LETTER XIII.

THE STRANGER’S GRAVE.

A tEaR starts into my eye, young
reader, as I think of the great pyramids
and of the broad river that winds its
way near them. Do you care to know
why? You shall know.

On the banks of the Nile, far from
the home of his childhood, a few years
ago died a young American. ‘There, at-
tended only by a few strangers, his