"It is not that my fortunes flee, Nor that my cheek is pale I mourn whene'er I think of thee, A wiser head I have I know Than when I listen'd there, And in my knowledge-care. Old times! &c. "And sure the land is nothing changed, The flow'rs are springing where we ranged, The holly waving o'er my head Still sweetly shades my frame, Old times! &c. "Oh! come again ye merry times, And wear my Sunday palm. If I could cry away mine eyes, My tears would flow in vain ; If I could waste my heart in sighs, They'll never come again. Old times! old times." Mrs. Manvers' voice faltered at one or two of the lines, but Mr. Desmond felt them still more deeply; rising hastily, the tears in his eyes, he said, "I well know that very touching song: it is supposed to have been written by a young woman in a very humble sphere of life, but to the proudest of us it must be applicable on many occasions. So come along, my friends, let us return to our own daily vocations. This is an interesting spot, but we have lingered here long enough." Just then Evelyn observed a little girl who was carelessly running along the edge of the steep and rugged hill, which appeared almost to hang over, the well. "Oh!" she exclaimed, “look at that little girl!—she will break her neck! Papa, do call to her tell her to stop! Oh little girl! don't come on!" "Hush, my love! your calling to her may startle the poor child, and cause the very danger you apprehend. It might be hazardous to you, who seldom ramble among such wild paths; but that little girl is accustomed to wander over these hills and rocks: even Mabel could walk safely along that pathway." "Let us observe what she is going to do," said Mrs. Man"I think she is coming down to us." vers. The little girl rapidly descended, jumping from stone to stone, or swinging herself from one bush to another of the stunted hazel which grew in patches on the side of the hill. When near the party she stopped timidly, as if fearful of approaching. They beckoned and called to her; yet she still seemed to hesitate, till Mr. Desmond spoke to her in Irish, desiring her to come on, and she then instantly bounded down to them over bushes and rocks. Curtsying to each of the ladies, and pointing to the well, she asked Mr. Desmond if they would like to have some water to drink; and bending over the stones to fill a little tin cup that she held in her hand, she presented it to Mrs. Manvers first, and then to each of the party. They thanked her, and asked what her name was, and where she lived; but she only smiled and curtsied, showing that she did not understand them. Evelyn gave her the remains of the sandwiches, and, to the child's great surprise, put a shilling into her hand. She expressed her gratitude in her own language, and then, looking wistfully at Mr. Desmond, said, with the drawl peculiar to that part of the country, “A booke-a booke." "What can she want with a book?" exclaimed Evelyn. "She does not understand English!" "She has learned to read Irish, perhaps," said Mabel; "" will you ask her, papa?" The child looked from one to the other, wishing to know what they were saying about her, and doubting whether to go or stay; but a few Irish words from Mr. Desmond reassured her. He inquired what she was doing among the hills, and how she occupied herself, and what he could do for her: to which she answered, that she was looking after the cattle that were sent up to the hills for summer pasture, and employed herself at times in knitting; that she took a cake of oaten bread and a little milk with her from home every morning; and that she wished for nothing but a book. "Can you read, my little girl?" "I am learning, Sir. The man who taught us to say some of the good booke, now and then teaches me to read; and if I had a book of my own, I could sometimes read a word or two here." "But how did he teach you what was in the good book?" "Oh then, Sir! did'nt he read part of it over and over to us-and wouldn't I remember it after hearing it two or three times ?" Mr. Desmond desired her to say what she had last learned, and she correctly repeated the latter part of the 18th chapter of the Gospel of St. Matthew from the Irish Bible, seeming to understand and take pleasure in it. As soon as she had finished, Mr. Desmond, who had listened to her with deep interest, told her he would send her a book, and, having again asked her where she lived, the little girl pointed to a distant hovel in the valley, one of the poorest in appearance of a miserable collection of cabins, and, telling her he would see her again in a short time, he bade her good morning. She curtsied, and scampered up the hill by one of the little goat-paths as quickly as a kid. Mr. Desmond remarked that she was a clever child, and