_Feb._ 1. 1833. Having spent twelve months in the valley of the Nile, I had designed to leave Thebes this week, and return to Cairo. To this long period had an intended stay of a few weeks been protracted, in consequence of my daily increasing devotion to the fascinating but laborious study of Egyptian antiquities. I cannot, however, escape some uncomfortable feelings when I contrast the prospect now before me, of privation and dreariness in a long journey through the desert, with the hopes I had indulged of returning now to Europe, to the enjoyments of social and domestic intercourse, and the refinements and comforts of civilised life. My boat was ready, and all preparations made for my voyage down the Nile, when its direction was changed by the arrival of Signor Bandoni, a skilful Italian artist, whom I had long anxiously expected. I then immediately determined to proceed with my projected journey to the antiquities of Meroe, and thus complete my investigation of the architectural wonders of the Nile. Wearied, however, with my previous labours at Thebes, and in the Oasis Magna, I had felt reluctant to make this arduous attempt without the assistance of an artist. Had I now lacked courage, the redoubtable appearance of my Lucchese ally would have inspired me with resolution to encounter the wildest Bishareen of the Nubian desert, or the hungriest lion of Ethiopia. The Signor brings with him his bosom companion, a double-barrelled Spanish _escopette_, of awe-inspiring calibre, the destructive powers of which, he assures me, have been frequently proved upon the turtle doves in the palm groves of the Nile: he animates me also with the assurance, that “non ha niente paura;” nor, since his landing in these barbarous regions, has he yet known bodily fear, except once, and that by mistake, when scared by the _lion-like_ roar of a buffalo, near the base of Pompey’s Pillar. The valley of the Nile, as far as Wady Halfah, has been described by many. Only six or seven Europeans have penetrated beyond that cataract; and, unfortunately, all even of those were not sufficiently acquainted with Egyptian antiquities, and competent, as artists, to give a satisfactory description and correct delineations of the interesting remains which still exist in those remote regions.[2] In using the term acquainted, I do not mean to state that any person has penetrated very deeply into the mysteries of Egyptian lore, much less can I pretend to have lifted “the veil of Isis which no mortal has yet raised;” but even a slight knowledge of the recent discoveries in hieroglyphics gives to the traveller of the present day an advantage over, perhaps, even the most learned travellers who visited this country before the discoveries of Young, Wilkinson, Champollion, and Rosellini. Egypt is no longer a field for speculative ingenuity and brilliant imagination. The daylight has appeared, and the efforts of talent and perseverance have cleared