughts, our objects, our very 
 names a secret; — separated, too, till now, by des- 
 tinies so different, the one, a gay voluptuary of the 
 Garden of Athens, the other, a secluded Priestess 
 
95 
 
 of the Temples of Memphis 5 — and the only rela- 
 tion yet established between us being that danger- 
 ous one of love, passionate love, on one side, and 
 the most feminine and confiding dependence on the 
 other. 
 
 The passing adventure of the night fair, had not 
 only dispelled still more our mutual reserve, but 
 had supplied us with a subject on which we could 
 converse without embarrassment. From this topic 
 I took care to lead on, without interruption, to 
 others — fearful lest our former silence should re- 
 turn, and the music of her voice again be lost to 
 me. It was, indeed, only by thus indirectly un- 
 burdening my heart that I was enabled to refrain 
 from the full utterance of all I thought and felt; 
 and the restless rapidity with which I flew from 
 subject to subject, was but an effort to escape from 
 the only one in which my heart was interested. 
 
 " How bright and happy," said I — pointing up 
 to Sotliis, the fair Star of the Waters, which was 
 just then sparkling brilliantly over our heads — 
 *' How bright and happy this world ought to be, if — 
 as your Egyptian sages assert — yon pure and beau- 
 tiful luminary was its birth-star!" Then, still 
 leaning back, and letting my eyes wander over the 
 firmament, as if seeking to disengage them from 
 tlie fascination which they dreaded — *'To the 
 study (I said) for ages, of skies like this, may the 
 pensive and mystic character of your nation be 
 traced. That mixture of pride and melancholy 
 which naturally arises, at the sight of those eternal 
 lights shining out of darkness 5 that sublime, but 
 saddened, anticipation of a Future, which comes 
 over the soul in the silence of such an hour, when, 
 though Death seems to reign in the repose of earth, 
 
there are those beacons of immortality burning in 
 
 the sky — " 
 
 Pausing, as I uttered the word "immortality," 
 with a sigh to think how little my heart echoed to 
 my lips, 1 looked in the face of the maiden, and 
 saw triat it had lighted up, as I spoke, into a glow 
 of holy animation, such as Faith alone gives — such 
 as Hope herself wears, when she is dreaming ot 
 heaven. Touched by the contrast, and gazing 
 upon her with mora-nful tenderness, I found my 
 arms half opened, to clasp her to my heart, whife 
 the words died away inaudibly upon my lips, — 
 **thou, too, beautiful maiden! must thou,' too, die 
 forever?" 
 
 My self-command, I felt, had nearly deserted 
 me. Rising abruptly from my seat, I walked to 
 the middle of the deck, and stood, for some mo- 
 ments, unconsciously gazing upon one of those 
 fires, which — as is the custom of all who travel by 
 night upon the Nile, — our boatmen had just kin- 
 dled, to scare away the crocodiles from the vessel. 
 But it was in vain that I endeavoured to compose 
 my spirit. Every effort I made but more deeply 
 convinced me, that, till the mystery which hung 
 round that maiden should be solved — till the se-^ 
 cret, with w^hich my own bosom laboured, should 
 be disclosed — it was IVuitless to attempt even a 
 semblance of tranquillity. 
 
 My resolution was, therefore, taken; — -to lay 
 open, at least, my own heart, as far as such a reve- 
 lation might be risked, without startling the timid 
 innocence of my companion. Thus resolved, I 
 returned, with more composure, to my seat by her 
 side, and taking from my bosom the small min-or 
 which she had dropped in the Temple, and ^vhicll I 
 had ever since worn suspriidcd loaad my ns:^ck, 
 
/ 
 
 97 
 
 with a ti'embling hand presented it to her view. 
 The boatmen had just kindled one of their night- 
 fires near us, and its light, as she leaned forward 
 towards the mirror, fell on her face. 
 
 The quick blush of surprise with which she re- 
 " cognised it to be hers, and her look of bashful, yet 
 eager, inquiry, in raising her eyes to mine, were 
 appeals to which I was not, of course, slow in an- 
 swering. Beginning with the first moment when I 
 saw her in the Temple, and passing hastily, but 
 with words that burned as they went, over the im- 
 pression which she had then left upon my heart 
 and fancy, I proceeded to describe the particulars 
 of my descent into the pyramid — my surprise and 
 adoration at the door of the chapel — my encounter 
 with the Trials of Initiation, so mysteriously pre- 
 pared for me, and all the various visionary won- 
 ders I had witnessed in that region, till tlie moment 
 when I had seen her stealing n-om under the Veils 
 to approach me. 
 
 Though, in detailing these events, I had said but 
 little of the feelings they had awakened in me, — 
 though my lips had sent back many a sentence, un- 
 uttered, there was still enough that could neither 
 be subdued nor disguised, and which, like that light 
 from under the veils of her own Isis, glowed 
 through every word that I spoke. When I told of 
 the scene in the chapel,— of the silent interview 
 which I had witnessed between the dead and the 
 living, — the maiden leaned down her head and 
 wept, as from a heart full of tears. It seemed a 
 pleasure to her, however, to listen; and, when she 
 looked at me again, there was an earnest and af- 
 fectionate cordiality in her eyes, as if the know- 
 ledge of my having been present at that mournful 
 scene, had opened a new source of sympathy and 
 I 
 
98 
 
 intelligence between us. So neighbouring are the 
 fountains of Love and of Sorrow, and so impercep- 
 tibly do they often mingle their streams. 
 
 Little, indeed, as I was guided by art or design, 
 in my manner and conduct to this innocent girl, 
 not all the most experienced gallantry of the Gar- 
 den could have dictated a policy half so seductive 
 as that which my new master. Love, now taught 
 me. The ardour which, shown at once, and with- 
 out reserve, might have startled a heart so little 
 prepared for it, thus checked and softened by the 
 timidity of real love, won its way without alarm, 
 and, when most diffident of success, most tri- 
 umphed. Like one whose sleep is gradually bro- 
 ken by music, the maiden's lieart was awakened 
 without being disturbed. She followed the charm, 
 unconscious whither it led, nor was aware of the 
 flame she had lighted in another's bosom, till she 
 perceived the reflectionof it glimmering in her own. 
 
 Impatient as I was to appeal to her generosity 
 and sympathy, for a similar proof of confidence to 
 that which I had just given, the night was now too 
 far advanced for me to impose such a task upon 
 her. After exchanging a few words, in w^hich, 
 though little was said, there was a tone and man- 
 ner ' iiat spoke far more than language, we took a 
 lingering leave of each other for the night, with 
 every prospect of still being together in our 
 dreams. 
 
 CHAP. XIIL 
 
 It was so near the dawn of day when we parted, 
 that we again found the sun sinking westward 
 
99 
 
 when we rejoined each other. The smile with 
 which she met me, — so frankly cordial, — might 
 have been taken for the greeting of a long mellow- 
 ed friendship, did not the blush and the castdown 
 eyelid, that followed, give symptoms of a feeling 
 newer and less calm. For myself, lightened as I 
 was, in some degree, by the confession which I 
 had made, I was yet too conscious of the new 
 aspect thus given to our intercourse, to feel alto- 
 gether unembarrassed at the prospect of returning 
 to the theme. It was, therefore, willingly we 
 both suffered our attention to be diverted, by the 
 variety of objects that presented themselves on 
 the way, from a subject that both equally trembled 
 to approach. 
 
 The river was now full of life and motion. 
 Every moment we met with boats descending the 
 current, so independent of aid from sail or oar, 
 that the sailors sat idly upon the deck as they shot 
 along, singing or playing upon their double-reeded 
 pipes. Of these boats, the greater number came 
 loaded with merchandise from Coptos, — some 
 with those large emeralds, from the mine in the 
 desert, whose colours, it is said, are brightest at 
 the full of the moon, and some laden with frank- 
 mcense from the acacia-groves near the Red Sea. 
 On the decks of otliers, that had been to the Gold- 
 en Mountains beyond Syene, were heaped blocks 
 and fragments of that sweet-smelling wood, which 
 the Green Nile of Nubia washes down in the sea- 
 son of the floods. 
 
 Our companions up the stream were far less nu- 
 merous. Occasionally a boat, returning lightened 
 from the fair of last night, with those high sails 
 that catch every breeze from over the hills, shot 
 past usj — while, now and then, we overtook one 
 
100 
 
 of those barges full of bees, that at this season ot 
 the year, are sent to colonise the gardens of the 
 south, and take advantage of the first flowers after 
 the inundation has passed away. 
 
 By these various objects we were, for a short 
 time, enabled to divert the conversation from light- 
 ing and settling upon the one subject, round which 
 it continually hovered. But the effort, as might 
 be expected, was not long successful. As even- 
 ing advanced, the whole scene became more soli- 
 tary. We less frequently ventured to look upon 
 each other, and our intervals of silence grew more 
 lono;. 
 
 It was near sunset, when, in passing a small 
 temple on the shore, whose porticoes were now 
 full of the evening light, we saw, issuing from a 
 thicket of acanthus near it, a train of young maids 
 linked together in the dance by lotus-stems, held 
 at arms' length between tliem. Their tresses were 
 also wreathed with this emblem of the season, ajnd 
 such a profusion of the white flowers were twisted 
 round their waists and arms, that they might have 
 been taken, as they gracefully bounded along the 
 bank, for Nymphs of the Nile, risen freshly from 
 their gardens under the wave. 
 
 After looking for a few moments at this sacred 
 dance, the maid turned away her eyes, with a look 
 of pain, as if the remembrances it recalled were 
 of no welcome nature. This momentary retros- 
 pect, this glimpse into the past, seemed to offer a 
 sort of clue to the secret for which I panted; — 
 and, giadually and delicately as my impatience 
 would allow, I availed myself of it. Her frank- 
 ness, however, saved me the embarrassment of 
 much questioning. She even seemed to feel that 
 the confidence I sought was due to me, and be- 
 
101 
 
 jond the natural hesitation of maidenly modesty, 
 not a shade of reserve or evasion appeared. 
 
 To attempt to repeat, in her own touching 
 words, the simple story which she now rehited to 
 me, would be like endeavouring to note down some 
 strain of unpremeditated music, witli tliose fugi- 
 tive graces, those felicities of the moment, which 
 no art can restore, as they first met the ear. From 
 a feeling, too, of humility, she had omitted in her 
 narrative some particulars relating to herself, which 
 I afterwards learned^ — ^while others, not less im- 
 portant, she but slightly passed over, from a fear 
 of wounding the prejudices of her heathen hearer. 
 
 I shall, therefore, give her story, as the outline 
 which she herself sketched, was afterwards filled 
 up by a pious and venerable hand, — far, far more 
 worthy than mine of being associated with the 
 memory of such purity. 
 
 STORY OF ALETHE. 
 
 "The mother of this maiden was the beautiful 
 Theora of Alexandria, who, though a native of that 
 city, was descended from Grecian parents. When 
 very young, Theora was one of the seven maidens 
 selected, to note down the discourses of tlie elo- 
 quent Origen, who, at that period, presided over 
 the School of Alexandria, and was in all the full- 
 ness of his fame, both among Pagans and Chris- 
 tians. Endowed richly with the learning of both 
 creeds, he brought the natural light of philosophy 
 to elucidate the mysteries of faith, and was only 
 proud of his knowledge of the wisdom of this world, 
 inasmuch as it ministered to the triumph of divine 
 truth. 
 
 '•Though he had courted in vain the crown of 
 I 2 
 
martyrdom, it was held, throughout his life, sus- 
 pended over his head, and in more than one per- 
 secution, he had evinced his readiness to die for 
 that faith which he lived but to testify and adorn. 
 On one of these occasions, his tormentors, having 
 habited him like an Egyptian priest, placed him 
 upon the steps of the Temple of Serapis, and com- 
 manded that he should, in the manner of the Pagan 
 ministers, present palm-branches to the multitude 
 who went up to the shrine. But the courageous 
 Christian disappointed their views. Holding forth 
 the branches with an unshrinking hand, he cried 
 aloud, 'Come hither and take the branch, not of 
 an Idol Temple but of Christ.' 
 
 " So indefatigable was this learned Father in his 
 studies, that, w-hile composing his Commentary on 
 the Scriptures, he was attended by seven scribes 
 or notaries, who relieved each other in taking down 
 the dictates of his eloquent tongue; while the same 
 number of young females, selected for the beauty 
 of their penmanship, were employed in arranging 
 and transcribing the precious leaves. 
 
 "Among the scribes so selected, was the fair 
 young Theora, whose parents, though attached to 
 the Pagan worship, were not unwilling to profit by 
 the accomplishments of their daughter, thus devoted 
 to a task which they considered purely mechanical. 
 To the maid herself, however, her task brought far 
 other feelings and consequences. She read anxi 
 ously as she wrote, and the divine truths, so elo 
 quently illustrated, found their way by degrees, 
 from the page to her heart. Deeply, too, as the 
 written words aftected her, the discourses from the 
 lips of the great teacher himself, which she had 
 frequent opportunities of hearing, sunk still more 
 deeply into her mind. There was, at once, a sub- 
 
103 
 
 Jimity and gentleness in his views of religion, which, 
 to the tender hearts and lively imaginations of wo- 
 men, never failed to appeal with convincing power. 
 Accordingly, the list of his female pupils was nu- 
 merous; and the names of Barbara, Juliana, Herais, 
 and others, bear honourable testimony to his influ- 
 ence over that sex. 
 
 ** To Theora, the feeling, with which his dis- 
 courses inspired her, w^as like a new soul, — a con- 
 sciousness of spiritual existence, unfelt before. By 
 the eloquence of the comment, she was awakened 
 into admiration of the text; and when, by the kind- 
 ness of a Catechumen of the school, who had been 
 struck by her innocent zeal, she, for the first time, 
 became possessor of a copy of the Scriptures, she 
 could not sleep for thinking of her sacred treasure. 
 With a mixture of pleasure and fear, she hid it from 
 all eyes, and was like one who had received a di- 
 vine guest under her roof, and felt fearful of be- 
 traying its divinity to the world. 
 
 '* A heart, so awake, would have been easily 
 secured to the faith, had her opportunities of hear- 
 ing the sacred word continued. But circumstances 
 arose to deprive her of this advantage. The mild 
 Origen, long harassed and thwarted in his labours, 
 by the tyranny of the Bishop of Alexandria, De- 
 metrius, was obliged to relinquish his school and 
 fly from E^ypt. The occupation of the fair scribe 
 was, therefore, at an end: her intercourse with the 
 followers of the new faith ceased; and the growling 
 enthusiasm of her heart gave way to more worldly 
 impressions. 
 
 *' Love, among the rest, had its share in alienat- 
 ing her thoughts from religion. While still very 
 young, she became the wife of a Greek adventurer, 
 who had come to Egypt as a purchaser of that rich 
 
104 
 
 tapestry in which the needles of Persia are rivalled 
 by the looms of the Nile. Having taken his young 
 bride to Memphis, which was still the great mart 
 of this merchandise, he there, in the midst of his 
 speculations, died, — leaving his widow on the 
 point of becoming a mother,) awhile, as jet, but in 
 her nineteenth year. 
 
 '•For single and unprotected females, it has 
 been, at all times, a favourite resource to seek ad- 
 mission into the service of some of those great tem- 
 ples, which absorb so much of the wealth and 
 power of Egypt. In most of these institutions 
 there exists an order of Priestesses, which, though 
 not hereditary, like that of the Priests, is provided 
 for by ample endowments, and confers that rank 
 and station, with which, in a government so theo- 
 cratic, Religion is sure to invest even her humblest 
 handmaids. From the general policy of the Sa- 
 cred College of Memphis, it may be concluded, 
 that an accomplished female like Theora, found 
 but little difficulty in being chosen one of the 
 Priestesses of Isis; and it was in the service of the 
 siibterranean shrines that her ministry chiefly lay. 
 
 •• Here, a month or two after her admission, 
 slie gave birth to Alethe, who first opened her eyes 
 among the unholy pomps and specious miracles of 
 this mysterious region. Though Theora, as we 
 have seen, had been diverted by other feelinp 
 from her first enthusiasm for the Christian faith, 
 she had never wholly forgot the impression then 
 made upon her. Tlie sacred volume, which tlie 
 pious Catechumen had given her, was still trea- 
 sured with care; and, though she seldom opened 
 its pages, there was an idea of sanctity associated 
 with it in her memory, and often would she sit to 
 loi)k upon it with reverential pleasure, recalling 
 
' 105 
 
 the happiness she felt when it was first made her 
 own. 
 
 ''The leisure of her new retreat, and the lone 
 melancholy of widowhood, led her still more fre- 
 quently to indulge in such thoughts, and to recur 
 to those consoling truths which she had heard in 
 the school of Alexandria. She now began to pur- 
 sue eagerly the sacred book, drinking deep of the 
 fountain of which she before but tasted, and feel- 
 ing — what thousands of mourners, since her, have 
 felt — tliat Christianity is the true religion of the 
 sorroAvful. 
 
 *' This study of her secret hours became still 
 more dear to her, from the peril with which, at that 
 period, it was attended, and the necessity she was 
 under of concealing, from those around her, the pre- 
 cious light that had been kindled in her heart 
 Too timid to encounter the fierce persecution, 
 which awaited all who were suspected of a leaning 
 to Christianity, she continued to officiate in the 
 pomps and ceremonies of the Templej — tliough, 
 often, with such remorse of soul, that she would 
 pause, in tiie midst of the rites, and pray inwardly 
 to God, that he would forgive this profanation of 
 his Spirit. 
 
 " In the mean time her daughter, the young 
 Alethe, grew up still lovelier than herself, and ad- 
 ded, every hour, to her happiness and her fears. 
 When arrived at a sufficient age, she was taught, 
 like the other children of the priestesses, to take 
 a share in the service and ceremonies of the shrines. 
 The duty of some of these young servitors was to 
 look after the flowers for the altar | — of others, to 
 take care that the sacred vases were filled every 
 day with fresh water from the Nile. The task of 
 Rome was to preserve, in perfect polish, those sil- 
 
106 
 
 Ter images of the moon which the priests carried 
 in processions; while others were, as we have seen, 
 employed in feeding the consecrated animals, and 
 in keeping their plumes and scales bright, for the 
 admiring eyes of their worshippers. 
 
 " The office allotted to Alethe — the most ho- 
 nourable of these minor ministries — was to wait 
 upon the sacred birds of the Moon, to feed them 
 with those eggs from the Nile which they loved, 
 and provide for their use that purest water, which 
 alone these delicate birds will touch. This em- 
 ployment was the delight of her childish hours; 
 and that ibis, which Alciphron (the Epicurean) 
 saw her dance round in the Temple, was her fa- 
 vourite, of all the sacred flock, and had been daily 
 fondled and fed by her from infancy. 
 
 *' Music, as being one of the chief spells of this 
 enchanted region, was an accomplishment required 
 of all its ministrants; and the harp, the lyre, and 
 the sacred flute, sounded nowhere so sweetly as 
 that through these subterranean gardens. The 
 chief object, indeed, in the education of the youth 
 of the Temple, was to fit them, by every graee of 
 art and nature, to give effect to the illusion of those 
 shows and phantasms, in which the whole charm 
 and secret of Initiation lay. 
 
 "Among the means employed to support the 
 old system of superstition, against the infidelity, 
 and, still more, the new Faith that menaced it, 
 was an increased display of splendour and marvels 
 in those Mysteries for which Egypt has so long 
 been celebrated. Of these ceremonies, so many- 
 imitations had, under various names, been multi- 
 plied through Europe, that the parent superstition 
 ran a risk of being eclipsed by its progeny; and, in 
 order still to retain their rank of the first Priest- 
 
107 
 
 hood in the world, those of Egypt found it neces- 
 sary to continue still the best impostors. 
 
 *' Accordingly, every contrivance that art could 
 devise, or labour execute — every resource that the 
 wonderful knowledge of the Priests, in pyrotech- 
 ny, mechariics, and dioptrics, could command, was 
 brought into action to heighten the effect of their 
 Mysteries, and give an air of enchantment to eve- 
 ry thing connected with them. 
 
 " The final scene of beatification— the Elysium, 
 into which the Initiate was received — formed, of 
 course, the leading attraction of these ceremonies; 
 and to render it captivating alike to the senses of 
 the man of pleasure, and the imagination of the 
 spiritualist, was the object to which the whole 
 skill and attention of the Sacred College were de- 
 voted. By the influence of the Priests of Mem- 
 phis over tnose of the other Temples, they had suc- 
 ceeded in extending their subterranean frontier, 
 both to the nordi and south, so as to include, with- 
 in their ever-lighted Paradise, some of the gardens 
 excavated for the use of the other Twelve Shrines. 
 
 " The beauty of the young Alethe, the touching 
 sweetness of her voice, and the sensibility that 
 breathed througliout her every look and movement, 
 rendered her a powerful auxiliary in such appeals 
 to the imagination. She was, accordingly, from 
 her childhood, selected from among her fair com- 
 panions, as the most worthy representative of 
 spiritual loveliness, in those pictures of Elysium — 
 those scenes of another world — ^by which not only 
 the fancy, but the reason, of the excited Aspirants 
 was dazzled. 
 
 "To the innocent child herself these shows 
 were pastime. But to Theora, who knew too well 
 the imposition to which they were subservient, 
 
108 
 
 this profanation of all that she loved, was a per- 
 petual source of horror and remq^se. Often would 
 she — when Alethe — stood smiling before her, ar- 
 rayed, perhaps, as a spirit of the Eljsian world, — 
 turn away, with a shudder, from the happy child, 
 almost fancying that she already saw the shadows 
 of sin descending over that innocent brow, as she 
 gazed on it. 
 
