A SICILIAN CEMETERY.

THE annexed engraving of one of those cemeteries for the reception of dead bodies, which are common in Sicily, is copied from a print in CAPTAIN SMYTH's work on Sicily and its Islands. This cemetery is in a Capuchin convent in the suburbs of Palermo, and consists of a large subterranean space, clean and airy, and divided into galleries, surrounded with niches, for the reception of the bodies, after they have undergone a certain preparation.

Previously to descending into these extraordinary apartments, the attention of the visitor is directed to the pictures on each side of the door; the one representing the death of a good man, the other that of a sinner, whose dying moments are imbittered by representations of the most appalling anticipations of a future state. Between these pictures there is a sonnet on mortal dissolution; so that, upon the whole, the feelings of the spectator are a good deal excited, and he is prepared to witness a solemn and a mournful spectacle.

On reaching the cemetery, however, it is difficult to express the disgust that is created by the exhibition of the human form so degradingly caricatured. In every direction is seen a ridiculous assemblage of distorted mummies, hanging by the neck or shoulders, and with aspects, features and proportions so strangely altered by the operation of drying, as to present only the most grotesque and revolting remains of human beings. From the curious attitudes into which the greater part of these have fallen, in the decay of ages, the whole scene, when the first feeling of surprise has subsided, is calculated rather to excite derision, than the awful emotions which should naturally arise at the sight of two thousand deceased mortals.

There are four long galleries, with their niches filled with these remains, in various stages of dislocation and decay, besides many coffins containing noblemen in court dresses; and among the principal personages, is a king of Tunis, who died in 1620. At the end of the great corridor is an altar, the front of which is studded with human teeth, sculls, and bones, inlaid in a sort of mosaic work. At the end of one of the galleries is a small apartment, which, says Captain Smyth, I entered, but soon quitted, with the greatest nausea, caused by an exceedingly offensive stench. This was a dirty room, called the oven, in which several bodies, in various stages of putrescence, were undergoing the operation of drying.

THE SHROPSHIRE PEASANT'S SON. THE following brief biographical sketch has no shade of colouring whatever, other than the very simplicity of truth gives it.

Thomas W. L. was the son of a labouring man in Shropshire, who had no portion of this world's goods to bestow, but he had, what a learned maxim has pronounced to be the best of all portions for our children, a good honest heart. This poor old man, -(as the farmer with whom he has worked for many years now testifies,) reared his son with the greatest care, putting him to school, and bringing him up in habits of industry. Thomas went first into service

at

——, where he remained till his master died, whose good opinion of him was evidenced by leaving him ten pounds, all of which, however, was lost, by the failure of a bank in that place. After this, with mingled feelings of disappointment and encouragement, he went to London; where he was happy in finding a good place, in the best sense of the word, where he remained quiet and contented, identifying

himself in interest and feeling with his master's family.
He there became attached to a young woman; but,
instead of that thoughtless and improvident haste,
which often hurries young people into biting cares,
and poverty, and want, he resolved to wait till he
could marry with a fair prospect, under Heaven's
blessing, of supporting himself and his partner in
respectability and comfort. We cannot doubt he
would have given as bright an example in humble
life, in the character of a husband and a father, as
he uniformly had done in that of a domestic servant,
and a dutiful affectionate son: and his son would
have owed it to his own fault, had he not been able,
with the remembrance of such a father and grand-
father before him, to cheer himself with the same
reflection which has often warmed many an honest
farmer's heart, when sharing his best in kind and
frugal hospitality with his neighbour, over their
Christmas fire :-
He, dying, bequeathed to his son a good name,
Which unsullied descended to me;

For my child I'll preserve it, unblemish'd by shame,
And it still from a spot shall be free.

But, in the case of our Thomas, it pleased God otherwise; he was called hence last December, when he had reached only the age of twenty-six; young in years, but ripe in Christian wisdom, and leaving to his friends a sure and certain hope, that, through the merits of the Redeemer, in whom his soul rested, he is in safe possession of rest and peace.

