kings of the nineteenth and twentieth dynasties, whose bodies were buried in splendidly painted halls cut in the limestone hills far behind. The Pyramids of Gizeh in like manner had their temples at a little distance from their eastern fronts, where the worship of the kings interred in them was carried on. The_Granite Temple belonging to the Second Pyramid, which Mr Petrie considers to have been built after that Pyramid, and not before, as has sometimes been asserted, is still one of the wonders of the Pyramid-field. There are also remains of the temple belonging to the Third Pyramid. But the existence of a similar temple belonging to the Great Pyramid has been finally set at rest by Mr Petrie, who examined the wonderful basalt pavement on its eastern side which we have already spoken of, and found the large hewn blocks of granite and basalt which lie exposed to the east of it. These are sufficient in number to warrant the conclusion that they formed part of some large building, now totally destroyed, which was connected with the Pyramid by the splendid basalt pavement on which such careful workmanship was bestowed. show that these acts of violence were committed long before the times of the Shepherd kings or of the Persians. The intense spite that is shown is more than that of a mere invader, and points to some revolution imbittered by religious or political feeling, such as may have taken place in the dark period between the seventh and the eleventh dynasties, of which so little is known, but which appears to have been a time of civil war and rival dynasties. In We will briefly sum up Mr Petrie's theory of the building of the Great Pyramid and the history of its closing, referring the reader to his book for the arguments and observations by which it is supported. He believes that the whole mass of limestone of which the Pyramid is built was brought from the quarries of Turra and Masara, on the other side of the Nile. The unskilled labour of transporting the stone and bringing it up to the Pyramid-field was performed by corvées during the three months of the inundation, when the peasantry are idle. One hundred thousand men-as Herodotus tells us were employed at that time; while during the rest of the year a staff of skilled masons Supposing, then, that this was the mastaba of were busied in hewing the stone. Mr Petrie the Pyramid of Khufu, where was the serdab? has discovered behind the Second Pyramid The niche in the Queen's Chamber furnishes remains of the barracks which were used by Mr Petrie with a reply. In that niche pro- the workmen while it was building; they bably once stood the statue of Khufu. In 1638 a tradition was still current that it was the place for an idol;' and there is proof that the chamber was completely closed up, like other serdabs, even before the Great Gallery was closed. But further; in carefully searching among the rubbish which lies opposite the north face of the Pyramid, the side where the door is, Mr Petrie found several pieces of worked diorite, and innumerable chips of the same hard and valuable stone, which is seldom used except for statues. In a similar manner, countless fragments of diorite, which bear still plainer marks that they are fragments of statues, are found in the neighbourhood of the Second Pyramid; and at the bottom of a well belonging to the temple of that Pyramid, seven or eight statues of Khafra, the builder of that Pyramid, were found, all more or less mutilated. Finally, at the ruined Pyramid of Abu Roash, which, though lying five miles to the north of the Gizeh Pyramids, was probably built for a king of the same dynasty (the fourth), Mr Petrie found pieces of a granite coffin, and fragments of a diorite statue, which had evidently been smashed with all the carefulness which a malignant hatred could invent; 'the wrought granite has been mainly burnt and powdered; the surfaces of the statue were bruised to pieces before it was broken up; a block with a piece of the cartouche [the oval containing the king's name] on it had been used as a hammer, having a grove cut round it to hold a cord by which it was swung.' Do not these evidences of a fixed purpose of destruction recall to our minds in a remarkable manner the words of Herodotus, who says that the Egyptians would not even pronounce the names of the kings who built the Great Pyramids, because they had aroused such a feeling of hatred that the very remembrance of them was detested? As Mr Petrie remarks, the details would easily hold four thousand men. Our diagram of the Great Pyramid will explain Mr Petrie's surmises as to the history of its closing. The stone sarcophagus must have been placed in the King's Chamber before the roof