his position overnight at a window which commanded the orchard. Towards morning he espied a dark figure in the tree; but, just as he made sure of catching the scoundrel, he was obliged to sneeze, and at the explosion the thief dropped from the bough, and with admirable presence of mind limped off, imitating to the life the hobble of the only lame brother in the convent. As soon as the monks were assembled for morning prayers, the prior enlarged on the dreadful sin which had been committed, and then in a voice of thunder denounced the lame friar as the sacrilegious villain who had stolen the pears. The poor monk was petrified. Protestations of innocence and proofs of an alibi were unavailing; the prior with his own eyes had seen him in the fact, and we doubt if the real delinquent came forward to discharge the penance.

Erasmus had spent five years in the convent when Henri de Bergues, the Bishop of Cambray, invited him to become his secretary. The bishop was aspiring to a cardinal's hat; and, having resolved on a journey to Rome in order to secure it, he wisely judged that the accomplished Latinist, whose fame had already come to France, would materially subserve his purposes. On the other hand, Erasmus was transported at the prospect of exchanging the society of boorish monks for the refinement and scholarship which he expected to find at the head-quarters of the Church and in the metropolis of Italy; and, as both Prior Werner and the Bishop of Utrecht gave their consent, somewhere about the year 1492 Erasmus took his joyful departure from Steene, and returned no more.

In its treatment of Erasmus, monasticism prepared its own Nemesis. The system was become a scandal to Europe. The greed of the friars, their indolence, their hypocrisy, their gluttony and grossness, had been for ages proverbial, and it was only with the sulky toleration of inevitable evil that their swarming legions were endured. Still it was believed that celibacy was a holy state, and it was hoped that, by way of balance to the rough exactions and tavern brawls

of these sturdy beggars, there was a great deal of devotion and austerity within the cell, when there rose up a witness who could not be contradicted, proclaiming, in a voice which was heard in all lands alike by princes and people, that, offensive as was the outside of the sepulchre, it was clean compared with the interior.

Erasmus had no reason to love the institution. By working on the religious feelings of his grandparents and the avarice of their older sons, it had prevented his father from consummating in lawful wedlock an honourable attachment, and so had brought on his own birth a reproach with which the real authors of the wrong were the first to stigmatize him. And it had gone far to frustrate his own existence. Years which should have been given to letters and to religion it had doomed to dull routine and meaningless observance; nor was it unnatural that he should resent on the system the craft and chicanery which had cozened him out of his liberty, and which, in lieu of the philosopher's cloak, had left him in a fool's cap and motley. It can therefore occasion no wonder that in subsequent years he let slip no opportunity for showing up the ignorance and heartlessness of the regular clergy. If in one aspect Luther's life was one long war with the devil, the literary career of Erasmus was a continued crusade against monkery; and it is almost amusing to notice how, whether it be any mishap which has befallen himself, or any evil which threatens the universe,—if it be a book of his own which is anonymously abused, or the peace of a family which is invaded, or a town or kingdom which is hopelessly embroiled-he is sure to suspect a friar as the source of the mischief; and, as we read page after page of his epistles, we cannot help forming the conclusion that, "going to and fro on the face of the earth," the ubiquitous monk was to all intents our author's devil.

The years during which they kept him imprisoned at Steene supplied the materials for thoroughly exposing the system. He was then filling his portfolio with

1

the sketches which afterwards came out in the faithful but unbeautiful portraits of the Enchiridion and in the caricatures of the Colloquies; and by the time that he had become the most popular writer of all his contemporaries the effect was prodigious. Whether in one of his pithy sentences he spoke of "purgatory "as the fire which they so dearly love, "for it keeps their kettle boiling," or sketched them at full length as the universal usurpers who appropriated the functions of prince, pastor, and bishop, so that they must have a hand in every national treaty and every matrimonial engagement-so that they constituted themselves the guardians of orthodoxy, pronouncing "such a one is a real Chris"tian, but such another is a heretic, and "he again is a heretic and a half-ses"qui-hæreticus'"-worming out of the citizens their most secret thoughts and most private affairs, and making themselves so essential that, if either king or pope has any dirty work to do, he must use their unscrupulous agency-a set of busybodies at once venomous and unproductive, who, like drones furnished with hornet stings, could not be driven from the hive, but must be at once detested and endured,2-every one recognised the correctness of the picture; and, with accurate instinct, far more fiercely 1 Opp. iii. 1106.