Never was servant more valued by a master, or more beloved by his master's family than was Thomas in the house of Mr. C. Our friend was carried off by an early, but not an untimely death, for he was a truly religious man; and his principles showed themselves in honesty, fidelity, industry, dutiful devotedness to his master, tender behaviour to his aged and humble father, kindness to all, and in a constant, watchful, cheerful discharge of the duties of religion, especially in a regular attendance, as well at the family prayers as in the house of God and at the Lord's table. His habits of sobriety and steadiness had enabled him to lay by a considerable sum; and, what is more, he had learned, from his Christian instruction, how to make the best use of his money. But the reader will, with more pleasure and profit, gather for himself the character of this good young man, from his own letters, some of which were returned to his master since his death, and by him put into the hands of the writer of this brief memoir. We must, however, be content with a few extracts, though more, of the same feeling and character, have been saved. In May, 1832, when his father was just recovering from a long illness, he thus addresses him

My dearest Father;-I hope you take your illness with calm resignation, as you ought to do; you know, dear father, that for many many years you have been enjoying afflicted. My dear father, if you are afflicted in this world, the best of health; therefore you must now expect to be it is only to draw your affections from things that are present; and I hope to God, to obtain the things that are eternal. I long to be with you, that I could read to you; and, so far as my humble knowledge would allow me, to explain it to you: I feel I should be so happy with you, if it pleased God to let it be so ordered. But not yet: we must wait with patience. My dear father, I never heard you say you had received the Sacrament; now I hope you will take it into serious consideration. You must know, it was not only the rich it was instituted for, but likewise the poor: there is no difference at his table. There was no one poorer than our Saviour himself, in this world's goods, nor neither was any of his apostles any thing but men who earned their bread by hard labour. The Gospel was preached to the poor first, and by the poor: our prayers are dull and cold, to what theirs were, but, my dear Father, you and I must set about it; for there is no time to be lost.

-

"If we were together, I could not prevent your accidents and misfortunes; I flatter myself I should be a comfort to you: but it would be only for a few more years, and then what an end! Yes, dearest father, if you have not prayed to God sincerely, now, for your own sake, do. If we do pray sincerely, God will hear our prayers; and if he does, then we shall meet again in heaven, where there is no sorrow, but joy for evermore. My dear father, don't reproach yourself with not beginning sooner, for Christ has said, he that works but one hour in my vineyard, shall receive equal to him that has borne the burden and heat of the day; but do not let this keep you from beginning now; as your time is continually running on, and we don't know, the next minute, but what it may be the last; for young as well as old, the one as the other. There are now so many sudden deaths that it is very alarming; we ought always to hold ourselves in readiness, and watch for our Master's coming; and when he does come, I hope we shall be in readiness, is the sincere prayer of your affectionate Son."

Such were his pious sentiments towards his God. How simply but strongly is his filial affection shown in the following letter to his aged father, it is dated as late as the 25th of last November,-before the month came round, the Christmas-day to which he so feelingly alludes, he was seized by the illness from which he never recovered. After saying that the letter left him in perfect good health, and a prayer for a continuance of God's blessing, he proceeds :

me,

"Now, my dearest father, I have one request to make of you, and that is, to lie by for a few months in the winter; as I well know what a cold and cough you were used to have, and there is no doubt but that it gets worse and worse every year. So, therefore, my dearest father, I will allow you as much a week as you can get by work, till the winter is over, if it pleases God to spare us so long. When I was young, many and many a day did you work hard to maintain me, and why should I not make a return for that kindness that I received? When I was not able even to ask and beg for protection, I was covered and fed by one of the best and dearest of fathers: would it not be ungenerous in me not to do what now lies in my power for you? As long as I have a penny, you shall share it with and as God hath given me strength to work, I shall be most happy to render you all the assistance in my power. I have no one in this world but you at present to provide for; and, therefore, pray do as I wish you :-let me, in your old days, make you happy. I have only one wish more, and then I think I should be happy; if the time was arrived that I had a comfortable home of my own to ask you to; so as I could but be with you, and see your wants; but I must wait a little longer, as the person I should wish to join us by our little fire-side is comfortable now, and I should never wish to make her uncomfortable; as it is my most sincere wish she should have a good and happy home when she changes her situation in life. If it was tomorrow I should be glad-but not so happiness is not so near for me. But I thank God for all his goodness to me; when I look round and see the hundreds of poor miserable wretches in the streets, it makes my heart ache. It puts me in mind of a hymn that many and many a time I have helped to sing in poor old Stanton Church.

Whene'er I take my walks abroad, How many poor I see!

What shall I render to my God,

For all his gifts to me?

Not more than others I deserve,

Yet God hath given me more;

For I have food, while others starve,

And beg from door to door.