was put on, as it is too big to have been brought along the passage. The large blocks which were used to close up the mouths of the Ascending Passage (B) must have stood on the floor of the Great Gallery (C) till they were wanted. The procession which brought in the body of Khufu-if he was really buried in the King's Chamber-must have passed over these blocks, or up the stone benches which line each side of the Great Gallery. Before or after the Journal C B A, Entrance Passage; B, Ascending Passage; C, Great Gallery; D, King's Chamber; E, Chambers of construction; F, Queen's Chamber; G, Shaft leading to subterranean passage; H, Subterranean chamber (unfinished); I, Descending Passage to subterranean chamber. caused a stone to fall, which concealed the plugblocks at the bottom of the Ascending Passage. He then forced his way into the Entrance Passage, found the fallen stone, and ascertained that it covered the mouth of another passage. He worked round the impenetrable granite blocks, and entered the Ascending Passage. The way was then free to the Great Gallery and the King's Chamber, where of course he found the sarcophagus of Khufu empty. From that day to this the Pyramid has remained open to every intruder. WALTER DREW. IN FOUR CHAPTERS.-CHAP. III. ON the morning after my arrival in London, in pursuance of my plans for finding a suitable field for my future labours, I betook myself to a medical agency. There was no lack of practices in the market. The list indeed was so heavy that I could not help marvelling that so many should be anxious to part with what I myself was so desirous of obtaining—that is, a 'profitable business in a flourishing and improvmight be slid down to close the Ascending ing neighbourhood. There was not a single At length Passage. This having been done, the workmen ineligible opening in the whole lot. retired by the shaft (G) leading to the subter-I arranged for a partnership in a large practice ranean chamber, and so up the Entrance Passage. at Brompton; and only awaited the retirement This shaft Mr Petrie has shown to have been an of the outgoing partner to enter on the duties, afterthought, forced through the masonry_of which, however, I found could not be before the Pyramid after it had been completed. The a couple of months. I resolved, therefore, after workmen probably closed up the shaft at each end by a plug-block not cemented in place. They Stanton, to return home to Brierleigh. paying my now overdue respects to Colonel went out by the proper door of the Pyramid, on whose construction Mr Petrie has thrown considerable light. Strabo says that the Great Pyramid, a little way up one side, has a stone which may be taken out, which being raised up, there is a sloping passage to the foundations. One of the Pyramids of Dahshur retains the casing round the doorway bearing signs of the kind of door described by Strabo-a stone flap, working on a horizontal hinge, which when closed would show no difference from the rest of the Pyramid-casing. Early in the day after I had concluded my arrangements for the partnership, I sat in the coffee-room of the Tavistock reading two letters I had just received-one from my father, and one from my aunt. They were both on the same subject-my neglect to present myself to Colonel Stanton. My father wrote in his usual mild strain, saying that he had had a second letter from his friend, who informed him that he intended to leave London at once, on account of his daughter's health, which had suffered during the exertions and excitement of the season, and that he would be at Elmdrove in the course of a few days. My father added a slight expression of regret that I had delayed calling on the colonel, but supposed I had been legitimately engrossed with other matters. looked at my watch, and resolved on ordering a cab at once. The bell-pull was in my hand, when the jocund voice of Walter Drew arrested it. I The secret of this door, and of the access to the King's Chamber by means of the shaft leading to the Great Gallery, would still be known at the time when the Pyramid was first violated, in the civil wars between the seventh and eleventh dynasties, so that no forcing of an entrance was necessary in order to enter the chamber and abstract the body from the sarcophagus; though probably at the same time the entrance to the Queen's Chamber was forced, and the statue of Khufu broken up and carried out to be smashed into chips on the hill opposite the door of the Pyramid. Subsequently to this, the secret of the shaft appears to have been forgotten; as it does not appear that in classical times people were I had seen a good deal of the young painter able to do more than to enter by the door