On Tuesday evening we all attended a raout, which was given us in our own hotel by a number of my own brothers in arms, the national guard. To gratify the company, I sang the "Marseillaise" in a way that drew tears from every Frenchman's eye, and seriously affected my own countrymen. M. Combier made me a speech in return, which was a gem of its kind, and I-in my splendid uniform of the (Nathan) yeomanry cavalry-made him another, no less sparkling. We then began shouting "Vive l'Angleterre," while they shouted "Vive la France," till all parties became so hoarse that it was necessary we should go to supper and moisten our throats with sandwiches, pastry, and champagne.

On the following evening (Wednesday) the same scene was repeated at the Hôtel de Ville, with this difference only, that there was no end to the champagne, port, sherry, and brandy that were drunk on the occasion. It was impossible to resist so much hospitality, and whether any of the three hundred went to bed sober or not is more than I can say. The last thing I recollect myself, after an animated conversation with all the principal statesmen of the day who crowded round me, and to whose better acquaintance I drank in Roman punch, was a strong feeling of fraternisation which seized me, and which induced me to invite everybody I met to come over and see me at Peckham. In this respect, however, I was not singular, almost all the party extending the same hospitable invitation, even to the préfet's servants, while they were putting on their great coats in the hall.

The merry-making at the Hôtel de Ville, and the desire I had to reserve myself for our parting banquet, made me a little late next day, and it was not long after breakfast, when, as I was leisurely pacing along the Boulevard Italien, leaning on the arm of Tomkins, I saw approaching me a gentleman, whom I at once recognised as the disappointed traveller on the day we left Boulogne, and whom Crispin had given me reason to believe was Lord Br―gh—m. I am not at all like Lord C-mpb-ll, or, as far as I know, any other noble peer, whom his lordship is in the habit of worrying, but there was a twitch of the nose and a screw up of the mouth, with an acceleration of pace as he approached, which evidently meant mischief to somebody. I looked at Tomkins to see whether, by chance, he had made a face at his lordship, but his countenance was as inflexible as a turnip, and I began to consider what offence I could have given, since there could be no mistake about his hostility being directed to one of us. I glanced at my crimson tights and well-turned leg, and then saw at once what was the matter. His lordship was jealous; that was the reason why he alone of all the notabilities in Paris had been absent from the préfet's party. Almost before I had time to arrive at this conclusion, the noble and learned lord came close up to us, and made a dead stop.

"So," said he, "Mr. Green-so you have placed yourself at the head of a number of impostors? Do you know, Mr. Green, that if I were the commander-in-chief at this moment, I would strike your name off the list of officers in the-the-the--(he seemed at a loss to name the corps, but, lawyer-like, made a bold guess)-the Tenth Hussars!"

"My lord," replied I, mildly, "this is very harsh language-totally unexpected; certainly uncalled for, and perfectly unjustifiable. Impostors, my lord, if I understand the term rightly, are persons who pretend to be what they are not, which I defy your lordship to say is the

case with any of those who have joined the present excursion. They came over here in the character of Englishmen, pleading no rights of French citizenship, nor having a tongue for each side of the water. They have been hospitably entertained in their capacity as Englishmen, and, like Englishmen, they will endeavour to requite the kindness that has been shown them whenever they have the opportunity."

Lord Br-gh-m stared at me, as if he hardly understood what I said; and I confess I was myself surprised to find I had spoken so plainly; but this is not the first time, I trust, that the British public have discovered that the heart of Jolly Green is in its right place. At

last he said:

"Your explanation, Mr. Green, pleases me-it is, in some measure, satisfactory to me, Mr. Green; pray give me your hand sir."

We shook hands accordingly; and his lordship, with a most indescribable smirk, then said:

"But, Mr. Green, when do you mean to leave Paris ?" "To-morrow, my lord."

"Ah!" replied he, brightening up still more; "that's right-that's well-to-morrow-good day, Mr. Green."

