the agricultural life. The primitive fixed to a long handle of bent wood. hoe, made from a forking branch of a The mallet used in the early times is a tree, was adopted in the writing; but thick piece of stem somewhat tapered after the very earliest instances we find to the hand. The auxiliaries for work it improved by three flint blades lashed are also shown in the hieroglyphs. The or to it. But the compound hoe of two sharpening stone bound around with pieces of wood, held together by a cord, cord was hung by a loop to the girdle. also appears; and also the development The bolt for fastening a box or a door of this into a plough by attaching an was cunningly carved, with a knob to animal to the handle to drag it along, prevent it slipping from its place, and a while guiding the blade by two pro- groove to hold the string for sealing it. longations of it. The plough thus The cubit for measuring the work was evolved, the sickle comes next, imitated at first figured as a long bar; but that from the jaw-bone of an ox. It was being confused with other signs the end carved in a bent piece of wood and view of it showing the bevelled edge armed with a row of flint saws inserted was adopted. This became the emblem in its edge, in imitation of the animal's of exactitude, of truth, and of justice. teeth. Beside the corn the vine was Lastly there is the sledge of wood on also cultivated, and is shown held up on which the great stones were drawn forked props with clusters of grapes from the quarries for all the buildings. hanging between, forming the symbol of a vineyard. Rope work played a large part in the details of life. The mat of green rushes bound together by strings was an essential of Egyptian furniture as it is at present. The clap net for fowling and the fishing net with rows of floats and sinkers passed also into the writing, while rope was the handiest means of measurement; and a single bit with the strands frayed out stood for a unit, a curved bit for a ten, and a coil for a hundred. The netting needle was constantly used for making the fishing nets which secure a great part of the food of the Egyptian. sign which has been hard to understand is shown by variants of it to be a mast and furled sail. To avoid weakening the keel of the boat the mast was not stepped into it, but was forked over it. As it was needful to obtain the greatest stiffness in the middle, two stems were used, one tapering downward to the fork, the other tapering upward to the sail; and they were united by the thick ends in the middle, doubtless as such compound yards are now made in Egypt, by lashings of hide. The sail at the top is furled, and laced over with rope. Beside the mast the oar was also figured, and shows that both sailing and rowing were familiar before these signs were formed. Of tools for woodwork the adze is figured with a blade A Among the ornaments and luxuries of life we meet with the collar, which, as we learn from a very early statue, was the emblem of the high priest of Horus. It is shown as a tied cord in this form on the front of the priest's neck, and as a complete circuit of cord it figures round the names of the kings, to mark their office. Here a priestly decoration has become a royal token; and, as such, is put around the royal names when writing came into use. The necklace of beads was worn to carry a cylinder of stone, capped with gold at either end, which in early Egypt, as in Babylonia, was the seal of office. This necklace and seal became the em blem of a sealbearer or high official, and continued so for thousands of years after cylindrical seals had entirely disappeared from use. The other collar is shown in the best examples to consist of strings of beads and pendants; it became the sign for gold, showing that the precious metal was first used for such ornaments, and was identified with them in common view when writing was being formed. The scribe's implements must of course have come into use after writing was established; but it is remarkable that no sign should have arisen for writing until such an apparatus was in use. We see the long case for the reeds, the little jar for water to grind the ink, and the paint slab with two holes, one for red, the other for black color. And all is united by a long double cord, by which it was hung over the shoulder, the palette in front, the pen case and jar behind. A very usual sign is the draught board and pieces for playing; showing that the national game was played on a board of three squares by ten, in the days before writing as it was four thousand years later. We now turn to the architecture, of which different stages have been preserved to us in the symbols. The simplest is the hut which served as a shrine for the primitive deity. Two tall poles stood up, one on either side of the doorway. A lintel beam was lashed to them, and that supported the curved roofing branches the ends of which stood forward over the doorway. In front a line of pegs in the ground, lashed together by a cord, served to prevent animals from straying into the sacred space. To this day the material for