I obeyed in silence,—and the Priest, turning away from this scene of splendour, into a secluded path, where the light faded away, as we advanced, conducted me to a small pavilion, by the side of a whispering stream, where the very spirit of slumber seemed to preside, and, pointing to a bed of dried poppy‐leaves within it, left me to repose. CHAP. VIII. Though the sight of that splendid scene which opened upon me, like a momentary glimpse into another world, had, for an instant, re‐animated my strength and spirit, so completely had fatigue overmastered my whole frame, that, even had the form of the young Priestess stood before me, my limbs would have sunk in the effort to reach her. No sooner had I fallen on my leafy couch, than sleep, like a sudden death, came over me; and I lay, for hours, in the deep, and motionless rest, which not even a shadow of life disturbs. On awaking I saw, beside me, the same venerable personage, who had welcomed me to this subterranean world on the preceding night. At the foot of my couch stood a statue, of Grecian workmanship, representing a boy, with wings, seated gracefully on a lotus‐flower, and having the forefinger of his right hand pressed to his lips. This action, together with the glory round his brows, denoted, as I already knew, the God of Silence and Light. Impatient to know what further trials awaited me, I was about to speak, when the Priest exclaimed, anxiously, “Hush!”—and pointing to this statue at the foot of the couch, said—“Let the spell of that Spirit be on thy lips, young stranger, till the wisdom of thy instructors shall think fit to remove it. Not unaptly doth the same god preside over Silence and Light; since it is only out of the depth of contemplative silence, that the great light of the soul, Truth, arises!” Little used to the language of dictation or instruction, I was now preparing to rise, when the priest again restrained me; and, at the same moment, two boys, beautiful as the young Genii of the stars, entered the pavilion. They were habited in long garments of the purest white, and bore each a small golden chalice in his hand. Advancing towards me, they stopped on opposite sides of the couch, and one of them, presenting to me his chalice of gold, said, in a tone between singing and speaking,— “Drink of this cup—Osiris sips The same in his halls below; And the same he gives, to cool the lips Of the Dead, who downward go. “Drink of this cup—the water within Is fresh from Lethe’s stream; ’Twill make the past with all its sin, And all its pain and sorrows, seem Like a long‐forgotten dream! “The pleasure, whose charms Are steep’d in woe; The knowledge, that harms The soul to know; “The hope, that, bright As the lake of the waste, Allures the sight, But mocks the taste; “The love, that binds Its innocent wreath, Where the serpent winds, In venom, beneath;—