was one o'clock, and the heat of the sun about a hundred and sixty degrees. Our sailors, who were waiting for us, had luckily a bardak full of water, which they sprinkled upon us; but though a little refreshed, it was not possible to climb the sides of the pit; they unfolded their turbans, and slinging them round our bodies drew us to the top." Our travellers accounted for the absence of the Arabs by saying that they were employed in bringing out the mummies, and made the best of their way to the boat; there were delays, however, in starting, and they had not sailed very far before they were overtaken by Turkish soldiers and carried before the governor of Manfaloot charged with the murder of the Arabs. By connivance of the governor they made their escape, but were once again overtaken and brought back. The matter was finally settled by the payment of twelve who had died. We are glad to learn that the third Arab, whose abandonment by Mr. Legh and his companions can hardly be called heroic, managed to make his way out of the cave alive. almost deprived of the power of return- | trench. When we reached the open air it ing. At this moment the torch of the first Arab went out; I was close to him and saw him fall on his side-he uttered a groan, his legs were strongly convulsed, and I heard a rattling noise in his throat - he was dead. The Arab behind me, seeing the torch of his companion extinguished, and conceiving that he had stumbled, passed me, advanced to his assistance, and stooped. I observed him appear faint, totter and fall in a moment he also was dead. The third Arab came forward, and made an effort to ap. proach the bodies, but stopped short. We looked at each other in silent horror. The danger increased every instant; our torches burned faintly; our breathing became more difficult; our knees tottered under us, and we felt our strength nearly gone. There was no time to be lost. The American, Barthon, cried to us to 'take courage,' and we began to move back as fast as we could. We heard the remain-piastres to the widows of the two Arabs ing Arab shouting after us, calling us Caffres, imploring our assistance, and upbraiding us with deserting him. But we were obliged to leave him to his fate, expecting every moment to share it with him. The windings of the passages through which we had come increased the difficulty of our escape; we might take a wrong turn and never reach the great chambers we had first entered. Even supposing we took the shortest road, it was but too probable that our strength would fail us before we arrived. We had each of us, separately and unknown to one another, observed attentively the different shapes of the stones which projected into the galleries we had passed, so that each had an imperfect clue to the labyrinth that we had now to retrace. We compared notes, and only on one occasion had a dispute; the American differing from my friend and myself. In this dilemma we determined by the majority, and were for tunately right. Exhausted with fatigue and terror, we reached the edge of the deep trench which remained to be crossed before we got into the great chamber. Mustering all my strength I leaped, and was followed by the American. Smelt stood on the brink ready to drop with fatigue. He called to us for God's sake to help him over the fosse, or at least stop, if only for five minutes, to allow him time to recover his strength. It was impossible; to stay was death, and we could not resist the desire to push on and reach the open air. We encouraged him to summon all his force, and he cleared the From The Spectator. ON THE VERGE OF SPRING. THE sun gains in power each day, and at noon quickens all life. The chaffinches call from out the beeches, and sometimes even their song is heard. The metallic "clink" of the partridges is heard in the meadows, and the loud trill of a tiny wren comes from the old wall. There in the elms the missel-thrushes are flying, and some have paired. The robins are leaving the homesteads for the woods, and with the sun a brighter crimson comes upon their breasts. By the river-side the signs of awakening life are everywhere. Pushing from beneath the drift-stuff, the bigflowered butterbur lifts its dull composite flower, and the first humble bee bungles at the corolla tubes. A single celandine lights up the bank with its yellow star, and is the precursor of the flowers. The leaves of the anemone or wind-flower show in the wood, as do those of the violet. There upon the topmost spray of a silver birch is perched the cleanly cut, orange-billed blackbird whistling to his mate. Let us listen a while, and whilst listening examine this sprig of hazel. Bot anists tell us that the hazel is a monoecious | heaps of shells, and