Chapter IV: Part 4

The poor villages of Egypt, a collection of dilapidated houses built of clay, baked by the burning sun and roofed with dry sorghum leaves, were scattered here and there. Here are seen cafes built of loam and straw and rickety planks upon which exhausted beggars sleep in sordid rags, where poor peasants devour a doura cake and drink a cup of coffee; women in long, blue gowns, carrying water in heavy clay pitchers; camels loaded with sugar-cane; asses bending beneath bulky bags of rice; heron, plover and white pigeons; Pharaoh's chickens hover overhead, watching with piercing eyes their prey; pelicans amid the Papyrus, a blue lotus, a plant dear to the Pharaohs, which one finds everywhere engraved on the walls of their temples; dusky girls with long, slender hands and tapering fingers, the nails reddened with Henna, holding a corner of their garment between their teeth to hide their faces and pushing flocks of turkeys before them. They walk slowly, gazing frankly, while the copper bangles clank gently on their delicately moulded ankles.

The population of Cairo in 1895 was about 350,000. The Khedive lives with his wife and family at the Palace of Ismalia, near the Nile bridge. He is a strict monogamist, loyal in his married life and detests slavery as much as polygamy. All his attendants are paid wages. He is said to rise at 4:00 or 5:00 a. m., eats no breakfast, exercises two hours, and between seven and eight o'clock drives in state to Abdin Palace, which is about a half mile from Ismalia, his home. Abdin is the usual place for receptions and ceremonial visits. Here the Khedive spends the day, transacting various business, seeing ministers, reading letters and telegrams and talking with his courtiers. At 5:00 p. m. he drives again with his guard, preceded by his athletic sais about forty feet in advance, while in his victoria sits always some companion beside him. These sais attract much attention, so very graceful are they in appearance. Their white Turkish trousers, their gold embroidered bolero jacket, with bright, oriental sashes and a cap of bright color that sets off their fine features and well-shaped head. They are very fleet, but we were told that their earthly race is soon run, the exercise being too violent. We take donkeys to visit the bazaars. There is a change of temperature, about 60 deg. Fah., but the attempt made to keep our seat on our lively animals brought out the perspiration, as this was our maiden effort. The name of the present Khedive is Lewfak (1895). On a recent occasion he was asked: "What would be the effect on the harem if the slaves and eunuchs were no longer on guard?" He replied: "The women would rush into all sorts of license." He agreed that education was the one thing needful, and in accordance with his convictions has started a high school for girls, at his own expense. The Mussulman women's morals are very low; their influence on the children of the harem is most deplorable. The Ezbekiah Garden confronts us nearby the hotel. It was formerly a lake surrounded by trees and habitations. At the present, after many changes, it is of rectangular form, with corners cut off, surrounded by an iron railing. A basin with swan, and carefully sanded paths with strange trees brought from the interior of Africa is a beautiful sight. The limpid blue sky and the rays of the magnificent eastern sun makes it an attractive place to linger, particularly so at 4:00 p. m., when a military band performs its European repertoire. Beer shops, restaurants and photographic pavilions are installed in and near this garden; veiled women, men in silk gowns of various colors, mostly blues, roam about with the most perfect ease. Beautiful Egyptian tents were erected for a bazaar while we were there. No one can appreciate, without seeing their effective display, made of sailcloth, with red, yellow and blue calico in plain colors, appliqued on in strange hieroglyphic designs. Rugs were on the ground and tapestries were used as portieres, while the Turk or Egyptian sat in the doorway, apparently indifferent to the passerby. To visit Heliopolis, we took a victoria and an expert dragoman. We passed the viceroy's palace, with its lane of lemon trees and the well cultivated plain of Metarrah, covered with gardens. We stop at the virgin's tree, where Mary and the child rested in their flight to Egypt. This, with the field around it, is watered by a sakieh, which draws sweet and refreshing water from the bottom of a well. With the cooling draught, we are presented with a tiny bunch of flowers, for which we return a few piasters. A paling surrounds Mary's Sycamore, under whose shade, tradition says, she washed the infant's clothes, and that wherever a drop of water fell a Balsam tree sprang up. All that remains of Heliopolis, the city of the sun, is the obelisk of Usertesan. Heliopolis is the On of the Hebrews. It was here the Bennonz, Phoenix, the fabled bird, with its gold and crimson plumage, without a mate, came from Arabia every five hundred years to expire, and to be reborn of its own ashes on the altar of the sun.

