house or by the wayside, however poor and scanty may be his fare, never neglects to invite the visitor, or passing wayfarer, to join him. And this is not always an empty compliment; indeed there are few Arabs who will not feel honoured by the traveller's tasting their humble fare. The invitation, however, is generally declined by a set courteous phrase. The word of invitation is invariably tefuddhel, the multifarious meaning of which I can only interpret by the Italian favorisca. The complimentary declinature is, Ullah yezid fudhlak, "May God increase your bounty." In passing his house, too, in company with a stranger, the Arab will always invite him in by the same tefuddhel; and in presenting coffee, sherbet, fruit, or any other delicacy, the same word is used-in fact, with the exception of bakhshish, it is the most common and expressive word in the Arabic language.

least resemblance to them. Like Spain, too, | Syria. An Arab when eating, whether in the the best specimens of humanity are here found among the lower classes. The farther we go from the contaminated atmosphere of government offices, the more successful shall we be in our search after honesty, industry, and genuine patriarchal hospitality-the great, almost the only unadulterated virtue of the Arab. They are illiterate, of course, and extremely ignorant of all Frank inventions; but still there is a native dignity in their address and deportment, which will both please and astonish those who have seen the awkward vulgarity of the lower classes in some more favoured lands. Whether we enter the tent of the Bedawy cr the cottage of the fellah, we are received and welcomed with an ease and courtesy that would not disgrace a palace. The modes of salutation are very formal-perhaps some would call them verbose and even tedious. One is apt to imagine, on hearing the long series of reiterated inquiries after the health, happiness, and prosperity of the visitor who drops in, and the evasive replies given, that there is surely some hidden grief, some secret malady, which his politeness would fain conceal, but which the heartfelt sympathy of the host constrains him to search into. It is disappointing to discover, as every one will in time discover, that this is all form; and that the "thousand and one" keif keifaks? and keif khâtĕraks? and keif hâl suhhětaks? and inshallah mabsuts? and the equally numerous, but not very satisfactory responses of, Ullah yusallěmak, Ullah yusallem khátěrak, Ullah yahfuzak, Ullah yutawwel 'umrak-are all phrases which mean nothing, so far as the feelings of those who use them are concerned. Still there is something pleasing in these inquiries, compliments, and good wishes, empty though they be. The gestures used in salutation are also graceful, if a little complicated. The touching of the heart, the lips, and the forehead with the right hand, seems to say that each one thus saluted is cherished in the heart, praised with the lips, and esteemed with the intellect. When peculiar deference and respect are intended to be shown, the right hand is first lowered almost to the ground, as a proof that the individual would honour your very feet, or the soil you tread. A still greater deference is implied in kissing the hand; and the greatest of all is kissing the feet. These latter, however, it is just as dignified for travellers firmly, but courteously, to resist. Another remark may be made on a curious custom which universally prevails in

In making purchases from an Arab his politeness is almost amazing. When the price is asked he replies, "Whatever you please, my lord." When pressed for a more definite answer, he says, "Take it without money." One cannot but remember under such circumstances, Abraham's treaty with the sons of Heth for the cave of Machpelah (Gen. xxiii.). Our feelings of romance, however, are somewhat damped when we find that the price ultimately demanded is four or five times the value of the article. An Arab always tells you that his house is yours, his property is yours, he himself is your slave; that he loves you with all his heart, would defend you with his life, &c. &c. This all sounds very pretty, but it will be just as well not to rely too much on it for fear of disappointment. Nothing, however, is lost by politeness; and so one may seem to believe all that is said, and even utter an occasional Ullah yutawwel 'umrak ya sidy, "May God prolong your life, O my lord!" by way of showing gratitude. The Arabs are most profuse in the use of titles. Every beggar will address his fellow with "O my lord,” ya sidy (pronounced seedy), or "Your excellency," jěnabak; while the traveller is generally saadatak, "Your highness." It has been too often the practice of Englishmen to "manage" their Arab servants and muleteers by bullying and browbeating; but this is a great mistake. Insolent dragomen generally resort to such practices to sustain their temporary tyranny. I need not say that such conduct is beneath the dignity of an English gentleman. Unvarying courtesy, accompanied with as unvarying

firmness, will gain the desired object far more | familiarity will be attributed by the Arab to effectually. This is especially the case with weakness of character, perhaps in some cases the Bedawîn, who can often be persuaded by to fear, of which he will not be slow to take a kind word when they could not be driven advantage when occasion offers. To know by a rod of iron. At the same time any ap- one's place and keep it, and to know one's proach to undue familiarity should be im- rights and insist on obtaining them, are allmediately checked; the permission of such important qualifications in Syria as elsewhere.

ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES.

[Alfred Perceval Graves is the son of Dr. Graves, the Bishop of Limerick, and was born in Dublin in 1846. He was educated at Trinity College, obtaining double-first honours in classics and English. He graduated in 1870, after entering the Home Office, where he became private secretary to Mr. Winterbotham, then under-secretary in that department, whose premature decease, it may be remembered, caused some years ago so much regret among all parties. Mr. Graves is now one of Her Majesty's inspectors of schools.

Mr. Graves is also the joint author of a successful work on school management, entitled the Elementary School Manager. Another volume of his poems, under the title Irish Songs and Ballads, is in the press, from which we make our remaining quotations.]

IRISH SPINNING-WHEEL SONG.1

Show me a sight
Bates for delight

O! No!
Nothin' you'll show

Brought up amid scholastic surroundings, An ould Irish wheel wid a young Irish girl at it. Mr. Graves began at an early age to write. His first literary production appeared in the Dublin University Magazine when he was but Aquals her sittin' and takin' a twirl at it.

Look at her there,
Night in her hair-

sixteen or seventeen years of age. He em-
ployed himself at this time for the most part
in giving poetic translations from the Greek
and Latin classics. Mr. Graves has also con-
tributed to Fraser, the Spectator, Punch, and
several other periodicals. The first collection
of his poems was published in 1872, under the Peepin' to put an end to all doubt in us

The blue ray of day from her eye laughin' out on

title Songs of Killarney. The work was received with a chorus of praise from the journals-literary and political, English, Irish,

us!

Faix, an' a foot,
Perfect of cut,

That there's a sight
Bates for delight

O! No!
Nothin' you'll show

and Scotch, and, it may be added, American. An ould Irish wheel wid a young Irish girl at it.

The book consists for the most part of Irish songs and ballads. The aim of the poet has

been to express the humour and pathos of the Aquals her sittin' an' takin' a twirl at it.

Irish character, and, further, to make the ex

How the lamb's wool

Turns coarse an' dull

of form in which the Irish people would them- By them soft, beautiful, weeshy, white hands of

pression of these passions take the simplicity

selves clothe them. Our first two quotations are from this collection, and we think the book as a whole shows that the author has at

her,

Down goes her heel,
Roun' runs the reel,

Then show me a sight
Bates for delight

tained remarkable success in his object. These Purrin' wid pleasure to take the commands of her. poems are full of genuine Irish humour, which is delicate and graceful, and utterly free, it need scarcely be said, from the buffoonery that has been made to pass as characteristically Irish. There is also true natural melody in the verses, and the sentiment is pure and healthy.

An ould Irish wheel wid a young Irish girl at it.

1 This and the following pieces are quoted by the author's permission.

And though quite avoidin' all foolish frivolity,

I'd rock my own sweet childie to rest in a cradle Still at all seasons of innocent jollity,

THE BANKS OF THE DAISIES.

When first I saw young Molly
Stretched beneath the holly,

Fast asleep, forenint her sheep, one dreamy sum-
mer's day,

With daisies laughing round her,

Hand and foot I bound her,

Then kissed her on her blooming cheek, and softly
stole away.

But, as with blushes burning
Tip-toe I was turning,

From sleep she starts, and on me darts a dreadful
lightning ray;

My foolish flowery fetters

Scornfully she scatters,

And like a winter sunbeam she coldly sweeps

away.

But Love, young Love, comes stooping
O'er my daisies drooping,

And oh each flower with fairy power the rosy
boy renews;

Then twines each charming cluster

In links of starry lustre,

And I built him a bower in my breast,
In my breast;

And I built him a bower in my breast.

I once loved a boy, and I trusted him true,
And I built him a bower in my breast;
But away, wirrasthrue! the rover he flew,
And robbed my poor heart of its rest,
Of its rest;

And robbed my poor heart of its rest.

The spring-time returns, and the sweet speckled
thrush

Murmurs soft to his mate on her nest,
But for ever there's fallen a sorrowful hush
O'er the bower that I built in my breast,
In my breast;

O'er the desolate bower in my breast.

IRISH LAMENTATION TO THE ULSTER

GOLL.