the villagers' walls is a row of palmsticks planted in the ground, with interwoven cross sticks, and a plastering of mud. The tops of the branches are left unstripped with the dry leaves on them, and they form a hedge on the wall which prevents men or animals from easily passing over it. In this we see the origin of one of the earliest types of building, which is shown as a hieroglyph out the oldest inscribed tomb. The main features of the architecture of Egypt are all there, all derived from the palinstick wall which we see to-day, and all organized before the beginning of writing. Yet another form of primitive construction has survived in decoration. The papyrus stem was a favorite material for building the light skiffs which the Egyptians used on their canals and even on the Nile. On these papyrus boats, cabins, and shelters were built of the same papyrus stems; the long, loose, wiry leaves were tied together in tufts at the top where the crossing stems which formed the cabin roof were lashed to the uprights, and tied above that again to keep them from spreading. Here was a source of a favorite decoration for the tops of walls, a decoration which became a sign of writing as the emblem for an ornament. Turning now to the great feature of architecture, the column, we find also that already settled before the rise of writing. The tent-pole column is one of the most elementary signs, that for the idea of "greatness," the long pole being, as all tent-dwellers will remember, the great encumbrance in moving, longer and more in the way than anything else. That this is the tent pole is evident from its pointed bottom, different from any column; and a very early sign for a place of assembly or a festival is the view of a building with the roof propped up in the middle by such a pole. In later times this became the source of a strange form of column, which has never been explained until compared with the primitive tent pole hieroglyph. Another support is derived apparently from the bundle of reeds tied firmly together near the top, and plastered over with the Nile mud. That such a pillar will bear a great weight may be seen by the side of every canal in Egypt. And even more advanced forms were known. The fluted column was familiar, and became the regular sign for the very early city of Heliopolis, probably the earliest city whose origin we can guess at, far older than the Egyptian Monarchy. Such a city would have a sign so soon as writing was begun, and that sign is the sixteen-sided fluted column with a tapering shaft. Thus that form is carried back into the unlettered ages which we cannot hope to touch with any continuous record. And not only was the column used, but also the abacus and the grouping in a portico, as in the sign here copied from one of the earliest tombs that is known. Thus we see that in Egypt all the principal fea tures of architecture, which lived through four thousand years of history, were devised and used by the man before writing. To notice one other part of the mind of man before he adopts a regular system of communication which can be generally understood, let us see what aids to memory are devised. These often re main to us from early times, but as the meaning has been lost such mnemonics cannot be explained. We must then learn about such a stage, the first forerunner of any regular writing, by looking to some living people who are in this stage at present. These we find in the North Americans. They have long records of this kind, chronologies of the years for a century past, each noted by some ideogram of the most striking event. And their sacred songs of initia. tion are likewise outlined, so that no section shall be forgotten. The system of these reminders has been fully examined and recorded in the splendid volumes of the Bureau of Ethnology belonging to the Smithsonian Institution. From that we may take one of those examples which are most clear to our minds. It is a song of initiation sung by the magician to the candidate. First is a head of a listening man, lines of sound flow into his ears, and he is in a state of exaltation, or of power, shown by the horns and point on his head. The song is, "I hear the spirit speaking to us." Then comes the figure of a man, and an enclosure through which a pathway-line is drawn; he sings, "I am going into the magic enclosure." Then arms stretched out reach to lumps of material, and he sings, "I am gathering magic things to make me live." And he then offers to confer his own ability on the candidate; "I give to you magic knowledge," shown by the figure of the super-humanly cunning bear; "and a magic enclosure also," shown by the space with an entrance at either end. Then the magician says, "I am flying into my habitation," shown by a bird flying up to the sky, as the magician is appealing to heavenly powers. Next the answer comes from the sky, "The spirit has dropped magic things from the sky where we can get them," shown by the lines of communication coming from the sky and parting to various spots on earth. Lastly he boasts, "I have the magic in my heart," figured