I left my companion in the victoria, and wended my way alone to the obelisk, not far distant. It may be he preferred to contemplate on Heliopolis' past glory, as he was fresh from Yale's classic shade, and deep, no doubt, in its lore, rather than touch its hieroglyphics. To see the bees so thickly settled there was of little satisfaction, but what were we there for if not to touch, taste and handle? The climatic effects will preserve this wonderful monument for ages, while their consorts on the Thames and in New York Central Park already show signs of decay.

The ostrich farm was a more enlivening scene. One thousand of these ugly, vicious birds were kept in an enclosure, the fence surrounding them being so high we were obliged to seek an elevation from which we could look down upon them. They are most ungainly, but their strut is indicative of vanity. To probe them, as some did through an opening in the gateway, was to arouse their wrath, and the warning was soon given to desist, by the care-keepers. Many of the eggs were emptied of their contents and for sale. Throughout the land morgues are crumbling to ruins, the Arab seemingly powerless to repair them, or to build new ones. Cairo is built from the ruins of Heliopolis and Memphis.

To return to Cairo by the Kooha road is to meet at 5:00 p. m. the Khedive and suite on their return from Abdin palace. It is said the Khedive is never seen to smile; we can testify that he did not smile on us, although we rode parallel with him that day. The tramp of his attendant cavalry always attracts a crowd. We see, as we drive along, the donkeys roll with their saddles in the sand; swarms of naked soiled children, with their deafening yell, increase the clamor made by the native pipe seller and blower. These are made of bamboo, and, when properly handled, give out a noise peculiar to those people. Water-sellers, with filled goatskins on their shoulders, leather aprons to their knees, striking their copper goblets one against the other, richly caparisoned mules, bearing venerable Mohammedan priests, whose gowns are kissed as they go by--all these and more join this medley in human or animal form. Traffic is suddenly stopped by a long string of camels coming, laden with thick pieces of timber, rugged stones or enormous bales of merchandise. They walk silently in the dust with long strides, waving to and fro, exhaling an insupportable odor. Their heavy, incommodious cargoes strike right and left, breaking everything before them. Woe betide the pedestrian, who does not anticipate their coming, and prepare to skip. These caravans are only momentary disturbances, then all is righted till another passes. Through all this pandemonium we drive to the tombs of the Caliphs, the independent sovereigns of Egypt from the ninth to the twelfth century. In the face of the ruins crumbling slowly beneath the action of centuries, one feels an unutterable melancholy. Mosque of El Achraf-ynal El Ghours is near the tombs of the Caliphs, their courts are full of rubbish and plants and brambles, with its fountains for ablutions in ruins. These mosques contain tombs and stone mausoleums. We pass out into a dilapidated village of low mud houses, few shops, with fruits to sell, camels lying down, asses and tattered children and old men. We ascend not far away the staircase with disjointed steps, the mosque of Karl Bey. The interior court, open to all elements, is paved with marble mosaics. The ceiling of the mosque is carved, painted and gilded. The rose windows, cut in massive stone, is in great perfection, but all is crumbling, like everything else in the east.