and since the day we met at Shadrach's shop, and descend to the subterranean chamber. In some had come to entertain a warm liking for the mysterious manner, perhaps after the Arab conWe had in no quest of Egypt, even the secret of the door was clever, good-natured fellow. forgotten. The Calif Mamun forced a hole way sought one another's society, but had through the masonry, but was despairing of gravitated naturally towards one another. We success, when the shaking made by his workmen | often dined together, and now and then spent 'Good-morning. Business or pleasure to-day, eh?" an evening at the theatre in company, as on the night of my arrival. He evidently had the entrée to good society, for he referred occasionally to this or that crush' he had attended, to parties and balls at which he had been present, quoting the names of his hosts. I often wondered at his preference for a hotel life, and on one occasion hinted my surprise. With the usual magnificent frankness, he answered: 'I am too much of a Bohemian to be able to live en famille with strict propriety, and I hope too much of a gentleman to act the Bohemian before those I respect.' He spoke of his profession as a painter, of his immediate purposes and plans, even of his day-to-day movements, with all the openness of a child. But what struck me as strange was that he never referred to his family or connections, or in any way alluded, except episodically, to his own history. On reflection, I have concluded that my own desire to learn something of these subjects made me notice the omission, and that his silence upon them was due simply to the fact that they never crossed his mind. There was yet another matter which exercised me not a little in connection with him when did he work at his profession? He turned up at all odd times and seasons, and looked as much at leisure one time as the other. His days were certainly not divided into hours, or his weeks into days, like other people's. In answer to a casual remark of mine, he once let drop that he worked only when the fit was on him, or when he stood in need of cash.' If this was not literally true-for I more than suspected that a genuine ambition now and then stirred his pulses-it tallied well enough with his actual habits to pass for such. Where he worked was still unanswered on the morning when he hailed me as described, in the coffee-room. 'Business or pleasure?' he again queried. 'Neither. I am just about to pay a visit of ceremony to a friend of my father's in Grosvenor Square.' Oh, you Goth! Would you perpetrate a solecism? Mayfair is still in its nightcap; you are too early by hours. And besides, as you are going into the country to-morrow, I want you to come and have a look at my workshop. I haven't been there myself for an age, and feel as if I couldn't face the den alone. There, be a good fellow, and accompany me. I have some capital bottled stout there; and Flibthat's my rascal's name-will find you some oysters that can't be beaten in London. What say you?' I knew my visit to Grosvenor Square was somewhat untimeous, and as I was beset with an indescribable curiosity to see the atelier of this man-of-the-world artist, it was with a mere show of hesitation that I agreed to his proposal. We were soon in the Strand, when Drew, hailing a passing hansom, as though time had suddenly become of importance, ordered cabby to drive with all his might to Street, in the neighbourhood of Euston Square. We were set down in front of a large house of respectable appearance, the door of which Drew opened with a latchkey, and immediately ushered me into a well-sized room at the end of the passage. This was his workshop,' by every unmistakable sign. He touched a bell-pull; and straightway appeared an undersized, cadaverous, but activelooking and quick-eyed lad, who silently assisted Drew to exchange his walking-coat and hat for a paint-stained blouse and smoking-cap. Following his master's eye, he next uncovered one of several canvases which stood on their easels, and set about arranging, as if by instinct, the neces sary colours, brushes, &c., ready to the hand. The piece was a sketch of the trunk of a decayed oak. Casting a rapid glance over it, Drew proceeded to cover his palette. Meanwhile, on a signal to Flibbertigibbet, as he had dubbed his elf-like assistant, that silent youth brought in a table covered with a clean cloth, a tray with bottles, a couple of tankards, biscuits, and a corkscrew, cigars and lights, and a copy of the Times. 