Etearchus conjectured it to be the Nile; and reason favors that view. For the Nile certainly flows out of Libya, dividing it down the middle, and as I conceive-judging the unknown from the known-rises at the same distance from its mouth as the Ister. The latter river has its source in the country of the Celts near the city Pyrené, and runs through the middle of Europe, dividing it into two portions. The Celts live beyond the Pillars of Hercules, and border on the Cynesians, who dwell at the extreme west of Europe. Thus the latter flows through the whole of Europe before it finally empties itself into the Euxine at Istria, one of the colonies of the Milesians. Now as this river flows through regions that are inhabited, its course is perfectly well known; but of the sources of the Nile no one can give any account, since Libya, the country through which it passes, is desert and without inhabitants. As far as it was possible to get information by inquiry, I have given a description of the stream. It enters Egypt from the parts beyond. Egypt lies almost exactly opposite the mountainous region of Cilicia, whence a lightly equipped traveler may reach Sinopé on the Euxine in five days by the direct route. Sinopé lies opposite the place where the Ister falls into the sca. My opinion, therefore, is that the Nile as it traverses the whole of Libya, is of equal length with the Ister. And here I take my leave of this subject. ABOUT THE CROCODILE THE are ur winter months they eat HE following are the peculiarities of the croco nothing. They are four-footed, and live indifferently on land or in the water. The female lays and hatches her eggs ashore, passing the greater portion of the day on dry land, but at night retiring to the river, the water of which is warmer than the night-air and the dew. Of all known animals this is the one which from the smallest size grows to be the greatest; for the egg of the crocodile is but little bigger than that of the goose, and the young crocodile is in proportion to the egg; yet when it is full-grown the animal measures frequently seventeen cubits, and even more, It has the eyes of a pig, teeth large and tusk-like, of a size proportioned to its frame. Unlike any other animal, it is without a tongue. It cannot move its under jaw, and in this respect it is singular, being the only animal in the world which moves its upper jaw, and not the under. It has strong claws and a scaly skin, impenetrable upon the back. In the water it is blind, but on the land it is very keen of sight. As it lives chiefly in the river, it has the inside of its mouth constantly covered with leeches; hence it happens that while all the other birds and beasts avoid it, with the trochilus it lives at peace, since it owes much to that bird; for the crocodile, when he leaves the water and comes upon the land, is in the habit of lying with his mouth wide open, facing the western breeze; at such times the trochilus goes into his mouth and devours the leeches. This benefits the crocodile, who is pleased, and takes care not to hurt the trochilus. ... The modes of catching the crocodile are many and various. I shall only describe the one which seems to me most worthy of mention. They bait a hook with a chine of pork, and let the meat be carried out into the middle of the stream, while the hunter upon the bank holds a living pig, which he belabors. The crocodile hears its cries, and making for the sound, encounters the pork, which he instantly swallows down. The men on the shore haul, and when they have got him to land, the first thing the hunter does is to plaster his eyes with mud. This once accomplished, the animal is despatched with ease; otherwise he gives much trouble. THE PHOENIX HEY have also another sacred bird called the TP have also another sacred bird called the cept in pictures. Indeed it is a great rarity even in Egypt, only coming there (according to accounts of the people of Heliopolis) once in five hundred years, when the old phoenix dies. Its size and appearance-if it is like the pictures-is as follows: The plumage is partly red, partly golden, while the general make and size are almost exactly that of the eagle. They tell a story of what this bird does, which does not seem to me to be credible: that he comes all the way from Arabia, and brings the parent bird, all plastered with myrrh, to the temple of the sun, and there buries the body. In order to bring him, they say, he first forms a ball of myrrh as big as he finds that he can carry; then he hollows out the ball, and puts his parent inside; after which he covers over the opening with fresh myrrh, and the ball is then of exactly the same weight as at first; so he brings it to Egypt, plastered over as I have said, and deposits it in the temple of the sun. Such is the story they tell of the doings of this bird. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES (Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Publishers) OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, poet, novelist, and essayist, born at Cambridge, Mass., in 1809; died 1894. He was educated at Harvard University, gaining while there three medals for dissertations. He started the study of law, but soon gave it up for that of medicine. From 1847 to 1882 he was a professor in the Harvard Medical School. He wrote The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table" for the Atlantic Monthly," and they were later published in book form. Of his novels, "Elsie Venner," and "The Guardian Angel," are the best. He also wrote a large number of essays and medical works. Subtle humor, sparkling wit, and the most tender pathos came in turn from the pen of this writer, and through it all was the sunshine of his own character. 66 THE VOICELESS E count the broken lyres that rest WE Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, But o'er their silent sister's breast The wild-flowers who will stoop to number? A few can touch the magic string, And noisy Fame is proud to win them: Alas for those that never sing, But die with all their music in them! Nay, grieve not for the dead alone Whose song has told their hearts' sad story,— Weep for the voiceless, who have known The cross without the crown of glory! Not where Leucadian breezes sweep O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow, But where the glistening night-dews weep On nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow. O hearts that break and give no sign Slow-dropp'd from Misery's crushing presses,— THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS THIS HIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Wreck'd is the ship of pearl! And every chamber'd cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies reveal'd, Its iris'd ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unseal'd ! Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, |