 *'As the intellect of the young maid became 
 more active and inquiring, the apprehensions and 
 difficulties of the mother increased. Afraid to 
 communicate her own precious secret, lest she 
 should involve her child in the dangers that en- 
 compassed it, she yet felt it to be no less a cruelty 
 than a crime, to leave her wholly immersed in the 
 darkness of Paganism. In this dilemma, the only 
 resource that remained to her was to select, and 
 disengage, from the dross that surrounded them, 
 those pure particles of truth which lie at the bot- 
 tom of all religions; — those feelings, rather than 
 doctrines, which God has never left his creatures 
 without, and w^hich, in all ages, have furnished, to 
 those who sought it, some clue to his glory. 
 
 "The unity and perfect goodness of the Crea- 
 tor; the fall of the human soul into corruption; 
 its struggles with the darkness of this world, and 
 its final redemption and re-ascent to the source of 
 all spirit; — these natural solutions of the problem 
 of our existence, these elementary grounds of all 
 religion and virtue, wliich Theora had lieard illus- 
 trated by her Christian teacher, lay also, she knew, 
 veiled under the theology of Egypt; and to impress 
 them, in all their abstract purity^ "po" the mind 
 of her susceptible pupil, was, in default of more 
 heavenlv lights, her sole ambition and care. 
 
 «* It was their habit, after devoting their morn- 
 
lOD 
 
 ings to the service of the Temple, to pass theif 
 evenings and nights in one of those small man-* 
 sions above ground, allotted to some of the most 
 favoured Priestesses, in the precincts of the Sa- 
 cred College. Here, out of the reach of those 
 gross superstitions, which pursued them, at every 
 step below, she endeavoured to inform, as far as 
 she might, the mind of her beloved girl; and found 
 it lean as naturally and instinctively to truth, as 
 plants that have been long shut up in darkness 
 will, when light is let in, incline themselves to its 
 ray. 
 
 " Frequently, as they sat together on the ter- 
 race at night, contemplating that assembly of glo- 
 rious stars, whose beauty first misled mankind 
 into idolatry, she would explain to the young lis- 
 tener, by what gradations it was that the worship, 
 thus transferred from the Creator to the creature, 
 sunk lower and lower in the scale of being, till 
 man, at length, presumed to deify man, and by 
 the most monstrous of inversions, heaven was made 
 the mirror of earth, reflecting all its most earthly 
 features. 
 
 *'Even in the Temple itself, the anxious mother 
 would endeavour to interpose her purer lessons 
 among the idolatrous ceremonies in which they 
 were engaged. When the favourite ibis of Alethe 
 took its station on the shrine, and the young maid- 
 en was seen approaching, with all the gravity of wor- 
 ship, the very bird which she had played with but 
 an hour before, — when the acacia-bough, which 
 she herself had plucked, seemed to acquire a sud- 
 den sacredness in her eyes, as soon as the priest 
 had breathed on it, — on all such occasions Theora, 
 though with fear and trembling, would venture to 
 suggest to the youthful v.orshipper the distinction 
 
no 
 
 that should be drawn between the sensible object 
 of adoration, and that spiritual, unseen Deity, of 
 which it was but the remembrancer or type. 
 
 <'With sorrow, however, she soon discovered 
 that, in thus but partially enlightening a mind too 
 ardent to be satisfied with such glimmerings, she 
 only bewildered the heart that she meant to guide, 
 and cut down the hope round which its faith twined, 
 without substituting any other support in its place. 
 As the beauty, too, of Alethe began to attract all 
 eyes, new fears crowded upon the mother's heart; 
 -—fears, in which she was but too much justified by 
 the characters of some of those around her. 
 
 "In this sacred abode, as may easily be con- 
 ceived, morality did not always go hand in hand 
 with religion. The hypocritical and ambitious 
 Orcus, who was, at this period. High Priest of 
 Memphis, was a man, in every respect, qualified 
 to preside over a system of such splendid fraud. 
 He had reached that effective time of life, vv'hen 
 enough of the warmtli of youth remains to give ani- 
 mation to the counsels of age. But, in liis instance, 
 youth had only the baser passions to bequeath, 
 while age but contributed a more refined maturity 
 of mischief. The advantages of a fiiith appealing 
 so wholly to the senses, were well understood by 
 him; nor was he ignorant that the only way of 
 making religion subservient to his own interests, 
 was by shapm^ it adroitly to the passions of others. 
 
 The state of misery and remorse in which the 
 mind of Theora was kept by the scenes, however 
 veiled by hypocrisy, which she witnessed around 
 her, became at length intolerable. No perils that 
 the cause of truth could bring with it, would be 
 half so dreadful as this endurance of sinfulness and 
 deceit Her child was, as \Qt, pure and innocent j 
 
Ill 
 
 — but, without that sentinel of the soul, Religion, 
 how long might she continue so? 
 
 "This thought, at once, decided her; — all other 
 fears vanished before it. She resolved instantly to 
 lay open to Alethe the whole secret of her soul; to 
 make her, who was her only hope on earth, the 
 sharer of all her hopes in heaven, and then fly with 
 her, as soon as possible, from this unhallowed 
 place, to the desert — to the mountains — to any 
 place, however desolate, where God and the con- 
 sciousness of innocence might be with them. 
 
 " The promptitude with which her young pupil 
 caught from her the divine truths, was even beyond 
 what she expected. It was like the lighting of one 
 torch at another, — so prepared was Alethe's mind 
 for the illumination. Amply was the mother now 
 repaid for all her misery, by this perfect commu- 
 nion of love and faith, and by the delight with 
 which she saw her beloved child — ^like the young 
 antelope, when first led by her dam to the well, — 
 drink tliirstily by her side, at the source of all life 
 and truth. 
 
 " But such happiness was not long to last. The 
 anxieties that Theora had suffered, preyed upon her 
 health. She felt her strength daily decline; and 
 the thoughts of leaving, alone and unguarded in 
 the world, that treasure which she had just devoted 
 to heaven, gave her a feeling of despair which but 
 hastened the ebb of life. Had she put in practice 
 her resolution of flying from this place, her child 
 might have been, now, beyond the reach of all she 
 dreaded, and in the solitude of the wilderness 
 would have found, at least, safety from wrong. 
 But the very happiness she had felt in her new task 
 diverted her from this project; — and it was now too 
 late, for she was already dying. 
 
112 
 
 *'Slie concealed, however, her state from the 
 tender and sanguine girl, who, though she saw the 
 traces of disease on her mother's cheek, little knew 
 that they were the hastening footsteps of death, nor 
 thought even of the possibility of losing what was 
 so dear to her. Too soon, however, the moment of 
 separation arrived; and while the anguish and dis- 
 may of Alethe, were in proportion to the security 
 in which she had indulged, Theora, too, felt, witK 
 bitter regret, that she had sacrificed to her fond 
 consideration much precious time, and that there 
 now remained but a few brief and painful moments, 
 for the communication of all those wishes and in- 
 structions, on which the future destiny of the 
 young orphan depended. 
 
 " She had, indeed, time for little more than to 
 place the sacred volume solemnly in her hands, to 
 implore that she would, at all risks, fly from this 
 unholy place, and, pointing in the direction of the 
 mountains of the Said, to name, v/ith her last breath, 
 the holy man, to whom, under heaven, she trusted 
 for the protection and salvation of her child. 
 
 "The first violence of feeling, to which Alethe 
 gave way, was succeeded by a fixed and tearless 
 grief, which rendered her insensible, for some time, 
 to the dangers of her situation. Her only comfort 
 was in visiting that monumental chapel, where the 
 beautiful remains of Theora lay. There, night 
 after night, in contemplation oi those placid fea- 
 tures, and in prayers for the peace of the departed 
 spirit, did she pass her lonely, and — sad as they 
 were — happiest hours. Though the mystic em- 
 blems that decorated that chapel, were but ill suited 
 to the slumber of a Christian saint, there was one 
 amon^ them, the Cross, which, by a remarkable 
 coincidence, is an emblem common alike to the 
 
113 
 
 Gentile and the Christian, — ^bein^, to the former, 
 a shadowy type of that immortality, of which, to 
 the latter, it is a substantial and assuring pledge. 
 
 *' Nightly, upon this cross, which she had often 
 seen her lost mother kiss, did she breathe forth a 
 solemn and heartfelt vow, never to abandon the 
 faith which that departed spirit had bequeathed to 
 her. To such enthusiasm, indeed, did her heart 
 at such moments rise, that, but for the last injunc- 
 tions from those pallid lips, she would, at once, 
 have avowed her perilous secret, and spoken out 
 the words, 'lama Christian,' among those be- 
 nighted shrines! 
 
 *'But the Avill of her, to whom she owed more 
 than life, was to be obeyed. To escape from this 
 haunt of superstition must now, she felt, be her 
 first object; and, in devising the means of effecting 
 it, her mind, day and night, was employed. It 
 was with a loathing not to be concealed, she now 
 found herself compelled to resume her idolatrous 
 services at the shrine. To some of the offices of 
 Theora she succeeded, as is the custom, by inheri- 
 tance; and in the performance of these — sanctified, 
 as they were, in her eyes by the pure spirit she 
 had seen engaged in them — there was a sort of 
 melancholy pleasure in which her sorrow found re- 
 lief. But the part she was again forced to take, in 
 the scenic shows of the Mysteries, brought with it 
 a sense of wrong and degradation which she could 
 no longer bear. 
 
 "She had already formed, in her own mind, a 
 plan of escape, in which her knowledge of all the 
 windings of this subterranean realm gave her con- 
 fidence, when the reception of Alciphron, as an 
 Initiate, took place. 
 
 " From tlie first moment of the landing of that 
 K 2 
 
114 
 
 j)hilo90pher at Alexandria, he had become an ob- 
 ject 01 suspicion and watchfulness to the inquisi- 
 torial Orcus, whom philosophy in any shape natu- 
 rally alarmed, but to whom the sect, over which the 
 young Athenian presided, was particularly obnoxi- 
 ous. The accomplishments of Alciphron, his popu- 
 larity, wherever he went, and the freedom with 
 which he indulged his wit, at the expense of reli- 
 gion, was all faithfully reported to the High Priest 
 by his spies, and stirred up within him no kindly 
 feelings towards the stranger. In dealing with an 
 infidel, such a personage as Orcus could know no 
 alternative but that of either converting or destroy- 
 ing him: and though his spite as a man, would have 
 been more gratified by the latter proceeding, his 
 pride as a priest, led him to prefer the triumph 
 of the former. 
 
 ''The first descent of the Epicurean into the 
 pyramid was speedily known, and the alarm imme- 
 diately given to the priests below. As soon as it 
 was discovered that the young philosopher of 
 Athens was the intruder, and that he still conti- 
 nued to linger round tlie pyramid, looking often 
 and wistfully towards the portal, it was concluded 
 that his curiosity would impel him to try a second 
 descent 5 and Orcus, blessing the good chance which 
 had thus brought the wild bird to his net, deter- 
 mined not to allow an opportunity so precious to 
 be wasted. 
 
 "Instantly, the whole of that wonderful machi- 
 nery, by which the phantasms and illusions of Ini- 
 tiation are produced, were put in active prepara- 
 tion throughout that subterranean realm; and the 
 increased stir and watchfulness excited amon» its 
 inmates, by this more than ordinary display of all 
 the resources of priestcraft, rendered the accom- 
 
115 
 
 plishment of Alethe's design, at such a moment, 
 peculiarly difficult. Wholly ignorant of the share 
 which had fallen to herself, in attracting the youn^ 
 philosopher down to this region, she but heard ot 
 him vaguely, as the Chief of a great Grecian sect, 
 who had been led, by either curiosity or accident, 
 to expose himself to the first trials of Initiation, 
 and whom the priests, she saw, were endeavouring 
 to ensnare in their toils, by every art and skill 
 with which their science of darkness had gifted 
 them. 
 
 " To her mind, the image of a philosopher, such 
 as Alciphron had been represented to her, came 
 associated with ideas of age and reverence j and, 
 more than once, the possibility of his being made 
 instrumental to her deliverance, flashed a hope 
 across her heart in which she could not help in- 
 dulging. Often had she been told by Theora of 
 the many Gentile sages, who had laid their wisdom 
 down humbly at the foot of the Cross; and though 
 this Initiate, she feared, could hardly be among the 
 number, yet the rumours which she had gathered 
 from the servants of the Temple, of his undisguised 
 contempt for the errors of heathenism, led ner to 
 hope she might find tolerance, if not sympathy, in 
 her appeal to him. 
 
 '«Nor was it solely with a view to her own 
 chance of deliverance, that she thus connected him 
 in her thoughts with the plan which she meditated. 
 The look of proud and self-gratulating malice, with 
 which the High Priest had mentioned this ' infidel,' 
 as he styled him, when instructing hei in the 
 scene she was to enact before the philosopher in 
 the valley, but too plainly informed her of the 
 destiny that hung over him. She knew how many 
 were the hapless candidates for Initiation, who 
 
116 
 
 had been doomed to a durance worse than that of 
 the grave, for but a word, a whisper breathed 
 against the sacred absurdities which they witness- 
 edj and it was evident to her that the venerable 
 Greek (for such her fancy represented Alciphron) 
 was no less interested in escaping from this region 
 than herself. 
 
 " Her own resolution was, at all events, fixed. 
 That visionary scene, in which she had appeared 
 before Alciphron, — ^little knowing how ardent 
 were the heart and imagination, over which her 
 beauty, at that moment, shed its whole influence, 
 was, she solemnly resolved, the very last unholy 
 service, that superstition or imposture should ever 
 command of her. 
 
 *'0n the following night the Aspirant was to 
 watch in the Great Temple of Isis. Such an op- 
 portunity of approaching and addressing him might 
 never come again. Should he, from compassion 
 for her situation, or a sense of the danger of his 
 own, consent to lend his aid to her flight, most 
 gladly would she accept it, — assured that no dan- 
 ger or treachery she might risk, could be half so 
 dreadful as those she left behind. Should he, on 
 the contrary, refuse, her determination was equal- 
 fixed — to trust to that God, who watches over 
 le innocent, and go forth alone. 
 " To reach the island in Lake Moeris was her 
 first object, and there occurred luckily, at this 
 time, a mode of accomplishing it, by which the 
 difficulty and dangers of the attempt would be, in 
 a great degree, diminished. The day of the an- 
 nual visitation of the High Priest to the Place of 
 Weeping — as that island in the centre of the lake 
 is called — was now fast approaching; and Alethe 
 well knew tliat the self-moving car, by which the 
 
 t 
 
117 
 
 High Priest and one of the Hierophants are con- 
 veyed to the chambers under the lake, stood wait- 
 ing in readiness. By availing herself of this ex- 
 pedient, she would gain the double advantage both 
 of facilitating her own flight and retarding the 
 speed of her pursuers. 
 
 " Having paid a last visit to the tomb of her 
 beloved mother, and wept there, lon^ and passion- 
 ately, till her heart almost failed in the struggle, — 
 having paused, too, to give a kiss to her favourite 
 ibis, which, though too much a Christian to wor- 
 ship, she was still child enough to love, — with a 
 trembling step she went early to the Sanctuary, 
 and hid herself in one of the recesses of the Shrine. 
 Her intention was to steal out from thence to Al- 
 ciphron, while it was yet dark, and before the il- 
 lumination of the great Statue behind the Veils 
 had begun. But her fears delayed her till it was 
 almost too latej — already was the image lighted 
 up, and still she remained trembling in her hiding 
 place. 
 
 " In a few minutes more the mighty Veils would 
 have been withdrawn, and the glories of that scene 
 of enchantment laid open — when, at length, sum- 
 moning up courage, and taking advantage of a 
 momentary absence of those employed in the pre- 
 parations of this splendid mockery, she stole from 
 under the Veil and found her way, through the 
 gloom, to the E])icurean. There was then no time 
 for explanation; — she had but to trust to the sim- 
 ple words, ' Follow, and be silent;' and the im- 
 S licit readiness with which slie found them obeyed, 
 lied her with no less surprise than the philoso- 
 pher himself felt in hearing them. 
 
 ''In a second or two they were on their way 
 through the subterranean windings, leaving the 
 
118 
 
 ministers of Isis to waste their splendours on va- 
 cancy, through a long series of miracles and visions 
 which they now exhibited — unconscious that he, 
 whom they took such pains to dazzle, was already, 
 under tlie guidance of the young Christian, re- 
 moved beyond the reach of their spells. " 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 Such was the story, of which this innocent girl 
 »ave me, in her own touching language, the out- 
 line. 
 
 The sun was was just rising as she finished her 
 narrative. Fearful of encountering tlie expression 
 of those feelings with which, she could not but ob- 
 serve, I was attected by lier recital, scarcely had 
 she concluded the last sentence, when, rising ab- 
 ruptly from her seat, she hurried into the pavilion, 
 leaving me witli the words already crowding for 
 utterance to my lips. 
 
 Oppressed by the various emotions, thus sent 
 back upon my lieart, I lay down on the deck in a 
 state of agitation, that defied even the most distant 
 approaches of sleep. While every word she had 
 uttered, every feeling she expressed, but minister- 
 ed new fuel to that flame within me, to describe 
 which, passion is too weak a word, there was also 
 much of her recital that disheartend, that alarmed 
 me. To find a Christian thus under the garb of a 
 Memphian Priestess, was a discovery that, had my 
 heart been less deeply interested, would but have 
 more powerfuUv stimulated my imagination and 
 pride. But, when I recollected the austerity of 
 the faith she had embraced — the tender and sacred 
 
119 
 
 tie, associated with it in her memory, and the de- 
 votion of woman's heart to objects thus conse- 
 crated — ^lier very perfections but widened the dis- 
 tance between us, and all that most kindled my 
 passion at the same time chilled my hopes. 
 
 Were we left to each other, as on this silent 
 ^ river, in this undisturbed communion of thoughts 
 and feelings, I knew too well, I thought, both her 
 sex's nature and my own, to feel a doubt that 
 love would ultimately triumph. But the severity 
 of the guardianship to which I must resign her — 
 some monk of the desert, some stern Solitary — the 
 influence such a monitor would gain over her mind, 
 and the horror with which, ere long, she would be 
 taught to regard the reprobate^ infidel on whom she 
 now smiled — in all this prospect I saw nothing but 
 despair. After a few short hours, my happiness 
 would be at an end, and such a dark chasm open 
 between our fates, as must sever them, far as earth 
 is from heaven, asunder. 
 
 It was true, she was now wholly in my power. 
 I feared no witnesses but those of earth, and the 
 solitude of the desert was at hand. But though I 
 acknowledged not a heaven, I worshipped her who 
 was, to me, its type and substitute. If, at any 
 moment, a single thought of wrong or deceit, to- 
 wards a creature so sacred, arose in my mind, one 
 look from her innocent eyes averted the sacrilege. 
 Even passion itself felt a holy fear in her presence, 
 — ^like the flame trembling in the breeze of the 
 sanctuary, — and Love, pure Love, stood in place 
 of Religion. 
 
 As long as I knew not her story, I might indulge, 
 at least, in dreams of the future. But, now — what 
 hope, what prospect remained? My sole chance 
 of happiness lay in the feeble hope of beguiling 
 
120 
 
 away her thoughts from the plan which she medi- 
 tated^ of weaning- her, by persuasion, from that 
 austere faith, which I had before hated and now 
 feared, and of — attaching her, perhaps, alone and 
 unlinked as she was in the world, to my own for- 
 tunes forever! 
 
 In the agitation of these thoughts, I had started 
 from my resting-place, and continued to pace up 
 and down, under a burning sun, till, exhausted 
 both by thought and feeling, I sunk down, amid its 
 blaze, into a sleep, which, to my fevered brain, 
 seemed a sleep of fire. 
 
 On awaking, I found the veil of Alethe laid care- 
 fully over my brow, while she, herself sat near me, 
 under the shadow of the sail, looking anxiously at 
 that leaf, which her mother had given her, arid ap- 
 parently employed in comparing its outlines with 
 the course of the river and the forms of the rocky 
 hills by which we passed. She looked pale and 
 troubled, and rose eagerly to meet me, as if she had 
 long and impatiently waited for my waking. 
 
 Her Iieart, it was plain, had been disturbed from 
 its security, and was beginning to take alarm at its 
 own feelings. But, though vaguely conscious of 
 the peril to which she was exposed, her reliance, 
 as is usually the case, increased with her danger, 
 and on me, far more than on herself, did she de- 
 pend for saving her from it. To reach, as soon as 
 possible, her asylum in the desert, was now the 
 urgent object of her entreaties and wishes; and the 
 self-reproach she expressed at having permitted 
 her thoughts to be diverted, for a single moment 
 from this sacred purpose, not only revealed the 
 truth, that she had forgotten it, but betrayed even 
 a glimmering consciousness of the cause. 
 
 Her sleep, she said, had been broken by ill- 
 
121 
 
 omened dreams. Every moment the shade of her 
 mother had stood before her, rebuking her, with 
 mournful looks, for her delay, and pointing, as she 
 had done in death, to the eastern hills. Bursting 
 into tears at this accusing recollection, she hastily 
 placed the leaf, which she had been examining, in 
 my hands, and implored that I would ascertain, 
 without a moment's delay, what portion of our. 
 voyage was still unperformed, and in what space 
 of time we might hope to accomplish it. 
 
 I had, still less than herself, taken note of either 
 place or distance; and, had we been left to glide 
 on in this dream of happiness, should never nave 
 thought of pausing to ask where it would end. But 
 such confidence, I felt, was too sacred to be de- 
 ceived. Reluctant as I was, naturally, to enter 
 on an inquiry, which might so soon dissipate even 
 my last hope, her wish was sufficient to supersede 
 even the selfishness of love, and on the instant I 
 proceeded to obey her will. 
 