If ever there was one man glad to get rid of another, that man was Lord Br-gh-m.

Of the grand dinner that day in the Salle Valentino, and of the ball at Boulogne on the following evening, I have not time now to speak; but of this I feel certain, that if ever the French and English people are urged to collision by their rulers, they will call to mind their mutual friendly relations established by themselves, and drown all tendency to animosity in an amicable discharge of grape.

Let me, however, mention one gratifying fact. In commemoration of the British excursion, a very handsome medal has been struck by the French government from a design by a Welsh artist named J-nes. On the obverse appeared my portrait between a cap of liberty and two hands clasped-emblematic of the union of the two nations. On the reverse is the following simple inscription:

A

JOLLY GREEN,

LA FRANCE RECONNAISSANTE.

ler Avril, 1849.

I cannot exactly understand why the period of our visit has been antedated, but I am fully sensible of the kind feeling that dictated the compliment.

MONASTERIES IN THE LEVANT.*

UNDER whatever aspect viewed, the East still presents something new to contemplate. The cradle, as well as the prolonged home of religion and learning, of literature and art, it could hardly be otherwise. To imagine that its resources are exhausted only betrays an ignorance of what those resources are. The very tombs of the East recal a history— one, too, that is pregnant with meaning. Never was a monument of past times more superficially glanced at than in the following passage:— "In Armenia the traveller is often startled by the appearance of a giVisits to Monasteries in the Levant. By the Honourable Robert Curzon, Jun.

gantic stone figure of a ram, far away from any present habitation: this is the tomb of some ancient possessor of flocks and herds whose house and village have disappeared, and nothing but his tomb remains to mark the site which once was the abode of men."—(Curzon, p. xxviii.) Like the lion sculptured on the Tajik's grave, the obelisk on the Izedis, the ram is a tradition of the remotest antiquity among the Turkomansnot Armenians-and a talisman of high repute; while the Persian lion, however, does not probably date further back (as a popular and not a monarchical symbol) than the Arab conquest, Ali being the Lion of God among the Shiahs, the black ram gave its name to the warlike tribe of Kara Kayanlu; it was borne on the banners of the Seljukian sovereigns. and the memory of its domination is still preserved in the name of Karamania.

Christianity has undergone so many persecutions from without, and so many changes within itself in the East, and these are so often intimately connected with art, that it is a wonder that no one has hitherto devoted himself to the study of the Christian remains of the East. Christian churches of the highest antiquity are met with in the most out of the way places. Deep in the forests of Mount Casius, far removed from any habitation, and in a pathless solitude, there is a little church which closely resembles that at the Coptic monastery on the Nile, and of which we have mention made in Cory's "Ancient Fragments" (p. 11), as having been consecrated to Corus or Ham. Mr. David Roberts has lately familiarised us with the position of some of the more remarkable of the monasteries of Syria; such also are those yet undepicted of Sis, in Cilicia, of Der-i-Saffran, near Mardin, and others too numerous to mention; and not less curious in another point of view are the fresco-painted rock chapels and cells of Cappadocia. But the most extraordinary accumulation of remains of early Christianity are to be met with in northern Syria. Commencing in groups of fine marble buildings on the eastern slope of the Jibal Rayah, near Edlip, and not far north of ancient Apamea, remains of churches, chapels, monasteries, and other edifices of early Christianity may be met with, isolated, in groups of two or three, and from that to masses of hundreds, stretching by the upland of Dara, the Amguli Hills, with its central group of St. Simon's monastery, to beyond the Euphrates, where in the district of Aniana and Porsita, upwards of twelve distinct groups of Christian remains may be descried, now tenantless and abandoned. On the plain of Dana alone eight distinct groups of ruins of early Christianity may be counted from one spot, and at the foot of the Jibal Rayah the appearance is that of a great deserted city, far different in its architectural pretensions, and in all the insignia of a departed civilisation, to any existing city of the day. Neither Roberts nor Mr. Curzon have visited these far-spreading fragments of a once-thriving community, and yet justly does the latter gentlemanly traveller remark, that it is much to be desired that some competent person should explain what an early Christian church was; what the ceremonies, ornaments, vestures, and liturgy were at the time when the church of our Lord was formally established by the Emperor Constantine; "for the numerous well-meaning authors who have written on the restoration of our older churches, appear to me to be completely in the dark. Gothic is not Christian architecture-it is Roman Catholic architecture: the vestures of English ecclesiastics are not restorations of early simplicity-they are modern inventions, taken from German collegiate dresses, which have nothing to do with religion."

