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and balance this precious relic of a primæval world, with the last one we secured, upon the back of yonder camel. We must be off; it's growing hot."

A gentle undulation-easy, yet uneasy sweeping, swaying, swelling-too high, too low, yet all soft and hushed, as the heaving of the breast of a deep sleeper. I lay on my back, pinioned, of course, but likewise jammed close to other recumbent things all rocking away along with myself, like the low, dim, wooden ceiling a few feet above me. Had I possessed eyes in my head, I could not have turned them round to see anything. As it was, my substituted vision had the freedom of a swivel. I perceived that we were a family-party of ancient Egyptians, amongst which I was some centuries the junior; but, more than this, my glance penetrated the yarn next me, and got in through the swathings of thirty centuries to the cold-roast man inside the adjoining mummy-case. What were my feelings at finding that I knew him intimately! In fact, he and I had (in the flesh) been in the habit of frequenting the same coffee-house in town, and had actually smoked a cigar toge ther towards dusk (not being particularly flush in wardrobe) under the Opera Colonnade, not a week previous to my what shall I call it? mummification, I suppose. Here we were now (in the pasteboard), side by side once more, considerably reduced in the flesh, but made up in linen. "Hallo, neighbour!"

be

"Hallo, again; who are you?" "Why, don't you know me?" "What? — why it surely can't

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"Birmingham goods, exactly. I was exported single." "How so?"

"A fellow made me up as a private speculation. I came undone on board; and was near been found out, for I had been passing for plaster-of-paris, which has no bowels, you know. However, my man buttoned me together in an old pea-jacket of his own, until he got me ashore, and there the Arabs had me bandaged and dated in a twinkling."

"Are there any more of us aboard

now ?"

"A dozen, or so. Sir Eōthen Flimsy has five or six to his own share. The rest are for the public bodies. There, that poor fellow's sick. Its well he's tight, or we might be in a bad way." "What a glorious thing the past is!"

"What do you call the past?"

"Why, three thousand years ago." "Bless you, that's my future! I shall not be down there for half a dozen centuries, or so. Read my cover, 'King Menes.'"

"I was his bee-catcher, and had a dozen of wives to help me in the swarming season."

"A-chish-o!"

"A sneeze I vow, in the treble clef, from yonder mummy. See, a lady is in the case. Excuse us, madam, if we have been a little lax, or so."

"Oh, dear! they've put me in the draft of this port-hole, and I shall die of coryza! The impossibility, too, of getting one's pocket-handkerchief to one's nose!"

"Surely I ought to know that voice! Mrs.

"

"Oh! breath not my name, dear sir; I should never survive the disclosure. I was pressed, and sent to sea, like an able-bodied seaman; and now return, bandaged as if I were bound for Greenwich Hospital for the rest of my life. Is there no escape from such a fate?"

"Lady!" exclamed I, in a transport of gallantry, "I cannot, as you see, lay myself at your feet. Nay, I am unable even to place my hand on my heart; but if devotion the most sincere, determination the most

Here a sailor sat down upon my face, and began knocking out the ashes of his pipe on the right wing of Netpé, just where the second tier of my hiero

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glyphics began, as if there was no such
thing as antiquity at all.

To own that I blushed beneath the
ignoble pressure of the sailcloth extre-
mity of the tar, would be a weakness.
Nevertheless, I did feel a sense of infe-
riority; and begun to think that a great
many thousand years do not add so very
much to one's dignity as some people
imagine; while the want of a full use
of the toe of the right foot, in a case of
insult such as this, is scarcely compen-
sated for by being cousin-german to
King Shishak, and a lineal descendant
of the sacred Bull. The fellow actually
began to kick his heels against my ribs,
to the tune of "Billy Taylor." I would
have given anything for my fair compa-
nion's cold, so that I could only have
sneezed. A barrel of gunpowder, I
suppose, would not have done the work
more effectually. He would have been
blown up through the quarter-deck;
and, had he come down again, would
have taken care for the future how he
came to an anchor on countenances of
my dynasty. As it was, I had to sub-
mit, and treated the fellow's familiari-
ties with silent contempt, feeling gra-
tified, at least, since it was to be so
(for the honour of our common nation)
that it was not my female friend he had
selected for his sedentary attentions.

