CHAPTER XVI. LIFE UPON THE NILE-MEMPHIS. Smooth went our boat along the summer seas, On either side drew its slope line of green, Peered as we passed; and Nile's soft azure hue, As thus we wandered far from sounds of care, READER! even you may some day be induced to change the feverish life of Europe, with all its perplexing enjoyments, its complicated luxuries, and its manifold cares for the silence, simplicity, and freedom of a life on the desert and the river. Has society palled upon you? Have the week-day struggles of the world made you wish for some short sabbath of repose ? Has our coarse climate chafed your lungs, and do they require the soothing of balmily breathing breezes ?-Come away to the Nile! Has love, or hate, or ambition, or any other ephemeral passion, ruffled up a storm in our butterboat of existence? Here you will find that calm counsellor Egeria, whose name is Solitude. Have the marvellous stories of the old world sunk into your soul, and do you seek for their realization? Or have mere curiosity and the spirit of unrest driven you forth to wander? Come away to the Nile. Here are sunshines that are never clouded, and fragrant airs as gentle as a maiden's whisper; instead of northern gales that howl around you as if you were an old battlement. Here are nights all a-glow with stars, and a crescent moon, that seems bowing to you by courtesy, not bent double by rheumatism. You never hear the sound of your native tongue; and somehow men don't talk, and therefore don't think, so lightly when they have to translate their thoughts into a strange language. Here is the highest species of monastic retirement: you stand apart from the world; you see its inhabitants so widely differing from yourself in their appearance, their habits, their hopes, and their fears, that you are enabled to look upon man in the abstract and to study his phenomena without prejudice. As you recede from Europe further and further on, towards the silent regions of the Past, you live more and more in that Past; the river over which you glide the desert, the forest, the very air you breathe-are calm; the temples, in their awful solitudes, the colossal statues, the tombs, with their guardian sphinxes, all are profoundly calm; and, at length even your island restlessness softens down, and merges into the universal peace around. Cairo for the present farewell. It was late when I issued from the gates, but it was impossible to be in a hurry on such an evening, and on such a spot. The distance between the modern metropolis and the river was once occupied by Babylon, and is now broken by many a mound and chasm-the distorted features of a city that died a violent death. The metropolism of Egypt had an uneasy life of it. To say nothing of its youth at Thebes, it has wandered about Lower Egypt, as if it were a mere encampment. Under the name of Memphis, it remained for some time on the western bank of the river. It fled from Nebuchadnezzar to the opposite side under the "alias" of Babylon; paid a visit to Alexandria under the Ptolemies; and returned to Babylon, where it was besieged by Amrou. A dove built its nest in the tent of the Saracen general; and he, who had ruthlessly ravaged and laid waste the dwellings of man, would not disturb the domestic arrangements of a bird: Babylon was taken, but he ordered a new city to be built from its ruins on the site where this dove sat hatching. Thus Fostat* became the metropolis of Egypt. The nomade instinct was too strong for its repose, however, and under the Fatimites, it was obliged to start again, and remove to its present position, where it dwells under the name of Misr el Kahira, "the victorious city," or, in plain English, Grand Cairo. There are some remains of these former cities still existing, among which is a fine aqueduct, and some buildings called Joseph's Granaries, which are still used for that purpose. Some hundred years ago, they say, there was a great scarcity of corn in Egypt: the people were daily perishing of want; yet some avaricious merchants hoarded up their stock until it became worth its weight in gold. Among these was an old miser named Amin, who had filled one of these Granaries at the last plenteous harvest. Day by day, as the famine wasted his fellow-citizens, he sat upon the steps of his corn-store, speculating on their sufferings, and calculating how he could make the utmost usury out of God's bounty. At length there was no more corn elsewhere; famishing crowds surrounded his store-house, and besought him, as a charity, to give them a little food for all their wealth. Gold was piled around him; the miser's soul was satisfied with the prospect of boundless riches. Slowly he unclosed his iron doors, but recoiled, terror-stricken, from his treasury. Heaven had sent the worm into his corn, and, instead of piles of yellow wheat, he gazed on festering masses of rottenness and corruption. Starving as the people were, they raised a shout of triumph at the manifest judgment; but Amin heard it not—he had perished in his hour of evil pride. The sun was setting behind the Pyramids when I embarked; but night and day made little difference in this country, and the former is only associated with the idea of rest when it happens to be too dark to see. It was bright moonlight as I mustered. our swarthy crew on the river's edge. Their countenances * A tent. were full of hope and eagerness; and, when their inspection was concluded, each kissed my hand and placed it on his head, in sign of devotion and fidelity. Their dress was principally a pair of loose cotton drawers reaching to the knee, a long blue shirt, and the red cloth cap called a "tarboosh," which, on state occasions, is wound round with a white turban by the lower classes. The crew consisted of a rais, or captain, a pilot, and eight rowers, whom, with one exception, we found good-humored, faithful, honest, and affectionate fellows. Two servants completed the equipment. One of these, named Mahmoud, has the well-deserved character of being the best dragoman in Egypt. He had none of the indolence of his race; always actively employed, his song was never silent except when exchanged for conversation; strikingly handsome, keen, and intelligent, he had unbounded influence over the crew; and was welcomed eagerly by peasant and governor wherever we landed. From Cairo to the depths of Nubia, he seemed intimately acquainted not only with every locality, but with every individual along the river. He had accompanied Lord Prudhoe on both expeditions into the interior of Africa, and spoke of him with gratitude and enthusiasm. Now the cable is loosed, a long towing-line is drawn along the shore by the sailors; the pilot perches himself on the spar-deck; the rais squats at the bow; and the Nile ripples round our brow, as we start on a two months' voyage, with as little ceremony as if only crossing the river in a ferry-boat. Palms, palaces, and busy crowds glide by; the river bends, and the wind becomes favorable, the sailors wade or swim on board, enormous sails fall from the long yards, like wide unfolding wings; the union-jack floats from the poop, and our private flag from the lofty spars; the pyramids of Gizeh on our right, the distant minarets of Cairo on our left, slowly recede, and the cool night breezes follow us, laden with perfumes from Rhoda, and faint murmurs from the great city. The crew gather about the fire with "dark faces pale around that rosy flame ;" and discuss, in a whisper, the appearance of the pale stranger, who reclines on a pile of Persian carpets as contentedly as if he had been born and bred under the shadow of the palm. It was a lovely night, with just wind enough to bosom out our snowy sails that heaved as with a languid respiration; the moon shone forth in glory as if she were still the bright goddess of the land, and loved it well. No longer do the white-robed 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 harmonizes 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 si lence for a moment, but it only makes the calm that follows more profound. All nature seemed so tranced, and all the world wound in such a dream, that we can scarcely realize 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 mist arranges for him. There is scarcely a |