 There is, on the eastern bank of the Nile, to the 
 north of Antinoe, a high and steep rock, impend- 
 ing over the flood, which for ages, from a prodigy 
 connected with it, has borne the name of the 
 Mountain of the Birds. Yearly, it is said, at a 
 certain season and hour, large flocks of birds as- 
 semble in the ravine, of which this rocky mountain 
 forms one of the sides, and are there observed to 
 go through tlie mysterious ceremony of inserting 
 each its beak into a particular cleft of the rock, 
 till tlie cleft closes upon one of their number, when 
 the rest, taking wing, leave the selected victim to 
 die. 
 
 Through the ravine where this charm — for such 
 the multitude consider it — is worked, there ran, 
 in ancient times, a canal from the Nile, to some 
 
122 
 
 great and forgotten city that now lies buried in the 
 desert. To a short distance from the river this 
 canal still exists, but, soon after having passed 
 through the defile, its scanty waters disappear alto- 
 gether, and are lost under the sands. 
 
 It was in the neighbourhood of this place, as I 
 could collect from the delineations on the leaf,-— 
 where a flight of birds represented the name of 
 the mountain, — that the dwelling of tiie Solitary, 
 to whom Alethe was bequeathed, lay. Imperfect 
 as was my knowledge of the geography of Egypt, 
 it at once struck me, that we had long since left 
 this mountain behind; and, on inquiring of our 
 boatmen, I found my conjecture confirmed. We 
 had, indeed, passed it, as appeared, on the pre- 
 ceding night; and, as the wind had, ever since, 
 blown strongly from the north, and the sun was 
 already declining towards the horizon, we must 
 now be, at least, an ordinary day-s sail to the 
 southM'ard of the spot. 
 
 At this discovery, I own, my heart felt a joy 
 which I could with difficulty conceal. It seemecl 
 to me as if fortune was conspiring with love, and, 
 by thus delaying the moment of our separation, af- 
 forded me at least a chance of happiness. Her 
 look, too, and manner, when informed of our mis- 
 take, rather encouraged tlian chilled this secret 
 hope. In the first moment of astonishment, her 
 eyes opened ujion me with a suddenness of splen- 
 dour, under which I felt my own wink, as if light- 
 nin;^ had crossed them. But she again, as sud- 
 denly, let their lids fall, and, after a quiver of her 
 lip, which showed the conflict of feeling within, 
 crossed her arms upon her bosom, and looked si- 
 lently down upon the deck — her whole counte- 
 nance sinking into an expression, sad, but rcbigned, 
 
f 123 
 
 as if she felt, with me, that fate was on the side 
 of wrong, tind saw Love already stealing between 
 her soul and heaven. 
 
 I was not slow in availing myself of what I fan- 
 cied to be the irresolution of her mind. But, fear- 
 ful of exciting alarm by any appeal to tenderer 
 feelings, I but addressed myself to her imagina- 
 tion, and to that love of novelty, which is forever 
 fresh in the youthful breast. We were now ap- 
 proaching that region of wonders, Thebes. *' In 
 a day or two," said I, "we shall see, towering 
 above the waters, the colossal Avenue of Sphinxes, 
 and the bright Obelisks of the Sun. We shall 
 visit the plain of Memnon, and those mighty 
 statues, that fling their shadows at sunrise over the 
 Libyan hills. We shall hear the image of the Son 
 of the morning answering to the first touch of light. 
 From thence, in a few hours, a breeze like this 
 will transport us to those sunny islands near the 
 cataracts; there, to wander, among the sacred 
 palm-groves of Philse, or sit, at noon-tide hour, in 
 those cool alcoves, which the waterfall of Syene 
 shadows under its arch. Oh, who, with such 
 scenes of loveliness within reach, would turn cold- 
 ly away to the bleak desert, and leave this fair 
 world, with all its enchantments, shining behind 
 them, unseen and unenjoyed? At least" — I add- 
 ed, tenderly taking her by the hand — " at least let 
 a few more days be stolen from the dreary fate to 
 which thou hast devoted thyself, and then " 
 
 She had heard but the last few words — the rest 
 had been lost upon her. Startled by the tone of 
 tenderness, into which, in spite of all my resolves, 
 my voice had softened, she looked for an instant in 
 my face with passionate earnestness — ^then, drop- 
 ping upon her knees with her clasped hands up- 
 
124 
 
 raised, exclaimed — *' Tempt me not, in the name 
 of God I implore thee, tempt me not to swerve 
 from my sacred duty. Oh, take me instantly to 
 that desert mountain, and I will bless thee for- 
 ever. " 
 
 This appeal, I felt, could not be resisted though 
 my heart were to break for it. Having silently 
 expressed my assent to her prayer, by a pressure 
 of her hand as I raised her from the deck, I hast- 
 ened, as we were still in full career for the south, 
 to give orders that our sail should be instantly 
 lowered, and not a moment lost in retracing our 
 course. 
 
 In proceeding, however, to give these directions, 
 it, for the first time, occurred to me, that, as I had 
 hired this yacht in the neighbourhood of Memphis, 
 where it was probable that the flight of the young 
 fugitive would be most vigilantly tracked, we 
 should act imprudently in betraying to the boat- 
 men the place of her retreat — and the present 
 seemed the most favourable opportunity of evading 
 such a danger. Desiring, therefore, that we should 
 be landed at a small village on the shore, under 
 pretence of pa^nng a visit to some shrine in the 
 neighbourhood, I there dismissed our barge, and 
 was relieved from fear of further observation, by 
 seeing it again set sail, and resume its course 
 fleetly up the current. 
 
 From the boats of all descriptions that lay idle 
 beside the bank, I now selected one, which, in 
 every respect, suited my purpose, — ^being, in its 
 shape and accommodations, a miniature of our 
 former vessel, but so small and light as to be ma- 
 nageable by myself alone, and, with the advantage 
 of Ihe current, requiring little more than a hand 
 to steer it This boat I succeeded, without much , 
 
125 
 
 difficulty, in purchasing, and, after a short delay, 
 we were again afloat down the current 5 — ^the sun 
 just then sinking, in conscious glory, over his 
 own golden shrines in the Libyan waste. 
 
 The evening was more calm and lovely than any 
 that yet had smiled upon our voyage; and, as we 
 left the bank, there came soothingly over our ears 
 a strain of sweet, rustic melody from the shore. 
 It was the voice of a young Nubian girl, whom we 
 saw kneeling on the bank before an acacia, and 
 singing, while her companions stood round, the 
 wild song of invocation, which, in her country, 
 they address to that enchanted tree: — 
 " Oh ! Abyssinian tree, 
 
 We pray, we pray, to thee ; 
 By the glow of thy golden fruit, 
 And the violet hue of thy flower, 
 And the greeting mute 
 Of thy bough's salute 
 To the stranger who seeks thy bower.* 
 
 II. 
 " Oh ! Abyssinian tree, 
 
 How the traveller blesses thee, 
 When the night no moon allows, 
 And the sun-set hour is near. 
 And thou bcnd'st thy boughs 
 To kiss his brows, 
 Saying, ' Come rest thee here.' 
 Oh ! Abyssinian tree. 
 Thus bow thy head to me !" 
 In the burden of this song the companions of the 
 young Nubian joined; and we heard the words, 
 ** Oh ! Abyssinian tree," dying away on the breeze, 
 long after the whole group had been lost to our 
 ■ eyes, 
 
 * See an account of this sensitive tree, which bends 
 down its branches to those who approach it, in M. Jomard's 
 1. Description of Syene and the Cataracts. 
 
126 
 
 Whether, in this new arrangement which I had 
 made for our voyage, any motive, besides those 
 which I professed, had a share, I can scarcely, even 
 myself, so bewildered were my feelings, deter- 
 mine. But no sooner had the current borne us 
 away from all human dwellings, and we were 
 alone on the waters, with not a soul near, than I 
 felt how closely such solitude draws hearts to- 
 gether, and how much more we seemed to belong 
 to each other, than when there were eyes around. 
 
 The same feeling, but without the same sense 
 of its danger, was manifest in every look and word 
 of Alethe. The consciousness of the one great 
 effort she had made, appeared to have satisfied her 
 heart on the score of duty, — while the devotedness 
 with which she saw I attended to her every wish, 
 was felt with all that gratitude which, in woman, 
 is the day-spring of love. She was, therefore, 
 happy, innocently happy; and the confiding, and 
 even affectionate, unreserve of her manner, while 
 it rendered my trust more sacred, made it also far 
 more difficult. 
 
 It was only, however, on subjects unconnected 
 with our situation or fate, that she yielded to such 
 interchange of thought, or that her voice ventured 
 to answer mine. The moment I alluded to the 
 destiny that awaited us, all her cheerfulness fled, 
 and she became saddened and silent. When I de- 
 scribed to her the beauty of my own native land — 
 its founts of inspiration and fields of glory — her 
 eyes sparkled with sympathy, and sometimes even 
 softened into fondness. But when I ventured to 
 whisper, that, in that glorious country, a life full 
 of love and liberty awaited her; when I proceeded 
 to contrast the adoration and bliss she might com 
 mand, with the gloomy austerities of the life to 
 
127 
 
 which she was hastening, — it was like the coming 
 of a sudden cloud over a summer sky. Her head 
 sunk, as she listened; — I waited in vain for an an- 
 swer; and when, half playfully reproaching her for 
 this silence, I stooped to take her hand, I could 
 feel the warm tears fast falling over it. 
 
 But even this — little hope as it held out — was 
 happiness. Tliough it foreboded that I should lose 
 her, it also whispered that I was loved. Like that 
 lake in the liand of Roses,* whose waters are half 
 sweet, half bitter, I felt my fate to be a compound 
 of bliss and pain, — ^but the very pain well worth 
 all ordinary bliss. 
 
 And tlms did the hours of that night pass alongj 
 while eveiy moment shortened our happy dream, 
 and tlie current seemed to tlowwith a swifter pace 
 rthan any that ever yet hurried to the sea. Not a 
 feature of the whole scene but is, at this moment, 
 freshly in my memory; — the broken star-light on 
 ■the water; — the rippling sound of the boat, as, 
 without oar or sail, it went, like a thing of enchant- 
 ment, down the stream;— the scented lire, burning 
 beside us on the deck, and, oh, that face, on which 
 its light fell, still revealing, as it turned, some new 
 charm, son\e blush or look, more beautiful than the 
 last. 
 
 Often, while I sat gazing, forgetful of all else in 
 tills world, our boat left wholly to itself, would 
 drive from its course, and bearing us to the bank, 
 get entangled in the water-tlowers, or be caught in 
 some eddy, ere I perceived where we were. Once, 
 too, when the rustling of my oar among the flowers 
 had startled away from the bank some wild ante- 
 lopes, that had stolen, at that still hour, to drink of 
 
 * The province of Arsinoe, now Fioum, 
 
12a 
 
 the Nile, what an emblem, I thought it, of the 
 young heart beside me, — tasting, for the first time, 
 of hope and love, and so soon, alas, to be scared 
 from their sweetness forever 1 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 The night was now far advanced^ — ^the bend of 
 our course towards the left, and the closing in of 
 the eastern hills upon the river, gave warning of our 
 approach to the hermit's dwelling. Every minute, 
 now, seemed like the last of existence; and I felt a 
 sinking of despair at my heart, which would have 
 been intolerable, had not a resolution that sud- 
 denly, and as if by inspiration, occurred to me, 
 presented a glimpse of hope, which in some degree, 
 calmed my feelings. 
 
 Much as I had, all my life, despised hypocrisy, 
 — ^the very sect I had embraced, being chiefly re- 
 commended to me by the war, which they waged 
 on the cant of all others, — it was, nevertheless, in 
 hypocrisy that I now scrupled not to take refuge 
 from, what I dreaded more than shame or death, 
 my separation from Alethe. In my despair, I 
 adopted the humiliating plan — deeply humiliating 
 as I felt it to be, even amid the joy with which I 
 welcomed it — of offering myself to this hermit, as 
 a convert to his faith, and thus becoming the fellow- 
 disciple of Alethe under his care! 
 
 From the moment I resolved upon this plan, my 
 spirit felt liohtened. Though having fully before 
 my eyes the labyrinth of imposture, into which it 
 would lead me, I thought of nothing but the chance 
 of our being still together; — in this hope, all pride, 
 
129 
 
 all philosophy was forgotten, and every thing 
 seemed tolerable, but the prospect of losino- iier. 
 
 Thus resolved, it was with somewhat less re- 
 luctant feelings, that I now undertook, at the anxi- 
 ous desire of Alethe, to ascertain the site of that 
 well-known mountain, in the neighbourhood of 
 which the dwelling of the anchoret lay. We had 
 already passed one or two stupendous rocks, which 
 stood, detached, like fortresses, over the river's 
 brink, and which, in some degree, corresponded 
 with the description on the leaf. So little was 
 there of life now stirring along the shores, that I 
 had begun almost to despair of any assistance from 
 inquiry, when on looking to the western bank, I 
 saw a boatman among the sedges, towing his small 
 boat, with some difficulty, up the current. Hail- 
 ing him, as we passed, I asked, "Where stands 
 the Mountain of the Birds?" — and he had hardly 
 time to answer, pointing above our heads, ' ' There," 
 when we perceived that we were just then entering 
 into the shadow, which this mighty rock flings 
 across the whole of the flood. 
 
 In a few moments we had reached the mouth of 
 the ravine, of which the Mountain of the Birds 
 forms one of the sides, and through which the 
 scanty canal from the Nile flows. At the sight of 
 this chasm, in some of whose gloomy recesses — ^if 
 we had rightly interpreted the leaf — ^the dwelling 
 of the Solitary lay, our voices, at once, sunk into 
 a low whisper, while Alethe looked round upon me 
 with a superstitious fearfulness, as if doubtful whe- 
 ther I had not already disappeared from her side. 
 A quick movement, however, of her hand towards 
 the ravine, told too plainly that her purpose was 
 still unchanged. With my oars, therefore, check- 
 ing the career of our boat, I succeeded, after no 
 
130 
 
 small exertion, in turning it out of the current of 
 the river, and steering into this bleak and stagnant 
 canal. 
 
 Our transition from life and bloom, to the very 
 depth of desolation, was immediate. While the 
 water and one side of the ravine lay buried in sha- 
 dow, the white, skeleton-like crags of the other 
 stood aloft in the pale glare of moonlight. The 
 sluggish stream through which we moved, yielded 
 sullenly to the oar, and the shriek of a few water- 
 birds, which we had aroused from their fastnesses, 
 was succeeded by a silence, so dead and awful, 
 that our lips seemed afraid to disturb it by a breath; 
 and half-whispered exclamations, "How dreary!" 
 — "How dismal!" — were almost the only words 
 exchanged between us. 
 
 We had proceeded, for some time, through this 
 gloomy defile, when at a distance before us, among 
 the rocks on which the moonlight fell, we perceived, 
 upon a ledge but little elevated above the canal, a 
 small hut or cave, which, from a tree or two planted 
 around it, had some appearance of being the abode 
 of a human being. " This, then," thought I, " is 
 the home to which Alethe is destined!" — A chill 
 of despair came again over my heart, and the oars, 
 as I gazed, lay motionless in my hands. 
 
 I found Alethe, too, whose eyes had caught the 
 same object, drawing closer to my side than she 
 had yet ventured. Laying her hand agitatedly 
 upon mine, "We must here," she said, "part for- 
 ever." I turned to her, as she spoke; there was 
 a tenderness, a despondency in her countenance, 
 that at once saddened and inflamed my soul, 
 "Part!" I exclaimed passionately, — "No! — ^the 
 same God shall receive us both. Thy faith, Alethe, 
 
131 
 
 shall, from this hour, be mine, and I will live and 
 die in this desert with thee!" 
 
 Her surprise, her delighfc, at these words, was 
 like a momentary delirium. The wild, anxious 
 smile, with which she looked into my face, as if to 
 ascertain whether she had, indeed, heard my words 
 aright, bespoke a happiness too much for reason to 
 bear. At length, the fulness of her heart found re- 
 lief in tearsj and, murmuring forth an incoherent 
 blessing on my name, she let her head fall lan- 
 guidly and powerlessly on my arm. The light 
 from our boat-fire shone upon her face. 1 saw her 
 eyes, which she had closed for a moment, again 
 opening upon me with the same tenderness, and— 
 merciful Providence, how I remember that mo- 
 ment! — was on the point of bending down my lips 
 towards hers, when, suddenly, in the air above our 
 heads, as if it came from heaven, there burst forth 
 a strain from a choir of voices, that with its solemn 
 sweetness filled the whole valley. 
 
 Breaking away from my caress at these super- 
 natural sounds, the maiden threw herself trembling 
 upon her knees, and, not daring to look up, ex- 
 claimed wildly, '* My mother, oh my mother!" 
 
 It was the Christian's morning hymn that we 
 heard! — the same, as I learned afterwards, that, 
 on their high terrace at Memphis, Alethe had been 
 often taught by her mother to sing to the rising sun. 
 
 Scarcely less startled than my companion, I 
 looked up, and, at the very summit of the rock 
 above us, saw a light, appearing to come from a 
 small opening or window, through which also the 
 sounds, that had appeared so supernatural, issued. 
 There could be no doubt, that we had now found 
 —if not the dwelling of the anchoret — at least, the 
 haunt of some of the Christian brotherhood of these 
 
132 
 
 rocks, by whose assistance we could not fail to find 
 the place of his retreat. 
 
 The agitation, into which Alethe had been thrown 
 by the first burst of that psalmody, soon yielded to 
 the softening recollections which it brought back; 
 and a calm came over her brow, such as it had never 
 before worn, since our meeting. She seemed to 
 fee] that she had now reached her destined liaven, 
 and to hail, as the voice of heaven itself, those 
 sounds by which she was welcomed to it. 
 
 In her tranquillity, however, I could not now 
 sympathize. Impatient to know all that awaited 
 her and myself, I pushed our boat close to the base 
 of the rock, — directly under that liglited window 
 on the summit, to find mv way up to which was 
 my first object. Having hastily received my in- 
 structions from Alethe, and made her repeat again 
 the name of the Christian whom we sought, I 
 sprang upon the bank, and was not long in dis- 
 covering a sort of rude stairway, cut out of the 
 rock, but leading, I found, by easy, windings, up 
 the steep. 
 
 After ascending for some time, I arrived at a 
 level space or ledge, which the hand of labour had 
 succeeded in converting into a garden, and which 
 was planted, here and there, with fig-trees and 
 palms. Around it, too, I could perceive, through 
 the glimmering light, a number of small caves or 
 grottos, into some of which, human beings miglit 
 find entrance, while others appeared no larger 
 than the tombs of the Sacred Birds round Lake 
 Moeris. 
 
 I was still, I found, but half-way up the ascent 
 to the summit, nor could perceive any further 
 means of continuing my course, as the mountain 
 from hence rose, almost perpendicularly, like a 
 
133 
 
 wall. At length, however, on exploring around, 
 I discovered, behind the shade ot a sycamore, a 
 large ladder of wood, resting firmly against the 
 rock, and affording an easy and secure ascent up 
 the steep. 
 
 Having ascertained thus far, I again descended 
 to the boat for Alethe, — whom I found trembling 
 already at her short solitude, — and, having led 
 her up the steps to this quiet garden, left her safely 
 lodged, amid its holy silence, while I pursued my 
 way upward to the light on the rock. 
 
 At the top of the long ladder I found myself on 
 another ledge or platform, somewhat smaller than 
 the first, but planted in the same manner, with 
 trees, and, as I could perceive, by the mingled 
 light of morning and the moon, embellished with 
 flowers. I was now near the summit; — there re- 
 mained but another short ascent, and, as a ladder 
 against the rock as before, supplied the means of 
 scaling it, I was in a few minutes at the opening 
 from which the light issued. 
 
 I had ascended gently, as well from a feeling 
 t)f awe at the whole scene, as from an unwilling- 
 ness to disturb, too i-udely, the rites on which I in- 
 truded. My approach was, therefore, unheard, 
 and an opportunity, during some moments, afforded 
 me of observing the group within, before my ap- 
 pearance at the window was discovered. 
 
 In the middle of the apartment, which seemed 
 once to have been a Pagan oratory, there was an 
 assembly of seven or eight persons, some male, 
 some female, kneeling in silence round a small al- 
 tar; — while, among them, as if presiding over their 
 ceremony, stood an aged man, who, at the mo- 
 ment of my arrival, was presenting to one of the 
 female worshippers an alabaster cup, which she 
 
134 
 
 applied, with much reverence, to her lips. On 
 the countenance of the venerable minister, as lie 
 pronounced a short prayer over her liead, there 
 was an expression of profound feeling, that showed 
 how wholly he was absorbed in that rite^ and when 
 she had drank of the cup, — which I saw had en 
 graven on its side the image of a head, with a gloj ^ 
 round it, — the holy man bent down and kissed hei 
 forehead. 
 
 After this parting salutation, the whole group 
 rose silently from their knees; and it was then, for 
 the first time, that, by a cry of terror from one of 
 the v/omen, the appearance of a stranger at the 
 window, was discovered. The whole assembly 
 seemed startled and alarmed, except him, tha.t su- 
 perior person, who, advancing from the altar, 
 wdth an unmoved look, raised the latch of the door, 
 which was adjoining to the window, and admitted 
 me. 
 
 There was, in this old man's features, a mixture 
 of elevation and sweetness, of simplicity and en- 
 ergy, which commanded at once, attachment and 
 homage; and half hoping, half fearing to find in 
 him the destined guardian of Alethe, I looked 
 anxiously in his face, as I entered, and pronounced 
 the name ''MelaniusI" " Melanius is my name, 
 young stranger," he answered; *'and whether in 
 friendship or in enmity thou comest, Melanius 
 blesses thee. " Thus saying, he made a sign with 
 his right hand above my head, while, with involun- 
 tary respect, I bowed beneath the benediction. 
 