I thank God I have never wanted a bit of bread yet. When I was brought first into the world, I was fostered and fed by you; and now I think it will be my own fault (unless by affliction) if I do; and if that is the case, I hope some kind friend or other will help in time of need. I hope, my dearest father, if your cold is bad, or any other affliction should befall you, you will be patient; as God has said he will not afflict more than you are able to bear. So, therefore, you see how good he is in all his works. I hope you will receive the Sacrament this next Christmas-day that is coming. I feel very anxious you should; for I think it my duty to remind you of it, as God has blessed me with more learning than you. Dear father, take my advice, and pray to Him who made us all; so will I for you

and myself, and may this Christmas be a happy Christmas to you and me, in this life, and in the world to come." The reader will feel satisfaction in being told, that the good old man received the Sacrament with his master, who writes in a very kind manner about him, but Thomas was not permitted to know this. He is in peace. J. E. T.

"The memory of the just is blessed."

SHERLOCK, the pious father-in-law of the excellent Bishop Wilson, exhorts all attendants upon public worship in these words: "Remember whose service it is you are doing, and continue therein from the beginning to the end, that you may reap the benefit of the whole office, both of the absolution in the beginning, and of the blessing at the end, and of the amens throughout." "The Hebrews have a saying, that whosoever says amen, with all his might, opens the doors of Paradise.'

Ir is recorded of the Hon. Robert Boyle, a man no less learned in the laws and works of nature, than he was well acquainted with the evidences of Christianity, that he never pronounced the name of God without making a short but visible pause in his speech. Surely the conduct of the great philosopher, Robert Boyle, is a reproof to those who use the name of God thoughtlessly, and on any common occasion. THE longest life is a period scarcely sufficient to prepare for death: compared with this work, all other business is vain and trivial, as the toil of emmets in the path of the traveller, under whose foot they perish for ever; and com pared with the happiness which follows that preparation, all enjoyment is unsubstantial and evanescent, as the colours of the bow that appears in the interval of a storm.

THE DELUGE.

BY MRS. HENRY ROLLS.

WHEN o'er the mountains rose the orb of day,
And spread o'er vale and plain his cheering ray,
How swell'd the human bosom with delight,
As the rich landscapes burst upon the sight!
The ripening harvest waved in golden pride,
And clustering vineyards clothed the hillock's side;
Whence rose the song which lighten'd labour's toil,
As bow'd the swain beneath the luscious spoil;
Where the fair valley spread her bosom green,
What varied forms of busy life were seen!
There toil'd the hind, the hunter led the chase,
Or the bold warrior moved with martial grace;
Whilst blooming beauty cull'd the opening flower,
Or led the dance through pleasure's roscate bower;
Then, half-conceal'd beneath the cedar's shade,
The humble dwelling its white walls display'd;
Or the proud city's loftier domes arise,
Where pomp and grandeur caught th' admiring eyes.

Fair was the scene! but guilt and pain were there;
The tyrant master, and the slave's despair;
The haughty brow, that heaven's just God defied,
The lust of pleasure, and the rage of pride;
There from their bowls the midnight revellers reel;
There the fell murderer grasps the reeking steel:
By rapine led, the plunderers track their way,
Through waste and slaughter, to their hapless prey
Vile, idol-gods pollute cach shady grove,
And wanton beauty melts in lawless love;
Whilst age and infancy lament in vain,
Or bleed, the victims of the impious train.

Mustering his wrath, awhile his anger stay'd; Till full their cup, the Lord of Heaven delay'd To pour his vengeance; as the whirlwind sleeps, Ere o'er the main with furious blast it sweeps, Then burst at once, on earth's astonish'd train, The raging tempest and tremendous rain; Whilst pealing thunders heaven's vast concave rend, And, struck by lightning, rolling rocks descend; High heaves the ocean's bed-the o'erwhelming tide Rushes against the mountain's yielding side; 'Tis vain for succour to those hills to fly, For now not e'en their loftiest tops are dry; Beast, man, and city, share one common grave, And calm above them rolls the avenging wave: Whilst yon dark speck, slow floating, now contains, Of beast or human life the sole remains.

