circumambulation and kissing the finger tips of his right hand, but still no further progress was made; till at last the boy Muhammad collected half a dozen stalwart Meccans, with whose assistance he was enabled, by sheer strength, to wedge his way into the thin and lightlegged crowd. After thus reaching the stone, he relates, despite popular indignation, testified by impatient shouts, he monopolised the use of it for at least ten minutes. Whilst kissing it, and rubbing hands and forehead upon it, he narrowly observed it, and went away persuaded that it is a big aërolite.

Aerolite worship is a thing of such very great antiquity, ascribed, indeed, by Sanconiathon to the god Coelus, that there is little doubt that this is the true view of the case. The Arabians were given to litholatry, it is well known, long before the time of Muhammad, just as the Hindus worship a pyramidal black stone at Jagannath. The sun was worshipped at Emesa under the form of an aërolite, which was removed to Rome by Heliogabalus. Something of the same kind is to be observed in the practices of the Hebrews in setting up stones for pillars for kings—a practice which was handed down to medieval times in the Königs Stuhl, or King's Chair, near Coblentz, the Morasteen of Sweden, the Irish Stone, the Scone Stone, the King's Stone at Kingston-on-Thames, and in many other instances. It is curious that some Greek writers call these holy stones Baitulia, or Bethulia, from the Hebrew "House of our Lord," the literal interpretation of Jacob's Stone Pillar, and the name of which, "Bait Allah," is preserved in the Kaaba of Meccah.

Speaking of Meccah itself, Mr. Burton says, "The site might be compared at an humble distance to Bath. Some writers liken it to Florence; but conceive a Florence without beauty! Among the many ceremonies and pilgrimages performed during the Holy Week, one of the most striking is the visitation to Mount Arafat, which owes its repute to the legend that when our first parents forfeited heaven by eating wheat, which deprived them of their primeval purity, they were cast down upon earth. The serpent descended at Ispahan, the peacock at Cabul, Satan at Bilbays, Eve upon Arafat, and Adam at Ceylon."

Although the "Mountain of Mercy," as it is also called, is only a six hours' march, or twelve miles east of Meccah, the camels were wearied, and many pilgrims fell down and died on the way. "Between Muna

and Arafat," Mr. Burton relates, "I saw no less than five men fall down and die upon the highway; exhausted and moribund, they had dragged themselves out to give up the ghost where it departs to instant beatitude. The spectacle showed how easy it is to die in these latitudes; each man suddenly staggered, fell as if shot, and, after a brief convulsion, lay still as marble." There are no end of consecrated sites on Arafat, and the breaking up the ceremonies, called the "Hurry from Arafat," was a complete rout, replete with the greatest dangers.

If, however, the pilgrimage to Arafat is one of the most striking and picturesque ceremonies of the Holy Week, the stoning of the devil is by far the most curious. At Muna, or Mina, a place of considerable sanctity, half-way between Meccah and Arafat, are no less than three devils, or devil stations. One called Jamrat el Akabah, or Shaytan al Kabir, the "Great Devil," is a dwarf buttress of rude masonry, placed against a

rough wall of stones, in a narrow way at the Meccan entrance to Muna. Another is a pillar called the "Wusta," or central place of stoning, built in the middle of Muna; and the third is at the eastern end, and is called "El Ula," or the first place. There were different days for stoning these devils, upon which days the ceremony among such a horde of savages was one continuous scene of fearful and most dangerous struggles.

The ceremonies of the Yaum el Tarwiyah, those of the Day of Arafat, the ceremonies of the Days of Victims, the Days of Drying Flesh, when five or six thousand animals are slain and cut up (in the "Devil's Punchbowl," as Mr. Burton irreverently calls it), as if on purpose to engender plague and thin the number of devotees, and lastly, the Umrah, or "Little Pilgrimage," constitute the main features of the Holy Week; but Mr. Burton also introduces us to a variety of minor performances, none of them without interest to those who like to study the vagaries of the human mind.