'Now, my dear fellow, when you feel tired looking round, you may either smoke, drink, or read the papers-all three were better. Flib will do the needful.' So saying, the artist turned to his work. I elected for the present to look into the Times; but while snatching a stray item of news here and there, my interest was in reality centred upon the artist, who, with compressed lips and intent eyes, was rapidly covering the canvas with colour. I had never seen manipulation so swift and sure. In an incredibly short time, he had advanced the sketch as far as could be done till the colours again dried. At a hint to Flib, it was removed through folding-doors into a frontroom which thus opened on to the studio. Another canvas was placed in position, and the appropriate materials set out as before. Before resuming work, however, Drew approached me with a smile, and proceeded to uncork a couple of bottles of stout, desiring me to pledge him. I then made some remark on the rapidity of his workmanship. 'Ah!' said he, with a sigh and a momentary earnestness of manner-'ah! that "fatal facility? has been my bane. Had I to plod, now, I should be more-more industrious; and if industrious, might produce something.-Bah! I will never be fit for anything but to make money for the Jews.-Good-health!' and he quaffed a tankard of stout with evident relish. 'Why, Drew, you ought to marry and settle down; it might supply the necessary stimulus I said this from sheer lack of anything more pertinent to say. 'Marry!' he answered slowly, while the hazel eyes looked softer, and the face lost its brightness in a far-off look, that sat strangely upon it— 'marry! Ay, maybe, maybe.' Then he turned to his fresh canvas, and began to work with greater energy than before. 'He is in love,' thought I, and unconsciously sighed in sympathy with him. Hillo! are you in love, old fellow?' cried Drew, pausing. Our thoughts had evidently been keeping pace, just as though they had been given articulate expression. 'I confess.-And you?' 'Oh, ditto, you know.-But, I say, ain't I a pretty fellow to be in that fix?' He laughed one of his merriest laughs, and resumed his labours with vigour, humming the while the tag of an old ballad. I was soon lost in a reverie, induced by these glimpses of an inner life in this remarkable The one was an historical piece; the other, a man; and began to speculate on the probable weird-looking study of a Highland tarn during share his rearing and education might have had a thunderstorm. Both possessed great merit; in making him the wayward, purposeless, drift- and I expressed my admiration in somewhat ing Bohemian he certainly was; though endowed enthusiastic language, but received no response with powers of no ordinary kind, and with from the artist. I glanced at him, and was much that I felt was manly and honourable in struck with the conviction that he had not his nature and aspirations. been listening. There was a look of preoccupation about him--an air as of a man struggling with an impulse to say something which his judgment disapproved. After pacing up and down the room several times, he stopped full in front of me, his soft felt hat tilted off his broad forehead, and his hands stuck into the pockets of his waistcoat-a favourite attitude of his, by the way. 'Do you know, Charlton,' he said presently, again answering my thoughts, as if by some clairvoyant intuition, I have never envied any man anything but the quiet, orderly upbringing which you and most fellows have had? I have never missed any other thing, and-and perhaps that's the reason. It seems strange I have never had a home. My father died abroad, when I was quite a little chap. I only saw him a few times in all; my poor mother, never. My titled relatives placed me at school, but took no further notice of me, except to invite me to spend part of my holidays at their houses now and then. My father's only sister was in India with her husband. She, I feel sure, took a warm interest in me; for I was regularly visited by her agent in England; but still I had no home. On my leaving Oxford, my uncle, the present Earl of, expressed a wish that I should enter the army, in which event he would assist me in every reasonable way. But I had small reason to love him; and besides, the insane idea that I was born to be a great painter had already possessed me; so I declined. The only being who ever yearned towards me died in India. Had she lived, I might have been weaned of my nomadic habits by degrees; but it was not to be. Her husband, who is now in London, is the prince of good fellows, and would welcome me to his home as a son; but I should feel there like a fish out of water. -Heigh-ho, imagine such as I am turning Benedict!' He had not ceased work while speaking. The piece, a sea-view in the Hebrides, grew rapidly under his dexterous touches. I could find no suitable terms in which to express my sympathy with what he had said-commonplaces would have been cruel. