and a few hovels. There is nothing very
remarkable in its exterior appearance, which
presents nothing but long, littering, dead
walls. On entering the narrow gate,
however, it is impossible not to be struck with
the effect of an immense square court,
surrounded by vast colonnades, with plain round
arches of simple grandeur. An octagonal
building in the centre, containing a well,
improves the general effect. We were first
conducted to the Pillars of Purity—that is to
say, two marble columns, placed so close
together that only a spare man can squeeze
through. ln old times it was esteemed that
none but good and true Moslems—and yet all
of these—could pass between. When such a
standard was chosen, not very long after the
Prophet had promulgated his faith—few,
indeed, must have been the specimens of
bulky orthodoxy, such as we have so often
met with parading the streets, fluttering in
their ample silk robes. At present, it is
believed the columns are still a test of remarkable
purity ; and my corpulent companion
sighed as he acknowledged the absolute
impossibility of his succeeding in an attempt
which was easy to me. A hideous old lady,
who played the part of cicerone, repeatedly
excited him to prove his freedom from sin;
but even to ascend the steps would have been
to him a difficult operation; and he sadly
renounced all claim to be considered one of
the "very righteous."

The old lady was a capital and original
guide—not original, however, in her eagerness
to hurry us from one point of interest to
the other. She led us along the vast
colonnades, telling us, with rare faith, that the
true believers would be trampled under foot
by the heathen whenever this most sacred
Mosque fell into decay; and it really requires
some such persuasion to excuse the tasteless
reparations which have recently been made
at various points. After permitting us to
peep into a small cell containing the tomb of
the founder of the Mosque, she took us
through a perfect forest of columns to one
particular one, up to which she ran, and,
slapping it triumphantly, cried, "Look there!"
She had evidently reached what, to her, was
the most interesting spot of the whole. I
could at first see nothing at all remarkable;
but, on closer examination, found that the
column was slightly depressed, and stained
with a greenish colour, and that there was a
crack across it. I learned that the impression
was caused by a slap from the hand of the
Prophet himself; and the crack, by a blow
from his Koorbash. My companion, to whom
I observed, that, as far as I knew, Mohammed
had never been in Egypt, was a little puzzled
and shaken in his faith, and he admitted that
there were many supposititious relics : but,
on reflection, his doubts were satisfied. "See,"
quoth he, "here is the proof you require ; all
the genuine marks of the Prophet are of a
green colour; this stone is green; therefore
—"The conclusion was irresistible; and
I was told that the Great Rasail's Footstep in
the Mosque to the south of Old Cairo is also
green.

I have seen it somewhere remarked, that
Moslims do not look with reverence upon
antique monuments of their faith. This,
however, is not so. I have never known
greater respect paid to ancient buildings than
is paid to their mosques by the Egyptians.
It is true they despise everything else that
is old ; and feel a pleasure in demolishing the
relics of the unblessed Kafrs, who preceded
them. In breaking them, they seem to feel
all the pleasures of a contest with supernatural
power; for they firmly believe that
the huge stones with which the ancient piles
that we respect are built, were not raised by
human arms, but by the influence of spells
and talismans. When, in spite of an
opportunity, they refrain from destruction, it is in
the belief that they may bring down the
vengeance of accursed spirits upon themselves.
It is another article of their faith that the
ruins contain hidden treasures, and, so firm
is their conviction, that every relic of ancient
times would have been long swept away,
were there not a counteracting superstition
that these treasures are protected by evil
spirits. Near Shabour, on the Rosetta
branch, I am told there is a huge stone,
covering the entrance of a cave, supposed to
contain incalculable riches; and that every
night a magic cock is supposed to come out
and chant, to draw attention to the fact;
but it is also supposed that any one who should
venture to remove the stone, would have his
heart pecked out by the imaginary cock that
protects the imaginary treasure. The wild
fancy of the Arabs has adorned nearly every
spot in their country with similar legends.
Even the Mosque of Amer itself was once
believed to contain immense wealth—or
rather, is believed ; for the disappointment
of the searchers is said to be the work of
genii.

But, as I was saying, the Moslims do respect
their ancient mosques; and, indeed, one of
the chief features in the conversation of the
devout, is the emission of various opinions on
the ages of their places of public worship.
Some of the fanciful, forgetting the recent
existence of the Prophet, heap thousands on
thousands of years with complacent fervour;
but, generally speaking, the information
current seems to be tolerably exact—more so
than one would expect to be the case. I
found that donkey-boys and boatmen agreed
to give the Mosque of Amer twelve hundred
and odd years (it was built in A. D. 639), and
that the knowledge of the particular incidents
connected with its foundation was not very
incorrect. The old lady cicerone told us
some long stories about the period at which
various additions were made, and the
generosity of people who gave up their houses to
make room for the expanding Mosque. Among