Then throw more logs on the fire,
Since the air is bleak and cold,
And the children are drawing nigher,
For the tales that the wind has told.
So closer and closer gather
Round the red and crackling light;
And rejoice (while the wind is blowing)
We are safe and warm to-night!
Hark to the voice of the wind!

MIRIAM THE SHADOW.

THERE existed formerly, according to
tradition, confirmed by some European travellers,
near the city of Damietta, in Egypt, a church
of the Copts, in which on St. George's day a
very remarkable event used to take place
every year. Precisely at noon, along the
white wall above the altar, there began a
procession of dim phantoms; some mounted
on horseback, others on foot, some male and
some female. The priests attached to the
church maintained that these apparitions
were Saints who chose to present themselves
at this period in order to revive the faith of
the Christian people who were in servitude
to unbelieving masters. As the fact was
undoubted, and admitted even by Jews and
Franks, who came to wonder and try to
explain, the Coptic congregation in those
times, when such a circumstance was not
considered at all repugnant to the laws of
nature, of course accepted the miracle and
derived benefit from the belief. In our days
they would probably have been derided by
public opinion, at least in these western
countries; but in the East, ghosts and genii
and spirits of all ranks and classes— good and
evil — were then, as now, considered to be as
necessary to carry on the business of this
world as breezes and showers. Even the
most useless and idle apparitions are looked
upon as mere matters of course. "The earth
hath bubbles as the water hath; and these
are of them," would have exactly expressed
their notion. But most spiritual agencies,
according to them, are appointed by
Providence to perform certain fixed duties. There
are beings to watch over lovers, and others
to torment the wicked. We are accustomed
to suppress a yawn because of the laws of
etiquette; but an Egyptian Fellah profoundly
believes he must do so because there exists
a particular kind of demon, specially appointed
to leap down the throats of gaping mortals.

As long as the church stood there was an
annual pilgrimage, from all the surrounding
districts, of pious people who wished to have
ocular evidence of the fact that saints did
revisit the earth in order to cheer and console
them. On St. George's day, the neighbourhood
of the church was converted into a camp.
The strangers began to arrive on the previous
evening, on asses, on mules, on camels, in boats
down the river. Some set up good tents as a
protection against the dew-fall; others made
little sheds of palm branches and blankets;
and many bivouacked in the open air round
great fires lighted at various intervals upon
the plain. Few, however, slept, religious
excitement having wrought up most minds
to a pitch of fervour that rendered rest
impossible. Some prayed, others sang, others
talked, many walked apart in meditation. A
continual hum rose from the camp, and was
carried by the sea breeze far away over the
country, to greet the little caravans that were
converging towards the same point along
every path.

On one occasion— tradition is not very
precise as to the date— a large boat manned
by a dozen rowers, on coming round a sharp
promontory into a broad reach that sparkled
in the moon like a lake of silver, was greeted
by the distant murmur of the camp of
pilgrims. An old man with a white beard,
who sat in the portico of the cabin,
instantly gave orders to moor under the bank.
The rowers, with a quick dropping chant,
brought the head of the galley round to the
stream and found a convenient landing-
place near a group of sycamores. The old
man remained meditating for a short time in
his place; and then, unhooking a little lamp
that swung from a chain, went into the cabin,
shading the light with his hand and walking
cautiously as if into a sick chamber. On one
of the couches, under curtains of gauze, there
was a person sleeping, who at first sight
might have been mistaken for a maiden. A
slight down, however, on the upper lip, and
some sternness about the eyebrows indicated
that the sleeper was a youth. He was very
pale and looked sickly. The old man gazed
at him for a little time and then made the
light play upon his eyelids, and said gently,
"My son, my son, we have arrived at the
destination of fate, and it is meet that we
should say the prayers which are necessary
to bring a blessing upon us." The young
man, after murmuring a little time some
words in which the name of Miriam recurred
two or three times, awoke with a cheerful
smile and said, "I thank thee, father." Then
the old man stooped down and kissed him on
the forehead, and took out a large book from
beneath the cushion and began to read,
pausing now and then for his son to say
"Ameen," which he did very devoutly. The
sailors meanwhile had lighted a fire on the
bank, and were saying their prayers around
it. There was no sound but the gurgling of
the water along the sides of the boat, except
that now and then with the rising and the
falling of the gentle wind the murmur of the
camp came sweeping by.

Han Hamma was the principal accountant
of the treasury of the Sultan of Egypt.
Though he had amassed a large fortune in
the exercise of his functions, he was reputed
for probity, and had earned the respect both
of prince and people. This is saying much in
the East, where it is supposed that a good
financier must be a dishonest man. Han