The Queen An unknown princess

The Nile had overflowed its bed. The luxuriant corn-fields and blooming gardens on its shores were lost beneath a boundless waste of waters; and only the gigantic temples and palaces of its cities, (protected from the force of the water by dikes), and the tops of the tall palm-trees and acacias could be seen above its surface. The branches of the sycamores and plane-trees drooped and floated on the waves, but the boughs of the tall silver poplars strained upward, as if anxious to avoid the watery world beneath.

The full-moon had risen; her soft light fell on the Libyan range of mountains vanishing on the western horizon, and in the north the shimmer of the Mediterranean could faintly be discerned. Blue and white lotus-flowers floated on the clear water, bats of all kinds darted softly through the still air, heavy with the scent of acacia-blossom and jasmine; the wild pigeons and other birds were at roost in the tops of the trees, while the pelicans, storks and cranes squatted in groups on the shore under the shelter of the papyrus-reeds and Nile-beans. The pelicans and storks remained motionless, their long bills hidden beneath their wings, but the cranes were startled by the mere beat of an oar, stretching their necks, and peering anxiously into the distance, if they heard but the song of the boatmen. The air was perfectly motionless, and the unbroken reflection of the moon, lying like a silver shield on the surface of the water, proved that, wildly as the Nile leaps over the cataracts, and rushes past the gigantic temples of Upper Egypt, yet on approaching the sea by different arms, he can abandon his impetuous course, and flow along in sober tranquillity.

On this moonlight night in the year 528 B. C. a bark was crossing the almost currentless Canopic mouth of the Nile. On the raised deck at the stern of this boat an Egyptian was sitting to guide the long pole-rudder, and the half-naked boatmen within were singing as they rowed. In the open cabin, which was something like a wooden summer-house, sat two men, reclining on low cushions. They were evidently not Egyptians; their Greek descent could be perceived even by the moonlight. The elder was an unusually tall and powerful man of more than sixty; thick grey curls, showing very little attempt at arrangement, hung down over his short, firm throat; he wore a simple, homely cloak, and kept his eyes gloomily fixed on the water. His companion, on the contrary, a man perhaps twenty years younger, of a slender and delicate build, was seldom still. Sometimes he gazed into the heavens, sometimes made a remark to the steersman, disposed his beautiful purple chlanis in fresh folds, or busied himself in the arrangement of his scented brown curls, or his carefully curled beard.

[The chlanis was a light summer-mantle, worn especially by the more

elegant Athenians, and generally made of expensive materials. The

simpler cloak, the himation, was worn by the Doric Greeks, and

principally by the Spartans.]

The boat had left Naukratis, at that time the only Hellenic port in Egypt, about half an hour before.

[This town, which will form the scene of a part of our tale, lies in

the northwest of the Nile Delta, in the Saitic Nomos or district, on

the left bank of the Canopic mouth of the river. According to

Strabo and Eusebius it was founded by Milesians, and Bunsen reckons

749 B. C. It seems that in the earliest times Greek ships were only

allowed to enter this mouth of the Nile in case of necessity. The

entire intercourse of the Egyptians with the hated strangers was, at

that time, restricted to the little island of Pharos lying opposite

to the town of Thonis.]

During their journey, the grey-haired, moody man had not spoken one word, and the other had left him to his meditations. But now, as the boat neared the shore, the restless traveller, rising from his couch, called to his companion: "We are just at our destination, Aristomachus! That pleasant house to the left yonder, in the garden of palms which you can see rising above the waters, is the dwelling of my friend Rhodopis. It was built by her husband Charaxus, and all her friends, not excepting the king himself, vie with one another in adding new beauties to it year by year. A useless effort! Let them adorn that house with all the treasures in the world, the woman who lives within will still remain its best ornament!"

[We are writing of the month of October, when the Nile begins to

sink. The inundations can now be accurately accounted for,

especially since the important and laborious synoptical work of H.

Barth and S. Baker. They are occasioned by the tropical rains, and

the melting of the snows on the high mountain-ranges at the Equator.

In the beginning of June a gradual rising of the Nile waters can be

perceived; between the 15th and 20th June, this changes to a rapid

increase; in the beginning of October the waters reach their highest

elevation, a point, which, even after having begun their retreat,

they once more attempt to attain; then, at first gradually, and

afterwards with ever increasing rapidity, they continue to sink. In

January, February and March, the Nile is still drying up; and in May

is at its lowest point, when the volume of its waters is only one-

twentieth of that in October.]

The old man sat up, threw a passing glance at the building, smoothed the thick grey beard which clothed his cheeks and chin, but left the lips free,-[The Spartans were not in the habit of wearing a beard on the upper lip.]-and asked abruptly: "Why so much enthusiasm, Phanes, for this Rhodopis? How long have the Athenians been wont to extol old women?" At this remark the other smiled, and answered in a self-satisfied tone, "My knowledge of the world, and particularly of women, is, I flatter myself, an extended one, and yet I repeat, that in all Egypt I know of no nobler creature than this grey-haired woman. When you have seen her and her lovely grandchild, and heard your favorite melodies sung by her well-practised choir of slave-girls, I think you will thank me for having brought you hither."-"Yet," answered the Spartan gravely, "I should not have accompanied you, if I had not hoped to meet Phryxus, the Delphian, here."

"You will find him here; and besides, I cannot but hope that the songs will cheer you, and dispel your gloomy thoughts." Aristomachus shook his head in denial, and answered: "To you, sanguine Athenians, the melodies of your country may be cheering: but not so to me; as in many a sleepless night of dreams, my longings will be doubled, not stilled by the songs of Alkman."

[Alkman (Attic, Alkmaeon) flourished in Sparta about 650 B. C. His

mother was a Lydian slave in Sardes, and he came into the possession

of Agesides, who gave him his freedom. His beautiful songs soon

procured him the rights of a Lacedaemonian citizen. He was

appointed to the head-directorship in the entire department of music

in Lacedaemon and succeeded in naturalizing the soft Lydian music.

His language was the Doric-Laconian. After a life devoted to song,

the pleasures of the table and of love, he is said to have died of