Specimen of the Bayeux Tapestry. THE celebrated tapestry of Bayeux, which still exists, and is publicly exhibited at stated periods in the cathedral of the city, is a very curious monument of the state of the art of embroidering at the time of the Norman Conquest. It is a web of linen, nearly two feet in breadth, and 442 in length, on which is embroidered the history of that memorable expedition, commencing with the embassy of Harold from Edward the Confessor, King of England, to William Duke of Normandy, in 1065, and ending with the death of Harold, in the following year. The scenes of this busy period are successively exhibited, and consist of many hundred figures of men, horses, beasts, birds, trees, houses, castles, and churches, with inscriptions over them explanatory of their meaning and history. This work is understood to have been performed under the direction of Matilda, consort to William the Conqueror, and was not improbably executed by the hands of English women, whose superiority in performances of this kind was then universally acknowledged.

It is now carefully rolled upon a cylinder of wood, which is supported in a slight frame; a winch handle serves to unroll it for occasional exposure, and explanation to the curious. The first portion of the needlework, representing the embassy of Harold, is much defaced. The story is carried through the length of above 200 English feet, with wonderful accuracy, and an evident feeling of Roman art in its latter stages. Both at the top and the bottom of the principal subject there is a running allegorical ornament, of which the constellations of the heavens, and the symbols of agriculture, and of rural occupations form the chief subjects.

We may judge of the importance attached to this tapestry by the French, from the fact of its having been displayed in Paris for two or three months, at the time of the threatened invasion of this country by Napoleon Buonaparte, in order to awaken curiosity, and excite the love of conquest among its citizens. It was afterwards conveyed to one or two seaport towns, and exhibited on the stage of their theatres, as a most important material in dramatic effect.

THE words anciently written on DIALS were often very expressive, though few. Over an arch, which extended across the street of old London Bridge, when houses were there, was a dial with this motto,-Time and Tide stay for no man; and on a dial opposite to the north end of Paper-buildings, in the Temple, the following short, but admirable piece cf advice-Begone about your Business.

MIGRATORY BIRDS. No. I.

THE instinct which directs birds to migrate from one country to another, is surprising, and the power it exerts over the actions of the feathered tribes truly wonderful; causing them to undertake the most distant and fatiguing flights over seas and lands, the extent and perils of which, (in their first migration at least,) must be entirely unknown to them. The migratory birds, that arrive in such immense numbers in England, and the other temperate climates of Europe, in spring, appear to come from the north of Africa, or parts even more southerly; and their object seems to be to lay their eggs, and hatch their young, in places where the food on which they are supported is to be found in the greatest abundance: while, on the other hand, our winter visitors are evidently driven from their homes in the north, by the severity of the weather, and come for shelter to our milder climate; and it is a remark not far from the truth, that the early arrival of the wild ducks, and other northern birds, indicates a severe winter.

The WRYNECK (represented at page 68 of the first volume), the GREAT PLOVER, and the CHIFF-CHAFF, are our very earliest spring visitors: they make their appearance about the middle or the end of March.

The CHIFF-CHAFF, (SYLVIA rufa, Latham.) The CHIFF-CHAFF, is thus described by Mr. Gould in his splendid work on the Birds of Europe; we have also resorted to his figure, for the representation of this little harbinger of spring. "The Chiff-Chaff so nearly resembles the Willow Wren (SYLVIA trochilus) as to be frequently confounded with it; it may, however, be distinguished by its smaller size and darker legs: in addition to this, the streak over the eye is less apparent, and the general plumage not so finely tinged with yellow. It is one of our carliest visitors, and less common than either the Wood Wren, or the Willow Wren; differing from both in its habits and localities.

"Partial to groves and tall trees, it frequents the topmost branches, where it may be heard to utter its short song, composed of two distinctly-repeated notes, Chiff-Chaff, which have given origin to its usual name."

The Chiff-Chaff is shorter than the Willow Wren by about an inch, and proportionally less in all its

other measurements.

The GREAT PLOVER, (CHARADRIUS cedicnemus, Linnæus.) It lays its eggs (generally two, never more than three,) on the bare ground, without any nest, in the field; so that the countryman, in stirring his fallows, often destroys them. The young run immediately from the eggs, like partridges, &c., and are withdrawn to some flinty field, by the dam, where they sculk among the stones, which are their best security; for their feathers are so exactly of the colour of our gray spotted flints, that the most exact observer, unless he catches the eye of the young bird, may be eluded. The eggs are short and round, and of a dirty white, spotted with dark blood-red blotches. They live with us all the spring and summer, and at the beginning of autumn prepare to take leave, by getting together in flocks.

They are not fond of going near the water, but feed on earth-worms, that are common on sheep-walks and downs.

ÆSOP, AND HIS FABLES.