Mr. Curzon appears in his visits to the monasteries of the Levant to have had the following anecdote in mind as a key to his researches :

A Russian, or I do not know whether he was not a French traveller, in the pursuit, as I was, of ancient literary treasures, found himself in a great monastery in Bulgaria to the north of the town of Cavalla; he had heard that the books preserved in this remote building were remarkable for their antiquity, and for the subjects on which they treated. His dismay and disappointment may be imagined when he was assured by the agoumenos, or superior of the monastery, that it contained no library whatever; that they had nothing but the liturgies and church books, and no palaia pragmata or antiquities at all. The poor man had bumped upon a pack-saddle over villanous roads for many days for no other object, and the library of which he was in search had vanished as the visions of a dream. The agoumenos begged his guest to enter with the monks into the choir, where the almost continual church service was going on, and there he saw the double row of long-bearded holy fathers, shouting away at the chorus of KUPLE EλELσov, kpiσte eλelσov (pronounced Kyrie eleizon, Christe eleizon), which occurs almost every minute, in the ritual of the Greek Church. Each of the monks was standing, to save his bare legs from the damp of the marble floor, upon a great folio volume, which had been removed from the conventual library and applied to purposes of practical utility, in the way which I have described. The traveller, on examing these ponderous tomes, found them to be of the greatest value; one was in uncial letters, and others were full of illuminations of the earliest date; all these he was allowed to carry away in exchange for some footstools or hassocks, which he presented in their stead to the old monks; they were comfortably covered with ketché or felt, and were in many respects more convenient to the inhabitants of the monastery than the manuscripts had been, for many of their antique bindings were ornamented with bosses and nail-heads, which inconvenienced the toes of the unsophisticated congregation, who stood upon them without shoes for so many hours in the day.

The East is essentially to the present day the land of adventures, whether these be sought for among the crocodiles of the Nile, the Bedouins, of the desert, or the recesses of convents, and more curious literary incidents befel Mr. Curzon than even what is here related as having occurred to a predecessor in the same field. The author's first business visit, after a short stay at Cairo, was to the Coptic monasteries, near the Natron lakes. These remains of the Ascetic followers of Saint Macarius are not much visited by travellers; and Mr. Curzon was enabled, by the liberal distribution of rosoglio and the precious metals, to obtain severable valuable Coptic and Syriac manuscripts, which lay perdu in an oil-cellar. One heavy volume, which he was obliged to leave behind him for want of means to transport it, and which contained some lost epistles of Saint Ignatius, has since been acquired by the British Museum.

The next conventual visit was to the well known Der el Adra, on the Nile, commonly called the Convent of the Pulley. Few, if any, travellers have been induced, like Mr. Curzon, to overcome the inconveniences and hazards of a visit to a convent which so many have passed by satisfied with a sarcasm at the poor monks, who partake at once of some of the attributes of birds and fishes, and who, says Dr. Olin, in his "Travels in the East," "forfeit their claim to charity by a professional devotion of their lives to the work of disgracing the Gospel as well as human nature." Mr. Curzon was well rewarded, both for his courage in making the ascent and his courtesy to the poor Copts, by discovering a very curious specimen of early Christian architecture, and by visiting a little known and very singular community.

