Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Volume 1, No. 2, July, 1850.

The second pyramid, generally attributed, though without hieroglyphical confirmation, to Cephrenes, is more ancient and ruder in its masonry than that of Cheops. Standing on higher ground, it has from some points an appearance of greater height than that of the great pyramid, and its dimensions are hardly less stupendous. It is distinguished by having a portion of the smooth casing yet remaining, with which all the pyramids were once covered, and it is a great feat to climb up this dangerous, slippery surface to the summit. Yet there are plenty of Arabs who for a trifling beckshish will dash "down Cheops and up Cephrenes" with incredible celerity. Its interior arrangements differ from those of the great pyramid, in that in accordance with Lepsius's theory, the sarcophagus of the builder is sunk in the floor, and not placed in the centre of the edifice. The glory of opening this pyramid is due to the enterprising Belzoni.

The third pyramid is of much smaller dimensions than the two others, but beautifully constructed. It was the work, as is proved by the discovery of his name, of Mycerinus or Mencheres, whose wooden coffin in the British Museum, very simple, and unornamented, as well as the desiccated body, supposed to be that of the monarch himself, has probably attracted the notice of our readers. This pyramid is double, i. e., eased over with a distinct covering. Besides these principal ones, there are still standing other and smaller pyramids, more or less entire, grouped about these larger ones, and forming a portion of this stupendous Necropolis of Memphis.

The Great Hall At Karnak. – We had spent so much time in the examination of Luxor, and of the other portions of Karnak, that the evening was advanced when we arrived at the Great Hall. The shadows were creeping solemnly through the intricate recesses of its forest of columns, but the red light rested for a while upon their beautiful flower-shaped capitals, the paintings upon which, scarred and worn as they are by the accidents of 3000 years, still display, under a strong light, much of their original vividness. It is a perfect wilderness of ruin, almost outrunning the wildest imagination or the most fantastic dream. We paced slowly down the central avenue. The bases of the columns are buried among the fallen fragments of the roof and a mass of superincumbent earth; from his hiding-place, amidst which the jackal began to steal forth, and wake the echoes of the ruins with his blood-curdling shriek; while the shadowy bat flitted, spirit-like, from dusky pillar to pillar. From the centre of the hall, whichever way we looked through the deepening gloom, there seemed no end to the labyrinthine ruins. Obelisks and columns, some erect in their pristine beauty, others fallen across, and hurled together in hideous confusion, forming wild arcades of ruin; enormous masses of prostrate walls and propylæa, seemed to have required either to construct or to destroy them the power of a fabled race of giants. Pillars, obelisks, and walls of this immense hall, were covered with the forms of monarchs who reigned, and of the gods who were once worshiped within it. Involuntarily the mind goes back, in gazing on them, to the period of its original splendor, when Rameses in triumph returned from his oriental conquests – pictures the pile in all its completeness, the hall of a hundred and thirty columns with its superb roof, glittering in all the vivid beauty of its paintings, thronged with monarchs, and priests, and worshipers, and devoted to splendid and gorgeous ceremonies.