And so we moved heavily, dreaming
on, laid corpse-like in lengths together,
heaving together, sinking together-
luggage, freight, weighed by the ton,
charged for as goods, chalked over,
ticketed, corded, stowed away, creak-
ing and groaning as we heaved, and
straining with the straining timbers,
damaged by bilge- water, nibbled
by rats, rubbed and chafed by hard
corners; in a word, left to ourselves,
save when serving for cushions to
the sail-cloth sterns of lubberly fore-
mast-men, who evidently had the best
of it. Thus we drove on, on, ever move-
less, though advancing, helpless masses,
cold, damp, dead

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the apartment to reserved seats, to have a nearer view; and a black board, in it; and a secretary, and gentlemen and a red arm-chair, and a president of the press, with flimsy paper and thority, and pomp, and vanity, and stumpy pencils; and science, and authe whole parade of antiquarianism brought to bear ON ME!

Yes; there I was, laid along majestically in the midst, pretty much like the body of Julius Cæsar; a professor, à la Mark Antony, mounted on a rostrum beside me, with a wand in his hand; while two acolytes stood near, each armed with weapons of gleaming significance. I WAS TO BE UNROLLED! The professor placed his wand upon my nose, and moved it down my body to my toes. The whole room was hushed. The short-hand writers booked the evolution.

"Here," said he, "here it is at last! Behold the mummy from its Memphian bed! That which hath lain silent with its secret for its cycle of centuries, in the heart of the past, unbosoms itself in your presence, and makes its confession before the assembled science of the nineteenth century!"

An astounding clatter of applause followed this burst, so loud, that my "Hear, hear!" was unheard.

"You have before you, Mr. President, a specimen of mummification, perfect in preservation, and unique in dimensions. Observe the capacity of chest! [Forty-two inches, tailor's measure, 1 murmured, but without the words being caught]. Let no man say that there were not giants in those days. If we have grown in wisdom, we have certainly not increased in stature, since the twentieth dynasty. Observe, sir, how carefully and accurately they set forth the titles of the deceased. Here, in this running band of hieroglyphics, any newspaper reporter (of which class I see such able representatives in the room) could read the name, family, profession, age, and period. To then I appeal to testify to the accuracy of my interpretations."

Both young men bent with double zeal over their pencils. I knew they might as well be asked to put the thread of the professor's discourse through the eye of Cleopatra's needle.

"The object before you," he con

J

tinued, "appears, from his shell, to have been huntsman to the high-priest of Isis, in the reign of King Sheshouk, of the twenty-second dynasty. You see the several symbols-the dogs and deer-the mitre and paunch-the royal emblem inclosed in a circle, as much as to say, all round my crown-and the sacred ring with wings. Here is Netpe, you see, with a slight burn on her right pinion, caused, no doubt, by the close proximity of the lamp the embaliners used in the process. This individual, therefore, may have livedmay?-nay, must have lived [I actually shook with laughter at the emphasis] at least three thousand years ago, when, considering his profession, he may have helped Herodotus to kill the field-mice at Pelusium; have drawn the cover for King Cambyses, and have even whipped the hounds from before the feet of Bucephalus !"

A buzz of mingled delight and astonishment greeted this announcement, followed by cries of" Cut him up!"

"Unbox him!"-" Unroll him !". "Have him out!" In the midst of which, the two myrmidons set to-saw, hammer, and chisel-and had my pasteboard off in a jiffey. For a moment I felt uncertain what to do, with my linen exposed, in its not very elegant condition, and a strong bouquet de Cleopatre about it, to the gaze of such an assembly; but at last, feeling that a few minutes must strip me, not only of my vesture, but of my honour and dignity, and leave me no older than the spectators, I made a desperate resolve to anticipate the result, and take the matter into my own hands. I waited till they had got the bandages a little loosed about my feet, and then;

starting up with a stentorian "Now, then!" I made full drive at the assem bly, who, falling back with the most frantic gestures of horror and dismay, began to tumble over each other in their endeavours to escape from the apartment. By the time the tumult was at its height, I had released my right hand; and, catching a glance of my original tormentor-the Thing amongst the crowd, I rushed upon him, and, seizing him by the ear, wrung it violently, exclaiming

"Is it possible you've the face.”

