"Of things unseen how canst thou deem aright," Then answered the righteous Artegal,

"Sith thou misdeemst so much of things in sight?
What though the sea with waves continual

Do eat the earth, it is no more at all;
Ne is the earth the less, or loseth aught:
For whatsoever from one place doth fall
Is with the tide unto another brought:

For there is nothing lost, that may be found if sought.

"Likewise the earth is not augmented more

By all that dying unto it do fade ;

For of the earth they formed were of yore:
However gay their blossoms or their blade
Do flourish now, they into dust shall vade.
What wrong then is it if that when they die
They turn to that whereof they first were made?
All in the power of their great Maker lie:

All creatures must obey the voice of the Most High.

"They live, they die, like as He doth ordain,
Nor ever any asketh reason why.

The hills do not the lowly vales disdain ;
The vales do not the lofty hills envy.
He maketh kings to sit in sovereignty;
He maketh subjects to their power obey;
He pulleth down, He setteth up on high;
He gives to this, from that He takes away :
For all we have is His: what He list do, He may.

"Whatever thing is done, by Him is done,
Ne any may His mighty will withstand;
Ne any may His sovereign power shun,

Ne loose that He hath bound with steadfast band.
In vain therefore dost thou now take in hand

To call to count, or weigh His works anew,
Whose counsels' depth thou canst not understand;
Since of things subject to thy daily view

Thou dost not know the causes nor the courses due.

"For take thy balance, if thou be so wise,

And weigh the wind that under heaven doth blow; Or weigh the light that in the East doth rise;

Or weigh the thought that from man's mind doth flow.

But if the weight of these thou canst not show, Weigh but one word which from thy lips doth fall: For how canst thou those greater secrets know, Thou dost not know the least thing of them all? Ill can he rule the great, that cannot reach the small."

Therewith the Giant much abashed said,

That he of little things made reckoning light;
Yet the least word that ever could be laid
Within his balance he could weigh aright.
"Which is," said he, "more heavy then in weight,
The right or wrong, the false or else the true?"
He answered that he would try it straight:
So he the words into his balance threw ;

But straight the winged words out of his balance flew.

Wroth wax'd he then, and said that words were light,
Ne would within his balance well abide :

But he could justly weigh the wrong or right,
"Well then,” said Artegal, "let it be tried:
First in one balance set the true aside."
He did so first, and then the first he laid

In th' other scale; but still it down did slide,

And by no means could in the weight be stay'd:

For by no means the false will with the truth be weigh'd.

"Now take the right likewise," said Artegal,

"And counterpoise the same with so much wrong." So first the right he put into one scale;

And then the Giant strove with puissance strong To fill the other scale with so much wrong: But all the wrongs that he therein could lay Might not it poise; yet did he labour long, And swat, and chaf'd, and proved every way: Yet all the wrongs could not a little right down weigh.

Which when he saw, he greatly grew in rage,
And almost would his balances have broken,
But Artegal him fairly 'gan assuage,

And said, "Be not upon thy balance wroken;
For they do nought but right or wrong betoken;
But in the mind the doom of right must be :
And so likewise of words, the which be spoken,
The ear must be the balance, to decree ;

The judge, whether with truth or falsehood they agree.

But he the right from thence did thrust away;
For it was not the right which he did seek;
But rather strove extremities to weigh,
Th' one to diminish, th' other for to eke:
For of the mean he greatly did misleek.
Whom when so lewdly minded Talus found,
Approaching nigh unto him cheek by cheek
He shouldered him from off the higher ground,
And down the rock him throwing in the sea him drown'd.

Like as a ship, whom cruel tempest drives
Upon a rock with horrible dismay,

Her shattered ribs in thousand pieces rives,
And spoiling all her gears and goodly ray
Does make herself misfortune's piteous prey.
So down the cliff the wretched Giant tumbled;
His battered balances in pieces lay,

His timbered bones all broken rudely rumbled:
So was the high aspiring with huge ruin humbled.

