Thou knowest well from what this book arose. When suffering seized and held me in its clasp Thy fostering hand released me from its grasp, And from amid the thorns there bloomed a rose. Air, dew, and sunshine were bestowed by Thee, And Thine it is; without these lines from me. In the winter of 1873 I spent some weeks in one of the tombs of the Necropolis of Thebes in order to study the monuments of that solemn city of the dead; and during my long rides in the silent desert the germ was developed whence this book has since grown. The leisure of mind and body required to write it was given me through a long but not disabling illness.…
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