Cold, dark, and dumb lies my boy on his bed;
Cold, dark, and silent the night dews are shed,

And with the chain enchanting my colleen proud Hot, swift, and fierce fall my tears for the dead!

pursues.

[The Rev. Thomas N. Burke-or, to use | period of five years spent in this preparation he the popular name by which he is usually called among his co-religionists, "Father Tom Burke was born in the picturesque old town of Galway in 1830. At an early age he determined to devote himself to the priesthood, and when he was seventeen years old he went to Italy to pass through the necessary years of study and novitiate.

was sent to England, and there was ordained a priest of the Dominican order of friars. After four years of missionary work in Gloucestershire, he was sent to his native land to found a house at Tallaght, county Dublin, in connection with his order. He remained for about seven years in Ireland, and then again he was After a ordered to Italy, becoming superior of the

monastery of Irish Dominicans at San Cle- people, their tone of thought, their devotion,

mente, Rome.

their love, their sympathies, their antipathies, their language--all this is found in their history, as the effect is found in its cause, as the autumn speaks of the spring. And the philosopher who wishes to analyse a people's character and to account for it-to account for the national desires, hopes, aspirations, for the strong sympathies or antipathies that sway a people-must go back to the deep recesses of their history; and there, in ages long gone by, will he find the seeds that produced the fruit that he attempts to account for. And he will find that the nation of to-day is but the child and offspring of the nation of bygone ages; for it is written truly, that "the child is father of the man." When, therefore, we come to consider the desires of nations, we find that every people is most strongly desir

The death of Cardinal Wiseman in 1865 drew Dr. Manning from Italy, and Father Burke was selected to succeed him as the English preacher during the Lenten services in the church of Santa Maria del Popolo in Rome. It will be known that those services used to be attended by large and critical audiences, the congregation consisting often in great part of Protestant tourists whom the feasts of the holy season attracted to the Eternal City, and the office of preacher was accordingly bestowed only on those who were regarded as the ablest exponents of the Roman Catholic creed. Having held this distinguished position for five years in succession, Father Burke once more returned to Ireland. In the next few years, and indeed for many years before, he was the most popular and the most frequent preacherous to preserve its history, even as every man in Ireland, and the competition for his services was consequently keen. Whenever a church was to be opened, or an orphanage to be built, or a school to be rescued from debt, Father Burke was asked to speak; and those incessant though flattering demands upon him resulted more than once in breaking down a not very robust physical system.

In 1872 he had perhaps his greatest triumph. Despatched on a religious mission to the United States, he happened to arrive there at the moment when Mr. Froude was engaged in his famous anti-Irish crusade. Father Burke was forced into the controversy, and delivered a series of lectures in reply to the attacks of the English historian. Those lectures, as well as many of his sermons, have been republished in volume form. As is so often the case, much of the effectiveness of the speaker is lost in the printed addresses. Father Burke can only be appreciated by being heard, and even a cool head can scarcely avoid being carried away by his rush of brilliant imagery, sonorous language, and broad mirth. He has the advantage, also, of great powers of acting, and his voice, though not musical, is managed with consummate skill.]

A NATION'S HISTORY.1

The most precious-the grandest-inheritance of any people, is that people's history. All that forms the national character of a

1 From a lecture on the "History of Ireland as told in her Ruins."

is anxious to preserve the record of his life; for history is the record of a people's life. Hence it is that, in the libraries of the more ancient nations, we find the earliest histories of the primeval races of mankind written upon the durable vellum, the imperishable asbestos, or sometimes deeply carved, in mystic and forgotten characters, on the granite stone or pictured rock, showing the desire of the people to preserve their history, which is to preserve the memory of them, just as the old man dying said, "Lord, keep my memory green!"

But, besides these more direct and documentary evidences, the history of every nation is enshrined in the national traditions, in the national music and song; much more, it is written in the public buildings that cover the face of the land. These, silent and in ruins, tell most eloquently their tale. To-day "the stone may be crumbled, the wall decayed;" the clustering ivy may, perhaps, uphold the tottering ruin to which it clung in the days of its strength; but

"The sorrows, the joys of which once they were part,

Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng."

They are the voices of the past; they are the voices of ages long gone by. They rear their venerable and beautiful gray heads high over the land they adorn; and they tell us the tale of the glory or of the shame, of the strength or of the weakness, of the prosperity or of the adversity of the nation to which they belong. This is the volume which we are about to open; this is the voice which we are about to