The tombs of the Caliphs we overlook from the citadel, where we listen to the guide who relates the daring feats of the Mamelukes. To see the sun set from this point is one of the pleasures that Cairo affords. Here is a fortress, where Ramises II detained his Assyrian captives, when the Roman legion under Caesar held Egypt. The vile, stuffy smells that greet you on entering are appalling, and the ragged children eaten up by vermin, and afflicted by sore eyes rub against you. You enter the Coptic church of the Virgin Mary; partitions in woodwork separate three naves. Mother of pearl and ivory inlaid work decorate the interior, but it was so dark the beauties were lost to me, but we are not insensible to the vile uncleanliness, for that is paramount. We are taken to the banks of the Nile, shown the ancient Nile meter, and the exact spot where Moses was found in the bulrushes. From all this we turn with weary steps to the university, where scholars from the extreme north, south, and those who scarcely know from whence they came, are here to study the four rites taught from the Koran. They board at the Mosque and also receive a small allowance and oil for their lamps. Gathered together in circles, holding their tablets in their hands, lying or sitting on their mats covering the ground, they learn by heart verses from the Koran, which they recite aloud in a drawling voice, swinging the body, as is peculiar to the Orientals. A special fund is raised from pious fanatics for the support of the blind who become scholars, no less fanatic than their teachers.

Another day for the museums at Boulah to be taken before, and after going up the Nile. From its terrace the views are splendid. The supporting walls bathe in the Nile, where multitudes of vessels lie side by side. Across the desert come caravans from Abyssinia, with coffee and incense from Arabia; pearls, precious stones, cassimeres and silks from India.

In dahabehis from Esneh come ivories, ostrich feathers, acacia gum, nitre from Kenner, boats loaded with pottery of porous earth, in which to keep the water of the Nile in amphorae (large earthen jugs) in all sizes. Edfou sends its pipes, vases of red clay and black. Barges filled with indigo, cotton and barley, dahabehis of carpets and woolen stuffs with flagons of rose water. From the North come rice, maize and Syrian tobacco; draperies from Aleppo, Smyrna and Damascus; dried grapes from the mountains of Karamania; soap from the isles of the Archipelagos, and in the midst of all this enterprise, donkey boys yell, and camels make their unearthly cry, while I, who am mounted on a donkey, scarcely look to the right or left, lest I go over "Abraham Lincoln's" head.

We have left the museum and are on the road leading to Cairo, the Champs Elysee of this capital city. Tuesdays and Sundays the gay world is met on this thoroughfare. We overlook the port of old Cairo to see all we have described, besides dahabehis from Nubia and Soudan with goods and passengers. The ferry passing between Bedrashen and old Cairo is full to overflowing. Men, women, Bedouin negroes, asses, camels overburdened with merchandise, cages of fowls, and fruit in kouffas; people gesticulating and grumbling in an inconceivable manner--all this confusion we pass through to reach our hotel to dream of our journey to the pyramids the following day. Our dragoman secures an open carriage that seats four persons, besides the coachman and himself on the coachmen's seat. We are told that twenty years were consumed in building the great pyramid, costing 600 talents (the Hebrew weight 94 lbs.) in Hebrew money; 100,000 men were employed on the works, and were changed every three months. They say nothing changes in the valley of the Nile; the Fellah has always bent the spine to the stick. Lives innumerable were sacrificed by the Pharaohs in building for themselves, and others, tombs that time could not change, and where thieves could not break through and steal. How all earthly plans are frustrated. Now the hidden places of the pyramids are laid bare. The museum at Boulah contains the mummied forms of the builders, and the entrances to their sepulchres are open to bats and men. I did not ascend the pyramids farther than to look into these excavations. This effort was most exhausting, even when assisted by these athletic Arabs, and the demand for backsheesh was overpowering. The sheik, under whose patronage these coolies work, stands looking on without intervention until your dragoman is forced to appeal to him to quell the disturbance, but we could see that he berated those who were delinquent in making their demands good. The sphinx near by can be reached either by camels, who stand in readiness to convey you, or you can walk. We prefer the latter rather than to have another bombardment for backsheesh, but waiving, as we did, all assistance but our dragoman, we were followed by these wretched persecutors. There is in this colossal figure a dignity--an air of mystery. It is with difficulty that the sands of the desert are kept from enveloping it, but the climatic effect is wonderful; it seems destined for time and eternity.

