wife; for this purpose, he need only repudiate the second. But there is a very singular feature connected with this: during the few days demanded by legal exigencies, the first wife has the right to choose a provisional husband. If he please her she adheres to him, and thus the fickle husband, who so recently had two wives, suddenly finds himself without

either.

At the season of our author's arrival at Berber, the Nile was very low, and it would have been impossible to pass the Waddy Halfa in a bark. Hence, the travellers decided on making a short cut across the waterless desert, a distance of one hundred leagues, with only one well half way. Hence the passage must be effected with great rapidity, or else the camels may break down. There is a special officer appointed to take charge of passengers from Berber to Korosko, known as the Sheikh-ul-Atmur, Sheikh of the Desert. His duties are to procure travellers the requisite number of camels, and, of course, he cheats them to his heart's content. Future travellers should be warned that the well-water is perfectly drinkable, and they can, therefore, well spare half a dozen of the camels which the sheik, from motives of consideration, presses on them.

or

The first part of the journey, as far as Abu-Hamed, was passed pleasantly enough; there was only one sharp attack of simoom, and M. Didier managed to lose his way only once, but the difficulties were now to begin. In the first place, the sheikh of Abu-Hamed insisted on their having six camels more to carry water, &c., for the eight days spent in reaching Korosko. At length, after a violent dispute, they compromised by taking three, which, of course, they did not require. Another of the disagreeables was, that one of the kabirs, or guides, they had brought with them from Berber, turned sulky, and they were glad to get rid of him, and, as he had been paid beforehand, he went back in triumph. Then they appealed to the sheikh of Abu-Hamed to find them a guide, which he tried to evade, but finding them resolute, he offered to accompany them himself, as a proof that he did his duty. They started, and had hardly gone a mile before the sheikh's dromedary ran away with him home, and they saw him no more. But such tricks upon travellers are common enough. Then, again, the worthy inhabitants of Abu-Hamed did their best to terrify the travellers by telling them of dreadful accidents.

The conversation turned continually on tragedies of this nature, of which the desert had been the theatre. Merchants wandering about, succumbing to fatigue, thirst, and dying for want of a drop of water; or it was, poor children of both sexes, dragged into slavery by the Jellabs, and who, worn out with misery, abandoned by their masters, and left for dead, had been devoured by hyenas. They talked also of a young girl carried off by a lover she had spurned, and who stabbed her in the midst of the desert. They spoke, too, about a young European who, having left the caravan, had not been able to find the track again, and had disappeared for ever in the immensity of the sands. This last accident had only happened a few days previously, and gave occasion for numerous comments. Some whispered that the disappearance of this unhappy man concealed a crime-a vengeance, according to some; a robbery, according to others.

This was not the first time that M. Didier had crossed a desert, but there was something about the present passage which depressed his spirits. It is necessary to travel very quickly for fear of knocking the

camels up.

There is no rest day or night, for, as the camel-drivers are owners of the animals, this is an additional incentive to them for haste. Hence they hardly allow the traveller time to breathe. And this haste was justifiable, for during one night's rest the pestilential simoom dried up thirty-seven of the fifty water-skins they had brought with them from Abu-Hamed. For three days and two nights the wretched camels had nothing to drink, until they reached the well of Bir-Mourad, situate just half way to Korosko. And, while the camels are drinking their fill, let us take a glance at the desert, such as M. Didier describes it:

This magnificent desert is the African Atmur in all the strength of the term: sand, sand, sand; not a tree, not a shrub, not a tuft of grass, not a trace of vegetation; it is sterility in its most naked and arid aspect, desolation of desolation. In vain you advance, nothing changes around you; nature is ever inflexibly the same; you appear to remain motionless, fixed by a charm at the same spot during whole days. This sea of sand, like the ocean, has no other limits than the sky, with which it unites and is blended on the horizon. Save some undulations, some asperities of soil, you move constantly along a plain, and this eternal plain, which ever seems to promise something new, extends incessantly in proportion as you advance, and rolls out its silvery surface infinitely. In the distance, however, appear some mountains, like islets in the bosom of the ocean, but at such an immense distance that you are led to ask whether they are not clouds which a puff of wind will dissipate. Each evening before plunging into the sands whence it arose in the morning, the sun pours its parching beams athwart them, and you move in a plain of fire. But these flames are soon extinguished, the twilight is very short, and the night speedily arrives to change the aspect of the sky and the face of the desert. The ardent, implacable ball, which enkindles the earth, and which the excess of heat frequently pales, is succeeded by a dark blue vault, enamelled with stars whose incomparable brilliancy is the privilege and glory of the tropics. You contemplate it each night, and each night its splendour amazes and charms you like a new spectacle. Neither the eye nor the mind can weary of it. The works of Deity are alone capable of inspiring this ever-renewed admiration, because they are infinite and perfect; the works of man, on the contrary, are so limited and incomplete that they end by inspiring indifference and satiety.