2 Adagia, chil. ii. cent. viii. 65.

than against Luther, with his defiance of the Pope, and his Gospel for the people, did the friars rage against Erasmus and his antimonastic satires. And, just as in his morning promenade under the hedgerow, a persecuted cat is followed by a cloud of titmice and sparrows, twittering out their terror, and warning all the woodland, so it is ludicrous to notice the swarm of agitated cowls which eventually fluttered after Erasmus in his progress through Europe, shrieking forth their execrations, and in every stealthy movement boding new mischief to the mendicants. To pull down the columns which supported the papacy needed the passionate strength and self-devotement of Luther; but the wooden pillar on which monkery was perched, already rotten and worm-eaten, quickly yielded to the incisors of the formidable rodent who had somehow got in ; and, when at last the crazy structure came down, and the "happy family" was scattered in England and Germany, it was not without a touch of compunction that the author of their overthrow witnessed the dismay of their dispersion, and the hardships which some of them endured.

1 The name of Erasmus was an irresistible temptation to punning: witness the following epigram of Stephen Paschasius.—

"Hic jacet Erasmus, qui quondam bonus erat

mus;

Rodere qui solitus, roditur a vermibus."

Now I am settled in my Theban palace it seems more beautiful, and I am quite melancholy that you cannot be here to enjoy it. The house is very large, and has good thick walls, the comfort of which we feel to-day, for it blows a hurricane, but indoors it is not at all cold. I have glass windows and doors to some of the rooms; it is a lovely dwelling. Two funny little owls, as big as my fist, live in the wall under my window, and come and peep in,

walking on tiptoe and looking inquisitive, like the owls in the hieroglyphics; and a splendid horus (the sacred hawk) frequents my lofty balcony. Another of my contemplar gods I sacrilegiously killed last night-a whip-snake. Omar is rather in consternation, for fear it should be "the snake of the house," for Islam has not dethroned the "Dü Lares et tutelares."

Some men came to mend the staircase, which had fallen in, and which

consists of huge solid blocks of stone. One man crushed his thumb, and I had to operate on it. It is extraordinary how these people bear pain; he never winced in the least, and went off thanking God and the lady quite cheerfully.

I have been working hard at the "Alif Bay"-A B C-to day, under the direction of Sheykh Yussuf, a graceful, sweetlooking young man, with a dark-brown face, and such fine manners, in his fellah dress-a coarse brown woollen shirt, a libdeh or felt skull-cap, and a common red shawl round his head and shoulders. Writing the wrong way is very hard work. It was curious to see Sheykh Yussuf's blush from shyness when he came in first; it shows quite as much in the coffee-brown Arab skin as in the fairest European-quite unlike the much lighter-coloured mulatto or Malay, who never change colour at all.

Wednesday, January 20th, 1864.We have had a week of piercing winds, but yesterday was fine again, and I mounted old Mustafa's cob pony, and jogged over his farm with him, and lunched on delicious sour cream and fateereh at a neighbouring village, to the great delight of the Fellah. The scene was more biblical than ever; the people were all relations of Mustafa's, and to see Sidi Omar, the head of the household, and the young men "coming in from the field, and the flocks and herds and camels and asses," was like a beautiful dream. All these people are of high blood, and a sort of "roll of battle" is kept here for the genealogies of the noble Arabs, who came in with Amr, the first Arab conqueror and lieutenant of Omar. Not one of these brown men, who do not own a second shirt, would give his brown daughter to the greatest Turkish Pasha.

This country noblesse is more interesting to me by far than the town people, though Omar, who is quite a cockney, and piques himself on being "delicate," turns up his nose at their beggarly pride, as Londoners used to do at bare-legged Highlanders. The air of perfect equality (except as to the respect due to the head of the clan) with which the

villagers treated Mustafa, and which he fully returned, made it all seem so very gentlemanlike. They are not so dazzled by a little show, and far more manly than the Cairenes. I am already on visiting terms with all the " county families" resident in Luxor. The Nazir (magistrate) is a very nice person, and my Sheykh Yussuf, who is of the highest blood (being descended from Abul Hajjaj himself), is quite charming. There is an intelligent German here as Austrian consul, who draws well. I went into his house, and was startled by hearing a pretty little Arab boy, his servant, say, "Soll ich den Kaffee bringen?" What next? They are all mad to learn languages, and Mustafa begs me to teach his little child Zehneb, English.