Next morning, after an early breakfast, I was again among the ruins of the Great Hall, which I had but imperfectly surveyed the previous evening. I give its dimensions from Wilkinson, with a description of the rest of the temple. "It measures 170 feet by 329, supported by a central avenue of twelve massive columns, 66 feet high (without the pedestal and abacus) and 12 in diameter, besides a hundred and twenty-two of smaller, or rather less gigantic dimensions, 41 feet 9 inches in height, and 27 feet 6 inches in circumference, distributed in seven lines on either side of the former. The twelve central columns were originally fourteen, but the two northernmost have been inclosed within the front towers or popylæa, apparently in the time of Osirei himself, the founder of the hall. The two at the other end were also partly built into the projecting wall of the doorway, as appears from their rough sides, which were left uneven for that purpose. Attached to this are two other towers, closing the inner extremity of the hall, beyond which are two obelisks, one still standing on its original site, the other having been thrown down and broken by human violence. Similar but smaller propylæa succeed to this court, of which they form the inner side." This is the spot which I have selected for a retrospective view of the Great Hall, the obelisk still standing, but the propylæa in the fore-ground a mass of utter ruin. Still following the intricate plan of the great temple through the ruined propylæa in the fore-ground, we reach another court with two obelisks of larger dimensions, the one now standing being 92 feet high and 8 square, surrounded by a peristyle, if I may be allowed the expression, of Osiride figures. Passing between two dilapidated propylæa, you enter another smaller area, ornamented in a similar manner, and succeeded by a vestibule, in front of the granite gateways that form the façade of the court before the sanctuary. This last is also of red granite, divided into two apartments, and surrounded by numerous chambers of small dimensions, varying from 29 feet by 16, to 16 feet by 8. The walls of this small sanctuary, standing on the site of a more ancient one, are highly polished, sculptured, and painted, and the ceiling of stars on a blue ground, the whole exquisitely finished. The entire height of the hall, i. e., the central portion, is not less than 80 feet, the propylæa still higher.

The imagination is no doubt bewildered in following these numerous details, and yet much is left undescribed and even unnoticed, and the eye, even of the visitor, more than satisfied with seeing, will return to the prominent objects, those alone, of which he can expect to retain a vivid recollection. The Great Hall will attract his attention above every thing else.

SCENERY ON THE ERIE RAILROAD

The construction of the Erie railroad through the hitherto secluded valleys of the Delaware and Susquehanna rivers, and reaching now almost to the Allegany, has opened to access new fields for the tourist, abounding with the loveliest and the grandest works of Nature. From the Hudson to the Lakes, the scenery is constantly changing from the romantic and beautiful to the bold and rugged; and again from the sublime and fearfully grand to the sweetest pictures of gentle beauty. There is probably no road in the world that passes through such a variety of scenery as does the Erie, and there is certainly none that can present to the traveler such a succession of triumphs of art over the formidable obstacles which nature has, at almost every step, raised against the iron-clad intruders into her loveliest recesses. The enchanting magnificence of the scenery keeps the attention alive, while its varying character at every turn, continually opens new sources of enjoyment. Immense rocky excavations salute you upon every side. Miles of mountain acclivities of solid rock have been borne away by the Herculean arm of persevering industry. You see where the lofty cliff has been beaten down; the huge mountain-barrier leveled; rough and rugged precipices overcome; chasms spanned, and wide valleys and rivers crossed.

The scenery in the valley of the Delaware is grand beyond description; and in the valley of the Susquehanna, after passing out of a wilderness, where every portion is stamped with the impress of grandeur, a truly agricultural region, in a high state of cultivation, and smiling with abundance, meets the eye. At the point where the road first strikes the Susquehanna, that noble river is seen in the plenitude of its magnificent beauty.

It is not our purpose to point out the particular objects most worthy of examination, or to describe any one of the numerous landscapes which lie all along the track; but we will venture to assert, that nowhere between sun and sun can such a combination and variety of the wonderful in nature and art, with the beautiful be seen, as in a day's ride on the Erie railroad. Sketches of some of these views accompany this article, and we may, from time to time, give such others as we think will prove interesting to our readers.

The reader is familiar with the geography of the road: commencing at Piermont, on the Hudson, twenty-four miles from New York, on the long pier that projects a mile into the river, it winds its way westward among the hills along the course of the Sparkill. Just before leaving the pier, looking north, the view on the preceding page is presented.

