Copts, and Abyssinians. At the western extremity of the sepulchre, but attached to it from the outside, is the little wooden chapel allotted to the poor Copts; and further west, but parted from the sepulchre itself, is the still poorer chapel of the still poorer Syrians, happy in their poverty however for this, that it has probably been the means of saving from marble and decoration the so-called tombs of Joseph and Nicodemus, which lie in their precincts, and on which rests the chief evidence of the genuineness of the whole site.

The Chapel of the Sepulchre rises from a dense mass of pilgrims, who sit or stand wedged round it; whilst round them, and between another equally dense mass, which goes round the walls of the church itself, a lane is formed by two lines, or rather two circles, of Turkish soldiers stationed to keep order. For the spectacle which is about to take place nothing can be better suited than the form of the Rotunda, giving galleries above for the spectators, and an open space below for the pilgrims and their festival. For the first two hours everything is tranquil. Nothing indicates what is coming, except that the two or three pilgrims who have got close to the aperture keep their hands fixed in it with a clench never relaxed. It is about noon that this circular lane is suddenly broken through by a tangled group rushing violently round, till they are caught by one of the Turkish soldiers. It seems to be the belief of the Arab Greeks that unless they run round the sepulchre a certain number of times the fire will not come. Possibly, also, there is some strange reminiscence of the funeral games and races round the tomb of an ancient chief. Accordingly, the night before, and from this time forward for two hours, a succession of gambols takes place, which an Englishman can only compare to a mixture of prisoners' base, football and leapfrog, round and round the Holy Sepulchre. First, he sees these tangled masses of twenty, thirty, fifty men, starting in a run, catching hold of each other, lifting one of themselves on their shoulders, sometimes on their heads, and rushing on with him till he leaps off, and some one else succeeds; some of them dressed in sheep skins, some almost naked; one usually preceding the rest as fugleman, clapping his hands, to which they respond in like manner, adding also wild howls, of which the chief burden is-This is the tomb of Jesus Christ' -God save the Sultan''Jesus Christ has redeemed us.' What begins in the lesser groups soon grows in magnitude and extent, till at last the whole of the circle between the troops is continuously occupied by a race, a whirl, a torrent of these wild figures, like the witches' sabbath in 'Faust,' wheeling round the sepulchre. Gradually the frenzy subsides or is checked; the course is cleared, and out of the Greek church, on the east

of the Rotunda, a long procession with embroidered banners, supplying in their ritual the want of images, begins to defile round the sepulchre. From this moment the excitement, which has before been confined to the runners and dancers, becomes universal,

Hedged in by the soldiers, the two huge masses of pilgrims still remain in their places, all joining, however, in a wild succession of yells, through which are caught from time to time, strangely, almost affectingly, mingled with the chants of the procession-the solemn chants of the church of Basil and Chrysostom, mingled with the yells of savages. Thrice the procession paces round; at the third time the two lines of Turkish soldiers join and fall in behind. One great movement sways the multitude from side to side. The crisis of the day is now approaching. The presence of the Turks is believed to prevent the descent of the fire, and at this point it is that they are driven, or consent to be driven, out of the church. In a moment the confusion, as of a battle and a victory, pervades the church. In every direction the raging mob bursts in upon the troops, and pour out of the church at the south-east corner, the procession is broken through, the banners stagger and waver. They stagger and waver, and fall amidst the flight of priests, bishops, and standard-bearers, hither and thither, before the tremendous rush. In one small but compact band the Bishop of Petra (who is on this occasion the bishop of the fire,' the representative of the patriarch) is hurried to the Chapel of the Sepulchre, and the door is closed behind him. The whole church is now one heaving sea of heads, resounding with an uproar which can be compared to nothing less than that of the Guildhall of London at a nomination for the city. One vacant space alone is left; a narrow lane from the aperture on the north side of the chapel to the wall of the church. By the aperture itself stands a priest to catch the fire; on each side of the lane, so far as the eye can reach, hundreds of bare arms are stretched out like the branches of a leafless forest-like the branches of a forest quivering in some violent tempest.

In earlier and bolder times, the expectation of the Divine presence was at this juncture raised to a still higher pitch by the appearance of a dove hovering above the cupola of the chapel—to indicate, so Maundrell was told, the visible descent of the Holy Ghost. This extraordinary act, whether of extravagant symbolism or of daring profaneness, has now been discontinued, but the belief still continues, and it is only from the knowledge of that belief that the full horror of the scene, the intense excitement of the next few moments, can be adequately conceived. Silent-awfully silent-in the midst of this frantic uproar, stands the Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre.

