moon shone forth in glory as if she were still the bright goddess of the land, and loved it well... No longer do the whiterobed priests of Isis celebrate her mystic rites in solemn procession along these shadowy banks; no longer the Egyptian maidens move in choral dances through these darkling groves, with lotus garlands on their brow, and mirrors on their breasts, which flashed back the smile of the worshipped moon at every pant of those young bosoms, to typify that the heart within was all her own, and imaged but her deity... There is no longer mystic pomp or midnight pageant in the land of Egypt; we may look in vain for venerable priest or vestal virgin now. Yet, still does Isis seem to smile lovingly over her deserted shrines, and her pale light harmonises well with the calm dwellings of the mighty dead. These with their pyramids, their palaces, their temples, and their tombs, are the real inhabitants of this dreamy land.

This sailing on the moon-lit Nile has an inexpressible charm; every sight is softened, every sound is musical, every air breathes balm. The pyramids silvered by the moon, tower over the dark palms, and the broken ridges of the Arabian hills stand clearly out from the star-spangled sky... Distant lights gleaming faintly among the scarce-seen minarets, mark the site of Cairo, whose voices come at intervals as faintly to the ear. Sometimes the scream of a startled pelican, or the gurgle of some huge fish as he wallows in the water, may disturb the silence for a moment, but the calm that follows is only the more profound.

All nature seems so tranced and all the world wound in such a dream, that we can scarcely realise our own identity; hark to the jackal's cry among the Moslem tombs! See where the swarthy pilot sits, statue-like, with his turban and flowing beard; those plains before us have been trod by Pharaohs; these waters have borne Cleopatra; yonder citadel was the home of Saladin! We need not sleep to dream.

The night is gone- gone like a passing shadow: the sun springs suddenly into the throne of purple and rose-colored clouds that the misty moon has arrayed for him.

There is scarcely a dawn; even now it was night; then day, suddenly as a cannon's flash. Our boat lay moored to the bank. Mahmoud started to his feet, and shouted "Yallou ghe!" like a trumpet: till then the deck seemed vacant; but then up starts the crew, who sleep in grave-like apertures between the planks, wrapped in their white capotes- - a shroudlike garment that, on being raised with the figure, startles one

All nature seems to waken now; flocks of turtle-doves are rustling round the villages; dogs are barking the flocks to pasture, cocks are crowing, donkeys are braying, water-wheels are creaking, and the Moslems prostrate themselves in prayer, with forehead to the ground or hands crossed upon their bosoms their eyes motionless, and their lips quivering with the first chapter of the Koran. Crescent and Cross.

THE ABYSSINIAN.

THE opinion one may form of a people, from a few glaring instances of crime, or even from some deeds of an opposite nature, whether of valor or benevolence, ought not to be the criterion of an entire nation... I should say of the Amhara soldiers, and frequently of the townspeople who have had much intercourse with them, that they are for the most part excessively vain. This is their chief and besetting sin. They are also rather cowardly, very deceitful and treacherous, grasping and covetous, vicious, debauched and thievish. While as to the peasantry of Tigrè, they have as few sins or vices to be laid to their charge as any people under the sun... The Abyssinians in general are patronisingly condescending towards their inferiors, and rather disposed to be servile when in the presence of a superior. They are at all times overflowing with complimentary speeches, which, however, must not always be taken as proceeding from the heart. The soldiers, in their manner, are as much given to ceremony as any one, with much less sincerity... A soldier, sent perhaps on a message to you from some chief, will approach your room with the greatest possible appearance of respect. He will enter with his shoulders bare, and, as if feeling bashful before so much greatness, will remain for a few moments by the door, bowing low to your repeated salutations, and your request that he will be seated... At last as if having gained confidence, he will inform you, after approaching a few steps, that his master, Mr. So-and-So, sends you his compliments, and "Good morning! How are you since I saw you?" To this on your answering "God be praised," he will make another bow and remain where he is... Perhaps after a while he will consent to be seated, with much show of disinclination to take such a liberty. Then again he will rise up, and approach you a few steps, and deliver some other complimentary message from his master. This time he will seat himself near your couch without being asked... He will soon, however, rise again and tell you in a confidential whisper, behind the corner of his cloth,

as

what was the real purport of his coming, probably such as this: -"Mr. So-and-So, my master, sent me to you, and desired me to say how are you, and to give you this." On which, he, with the greatest mystery, pulls out from under his garment a very small jar of honey... But I was wrong in saying that this was the real purport of his mission; it was only the ostensible one. This business being transacted, he will advance still a trifle further both in his impudence and in a nearer approach to your seat, till, if by your manner he think he has gained favor in your sight, that is to say, if you be anything but stiffly courteous to him, he will perhaps drop, accidentally as it were, on the edge of your couch, and at last sit comfortably alongside of you... Then, all his humility disappearing, he will arrange his garments pleases him best, and making himself perfectly at home, tell you stories of his own and his master's greatness, and of their particular attachment to you... Rising at last when either your "tedge" is all drunk or your society no longer agreeable, he reassumes for a moment his mock humility, and taking leave of you, begs you to give him a "balderabba," that is, to name from among your servants one who may be his friend and spokesman whenever he may need to address you. To him he confides his secret-the true motive of his visit; and it becomes his balderabba's duty to hint to you when you ask him, that your friend So-and-So, from whom you have just received a shilling's worth of honey, is very much in want of a piece of velvet, or a muslin turban, or perhaps both. M. Parkyns.