In all ages and nations, the fables of Æsop have been resorted to for the instruction of young people, and have. supplied matter for the wisdom of more advanced years. If the infant mind can be taught to abhor violence and injustice by the fable of the Wolf and the Lamb; if the advantages of persevering industry can be inculcated by the story of the Hare and the Tortoise; and if the disgrace of the bragging traveller can supply the young with a caution against boasting, lessons of more extended wisdom may be derived from the various apologues in which not beasts, fishes, or trees alone, but human beings and fabulous divinities are introduced. To no author, excepting Æsop, has it happened to have portions of

from mouth to mouth, as matter of familiar conversation, too applicable to demand introduction, too well known to require explanation. Thus, when we speak of Blowing Hot and Cold, no one expects that the story of the Satyr and the Traveller should be repeated to him; or, when mention is made of the Dog in the Manger, the Viper and the File, or the Mountain in Labour, the mind of the hearer is instantly informed that envious selfishness, malignant and impotent rage, and rash promises, or threats, productive of no consequence, are meant to be described and satirized.

Æsop, the author of most of the fables which are current in the collections passing under his name, made his way to eminence, unfavoured by any circumstances of birth, fortune, or person: he was a Phrygian, of the lowest order of society, a purchased slave, and of person so deformed, that the description of him is nearly hideous; and, as if merit were allotted to him only to show against what difficulties it can successfully struggle, he had an impediment, in his speceh, which rendered him almost unintelligible. Yet, by persevering patience, and the manly struggle of a firm and exalted mind, he was enabled to become, not only the companion of his superiors, but the instructor of those who most prided themslves on their wisdom. His prudent counsels quieted the minds of the Athenians, when they were ready to break out into fatal violence, at the usurpation of Pisistratus; he taught them the dangers they had to apprehend from the alliances, or even the quarrels, of powerful and dangerous neighbours; and all this by such popular narratives as remain for ever fixed in the memory, and form a continual guide to the judgment.

The effect of his wisdom was such, that he was not only respected and well treated during his life, but, as Phædrus, the most spirited and accomplished of his translators, has informed us, the polite Athenians dedicated a colossal statue to his memory; and, although he had been but a slave, consecrated his fame on an imperishable pedestal, to inform mankind, says the Roman author, that the road to honourable distinction was open to all men.

Wits of the first class in all nations, from Phædrus, in Rome, to La Fontaine, in Paris, have thought their time well employed in collecting, amplifying, pointing, and embellishing the narratives of this author, with the addition of similar stories and anecdotes,such as passing time and their own observation could supply. Every nation has shown the state of the times, or its prevailing genius, in the manner of rendering, augmenting, or imitating, this, their great model.

Of the imitators of Esop, it is not intended to speak; but self-denial would be too severely taxed, were no mention to be made of the elegant fictions of Gay, so exquisitely invented, and judiciously applied, as to raise a spark of honest envy even in the friendly bosom of Swift.

It is carnestly to be hoped that the fables of Esop. as the means of information and instruction, may never be disused nor neglected. In the course of them he portrays himself as a friend of truth and justice, a man of sincere benevolence, and communicative of his good principles, as a man who honoured and feared the gods whom he was brought up to worship, although his mind carried him above the feebleness of superstition, and protected him against the arts of deception.

THE best part of beauty is that which a picture cannot express.-BACON.

HISTORY OF WRITING. AMONGST the various arts and sciences which have from time to time contributed to the improvement and advancement of society, there is, perhaps, none which demands more justly the admiration and respect of mankind, none which, in point of utility and excellence, will at all admit of comparison with the art of Writing.

Yet because this art may now be acquired by everybody, it now fails to attract the attention, and command the admiration it so well merits. That which is common is despised. How curious or beautiful soever a new discovery may be, let it once become common, and from that moment it ceases to be noticed. And this principle extends in full force to the arts and sciences; those which are new and rare are cherished and courted; those, perhaps, in reality more useful and worthy, but which are within the grasp of everybody, are despised.

Time was, indeed, when the man who possessed enviable accomplishment was distinguished highly above his fellows, and pointed out to notice as one who had made an achievement in science; but now, in these days of refinement and literature, who dare call himself accomplished, because he can write? The time will soon come, when the man who cannot write his own name, will stand a chance of acquiring celebrity, merely from the rarity and singularity of the character.