That when the people, which had thereabout
Long waited, saw his sudden desolation,
They 'gan to gather in tumultuous rout,
And mutining to stir up civil faction
For certain loss of so great expectation:
For well they hoped to have got great good
And wondrous riches by his innovation :
Therefore resolving to revenge his blood
They rose in arms, and all in battle order stood.

The Nile and the Desert.

H. MARTINEAU.

[FROM EASTERN LIFE, PAST AND PRESENT.]

DIODORUS SICULUS tells us that Antæ (supposed by Wilkinson to be probably the same with Ombte) had charge of the Ethiopian and Lybian parts of the kingdom of Osiris, while Osiris went abroad through the earth to benefit it with his gifts. Antæ seems not to have been always in friendship with the house of Osiris; and was killed here by Hercules on behalf of Osiris; but he was worshipped here, near the spot where the wife and son of Osiris avenged his death on his murderer, Typho. The temple sacred to Antæ, (or, in the Greek, Antæus,) parts of which were standing thirty years ago, was a rather modern affair, having been built about the time of the destruction of the Colossus of Rhodes. Ptolemy Philopater built it; and he was the Egyptian monarch who sent presents and sympathy to Rhodes on occasion of the fall of the Colossus. Now, nothing remains of the monuments but some heaps of stones; nothing whatever that can be seen from the river. The traveller can only look upon hamlets of modern Arabs, and speculate on the probability of vast treasures hid in the sand."

If I were to have the choice of a fairy gift, it should be like none of the many things I fixed upon in my childhood, in readiness for such an occasion. It should be for a great winnowing fan, such as would, without injury to human eyes and lungs, blow away the sand which buries the monuments of Egypt. What a scene would be laid open then! One statue and sarcophagus, brought from Memphis, was buried one hundred and thirty feet below the mound surface. Who knows but that the greater part of old Memphis, and of other glorious cities, lies almost unharmed under the sand? Who can say what armies of sphinxes, what sentinels of colossi, might start up on the banks of the river, or come forth from the hill-sides of the interior, when the cloud of sand had been wafted away? The ruins which we now go to

study might then appear occupying only eminences, while below might be ranges of pylons, miles of colonnade, temples intact, and gods and goddesses safe in their sanctuaries. What quays along the Nile, and the banks of forgotten canals! what terraces, and flights of wide shallow steps! What architectural stages might we not find for a thousand miles along the river, where now the orange sands lie so smooth and light as to show the track— the clear foot-print-of every beetle that comes out to bask in the sun! But it is better as it is. If we could once blow away the sand, to discover the temples and palaces, we should next want to rend the rocks, to lay open the tombs; and Heaven knows that this would set us wishing further. It is best as it is; for the time has not come for the full discovery of the treasures of Egypt. It is best as it is. The sand is a fine means of preservation; and the present inhabitants perpetuate enough of the names to serve for guidance when the day for exploration shall come. The minds of scholars are preparing for an intelligent interpretation of what a future age may find; and science, chemical and mechanical, will probably supply such means hereafter as we have not now, for treating and removing the sand, when its conservative office has lasted long enough. We are not worthy yet of this great unveiling; and the inhabitants are not, from their ignorance, trustworthy as spectators. It is better that the world should wait, if only care be taken that the memory of no site now known be lost. True as I feel it to be that we had better wait, I was for ever catching myself in a speculation, not only on the buried treasures of the mounds on shore, but on means for managing this obstinate sand.

And yet, vexatious as is its presence in many a daily scene, this sand has a bright side to its character, like everything else. Be sides its great office of preserving unharmed for a future age the records of the oldest times known to man, the sand of the desert has, for many thousand years, shared equally with the Nile the function of determining the character and the destiny of a whole people, who have again operated powerfully on the characters and destiny of other nations. Everywhere the minds and fortunes

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