Friday, January 22d.-Yesterday, I rode over to Karnac, with Mustafa's Sais running by my side; glorious hot sun and delicious air. To hear the Sais chatter away, his tongue running as fast as his feet, made me deeply envious of his lungs. Mustafa joined me, and pressed me to go to visit the sheykh's tomb for the benefit of my health, as he and Sheykh Yussuf wished to say a Fathah for me; but I must not drink wine at dinner. I made a little difficulty on the score of difference of religion, but Sheykh Yussuf, who came up, said he presumed I worshipped God and not stones, and that sincere prayers were good anywhere. Clearly the bigotry would have been on my side if I had refused any longer; so in the evening I went with Mustafa.

It was a very curious sight: the little dome illuminated with as much oil as the mosque could afford, and beneath it the tombs of Abul Hajjaj and his three sons; a magnificent old man, like Father Abraham himself, dressed in white, sat on a carpet at the foot of the tomb; he was the head of the family of Abul Hajjaj. He made me sit by him, and was extremely polite. Then came the Nazir, the Cadi, a Turk travelling on Government business, and a few other gentlemen, who all sat down round us, after kissing the hand of the old sheykh. Every one talked; in fact, it was a soirée for the entertain

ment of the dead sheykh. A party of men sat at the further end of the place, with their faces to the kibleh, and played on a taraboukeh (sort of small drum stretched on earthenware, which gives a peculiar sound), a tambourine without bells, and little tinkling cymbals, fitting on thumb and finger (crotales), and chanted songs in honour of Mohammed, and verses from the Psalms of David. Every now and then, one of our party left off talking, and prayed a little, or counted his beads. The old sheykh sent for coffee and gave me the first cup-a wonderful concession; at last the Nazir proposed a Fathah for me, which the whole group round me repeated aloud, and then each said to me:-"Our Lord God bless thee, and "give thee health and peace, to thee and "thy family, and take thee back to thy master and thy children;" every one adding "Ameen," and giving the salaam with the hand. I returned it, and said, "Our Lord reward thee and all the peo"ple for kindness to strangers," which was considered a very proper answer.

66

After that we went away, and the worthy Nazir walked home with me to take a pipe and a glass of sherbet, and enjoy a talk about his wife and eight children, who are all in Foom-el-Bachr; except two boys at school at Cairo. In Cairo or Lower Egypt, it would be quite impossible for a Christian to enter a sheykh's tomb at all;-above all, at his birthday festival, and on the night of Friday.

Saturday. My poor Sheykh Yussuf is in great distress about his brother, also a young sheykh (i.e. one learned in theology, and competent to preach in the mosque). Sheykh Mohammed is come home from studying in El-Azhar at Cairo, I fear, to die. I went with Sheykh Yussuf, at his desire, to see if I could help him, and found him gasping for breath, and very, very ill; I gave him a little soothing medicine, and put mustard plasters on him, and, as they relieved him, I went again and repeated them. All the family All the family and a number of neighbours crowded in to look on. There he lay in a dark

little den with bare mud walls, worse off, to our ideas, than any pauper; but these people do not feel the want of comforts, and one learns to think it quite natural to sit with perfect gentlemen in places inferior to our cattle sheds. I pulled some blankets up against the wall, and put my arm behind Sheykh Mohammed's back, to make him rest while the poultices were on him; whereupon he laid his green turban on my shoulder, and presently held up his delicate brown face for a kiss, like an affectionate child. As I kissed him, a very pious old moollah said Bismillah! "In the name of God!" with an approving nod; and Sheykh Mohammed's father (a splendid old man in a green turban) thanked me with "effusion," and prayed that my children might always find help and kindness. This shows how much truth there is in "Mussulman bigotry, unconquerable hatred," etc.; for this family are Seyyids (descendants of the Prophet), and very pious.