If anyone could at such a moment be convinced of its genuineness, or could expect a display of miraculous power, assuredly it would be that its very stones would cry out against the wild fanaticism without, and unhappy weakness within, by which it is at that hour desecrated. At last the moment comes. A bright flame, as of burning wood, appears inside the hole— the light, as every educated Greek knows and acknowledges, kindled by the bishop within,-the light, as every pilgrim believes, of the descent of God Himself upon the holy tomb. Any distinct feature or incident is lost in the universal whirl of excitement which envelopes the church, as slowly, gradually, the fire spreads from hand to hand, from taper to taper, through the vast multitude, till at last the whole edifice from gallery to gallery, and through the area below, is one wide blaze of thousands of burning candles. It is now that, according to some accounts, the bishop or patriarch is carried out of the chapel in triumph on the shoulders of the people, in a fainting state, 'to give the impression that he is overcome by the glory of the Almighty, from whose immediate presence he is believed to come!' It is now that a mounted horseman, stationed at the gates of the church, gallops off with a lighted taper to communicate the sacred fire to the lamps of the Greek church in the convent at Bethlehem. It is now that the great rush to escape from the rolling smoke and suffocating heat, and to carry the lighted tapers into the streets and houses of Jerusalem, through the one entrance to the church, leads at times to the violent pressure which in 1834 cost the lives of hundreds. For a short time the pilgrims run to and frorubbing their faces and breasts against the fire to attest its supposed harmlessness. But the wild enthusiasm terminates from the moment that the fire is communicated; and perhaps not the least extraordinary part of the spectacle is the rapid and total subsidence of a frenzy so intense. The furious agitation of the morning is strangely contrasted with the profound repose of the evening, when the church is once again filled-through the area of the Rotunda, the chapels of Copt and Syrian, the subterranean church of Helena, the great nave of Constantine's Basilica, the stairs and platform of Calvary itself, with many chambers above-every part, except the one chapel of the Latin church, filled and overlaid by one mass of pilgrims wrapt in deep sleep and waiting for the midnight service.

Such is the Greek Easter, the greatest moral argument against the identity of the spot which it professes to honourstripped, indeed, of some of its most revolting features, yet still, considering the place, the time, and the intention of the professed miracle, probably the most offensive delusion to be found in the world.

MISCELLANEOUS EXAMPLES.

(1) Find the value of 6·10s. + 4·8 of 44·475s.· of 18.8s.

2.25
4.5

(2) Multiply 5s. 33d. by 45-4235; and divide £8 9s. 6d. by 35.75. (3) Reduce and to decimals; 85 and 916 to vulgar fractions; and £4 38. 6d. to the decimal of £6.

(4) If 2 oz. of gold be worth £8.8999, what is the value of 3.483 lbs. ?

(5) If 17 lbs. of sugar cost 1568 of 21s. 9d., what would be the cost of 565 cwt.?

(6) If 16.6 lbs. of tea cost £3 48., what would be the cost of

[Edward III. had invaded France in prosecution of his claim to the crown. The three sons of Philip IV. of France had died without heirs. Isabella, Edward's mother, was Philip's daughter, and he claimed as her heir; but the Salic law, which enacted that no female could inherit the throne, barred his claim, and the nephew of Philip IV. was elected King. The battles of Creci and Poictiers were brilliant victories won in this war, which was concluded, in 1360, by the Treaty of Bretigny, in which Edward renounced all claim to the throne of France, retaining instead Poitou, Guienne, and Calais. The latter town had been taken by the English in 1347, after a year's siege, and remained in their possession till the reign of Mary (1558,) when it was retaken by the French.]

ON seeing their enemies advance, the English rose undaunted up, and fell into the ranks; you must know that these kings, earls, barons, and lords of France did not advance in any regular order, but one after the other, in any way most pleasing to themselves. As soon as the King of France came in sight of the English, his blood began to boil, and he cried out to his marshals, Order the Genoese forward, and begin the battle, in the name of God and of St. Denis.' There were about fifteen thousand Genoese cross-bowmen, but they were quite fatigued, having marched on foot that day six leagues, completely armed, and with their cross-bows; they told the constable they were not in a fit condition to do any great things that day in battle. The Earl of Alençon hearing this, said, 'This is what one gets by employing such scoundrels, who fall off when there is any need of them.' During this time a heavy rain fell, accompanied by thunder and a very terrible eclipse of the sun, and before the

rain a great flight of crows hovered in the air, over all those battalions, making a loud noise. Shortly afterwards it cleared up and the sun shone very bright, but the Frenchmen had it in their faces and the English had it in their backs. When the Genoese were somewhat in order, and approached the English, they set up a loud shout in order to frighten them, but they remained quite still, and did not seem to attend to it. They then set up a second shout and advanced a little forward, but the English never moved. They hooted a third time, advancing with their cross-bows presented, and began to shoot. The English archers then advanced one step forward, and shot their arrows with such force and quickness that it seemed as if it snowed: when the Genoese felt these arrows, which pierced their arms, heads, and through their armour, some of them cut the strings of their cross-bows, others flung them on the ground, and all turned about and retreated quite discomfited. The French had a large body of men-at-arms on horseback, richly dressed, to support the Genoese.

The King of France seeing them thus fall back, cried out, 'Kill me those scoundrels, for they stop our road without any reason.' You would then have seen the above-mentioned men-at-arms lay about them, killing all they could of these runaways. The English continued shooting as vigorously and quickly as before; some of their arrows fell among the horsemen, who were sumptuously equipped, and killing and wounding many, made them caper and fall among the Genoese, so that they were in such confusion they could never rally again. In the English army there were some Cornish and Welshmen on foot, who had armed themselves with large knives: these, advancing through the ranks of the men-at-arms and archers, who made way for them, came upon the French when they were in this danger, and falling upon earls, barons, knights, and squires, slew many, at which the King of England was afterwards much exasperated. The Earl of Alençon advanced in regular order upon the English to fight with them, as did the Earl of Flanders in another part. These two lords with their detachments, coasting, as it were, the archers, came to the prince's battalion, where they fought valiantly for a length of time. The King of France was eager to march to the place where he saw their banners displayed, but there was a hedge of archers before him. This battle, which was fought on Saturday (August 26, 1346), between La Broyes and Creci, was very murderous and cruel, and many_gallant deeds of arms were performed that were never known. Towards evening many knights and squires of the French had lost their masters; they wandered up and down the plain, attacking the English in small parties: they were soon destroyed, for the