In spite of all this, it would be difficult to mention an art which has gone through more stages in its journey to perfection, has more exercised the talents and ingenuity of mankind in its gradual developement, or required a longer period of time to bring it to maturity; and it may, perhaps, not be uninteresting to trace, as far as our limits will allow, its rise and progress.

Let us, first of all, obtain a definition of the term. Writing is an art, by means of which we communicate to an absent person, or to posterity, the ideas or objects which present themselves to our minds; and, in the present improved state of the art, this representation is made by means of arbitrary, yet fixed and defined signs, called letters.

In the first ages of the world, while society was in its infancy, mankind had clearly no other method of expressing their ideas in writing than the simple one of making a figure or shape of the object. And this mode must have been long before their dispersion; for it has been found to exist, more or less, amongst the most rude, as well as the most polished, nations of the globe,―nations, who from their natural position, and their immense distance from the other civilized parts of the world, could not have held any intercourse with the rest of mankind.

The difficulty, however, and labour attached to this mode of writing, soon induced the people to be satisfied with the outlines only of the figure which expressed the object; and this method seems to have obtained, in most, if not all, the nations of the earth. It was found in Mexico and Peru, at the discovery of America, and, in some respects, exists to the present time in China.

But, as this method of expressing objects, even by outlines, was still very troublesome, the Egyptians (for Egypt, be it remembered, was one of the earliest seats of every branch of art, literature, and science), adopted another and more intellectual mode, and this was to substitute a kind of mark, or simple character for the outlines of the object; these marks or characters still retained some resemblance to the figure made by the outlines, but they were less difficult, required less skill, and much less trouble, and were, therefore,

universally adopted. Yet, even here, there was a great deal of intricacy, and no small degree of patience and skill was required, either to understand, or make use of them. To simplify, therefore, the method of writing still further, the priests turned these outlines into arbitrary marks, which, although in the beginning, they might still preserve a faint resemblance to the natural objects, in course of time deviated so much from their originals, as to render it almost impossible to trace them to their archetype, but which were nevertheless much less complicated, and more expeditious. And thus, after incredible labour, and the lapse of a vast period of time, were produced the three different modes of writing among the Egyptians, designated by the appellation of hieroglyphic, demotic, and hieratic. Into the nature and use of these our limits do not permit us to enter more fully; they constitute a subject well worthy the attention of the scientific and curious, and which will well and abundantly repay the attention bestowed upon it.

We will, therefore, continue our inquiry, and proceed to the next step, and this was to form a connexion between the object represented by this hieroglyphical, or picture-writing, and the sound (for, as yet, letters were not) of the word used to express it. Nor was this so difficult as would at first sight be supposed; for when a man represented any image, or picture, that of "a door," for instance, he would naturally give to the combination of lines with which the figure was formed the name of "a door;" and wherever he met with this outline, or representation, or even though he should change it for some arbitrary and more simple mark, having the same signification, the same name would still remain attached to it, and by this means the word "door" would for ever afterwards become associated with a certain outline, or figure. The Hebrew alphabet affords a most satisfactory illustration of this. Every letter is, in fact, a word, and expresses some simple object. Deleth, for example, their fourth letter, corresponding with our D, significs a "door;" Beth, their second letter, answering to our B, a house;" Gimel, our G,

"a camel;" Jod, or J, the "hand;" and this catalogue might be continued through the remaining letters, and thus it would be seen that to each of them is attached a meaning.

Having attained this state of advancement, the progress of the art was more rapid. Every nation, in its turn, contributed some letters to the common stoek; in a happy moment it was discovered, that each monosyllable terminated by a sound, which, with very little variation, was repeated in all. Nor was it difficult to ascertain the number of these sounds, which were invariably fixed to the four or five inflexions of voice. Thus were vowels added to consonants, and mankind gradually arrived at the greatest of all inventions, the invention of the Alphabet.

This is

But who was the man, or what his nation to whom the honour of so noble an invention is due? a subject which has long divided the learned, and the variety of opinions upon it is in truth appalling: but the presumption appears to be strongest in favour of Thoth, a son or descendant of Mizraim, the father of the Egyptians. The Phoenician writer, Sanchoniatho, expressly attributes the formation of the Sacred Characters of the alphabet to this celebrated person. There is, moreover, a passage in Plato, which, if rightly understood, and worthy of credit, should set the question at rest. He says, "That during the reign of Pharaoh Thamus, his secretary, Thouth or Theuth came to lay before him, the several discoveries he had made, amongst which was, the invention of