 '' Let this volume," I replied, ''answer for the 
 peacefulness of my mission," — at the same time, 
 placing in his hands the copy of the Scriptures, 
 which liad been his OAvn gift to the motlier of 
 Alethe, and ^hich her child brought as the ere- 
 
135 
 
 deiitial of her claims on his protection. At the 
 sight of this sacred pledge, which he recognized 
 instantly, the solemnity that had marked his first 
 reception of me softened into tenderness. Thoughts 
 of other times seemed to pass through his mind, 
 and as, with a sigh of recollection, he took the book 
 from my hands, some words on the outer leaf 
 caught liis eye. They were few — -but contained, 
 perhaps, the last wishes of the dying Theora, for 
 as he eagerly read them over, I saw the tears in 
 his aged eyes. "The trust," he said, with a fal- 
 tering voice, "is sacred, and God will, I hope, 
 enable his servant to guard it faithfully." 
 
 During this short dialogue, the other persons of 
 the assembly had departed — being, as I afterwards 
 learned, brethren from the neighbouring bank of 
 the Nile, who came thus secretly before day -break, 
 to join in worshipping God. Fearful lest their 
 descent down the rock might alarm Alethe, I hur- 
 ried briefly over the few words of explanation that 
 remained, and, leaving the venerable Christian to 
 follow at his leisure, hasteriQd anxiously down to 
 rejoin the maiden. 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 Melanius was among the first of those Chris- 
 tians of Egypt, who, after the recent example of 
 the hermit, Paul, renouncing all the comforts of 
 social existence, betook themselves to a life of con- 
 templation in the desert. Less selfish, however, 
 in his piety, than most of these ascetics, Melanius 
 forgot not the world, in leaving it. He knew that 
 man was not born to live wholly for himself^ that 
 
136 
 
 hh relation to human kind was that of the link to 
 the chain, and that even his solitude should be 
 turned to the advantage of others. In flying, 
 therefore, from the din and disturbance of life, he 
 sought not to place himself beyond the reach of 
 its sympathies, but selected a retreat, where he 
 could combine the advantage of solitude with those 
 opportunities of serving his fellow-men, which a 
 neighbourhood to their haunts would afford. 
 
 That taste for the gloom of subterranean reces 
 ses, which the race of Misraim inherit from their 
 Ethiopian ancestors, had, by hollowing out all 
 Egypt into caverns and crypts, furnished these 
 Christian anchorets with a choice of retreats. Ac 
 cordingly, some found a shelter in the grottos of 
 Elethyaj — others, among the royal tombs of the 
 Thebaid. In the middle of the Seven Valleys, 
 where the sun rarely shines, a few have fixed their 
 dim and melancholy retreat, while others have 
 sought the neighbourliood of the red Lakes of Ni- 
 tria, and there, — like those Pagan solitaries of old, 
 who dwelt among the palm-trees near the Dead 
 Sea, — muse amid the sterility of nature, and seem 
 to find, in her desolation, peace. 
 
 It was on one of the mountains of the Said, to 
 the east of the river, that Melanius, as we have 
 seen, chose his place of seclusion, — ^between the 
 life and fertility of the Nile on the one side, and 
 the lone, dismal barrenness of the desert on the 
 other. Half-way down this mountain, where it 
 impends over the ravine, he found a series of caves 
 or grottos dug out of the rock, which had, in other 
 times, ministered to some purpose of mystery, but 
 whose use had been long forgotten, and their re- 
 cesses abandoned. 
 
 To this place, after the banishment of his great 
 
1S7 
 
 master, Origen, Melanius, witli a few faithful fol- 
 lowers, retired, and, by the example of his inno- 
 cent life, no less than by his fervid eloquence, suc- 
 ceeded in winning crowds of converts to his faith. 
 Placed, as he was, in the neighbourhood of the 
 rich city, Antinoe, though he mingled not with its 
 multitude, his name and his fame were among 
 them, and, to all who sought instruction or conso- 
 lation, the cell of the hermit was ever open. 
 
 Notwithstanding the rigid abstinence of his own 
 habits, he was yet careful to provide for the com- 
 forts of others. Contented with a rude bed of 
 straw himself, for the stranger he had always a 
 less homely resting-place. From his grotto, the 
 way-faring and the indigent never went unrefresh- 
 edj and, with the assistance of some of his breth- 
 ren, he had formed gardens along the ledges of 
 the mountain, which gave an air of cheerfulness 
 to his rocky dwelling, and supplied him with the 
 chief necessaries of such a climate, fruit and shade. 
 
 Though the acquaintance which he had formed 
 with the mother of Alethe, during the short period 
 of her attendance at the school of Origen, was soon 
 interrupted, and never afterwards renewed, the 
 interest which he had then taken in her fate, was 
 too lively to be forgotten. He had seen tivt zeal 
 with which her young heart welcomed instruction^ 
 and the thought that such a candidate for heaven 
 should have relapsed into idolatry, came often, 
 with disquieting apprehension, over his mind. 
 
 It was, therefore, with true pleasure, that, but 
 a year or two before her death, he had learned, by 
 a private communication from Theora, transmitted 
 through a Christian embalmer of Memphis, that 
 *'not only her own heart had taken root in the 
 faith, but that a new bud had flowered with the 
 
138 
 
 same divine hope, and that, ere long, he might see 
 them both transplanted to the desert." 
 
 The coming, therefore, of Alethe was far less a 
 surprise to him, than her coming thus alone was a 
 shock and a sorrow j and the silence of their meet- 
 ing showed how deeply each remembered, that the 
 tie which had brought them together, was no longer 
 of this world, — that the hand, which should have 
 been joined with theirs, was in the tomb. I now 
 saw, that not even religion was proof against the 
 sadness of mortality. For, as the old man put the 
 ringlets aside from her forehead, and contemplated 
 in that clear countenance the reflection of what her 
 mother had been, there was a mournfulness mingled 
 with his piety, as he said, " Heaven rest her soul !" 
 which showed how little, even the certainty of a 
 heaven for those we love, can subdue our regret 
 for having lost them on earth. 
 
 The full light of day had now risen upon the de- 
 sert, and our host, reminded by the faint looks of 
 Alethe, of the many anxious hours we had passed 
 without sleep, proposed that we should seek, in the 
 chambers of the rock, such rest as the dwelling of 
 a hermit could offer. Pointing to one of the largest 
 openings, as he addressed me, — " Thou wilt find," 
 he said, ** in that grotto, a bed of fresh doum leaves, 
 and may the consciousness of having protected the 
 orphan, sweeten thy sleep!" 
 
 I felt how dearly this praise had been earned, 
 and already almost repented of having deserved it. 
 There was a sadness in the countenance of Alethe, 
 as I took leave of her, to which the forebodings of 
 my own heart but too faithfully responded; nor 
 could I help fearing, as her hand parted linger- 
 ingly from mine, that I had, hj this sacrifice, pla- 
 CQd her bevond mv rea.c]i forevcv 
 
139 
 
 Having lighted me a lamp, which, in these re- 
 cesses, even at noon, is necessary, the holy man 
 led me to the entrance of the grotto j — and here, I 
 blush to say, my career of hypocrisy began. With 
 the sole view of obtaining another glance at Alethe, 
 I turned humbly to solicit the benediction of the 
 Christian, and, having conveyed to her, as I bent 
 reverently down, as much of the deep feeling of 
 my soul as looks could express, with a desponding 
 spirit I hurried into the cavern. 
 
 A short passage led me to the chamber within, 
 — ^the v/alls of which I found covered, like those 
 of the grottos of Lycopolis, with paintings, which, 
 though executed long ages ago, looked fresh as if 
 their colours were but laid on yesterday. They 
 were, all of them, representations of rural and do- 
 mestic scenes; and, in the greater number, the me- 
 lancholy imagination of the artist had called Death 
 in, as usual, to throw his shadow over the picture. 
 
 My attention was particularly drawn to one se- 
 ries of subjects, throughout the whole of which the 
 same group — a youth, a maiden, and two aged per- 
 sons, who appeared to be the father and mother of 
 the girl, — were represented in all the details of 
 their daily life. The looks and attitudes of the 
 young people, denoted that they were lovers; and 
 sometimes, they were seen sitting under a canopy 
 of flowers, with their eyes fixed on each other's 
 faces, as though they could never look away; some- 
 times, they apppeared walking along the banks of 
 the Nile, 
 
 on one of those sweet nights 
 
 When Isis, the pure star of lovers, lights 
 
 Her bridal crescent o'er the holy stream, 
 
 When wandering youths and maidens watch her beam, 
 
 And number o'er the nights she hath to run. 
 
 Ere she again embrace liei bridegroom sun. 
 
140 
 
 Through all these scenes of endearment, the two 
 elder persons stood by; — their calm countenances 
 touched with a share of that bliss, in whose perfect 
 light the young lovers were basking. Thus far, all 
 was happiness, — but the sad lesson of mortality 
 was to come. In the last picture of the series, one 
 of the figures was missing. It was that of the joung 
 maiden, who had disappeared from among them. 
 On the brink of a dark lake, stood the three who 
 remained ! while a boat, just departing for the City 
 of the Dead, told, too plainly, the end of their 
 dream of happiness. 
 
 This memorial of a sorrow of other times — of a 
 sorrow, ancient as death itself, — was not wanting 
 to deepen the melancholy of my mind, or to add to 
 the weight of the many bodings that pressed on it 
 
 After a night, as it seemed, of anxious and un- 
 sleeping thought, I rose from my bed and returned 
 to the garden. I found the Christian alone, — seat- 
 ed, under the shade of one of his trees, at a small 
 table, with a volume unrolled before him, while a 
 beautiful antelope lay sleeping at his feet. Struck 
 forcibly by the contrast, which he presented to those 
 haughty priests, whom I had seen surrounded by 
 the pomp and gorgeousness of temples, '-Is this, 
 then," thought I, ''the faith, before which the 
 world trembles — its temple the desert, its treasury 
 a book, and its High Priest the solitary dweller of 
 the rock.'"' 
 
 He had prepared for me a simple, but hospitable 
 repast, of whicli fruits from his own garden, tlie 
 white bread of Olyra, and the juice of the honey- 
 cane were the most costly luxuries. His manner 
 to me was even more cordial than before; but the 
 absence of Alethe, and, still more, the ominous re- 
 serve, with which he not only, himself, refrained 
 
141 
 
 from all mention of her name, but eluded the few 
 inquiries, by which I sought to lead to it, seemed 
 to conlirm all the fears 1 had felt in parting from 
 her. 
 
 She had acquainted him, it was evident, with the 
 whole history of our flight. My reputation as a 
 philosopher — my desire to become a Christian — 
 all was already known to the zealous Anchoret, 
 and the subject of my conversion was the very first 
 on which he entered. O pride of philosophy, how 
 wert thou then humbled, and with what shame did 
 I stand, casting down my eyes, before that venera- 
 ble man, as, with ingenuous trust in the sincerity 
 of my intention, he welcomed me to a participa- 
 tion of his holy hope, and imprinted the Kiss of 
 Charity on my infidel brow ! 
 
 Embarrassed as I felt by the consciousness of 
 hypocrisy, I was even still more perplexed by my 
 total" ignorance of the real tenets of the faith to 
 which I professed myself a convert. Abashed and 
 confused, and with a heart sick at its own deceit, 
 I heard the animated and eloquent gratulations of 
 the Christian, as though they were words in a 
 dream, without link or meaning; nor could dis- 
 guise but by the mockery of a reverential bow, at 
 every pause, the entire want of self-possession, and 
 even of speech, under which I laboured. 
 
 A few minutes more of such trial, and I must 
 have avowed my imposture. But the holy man 
 saw my embarrassment;—- and, whether mistaking 
 it for awe, or knowing it to be ignorance, relieved 
 me from my perplexity by, at once, changing the 
 theme. Having gently awakened his antelope from 
 its sleep, "You have heard," he said, "I doubt 
 not, of my brother-anchoret, Paul, who, from hia 
 cave in the marble mountains, near the Red Sea, 
 
142 
 
 sends hourly <the sacrifice of thanksgiving' to 
 heaven. Of his walks, they tell me, a lion is the 
 companion; but for me," he added, with a playful 
 and significant smile, ''who try my powers of 
 taming' but on the gentler animals, this feeble child 
 of the desert is a far fitter play-mate." Then, 
 taking his staff, and putting the time-worn volume 
 which he had been reading into a large goat skin 
 pouch, that hung by his side, "I will now," said 
 he, ''lead thee over my rocky kingdom, — that 
 thou mayest see in what drear and barren places, 
 that 'fruit of the spirit,' Peace, may be ga- 
 thered." 
 
 To speak of peace to a heart like mine, at that 
 moment, was like talking of some distant harbour 
 to the mariner sinking at sea- In vain did I look 
 round for some sign of Alethej — in vain make an 
 effort even to utter her najne. Consciousness of 
 my own deceit, as well as a fear of awakening in 
 Melanius any suspicion that might frustrate my 
 only hope, threw a fetter over my spirit, and check- 
 ed 'my tongue. In silence, therefore, I followed, 
 while the cheerful old man, with slow, but firm 
 step, ascended the rock, by the same ladders 
 which I had mounted on the preceding night. 
 
 During the time when the Decian Persecution 
 was raging, many Christians of this neighbourhood, 
 he informed me, had taken refuge under his pro- 
 tection, in these grottos; and the chapel on the 
 summit, where I had found them at prayer, was, in 
 those times of danger, their place of retreat, where, 
 by drawing up these ladders, they were enabled to 
 secure themselves from pursuit. 
 
 From the top of the rock, the view, on either 
 side, embraced the two extremes of fertility and 
 desolation, nor could the Epicurean and the An- 
 
143 
 
 choret, who now gazed from that height, be at any 
 loss to indulge their respective tastes, between the 
 living luxuriance of the world on one side, and the 
 dead repose of the desert on the other. When we 
 turned to the river, what a picture of animation 
 presented itself! Near us, to the south, were the 
 graceful colonnades of Antinoe, its proud, popu- 
 lous streets, and triumphal monuments. On the 
 opposite shore, rich plains, teeming with cultiva- 
 tion to the water's edge, offered up, as from ver- 
 dant altars, their fruits to the sun; while, beneath 
 us, the Nile, 
 
 — — 'the glorious stream, 
 That late between its banks was seen to glide, — 
 With shrines and marble cities, on each side, 
 Ghttering, like jewels strung along a chain, — 
 Had now sent forth its waters, and o'er plain 
 And valley, like a giant from his bed 
 Rising with outstretch'd limbs, superbly spread. 
 
 From this scene, on one side of the mountain, we 
 had but to turn round our eyes, and it was as if 
 nature herself had become suddenly extinct; — a 
 wide waste of sands, bleak and interminable, wea- 
 rying out the sun with its sameness of desolation; 
 — ^black, burnt-up rocks, that stood as barriers, at 
 which life stopped; — while the only signs of ani- 
 mation, past or present, were the foot-prints, here 
 and there, of an antelope or ostrich, or the bones 
 of dead camels, as they lay whitening at a dis- 
 tance, marking out the track of the caravans over 
 the waste. 
 
 After listening, while he contrasted, in a few 
 eloquent words, the two regions of life and death 
 on whose confines we stood, I again descended 
 with my guide to the garden we had left. From 
 thence, turning into a path along the mountain- 
 
144 
 
 side, he conducted nie to another row of grottos, 
 facing the desert, which had once, he said, been 
 the abode of those brethren in Christ, who had 
 fled with him to this solitude from the crowded 
 world, — ^but which death had, within a few months, 
 rendered tenantless. A cross of red stone, and 
 a few faded trees, were the only traces these soli- 
 taries had left behind. 
 
 A silence of some minutes succeeded, while M^e 
 descended to the edge of the canal: and I saw op- 
 posite, among the rocks, that solitary cave, which 
 had so chilled me with its aspect on the preceding 
 night. By the bank we found one of those rustic 
 boats, which the Egyptians construct of planks of 
 wild thorn, bound rudely together with bands of 
 papyrus. Placing ourselves in this boat, and ra- 
 ther impelling than rowing it across, we made our 
 way through the foul and shallow flood, and landed 
 directly under the site of the cave. 
 
 This dwelling, as I have already mentioned, 
 was situated upon a ledge of the rock: and, being 
 provided with a sort of window or aperture to ad- 
 mit the light of heaven, was accounted, I found, 
 more cheerful than the grottos on the other side of 
 the ravine. But there was a dreariness in the 
 whole region around, to which light only lent more 
 horror. The dead whiteness of the rocks, as they 
 stood, like ghosts, in the sunshine; — that melan- 
 choly pool, half lost in the sands: — all gave me 
 the idea of a wasting world. To dwell in such a 
 place seemed to me like a living deatlij and when 
 the Cliristian, as we entered the cave, said, " Here 
 is to be thy liome," prepared as I was for the 
 worst, my resolution gave way; — every feeling of 
 disappointed passion and humbled pride, which 
 
145 
 
 had been gathering round mj heart for the last few 
 hours, found a vent at once, and I burst into tears ! 
 Well accustomed to human weakness, and per- 
 haps guessing at some of the sources of mine, the 
 good Hermit, without appearing to notice this 
 emotion, expatiated, with a cheerful air, on, 
 what he called, the many comforts of my dwell- 
 ing. Sheltered, he said, from the dry, burn- 
 ing wind of the south, my porch would inhale 
 the fresh breeze of the Dog-star. Fruits from 
 his own mountain-garden should furnish my re- 
 past. The well of the neighbouring rock would 
 supply my beverage; and, ''here," he continued,— 
 lowering his voice into a more solemn tone, as he 
 placed upon the table the volume which he had 
 brought, — "here, my son, is that 'well of living 
 waters,' in which alone thou wilt find lasting re- 
 freshment or peace!" Thus saying, he descended 
 the rock to his boat, and after a few plashes of his 
 oar had died upon my ear, the solitude and silence 
 around me was complete. 
 
 CHAP. XVil. 
 
 What a fate was mine! — but a few weeks since, 
 presiding over that splendid Festival of the Gar- 
 den, with all the luxuries of existence tributary in 
 my train; and now, — self-humbled into a solitary 
 outcast, — the hypocritical pupil of a Christian an- 
 choret, — without even the excuse of fanaticism, or 
 of any other madness, but that of love, wild love, 
 to extenuate my fall ! Were there a hope that, by 
 this humiliating waste of existence, I might pur- 
 chase but a glLjipse, now and then, of Aletlie, even 
 
146 
 
 the depths of the desert, with such a chance, 
 would be welcome. But to live — and live thus — 
 ivithout her, was a misery which I neither foresaw 
 nor could endure. 
 
 Hating even to look upon the den to which I was 
 doomed, I hurried out into the air, and found my 
 way, along the rocks, to the desert. The sun was 
 going down, with that blood-red hue, which he so 
 frequently wears, in this clime, at his setting. I 
 saw the sands, stretching out, like a sea, to the 
 horizon, as if their waste extended to the very 
 verge of the world, — and, in the bitterness of my 
 feelings, rejoiced to see so much of creation res- 
 cued, even by this barren liberty, from the grasp 
 of man. The thought seemed to relieve my 
 wounded pride, and, as I wandered over the dim 
 and boundless solitude, to be thus free, even amid 
 blight and desolation, appeared a blessing. 
 
 The only living thing I saw was a restless swal- 
 low, whose wings were of the hue of the gray sands 
 over which he fluttered. "Why may not the 
 mind, like this bird, take the colour of the desert, 
 and sympathise in its austerity, its freedom, and 
 its calm.?" — thus, between despondence and defi- 
 ance, did I ask myself, endeavouring to face with 
 fortitude what yet my heart sickened to contem- 
 plate. But the effort was unavailing. Overcome 
 by that vast solitude, whose repose was not the 
 slumber of peace, but the sullen and burning si- 
 lence of hate, I felt my spirit give way, and even 
 love itself yield to despair. 
 
 Seating myself on a fragment of a rock, and 
 covering my eyes with my hands, I made an effort 
 to shut out the overwhelming prospect. But in 
 vain — it was still before me, deepened by all that 
 fancy could add; and whem- again looking up, I 
 
147 
 
 saw the last red ray of the sun, shooting across 
 that melancholy and lifeless waste, it seemed to 
 me like the light of the comet that once desolated 
 this world, shining out luridly over the ruin that 
 it had madei 
 
 Appalled by my own gloomy imaginations, I 
 turned towards the ravine^ and, notwithstanding 
 the disgust with which I had left my dwelling, was 
 not ill pleased to find my way, over the rocks, to 
 it again. On approaching the cave, to my astonish- 
 ment, I saw a light within. At such a moment, 
 any vestige of life was welcome, and I hailed the 
 unexpected appearance with pleasure. On enter- 
 ing, however, 1 found the chamber as lonely as I 
 had left it. The light came from a lamp that 
 burned brightly on the tablej beside it was unfold- 
 ed the volume which Melanius had brought, and 
 upon the leaves — oh, joy and surprise — lay the 
 well known cross of Alethe! 
 
 What hand, but her own, could have prepared 
 this reception for me? — The very thought sent a 
 hope into my heart, before which all despondency 
 fled. Even the gloom of the desert was forgotten, 
 and my cave at once brightened into a bower. She 
 had here reminded me, herself, by this sacred me- 
 morial, of the vow which I had pledged to her un- 
 der the Hermit's rock; and I now scrupled not to 
 reiterate the same daring promise, though con- 
 scious that through hypocrisy alone I could fulfil it. 
 