prominent among them tree, thereby implying that its flowers are those of two species, the gridle snail of two kinds, male and female. Arranged (Helix nemoralis) and the rufus snail in their pendulous catkins, the male flow- (Helix refuscens). ers are easily recognized. For the exquisite female flowers we shall have to search closely. They are grouped in tiny crimson bundles, and surrounded by scalelike bracts for protection. The process of fertilization in the hazel is brought about by the agency of the wind, - or we may have aided it by shaking the tree in procuring our spray. When a catkin-covered hazel is shaken, the pollen falls from it in showers of golden dust. This comes in contact with the viscid pink female flowers, and fertilization is brought about as the brown nuts of autumn amply testify. In the stackyard, sparrows and finches are picking among the straw, and inside the pen are a dozen early lambs. The fieldfare is still with us, and flutters from out a bright-leaved holly. The scarlet berries of the latter afford food for the whole army of thrushes, and for other birds besides. The "blueback " - the game-bird of every young gunner - will not long stay, for the pairing of its congeners must remind it of the spruce-firs of its far northern home. A flock of gulls are picking among the brown loam upturned by the plough, and through the It is the first day of fishing. Flogging elm-tree tops the rooks are flying and cawthe trout-streams in spring is the very es-ing. They spent the morning in going to sence of life, and of the angling season and from their nests, and in pulling the the first days are the most delicious. A dozen bright fish are in my basket, pink-spotted, silvery trout, well conditioned for the season. Passing downstream, dippers flit from the green mossy stones, and ever and anon drop into the cold water. Even now they have their domed nests appended to the dripping rocks. Now and again the green king fishers dart past to the tunnelled banks of the yellow-sanded holm. By the streamside life most prevails. The artery of the fields seems to draw about it all animate nature, and in return yields up its stores. Along the margin of the stream the watervoles have begun to drill, having emerged from their retreats at the invitation of the sun. A water-rail gets up at our approach, and trails its legs as it flies; it settles in a clump of rushes farther downstream. The drumming of snipe comes from the upper air, and soon the birds are perceived circling over a bit of marsh. Northern shepherds say that this drumming is a sign of fine weather, with frosty nights; and the weather-wisdom of field. workers is rarely at fault. The little snow-buntings are still with us, but soon will make for their far northern home. The jother day, at noon, I watched the action of a thrush on a lawn-like bit of grass. Hopping on in his peculiar, jerky fashion, he suddenly stopped, examined a flat stone, turned it over, and secured a large shelled snail. This he held in his bill, and flew off to an old stone wall. And then I watched him more closely. Against his well-fixed anvil he hammered the stubborn shell and cleverly dragged out the contents. On examining the spot after he had flown to the coppice, I found sticks about; but as yet they have not got A Some day at noon the first lark goes away through the blue; for an hour there is a song over all the land, and it seems as though winter is really over and gone. Nature is visibly stirred; we are on the eve of a mighty transformation, one of the great miracles of the year. The rural sounds of spring are heard on every hand, and the lowing cattle try their best to anticipate the season. Then there comes a day when we pass from winter to the heat of summer at a bound; and of a verity the time of the singing of birds is come. The earth is loosed, and green shoots are everywhere. The first of the soft-billed wood-birds have returned, and the insect hosts emerge to meet them. A white butterfly goes flitting by, and the scarlet lady. birds lazily revolve about the powdered limestone road. Upon that tiny green island in the riverreach, a breadth of golden daffodils are dancing and swaying in the breeze, the daffodil "that comes before the swallow dares, and takes the winds of March with beauty." Earliest almost of spring visit ants is the chiffchaff, or least willow wren, and even now its characteristic call comes up from the woods. And following closely upon the chiffchaff, if not actually preceding it, is the wheatear. This exquisitely formed and beautifully colored bird is partial to old stone walls, and is rarely found far from them. Soon, in some sheltering niche, it will have its pale-blue eggs. Whenever bird or flower