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pyramids may be as it was to Nero—a grand and memorable epoch in life. For he said that he felt the greatness of old Egypt more profoundly in the pyramids than anywhere else.

Yet you must seek the pyramids, else would you miss the Sphinx, and that memory of omission would more sadly haunt you afterward, than her riddle haunted the old victims of her spells.

The desert is too enamored of his grotesque darling, and gradually gathers around it, and draws it back again to his bosom. For it well seems the child of desert inspiration. Intense oriental imagination, musing over the wonderful waste' would build its dreams in shapes as singular. It lies on the very edge of the desert, which recoils above the plain as at Saccara. The sand has covered it, and only head, neck, and back are above its level. In vain Caviglia strove to stay the desert. More than half of the sand that he daily excavated, blew back again at night.

The Sphinx, with raised head, gazes expectantly toward the East, nor dropped its eyes when Cambyses or Napoleon came. The nose is gone, and the lips are gradually going. The constant attrition of sand-grains wears them away. The back is a mass of rock, and the temple between the forepaws is buried forever.

Still unread is my riddle, it seems to say, and looks, untiring, for him who shall solve it. Its beauty is more Nubian than Egyptian, or is rather a blending of both. Its bland gaze is serious and sweet. . Yet unwinking, unbending, in the yellow moonlight silence of those desert sands, will it breathe mysteries more magical, and rarer romances of the mountains of the moon and the Nile sources, than ever Arabian imagination dreamed. Be glad that the Sphinx was your last wonder upon the Nile; for it seemed to contain and express the rest. And from its thinned and thinning lips, as you move back to the river with all Egypt behind you, trails a voice inaudible, like a serpent gorgeously folding about your memoryEgypt and mystery, 0 Sphinx !



“ Tired with the pomp of their Osirean feast.”

“ With all Egypt behind you,”—so donkeyed the Howadji from the Sphinx and the silence of the desert. They reached the shore and stepped upon the boat while the sun was wreaking all his glory upon the west. It burned through the trees and over the little town of Ghizeh, and its people and filth, and as we moved into the stream, the pyramids occupied the west, unhurt for that seeing, large and eternal as ever, with the old mysterythe old charm.

The river was full of boats, in the vicinity of the city. The wind blew gently from the north, and fleets of sails were stretching whitely southward Even some Howadji were just dotting down their first Nile notes, and we, mariners of two months, felt old and mature as we watched them. Had we not worshipped at Aboo Simbel and conquered the cataract, and heard Memnon, and stood on Mem

phis ?

Back in that sunset came thronging the fairest images of the Nile ; and may sweet Athor, lovely lady of the West, enable you, retiring reader, to stand looking backward over these pages, and behold a palm-tree, or a rosy pyramid, or Memnon, or a gleam of sunshine brighter than our American wont, or the graceful Ghawazee beauty that the voyager so pleasantly remembers.

-And you, Italian Nera, who ask if the sherbet of roses was indeed poured in a fourtained kiosk of Damascus, you know that Hafiz long since sang to us, how sad were the sunset, were we not sure of a



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