 Eager to prepare myself for my task of impos- 
 ture, I sat down to the volume, which I now found 
 to be the Hebrew Scriptures; and the first sen- 
 tence on which my eyes fell, was — **The Lord 
 hath commanded the blessing, even Life for ever- 
 more?" Startled by these words, in which the 
 Spirit of my dream seemed again to pronounce his 
 
148 
 
 assuring prediction, I raised my eyes from the 
 page, and repeated the sentence over and over, as 
 if to try whether the sounds had any charm or 
 spell to reawaken that f:\ded illusion in my soul. 
 But, no — the rank frauds of the Memphian priest- 
 hood had dispelled ail my trust in the promises of 
 religion. My lieart had again relapsed into its 
 gloom of scepticism, and, to the word of ''Life," 
 the only answer it sent back was, " Death!" 
 
 Impatient, however, to possess myself of the 
 elements of a faith, on which — whatever it might 
 
 Eromise for liereafter — I felt that my happiness 
 ere depended, I turned over the pages with an 
 earnestness and avidity, such as never even the 
 most favourite of my studies had awakened in me. 
 Though, like all who seek but the surface of learn- 
 ing, I flew desultorily over the leaves, lighting 
 only on the more prominent and shining points, I 
 yet found m^^self, even in this undisciplined career, 
 arrested, at every page, by the awful, the super- 
 natural sublimity, the alternate melancholy and 
 grandeur of the images that crowded upon me. 
 
 I had, till now, known the Hebrew theology but 
 through the platonising refinements of Philo,~as, 
 in like manner, for my knowledge of the Chris- 
 tian doctrine I was indebted to my brother Epicu- 
 reans, Lucien and Celsus. Little, therefore, was 
 I prepared for the simple majesty, the high tone of 
 inspiration — the poetry, in short of heaven that 
 breathed throughout these oracles. Could admi- 
 ration have kindled faith, I should, that night, 
 have been a believer; so elevated, so awed w^as 
 my imagination by that wonderful book — its warn- 
 ings of wo, its announcements of glory, and its 
 unrivalled strains of adoration and sorrow. 
 
 Hour after hour, with the same eager and desul- 
 
149 
 
 tory curiosity, did I turn over the leaves^ — and 
 when, at length, I lay down to rest, my fancy was 
 still haunted by the impressions it had received. 
 I went again through the various scenes of which 
 I had read J again called up, in sleep, the bright 
 images that had charmed me, and, when wakened 
 at day -break by the Hymn from the chapel, fan- 
 cied myself still listening to the sound of the winds, 
 sighing mournfully through the harps of Israel on 
 the willows. 
 
 Starting from my bed, I hurried out upon the 
 rock, with a hope that, among the tones of that 
 morning choir, I might be able to distinguish the 
 sweet voice of Alethe. But the the strain had 
 ceasedj — I caught only the last notes of the Hymn, 
 as, echoing up that lonely valley, they died away 
 into the silence of the desert. 
 
 With the first glimpse of light I was again at my 
 study, and, notwithstanding the distraction both of 
 my thoughts and looks towards the half-seen grot- 
 tos of the Anchoret, pursued it perseveringly 
 through the day. Still alive, however, but to the 
 eloquence, the poetry of what I read, of its con- 
 nection or authenticity, as a history, I never paused 
 to consider. My fancy being alone interested by 
 it, to fancy I referred all it contained; and, pass- 
 ing rapidly from annals to prophecy, from narra- 
 tion to song, regai'ded the whole as a tissue of 
 splendid allegories, in which the melancholy of 
 Egyptian associations was interwoven with the rich 
 imagery of the East. 
 
 Towards sunset I saw the boat of Melanius on 
 its way, across the canal, to my cave. Though he 
 liad no other companion than his graceful antelope, 
 that stood snuffing the wild air of the desert, as if 
 scenting its home, I felt his visit, even thus, to be 
 
 N 2 
 
150 
 
 a most welcome relief. It was the hour, he said, 
 of his evening ramble up the mountain, — of his ac- 
 customed vis.t tu those cisterns of the rock, from 
 which he nightly drew his most precious beverage. 
 While he spoke, I observed in his hand one of 
 those earthen cups, in which the inhabitants of the 
 wilderness are accustomed to collect the fresh dew 
 among the rocks. Having proposed that I should 
 accompany him in his walk, he led me, in the di- 
 rection of the desert, up the side of the mountain 
 that rose above my dwelling, and which formed the 
 southern wall or screen of the defile. 
 
 Near the summit we found a seat, where the old 
 man paused to rest. It commanded a full view 
 over the desert, and was by the side of one of those 
 hollows in the rock, those natural reservoirs, in 
 which the dews of night are treasured up for the 
 refreshment of the dwellers in the wilderness. 
 Having learned from me how far I had proceeded 
 in my study, *'In that light," said he, pointing to 
 a small cloud in the east, which had been formed 
 on the horizon by the haze of the desert, and was 
 now faintly reflecting the splendours of sunset, — 
 *' in that light stands Mount Sinai, of whose glory 
 thou hast read 5 on whose summit was the scene 
 of one of those awful revelations, in which the Al- 
 mighty has, from time to time, renewed his commu- 
 nication with Man, and kept alive the remembrance 
 of his own Providence in this world." 
 
 After a pause, as if absorbed in the immensity 
 of the subject, the holy man continued his sublime 
 theme. Looking back to the earliest annals of 
 time, he showed how constantly every relapse of 
 the human race into idolatry, has been followed by 
 some manifestation of divine power, chastening the 
 proud by punishment, and winning back the hum- 
 
151 
 
 ble by love. It was to preserve, he said, unextin- 
 guished upon earth, tliat vital truth, — the Creation 
 of the world by one Supreme Being, — ihat God 
 chose, from among the nations, an humble and en- 
 slaved race; — that he brought them out of their 
 captivity '"on eagles' wings," and, surrounding 
 every step of their course with miracles, placed 
 them before the eyes of all succeeding generations, 
 as the depositaries of his will, and the ever-during 
 memorials of his power. 
 
 Passing, then, in review the long train of inspi- 
 red interpreters, whose pens and whose tongues 
 were made the echoes of the Divine voice, he tra- 
 ced,* through the events of successive ages, the 
 gradual unfolding of the dark scheme of Provi- 
 dence — darkness without, but all light and glory 
 within. The glimpses of a coming redemption, vi- 
 sible even through the wrath of heaven; — the long 
 series of prophecy, through which this hope runs, 
 burning and alive, like a spark through a chain; — 
 the merciful preparation of the hearts of mankind 
 for the great trial of their faith and obedience tliat 
 was at hand, not only by miracles that appealed to 
 the living, but by predictions launched int* flitu- 
 rity to carry conviction to the yet unborn; — 
 " through all these glorious and beneficent grada- 
 tions we may track," said he, " the manifest foot- 
 steps of a Creator, advancing to his grand, ultimate 
 end, the salvation of his creatures." 
 
 After some hours devoted to these holy instruc- 
 tions, we returned to the ravine, and Melanius left 
 me at my cave; praying, as he parted from me, — 
 with a benevolence I but ill, alas! deserved,-^that 
 niy soul under these lessons, might be " as a wa- 
 
 * In the original, the discourses of the Hermit are given 
 much more at length. 
 
152 
 
 tered earden," and, ere long, bear '^ fruit unto life 
 eternal. " 
 
 Next morning, I was again at my study, and 
 even more eager in the task than before. With 
 the commentary of the Hermit freshly in my me- 
 mory, I again read through, with attention, the 
 Book of the Law. But in vain did I seek the pro- 
 mise of immortality in its pages. "It tells me," 
 said I, "of a God coming down to earth, but of 
 the ascent of Man to heaven it speaks not. The 
 rewards, the punishments it announces, lie all on 
 this side of the graven nor did even the Omnipo- 
 tent offer to his own chosen servants a hope be- 
 yond the impassable limits of this world. Where, 
 then, is the salvation of which the Christian spoke? 
 or, if Death be at the root of the faith, can Life 
 spring out of it?" 
 
 Again, in the bitterness of disappointment, did 
 I mock at my own willing self-delusion, — again 
 rail at the arts of that traitress. Fancy, ever ready, 
 like the Delilah of this book, to steal upon the slum- 
 bers of Reason, and deliver him up, shorn and 
 powerless, to his foes. If deception — thought I, 
 with a sigh — ^be necessary, at least, let me not prac- 
 tise it on myself; — in the desperate alternative be- 
 fore me, let me rather be even hypocrite than dupe. 
 
 These self-accusing reflections, cheerless as tney 
 rendered my task, did not abate, for a single mo- 
 ment, my industry in pursuing it. I read on and 
 on, with a sort of sullen apathy, neither charmed 
 by style, nor transported by imagery, — that fatal 
 blight in my heart, having communicated itself to 
 my fancy and taste. The curses and the blessings, 
 the glory and the ruin, which the historian • re- 
 corded and the prophet predicted, seemed all of 
 this world, — alU temporal and earthly. That mor- 
 
153 
 
 tality, of which the fountain-head had tasted, tinged 
 the whole stream; and when I read the words, "all 
 are of the dust, and all turn to dust again," a feel- 
 ing, like the wind of the desert, came witheringly 
 over me. Love, Beauty, Glory, every thing most 
 bright upon earth, appeared sinking before my eyes, 
 under this dreadful doom, into one general mass 
 of corruption and silence. 
 
 Possessed by the ima^e of desolation I had called 
 up, I laid my head on the book, in a paroxysm of 
 despair. Death, in all his most ghastly varieties, 
 passed before me; and I had continued thus for 
 some time, as under the influence of a fearful vi- 
 sion, when the touch of a hand upon my shoulder 
 roused me. Looking up, I saw the Anchoret 
 standing by my side; — his countenance beaming 
 with that sublime tranquillity, whicli a hope, be- 
 yond this earth, alone can bestow. How I envied 
 him! 
 
 We, again, took our way to the seat upon the 
 mountain, — the gloom in my own mind, making 
 every thin^ around me more gloomy. Forgetting 
 my hypocrisy in my feelings, 1, at once, avowed to 
 him all the doubts and fears, which my study of 
 the morning had awakened. 
 
 '* Thou art yet^ n^y son," he answered, " but on 
 the threshold of our faith. Thou hast seen but the 
 first rudiments of the Divine plan: its full and con- 
 summate perfection hath not yet opened upon thee. 
 However glorious that manifestation of Divinity, 
 on Mount Sinai, it was but the forerunner of ano- 
 ther, still more glorious, that, in the fulness of 
 time, was to burst upon the world; when all, that 
 had seemed dim and incomplete, was to be per- 
 fected, and the promises, shadowed out by the 
 * spirit of prophecy,* realized; — when the silence, 
 
154 
 
 that lay, as a seal on the future, was to be broken, 
 and the glad tidings of life and immortality pro- 
 claimed to the world!" 
 
 Observing my features brighten at these words, 
 the pious man continued. Anticipating some of 
 the holy knowledge that was in store for me, he 
 traced, through all its wonders and mercies, the 
 gi-eat work of Redemption, dwelling on every mi- 
 raculous circumstance connected with it; — ^the ex- 
 alted nature of the Bein^, by whose ministry it 
 was accomplished, the noblest and first created of 
 the Sons of God, inferior only to the one, self-ex- 
 istent Father; — the mysterious incarnation of this 
 lieavenly messenger; — the miracles that authenti- 
 cated his divine mission; — the example of obedience 
 to God and love to man, which he set, as a shining 
 light, before the world forever; — and, lastly and 
 chiefly, his death and resurrection, by which the 
 covenant of mercy was sealed, and ''life and im- 
 mortality brought to light." 
 
 ''Such," continued the Hermit, "was the Me- 
 diator, promised through all time, to ' make recon- 
 ciliation for iniquity,' to change death into life, 
 and bring 'healing on his wings,' to a darkened 
 world. Such was the last crowning dispensation 
 of that God of benevolence, in whose hands sin and 
 death are but instruments of everlasting good, and 
 who, through apparent evil and temporary retribu- 
 tion, bringing all things ' out of darkness into his 
 marvellous light,' proceeds watchfully and un- 
 cliangingly to the great, final object of his provi- 
 dence, — the restoration of the whole human race to 
 purity and happiness!" 
 
 With a mind astonished, if not touched, by these 
 discourses, I returned to my cave; and found the 
 lamp, as before, ready lighted to receive me. The 
 
155 
 
 volume which I had been reading was replaced by 
 another, whicK lay open upon the table, with a 
 branch of fresh palm between its leaves. Though 
 I could not have a doubt, to whose gentle hand I 
 was indebted for this invisible superintendence 
 over my studies, there was yet a something in it, 
 so like spiritual interposition, that it awed me; — 
 and never more than at this moment, when, on ap- 
 proaching the volume, I saw, as the light glistened 
 over its silver letters, that it was the very Book of 
 Life of which the Hermit had spoken ! 
 
 The orison of the Christians had sounded through 
 the valley, before I raised my eyes from that sacred 
 volume; and the second hour of the sun found me 
 again over its pages. 
 
 CHAP. XVIII. 
 
 In tliis mode of existence did I pass some days 5 
 — ^my mornings devoted to reading, my nights to 
 listening, under the canopy of heaven, to the holy 
 eloquence of Melanius. The perseverance with 
 which I inquired, and the quickness with which I 
 learned, soon succeeded in deceiving my benevo- 
 lent instructor, who mistook curiosity for zeal and 
 knowledge for belief. Alas ! cold, and barren, and 
 earthly was that knowledge, — the word, without 
 the spirit, the shape, without the life. Even when, 
 as a relief from hypocrisy, I persuaded myself that 
 I believed, it was but a brief delusion, a faith, 
 whose hope crumbled at the touch, — like the fruit 
 of the desert-slirub, shining and empty ! 
 
 But, though my soul was still dark, the good 
 Hermit saw not into its depths. The very facility 
 
156 
 
 of my belief, wliich might have suggested some 
 doubt of its sincerity, was but regarded by his in- 
 nocent zeal, as a more signal triumph of the '.ruth. 
 His own ingenuousness led him to a ready trust in 
 others; and the examples of sucli conversion as that 
 of the philosopher, Justin, who received the li^^ht 
 into his soul during a walk by t!ie sea-sliore, had 
 prepared him for illuminations of the spirit, even 
 more rapid than mine. 
 
 During this time, I neither saw nor heard of 
 Alethej — nor could my patience liave endured so 
 long a privation, had not those mute vestiges of 
 her presence, that welcomed me every ni^ht on my 
 ret: rn, made me feel that I was still living under 
 hei gentle influence, and that her sympathy hung 
 round every step of my progress. Once, too, when 
 I ventured to speak her name to Melanius, though 
 he answered not my inquiry, there was a smile, I 
 thought, of promise upon his countenance, which 
 love, more alive than faith, interpreted as it wished. 
 
 At length, — it v/as on the sixth or seventh even- 
 ing of my solitude, when I lay resting at the door 
 of my cave, after the study of the day, — I was 
 startled by liearing my name called loudly from the 
 opposite rocks, and looking up, saw, on the clift* 
 near the deserted grottos, Melanius and — oh, I 
 could not doubt — my Alethe by his side! 
 
 Though I had never ceased, since the first night 
 of my return from the desert, to flatter myself with 
 tiie fancy tliat I was still living in her presence, 
 the actual sight of her, again, made me feel what 
 an age we had been separated. She was clothed all 
 in white, and, as she stood in the last remains of 
 the sunsiiine, appeared to my too prophetic fancy, 
 like a parting spn-it, whose last footsteps on earth 
 that glory encircled. 
 
157 
 
 With a delight only to be imagined, I saw them 
 descend the rocks, and placing themselves in the 
 boat, proceed towards my cave. To disguise from 
 Melanius the feelings with which we met, was im- 
 possible; — nor did Alethe even attempt to make a 
 secret of her innocent joy. Though blushing at 
 her own happiness, she could as little concea' it, 
 as the clear waters of Ethiopia can hide their gold. 
 Every look, too, every word, spoke a fulness of 
 affection, to which, doubtful as I was of our tenure 
 of happiness, I knew not how to answer. 
 
 I was not long, however, left ignorant of the 
 bright fate that awaited me; but, as we wandered 
 or rested among the rocks, learned every tiling 
 that had been arranged since our parting. She had 
 made the Hermit, I found, acquainted with all that 
 had passed between us; had told him, without re- 
 serve, every incident of our voyage, — the avowals, 
 the demonstrations of affection on one side, and 
 the deep sentiment that gratitude had awakened on 
 the other. Too wise to regard feelings, so natural, 
 with severity,— knowing that they were of heaven, 
 and but made evil by man, — the good Hermit had 
 heard of our attachment with pleasure; and, proved 
 as he thought the purity of my views had been, by 
 the fidelity with which I had delivered up my trust 
 into his hands, saw, in my afiection for the young 
 orphan, but a providential resource against that 
 friendless solitude, in which his death must soon 
 leave lier. 
 
 As I collected these particulars from their dis- 
 course, I could hardly trust my ears. It seemed 
 too much happiness to be real; nor can words give 
 an idea of the joy — the shame — the wonder with 
 ^^hich I listened, wlule the holy man himself de- 
 elared, tliat he awaited but the moment, when he 
 
158 
 
 should find me wortliy of becoming a member of 
 the Christian Church, to give me also the hand of 
 Alethe in that sacred union, wliicli alone sanctities 
 love, and makes the faitli, which it pledges, liea- 
 venly. It was but yesterday, he added, that his 
 young cliarge, herself, after a preparation of prayer 
 and repentance, such as even her pure spirit re- 
 quired, had been admitted, by the sacred ordi- 
 nance of baptism, into tlie bosom of the faitlij — 
 and tlie white garment she wore, and tlie ring of 
 gold on her finger, *'were symbols," he said, ''of 
 that Nevv Life into which she had been initiated." 
 ^ I raised my eyes to her as he spoke, but with- 
 drew them again, dazzled and confused. Even 
 her beauty, to my imagination, seemed to have 
 undergone some brightening change; and the con- 
 trast between that open and happy countenance, 
 and the unblest brow of the infidel that stood be- 
 fore her, abaslied me into a sense of unworthiness, 
 and almost checked my rapture. 
 
 To that night, however, I look back, as an epoch 
 in my existence. It proved that sorrow is not 
 the only awakener of devotion, but tliat joy may 
 sometimes call the holy spark into life. Return- 
 ing to my cave, with a heart full, even to oppres- 
 sion, of its happiness, I knew no other relief to 
 my overcharged feelings, than that of throwing my- 
 self on my knees, and, for the first time in my 
 life, uttering a prayer, that if, indeed, there were 
 a Being who watched over mankind, he would sen<l 
 (low n one ray of his truth into my soul, and make 
 it worthy of the blessings, both here and hereafter, 
 proffered to me! 
 
 My days now rolled on in a perfect dream of 
 happiness. Every hour of the morning was wel- 
 comed, as bringing nearer and nearer tiie blest 
 
159 
 
 time of sunset, wlien the Hermit and Alethe never 
 failed to pay their visit to my now charmed cave, 
 where her smile left a light, at each parting, tliat 
 lasted till her return. Then, our rambles, by 
 star-liglit, over the mountain j — our pauses, on the 
 way, to contemplate the briglit wonders of that 
 heaven above us,* — our repose by the cistern of 
 the rock, and our silent listening, through hours 
 that seemed minutes, to the holy eloquence of our 
 teacher^ — all, all was happiness of the most heart- 
 felt kind, and, such as even the doubts, the cold, 
 lingering doubts, that still hung, like a mist, 
 around my heart, could neither cloud nor chill. 
 
 AVhen the moonlight nights returned, we used 
 to venture into the desert; and those sands, which 
 but lately had appeared to me so desolate, now 
 wore even a cheerful and smiling aspect. To 
 the light, innocent heart of Alethe every thing 
 was a source of enjoyment. For her, even the 
 desert had its jewels antl flowers; and, sometimes, 
 her deliglit was to searcli among the sands for 
 those beautiful pebbles of jasper that abound in 
 them; — sometimes, her eyes sparkled on finding, 
 perhaps, a stunted marigold, or one of those bitter, 
 scarlet flowers, tliat lend tiieir mockery of orna- 
 ment to the desert. In all these pursuits and 
 pleasures the good Hermit took a share, — mingling 
 with them occasionally the reflections of a benevo- 
 lent piety, that lent its own cheerful hue to all the 
 M'orks of creation, and saw the consoling truth 
 '•God is Love," written legibly every where. 
 
 Such was, for a few weeks, my blissful life. 
 Oh mornings of iiope, oh niglits of happiness, with 
 what mournful pleasure do I retrace your fliglit, 
 and how rclunctantly pass to the sad events tliat 
 followed 1 
 
160 
 
 During this time, in compliance with the wishes 
 of Melanius, who seemed unwilling that I should 
 become wholly estranged from the world, I occa- 
 sionally paid a visit to the neighbouring city, An- 
 tinoe, which, as the capital of the Thebaid, is the 
 centre of all the luxury of Upper Egypt. Here,— 
 so changed was my every feeling by the all-trans- 
 forming passion that possessed me, — I wandered, 
 unamused and uninterested by either the scenes or 
 the people that surrounded me, and, sighing for 
 that rocky solitude where Alethe breathed, felt 
 this to be the wilderness, and that, the world. 
 
