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ON my arrival, I saw some persons nearly at the top, and some just commencing the ascent. They were all at the very edge, and

certainly their apparently perilous situation justified me in the conviction that I should never be able to mount. However, determining to make the attempt, I commenced outside from where the entrance has been formed, and walked along the whole length of one side of the square, about forty feet from the ground, to the opposite corner; the ledge being narrow, and in one place quite broken, requiring a long step to gain the next stone. As the pyramid itself formed a wall to the right hand, and consequently an apparent defence, I felt no want of courage till I reached the corner where the ascent is, in many places, absolutely on the angle, leaving no protection on either side. About this time I began to be heartily frightened; and when I heard one gentleman from above call to me to desist, and another tell me not to think of proceeding, right glad was I to return, and to attribute my want of success to their advice rather than to my own deficiency of spirit. Each of the gentlemen, as they descended, told me the difficulty and fatigue were great, and they evidently were heated and tired; but at length, in answer to my question, a hundred times repeated, of "Do you think I could go ?" they proposed to me to try, at least, and kindly offered to accompany me.

Away I went; and, by the assistance of a footstool at some places, and the aid of the guides, and the gentlemen to encourage me, I succeeded in arriving half-way, all the way exclaiming, I shall never get down again; and, indeed, my head was so giddy, that it was some minutes after I was seated, at the resting-stone half-way, before I could recover myself. Being a little refreshed, I resumed the ascent; but the guides were so clamorous that I turned back, finding their noise, and pushing, and crowding, as dangerous as the height. The gentlemen at length brought them to some degree of order, partly by remonstrance, and partly by carrying the majority to the top, and leaving only two with me. This quiet, in some degree, restored my head; and the footing, as I advanced, becoming more easy, I reached the summit amidst the hurras of the whole party. It was a considerable time, however, before I gained confidence to look around, notwithstanding I was on a surface thirty feet square.

The prospect, though from so great an elevation, disappointed me. I saw, indeed, an immense extent of cultivated country, divided into fields of yellow flax and green wheat, like so many squares in a chess-board, with the Nile and its curious canals, which cause their luxuriance, and a vast tract of desert on the other side. I must, however, acknowledge, that this scenery I enjoyed on recollection, for 1 was too anxious how I was to get down, to think much of the picturesque. A railing, even of straws, might give some slight notion

of security; but here there was absolutely nothing; and I had to cross and recross the angle, as the broken ledges rendered it necessary; for it is a mistake to suppose there are steps; the passage is performed over blocks of stone and granite, some broken off, others crumbling away, and others, which have dropped out all together, have left an angle in the masonry; but all these are very irregular. Occasionally the width and height of the stones are equal, but generally the height greatly exceeds the width; in many parts the blocks are four feet high.

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But could she partial Fortune blame,
Who saw her lovers, served the same?

At length from all her honours cast,
Through various turns of life she past:
Now glitter'd on a tailor's arm,
Now kept a beggar's infant warm;
Now, ranged within a miser's coat,
Contributes to his yearly groat;
Now, raised again from low approach,
She visits in the doctor's coach:
Here, there, by various fortune tost,
At last in Gresham-hall was lost.
Charm'd with the wonders of the show,
On every side, above, below,

She now of this or that, inquires;
What least was understood, admires.
'Tis plain each thing so struck her mind,
Her head's of virtuoso kind.

"And pray what's this, and this, dear sir?” "A Needle," says the interpreter.

She knew the name; and thus the fool
Address'd her, as a tailor's tool:

"A needle with that filthy stone, Quite idle, all with rust o'ergrown! You better might employ your parts, And aid the sempstress in her arts; But tell me how the friendship grew Between that paltry flint and you ?" "Friend," says the Needle, "

I follow real worth and fame.

cease to blame;

Know'st thou the loadstone's power and art,

That virtue, virtues can impart?

Of all his talents I partake,

Who then can such a friend forsake?

'Tis I direct the pilot's hand

To shun the rocks and treacherous sand:

By me the distant world is known,

And either India is our own.

Had I with milliners been bred,
What had I been? the guide of thread,
And drudged as vulgar Needles do,
Of no more consequence than you."


GOOD people all, of every sort,

Give ear unto my song,

And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,


Both mongrel, puppy, whelps, and hound,

And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends;

But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain his private ends,

Went mad and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets,

The wondering neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,

To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad

To ev'ry Christian eye;

And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light,

That show'd the rogues they lied;

The man recover'd of the bite,
The dog it was that died.

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