From the Sparkill the road leads over to the Ramapo, where the first lovely scenery commences, in a wild and broken, but picturesque region; thence through Orange county, beautiful mostly from its fertility and high cultivation. Passing on, the road approaches the Shawangunk mountains, which are seen stretching away to the northeast, where the eye catches a misty glimpse of the distant Catskills. The appearance of these mountains from the east is truly sublime; and ascending toward the summit the country is as rugged as the wildest steeps of the Appenines or Styrian Alps. After passing the summit of the mountain through a rock-cutting, half a mile in length, the road winds by a gentle slope of a dozen miles along the mountain side to the valley below. About half way down, another deep cutting through the rock is passed, on emerging from which, a view of remarkable loveliness meets the eye. At this point the traveler has an unbroken view of the enchanting valley of the Neversink in all its cultivated beauty. The accompanying view represents the scene from the spot where the road boldly sweeps toward the south, and shows the western verge of the valley bordered by a chain of mountains, at the foot of which gleams the village of Port Jervis and its level fields, losing themselves far in the south where rolls the Delaware, beyond which again the distant town of Milford may be seen in the misty light. Running south through this beautiful area is a winding grove of trees, marking the course of the Neversink to where it unites with the Delaware.

We will present only one other view, which represents one of the imposing structures which characterize the Erie road. This is the viaduct over the valley of the Starrucca, built of stone. It is elevated one hundred feet above the valley, is over twelve hundred feet long, and twenty-five wide, and is composed of eighteen heavy piers, with arches of fifty feet span. It is simple in its design, but symmetrical and beautiful, and is altogether the noblest piece of work upon the whole line of the road. It is one of the most interesting objects which invite the notice of the traveler, and gives dignity and grandeur, as well as a picturesque character to the work. In this immediate neighborhood is some of the finest scenery to be found on the whole line of the road, and will tempt many a traveler to repeat his visit, and linger to explore new beauties, which the eye in the rolling car does not detect.

[From Dr. Moore's new work on "Health, Disease, and Remedy."]

BATHING – ITS UTILITY

The effects of cold and heat recall to my mind the words that I heard in my youth from the lips of Abernethy, "Cold is bracing, heat relaxing – that is the notion, but only consider its absurdity. Heat excites, how then can it relax? There is a difference between heat and moisture and mere heat. They say a cold bath is bracing. Ah! a man jumps into a cold bath, and he feels chilled; he jumps out again, and rubs himself with a coarse cloth; he is invigorated, refreshed, and cheery; he feels as if he could jump over the moon. So, if a man takes a glass of brandy, he feels vigorous enough for a little while, but the brandy is any thing but bracing. Keep the man in the cold water, and see what a poor, shivering mortal he would be; you might almost knock him down with a feather; and add more brandy to the man, and he becomes a lump." Heat and cold, in fact, both operate in the same manner, by exciting the vital powers into action, but to use either to excess as surely debilitates, disorders, and overpowers the system as an abuse of brandy would do. All things that cause action of course must act as stimuli, and whatever rouses the heart and nerves must be proportioned to the degree of power existing in the patient, or it can not be safe; it is spurring the jaded horse that kills him. Moderation is the course prescribed in the law of nature and of God, and it needs no exquisite discernment to distinguish right from wrong in a general way, or to see when the system needs rest, and when rousing.

Sea-bathing is serviceable only as a stimulus to all the functions by rousing the nerves, and hence the heart and arteries, to greater activity. In this manner, I have seen vast benefit in a multitude of cases, more particularly those in which the lymphatic system and the glands were diseased, as in scrofula, tumid abdomen, and harsh skin, with deficient appetite, and indisposition to take exercise. It does mischief if it does not at once improve power. In such cases, however, great care is required to avoid too long a chill, which always aggravates the glandular congestion. Salt stimulates the skin, but a certain degree of cold, and, perhaps, of shock, is necessary for the beneficial effects, a warm bath very often increasing the malady. I speak from my experience of the effects of sea-bathing, and would strongly urge the propriety of preparing children for plunging in the sea, by getting them accustomed to cold sponging at home, as this plan will often supersede the need of visiting the sea for their benefit, and enable them to bear the sea the better when advisable.