has many provincial names, be assured it is dear to dwellers in the country; and the wheatear, which has its coming and its name by the time of the sowing of corn, is called fallow-chat, fallow-finch, and chacker. When disturbed from the wall, it flirts its tail and clacks, then dives, and reappears a dozen yards further on. Although long in coming, the sunny braes are now lit up with the yellow stars of the lesser celandine, and violets and primroses are peeping from beneath last year's dead leaves. Humble and hive bees are in field and garden, and the soft alders and willows are putting forth their feathery flowers. In their time of return to the elms, the sable rooks are almost as infallible as the swallow. There are three rookeries about me, two I can observe from the window, what a volume might be written anent the life-history of the bird! The raven, a near relation of theirs, is also an early breeder, and once whilst out with the hounds, I remember watching during a March snowstorm, a pair of ravens flying to and fro from the crags, feeding their young. At night the birds may be heard on migration, the curlews and golden plover on their way to the hills, their summer haunt and breeding grounds. The brambling and the northern thrushes have left or are leaving us, and last night a skein of geese were observed flying in line, making almost due north. Ducks and shore-birds, and wild-fowl generally, are following the same course. In short, as the winter birds fly north, the summer birds come from northern Africa and the warm shores of the Mediterranean. Passing at evening a pond, the first croaking of the frogs becomes audible, and several shrew-mice rustle across the path. The shelled snails are beginning to come abroad, and a bat, enticed from its retreat by the warmth, is hawking after day-flying insects. The wood-ants are now first seen, and the dor-beetle comes abroad. On and about the trout-streams several of the ephemera sport their gauzy wings in the sunlight, and then afford food for the spring trout. A visit to the marsh reveals a few nests (if the prepared depression can be so called) of the lapwing, and a single snipe remains by the runner that is just now aspiring to be a stream. A few pairs of woodcock are evidently remaining in the coppice to breed. Walking through these, the laughing cry of the woodpecker is heard, and the love-notes of the wood-pigeons. The squirrels have left their dreys and are ever active in the pine-tree tops. The crowing of pheasants may be heard at intervals on the margin of the wood, and the partridges are paired among the gorse. In the moonlight on the fallows, the hares are as wild as they are said to be in March, and now fall an easy prey to the poacher. But hares are his only booty, for the breeding gamebirds are worthless. The poacher never follows his silent trade when the markets are closed to him. Out of doors everything testifies that spring is slowly marching up the way. In her paths will follow her starry train, her charm of birds, and the soft winds which blow from the sunny south. A HINT TO THOSE ABOUT TO BUILD by faults. Comparing these ascertained facts HOUSES IN VOLCANIC DISTRICTS.-The Rocio tunnel was driven under the city of Lisbon during 1887-89, and M. Choffat, of the Geological Survey of Portugal, took the opportunity to examine the rocks traversed, which he found to be cretaceous and tertiary strata, associated with basaltic rocks, and dislocated with those recorded of the great earthquake of 1755, he finds that structures on alluvial ground near rivers were invariably overthrown on tertiary strata the smaller buildings alone stood, while on cretaceous and basaltic foundations neither small nor large houses were thrown down. English Mechanic VI. CAN THERE BE A SCIENce of CharacteR? National Review, VIII. A BATtle Described FROM THE RANKS,. Nineteenth Century, X. EMILY Pfeiffer, . Cornhill Magazine, 157 Cornhill Magazine, 161 167 Temple Bar, Spectator, 190 192 For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks, and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, 18 cents. ARE your grave eyes graver growing? 'Sweetheart, may I look, At the mighty thoughts which move you Has the buried singer left us Or were all the songs he gave us Come with me, he found his music Where a little mossy pathway Lies beside the stream, Long ago the poet lingered; Sun and pale star-beam PLATO TO ASTER. Αστέρας εἰσαθρεῖς, ἀστὴρ ἐμός. Είθε γενοίμην Touched his lips, while there he wandered,THY gaze is on the starry skies, Summer time and spring, And the mighty woods and river Would I were they, to bend unnumber'd eyes Thou star to me. Taught him how to sing. In gaze on thee. CAROLINE Radford. Argosy. S. H. H. |