IIere the apostle Paul, when shipwrecked, re. ceived great kindness at the hands of the people, and here he shook off the viper which had fastened on his hand, into the fire.

On! on! We have arrived at Alexandria, & place of great renown. It was founded by Alexander the Great, and became the centre of commerce and the abode of learning. Who has not heard of the Alexandrine Library? At Alexandria, the Septuagint translated the Hebrew version of the Scriptures into Greek. Mark, the evangelist, preached the gospel there; and it was there that Antony is said to have lost the world, and that Abercrombie gained the victories that drove the French from Egypt. The city is now but the shadow of what it was:

Its pride and pomp are gone, its reign is o er,

And all its goodly glories are no more.

But though Alexandria is not the city so famed as of olden time, the re-opening of the Mahmoudie Canal, connecting the city with the Nile, and the steamers of the Peninsular and Oriental Company have greatly increased its consequence. Again we move onward.

We are now on the Mahmoudie Canal, so called because the sultan Mahmoud employed men to clear it out, after it had been choked up under the rule of the Saracens. Two hundred

and fifty thousand persons were cruelly set to work to remove the rubbish, without implements, and with only a month's food. They worked with their hands, and completed the undertaking, though twenty-five thousand of them fell victims to toil and famine. We must now go on board another steamer, bound to Cairo, for here is Atfé on the Nile.

On! on! The sun is gone down, it is night, and here is Boulac, the port of Cairo. We must now leave the steamer, and prepare to cross the desert. What a hubbub is made by the porters, the dragomans (interpreters), and the donkeyboys. Italian, English, French, and all European languages are being spoken, or rather shouted at once. This is a busy scene. Ladies and gentlemen, merchants, travellers, and Egyptians, heavilyaden porters, camels, horses, donkeys, omnibuses, and vans are all in motion. On we go, along the broad and sandy road, through avenues of olives and sycamores. Two miles more will bring us safe to Cairo.

And this is Cairo! or, as it used to be called, Grand Cairo! It is truly an eastern scene. The bold range of the Mokattan Mountains skirts the city in a manner highly imposing, the mosques and towers are quite oriental, and the narrow streets, alleys, lanes, and bazaars excite our cu

riosity, filled as they are with hardware, leather, cloth, and kabob shops. Barbers and oil-merchants, donkeys, gorgeously trapped horses, tall camels, and the veiled beauties of the harem jostle against us at every step. There are no Regent. streets in Cairo: but we must move on. Pas sengers by the steamers are here accommodated in spacious hotels, at the expense of the Peninsular and Oriental Company. We could be well content to reside a few days at Cairo, and to visit the Pasha's Palace, the Gardens at Shoubra, the Petrified Forest, and the far-famed Pyramids; but already the semaphoric, or telegraphic signals placed across the desert announce the arrival of the steamer at Suez, which is to convey us to our destination; we must, therefore, hasten across the sultry sands to Suez.

The trading cargo, the mail-bags, and our baggage, are all on before us; and now hurrying into our two-wheeled omnibuses, carrying six passengers, and drawn by four swift-footed horses, we proceed on our eccentric journey.

But see, as we sally forth from the gates of Cairo, the Mussulman Cemetery claims our regard. Monuments of different kinds arrest the eye, and many a lonely Arab is seated, here and there, in silence, to receive the offerings of such as would manifest their respect for the dead by acts of

charity. Thus it is, go where we will, death has been there before us, speaking, as with a voice from the tomb, "What is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away," Jas. iv. 14.

Look round upon this bed of death,
And take a word of warning;
Improve the light, nor leave till night
The business of the morning.

The fool, through every passing hour,
Beset with sin and sorrow,

Puts far away his dying day,

Though that may be to-morrow.

The wise man dares not waste his time,
Lest life and health forsake him;
Where'er he goes, full well he knows
That death will soon o'ertake him.

Oh, would'st thou from the page of truth

A useful lesson borrow?

Go on thy way, improve to-day,

And bless'd shall be to-morrow

The very desert itself is a cemetery, where the wandering Arab and his steed, the pilgrim, the camel, and the driver find a grave. As a ship is sometimes called the camel of the sea, so a camel is called the ship of the desert. Day after day this patient drudge, with a burden of a thousand pounds' weight upon his back, traverses the sandy plain, with no other food than a stray thorn, or a ball of paste provided by his owner. Yonder lie the bleached bones of a camel, and a little further

removed is the carcass of another. The vultures of the desert are revelling at the banquet. Next them is an Arab party resting with their camels, during the noontide heat.

Post-house after post-house have we passed; these are small buildings erected at intervals of eight or ten miles, and here are relays of horses kept for the vans and omnibuses. We are now at the Central Station, where mutton, roast fowl, pigeons, and pale ale are in great requisition. Omnibuses, horses, donkeys, and camels are huddled together. An Arab sheikh has just arrived, a column of the pasha's cavalry is crossing the desert in the distance at full speed, and yonder stands the solitary acacia-tree, with no other vegetation around it, on which the Mecca pilgrims, on returning to Cairo, hang a rag torn from their own clothes. This is, indeed, the desert! England, how dear, how delightful are thy breezy hills, thy verdant valleys, and thy sheltered glades!

The Arab horses are noble animals, and those in the stables of the pasha, of the Nedj breed, are what he wanted to match against the best horses that England could produce. The tent of the Bedouin Arab is rude and simple. It is formed of felt, and is open in front and at the sides, seldom having any divisions. An encampment by moonlight has a solitary but highly picturesque