The countless bodies of dead camels, with which the road is literally strown, proves how full of danger and difficulty it must be for the poor animals; when their strength is exhausted they fall down not to rise again, and being immediately abandoned, hunger finishes what fatigue and thirst commenced. The Bir Mourad is situated in a wide valley, bounded on two sides by mountains, startling from their barrenness. The valley itself is one bed of sand; but, strange to say, there is a station here for two or three dromedaries, employed by the courier who carries letters once a week from Khartoum to Cairo. Here the travellers rested for twenty-four hours, to fetch up their sleep; but in this they were disappointed, for the jackals surrounded them all night, and kept them awake by their howling. On starting again, three days found them at Korosko, ready to take boat on the Nile once more. The only defect of this short cut is that you lose many fine temples between Korosko and the second cataract, among them being the celebrated Ipsamboul. Korosko itself is an unimportant village, and at the time of our travellers' arrival there was only one dahabiyah there, of which the reis took advantage by charging an exorbitant price. They had only six rowers, and it was a crazy concern at the best, but they could not help themselves; anything

was better than staying, perhaps a fortnight, in such a hole as Korosko. In passing through Lower Nubia, M. Didier had plenty of opportunities for visiting the antiquities, but as he tells us nothing new, we prefer quoting an adventure which occurred to him at the Temple of Kalabchek:

Wishing to escape the eternal persecution of the peasants, I sought refuge in the most distant part of the ruins. I was beginning to enjoy my solitude when I heard a light footstep behind me. I turned, and perceived a human figure in the shadow of a tottering doorway. I drew nearer; it was a young girl. She was covered with white drapery, worn with much natural taste, and which being open at several places, by accident or calculation, allowed a perfect outline to be traced. Her drooping shoulders, her well-set neck, gave as much easiness to her movements as they did grace and nobility to her person; her velvety skin had the warm and lustrous hue of old mahogany; her raven, wiry hair, short in front and longer behind, was arranged in artistically combined tresses, and there was only a very moderate dose of butter upon them; her face, which was uncovered, revealed the most symmetrical features: Greek statuary cannot boast purer lines; her eyes sparkled like two black diamonds; her little white teeth like pearls set in ebony. I had before me the perfect type of a Nubian girl of fifteen. The prettiest European would have been jealous of this lovely African; and as for her colour, it was a further attraction-an attraction, it is true, somewhat material, and which it would take too long to explain here. For my own part, I was so accustomed to it as to forget at times that white women existed.

A pretty poet's dream, is it not? What a pity, then, it should have been dissipated, in M. Didier's case, by the young lady holding out her hand and requesting, after the manner of her country, backshish!

Assouan, from M. Didier's account of it, does not seem the spot which a quiet Englishman would select in preference for his residence. At the time of his visit it was kept under a régime of terrorism by a squadron of Bashi-Bazouks and Arnauts. These were not personally troublesome to our author, except in so far that they visited two coffee-houses in close proximity to the spot where M. Didier had put up his tent. Some of these bandits talked Italian after a fashion. One even, who would have been hanged on his looks, talked French, though it would be difficult to say where he had learned it; possibly, however, he was a deserter from Algiers. This gentleman took our author in immense affection, and expounded to him his views about the blacks, whom he regarded with the extremest contempt. "In short, sir," he wound up his diatribe, "just imagine that they eat rats!" This hero's acquaintance terminated in an adventure.

One day, on returning to my tent, my surprise was great to find a divinity of the quarter seated on her heels, with her head concealed in her hands! Although she had passed her first youth, I saw before me, when she disclosed it, a face of Florentine bronze, worthy, in its perfection, of having been carved by Benvenuto Cellini. Splendid teeth relieved the brown tones, and brilliant eyes lighted up the face. She rose at once and came to kiss my hand respectfully. What was she doing there, and what did she want? I saw from her expressive pantomime that she had something important to say to me, but how to understand her or make her understand? in what tongue to communicate? My embarrassment was even greater than with the Nubian girl, for there was evidently no question of backshish here. An interpreter was an article of supreme necessity. Chance lavoured me. A Hebrew merchant came up at the moment, and I begged him

to solve the mystery. In a few minutes he told me the following story in Italian. Her name was Safie. She had been one of the handsomest alméhs in Cairo. Carried off in the night by the Khavass, and embarked at Boulak with many of her companions, distributed in passing, some at Kemieh, some at Luxor, the majority at Esseni, she had been brought as far as Assouan. Her antecedents thus established, she began by excusing herself in the most submissive terms for having dared to penetrate into my tent-an audacious act of intrusion for which she asked my pardon, and which I should certainly forgive after having heard her; for the Francs are generous, and a great bey, like myself, would have pity on a poor girl whose life was in danger. She had had the misfortune to please Othman (that was the name of my friend the Bashi-Bazouk), but she knew what she owed herself. A woman like her was not made for a man like him. On her refusal he had ill-treated her, and threatened, if she persisted in her resistance, to kill her wherever he might meet with her. In this horrible conjuncture she had taken refuge in my tent as an inviolable asylum. She had been told, and had indeed remarked, that Othman professed a high degree of consideration for me. She would therefore have nothing to fear if I would deign to take her under my protection. I would be her buckler, her rampart, her saviour, for Othman would respect in her my client, my slave.