 Even the thoughts of my own native Athens, 
 that were called up, at every step, by the light, 
 Grecian architecture of. this imperial city, did not 
 awaken one single regret in my heart — one wish to 
 exchange even an hour of my desert for the best 
 luxuries and honours that awaited me in the Gar- 
 den. I saw the arches of triumph; — I walked un- 
 der the superb portico, which encircles the whole 
 city with its marble shade; — I stood in the Circus 
 of the Sun, by whose rose-coloured pillars the mys- 
 terious movements of the Nile are measured; — -all 
 these bright ornaments of glory and art, as well as 
 the gay multitude that enlivened them, I saw witli 
 an unheeding eye. If tliey awakened in me any 
 thouglit, it was tlie mournful idea, that, one day, 
 like Thebes and Heliopolis, this pageant would pass 
 away, leaving nothing behind but a few moulder- 
 ing ruins, — like the sea-shells found where the 
 ocean has been, — to tell that the great tide of Life 
 was once there I 
 
 But, though indifferent thus to all that had for- 
 merly attracted me, there were subjects, once alien 
 to n>y heart, on which it was now most ti-erablingly 
 alive: and some rumours ^^llichhad reached me, in 
 
161 
 
 one of my visits to the city, of an expected change 
 in the policy of the Emperor towards the Chris- 
 tians, tilled me with apprehensions as new as they 
 were dreadful to me. 
 
 The peace and even favour which the Christians 
 enjoyed, during the first four years of the reign of 
 Valerian, had removed from them all fear of a re- 
 newal of those horrors, which they had experienced 
 under the rule of his predecessor, Decius. Of late, 
 however, some less friendly dispositions had mani- 
 fested themselves. The bigots of the court, taking 
 alarm at the spread of the new faith, had succeeded 
 in filling the mind of the monarch with that reli- 
 gious jealousy, which is the ever-ready parent of 
 cruelty and injustice. Among these counsellors of 
 evil was Macrianus, the Praetorian Prefect, who 
 was by birth an Egyptian, and — so akin is super- 
 stition to intolerance — had long made himself no- 
 torious by his addiction to the tlark practices of de- 
 mon-worship and magic. 
 
 From this minister, who was now high in the fa- 
 vour of Valerian, the expected measures of severity 
 against the Christians, it was supposed, would 
 emanate. All tongues, in all quarters, were busy 
 with the news. In the streets, in the public gar- 
 dens, on the steps of the temples, I saw, every 
 where, groups of inquirers collected, and heard the 
 name of Macrianus upon every tongue. It was 
 dreadful, too, to observe, in the countenances of 
 those who spoke, the variety of feeling with which 
 the rumour was discussed, according as they de- 
 sired or dreaded its truth, — according as they were 
 likely to be among the torturers or the victims. 
 
 Alarmed, thougli still ignorant of the whole ex- 
 tent of the danger, I hurried back to the ravine, 
 and, going at once to the grotto of Melanius, de- 
 o 2 
 
16 2 
 
 tailed to him everv pa.ilicular of the intelligence I 
 had collected, lie hoard nie with a composure, 
 which I mistook, alas, for confidence in his secu- 
 rity; and, naming the hour for our evening walk, 
 retired into his grotto. 
 
 At the accustomed time, Alethe and he were at 
 my cave. It was evident that he had not commu- 
 nicated to her the intelligence which I had brought, 
 for never did brow wear snch a happiness as that, 
 which now played round liers; — it was, alas, not 
 of this earth! Melanius, himself, though composed, 
 was thoughtful; — and the solemnity, almost ap- 
 proaching to melancholy, with which he placed the 
 hand of Alethe in mine — in the performance, too, 
 of a ceremony that ought to have filled my heart 
 with joy — saddened and alarmed me. This cere- 
 mony was our betrothment, — the plighting of our 
 faith to each other, — which we now solemnized on 
 the rock before the door of my cave, in the face of 
 that sunset heaven, wdth its one star standing as 
 witness. After a blessing from the Hermit on our 
 spousal pledge, I placed the ring, — the earnest of 
 our future union — on her finger, and, in the blush, 
 with which she surrendered her w^iole heart to me 
 at that instant, forgot every thing but my happi- 
 ness, and felt secure, even against fate! 
 
 We took our accustomed walk over the rocks 
 and on the desert. The moon was so bright, — 
 like the daylight, indeed, of other climes — that we 
 could see, plainly, the tracks of the wild antelopes 
 in the sand; anditAvas not without a slight tremble 
 of feeling in his voice, as if some melancholy ana- 
 logy occurred to him as he spoke, that the good Her- 
 mit said, '•! have observed in m}^ walks, that 
 wherever the track of tliat gentle animal is seen, 
 there is, almost always the foot-print of a beast of 
 
163 
 
 prey near it.'- He regained, however, his usual 
 cheerfulness before we parted, and fixed the fol- 
 lowing evening for an excursion, on the other side 
 of the ravine, to a point, looking, he said, " to- 
 wards that northern region of the desert, where the 
 hosts of the Lord encamped in their departure out 
 of bondage. " 
 
 Though, in the presence of Alethe, my fears, 
 even for herself, were forgotten in that perpetual 
 element of happiness, which encircled her like the 
 air that she breathed, no sooner was I alone thaa 
 vague terrors and bodings crowded upon me. In 
 vain did I try to reason myself out of my fears by 
 dwelling on the most cheering circumstances, — 
 the reverence with which Melanius was regarded, 
 ^ven by the Pagans, and the inviolate security 
 -with wnich he had lived through the most perilous 
 periods, not only safe himself, but aftbrding sanc- 
 tuary in his grottos to others. When, somewhat 
 calmed by these considerations, I sunk off to sleep, 
 -dark, horrible dreams took possession of my mind. 
 Scenes of death and of torment passed confusedly 
 before me, and when I awoke, it was with the 
 fearful impression that all these horrors were real. 
 
 CHAP. XIX. 
 
 At length the day dawned, — that dreadful day. 
 Impatient to be relieved from my suspense, I threw 
 myself into my boat, — the same in which we had 
 performed our happy voyage, — and, as fast as 
 oars could speed me, hurried away to the city. I 
 found the suburbs silent and solitary, but, as I ap- 
 proached tlie Foium, loud yells, like those of bar- 
 
. 164 
 
 barians in combat, struck on my ear, and, when I 
 entered it, — great, God what a spectacle presented 
 itself! The imperial edict against the Christians 
 had arrived during the night, and already the wild 
 fury of bigotry was let loose. 
 
 Under a canopy, in the middle of the Forum, 
 was the tribunal of the Governor. Two statues, 
 one of Apollo, the other of Osiris, stood at the bot- 
 tom of the steps that led up to his jud»ment-seat. 
 Before these idols were shrines, to which the de- 
 moted Christians were dragged from all quarters 
 by the soldiers and mob, and there compelled to 
 recant, by throwing incense into the flame, or, on 
 their refusal, hurried away to torture or death. 
 It was an appalling scene; — the consternation, the 
 cries of some of the victims, — the pale silent reso- 
 lution ofotliers; — the fierce shouts of laughter that 
 broke from the multitude, when the frank-incense, 
 dropped on tiie altar, proclaimed some denier of 
 Christ: and the fiend-like triumph with which the 
 courageous Confessors, who avowed their faith, 
 were led away to the flames; — never could I have 
 conceived such an assemblage of horrors! 
 
 Though I gazed but for a few minutes, in those 
 minutes I felt enough for years. Already did the 
 form of Alethe flit before me through that tumult; 
 ' — I heard them shout her name; — her shriek fell 
 on my ear; and the very thought so palsied me 
 with terror, that I stood fixed and statue-like on 
 the spot. 
 
 Recollecting, however, the fearful preciousness 
 of every moment, and that, — perhaps, at this very 
 instant — some emissaries of blood might be on 
 their way to the grottos, I rushed wildly out of 
 the Forum and made my way to the quay. 
 
 The streets were now crowded; but I ran head- 
 
165 
 
 long through the multitude, and was already un- 
 der the portico leading down to the river, — already 
 saw the boat that was to bear me to Alethe, — when 
 a Centurion stood sternly in my path, and I was 
 surrounded and arrested by soldiers! It was in 
 vain that I implored, that I struggled with them 
 as for life, assuring them that I was a stranger, — that 
 I was an Athenian, — that I was — not a Christian. 
 The precipitation of my flight was sufficient evi- 
 dence against me, and unrelentingly, and by force, 
 they bore me away to the quarters of their Chief. 
 
 It was enough to drive me to madness ! Two 
 hours, two frightful hours, was I kept waiting the 
 arrival of the Tribune of their legion,* — my brain 
 burning with a thousand fears and imaginations, 
 which every passing minute made more likely to 
 be realised. Every thing, too, that I could collect 
 from the conversations around me, but added to 
 the agonising apprehensions with which I was 
 racked. Troops, it was said, had been sent in all 
 directions through the neighbourhood, to bring in 
 the rebellious Christians; and make them bow be- 
 fore the Gods of the Empire. With horror, too, I 
 heard of Orcus, — Orcus the High Priest of Memphis, 
 — as one of the principal instigators of this sanguin- 
 ary edict, and as here present in Antinoe, animating 
 and directing its execution. 
 
 In this state of torture I remained till the arri- 
 val of the Tribune. Absorbed in my ow^n thoughts, 
 I had not perceived his entrance; — till, hearing a 
 voice, in a tone of friendly surprise, exclaim, " Al- 
 ciphron!" I looked up, and in this legionary Chief 
 recognized a young Roman of rank, who had held 
 a military command, the year before, at Athens, 
 
 * A rank, resembling that of Colonel. 
 
166 
 
 and was one of the most distinguished visiters of 
 the Garden. It was no time, liowever, for courte- 
 sies^ — he was proceeding with cordiality to greet 
 me, but, having heard him order my instant re- 
 lease, I could wait for no more. Acknowledging 
 his kindness but by a grasp of the hand, I flew oft', 
 like one frantic, through the streets, and in a few 
 minutes, was on the river. 
 
 My sole hope had been to reach the grottos be- 
 fore any of the detached parties should arrive, 
 and, by a timely flight across the desert, rescue, 
 at least, Alethe from their fury. The ill-fated de- 
 lay that had occurred rendered this hope almost 
 desperate; but the tranquillity I found every where 
 as I proceeded down the river, and the fond confi- 
 dence I still cliedshed in the sacredness of the 
 Hermit's retreat, kept my heart from giving way 
 altogether under its terrors. 
 
 Between the current and my oars the boat flew, 
 like wind, along the waters; and I was already 
 near the rocks of the ravine, when I saw, turning 
 out of the canal into the river, a barge crowded 
 with people, and glittering with arms ! How did I 
 ever survive the shock of that sight .'^ The oars 
 dropped, as if struck out of my hand, into the wa- 
 ter, and I sat, helplessly gazing, as that terrific 
 vision approached. In a few minutes, the current 
 brought us together; — ^and I saw, on the deck of 
 the barge, Alethe and the Hermit surrounded by 
 soldiers I 
 
 We were already passing each other when with a 
 desperate effort, I sprang from my boat and lighted 
 upon the edge of their vessel. I knew not what 
 I did, for despair was my only prompter. Snatch- 
 ing at the sword of one of the soldiers, as I stood 
 tottering on the edge, I had succeeded in wrest- 
 
167 
 
 ing it out of his hands, when, at tlie same moment, 
 I received a thrust of a Lince from one of his com- 
 rades, and fell backward into the river. I can just 
 remember rising again and making a grasp at the 
 side of the vessel; — but the shock, the faintness 
 from my wound, deprived me of all consciousness, 
 and a shriek from Alethe, as I sunk, is all I can 
 recollect of what followed. 
 
 Would I had then died! — Yet, no. Almighty 
 Being, — I should have died in darkness, and I 
 have lived to know Thee! 
 
 On returning to my senses, I found myself re- 
 clined on a couch, in a splendid apartment, the 
 whole appearance of whicii being Grecian, I for a 
 moment, forgot all that had passed, and imagined 
 myself in my own home at Athens. But too soon 
 the whole dreadful certainty flashed upon me; and, 
 starting wildly, disabled as I was — from my couch, 
 I called loudly, and with the shriek of a maniac, 
 on Alethe. 
 
 I was in the house, I found, of my friend and 
 disciple, the young Tribune, who had made the 
 Governor acquainted with my name and condition, 
 and had received me under his roof, v/hen brought, 
 bleeding and insensible, to Antinoe. From him 
 I now learned at once, — for I could not wait for 
 details, — the sum of all that had happened in 
 that dreadful interval. Melanius was no more, — 
 Alethe, still alive, but in prison! 
 
 '^ Take me to her" — I had but time to say — 
 " take me to her instantly, and let me die by her 
 side," — when, nature again failing under such 
 shocks, I relapsed into insensibility. In this state 
 I continued for near an hour, and, on recovering, 
 found the Tribune by my side. The horrors, he 
 said, of the Forum were, for that day, over, — but 
 
I6G 
 
 what the morrow might bring, he shuddered to 
 contemplate. His nature, it was plain, revolted 
 from the inhuman duties in which he was engaged. 
 Touched by the agonies he saw me suffei-, he, in 
 some degree, relieved tliem, bj promising that I 
 should, at night-fall, be conveyed to the prison, 
 and, if possible, through his influence, gain access 
 to Alethe. She might yet, he added, be saved, 
 could I succeed in persuading her to comply witli 
 the terms of the edict, and make sacrifice to the 
 Gods. — " Otherwise," said he, '' there is no hope; 
 the vindictive Orcus, who has resisted even this 
 short respite of mercy, will, to-morrow, inexorably 
 demand his prey." 
 
 He then related to me, at my own request, — 
 though every word was torture, — all the harrow- 
 ing details of the proceeding before the Tribunal. 
 " I have seen courage," said he, " in its noblest 
 forms, in the field; but the calm intrepidity with 
 which that aged Hermit endured torments — which 
 it was hardly less torment to witness — surpassed 
 all that I could have conceived of human forti- 
 tude!" 
 
 My poor Alethe, too, — in describing to me her 
 conduct, the brave man wept like a child. Over- 
 whelmed, he said, at first by her apprehensions for 
 my safety, she had given way to a full burst of 
 womanly weakness. But no sooner was she brought 
 before the Tribunal, and the declaration of her 
 faith was demanded of her, than a spirit almost 
 supernatural seemed to animate her whole form. 
 " She raised her eyes," said he, " calmly, but with 
 fervour, to heaven, while a blush was the only sign 
 of mortal feeling on her features; — and the clear, 
 sweet, and untrembling voice, with which she 
 pronounced her dooming words, • 1 am a Christian I' 
 
169 
 
 sent a thrill of admiration and pity throughout 
 the multitude. Her youth, her lovliness, affected 
 all hearts, and a cry of ' Save the young maiden T 
 was heard in all directions." 
 
 The implacable Orcus, however, would not hear 
 of mercy. Resenting, as it appeared, with all his 
 deadliest rancour, not only her own escape, from 
 his toils, but the aid with which, so fatally to his 
 views, she had assisted mine, he demanded loudly, 
 and in the name of the insulted sanctuary of Isis, 
 her instant death. It was but by the firm inter- 
 vention of the Governor, who shared the general 
 sympathy in her fate, that the delay of another 
 da};^ was accorded, to give a chance to the young 
 maiden of yet recalling her confession, and thus 
 affbrding some pretext for saving her. 
 
 Even in yielding reluctantly to this brief respite, 
 the inhuman Priest would accompany it with some 
 mark of his vengeance. Whether for the pleasure 
 (observed the Tribune) of mingling mockery with 
 his cruelty, vi' as a warning to her of the doom she 
 must ultimately expect, he gave orders that there 
 should be tied round her brow one of those chap- 
 lets of coral,* with which it is the custom of 
 young Christian maidens to array themselves on 
 the day of their martyrdom; — " and, thus fearfully 
 adorned," said he, '"' she was led away, amid the 
 gaze of the pitying multitude, to prison." 
 
 With these details the short interval till night- 
 fall, — every minute of which seemed an age, — was 
 occupied. As soon as it grew dark, I was placed 
 upon a litter — my wound, though not dangerous, 
 
 ♦ " Uno de ces coiironncs de grain de corail, dont les 
 viergcs martyres ornoicnt leurs chevcaux en allant k la 
 laort. Les Martyrs. 
 
 p 
 
no 
 
 requiring such a conveyance, — and conducted under 
 the guidance of my friend, to the prison. Through 
 his interest with the guard, we were without diffi- 
 culty admitted, and I was borne into the chamber 
 where the maiden lay immured. Even the veteran 
 guardian of the place, .>^eemed touched with com- 
 passion for his prisoner, and supposing her to be 
 asleep, hf'd the litter placed gently near her. 
 
 She was half reclining, with her face hid in her 
 hands, upon a couch, — at the foot of which stood 
 an idol, over whose hideous features a lamp of 
 naptha, hanging from the ceiling, shed a wild and 
 ghastly glare. On a table before the image stood 
 a censer, with a small vessel of incense beside it, 
 — one grain of which, thrown voluntarily into the 
 flame, would, even now, save that precious life. 
 So strange, so fearful was the whole scene, that I 
 almost doubted its reality. Alethe! my own, hap- 
 py Alethe! can it, I thought, be thou that I look 
 upon.P 
 
 She now, slowly and with difficulty, raised her 
 head from the couch; on observing which, the kind 
 Tribune withdrew, and we were left alone. There 
 was a paleness, as of death, over her features; and 
 those eyes, which when last I saw them, were but too 
 bright, too happy for this world, looked dim and 
 sunken. In raising herself up, she put her hand, 
 as irfrom pain, to her forehead, whose marble 
 hue but appeared more death-like from those red 
 bands that lay so awfully across it. 
 
 Alter wandering vaguely for a minute, her eyes 
 rested upon me,— and, with a shriek, half terror, 
 half joy, she sprung from the couch, and sunk 
 upon her knees by my side. She had believed 
 me dead: and, even now, scarcely trusted her 
 senses. 
 
171 
 
 " My husband ! my love !" she exclaimed j " oh, 
 if thou comest to call me from this world, behold, 
 I am ready!" In saying thus, she pointed wildly 
 to that ominous wreath, and then dropped her 
 head down upon my knee, as if an arrow had 
 pierced it. 
 
 *' Alethe!" — I cried, terrified to the very soul 
 by that mysterious pang, — and the sou%id of my 
 voice seemed to reanimate her; — she looked up, 
 with a faint smile, in my face. Her thoughts, 
 which had evidently been wandering, become col- 
 lected; and in her joy at my safety, her sorrow at my 
 suffering, she forgot wholly the fate that impended 
 over herself. Love, innocent love, alone occupied 
 all her thoughts; and the tenderness with which 
 she spoke, — oh, at any other moment, how I would 
 have listened, have lingered upon, have blessed 
 every word ! 
 
 But the time flew fast — the dreadful morrow 
 was approaching. Already I saw her writhing in 
 the hands of the torturer, — the flames, the racks, 
 the wheels were before my eyes ! Half frantic with 
 the fear that her resolution was fixed, I flung my- 
 self from the litter, in an agony of weeping, and 
 supplicated her, by the love she bore me, by the 
 happiness that awaited us, by her own merciful 
 God, who was too good to require such a sacri- 
 fice, — ^by all that the most passionate anxiety 
 could dictate, I implored that she would avert 
 from us the doom that was coming, and — but for 
 once — comply with the vain ceremony demanded 
 of her. 
 
 Shrinking from me, as I spoke, — ^but with a look 
 more of sorrow than reproach, — "What, thou, 
 too!*' she said mournfully, "thou, into whose spi- 
 rit I had fondly hoped the same heavenly trutli had 
 
172 
 
 descended as into my own! Oh, be not thou 
 leagued with those who would tempt me to ' make 
 shipwreck of my faith!' Thou, who couldst alone 
 bind me to life, use not thy power; but let me 
 die, as He I serve hath commanded, — die for the 
 Truth. Remember the holy lessons we heard on 
 those nights, those happy nights, when both the 
 Present and Future smiled upon us, — when even 
 the gift of eternal life came more welcome to my 
 soul, from the blessed conviction that thou wert to 
 be a sharer in it; — shall I forfeit now that divine 
 privilege? shall I deny the true God, whom we 
 then learned to love? 
 
 ''No, my own betrothed," she continued,— 
 pointing to the two rings on her finger,— ''behold 
 these pledges, — they are both sacred. I should 
 have been as true to thee as I am now to heaven, 
 — nor in that life to v/liich I am hastening shall 
 our love be forgotten. Should the baptism of fire, 
 through which I shall pass to-morrow, make me 
 worthy to be heard before the throne of Grace, I 
 will intercede for thy soul — I will pray that it may 
 yet share with mine that 'inheritance, immortal 
 and undefiled,' which Mercy ofters, and that thou, 
 — ^my dear mother, — and I — "' 
 
 She here dropped her voice; the momentary 
 animation, with which devotion and affection had 
 inspired her, vanished; — and a darkness over- 
 spread all her features, a livid darkness, — like the 
 coming of death — that made me shudder through 
 every limb. Seizing my hand convulsively^, and 
 looking at me with a fearful eagerness, as if anx- 
 ious to hear some consoling assurance from my 
 own lips, — "Believe me," she continued, "not 
 all the torments they are preparing for me,— not 
 even ihia deep, burning pain in my brow, which 
 
173 
 
 they will hardly equal, — could be half so dreadful 
 to me, as the thought that I leave thee — " 
 
 Here, her voice again failed; her head sunk 
 upon my arm, and — merciful God, let me forget 
 what I then felt, — I saw that she was dying! Wne- 
 ther I uttered any cry, I know not; — but the Tri- 
 bune came rushing into the chamber, and, looking 
 on the maiden, said, with a face full of horror, " It 
 is but too true!" 
 
 He then told me in a low voice, what he had 
 just learned from the guardian of the prison, that 
 the band round the young Christian'^s brow was — 
 oh horrible cruelty! — a compound of the most 
 deadly poison, — the hellish invention of Orcus, to 
 satiate his vengeance, and make the fate of his poor 
 victim secure. My first movement was to untie 
 that fatal wreath, — but it would not come away — 
 it would not come away ! 
 