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to look the friendly interest I really felt. Drew caught my expression, and the soft far-off look came once more into his fine eyes. He gave a few more touches to the picture, and once more rang for Flib. That imp appeared like a flash. 'Put things straight here, Flib,' said Drew. 'Here is money to pay for the rent and your week's board.-Ha! you want some for yourself, you rascal.-There; keep sober, mind. I shall be here to-morrow same time.' Flib executed a series of acrobat-like movements about the room, then, with a valedictory tug at his forelock, disappeared. Come now, Mr Charlton,' said the artist when he had resumed his walking attire; I will show you one or two of the things I hope to get "hung" some day.' He conducted me into the front-room, where a pretty large assortment of canvases stood on the floor; while two large unframed paintings hung on the wall. Drew nodded towards the latter, by way of introducing them to my notice. 'I say, Charlton, I told you I had never coveted anything but a home. Well, I was wrong; for I have never had a friend. I mean of course a fellow of my own age. Few have a wider circle of acquaintances among such, than I have; and numbers of them, to do them justice, would, I believe, be ready to act the part of real friends at a pinch. But then, they all fight shy of such a self-ostracised fellow as I am. Because I keep aloof from my family connections, they think there is a screw loose with me somewhere, no doubt. Or perhaps in some cases it may be my apparent want of a career that makes the steady ones think me unsafe. Whatever the causes, I am without a friend. And now you are going away, I shall miss the chance I had hoped for, of at last making one.' I have already admitted that I was strangely attracted to him; and now, though far from impulsive or effusive by nature, I found myself impelled to do what I then and there did. I grasped his hand cordially, but silently, in both of mine; his eyes were moist as he returned the pressure. Drew once more moved about the room in a thoughtful way for a time. He stopped before a couple of easels the canvases on which were carefully shrouded, as if with the purpose of unveiling them, and then as suddenly appeared to change his mind. His movement attracted my attention. Drew, observing this, gave a cheery laugh, and said: "Why, what an ass you must think me, Charlton! Here am I afraid to show you a pair of pretty faces, as though the act were sacrilege. Come, old fellow, I will have no half-hearted confidences. But there-shade your eyes!' said he with a most comical look, as he undid the strings of the wrappings round one of the pictures. 'Are you ready?-There!' and he deftly but tenderly revealed-the face of Miss Winter! The caution to shade my eyes seemed not altogether unnecessary: my amazement had struck me not only blind, but dumb. I felt confused, excited. I knew Drew was regarding me with subdued surprise. Rallying myself, I tried to smile, but could not. Vexed, and determined to command myself, I remarked, without knowing what I said: 'Very like, indeed—a wonderful likeness.' 'What? You know Miss Winter, then?' said Drew in a quick tone. 'Yes-no: that is, I have met her,' I replied in a more composed voice, conscious now of my ridiculous embarrassment. 'Then you perhaps know my cousin as well?' he said, approaching the second picture and proceeding to uncover it. It was not a presentiment, but a conviction that possessed me that I should now see the portrait of the fair unknown, limned by my newly acquired friend's hand. I watched his fingers as they unfastened the covering, and fancied they trembled a little. I was now quite collected and observant. Yes; there at last shone out the beautiful face, faithfully and tenderly portrayed. It was no hasty sketch, done by an indifferent or capricious hand, but a likeness into which all the painter's heart and soul had been thrown. A strange fear began to creep over my heart, rendering me mute. Was this the object of my friend's passion? His cousin! It was strange that, with the secret now within my grasp, I did not inquire her name. Drew evidently mistook my silence for non-recognition. 'Ah! you don't seem to know Alice. Is it not a divine face?' he said with a slight sigh, which, in my sensitive frame of mind, I construed into an expression of relief. I was still silent; but I began slowly to feel that silence was a sin-that concealment of any kind was unmanly, and faithless to the still warm vow of friendship I had taken. Yes; I I 'This is your cousin then, Walter? have seen her in Miss Winter's company.' looked straight into the hazel eyes as I spoke. They expressed nothing but unalloyed pleasure at the statement. I felt a load slowly lifted from my heart. 