Vem al

1886. aro all that now remains t+ attest the ancient splendour of 8
Zur. 82. city which once contained 4000 baths, and counted a population
 of 600,000 souls. These carious fragments of departed
 grandeur have been often described, and are so little
intrinsically interesting, thst I shall say nothing about
them.
“The monuments called Cleopatra’s Needles are enormous
masses of granite. One only stands, the other was thrown
down and half buried in the sand in an attempt to remove it
to England, Mark the folly and injustice of carrying thesé
remains from the site where they were originally placed, and
from amidst the associations which gave them all their interest,
 to Liondon or Paris, where they become merely objects
of vulgar wonderment, and besides are subjected to the der
stroying effects of our humid climate. It is to be hoped that
good taste, or at least the feolings of economy which no
pervade our rulers’ minds, will prevent this vestige of the
days of the Pharaohs from being removed. *
«I dined with Mr. Muir at twelve o’clock. His Greek
servant, a man of remarkable elegance and gracefulness,
quiet, grave, and full of dignity at every gesture. What 2
power such grace has over my mind |”?

3 Théophile Gautier makes the Paris obelisk muse in Cobden’s sense :—
Sur cette place je m’ennuie,
Obélisque dépareillé;
Neige, givre, braine, et pluie
Glacent mon Janc déja ronills

Et me vieille aiguille, rongie
Aux fournaises d'un ciel de fou,
Prend des paleurs de nostalgie
Dans cet air qui n'est jamais blew.
La sentinelle granitique,
Gardienne des énormités,
Re dresse entre nn faux temple antiqee
Ht la chambre deg députds.

And no forth.
 Journiosh