 Roused by the pain, she again looked in my face; 
 but, unable to speak, took hastily from her bosom 
 the small silver cross which she had brought with 
 her from my cave. Having prest it to her own 
 lips, she held it anxiously to mine, and seeing me 
 kiss the holy symbol with fervour, looked happy, 
 and smiled. The agony of death seem to have 
 passed away; — there came suddenly over her fea- 
 tures a heavenly light, some share of which I felt 
 descending into my own soul, and, in a few mi- 
 nutes more, she expired in my arms. 
 
 p 2 
 
174 
 
 Here ends the Manuscript; but, on the outer cover 
 there is, in the hand-ivriting of a much Utter pe- 
 riod, the foUoiving Notice, extracted, as it ap- 
 pears, from some Egyptian Murtyrologij: — 
 
 **Alciphn)n, — an Epicurean pliilosopher, con- 
 verted to Christianity a. d. 257, by a young Egyp- 
 tian maiden, who suttered martyrdom in tliat year. 
 Immediately upon her death lie betook liimself to 
 the desert, and lived a life, it is said, of much ho- 
 liness and penitence. During tlie persecution un- 
 der Uioclesian, his sufterings for tlie faith were 
 most exemplary; and, being at lengthy at an ad- 
 vanced age, condemned to hard labour, for refus- 
 ing to comply with an Imperial edict, he died at 
 the brass mines of Palestine, a. d. £97. 
 
 "As Alciphron held the opinions maintained 
 since by Arius, his memory has not been spared 
 by Athanasian writers, who, among other charges, 
 accuse him of having been addicted to the super- 
 stitions of Egypt. For this calumny, however, 
 there appears to be no better foundation than a cir- 
 cumstance, recorded by one of his brotiier monks, 
 that there was found, after his death, a small metal 
 mirror, like those used in the ceremonies of Isis, 
 suspended round his neck.*' 
 
NOTSS. 
 
 Page 16. — For the importance attached to dreams by the 
 ancients, see Jortin^ Remarks on ecclesiastical History, 
 vol. 1. p. 90. 
 
 Page 19.—" The Pillar of Pillars'' -^moxQ properly, per- 
 haps, " the column of the pillars." v. Abdallatif, Relation 
 de I'Egypte, and the notes of M. de Sacy. The great por- 
 tico round this column (formerly designated Pompey's, but 
 now known to have been erected in honour of Diocle- 
 eian) was still standing, M. de Sacy says, in the time of 
 Saladin. v. Lord Valentia's Travels, 
 
 Page 20. — Ammianus thus speaks of the state of Alex- 
 andria in his time, which was, I believe, as late as the end 
 of the fourth century : — '' Ne nunc quidem in eadem urbe 
 DoctrinsB varia3 silent, non apud nos exaruit Musica nee 
 Harmonia conticuit." Lib. 22. 
 
 Page 21. — From tlie character of the features of the 
 Sphinx, and a passage in Herodotus, describing the Egyp- 
 tians as fxiXctyy^fi'^ii K^i ouX6T/^<x^?, Volney, Bruce, and a 
 few others, have concluded that the ancient inhabitants 
 of Egypt were negroes. But this opinion is contradicted 
 by a host of authorities. See " Castera's notes upon 
 Browne's Travels^ for the resuet of Blumebach's dissection 
 of a variety of mummies. Denon, speaking of the char- 
 acter of the heads represented in the ancient sculpture and 
 painting of Egypt, says " Celle des femmes ressemble en- 
 core a la figure des jolies femmes d'aujourd'hui : de la ron- 
 deur, de la volupte, le nez petit, les yeux longs, pen ou- 
 verts," (fee. fee. He could judge, too he says, from the fe- 
 male mummies, " que leurs cheveux etoient longs et lisses, 
 que le caractere do tete de la plupart tenoit du beau style" 
 — "■ Je raportai," he adds, " une tete de vieille femme qui 
 ^tolt aussi belle que celles de Michel Ange, et leur ressem- 
 bioit beaucoup." 
 
 In a " Description gen^rale de Thibesy' by Messrs. JolloU 
 
176 
 
 et Desvilliers, they say, " Toutes les sculptures Egyptien- 
 nes, depuis les plus grands colosses de Thebes jusqu'aux 
 plus petites idoles, ne rappellent en aucune maniere les 
 traits de la figure des negres ; outre que les tetes des mo- 
 mies des catacombs de Thebes presentent des profils droits." 
 See also M. Jomard''s " Description of Syene and the Ca- 
 taracts," BarojiLarrey^ on the " conformation physique" of 
 the Egyptians, &c. 
 
 De Pauw, the great depredator of every thing Egyp- 
 tian, has, on the authority of a passage in ^lian, presumed 
 to affix to the countrywomen of Cleopatra, the stigma of 
 complete and unredeemed ugliness. The following line of 
 Euripides, however, is an answer to such charges : — 
 
 titthOU /UiV UlS'i X.oiWtTrctf^'iVOl fOSLt. 
 
 In addition to the celebrated instances of Cleopatra, Rho- 
 dope, &;c. we are told, on the authority of Manetho (as 
 given by Zoega from Georgius Syncellus,) of a beautiful 
 queen of Memphis, Nitocris, of the sixth dynasty, who, in 
 addition to other charms and perfections, was (rather in- 
 consistently with the negro hypothesis) ^nv^n t«v xp^jov. 
 
 See, for a, tribute to the beauty of the Egyptian wo- 
 men, Montesquieu's Temple de Guide. 
 
 page 26. — " Among beds of lotus-Jlowers,^^—~\. Strabo. 
 
 Page 27. — " Isle of the golden Venus.^^ — " On trouve una 
 ile a.ppe\\6e Venus-Dorde, ou le champ d'or avor de remon- 
 ter jasqu'a Memphis." Voyages de Pythagore. 
 
 Page 28. — For an account of the Table of Emerald, v. 
 Lettres sur VOrigine des Dieux d^Egypte. De Pauw sup- 
 poses it to be a modern fiction of the Arabs. Many wri- 
 ters have fancied that the art of making gold, was the great 
 secret tliat lay hid under the forms of Egyptian theology. ' 
 " La science Hermetique," says the Benectine, Pemetz, " Fart 
 sacerdotal 6toit la source de toutes les richesses des Rois 
 ^^^SYV^^t ®t I'objet de ces mysteres si caches sous le voile 
 du leur pretendu Religion." Fables Egyptiennes. The 
 hieroglyphs, that formerly covered the Pyramids, are sup- 
 posed by some of these writers to relate to the same art. 
 See Mutus libevy Rupellce. 
 
 Page 29 — " By reflecting the sun's rays," says Clarke, 
 
speaking of the Pyramids, " they appeared white as snow." 
 
 Page 30. — For Bubastis, the Diana of the Egyptians, v. 
 Jablonski^ lib. 3. c. 4. 
 
 Page 31. — " The light coracle,''^ Sic. — v. Amailhon^ ^^ His- 
 toire de la J^avigation et du Commerce des Egyptiens sous les 
 Ptolemees.^^ See also, for a description of the various 
 kinds of boats used on the Nile, MailleU torn. i. p. 98. 
 
 lb. — V. Maurice, Appendix to " Ruins of Babylon." 
 Another reason, he says, for their worship of the Ibis, 
 " founded on their love of geometry, was (according to 
 Plutarch) that the space between its legs, when parted 
 asunder, as it walks, together with its beak, forms a com- 
 plete equilateral triangle. From the examination of the 
 embalmed birds found in the Catacombs of Sacajra, there 
 seems to be no doubt that the Ibis was the same kind of 
 bird as that described by Bruce, under the Arabian name 
 of Abou Hannes. 
 
 Page 32. — " The Sistrum.) &c. — " Isis est genius," says 
 Servvus, " ^Egypti, qui per sistri motura, quod gcritin dextra, 
 Nili accessus recessusque significat." 
 
 Page 34.—" The ivy encircled iiJ*^ 8zc. — The Ivy was con- 
 secrated to Osiris, v. Diodor. Sic. 1. 10. 
 
 lb. — " The small mirror.'''' — " Quelques unes," says Du- 
 puis, describing the processions of Isis, " portoient des mi- 
 roirs attaches a leurs epaules, afin de multiplier et de por- 
 ter dans tous les sens les images de la D^esse." Origine 
 des Culles, tom. 8. p. 847. A mirror, it appears, was also 
 one of the emblems in the mysteries of Bacchus. 
 
 lb. — There is, to the north of Memphis,''^ &c. — " Tout 
 prouve que la terretoire de Sakkarah 6toit la Necropolis au 
 6ud de Memphis, et le faubourg oppos^ a celui-ci, ou sont 
 les pyramides de Gizeh, une autre Ville des Morts, qui 
 terminoit Memphis au nord." Denon. 
 
 There is nothing known with certainty as to the site of 
 Memphis, but it will be perceived that the description of its 
 position, given by the Epicurean corresponds, in almost 
 
178 
 
 every particular, with that which M. Maillet (the French 
 consul, for many years at Cairo) has left us. It must be al- 
 ways borne in mind, too, that of the distances between the 
 respective places here mentioned, we have no longer any 
 accurate means of judging. 
 
 Page 35. — '■'•Pyramid beyond pyramid.'''' — " Multas olim 
 jjyramidas fuisse e minis arguitur." Zoega. — Vansleb, who 
 visited more than ten of the small pyramids, is of opinion 
 that there must have originally been a hundred in this 
 place. 
 
 See, for the lake to the northward of Memphis, Shawns 
 Travels, p. 302. 
 
 Page 39.—" The Thehan beetle:'—"' On voit en Egypte, 
 apres la retraite du Nil et la fecondation des terres, le limon 
 convert d"* une multitude de scarabees. Un pareil phenom- 
 ene a du sembler aux Egyptiens le plus propre a peindre 
 une nouvelle existence." M. Jomard. — Partly for the 
 same reason, and partly for another, still more fanciful, the 
 early Christians used to apply this emblem to Christ. 
 «' Bonus ille scaraba^us mens," says St. Augustine, " non ea 
 tanlum de causa quod unigenitus, quod ipsemet sui auctor 
 mortalium speciem induerit, sed quod in hac nostra faece 
 sese volutaverit et ex hac ipsa nasci voluerit." 
 
 lb. — " Enshrined within a case of crystal.''''— '■'■ Les Egyp- 
 tiens ont fait aussi, pour conserver leurs morts, des caisses 
 de verre." De Pauiv. — He mentions in another place, a 
 sort of transparent sul?cance, which the Ethiopians used 
 for the same purpose, and which was frequently mistaken 
 by the Greeks for glass. 
 
 lb. — " Jlrnong the emblems of death.'''' — " Un pretre, qui 
 brise la tige d'une fleur, des oiseaux qui s'envolcnt sont les 
 emblemes de la morte et de Fame qui se separe du corps." 
 Deyion. 
 
 Theseus employs the same image in the Phaedra : — 
 
 TVnSnfji.* H aJ'iv 7rMj)-^v cpfxiia-a^u /uot. 
 
 Page 40. — " The singular appearance of a Cross, so fre- 
 quently recuri'ing among the hieroglyphics of Egypt, 
 
179 
 
 had excited the curiosity of tlie Christians at a very early 
 period of ecclesiastical history ; and as some of the Priests, 
 who were acquainted with the meaning of the hierogly- 
 phics, became converted to Christianity the secret transpired. 
 ' The converted heathens,' says Sacrates Scholasticus, ' ex- 
 plained the symbol, and declared that it signified Life to 
 Come.' " Clarke. 
 
 Lipsius, therefore, erroneously supposes the Cross to 
 have been an emblem peculiar to the Christians. See, on 
 this subject, UHisloiredes Juifs^ liv. 9. c. 16. 
 
 It is singular enough that while the Cross was held sa- 
 cred among the Egyptians, not only the custom of mark- 
 ing the forehead with the sign of the Cross, but Baptism 
 and the consecration of the bread in the Eucharist were 
 imitated in the mysterious ceremonies of Mithra. Tertull 
 de Proscriptiotie Hereticorum. 
 
 Zoega is of opinion that the Cross found (for the first 
 time, it is said) on the destruction of the temple of Sera- 
 pis, by the Christians, could have not been the crux ansata ; 
 as nothing is ir ore common than this emblem on all the 
 Egyptian monuments. 
 
 Page 41. — " Stood shadowless.''^ It was an idea entertain- 
 ed among the ancients that the Pyramids were so construct- 
 ed (" mecanica constructione," says Amianus Marcelliiius) 
 as never to cast any shadow. 
 
 Page 42, — " Rhodope.''^ From the story of Rhodope, 
 Zoega thinks, " videnter Arabes ansam arripuisse ut in una 
 ex pyramidibus, genii loco, habitare dicerent mulierem nu- 
 dam insignis pulchritudinis quai aspectu suo homines in- 
 sanire facit." — De Usu Obeliscorum. See also, UEgypte de 
 Murladi par Vattier. 
 
 Page 43. — " The Gates of Oblivion.'''' Apud Memphim 
 GBnas quasdam portas, quae Lethes et Cocyti (hoc est obli- 
 vionis et lamentationis) appellenter aperiri, gravem asper- 
 umquo edentes sonum." Zoega. 
 
 Page 45. — -'A file oflijeless bodies,'''' See, for the custom 
 of burying the dead upright (" post funnus stantia busto 
 copora," as Statius describes it,) Dr. Clarke's preface to 
 the 2d section of his fifth volume. They used to insert 
 precious stones in the place of the eyes. " Les yeux ^toi- 
 
180 
 
 •nt form^a d'^meraudes, de turquoises," &c. v. Masoudy^ 
 quoted by Qwa/rcmere. 
 
 Page 47. — " // seemed as if every ecko.^^ See, for tho 
 echoes in the pyramids, Plutarch, de Placilis Philosoph. 
 
 Page 48. — " Pale phantom-like shapes.'''' " Ce moment 
 heureux (de I'Autopsie) ^toit prepare par des scenes effray- 
 antes, par des alternatives de crainte et de joie, de lumin- 
 ere et des tenebres, par la lueur des eclairs, par le :r :it ter- 
 rible de la foudre, qu'on imitoit, et par des apparitions de 
 spectres, des illusions magiques, qui frappoi-^nt les yeux et 
 les oreilles tout ensemble. Dupuis. 
 
 Page 50. — " Serpents of fire. " Ces considerations me 
 portent a penser que, dans les niysteres, ces ph^nomenes 
 ^toient beaucoup mieux executees et sans comparison plus 
 terribies a I'aide de quelque composition pyrique, qui est 
 rest^e cachee, comme celle du feu Gregeois. De Pauw. 
 
 lb. — " T7ie burning of the reed-beds of Ethiopia. " II 
 n'y a point d'autre moyen que de porter le feu dans ces 
 forets de roseaux, qui rependent alors dans toatle pais une 
 lumiere aussi considerable que celle du jour meme. 
 Maillet, torn. 1. p. 63. 
 
 Page 51.—" TTie sound of torrents. ""-The Nile, Pliny tells 
 us, was admitted into the Pyramid. 
 
 Page 52. — "/ had almost given myself np.'''' — "On exer- 
 coit;" sa.ys Dupuis\ " les recipiendaires, pejidant plusieurs 
 jours, a traverser, a la nage, une grande eteudue d'eau. On 
 les y jettoit et ce n'etoit que avec peine qu' ils s'en retiroient. 
 On appliquoit le fer et le feu sur leurs membres. On les 
 faisoit passer a travers les flammes." 
 
 The aspirants were often in considerable danger, and 
 Pythagoras, we are told, nearly lost his life in the trials. 
 V. Recherches sur les Initiations, par Robin. 
 
 Page 57. — For the two cups used in the mysteries, see 
 VHistoire desJuifs, liv. 9. c. 16. 
 
 lb. — '• Osiris.^'' — Osiris, under the name of Serapis, was 
 
supposed to rule over the subterranean world ; and per- 
 formed the office of Pluto, in the mythology of the Egyp- 
 tians, " They believed," says Dr. Pritchard, " that Scrapis 
 presided over the region of departed souls, during the pe- 
 riod of their absence, when languishing without bodies, and 
 that the dead were deposited in his palace." Analysis cf 
 the Egyptian Mythology. 
 
 lb. — " To cool the lips of the dead.'''' — " Frigidam illara 
 aquam post mortem, tanquam Hebes poculum, expetitam." 
 Zoega. — The Lethe of the Egyptians was called Ameles. 
 See Dupuis, torn. 8. p. 651. 
 
 Page 58. — " A draught divine.^^ — Diodor. Sicul. 
 
 Page 59. — " Grashopper^ symbol of initiation.^'' — Hor. 
 Apoll. — The grashopper was also consecrated to the sun 
 as being musical. 
 
 Page 59. — " Isle of gardens.'''' — The isle Antirrhodus near 
 Alexandria. Mailkt. 
 
 lb. — " Vineyard at Anthylla.''' — See Athen. Deipnos. 
 
 Page 61 . — " We can see those stars.'^ — " On voyoit en plem 
 jour par ces ouvertures les etoiles, et meme quelques plane- 
 tes en leur plus grande latitude septentrionale ; et les prS- 
 tres avoient bientot profite de ce ph^nomene pour observer 
 a divcrses heures la passage des etoiles." Sithos. — Strabo 
 mentions certain caves or pits constructed for the purpose 
 of astronomical observations, which lay in the Zelopolitan 
 prefecture, beyond Heliopolis. 
 
 Page 6-2. — " A plantain.''''— Th'is tree was dedicated to 
 the Cicnii of the Shades, from its being an emblem of re- 
 pose and cooling airs. " Cui imminet mus® folium, quod 
 ah Iside infara geniisque ei addictis manu geri solitum, un- 
 bram rcquieinque et auras frigidas subindigitaro videtur.*' 
 Zorgcf. 
 
 Parre 66.—" He fpol-e. of the pre-cxislence of the sonL''' fc^. 
 For a full account of «hp d<^trine« which are hero roprf sen- 
 U'd tis having been taught to the initiated in the Egyptian 
 
182 
 
 mysteries, the reader may consult Dupuis, Prichard't Ana- 
 lysis of the Egyptian Mythology^ Szc.8ic. "L'on d^couvrcit 
 I'origine de I'ame sa chute sur la terre, a travers les spheres 
 
 et les ^Idmens, et son retour au lieu de sa origine 
 
 c'etoit ici la partie la plus m^taphysique, et que ne pour- 
 roit guere entendre le commun des Inities, mais dont on 
 lui donnoit le spectacle par des figures et des spectres all^- 
 goriques. Dupuis. 
 
 Page 67. — " Those fields of reliance. "—See Beimsohre^ 
 liv. 3. c. 4. for the " terre bienheureuse et lumineuse'' 
 which the Manicheaus supposed God to inhabit. Plato, 
 too, speaks (in Phaed.) of a " pure land lying in the pure 
 sky (txv yw Kx^afnv tv KA^ctpcc nur^su cvftxvce,) the abode of di- 
 vinity, of innocence, and of life. 
 
 Page 63.—" Tracing it from the first moment of earihward 
 desire.'^'' — In the original construction of this work, there was 
 an episode introduced here, (which I have since published 
 in another form,) illustrating the doctrine of the fall of the 
 soul, by the Oriental fable of the Loves of the Angels. 
 
 Page 69. — " Restoring her lost wings.'''* Damascius in his 
 Life of Isadorus, says, " Ex antiquissimis Phiiosophis Py- 
 thagoram et Platonem Isidorus ut Deos coluit, et eorum ani- 
 mas alatas esse dixit quas in locum supercoelestera inque 
 campum veritatis et pratum elevatas, divinis putavit ideis 
 pasci. jipiid. Phot. Bibliothec. 
 
 lb. — " Jl pale, moonlike meteor,''^ — Apideius, in describing 
 the miraculous appearances exhibited in the mysteries, says, 
 "Nocte media vidi solem candido coruscantem lumine."' 
 Metamorphos, \ih,\\. 
 
 Page 70. — " So entirely did the illusion of the scene,'''' ke. 
 — In tracing the early connection of spectacles with the 
 ceremonies of religion, Voltaire says, "II y abienplus; 
 les veritables grandes tragedies, les representations impo- 
 santes etterribles,etoientlesmysteres sacr^s, qu'on cel^broit 
 dans les plus vastes temples du monde, en presence des 
 seuls Initios; c'etoit la que les habits, les decorations, les 
 machines ^toicnt propres au sujet; et la sujet etoitla vie 
 
18f 
 
 prescnte et vie future. De.$ divers changemens arrives a 
 Vart tragique. 
 
 To these scenic representations iii the Egyptian myste- 
 ries, tliere is evidently an allusion in the vision of Ezekiel, 
 where the spirit shows him the abominations which the Is- 
 raelites learned in Egypt : " Then said he unto me, '• Son of 
 man, hast thou seen what the ancients of the house of Is- 
 rael do in the dark, every man in the chambers of hisima^a- 
 rrjr' Chap. 8. 
 
 Page 72. — " The seven tables of sfone.^^ — " Bernard, comte 
 de la Marche Trdvisane, instruit par la lecture des livres 
 anciens, dit qu' Hermes trouva sept tables dans la valine 
 d'Hebron, sur lesquelles ^toient graves les principes des 
 arts liberaux." Fables Egyptiennes. See Jablonski de ste- 
 lis Herm. 
 
 Page 73. — " Beside the goat of Mendes.*'' — For an accouni 
 of the animal worship of the Egyptians, see De Pamt>, 
 torn. 2. 
 
 lb. — " The Isaic serpents.''' — " On auguroit bien des 
 serpens Isiaques, lorsqu'ils goutoient PofFrande et se train- 
 oient lentement autour de I'autel. De Pauw. 
 