by the man to whom the imparted magic is now communicated. Thus he has united the candidate with him in his appeal for magic powers, the request has been granted, and he received the results in his heart. Now, far as this may be in detail from the ideas of other and older civilizations, yet when we see in the system of hieroglyphs which preceded alphabetic writing, the use of ideographic figures for an object or an action, quite apart from the expression of the sound of the word itself, we may fairly conclude that such a system of emblems of ideas -much like that of the North Americans-has also had place in Egypt and other lands. In fact, we have before us a typical product of the working of the mind, when aids to record and to memory are being first developed. We have thus just sighted a little of that stage of civilization which is perhaps the most noteworthy of all-where the mind has attained the greatest insight and feeling for nature, while it yet draws its ideas directly from the senses, and before conventionalism obtains its great power from the permanence of writing. We see how in the business of life the Egyptian had developed almost all that marked his later civilization. The weapons, the tools, the boats, the ornaments, and the various forms of his architecture were all reached before the use of writing. And though we have as yet no fine artistic work remaining from those same times, yet, when we see how on the earliest monuments of the age of hieroglyphs the sculptures of the animals and men are unsurpassed in their truth and beauty by any later period, we are almost bound to place the rise of this skill and taste in the age before writing. In Dacia we also see the arms and the costumes of a people who had a high development in the arts of life, and who yet had no writing except what they later borrowed from the Romans. And in Greece we have perhaps the fullest bloom of purely artistic work, in the splendid decorative and natural designs on architecture and jewelry, belonging to the age when but few traces of any mode of writing can be discerned, and when certainly no influence on the mind could have resulted from it. All of these countries show us that the highest skill, the finest taste, the keenest insight are reached without the use of recorded words; and we may see that the true place of writing is for registering details that are too many for the mind to carry, or for rapid and distant communication. It is, in short, one of the requirements of a complex civilization, but not in itself of any virtue. On the contrary, it brings the great evil in its train of trusting the imperfect record of the senses of others, in place of the true development of the mind on the basis of the natural growth of the faculties. Its real place is by the side of the railway and the telegraph, things that do not add the least to the nature of the mind, but are mere tools imposed upon us by the need of not being outstripped by those who use them. The horseman who leisurely rides over the hill with a light heart in the sunshine cannot possibly compete against the express train that is tearing through the level tunnel far beneath his feet. Yet who sees most? Does life consist in what man is or what he does? Is the highest product a reflective and well-nourished mind or a restless body? Are we to think most of the means or of the ends which they should serve? There is a lesson for us in this retrospect-the lesson that the mind is greater than all its tools and appliances, and that even knowledge and its record are but the means to a greater end. Prof. Flinders Petrie-(Address before the British Association for the Advancement of Science.) From Blackwood's Magazine. TEA-TIME IN THE VILLAGE. If one were bidden to choose a single hour of the day as that best calculated to show the different aspects of village life, one would, I think, name five o'clock. Five o'clock in the afternoon, be it understood. The hamlet is, indeed, awake and on foot when, in the early morning, the hands of the tall "grandfather's clock" boasted by nearly every household point to the same hour. Then busy matrons are already astir, raking out grates and sweeping kitchens; sleepy lasses, with warm, rosy faces, come yawning downstairs, tying their aprons on the way; little children in their attic-nests are twittering like swallows under the eaves; and the bread-winners, still curled up under their piles of blankets, hear the morning clatter and bustle and know that their hour is at hand. Soon the crackling and spluttering of the newly kindled wood will be succeeded by the singing of the kettle and the hissing of bacon in the pan; "th' missus" will come to the foot of the stairs presently, and shout; and if she does not at once hear the thud of bare feet on the floor, she will mount to give her “gaffer” a wifely shake and to pull the bedclothes off the lads. It is not altogether a cheerful hour this, especially in the dark cold mornings when the outer world is as yet invisible, and the little world within is lit but dimly by a single candle, or an evil-smelling