Friday is the day for religious service with the howling dervishes. One never cares for a repetition. Those who take active part in the ceremony are men whose regular features are set off by a tall, round, sugar-loafed hat, surrounded at its base with a turban wound very tight, clothed in long, flowing gowns, very full, open in front. A second gown underneath of mauve silk shows a blue jacket and orange-colored trousers. One carries a flute, and now and then a soft, ethereal note is heard. Around this musician are others with their instruments. In a semi-circle, with arms falling at their sides, stand at least thirty dervishes, their long gowns of different colors fastened tight around their waists with a red silk sash, red, white and green turbans, and linen or woolen caps. Their hair is of extraordinary length, dyed with henna, and falling to their knees. At a signal from their leader, all uncover their heads at the same moment, and, as they bend balancing themselves slowly at first, with each jerk pronouncing the word "Allah!" This swinging motion becomes by degrees rapid; voices burst out; one hears the piercing note of the flute, and the ring of the cymbals. The sepulchral roll of the Dara-bonkas make the flesh creep, and finally ends in a delirious exaltation.--They assume frightful contortions; their bodies bend; the hair whips the air and the cry of "Allah! Allah!" penetrates bone and marrow. After a while their ways become more regular, voices clearer, and they seem again to possess their faculties.

The great artery of trade cuts bazaar quarters into the old Frank quarters where east and west mixes. Living side by side, the occupants of these shops speak, when opening the shutters in the morning, and when closing them in the evening, and frequently offer each other tea and cigarettes through the day, and that terminates all connection. A Babel street, dealers in French novelties; an American dentist; a barber, a Jewish money changer side by side, while on foot in the roadway divers people from diverse nations throng--few groups but a constant movement. Among them are loaded camels, people on horses, donkeys, mules, victorias drawn by Arab steeds always on the trot. The guards driving to one side the crowd by blows in the face with their sticks, water carriers, soldiers, in fact, everybody, hustling, bustling in search of something. In the bazaar of Khan Khabiel we found copper utensils of all forms and sizes, coffee pots, perfume burners, ewers, chandeliers for mosques, Persian caskets chiseled to perfection, articles of rhinoceros horn, Circassian and Saracen steel armor, inlaid with gold, tables of mother of pearl and ivory. A dealer in old clothes sat at the angle of the street playing a game of chance with his neighbor. We see Koran letters in green on black ground hung in black frames standing against the wall, while the owner sits dreaming near by, apparently deriving much comfort from his kief. The streets are narrow, often hedged from houses by a trellis work, fashioned from palm leaves. The sun penetrates in spots. Through these apertures one sees the clear blue sky and black kites, vultures and hawks describing circles, and at intervals wild geese from the north go flying by. The roads are covered with dust which, when it rains, becomes almost impassable. We see coming towards us women accompanied by slave bathing attendants, going to a public bath house reserved for females. They meet by appointment, burn perfumed aloes, etc., send for singers and treat themselves to pastry and sweets.

The roofs of carpet bazaars, half covered with mats and shreds of cloth, permit the soft light to filter through, and upon the sacred prayer rug throws a mellowed light. Piles of camels' bags, some brilliant in color, with mountains of rugs from all parts of the east; those of the velvety silken texture with blended colors come from Persia. A coarser kind of many stripes comes from Rabah, Tunis and Kurdistan. Long squares with ground of soft blue are used by the Mohammedans in their devotion and are made in Smyrna and Bokhara. The gem polisher sits within the doorway of his shop, with wheels and implements, whereon he perfects his work. We are interested in the Persian turquoise, the most desirable to be purchased. We buy, we think, flawless ones of exquisite shades.

The Ramhadin, or season of fasting, by the Moslems, continues one month, and during that time they neither taste nor smell food or tobacco between sunrise and sunset. After this vile durance, we were told, their appetites can scarcely be appeased, nor their tempers curbed.