 Page 74. — " Hence the festivals and hymns^^ &c. — For an 
 account of the various festivals at the different periods of 
 the sun's progress, in the spring, and in the autumn, see 
 Dupuis and Pritchard. 
 
 lb. — " The mysteries of the night." — v. Athenag. Leg. 
 pro Chri^i. p. 133. 
 
 Page 76. — " A peal like that of thunder" — See, for some 
 curious remarks on the mode of imitating thunder and 
 lightning, in the ancient mysteries, De Pauw, torn. 1. p. 
 323. The machine with which these effects were pro- 
 duced on the stage, was called a ceraunoscope. 
 
 Page 79. — " Windings, capriciously intricate." — In addi- 
 tion to the accounts which the ancients have lefl us of the 
 prodigious excavations in all parts of Egypt, — the fifteen 
 hundred chambers under the Labyrinth, the subterranean 
 
184 
 
 "stables of the Thebaid, containing a thousand hor»ea— the 
 crypts of Upper Egypt passing under the bed of the Nile, 
 &c. &c. — the stories and traditions current among the 
 Arabs sliU preserve the memory of those wonderful sub- 
 structions. '■'■ Un Arabe," says Paul Lucas, " qui ^toit avec 
 nous, m'assura qu'^tant entre autrefois dans le Labyrinthc, 
 i! avoit marche dans les chambres souterrains jusqu'en un 
 lieu ou il y avoit une grande place environnee de plusieurs 
 niches qui ressembloit k de petites boutiques, d'on I'on en- 
 troit dans d'autres allees et dans des chambres, sans pou- 
 voir en trouver la fin. In speaking, too, of the arcades 
 along the Nile, near Cosseir, " lis me dirent m^me que ces 
 souterrains etoient si profondes q'uil y en avoient qui alloi- 
 ent a trois journees de la, et qu'ils conduisoient dans un 
 pays ou Ton voyoit de beaux jardins, qu'on y trouvoit de 
 belles -maisons," &c. fee. 
 
 See also in M. ^natremere's Memoires sur VEgypte, torn. 
 J. p. 142, an account of a subterranean reservoir, said to 
 have been discovered at Kais, and of the expedition under- 
 taken by a party of pe. .ns, in a long narrow boat, for the 
 purpose of exploring it, *' Leur voyage avoit ete de six jours, 
 dont les quatre premiers furent employes a pdn^trer les 
 hordes ; les deux autres a revenir au lieu d'oii ils Etoient 
 partis : Pendant tout cet intervalle ils ne purent atteindre 
 I'extrcmite du bassin. L'emir Ala-eddin-Tamboga, gou- 
 verneur de Beh nesa, ecrivit ces details au sultan, qui en 
 fut extremement surpris. 
 
 Page 8-2. — " A small island in the centre of Lake Mttris.^* 
 — The position here given to Lake Moeris, in making it tho 
 immediate boundary of the city of Memphis to the south, 
 corresponds exactly with the site assigned to it by Mail- 
 let : — " Memphis avoit encore a son midi un vaste reser- 
 voir, par ou tout ce qui pent servir a ia commodity at a 
 Tagrement de la vielui ^toit voitur^ abondamment de toutes 
 les parties de I'Egypte. Ce lac qui la terminoit de ce c6t6- 
 la," &c. &c. Tom. 2. p. 7. 
 
 lb. — " Ruins rising blackly above the waue." — " On voit 
 eurla rive orientale des antiquit^s qui sont presque en- 
 tierement sous les eauz." Belzoni. 
 
 lb. — " //* thundering portals.*' — " Quorundom aatem do- 
 
185 
 
 morum (in Labyrintho^ talis est situs, ut adaperientibus 
 foris tonitru intus terribile existat." Pliny. 
 
 Page 83 — " Leaves that serve as cups." — Strabo. Accord- 
 ing to the French translator of Strabo, it was the fruit of 
 the faba ^gyptiaca, not the leaf, that was used for this 
 purpose. " Le Ki^p lov,^' he says, " devoit s'entendre 
 de la capsule ou fruit de cette plante, dont les Egyptiens se 
 servoient comme d'un vase, imaginant que I'eau du Nil y 
 devenoit delicieuse." 
 
 Page 85.—" The fish of these waters^'' Sic.^Mlian, lib. 
 6. 32. 
 
 lb. — ^''Pleasure boats or yachts." — Called Thalamages, 
 from the pavilion on the deck. v. Strabo. 
 
 Page 86. — " Covered with beds of those pale, sweet roses.^' 
 —As April is the season for gathering these roses (See, 
 Malte-brurCs Economical Callerider, ) the Epicurean could 
 not, of course, mean to say that he saw them actually in 
 flower. 
 
 Page 87. — " The lizards upon the 6flnfc."— " L'or et I'azur 
 brillent en bands longitudinales sur leur corps entier, et 
 leur queue est du plus beau blue celeste." Sonini. 
 
 Page 88.—" The canal through which we now sailed." — 
 " Un canal," says Maillet, " tres profound et tres large y 
 voituroit les eaux du NiL" 
 
 Page 90. — " For a draught of whose flood" &c. — " An- 
 ciennement on portoit les eaux du Nil jusqu'au des con- 
 tr^cs fort eloignees et surtout chez les princesses du sang 
 des Ptolomees, marines daus des families ^trangeree." 
 DePauw. 
 
 Page 92. — " Bearing etxh the name of its owner." — " La 
 nom du maitre y ^toit ^crit, pendant la nuit en lettre» d« 
 feu." Maillet. 
 
 lb. — « Cups of that frail crystal" — called Alaswnto*. 
 For their brittleness Martial is an authority :— 
 q2 
 
18G 
 
 Telle, puer, calicea, tepidique toreumata Nili, 
 Et raihi secure pocula Irada maim. 
 
 Page 92.—" Bracelets of the black beans ofAbyssinia.^^^Tha 
 Jtcan of the Glycyne, which is so beautiful as to be strung 
 into necklaces and bracelets, is generally known by the 
 name of tiie black bean of Abyssinia. Niebhur. 
 
 Pag 6 93. — " Sweet lotus-rvood-Jlute.''^ — See M. Villoteau on 
 the musical instruments of the Egyptians. 
 
 lb. — " Shine like the brow of Mount Atlas at night.'''' — Soli- 
 nits speaks of the snowy summit of Mount Atlas glittering 
 with flames at night. In the account of the Periplus of 
 lianno, as well as in that of Eudorus, we read that as those 
 navigators were coasting this part of Africa, torrents of 
 light were seer, to fall on the sea. 
 
 Page 94. — '■'■ The tears of /sw." — '•'■ Per lacrymas, vero, 
 Isidis intelligo effluvia quaedam Lunoe, quibus tantam vim 
 videntur tribuisse iEgypti." Jablonski. — He is of opinion 
 that the superstition of the Nucta^ or miraculous drop, i« 
 of a relic of the veneration paid to the dews, as the tears of 
 Isis. 
 
 lb.—'' The rustling of the acacias^'^ &c. — Travels of Cap' 
 tain Mangles. 
 
 lb.—" Sitpposed to rest in the valley of the moon.^^--Plutarek. 
 Dupuis, torn. 10. The Manicheans held the same belief. 
 See Beausobre, p. 563. 
 
 T^ige 95.-^''', Sethis, the fair star of the waters.'" — u^fotyuyif 
 is tlite epithet applied to this star by Plutarch^ de hid. 
 
 lb.—" Was its birth-star.''^ — 'H 2a^tac «ty*To>jf ymffwt 
 xATUfi^cvrei nrsii lic toy kov/xov. Porphyr^ de Antro. Nymph. 
 
 Page 99.—" Golden Mountains.''' -"V. Wilford on Egypt 
 and the JVi/c, Asiatic Researches. 
 
 vJb.--.*V5irwMmW«n^ tWMwi."---" 'A P^poque do la cnie 1« 
 
187 
 
 Kil Vert charie les planches d'un bob qui a une odour sem- 
 blable a cello de Tencens." ^uatremcrc. 
 
 Page 100.—" Barges full of bees:'— Mailkt 
 
 lb, — ^^Such a profusion of the white flowers^* &;c. — On les 
 voit corame jadis cuillir dans les champs des tigis du lotus, 
 signes du debordement et presages de Tabondance; ils s'en- 
 velloppent les bras et le corps avec les longues tiges fleuries, 
 et parcourent les rues," &:c. Description des Tombeaux du 
 Rots, par M. Castas. 
 
 Page 102. — '* While composi7ig his commentary on the scrip- 
 tures.''' — It was during the composition of his great critical 
 work, the Hexapla, that Origen employed these female 
 scribes. 
 
 Page 103.—" That rich tapestry," kc. 
 
 Non ego pnctulerira Babylonica picta superbd 
 
 Texta, Semirami^l quce variantur a.c\x.—MartiaL 
 
 Page 116.—" The Place of Weeping.''— -7. Wilford, Atiatie 
 Researches, vol. 3. p. 340. 
 
 Page 122. — " We had long since left this mountain behindJ'* 
 — The voyages on the Nile are, under favourable circum- 
 stances, performed with considerable rapidity. " En cinq ou 
 six jours," says Maillet, " on pourroit ais^ment remontor de 
 rembouchure du Nil a ses catarates ou descendre des cata- 
 ractes jusqu'a la mer." The great uncertainty of the Navi- 
 gation is proved by what Belzoni tells us: — " Nous ne mimes 
 cctte fois que deux jours et demi pour faire le trajet du Cairo 
 a Melawi, auquel, dans notre second voyage, nous avionn 
 employes dixhuit jours." 
 
 Page 123. — " TTiose mighty statues, that fling their sha- 
 doics." — " Elles ont prds de vingt metres (6 1 pieds) d'^l^va- 
 tion ; et au lever du soleil, leurs ombres inimenses s^^tendent 
 au loin sur ii chaine Lybyen." 
 
 Description ginerale de Thebes. par Messrt. JoiUoi* et Dtt' 
 viUiert. 
 
 lb. — " JJiose tool alcoves.'^ '-'Paui Lucas, 
 
188 
 
 Page 127. — " Whose waters are half sweet, half bitter.''' — 
 Paul Lucas. 
 
 Page 129. — " T7ie Mountain of the Birds.''^ — There has 
 '>een much controversy among the Arabian writers, with 
 respect to the site of this mountain, for which see ^uatre- 
 inere, torn. 1. art. Amoun. 
 
 Page 132. — " The hand of labour had succeeded,''^ &c. — 
 The monks of Mount Sinai {Shaw says) have covered over, 
 near four acres of the naked rocks, with fruitful gardens and 
 
 orchards. 
 
 Page 134.—" The image of a head:' — There was usu- 
 ally, Tertullian tells us, the image of Christ on the com- 
 munion-cups. 
 
 Vo.—"- Kissed her forehead^ — "We are rather disposed 
 to infer," says the present Bishop of Lincoln, in his very 
 sensible work on Tertullian, " that, at the conclusion of all 
 their meetings for the purpose of dvotion, the early Chris- 
 tians were accustomed to give the kiss of peace, in token 
 of the brotherly love subsisting between them. 
 
 Page 136. — " In the middle of the seven valleys:'' — See, 
 Macrizy's account of these valleys, given by Quatremere, 
 tom. 1. p. 450. 
 
 lb. — " Red lakes of Nitria:'' — For a striking description 
 of this region, See " Ra7nesses" — a work which, though, 
 in general, too technical and elaborate, shows, in many 
 passages, to what picturesque effects the scenery and my- 
 thology of Egypt may be made subservient. 
 
 Page 137. — " In the neighboiirhood of Antinoi:' — From 
 the position assigned to Antinoe in this work, we should 
 conclude that it extended much farther to the north, than 
 these few ruins of it that remain would seem to indicate ; 
 80 as to render the distance between the city and the 
 Mountain of the Birds considerably less than what it ap- 
 pears to be at present. 
 
 Page 139.—" When his the pure star of lovers:' v. 
 Plutarch de Jtid. 
 
 lb. ''Ere she again embrace her bridegroom sun:'— 
 
189 
 
 '* Conjunctlo boUs cum luna, quod est veluti utriusqu* 
 connubiam." Jablonski. 
 
 Page 142.—'' Of his u-alks a lion is the companion." — 
 M. Chateaubriand has introduced Paul and his lion into 
 the '' Mart !/rs,'' IW. 11. 
 
 Pago 135. — " Come thus secretly before day ircafc."— It 
 was among the accusations of Celsus against the ChriB- 
 tians, that they held their assemblies privately and con- 
 trary to law ; and one of the speakers in the curious work 
 of Minucius Felix calls the Christians " latebrosa et luci- 
 fugax natio." 
 
 Page 146. — " A swalloic,'" &ic. — « Je vis dans le desert 
 des hirondelles d'un gris clair conime le sable sur lequel 
 dies volent."— jDenon. 
 
 Page 147. — " The comet that once desolated this world.''-— 
 In alluding to Whiston's idea of a comet having caused 
 the deluge, M. Girard, having remarked that the word 
 Typhen means a deluge, adds " On ne peut entendre par 
 le terns du regne de Typhon que celui pendant lequel le 
 deluge in onda la terre, tems pendant lequel on dut obser- 
 ver lacomete qui I'occasionna, et dont Tapparition fut, non 
 seulement pour les peuples de I'Egypte, et de I'Ethiopie, 
 mais encore pour tous les peuples le presage funeste de 
 leur destruction.presque totale." Description de la valUc 
 de VE'garement. 
 
 lb. — " In which the spirit of my dream,''^ &c. ♦' Many 
 people," said Origen, " have been brought over to Chris- 
 tianity by the spirit of God giving a sudden turn to their 
 minds, and offering visions to them either by day ornight." 
 On this Jortin remarks : — " Why should it be thought im- 
 probable that Pagans of good dispositions, but not frea 
 from prejudices, should have been called by divine admo- 
 nitions, by dreams or visions, which might be a support to 
 Christianity in those days of distress." 
 
 Page 150. — ^'- Otie of those earthen cups.^' — Palladius, who 
 lived some time in Egypt, describes the monk Ptolemteiifl, 
 who inhabited the desert of Scete, as collecting in earthen 
 cups the abundant dew from the rocks. — Bibliothec. Pat. 
 tom. 13. 
 
 151. — " It woj to preserve, he said" fcc. — Tl e brief »'ieloh 
 herei given of the Jewish dispensation, agrees, very much, 
 
^ 190 
 
 with the view taken of it by Dr. Sumner, the present Bishop 
 of LlandafF, in the first chapters of liis eloquent and lumi- 
 nous work, the " Records of the Creation." 
 
 Page 132. — " In vain did I seek the promise of immortality.^* 
 — " It is impossible to deny,'" says the Bishop of LlandafF, 
 " that the sanctions of the Mosaic Law are altogether tem- 
 poral It is, indeed, one of the facts that can only be 
 
 explained, by acknowledging, that he really acted under a 
 divine commission, promulgating a temporary law for a pe- 
 culiar purpose," — a much more candid and sensible way of 
 treating this very difficult point, than by either endeavour- 
 ing, like Warburton, to escape from it into a paradox, or 
 still worse, contriving, like Dr. Graves, to increase its diffi- 
 culty by explanation, v. " On the Pentateuch.'''' See also 
 Home's Introduction^ &c. vol. 1. p. 226. 
 
 Page 153.— "^ZZ are o/f/ierft«/,"&c.— While Voltaire, Vol- 
 ney , &c. refer to the Ecclesiastes, as abounding with tenets of 
 materialism and Epicurism, Mr. Desvoeux and others, find 
 in it, strong proofs of belief in a future state. The chief 
 difficulty lies in the chapter from which this text is quoted ; 
 and the mode of construction by which some writers attempt 
 to get rid of it, — namely, by putting these texts into the 
 mouth of a foolish reasoner, — appears forced and gratuitous. 
 V. Dr. Hale's Analysis. 
 
 Page 154. — " The noblest and first created'' kc. — This opi^ 
 nion of the Hermit may be supposed to have been derived 
 from his master, Origen; but it is not easy to ascertain the 
 exact doctrine of Origen on this subject. In the Treatise 
 on Prayer, attributed to him, he asserts that God the Father 
 alone, should be invoked, — which, says Bayle, is " encherir 
 sur les Heresies des Sociniens." Notwithstanding this, 
 however, and some other indications of, what was after- 
 wards called, Arianism, (such as the opinion of the divinity 
 being received by communication^ which Milner asserts to 
 have been held by his Father,) Origen was one of the au- 
 thorities quoted by Athanasius, in support of his high doc- 
 trines of co-eternity and co-essentiality. What Priestly 
 says is, perhaps, the best solution of these inconsistencies ; 
 — " Origen, as well as Clemens Alexandrinus, has been 
 thought to favour the Arian principle ; but he did it only in 
 words and not in ideas." Early Opinions^ Sec. Whatever 
 nncertainty, however, there may ewst with respect to the 
 
 
191 
 
 opinion of Origen himself, on this subject, there is no doubt 
 that the doctrines of his immediate followers were, at least, 
 Anti-Athanasian. " So many Bishops of Africa," says 
 Priestly, "were, at this period (between the year 255 and 
 258,) Unitarians, that Athanasius says, ' The Son of God,' 
 — meaning his divinity, — ' was scarcely any longer preach- 
 ed in the churches.' " 
 
 Page 154.—" The restoration of the whole humanrace to pu- 
 rity and happiness.^^— This benevolent doctrine, — which not 
 only goes far to solve the great problem of moral and phy- 
 sical evil, but which would, if received more generally, 
 tend to soften the spirit of uncharitableness, so fatally pre- 
 valent among Christian sects, — was maintained by that 
 great light of the early Church, Origen, and has not want- 
 ed supporters among more modern Theologians. That 
 Tillotson was inclined to the opinion, appears from his ser- 
 mon preached before the queen. Paley is supposed to have 
 held the same amiable doctrine ; and Newton (the author 
 of the work on the Prophecies) is also among the supporters 
 of it. For a full account of the arguments in favour of this 
 opinion, derived both from reason and the express language 
 of Scripture, see Dr. Southwood Smith's very interesting 
 work, " On the Divine Government." See also Magee on 
 the Atonement, where the doctrine of the advocates of uni- 
 versal Restoration is thus briefly and fairly explained :— 
 "Beginning with the existence of an infinitely powerful, 
 wise, and good Being, as the fi^rst and fundamental principle 
 of a rational religion, they pronounce the essence of this 
 Being to be love, and from this infer, as a demonstrable con- 
 Bequence, that none of the creatures formed by such a Being, 
 
 will ever be made eternally miserable Since God 
 
 (they say) would act unjustly in inflicting eternal misery 
 for temporary crimes, the sufferings of the wicked can be but 
 remedial, and will terminate in a complete purification from 
 moral disorder, and in their ultimate restoration to virtue 
 and happiness. 
 
 Page 155 — " Fruits of the desert shrub.^^ — v. IlamlUons 
 ^gyptiaca. 
 
 lb. — " Glistened over its silver letters.'' — The Codex Cot- 
 tonianus of the New Testament is written in silver letters 
 on a purple ground. The Codex Cottonianus of the Sep- 
 tuagint version of the Old Testament, is supposed to be the 
 identical copy that belonged to Origen. 
 
192 
 
 Page 150. — " The white garment she icorcy and the ring o/" 
 ^old on Acr^n^cr.""See, for the custom among the early 
 Christians, of wearing white for a few days after baptism, 
 Ambros, de Myst. — With respect to the ring, the Bishop of 
 Lincoln says, in his work on Tertullian, " The natural in- 
 ference from these words {Tertull. de Pudicitia) appears to 
 be that a ring used to be given in baptism ; but I have found 
 no other trace of such a custom. 
 
 Page 159.—" Pebbles of jasper:'— \. Clarke. 
 
 lb. — " Stunted marigold^'* &c. — " lies Mesembryanthemum 
 nodijlorum et Zygophyllum coccineum^ plantes grasses des 
 deserts, rejetees a cause de leur acret6 par les chameaux, 
 es chevres, et les gazelles.'" M. Delile vpon, the Plants of 
 
 Page 260. — " Aniino'e.''- — v. Savary and ^uatremere. 
 
 Page 162. — " / have observed in my. v:alks :''-—'''• Jc remar- 
 quai avec une reflexion triste, qu'un animal de proie accom- 
 p&gnc presque toujours.les pas de ce joli et frele individu.'' 
 
 Page 164. "Some denier of Christ.-'' — Those Christians 
 who sacrificed to idols to save themselves, were called by 
 various names, TJiurriJicati., Sacrijicati., Mitentes, Kcgato- 
 res., &c. Baronius mentions a bishop of this period (263) 
 Marcellinus, who, yielding to the threats of the Gentilest 
 threw incense upon the altar, v. Arnob. contra Gent. lib. 7. 
 
 Page 168. — " llie clear voice iviih whick^: &c. — The merit 
 of the confession "Christianus sum," or •' Christiana sum," 
 was considerably enhanced by the clearness and distinctness 
 with which it was pronounced. Eusebius mentions the 
 martyr Vetius as making it xafji.TrfiO'ruTi) <^m». 
 
 Page 173.-^" The band round the young Christian's brow.'^ 
 — We find poisonous crowns mentioned by Pliny., under the 
 designation of " coronec ferales." Paschaliiis, too, gives the 
 following account of these " deadly garlands," as he calls 
 them: — " Sed mirum est tarn salutare inventum humanam 
 nequitiam r?perisse, quomodo ad nefarios usus traduccnt. 
 Nempe, reperte sunt nefandse coronse harum, quas dixi, tam 
 ealubrium per nomen quidem et speciem imilatrices, at ro et 
 effectu ferales, at que adeo capitis, cui imponuntur, intor- 
 fectrices." De Coronit. 
 
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