"What's all this? Why I've had s devil of a queer dream! You, my dear fellow? You, best of friends! excellent, world-famous JONATHAN FREKE SLINGSBY? Is it you who have been hunting and haunting me for the last

six hours ?"

"Me!" replied that worthy person

age.

"Why, my excellent friend, it is but this instant I have dropped in, and found you fast asleep in your armchair, with the invitation for last night's unrolling clasped firmly be tween your fingers. You have just made a desperate effort at one of my whiskers, which I only avoided by surrendering an ear to your discretion."

"This instant? Then a disputed point in the philosophy of dreams is cleared up for ever! You must know, Jonathan, a long and intricate series of adventures has been suggested by your presence. This series has, therefore, passed through my mind, and impressed itself through all its successive combi nations, in a moment of time. Dear Jonathan, how many questions more puzzling are set at rest by simply encountering a friend !"

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IRISH RIVERS.-NO. XII.

THE BARROW.-PART I.

We believe it was the philosophic
Dr. Samuel Johnson who wrote these
lines-

"Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round,

Where'er his stages may have been,
Must sigh to think he still has found
His warmest welcome at an inn."

And, without meaning to dispute the
conclusion which so eminent an autho-
rity has arrived at, we yet may venture
to doubt the universality of the rule, es-
pecially in warm-hearted, generous, hos-
pitable Ireland. True is it the landla-
dy's smiles are ever dimpling her face ;
the landlord is all urbanity; the waiters
most obsequious. Yet, if one was
not forced to encounter their atten-
tions, no person, we think, would readi-
ly leave the comforts of home for such
mercenary attentions, to say nothing
of dreary coffee-rooms, wearisome bed-
chambers, tired-looking sitting-rooms,
hard pieces of soap, and tough beef-
steaks.

But man is ever restless, and the stream of life flows onward. Progress marks its path, and, in those days of railroads and electric wires, the pulse of human life throbs with a rapid beat. The physical frame, confined in the close-pent street-bound, for the greater portion of the year, within the precincts of the city-sated, it may be, with social commune, longs for a little rest; pines, like a caged bird, for the freedom of the country; loves to cast the "quiet of a loving eye' upon the mountains, and to drink, through ears tired of man's discourse, the sounds which Nature hoards in all her nooks. This is our own case; and we steal away, when vacation allows us, to revel in our native land, following the course of some historic stream, gleaning such tales as we may

"From old wellheads of haunted rills,
And the heart of purple hills,
And shadowed caves of a sunny shore,
The choicest wealth of all the earth "-
If not

"Jewel, or shell, or starry ore,"
details of the rise and progress of ci-
vilisation-the spread of commerce-
the march of refinement-the great

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It has already been our pleasant task to guide the reader of our national periodical along the course of two of the three "Sister Rivers," having their sources in the same district; and, in Spenser's words—

"All which, long sund'red, do at last accord
To join in one-ere to the sea they come

So flowing all from one, all one at last become."
We have strayed along the banks of—

"First, the gentle Suire, that, making way

By sweet Clonmel, adorns rich Waterford;
The next, the stubborn Neure, whose waters grey
By faire Kilkenny and Rossponte bord."

And we now venture to conduct those
who will favour our pages with atten
tion along

"The goodly Barrow, which doth hoard

Great heaps of salmon in his deep bosom;"

wherein, although we may miss some of those features which gave peculiar interest to the former rivers-though no tiara of proud towers, as at Cashel, proclaims the sovereignty of olden time, or the lordly castle of the Ormond Butlers denotes the nobility of the present-yet we promise the reader the history of the Barrow, when viewed by the mellow light of its ancient splendour, with its ample store of ruined abbeys and chiefless castles, will not prove devoid of deep and lasting in

terest.