A general plunge into worldly pursuits and pleasures announced the end of the ceremonies. All the devotees were now "whitewashed," the book of their sins was a tabula rasa, and most of them lost no time in taking their departure, or in opening a fresh account. Nothing, therefore, remained to detain our traveller in the broiling, noxious atmosphere of Meccah, and, issuing forth into the open plain on his way to Jeddah, he felt, he says, a thrill of pleasure-such pleasure as only the captive delivered from his dungeon can experience. Exclamations of astonishment and a hospitable welcome awaited him at the British consul's house at Jeddah. Mr. Cole had, in divers discussions with the Turks about the possibility of an Englishman finding his way in disguise to Meccah, often asserted that his compatriots could do everything, even make a pilgrimage to the Holy City. The Moslems politely assented to the first, but denied the second part of the proposition. Mr. Cole now proposed to himself to have a good laugh at the expense of his bigoted friends, but he soon found that they took up the statement of their having been duped, or their Holy Places having been profaned by the presence of an infidel, so angrily, that he was induced to drop the subject. Yet the very tomb of Abu-Bekr has been profaned by unbelieving Shiahs, and the Holy Stone itself has been polluted by some incredulous Greek or Jew in a manner that will be understood by all Oriental travellers!

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"The defilement of the Black Stone," says Mr. Burton, was probably the work of some Jew or Greek, who risked his life to gratify a furious bigotry. The Turcomaniacs of Europe are now beginning to know how their Eastern co-religionists, and with ample reason, feel towards the Moslems."

A NIGHT OR TWO IN PARIS.

ALTHOUGH I have been a pretty regular visitor to Paris for the last five years, strange to say I had never felt any particular inclination to dive more deeply into those mysteries which Parisian authors have such a peculiar talent for unveiling. I had hitherto been perfectly satisfied to receive their accounts of Parisian villany at second-hand but in perfect good faith, and had not attempted to prove the correctness of their details by personal inspection in company of a sergent de ville. Last October, however, being accompanied by a young painter cousin of mine on my visit to the Exhibition, and he evincing an intense inclination to judge of such matters for himself, I reluctantly consented, consoling myself with the reflection that, if I did get home again with an uninjured hide, I might be able to pick up some interesting information for my old friends the readers of the Miscellany.

At starting, however, I must premise that the two evenings I devoted to the subject were far from being sufficient to exhaust it: why even a week, with the aid of the most competent guides, would not have enabled me to treat this subject comprehensively; for this a knowledge of the most secret lurking-places is required, which you cannot enter at any given moment. I only tried, at the outset, to orienter myself to a certain extent, and judge how far it might be advisable for me to go again should curiosity prompt me hereafter. It requires great caution to visit these places if you want to derive any instruction from your visit. You must always be prepared to be taken for a mouchard so soon as you betray, by the slightest sign, that you do not belong to their sphere. The lamentable population of the barrières, who lurk in these their nooks of misery, cannot naturally comprehend that any one could descend to them from other motives than treachery and espionnage, so they regard you not only as dangerous but as unprivileged, and a kid glove will not more carefully avoid the contact of a chiffonnier's bag than these wretched beings will get out of your way. I will here only attempt to describe what these my first excursions into the realms of Parisian penury allowed me to witness.

For the purpose of these studies I had hired a trustworthy young man, who asserted that he was acquainted with every hole and corner of the barrière life. We made ourselves as unrecognisable as possible, removed from our exterior every article which might offend the native pride of the barrières, and, in addition, my cousin pocketed a revolver, to be prepared for any eventuality. Our guide was perfectly well aware where he had to lead us, for we had most carefully instructed him to show us something very vulgaire et vilain. My cousin, speaking as he does only French of Bow, had received strict orders not to open his mouth lest he might betray us, and so was condemned to the character of a deaf and dumb man. Thus, then, we commenced our voyage of discovery.

This was directed, in the first place, to the Barrières de Belleville and de la Chopinette, the Faubourgs St. Martin and du Temple. We selected the road through the former-through those gloomy streets where the

commercial and manufacturing trades of Paris have their workshops, in which all those wondrous things are made which Paris exports to each end of the world. It was nine in the evening; all was silent, the workshops were closed, the workmen out beyond the barrières, either to seek their homes, or to eat their supper, which they procure there considerably cheaper, as the commodities have not to pay the octroi. The street lamps grew weaker and more rare, while now and then we met patrols carefully marching through the quarters of the people. This very walk afforded me the best possible insight into the timid caution with which the government keeps order established. Long have I striven to regard this display of military strength within the banlieue as a purely political affair, as a proof how anxious M. Pietri was to prevent the slightest disturbance or improper noise in the streets. I admired this careful attention, especially as the reorganisation of the sergents de ville on the English model appeared to me fully to attain this object, and you meet them reinforced and even strengthened by cavalry pickets whenever the collection of groups may be expected owing to balls or festivities. This zealous system of patrolling, which traverses Paris after nightfall in larger detachments than ever, this unceasing watchfulness, this clattering of sabres and muskets in every hole and corner, has some deeper meaning the object does not lie so near the surface as they would wish us to believe. I have grown so far clever that I trust quiet in Paris less than noise. Wherever I go I see one fact confirmed, that France has obtained one party more without lessening the others in the slightest degree, and that one drop of oil falls after the other in the fire, whether it be kindled at Sebastopol, or may be hereafter on the Rhine.