A FLOODED PRAIRIE IN SOUTH AFRICA.

WE made so many attempts to get over the Sanshureh, both to the west and east of the waggon, in the hope of reaching some of the Makololo on the Chobe, that my Bushmen friends became quite tired of the work. By means of presents I got them to remain some days; but at last they slipped away by night, and I was fain to take one of the strongest of my still weak companions, and cross the river in a pontoon.

We each carried some provisions and a blanket, and penetrated about twenty miles to the westward in the hope of striking the Chobe. It was much nearer to us in a northerly direction, but this we did not then know... The plain over which we splashed the whole of the first day, was covered with water ankle-deep, and thick grass which reached above the knees. In the evening we came to an immense wall of reeds,

six or eight feet high, without any opening admitting of a passage... When we tried to enter, the water always became so deep that we were fain to desist. We concluded that we had come to the banks of the river we were in search of, so we directed our course to some trees which appeared in the south, in order to get a bed and a view of the adjacent locality. Having shot a leche, and made a glorious fire, we got a good cup of tea, and had a comfortable night... While collecting wood that evening, I found a bird's nest consisting of leaves sewn together with threads of the spider's web. Nothing could exceed the airiness of this pretty contrivance; the threads had been pushed through small punctures, and thickened to resemble a knot. I unfortunately lost it. This was the second nest I had seen resembling that of the tailor-bird of India.

Next morning, by climbing the highest trees, we could see a fine large sheet of water, but surrounded on all sides by the same impenetrable belt of reeds. This is the broad part of the river Chobe, and is called Zabesa. Two tree-covered islands seemed to be much nearer to the water than the shore on which we were, so we made an attempt to get to them first... It was not the reeds alone we had to pass through; a peculiar serrated grass, which at certain angles cut the hands like a razor, was mingled with the reed, and the climbing convolvulus, with stalks which felt as strong as whip-cord, bound the mass together. We felt like pigmies in it, and often the only way we could get on was by both of us leaning against a part, and bending it down till we could stand upon it. The perspiration streamed off our bodies, and as the sun rose high, there being no ventilation among the reeds, the heat was stifling, and the water, which was up to the knees, felt agreeably refreshing. ...After some hours' toil, we reached one of the islands. Here we met an old friend, the bramble-bush. My strong moleskins were quite worn through at the knees, and the leather trousers of my companion were torn, and his legs bleeding. Tearing my handkerchief in two, I tied the pieces round my knees, and then encountered another difficulty... We were still forty or fifty yards from the clear water, but now we were opposed by great masses of papyrus, which are like palms in miniature, eight or ten feet high, and an inch and a half in diameter. These were laced together by twining convolvulus, so strongly that the weight of both of us could not make way into the clear water. At last, we fortunately found a passage prepared by a hippopotamus. Eager, as soon as we reached the island, to look along the vista to clear water, I stepped in, and found it took me at once up to the neck.

Returning nearly worn out, we proceeded up the bank of the Chobe, till we came to the point of departure of the branch Sanshureh; we then went in the opposite direction, or down the Chobe, though from the highest tree we could see nothing but one vast expanse of reed, with here and there a tree on the islands... This was a hard day's work, and when we came to a deserted Bayeiye hut on an anthill, not a bit of wood or anything else could be got for a fire, except the grass and sticks of the dwelling itself. I dreaded the "Tampans," so common in all old huts; but outside of it we had thousands of mosquitoes, and cold dew began to be deposited, so we were fain to crawl beneath its shelter.

We were close to the reeds, and could listen to the strange sounds which are often heard there. By day I had seen watersnakes putting up their heads and swimming about. There were great numbers of otters, which have made little spoors all over the plains in search of the fishes, among the tall grass of these flooded prairies; curious birds, too, jerked and wriggled among these reedy masses, and we heard human-like voices and unearthly sounds, with splash, guggle, jupp, as if rare fun were going on in their uncouth haunts At one time, something came near us, making a splashing like that of a canoe or hippopotamus; thinking it to be the Makololo, we got up, listened and shouted, then discharged a gun several times, but the noise continued, without intermission, for an hour. After a damp cold night, we set to, early in the morning, at our work of exploring again, but left the pontoon in order to lighten our labor... The anthills are here very high, some thirty feet, and of a base so broad that trees grow on them; while the lands, annually flooded, bear nothing but grass. From one of these anthills, we discovered an inlet to the Chobe; and having gone back to the pontoon, we launched ourselves on a deep river, here from eighty to one hundred yards wide ... I gave my companion strict injunctions to stick by the pontoon in case a hippopotamus should look at us; nor was this caution unnecessary, for one came up at our side, and made a desperate plunge off. We had passed over him. The way he made caused the pontoon to glide quickly away from him.

We paddled on from midday till sunset. There was nothing but a wall of reed on each bank, and we saw every prospect of spending a supperless night in our float; but just as the short twilight of these parts was commencing, we perceived, on the north bank, the village of Moremi, one of the Makololo, whose acquaintance I had made in our former visit, and who was now located on the island Mahonta The villagers looked as we