On convincing himself of the truth of this story, M. Didier did not hesitate to conduct Safie to the house of a Copt, who had promised her a shelter. No unpleasant results came from his interference in fact, Othman played the part of a protector to him by keeping the BashiBazouks aloof from the café which specially disturbed his sleep. There was no other way to obviate the nuisance, for the governor of the town was utterly unable to manage the Bashi-Bazouks; they were perfect masters of the town, and the inhabitants only felt too grateful to them for not burning it over their heads. M. Didier even visited the caféswhen the Bashis were absent, be it understood-and these visits furnish him with occasion to say a few words about the great social evil. Nor was M. Didier the only one of the party who frequented the café, the servants also enjoyed an hour of relaxation; so much so, in fact, that when Rabelais's "mauvais quart d'heure" arrived, a bill was brought in for six hundred cups of coffee. Of course it was laughed at, and about one-fourth paid, though that was a great deal too much. This reminds our author that, in his early youth, an amiable professor of mathematics presided over his studies, whose only fault was drinking. When the cruel Fates cut his thread of life short, the mourning widow received a bill for two thousand petits verres which had slipped down the dear departed's throat.

We have but little more to add about M. Didier's travels, for, henceforward, he follows the beaten track. He visited Thebes, as in duty bound, and "did" the Nile after the fashion of the most conscientious traveller, but we find little new or worthy of quotation, except the following:

To the west of Siout there is a certain number of oases, some of which have been worked by a Frenchman, to whom Mehemet Ali granted them, and who was called from that reason "the King of the Oases." This king, then more than an octogenarian, was a Terrorist pur sang, an old friend of Robespierre, which had not prevented him from accepting and bearing the title of Bey. Em Bey, such was his name, had retired to Egypt after the fall of that Republic which so touched his heart: he did not quit that country again, and he had become so naturalised as to adopt its customs, including the harem. Buried in his desert, he ruminated there over his reminiscences, as the camel

294 CASE AND CONDUCT OF TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN.

chews the cud, and would know nothing of what passed in the world: with the Republic all was dead for him. I knew him at Cairo, where he died a short time later, this fossil of a revolutionary epoch, and found in him a faithful personification of 1793: he had retained its passions, he still spoke its language; immovable in his civism, he accused all those of moderation who did not regard the guillotine as the best mode of government, and his sensibility compelled him to recognise the existence of a Supreme Being.

And here we must leave M. Didier. We should not have attempted to show our readers this gentlemen's peculiar views, but we find the same sentiments pervading too many of our own travellers. They consider it manly to affect a genteel cynicism, and with Sir Charles Coldstream are ready to avouch that they "see nothing in it." If so, the best thing they can do is to keep their travelling impressions to themselves, and not intrude them on those who still feel a reverence for progress, and who earnestly desire to do their part in rendering the world better than it at present is. The task, we are ready to grant, is a most difficult one, and is rendered still more difficult by the cui bono gentry, who care nothing for sentiment, but consider that a smart remark is the be all and end all of travel. We, however, who regard these matters in a different light, and, we trust, with a more reverent spirit, may be allowed to enter our protest against the writers of a school in which M. Didier affects to be an arch-teacher.

CASE AND CONDUCT OF TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN.*

THESE "Brief Memorials" are not concerned, as hasty quidnuncs might suppose, with any recent fracas, or town-and-gown row, between collegians and civilians in the city of Dublin. Archdeacon Rowan's statement of the "Case and Conduct of Trinity College" has to do with a longer, and more serious, and more dignified contention; one that lasted for years, and involved principles of the highest importance, and excited passions of the deepest power. It is the Case and Conduct of Dublin University before and in the Revolution, that is, from A.D. 1686 to 1690, that the Archdeacon puts on record in these pages; and he has executed his task with the spirit, and earnestness, and grateful attachment, that might naturally be looked for in so loyal an alumnus of Alma Mater. He sees how much attention has been directed to the conflict between James II. and the "Maudlin" men, at Oxford; and, in an inferior degree, to the struggle between the Cambridge delegates and the High Commission Court, in re Benedict Francis: considering the magnitude of the interests involved, he remarks, the stoutness of resistance, and the rigour with which despotic prerogative enforced its mandates, the historic notoriety which these cases have obtained is easily accounted for;

* Brief Memorials of the Case and Conduct of Trinity College, Dublin, A.D. 1686-90. Compiled from the College Records, &c., by the Ven. Arthur Blennerhassett Rowan, D.D., Archdeacon of Ardfert. Dublin: Hodges, Smith, and Co. 1858.