The weddings in December and January are in rule and, by applying for an invitation, your dragoman as a great favor to his lady, can and will obtain one or more, for which you must compensate him, besides defraying all expenses, and giving flowers and presents. You must expect but little less expenditure than at our own weddings in our own country, and but little to repay you. On the evening of the 24th of December (1895), Christmas trees were on exhibition at the hotel for the benefit of the guests; the ladies only received presents. The room was most brilliant with electric lights and three large trees most artistically decorated with bright balls, cornucopias and trinkets. A card was given each lady and the number thereon drew a prize. My first was a box of candy and a small toilet article. Not eating candy, I presented both articles and asked Mr. Bailey, our host, for another chance, which drew me a white satin sofa cushion cover. For a time we almost forgot we were so far from home. There were so many familiar faces gathered around those trees, besides no limit to others who believed that the "Coming of Christ" meant good gifts to men. The 30th of December my brother and his family left me to return to America. I was over-persuaded to go up the Nile, a trip I most reluctantly made. As I felt the depression of the Egyptian atmosphere, added to my depressed condition from the medicine taken (prescribed by a missionary doctor on board the steamer "Pekin") throughout my Indian journey that I was unfit to travel any longer--and I had no desire to die so far from home--the pressure against my own judgment outweighed in the balance, and I left Cairo on the steamer "Ramises III" at 9:15 o'clock a. m. December 31st, 1895. The room assigned to me by Thomas Cook & Co. was No. 63, on the upper deck. I had no room mate, much to my joy. This was my "mascot" from the time I boarded the steamer at Vancouver--with but one exception, and that was on the steamer "Pekin" from Columbo to Calcutta where I had a dear old lady from Australia (Mrs. Champion) share my cabin. We had seventy first-class passengers. Among them were Mrs. John A. Logan, Dr. B., of Brooklyn, Miss Paul, Miss Koon and Miss Dousman, Mr. and Mrs. George Hale and his sister, Mrs. Mathews, Conan Doyle, wife and sister, and from England we had the knighted organist of Westminster Abbey and Lady Campbell and daughter, while others I could mention to whom I became attached were Mrs. Allis and daughter, of Milwaukee, and Mrs. Wilbur and daughter, from Flatbush, Long Island. I must not fail to speak of Mr. Osterburg, the Swedish consul in Cairo, who made himself most agreeable. Our dragomen were Richard and Claudius, the former a Syrian, the latter I saw less of, but some of the passengers, who became interested in him, visited in person his little wife, about fourteen years old, who had a mud hut in the vicinity of one of the stopping places on the Nile.

After lunch was served on our first day out we made our first landing at Bedrashead, site of Memphis and Sakkarah, where we saw the colossal statue of Ramises II, lying prostrate, in readiness to be transferred to some less favored spot. I had a fine mount, and Richard stuck close to "my lady" (you must remember that much respect is paid to the aged in the Orient). The temple of Ptah, the step pyramid, pyramid of Teta, pyramid of Pepi 1st, and the Ape's Mausoleum, were shown us. This last was most interesting. Magnesium lights of the guides enabled us to distinguish in these dark, subterranean passages, where 3,700 years ago, naked foot-prints left on layers of sand, placed in the corners of these mortuary chambers, testify to a primitive appearance. Here people made superhuman effort to hide their burial places for all ages to come, to prevent rude hands from pulling their bones apart until, according to their religion, their souls would again return to their well preserved bodies--to enjoy Nirvana.

