And then the night!  Who can sit down and recall and count over the impressions which fly like a troop of fairies over the thrilling senses at that mystic hour, when the skirts of retiring day have ceased to flutter above the western hills, and the moon casts down her pale, melancholy glances on the silent scene, and the stars—­our guardian angels, according to some—­seem to stoop nearer and nearer to the earth as slumber deepens, as if to press golden kisses upon the eyelids of those whom they watch and love!  In all countries these hours are beautiful; but in Egypt—­let those who doubt come and witness all that we beheld, and which is indescribable, on the evening that we left the neighbourhood of Silsilis on our way to Edfou—­on that calm, placid river, over which brooded a silence interrupted only by the alternate songs of the crews of the two boats as they leisurely pulled with the current.

It was late in the afternoon of next day when we reached the landing-place; but we immediately set out to see the ruin, if ruin it can be called, for it is almost in perfect preservation.  After traversing a broad extent of ground covered with rank grass and prickly plants, we came to the customary palm-grove, and then entered what romancers would probably call the ‘good city’ of Edfou.  It is a considerable collection of huts, principally constructed of mud, clustering amidst mounds of rubbish at the base of the temple.  The lofty propylaea, above a hundred feet high, I believe, were of course seen from afar off, both during our walk and in ascending and descending the river.  As is the case in nearly all other Egyptian buildings, the effect at a distance is anything but picturesque.  From want of objects of comparison, the impression of great size is not produced; and nothing can be meaner in outline than two towers like truncated pyramids, pierced with small, square windows at irregular intervals.  On a nearer approach, however, the surface-ornament begins to appear; and the central doorway, overhung by a rich and painted cornice, presents itself in its really grand proportions, but crushed, as it were, by the vast size of the twin towers, which now seem magnified into mountains.  At Edfou the effect of this surprise is partly injured by the circumstances:  first, the accumulation of huts through which you approach; and second, that of mounds of dirt which have risen nearly to the height of the doorway.  However, when you come to the summit of these mounds, almost on a level with the lintel, and look down between the enormous jambs into a kind of valley formed by the great court, with its wonderful portico and belt of columns, it is difficult to conceive a more imposing scene.