The recorded events connected with the history of the Barrow range from the earliest annals of this kingdom; but those which possess most interest for the general reader, date from the advent of the Anglo-Normans, at the time of the invasion. There is no lack of brave deeds claiming response from the martial breast, entwined with the ivy round each ancient castle, where now the battle-cry or mailed tread is

heard no more-where our footsteps seemed multiplied by the echoes, or our voice alone breaks the spell of silence which holds the once populous courts in its thrall. Sunshine and shower find ready access, where less resolute foes than Ireton and Cromwell retreated, baffled or defeated. There need be no reluctance to investigate the pretensions of many a warworn tower, which now shows the decrepitude of age; but, like the veteran soldier, plainly exhibits the scars of many a hard-fought fray. No fear need be entertained, lest the charm which imagination loves to cast round the stern old walls will be dispelled by a scrutiny into its past history. Here the fame of heroic deeds still lingers, where names famous in story mingled in the death-struggle-the Kavanagh and De Lacy, the O'More and Fitzgerald, O'Dempsy and Carew, with others well known in the bead-roll of fame. Their deeds are chronicled in our pages; nor are the peaceful and learned, the good and wise, forgotten. With the history of castled wall and busy town, the mountains high and valleys lowly, the picturesque and graceful, find a place. We notice with due reverence both the chieftain's hall and anchorite's cell; and we pause to contemplate and note down every spot identified with past greatness. The bones of those who filled a large space in public estimation during life are mouldering into dust; the plough, it may be, has levelled the sanctuary of their lowly graves; but, wherever mind consecrates their home as the spot their deeds rendered remarkable, we have loitered on our way to pay our tribute at the shrine of worth.

The

In the wild and rugged district forming the boundary between the King's and Queen's Counties, and rising into the lofty range of Sliabhbloom Mountains, the Barrow takes its first start into light. northern range of these highlands is remarkable for fertility; while, singularly enough, the southern, though sheltered and open to the sun's warmth, is barren, and covered, for the most part, with heath or coarse bent. These wild and bold passes occasionally soar to a considerable elevation; and one lofty peak bears the proud title of Aro er-the Height of Ireland-from the generally-received idea it is the most elevated spot in the land.

The defile in which the river has its source is called Glen Barrow, and it flows in a direction nearly parallel to the ridge of Cappard; it forms the northern and part of the eastern boundary of the counties, receiving as tributaries the Blackwater, the Trihogue, and the Oonass, which are not very considerable streams. It is navigable for barges from Athy; but, before we get thus far, it may be well to notice its course thither. Emerging from the high society of the mountains, and flowing by Tinnehinch, it leaves behind some objects of interest to the antiquarian-in a hermit's cell near Cappard House, and the ruins of a small church at Rerymore. Here, in some fit of caprice, the river appears to have taken a dislike to its ancient bed; and, making a sweep in the direction of Lough Duff, as if with the intention of paying a visit, left the old channel, which is yet discernible.

Near the borders of the King's County it is crossed by Ballyclure bridge, and is now in a district bearing the romantic name of Rosenallis, which is said to have derived its name from Rossa Failgea, eldest son of Cathaoir O'More. This locality is remarkable for quarries of soft white sandstone, which hardens on exposure to air, and is capable of high polish. It is wrought into chimney-pieces and hearthstones; a coarser kind used to be in much demand for flagging, but now Carlow flags have preference. The village is small, containing a neat church in good repair, and close by is an enclosed burial-ground, where those peaceful and industrious people called Quakers sleep their last sleep. Some remains of round towers appear on the hills around, but it is doubtful that they are of the veritable type, differing as they do from those circular stuctures our eminent archæologist, Dr. Petrie, has so lucidly treated of in his learned work. From the neighbouring ridge of Cappard, a portion of which rises to the elevation of 1,114 feet over the level of the sea, an extensive view is obtained, embracing the entire district. It commands the wild scenery of the Sliabhbloom mountains, and long tracts of verdure, with comfortable farmhouses, and fine tillage-ground; these are interspersed with patches of bog and moor. The towns of Mountmellick, Maryborough, Portarlington, Monasterevan, and Mountrath, with

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