Our guide proposed very wisely to show us first the jovial side of the lowest Parisian popular life. We arrived at the Barrière de Belleville, and then went in the direction of the Chopinette. Here there was a great disturbance; the street was brilliantly lighted, groups of every description were assembled before several houses, whence the sound of dancemusic echoed. On one of the houses I read, in yard-long letters, Bal des Folies; on another opposite, Bal de la Société Favier. We first entered the Folies, whence wild shouts and noise reached us; the entrée cost us six sous, and this was a high figure: but then this was a tiptop establishment. The dancing-room in this institution forms a large, regular quadrangle; round it is a space divided from the dancing-room by a barrier, within which stand small covered tables, whose cloths may certainly have been white at the commencement of the ball. A gallery, rather elevated, behind this place of entertainment appears built for spectators, while a wide gallery, apparently for the same purpose, runs round the room above this one. At these tables were seated various groups-soldiers, principals, non-commissioned officers; male and female workpeople were drinking in the sweetest harmony the sour wine, which may be procured here for five up to ten sous, out of small bowls; close to them, only separated by the barrier, rushed the dancers; the music rattled, increased still more by the yelling, whistling, and shouting of the dancers. And could le bleu, the wine, namely, that vinegarlike compound, be the cause of all this excitement? No; it was the innate, undeniable liveliness of the French, which they displayed in its

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utter wildness, careless of the sergents de ville posted at every corner. Male and female dancers embraced each other with Bacchanalian frenzy, made the most meaning and unmeaning bounds, rushed against each other and bounded back-all this with such an elasticity and indefatigability that I should have fancied myself in a lunatic asylum had not the wild Frenchman been visible in every face. Here a pair distinguished themselves by the most artistic pirouettes, by distortions of the arms and legs, which the boldest harlequin dared not have imitated; or when the movements of the dance separated them, they telegraphed to each other with the most extraordinary swinging of the arms, with the most inventive pantomime, then fell in each other's arms, and suddenly bounded apart like a couple of india-rubber balls. There danced a masked pair, a pierrot with a shepherdess as lightly dressed as she was light-minded. There, again, the quadrille fell into unhappy confusion at the extreme end of the room a tragedy was taking place, a dancer had forgotten himself so far as to give his partner a box of the ears. But with what rapidity was this eventful catastrophe appeased! The insulted lady hurries from the room and disappears; but the insulter disappears with equal velocity. A la porte! half a dozen of the nearest shout simultaneously. Within five seconds the unfortunate fellow flies over the heads of the mob in the gallery and through the door. In the mean while the music is not interrupted the quadrille is not interrupted -nothing can disturb that; they dance away as if nothing had occurred. The way in which Frenchmen turn a troublesome fellow out of doors is perfect. Police surveillance is in this respect quite unnecessary, as the company naturally wish to avoid any disorder, as this may interfere with their pleasure.

The opposite locality of the Société Favier bore precisely the same stamp. As the waiters here would not take their eyes off us, nothing was left us but to order some of the "blue" wine, of which vast quantities are drunk here; unfortunately, this did not take place without our insulting the prevailing tone here, as we asked for the best, with the green seal, for which we also paid the exceptional price of ten sous. A huge placard in the saloon announced in coloured letters that the next day a bal de nuit would take place on behalf of the army in the East; a bal de nuit, because the balls, held here regularly three times a week, commence at seven or eight, and are over by twelve, for the workman must be at work again betimes, and is not so fortunate as to be able to extend his sleep till mid-day. On such extraordinary evenings the jeux de macarons, &c., are probably more in request than they appeared to be on this occasion.

Our guide had intended to take us this same evening to the other barrières, as we insisted on seeing quelque chose de plus vilain—that is, descend a few steps lower-for although what we saw here was interesting enough in its way, still it wanted the peculiarly characteristic, the horrible and ludicrous, which we had set out with the intention of witnessing; we wished to see the mysteries of Paris, and the company we found here was only slightly mixed up with them. It had grown too late, however, for this occasion; it would have taken us an hour and a half to reach Mont Parnasse and the Rue d'Enfer, and by that time the