We saw the tomb of "Thi," Necropolis of Saharah; also Marrek's house. To the latter is due much credit for his perseverance in unearthing and protecting the contents of these buried ruins. My first donkey ride was a success, not that I enjoyed it, but owing to a most considerate donkey boy, who walked at the side of the beast (instead of the rear) and allowed me to hold in my left hand the reins and my right arm around his swarthy neck. Thus, I took all those excursions on the Nile without an accident, till I gave myself the title of "the lady of a fond embrace," while others, more daring and perhaps more dainty of touch, were more than once thrown over the donkey's head, suffering from bruises that took more than a day to heal. Immediately on reaching the steamer, at 4:30 p. m., tea was served on deck. I was more than weary and so sore I could scarcely taste of my dinner, but, thanks to a kind Providence, I was by morning on deck, but that day we made no excursions. The following day we landed at Beni-Hassan, visiting the Rock Tombs, consisting of chambers, shaft and corridors, where the mummies were once placed, but now all are swept and garnished. All that remains to tell the tale, are the writings and sculpturing on the walls. The scribe has taken precaution that he who runs may read. The series of bas-reliefs is a biography in stone with illustrations. The entire life of a man is written there. I must quote from a writer a few lines that have impressed me: "It is said that man's head becomes smaller every day, his muscle and chest enlarged; animal strength develops at the expense of the brain, which diminishes in proportion. The law of the strongest is the law of human species, one-half of which is seeking to destroy the other." These scenes depicted on the crumbling ruins, enriched by color, are strikingly realistic, built partly during the life time, and often after the death of the person. These give the best possible insight into the life of the Egyptians of that period. From past ages to the present hour are men building their own monuments, immortalizing, if possible, their virtues. How well the foundation should be laid, that the principles, overlapping each other, may make a fitting example for future generations.

There are no new cities built of any magnitude; the new would only depopulate the old. From Memphis, reduced to a state of quarry, is built Alexandria; from Heliopolis we have Cairo. In passing the limestone cliffs we experience cold and wind; the mummied crocodile pits we pass, and stop at Aizril. Peddlers besiege the vessel, and the vociferating yell was kept up until long after 10:00 p. m., the hour when all lights in the cabin are shut off. At Aizul, we buy Nubian veils, which are made by embroideries in gold stars on black and white heavy netting, and are most becoming when worn by Nubian women. Soudanese embroidery is thrust upon us, but to all we turn a deaf ear and again mount donkeys to visit the bazaars. It was market day; the roads dusty; long lines of camels with their undulating necks and inhuman cry, impeded our way and shocked our nerves. What vagueness in the stare of a camel; what great, sad eyes; walking slowly with their heavy burdens, urged on by the voice and gesture of sober-looking Bedouins, perched upon the beast. Women with ravaged features and with soiled garments pass us, with babies seated astride of their shoulders; little girls clutching their gowns, with leather or silver amulets on their neck or suspended between their eyes; the flowing chemise, of crude colors, mostly blue, their heads bound in a turban of muslin, their black tresses flying in the wind. The arms of these children of the desert are encircled in bracelets, some of which we purchased with a few annas. They are gilded and tarnished, perhaps from lack of usage. A sad smile seems to lurk on their faces, casting a gleam in their dark eyes, and they will follow for a great distance your donkey, offering you their poor, little, ragged dolls for a backsheesh; the very touch of them would be pollution. You cannot resist, if an anna is within reach, of throwing it to them and receiving in return a glimpse of their pearly teeth between their red lips in their attempts at a smile. The Arab men, wrapped in their burnoose, look on mechanically, turning their rosewood beads in their hands. Their yellow dogs, with pointed muzzles, prowl around restlessly, as if they would cry out with joy if a bone was thrown them. On passing through the bazaars I spied a Nubian veil, and to inspect it within a doorway, I was obliged to dismount; not being satisfied with work or quality, I attempted to remount, with the assistance of my diminutive donkey boy, but alas, we were not equal to the feat; when, from a distance, came a red coat, an English soldier, who threw me on the saddle and demanded a backsheesh. Is begging contagious, or is their need so great? Over the tranquil scenes creep the cold shadows of night, with their unhealthy, impenetrable gloom; lights of the steamer are extinguished; the water shadoufs, with lean bullocks for their motive power, with hanging fetlocks, conducted by a little fellahin, gave a sharp, hollow, grinding sound as the brake wheels were made to revolve. These brake wheels set others in motion, which in their turn start still others at the extremity of the spokes on the water circles, where jars of baked clay were fastened with cords made of palm fiber. The latter, in their constant rotation, scooped up water, pouring it into basins, from which ran gutters, dug at right angles in the earth, and spread like silver threads through this thirsty land. These shadoufs are placed at intervals along the Nile and from its beneficent waters the desert is made to bloom as the rose.