Monday.-I have just heard that poor Sheykh Mohammed died yesterday, and was, as usual, buried at once. I had not been well for a few days, and Sheykh Yussuf took care that I should not know of his brother's death. He went to Mustapha Aga, and told him not to tell any one of my house till I was better, because he knew "what was in my stomach" towards them, and feared I should be made worse by the news. And how often I have been advised not to meddle with sick Arabs, because they are sure to suspect a Christian of poisoning those who die! I do grieve for the graceful handsome young creature and his old father. Omar was vexed at not knowing of his death, because he would have liked to help to carry him to the grave.

Friday, January 29th.-The last week has been very cold here, the thermometer 59° and 60°, with a nipping wind and bright sun. I was obliged to keep my bed for three or four days, as a palace without doors or windows to speak of was very trying, though far better than a boat. Yesterday and to-day are betternot much warmer, but a different air.

The Moolid (festival) of the sheykh

terminated last Saturday with a procession, in which the new cover of his tomb, and the ancient sacred boat, were carried on men's shoulders; it all seemed to have walked out of royal tombs, only dusty and shabby, instead of gorgeous. These festivals of the dead are such as Herodotus alludes to as held in honour of "Him whose name he dares not mention, Him who sleeps in Philæ;" only the name is changed, and the mummy is absent. For a fortnight every one who had a horse and could ride, came and "made fantasia" every afternoon for two hours before sunset, and very pretty it was. The people here show their good blood in their riding. For the last three days, all strangers were entertained with bread and cooked meat, at the expense of the Luxor people. Every house killed a sheep and baked bread. As I could not do that for want of servants enough, I sent a hundred piastres (about twelve shillings) to the servants of Abul Hajjaj at the mosque, to pay for the oil burnt at the tomb, &c. I was not well, and in bed, but I hear that my gift gave immense satisfaction, and that I was again well prayed for.

The Coptic bishop came to see me, but he was a tipsy old monk. He sent for tea, complaining that he was ill; so I went to see him, and perceived that his disorder was too much arrakee. He has a very nice black slave, a Christian (Abyssinian, I think), who is a friend of Omar's, and who sent Omar a handsome dinner, all ready cooked; among other things, a chicken stuffed with green wheat was excellent.

February 12th, 1864.-We are in Ramadan now, and Omar really enjoys a good opportunity of "making his soul." He fasts and washes vigorously, and prays his five times a day, and goes to mosque on Fridays, and is quite merry over it, and ready to cook infidels' dinners with exemplary good humour. It is a great merit in Muslims that they are not at all grumpy over their piety.

The weather has set in since five or six days like Paradise ; I sit on my lofty balcony and drink in the sweet northerly breeze, and look at the glorious mountain

opposite, and think, if only you and the children were here, it would be "the best o' life." The beauty of Egypt grows on one, and I think it far more lovely this year than I did last.

My great friend the Maōhn (he is not the Nazir, who is a fat little pig-eyed jolly Turk) lives in a house which also has a superb view in another direction, and I often go and sit "on the bench," i.e. the mustabah in front of his house, and do what little talk I can, and see the people come with their grievances. I don't understand much of what goes on, as the patois is broad, and doubles the difficulty, or I would send you a Theban police-report; but the Maōhn is very pleasant in his manner to them, and they don't seem frightened. We have appointed a very small boy our Bowab or porter, or rather he has appointed himself, and his assumption of dignity is quite delicious; he has provided himself with a huge staff, and he behaves like the most tremendous janissary. He is about the size of a child of five, as sharp as a needle, and possesses the remains of a brown shirt, and a ragged kitchen duster as turban. I am very fond of little Achmet, and like to see him doing tableaux vivants after Murillo, with a plate of broken victuals.

The children of this place have become so insufferable about backsheesh, that I have complained to the Maōhn, and he will assemble a committee of parents and enforce better manners. It is only here, and just where the English go. When I ride into the little villages, I never hear the word, but am always offered milk to drink; I have taken it two or three times and not offered to pay, and the people always seemed quite pleased.

Yesterday, Sheykh Yussuf came again, the first time since his brother's death; he was evidently deeply affected, but spoke in the usual way, "It is the will of God, we must all die." I wish you could see Sheykh Yussuf; I think he is the sweetest creature in look and manner I ever beheld, so refined and so simple, and with the animal grace of a gazelle. A high-bred Arab is as graceful as an Indian, but quite without the