deserved encouragement; and Mrs. Manvers added, that probably a little help from time to time would not be thrown away. Evelyn said that she liked her countenance, though she was not at all pretty; and expressed a wish to walk then to the cabin to which the little girl had pointed, if Mrs. Manvers had no objection. Mrs. Manvers liked the proposal; but Mr. Desmond thought it better to postpone the visit till he could take with him the promised book. Walking briskly down the hills and sloping valleys which had been so slowly ascended, they soon reached the carriage, and drove home delighted with the whole expedition, and loaded with bunches of wild flowers and ferns, which were all eagerly displayed to Mrs. Desmond, who listened with lively interest to their account of the mysterious cromleach, of the wild beauty of the scene, and of their adventure with the simple-minded little cupbearer. CHAPTER XXXIX. The Sacred Scarabæus The Ball it carries Manner in which it pushes the Ball - Veneration with which it is regarded. "I HOPE, papa, that you do not forget that you promised to tell me some particulars of that sacred scarabæus which you mentioned when we were speaking of Mount Ararat, some days ago?" "No, indeed, my dear Evelyn, I do not forget my promise; one so desirous of knowledge as you are deserves to have her inquiries encouraged and satisfied. The beetle, or scarabæus, to which I alluded, appears to have been held sacred in the most remote times in Egypt and in Etruria, and was figured in every shape and attitude on stones of various kinds : it is found among the hieroglyphics on the breasts of mummies, where it seemed to serve as an amulet, and was used both as a ring and a signet." "Is that a late discovery, papa?" "No, it has long been known to every one who has paid attention to the antiquities of Egypt. These memorials of some obsolete superstition were also common in ancient Etruria, where many have been found with Etruscan inscriptions on them which have not yet been deciphered: and some of them are the more curious from having Egyptian figures on them." "I wonder why that creature in particular should have been selected for a sacred memorial or symbol," said Evelyn. "It has been imagined, from the very few facts on which any probable opinions can be formed, that the scarabæus was held sacred because it generally carries a ball of clay within its horns, and that the ball was intended to represent or to be a symbol of the ark resting between the peaks of Mount Ararat." "But do those beetles really carry balls in that manner— of what are the balls composed?" "There is no doubt," replied her father, "that such is the well-known habit of that little creature; but the real nature of the ball does not appear to have been quite understood until a very intelligent and observant traveller in Egypt (Mr. Wilde) within these few years published some interesting remarks on that subject. He tells us that the Scarabæus sacer, or sacred beetle, is still very common in Egypt. He saw them running about in all directions in the warm sunshine, and busily engaged in rolling their balls over the sands with the greatest industry, and in a very curious manner. They are evidently possessed of great strength and perseverance; and having formed the balls out of clay and camel's dung, which they mix up into a kind of mortar something like that which swallows make in constructing their nests, they deposit their eggs in them. Thus these balls become a crust or shell to preserve the eggs, and the old beetles roll them about over the sands till they are sufficiently dry to be laid up in proper places, in order to await the period of their development." "How very curious! Who ever before heard of a moving nest? I suppose it was this singular energy and sagacity that first attracted the attention of the ancients," said Evelyn. "Very likely," replied Mr. Desmond; "but you should recollect that the ball or globe was one of their favourite emblems of creative power. The manner in which these industrious insects wheel about their balls is worth mentioning: they are provided with two projections on the head like horns, which are used by one beetle as a lever to raise and push the ball forward, while its companion, placing itself before the ball, and moving backwards, assists the operation by drawing the face of the ball down with its fore feet. They keep it thus, Mr. Wilde says, constantly turning and moving: sometimes three or four of these little creatures may be seen clustered about one ball, in order to unite their strength when any impediment interrupts their progress. However, they do not always follow the same method; probably a change of posture rests them, and therefore they may sometimes be seen |