look like gold, for restraining old women from overmuch wine or garrulity.*

But it is time to bring these citations, and this paper, to a close. In the papyri which I have read there is nothing to disturb the general conclusions arrived at by an eminent English Egyptologist who has had exceptional opportunity for studying the records of the ancient, and the developments of the modern civilisation of Egypt; the evidence of the papyrus page, and the life of the modern fellah in the flesh. "The ancient Egyptian," writes Flinders Petrie, "is much like the modern fellah: both accept their place in the world readily, and enjoy it quietly without being overweighted by duty. Neither of these know anything of the Western sense of the terrible responsibilities of life, and the tyranny of the conscience. They simply enjoy living without being too particular, and lay great stress on making it as pleasant as possible to other people."+

The foregoing illustrations of the manners and customs of that most fascinating of countries, Egypt, have only touched the fringe of a very wide subject. The writer will feel himself amply rewarded for collecting them if others, with greater learning and leisure than his, will be led to the verification or revision, in the light of the new evidence from

* Kenyon, C. B. M. P.,' i, 83.

+ Religion and Conscience in Ancient Egypt,' p. 130. The statement, however, that asceticism was alien to the average Egyptian (p. 122) requires some modification in the light of Petrie's own remarks in his recent book 'Personal Religion in Egypt before Christianity,' pp. 59 foll., where he refers to the ascetics of the Fayûm from the fourth century B.C. onwards.

papyri, of the statements of ancient writers on Egypt. A need of the present day is a new edition of Wilkinson, incorporating the results of research during the thirty-two years since the last edition of that admirable book appeared.

[Read February 22nd, 1911.]

It is always better to read books than to read books. about books, and it is more profitable, doubtless, to read the Tales of a Wayside Inn' than to read gossip about them. There is, however, a certain interest anent the literary history of important and characteristic books, and this may justify us in considering the genesis, the origin and development of one of the products of Longfellow's ripest years. The plan of threading a number of stories together like beads upon a string is one that has occurred to the literary artists both of East and West. In the East there is the famous Lights of Canopus' and the still more famous Arabian Nights Entertainments'-to name two only. In the West there is the Decamerone,' a classic that has been a quarry from which many writers later than Boccaccio have dug out precious things. The greatest follower of Boccaccio was our English Chaucer. Dickens had a fancy for this form of literary art, and employed it freely in his Christmas numbers and in Master Humphrey's Clock.' It was not always successful in his hands, and even less so in the hands of his imitators. Longfellow is one of the most skilful of

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those who have used this literary convention. There is a vivid reality in the description of the Wayside Inn, externally and internally. The characters are few in number and are drawn with a sure and vigorous touch. They impress us with their reality. They were, as a matter of fact, drawn from life, and were quickly recognised by the literary circle of Boston in which they moved.

The Wayside Inn was a real hostelry. When Longfellow was on his way from home for his first visit to Europe his way westward from Boston would take him past the Red Horse Tavern at Sudbury, which he was afterwards to make famous. That was in 1826, when he was nineteen, but the Tales of a Wayside Inn' did not appear until 1863.

The poet wrote to a friend:

"The 'Wayside Inn' has more foundation to fact than you may suppose. The town of Sudbury is about twenty miles from Cambridge. Some two hundred years ago, an English family, by the name of Howe, built there a country house, which has remained in the family down to the present time, the last of the race dying but two years ago. Losing their fortune they became innkeepers, and for a century the Red Horse Inn has flourished, going down from father to son. The place is just as I have described it though no longer an inn. All this will account for the landlord's coat-of-arms, and his being a justice of the peace, and being known as 'the Squire,' things that must sound strange in English ears. All the characters are real."

It must be added that though the poet had seen them all, he had not seen them all at the Wayside Inn.