Sea-air and sea-water exert a very decided influence upon children, and, indeed, upon all who are not accustomed to it, whether in health or disease. Young persons coming from inland situations are very apt to become somewhat fevered by the change, and bilious disorder is a common consequence of their approaching the sea; and in almost all persons sea-bathing begets after a while a slight intermittent disorder, which seldom goes quite off in less than a fortnight from the last bath. If the bath be resorted to daily, this disorder usually comes on in about a week; if only twice or thrice a week, it may not appear for a month, and those who bathe only now and then, without regularity, do not seem to be subject to it. I am disposed to think that this new action of the system promotes the cure of glandular disease, but it may, if neglected, conduce to internal disorder of a worse kind, and I have frequently seen a dangerous remittent fever supervene upon it in delicate and excitable children. These results prove the stimulating operation of sea-water, and sufficiently show the necessity of caution in its use. Instead of improving the powers of the body, it may produce debility by over-exciting them; hence it is prudent in most cases not to bathe oftener than every other day, and to use milder measures if, after the second or third occasion, there is not a visible increase of vigor. Where exercise can not be taken immediately after the bath, friction of the body, especially over the back and stomach, is desirable. The best time for cold bathing, where there is any debility, is about two hours after breakfast. Early bathing is best for the robust. Let it be remembered that cold acts always as a stimulant; whenever it does good, it rouses the nervous system; it makes a greater demand for oxygen; it enables the body to absorb more of the vital air, and thus it facilitates the changes on which the energy of life depends. In this respect it acts like all other stimulants proper to the body, and not like alcoholic stimuli, which excite the brain, while they diminish the influence of the vital air upon the blood, and favor capillary obstructions and inflammations.

The influence of cold on the nervous system is no new discovery, for ever since man has felt and inferred from his feeling, he must have known that influence alike from experience and observation. Used as a bath, we have seen that it may produce very contrary effects; like any other powerful agent, it both excites and depresses. The first action of nearly all remedies is to excite; from fire to frost, from aqua fortis to aqua fontis, the influence is always more or less stimulating, and it is capable of depressing the vital powers in proportion to its power of exciting them. Thus the hydropathists have in their hands the power of producing all the stages of the most vehement fever, from the rigor of the severest cold fit to the fiercest excitement which the heart and brain will bear, succeeded by a perspiration proportionately violent; and hence sometimes inadvertently they lose a patient by the production of a sudden sinking like the collapse of cholera. Some tact and skill, therefore, are requisite for the safe employment of such an agency as cold water.

Paracelsus treated that form of St. Vitus' Dance which prevailed in his day, and which he called chorea lasciva, by cooling his patients in tubs of cold water; and Priesnitz brings his patients also to the right point by baths that allow no idleness to whatever function of nature may remain capable of action within them, and thus he often removes partial complaints by a general diversion. Aubrey, in his account of the great Harvey, informs us of a bold piece of practice with cold water. He says, that when Harvey had a fit of the gout that interfered with his studies, "He would sitt with his legges bare, though it were frosty, on the leads of Cockayne-house, put them into a payle of water till he was almost dead with cold, and betake himself to his stove, and so 'twas gone." Harvey doubtless knew how to balance matters in his own mind between the risk and the remedy, and he might feel justified in treating himself with less gentleness than his patients; but, perhaps, physicians should try such extreme remedies only on themselves. Since Harvey's day, the virtues of cold water in fever and inflammation have been abundantly tested, and we find it is capable of producing contrary effects, according to the condition of the body at the time. Thus, if it be long applied, or applied when the vital action is low, it dangerously depresses the vascular system, to be followed by a more or less dangerous and obstinate reaction; but if the system be tolerably strong, without being very excitable, the use of cold in a moderate degree always safely increases vigor. It is therefore always safe so far to employ cold, as will help to maintain the ordinary temperature of the body. Thus, in fever, when the skin is hot, sponging it with cold water is both most refreshing and curative; while a free use of cold water as drink is almost always in such cases highly advantageous.

It has been well shown by Dr. R. B. Todd, in his Lumleian Lectures at the College of Physicians, on what principle cold may be employed to modify and control a great number of diseases, especially those of a convulsive character. But these things are of course known, or ought to be known, by professional men; and as they are not of a character to admit of practical application, except by those accustomed to treat disease, it will answer no good purpose to enlarge on the subject in this place.