The early mornings are bright, but cold. As we proceed up the Nile the noonday sun feels uncomfortable, but invariably the nights are cold. Then it is that the awnings are closely drawn around the upper deck, where a piano, tables and chairs are placed for the pleasure and convenience of the guests, while flags of different nations brighten and enliven the scene, festooned on the canvas that wraps us in from the prevailing miasma. An evening on the Nile steamer may not be irksome, although our steamer ties up at nightfall. The lack of motion is made up by music and dancing and pleasant intercourse. A few moments after dinner I would retire to the saloon or library room, where pens and paper were provided for the guests. There I would jot down in my journal my transactions of the day and write home if we were within postal quarters. We never made excursions on the Sabbath day; our trips were so arranged by Cook, who had our boat under his rules, that all who cared for rest might enjoy it. We disembarked at Dendarah, where we spent two hours in the early morning. As we recall these days on the Nile, with Richard in his Oriental robes of lovely colors, fully conscious of his good looks, taking his position between the extended tables of the dining room at the close of the meal and there make known the plan for the next day's excursion. "Ladies and Gentlemen!" was generally followed by an audible smile, the guests knowing full well what was to follow--breakfast at the early hour of seven, a ride from five to fifteen miles either by donkey or chair, with a set speech when we arrived at tombs or temples; but we had come to see, why not muster up courage for still another prolonged agony? I found books in the library, most entertaining when off duty, by Mrs. Edwards and Charles Dudley Warner, together with the book furnished by Cook to each purchaser of a passage ticket. This attempt to post up on what I saw, and what was yet in store for me, precluded much sociability, of which I am fully aware with such pleasant people as we had on board, was my loss. I denied myself much, but I was unable to cope with both to any great extent, but I shall long recall with pleasure the few hours I gave myself in this delightful recreation.