But it was not in monasteries only that Mr. Curzon sought out early Christian MS. He learned from a Coptic carpenter living among the ruins of Thebes, that the library of an extinct monastery was secreted in

one of the tombs of that great city. The carpenter would only agree to conduct our traveller to the buried treasures at night.

After lighting three candles, they descended into a great sepulchral hall, and thence into another, divided into aisles by four square columns. The walls were covered with hieroglyphs, and on the columns were tall figures of the gods of the infernal regions, in brilliant colours. Having found the books lying upon the steps of a Coptic altar, which was met with in the Egyptian tomb, they stuck the candles in the ground, and proceeded to examine their contents.

The first which came to hand was a dusty quarto, smelling of incense, and well spotted with yellow wax, with all its leaves dogs-eared or worn round with constant use: this was a MS. of the lesser festivals. Another appeared to be of the same kind; a third was also a book for the church service. We puzzled over the next two or three, which seemed to be martyrologies, or lives of the saints; but while we were poring over them, we thought we heard a noise. "Oh! father of hammers," said I to the carpenter, "I think I heard a noise: what could it be? -I thought I heard something move." "Did you, hawaja?" (O merchant), said the carpenter; "it must have been my son moving the books, for what else could there be here?-No one knows of this tomb or of the holy manuscripts which it contains. Surely there can be nothing here to make a noise, for are we not here alone, a hundred feet under the earth, in a place where no one comes? -It is nothing: certainly it is nothing;" and so saying, he lifted up one of the candles and peered about in the darkness; but as there was nothing to be seen, and all was silent as the grave, he sat down again, and at our our leisure we completed our examination of all the books which lay upon the steps.

They proved to be all church books, liturgies for different seasons, or homilies; and not historical, nor of any particular interest, either from their age or subject. There now remained only the great book upon the altar, a ponderous quarto, bound either in brown leather or wooden boards; and this the carpenter's son, with difficulty, lifted from its place, and laid it down before us on the ground; but, as he did so, we heard the noise again. The carpenter and I looked at each other: he turned pale-perhaps I did so too; and we looked over our shoulders in a sort of anxious, nervous kind of way, expecting to see something -we did not know what. However, we saw nothing; and, feeling a little ashamed, I again settled myself before the three candle-ends, and opened the book, which was written in large black characters of unusual size. As I bent over the huge volume, to see what it was about, suddenly there arose a sound somewhere in the cavern, but from whence it came I could not comprehend; it seemed all round us at the same moment. There was no room for doubt now: it was a fearful howling, like the roar of a hundred wild beasts. The carpenter looked aghast the tall and grisly figures of the Egyptian gods seemed to stare at us from the walls. I thought of Cornelius Agrippa, and felt a gentle perspiration coming on which would have betokened a favourable crisis in a fever. Suddenly the dreadful roar ceased, and as its echoes died away in the tomb, we felt considerably relieved, and were beginning to try and put a good face upon the matter, when, to our unutterable horror, it began again, and waxed louder and louder, as if legions of infernal spirits were let loose upon us. We could stand this no longer the carpenter and I jumped up from the ground, and his son in his terror stumbled over the great Coptic manuscript, and fell upon the candles, which were all put out in a moment; his screams were now added to the uproar which resounded in the cave: seeing the twinkling of a star through the vista of the two outer chambers, we all set off as hard as we could run, our feelings of alarm being increased to desperation when we perceived that something was chasing us in the darkness, while the roar seemed to increase every moment. How we did tear along! The devil take the hindmost seemed about to be literally fulfilled; and we raised stifling clouds of dust, as we scrambled up the deep slope which led to the outer door. "So then," thought I, "the stories of gins, and ghouls, and goblins, that I have read of and never believed, must be true after all, and in this city of the dead it has been our evil lot to fall upon a haunted tomb !"

Breathless and bewildered, the carpenter and I bolted out of this infernal palace into the open air, mightily relieved at our escape from the darkness and the terrors of the subterranean vaults. We had not been out a moment, and had by no means collected our ideas, before our alarm was again excited to its utmost pitch.