'I am glad of that, do you know? I am sure you will like her when I introduce you, which of course I shall do some day. Had you not told me you were already in love, I should feel awfully jealous.' My heart almost ceased to beat again, yet I asked frankly: 'Is this-is it your cousin you love?' "Why, Charlton, I have been in love with her ever since she wore short dresses and lived at a boarding-school in Kensington, while her parents were in India. But, do you know I always preferred a dark beauty? What is the matter? My dear fellow, are you ill?' No; it is nothing,' I answered. faintness only. Let us get outside.' 'A little I do not remember the route by which we reached our hotel; all I know is, that I walked and felt like a man who has suddenly left the light and is bewildered. The sudden extinction of a glowing hope, and the shrouding of the mind in black despair, has its counterpart in our physical experience more complete and congruous than most analogies can boast. Our arrival at the Tavistock roused me somewhat. We chatted long and pleasantly of various matters. Drew was more serious than usual, and therefore failed to observe any added seriousness in my own manner. It was late ere we parted. While still grasping his hand, I said, smiling: By the way, I forgot to ask your cousin's name?' Oh, to be sure. Alice Stanton!' Alice Stanton! That only was needed to complete the circle of surprises in which I had been whirling ever since I came to London. And yet, now that the story was complete in every chapter, I was struck with my own want of penetration in not having pieced it together earlier. The colonel's reference in his letter to his nephew, an artist; Drew's own story of his life; the Christian name of his cousin, which he had mentioned at the studio! It was all plain and coherent to the smallest detail. Still, I had not been reading a romance, and had not, therefore, been called upon to forecast, which makes a difference. It was all clear enough now, however. Alice Stanton! Next morning, I rose late, wearied in body and mind, made an indifferent breakfast, and prepared for my journey back to dear old Brierleigh. I could not now face the idea of calling on Colonel Stanton; indeed, it was probably already too late to find him in London. I sat down and wrote him a note, in which I expressed my regret that business had so fully occupied my time as to prevent my paying him my respects until his purpose of going into the country had rendered my visit either inopportune or useless, and added, that I should have much pleasure in making the amende by coming to Elmdrove Manor on an early day. In a postscript, I said I had just discovered his nephew to be a friend for whom I had a great regard. THE LIGHTS USED BY TRAWLING-VESSELS. THE trawlers around our coasts number as many as eighteen thousand, and in their trade is employed a capital of about fifteen million pounds sterling. With the conspicuous exceptions of the mackerel and the herring, they supply us with nearly all our fish; and thus their importance cannot easily be overrated. Now, it appears that these men suffer from a genuine grievance. The lights which they are enjoined by law to use upon their vessels are, in their opinion, fraught with much danger; while, if they use the lights which they believe to be the safest and most convenient of any yet devised, they do that which is illegal, and are consequently not in a position to recover damages when it happens that they are the innocent and suffering parties in collisions at sea. It is, however, satisfactory to know that an assurance has been recently wrenched from officials of the government which justifies the supposition that this embarrassing state of things will not continue much longer. The trawlers desire that they should carry a white masthead light, supplemented when neces sary by a red flare; while the existing law requires the use of coloured side-lights or of a duplex, or, more correctly speaking, kaleidoscope lantern. It is a case in which the Board of Trade has been unable to harmonise the various interests concerned. On the one hand the trawlers have asked that they may use a certain light; and on the other, various interests have stepped in and said: 'No; do not let them have that light; it will be prejudicial to ourselves.' The Board of Trade has adopted a line of action which was meant to accommodate varying wishes, but which has failed to claim the sympathy of those directly concerned —the trawlers. The coloured side-lights enjoined |