The warm-bath is among the most useful of remedial measures. One who has experienced the delicious refreshment of a warm-bath at about the temperature of the blood (100°), after exhausting fatigue and want of sleep, whether from disease or exertion, will need no arguments in its favor. It is exactly under such conditions that it is most useful. From time immemorial, thermal springs of tepid warmth have been lauded for their virtues in relieving nervous disorders, and diseases dependent on insufficiency of blood, and exhaustion of the brain, such as the dyspepsy of anxious persons, and individuals debilitated by excitement, bad habits, and hot climates. The mode in which it acts seems evident – it checks waste of warmth from the skin, invigorates its vessels without producing perspiration, admits a little pure water into the blood by absorption, and by its tranquillizing influence on the nerves, favors the action of any function that may have been checked or disturbed. The body becomes highly electric in warm water, and probably all the conditions of increased power are present for the time at least; and of course, so far as warm bathing promotes appetite, digestion, assimilation, and sound sleep, it contributes to the establishment of increased vigor. Thus we find, that hypochondriacal patients have often found new hopes in the genial lymph as it embraced and laved their naked limbs; they have felt the elements were still in their favor; they have rejoiced in the sunny air, and taken their homely meals as if they were ambrosia, with hearts grateful to the Hand that helped them. The blessing may, however, be abused – the remedy may be made a luxury, the means of health a cause of weakness. When continually resorted to by persons well nourished, but inactive, it is apt to produce a flaccidity of the system, and to encourage that relaxation of the veins which predisposes to excessive formation of fat. For the same reason, it is generally injurious where there is a tendency to dropsy, and in some such cases I have known it immediately followed by great lymphatic effusion in the cellular tissue, which has been quickly removed, however, by saline aperients and tonics.

As it is the combination of heat and moisture that renders the thermal bath so efficacious, it frequently happens that a thoroughly hot bath most effectually facilitates the cure, and we are not astonished that the parboiling waters of Emmaus, at 148°, on the shores of Tiberias, are as famous for their cures as any of the German baths. The semi-barbarians about the sea of Galilee, the inhabitants of Iceland, and the savages of America, know how to employ the hot bath skillfully; and if we were equally accustomed with them to exercise our natural instinct and common sense, we also might bathe in hot water without consulting the doctor; but as it is, we had better take advantage of a better opinion than our own. I the more earnestly urge this course, because I know the danger of all hot baths, wherever there is acute disease of an inflammatory kind affecting internal organs, more especially of the lungs, heart, and bowels. Even acute rheumatism is more likely to attack the heart when the hot bath is employed; and where there is any considerable structural disorder of that organ, the use of the bath in any form is at all times attended with risk.

Warm baths are useful in all nervous disorders attended with debility, in all cases in which there is dryness of the skin and a tendency to feverish less, in mental fidgetiness, in irregular circulation, as when a person can not take due exercise, and is subject to coldness of the feet or hands, and in many forms of congestion and dyspepsia, with tenderness over the stomach. It is serviceable in the convulsive diseases of children, and in painful diseases, especially of a spasmodic kind, but more particularly in cases of chronic irritation from local causes, whether of the skin or of internal parts. It is injurious to plethoric persons, to persons subject to hæmorrhage of any kind, and in the active stage of fever. But whether it would be good or bad in any individual case, can be determined only by one who has ability to examine and judge of that case.

As a general rule, mineral and salt-water warm baths are less relaxing than those of pure water. The vapor bath, when the vapor is not breathed, acts more powerfully, though much in the same manner as the warm bath, but it is more useful in common cold and rheumatism. The warm-air bath, at from 100° to 120°, is highly convenient and useful, where it is desirable to excite perspiration, as in rheumatism, scaly eruptions, and certain stages of fever and cholera. The plan most readily adopted is that of Dr. Gower: A lamp is placed under the end of a metallic tube, which is introduced under the bed-clothes, which are raised from the body by a wicker frame-work, and the degree of heat regulated by moving the lamp.