resumes its northerly direction, and, entering another spacious and fertile valley, passes by Jirjeh and Osyut (or Siout). Near the latter place, the Libyan chain. begins to bend towards the west; and the descent from the Desert becomes so gradual, that the country is on that side much exposed to clouds of sand, by which it would have been overwhelmed long since, but for the canal called Bahr Yusuf (Joseph's River), which secures the irrigation of the land between itself and the Nile, and thus prevents the further encroachment of the Desert. Here the Said, or upper division of Egypt, terminates, and the Wustani, or middle region, extending as far as the fork of the Delta, commences, The more the valley of the Nile gains in width, and the. western mountains lose in height, the greater is the danger from its proximity to the Libyan Desert. That remarkable portion of Africa (El Sahra) is, for the most part, covered with sand or very fine gravel, the minuter particles of which are, at certain seasons, carried by tempestuous gales over a great extent of country. It is manifest, that the less the ground is cultivated the fewer the trees and shrubs it bears, and the more its irrigation is neglected, the more rapidly will the sand from the Desert encroach on the plains or valleys near the river. The cultivable tracts, therefore, in the middle and lower Egypt, have long been daily decreasing; and were it not for the canal just mentioned, few spots uncovered by sand would have remained on the western bank of the Nile.

Beyond Beni-Suweif (in lat. 29° 9′ 12′′ N.), the Libyan chain of hills again closes in towards the N.E., and forms the northern boundary of the large basin between Derut-el-Sherif and Atfih; but at El Ilahun,

to the N.W. of the former, it is broken by one of the many transverse valleys, and thus opens a passage into the province of Fayyum (or Fayoum). Beyond that vale, which is merely a large bay or sinuosity in the border of these mountains, they approach the river with a steeper declivity, and have a nearly level summit overlooking the country below. This table-land, between the Nile and Fayyum, was chosen for the site of the pyramids. On its north-western side, the hills shelve off in that direction, and terminate in the cliffs and promontories which mark the coast of ancient Cyrenaica. The eastern or Arabian chain has generally more transverse breaks and ravines, is more lofty and • rugged, and comes closer to the river, than the hills on the opposite side. The northern part of it is called El Moqattam (the hewn), probably from the quarries formed in its sides, and is connected by several inferior ranges with the mountains of Arabia Petræa.

Of the transverse valleys leading to the Red Sea, the best known are, the Valley of Cosseir, and that of the Wanderings of the Children of Israel; the former is the most frequented road between the Upper Egypt and the sea, and the latter the route probably followed by the Israelites on their return to the promised land. But besides these, there are five or six others at present known, and several, probably, unexplored. Some were much frequented anciently, which are now rarely if ever visited: such have been the ruinous consequences of a system of misgovernment, under which the commerce of Egypt has dwindled away to almost nothing. Towns upon the Red Sea, once flourishing emporiums, have ceased to exist; and Berenice, anciently celebrated for the greatness of its wealth and

commerce, is now so completely forgotten, that even the road to it was unknown till traced a few years ago by MM. Cailliaud and Belzoni. The narrow ravines between the hills on the western side were, till very lately, equally unknown, though the Oases and the roads leading to them were described by the Greeks and Arabs. Two lead from Jirjeh and Esne into the greater Oasis (El Wah-el-kharijeh), and one from Fayyum into the smaller (El Wah-el-dakhileh). On the western side of the Delta, the direction of the valleys is nearly from S.E. to NW.; and Siyah, or Shantariyyeh, the Oasis of Ammon, is connected with Egypt by branches which diverge more towards the west, from the Bahr Bilama (Waterless Sea), i. e. the celebrated desert called Scete, or the Valley of Natron.

The traveller, in general, first obtains a fair view of the pyramids from the city of Grand Cairo, on the east bank of the Nile, at a distance of about five miles in a straight line. We are told that the first view, as in our approach to the "Dance of Giants," or Stonehenge, on Salisbury plain, does not strike the traveller with the idea of excessive grandeur, any more than a hill of moderate dimensions when seen at a small distance: comparison being essential for a proper conception of these wondrous fabrics, we have here no standard by which to measure them; and for this reason the pyramids do not equal the expectations formed by any spectator who sees them for the first time. The clearness of the atmosphere, which defines their angles so sharply, and the want of some suitable measure of size, sufficiently account for this. But still there are other impressions that serve to give some idea of the enormous mass of these objects;—at the

distance of four or five miles they seem close at hand; but the traveller, as he advances, has abundant time to reflect on the magnitude of the object which has given him so erroneous an idea of distance. This impression is caused partly by their magnitude, partly by their forms. Being large undivided masses of four equal sides, there are no small parts for the eye to dwell upon, as in ordinary temples, where the indistinctness of particular portions, owing to the minuteness of the details, serves to correct false impressions of distance, which it is the tendency of the whole mass to produce.

When the inundation of the Nile is at its height, a very circuitous route of nearly 20 miles to the pyramids becomes necessary; but this journey is described as a most agreeable one, leading at times through woods of palm, date, and acacia trees, or over barren and sandy tracts, without a vestige of verdure or population. The Nile in its overflow encompasses whole villages and their surrounding groups of trees, and amid the waters rises ever and anon a lonely palm. Here a hamlet seems floating on the wave, above which hangs the foliage and fruit of various trees, and there are seen hills of sand, rocks, and ruins of temples, looking like so many beacons peering above the watery

waste.

For want of some neighbouring object with which to compare this immense pile, no adequate idea is formed of the real dimensions even of its component parts, till the traveller, on arriving at its base, measures its length by his steps, and finds the first tier of stones even with his chest.

The quantity of stone used in this pyramid is estimated at six millions of tons,—which is just three

times that of the vast breakwater thrown across Plymouth Sound; and, as we are told, one hundred thousand men were for twenty years employed in building this now empty sepulchre, and the whole of the material of the structure was brought from above Thebes in Upper Egypt.

In the hazy light of early morning, the first view of the pyramids appears like a mountain of singular shape, inclining on one side, as if its foundation had partially given way. Approaching nearer, as the objects become distinct, the three great pyramids, and one smaller one, are in view, towering higher and higher above the plain, and when the traveller is above a mile distant, he is impressed with the feeling that he can touch them; on nearer approach, the gigantic dimensions grow upon him, and, looking up their sloping sides to the lofty summits, he becomes sensible of the enormous magnitude of the mass above him.

The severe simplicity of form, and the sublime purity of design, combined with solidity of construction, create a sensation of awe when the traveller gazes on the mass, each side of the base of which, measured round the stones let into the rock, is 765 feet; covering a surface of about eleven acres.

Never can the impression made by their appearance on the mind of the traveller be obliterated. When reflecting the sun's rays, they appear as white as snow, and of such surprising magnitude, that nothing he had previously conceived in imagination can prepare him for the spectacle he beholds. The sight instantly convinces him that no power of description, no delineation, can convey ideas adequate to the effect produced in viewing these stupendous monuments. The formality of their