paraffin-lamp. "Feyther's rheumatiz" is apt to "catch him awful" as he prepares to sally forth, and the young folk grumble while their stiff frozen fingers fumble with button or brace. But when the aforesaid clock-hands, having jerked and clicked round their circle, take up the same position in the afternoon, things have a very different aspect. Even from afar the hamlet wears a cosy and jubilant look that must gladden the hearts of the toilers who plod homewards. Especially is this the case when the days are light enough to show the glow of time-worn brick and yellow stone, the glint of hay and corn-stacks, the golden-green of sun-warmed leaves and lichenbespread roofs. Matrons are gossiping in their open doorways while they await the advent of the men-folk; they have "cleaned them" after their day's work, and hair is shining and faces are aglow; their fresh aprons hang in crisp folds, and the little ones, clinging to their skirts, or balanced on their arms, rejoice in clean "bishops" and "tie-ups" of various hues. But the neatness of these small fry, too helpless to break away from motherly control, is not imitated by their elder the drivers' whips and the sound of brothers and sisters. Yonder a group may be seen playing hop-scotch or marbles; sturdy, well-grown lads and lasses, with hands comfortably grimy, and round, rosy faces smeared with reminiscences of recent excursions to the sweet-shop. Now and then an irate mother will make a descent, and seizing "our Teddy" or "our Maggie" by the arm, desires him or her with a vigorous shake to "give over that nonsense. "Goo an' clean thysel,' do. For shame of thee-thou's ha' no tay, if thou mak's sich a seet o' thysel'!" But a more ignorant parent will perhaps allow her scapegrace to enjoy his game in peace, and even present him with a "traycle-butty" to munch the while. Out of this open gate come Farmer Prescott's milking-cows, making for the field, sedately threading their way through the children. A whistling urchin follows them, looking very important and cracking a broken cartwhip; occasionally he interrupts his shrill and rather quavering music to utter a gruff admonition in a manner copied from "Feyther," and to bring down his whip on the sleek flank of the hindmost; whereupon she breaks into a clumsy trot, and, with deeptoned remonstrances and tossing of horned heads, the company proceeds in transitory disorder. Here comes a team of horses newly released from plough or harrow; the head of the laborer who walks beside them reaches only to the leader's dappled shoulder; the great shaggy limbs move slowly. the immense hoofs ring on the hard road; the tails and manes are plaited and fancifully decorated with ribbons and straw, and perhaps a green branch or a bunch of flowers is fastened in their bridles; their well-groomed skins gleam in the sun; the brass and iron mountings of the harness glitter again; our North-country folk are proud of their animals, and treat them well. Now there echoes from afar off the clatter of a string of wagons returning from the town. Some time before the long row comes in sight the crack of their voices can be heard, even above the roll of the wheels, which, at certain moments, when the train reaches a turn in the road, amounts to a kind of roar; and now little bands of laborers make their appearance, walking leisurely, though they are "sharp set" and ready for their tea. These, emerging from this door-way in the high wall which forms the right-hand boundary to the village, are all employed at "the Hall." Here are the two carpenters and the boy who holds the nails and the pots of paint; there are the mason and his assistant, and the herd and his underling, and the gardener and his men-one remains behind in the "bothy" to see to the hot-houses. After a short interval the keepers come; the hindmost, a taciturn, sternlooking old man, has a large piece cut out of his boot; he has long been "under the doctor" for that foot of his, but no earthly persuasion will induce him to forego even one hour of his daily tramp. There was a question recently of finding him some lighter work, but the headkeeper, who knows him better than any one else, gave it as his opinion that he would "dee straight off" if the question were so much as mooted; so until the other foot is in the grave the old fellow will somehow hobble round his beat. At last the wagons are actually lumbering through the village, each drawn by two, or even three, horses, harnessed in single file; empty baskets are piled on some, and others are laden with manure, a yielding and odoriferous bed for such of the drivers as are drowsy after their long day, and, perhaps frequent calls at divers places of refreshment. Now there is a stir and a bustle indeed; children shouting and climbing on to the wagons as the horses plod on-mothers giving a last distracted scream to their progeny, ere they return to their fire-lit kitchens to lay the table and make the tea. Hens begin to draw near to the back-doors; dogs emerge from their kennels, with a sudden rattling of chains, and cast amiably expectant glances in the same |