The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1889-09-28


4 viii only say thats u hope d shall never
such smother look saa Tint ytlich was frQxen
on this dead MANS face Y Even the arabs
recoiled from il III horror and began TO mntr
ter prayers. s2I s85 3
For the rest, the usual opening on the left
side, through which the embalmers did
their work, was absent; the finely cut Feat
ures were those Of q person of middle age,
although the hair was already gray, and the
frame that Of q powerful man, the shout
ders being Of an extraord culinary width.
had not time to examine very closely, how
ever, for within Q few seconds from its I'M
covering the unembalmed body, now that 1t
was exposed to the action OF the air, began
to crumble. In five or SIX minutes there
was literally nothing left Of it but wisp OF
hair, the skull, and a few of the larger
bones I noticed that one Of the tibiae,
forgot il it was the right or the left, had
been fractured and very badly set. 1t must
have been quite an inch shorter than the
other.
Well, there was nothing more to lind, and
now that the excitement was over, what
between the heat, the exertion and the
smell of mummy dust and spices, felt more
dead than alive.
am tired of writing, and the ship rolls.
This letter, of course, goes overland, and l
am coming by sslong sea,''. but hope to be
in London within ten days after you getit.
Then will tell you of my pleasing expert
ences in the course Of the ascent from the
tomb chamber, and of how that prince OF
rascals, Ali Bahia, and his thieves tried TO
brighten me into handing over the papyrl,
and how I worsted them. Then, too, we
will get the rolls deciphered. expect that
So. III
the Book of the Dead, but there may be
something else in them. Needless to say, I
did not narrate this little adventure in
Egypt, or I should have had the Boulac Mu-
scum people on my track. Goodbye
sMafish Fineesh,' as Ali Bahia always said.
In due course my friend, the writer of the
letter from which I have quoted, arrived in
London, and on the very next day we paid
visit to an acquaintance well versed in
hieroglyphics and demotc writing. With
what anxiety we watched him skillfully
happening and unfolding one of the rolls
ind peering through his gold-rimmed
classes at the mysterious characters may
well be imagined.
s.Hum!" he said, whatever it is, this is
not copy of the Book of the Dead By
George, what's thiss Observation-Disclosures
Why, my dear sirs, as [ am living man,
the days Of Cleopatra Well, there's six
months work before me here-six months,
at the very least!' And in that joyful
prospect he fairly lost control of himself,
and skipped about the room, shaking hands
with us at intervals, and saying: "TH
translate-rlL translate it if $, kills me, and
we will publish it,; and by the living
Osiris, it will drive every Psychologist in
Europe mad with envy! Oh, what findl
what most glorious ind!"
And o you whose eyes shall fall upon
these pages, see, they have been trans
lated, and they have been printed, and here
they lie before you-an undiscovered land
wherein you are free to travel!
Rarmachis speaks to you from his forgot
ten tomb. The walls of Time fall down,
and as at the lightning's leap picture
from the past starts suddenly on your view,
framed in the gathered darkness of the
ages.
He shows you those two Egypts that the
silent pyramids looked down upon long
centuries ago--the Egypt of the Greek, the
Roman, and the Ptolemy, and that other
outworn Egypt of the hierophant, hoary
with years, heavy with the legends of
antiquity and the memory of long-lost
honors.
He tells you how the smoldering loyalty
of Khem (Egypt) burnt up before. it died,
Ind how ferccly the old Time-consecrated
Faith struggled against the conquering
tide of Change, that, drawn ever by the
mystery of Mind, rose like the Nile at flood,
| and drowned the ancient gods of Egypt.
Here, in his pages, you shall learn the
glory of Isis the Many-shaped, the Execu-
tor of DEGREES. Here you shall make &C.
quaintance with the shade Of Cleopatra,
that ''Thing of Flame" whose passion
breathing beauty shaped the destiny Of
empires. Here you shall read how the soul
Of Char1nion was slain of the sword her
vengeance smithied.
Here Harmachis, the doomed Egyptian,
being about to die, salutes you who follow
on the path he trod. In the story Of his
broken years he shows to you what may in
it's own degree be the story of your own.
Crying aloud from that dim Arnenti where
to-day he wears out his long atoning time,
in the history of his fall, he tells the fate of
him who, however sorely tried, forgets his
God, his honor, and his country.