Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-10-22

Twill only say that hope shall never sec such another look as, that which was frozen on this dead mans face. Even the Arabs recoiled from 1t in horror and began to mutt ter prayers.
 For the rest, the usual opening on the left side, through which the embalmers did their work, was absent; tho finely cut feat ures were those of Q person of middle age, although the hair was already gray, and the frame that of powerful man, the shoul- ders being of an extraordinary width. I had not time to examine very closely, how over, for within a few seconds from it's un- covering tho unembalmed body, now that it 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 o1 hair, the skull, and 0 few of the larger bones. I noticed that one of the tibie, forgot if it was the right or tho left, had been fractured and very badly set. It must have been quito an inch shorter than the other.
 We'll, there was nothing more to find, 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 am coming by ''long sea-" but hope to be in London within ten days after you get it. Then will tell you of my pleasing experi- ences in tho course of tho ascent from the tomb chamber, and of how that prince of rascals, Ali Baba, and his thieves tried to frighten me into handing over the papyri, and how I worsted them. Then, too, We will get the rolls deciphered. expect that they only contain the usual thing, copies of the Book of the Dead, but there may be something else in them. Needless to say, I 6 not fn Egypt, or should have had the Boulac Mu- scum people on my track. Goodbye 'Mafish Fineesh," as Ali Baba always said.
 In due course my friend, the writer of tho letter from which have quoted, arrived in London, and on the very next day we paid visit to an acquaintance well versed in hieroglyphics and demotic writing, With | what anxiety we watched him skillfuIly dampening and unfolding one of the rolls and peering through his gold-rimmed glasses at the mysterious characters may well be imagined.
 ''HumG G' he said, "whatever it is, this is not copy of the Book of the Dead.' By George, what's thiss Cle-Cleo-Cleopatra 1! Why, my dear sirs, as l am living man, this is the history of somebody who lived in the days of Cleopatra! We'll, there's six months work before mo here-six months, at the very leastp' And in that joyful prospect he fairly lost control of himself, and skipped about the room, shaking hands with us at intervals, and saying: "I'll translate-Ill translate tiff it kills me, and Osiris, 1t will drive every Psychologist in Europe mad with envy! Oh, what find! | what most glorious f1nd!''
 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 tho ages.
 | He shows you those two Egypts that the | silent pyramids looked down upon long l 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 tho legends of | antiquity and the memory of long-lost | honors.
 | He tells you how the smoldering loyalty | of Khem (EgypD burnt up before it died | and how fercely the old Time cons ecrated | Faith struggled against the conquerin g | tide of Change, that, drawn ever by the mystery of Mind, rose like the Nie at food | 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 Decrees. Hero you shall make ac- | quaintance with tho shade of Cleopatra l that ''Thing of Flame" whose passion
 breathing beauty shaped the destiny ot
 empires. Hero you shall read how the soul
 of Charmion was slain of tho 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
 its own degree be the story of your own.
 Crying aloud from that dim Amenti where
 to-day he wears out his long atoning time
 in the history of his fall, he tells the fate ol
 him who, however sorely tried, forgets his
 God, his honor, and his country.