Our arrival at Luxor by sunset was well timed. The beautiful rays of the departing god seemed to throw over all the surroundings a halo. We knew an early breakfast meant early to bed, which command I was not slow in obeying. At 9:00 a. m. we took donkeys for Karnak, passing through the village on a market day, where each man squatted before his salable articles spread upon the ground under the shade of some umbrageous tree. Through a long road, lined at intervals, were the remains of the Sphinx, of which we have so often read. The ruins are most imposing, excavations were still being made. The Nile's inundations are fast making inroads, undermining the foundations, especially at Luxor, which temple is located so near the bank. We linger and gaze on the stupendous work, even in its crumbling, tottering condition it is one of the wonders of the age. We find the Scarabaeus are bought here to an advantage. The Arabs, however, have no scruples in selling false beetles for the genuine ones that are sometimes taken from the tombs in excavating. They are becoming more and more rare. Mummies, so diminutive, made of metal or plaster, Stela, a small column, having neither base or capital, which are sold as the genuine antique, is manufactured almost within sight. One of the amusing scenes on shipboard is to see purchasers comparing these articles; their ignorance of their value is laughable. The beetle, or Scarabaeus, is a symbol with this ancient people of "eternal duration." We are told it lays its eggs near the shores of the Nile, afterwards to roll them through the dust and sand to a safe place of deposit, thus providing for a perpetuation of their species. I am not an admirer of the beetle, consequently bought no reminders of the bug. I did buy here a string of red cornelian beads, not for their value but as good specimens. The trip to the tombs of the kings, most laborious of all, I declined to take. I did not feel I was able, but by remaining alone on board of the steamer was like choosing between two evils. The days when the vessel is deserted the crew go through a systematic house cleaning process. Truly, there is not a dry place for the sole of your foot. My only safety was in bed, but even there intrusions were frequent. Like all Oriental workmen, they sway the body and keep time to the scrub brush and broom with their voices, in a monotonous wail of Allah! Allah! After some six to eight hours it grows a trifle irksome, as it is incessant, so that I quite resolved before the day was over that tombs were pleasant places to visit and donkeys delightful animals upon which to ride. When a half-hour's ride was suggested, the next day, to the temple of "Rameses the Great" and tomb known as "35," I did not remain on deck, but on the contrary wandered through the Judgment Hall of Osiris, and through the temple of Medinah Kaboo; also inspected a small temple of "Thotmas III," passing the "Colons" on our way to the small boats, to which we were carried through the water in the arms of natives. We lay at Luxor three days, leaving at 11:00 a. m. the fourth morning after our arrival. We stopped at Esneh, where another temple was on exhibition, and proceeded to Edfoo, where we tied up for the night. There we saw really a wonderful temple, fresh from the hands of the excavators. On the 12th of January we arrived at Assouan, at 4:00 p. m., and small boats were brought alongside the steamer for those who wished to visit the "Elephantine caves." Not to see it would have been just the thing you should not have missed. And again we buckled on the armor and struck out direct from the shoulder. The sail around the island was an agreeable pastime, but the Arabs clamoring for backsheesh and for the sale of their beads, were beyond human endurance. I felt almost murderous. I bought a few strings of beads, and for days, whenever I touched them, each one seemed to cry aloud: backsheesh! backsheesh! We went from Annan to Philae by train; and what a train! No provision whatever for the comfort of the traveler. If by chance a seat was given you, you were in luck; if none was secured, "you beat the bush" all the way through the desert sands. The distance is not great. In a half or three-quarters of an hour we are on the spot which artists have sought and many have longed for and died without the sight. We lunch in among the ruins, and are then led into the interior of the temple as it now stands, falling and fallen. Crowds of little Arab children offer their services as guides, and I recall, with a sense of pathetic pleasure, Mr. George Hale, with his crown of grey hair, being led by one of these little girls. "December and May"--old age and infancy. She was not over five years old, poorly clad, with her silver amulet on a leather string around her neck, and barefooted. In her hand she carried a Nile fly brush, with which she would gently attempt to brush off from Mr. Hale any invader, and in the same breath would whisk it with a vengeance in the face of any of her comrades who sought to take her charge from her. It was an amusing scene. Many purchase from these children their amulet. I could but wonder if they were punished on returning to their homes for having parted with their talisman, which are religiously placed upon them in childhood. We now return to our boats. We are to skirt the first cataract of the Nile. We are divided into groups, and small boats are provided for each party. With fear and trembling we embark, but confiding in the Arab pilot, who seldom fails in the work assigned him, we soon regain our equilibrium. To me it was not as perilous as the descent of Lachine Rapids, in the St. Lawrence River, nor more exciting. That everlasting wail of Allah! Allah! was kept up until we landed near our Rameses III, and until we had filled well the bag with piasters that was handed around. We were not able to disembark. As I hastened alone to the gang plank of our river home, I saw Mrs. John A. Logan, whose boat had preceded ours, with her head of crowning glory, stretched from the low window of her cabin and in her hand was the "Red, white and blue" unfurled to the Nile zephyrs. I thought of Barbara Frietchie, and exclaimed: "Take in your flag!" That night there was a jollification on board, for the day following we were to begin our descent of the Nile. We took on board many passengers who had gone up on the previous trip of the Rameses III, and gone beyond to the second and third cataract and had returned to Assuan for the downward trip. Among these were the widow of Major General Jed Baxter, of Washington, D. C., and also Mrs. Stroud, of Philadelphia. Mrs. Logan brought Mrs. Baxter to me, and introduced her. "Can this be my Mrs. Baxter?" I said, and she replied: "And this my Mrs. Hunt, of whom dear Senator Morrill has so often spoken?"

We were mutually bound together by one common friend, who had, by his praise, made us friends without ever having met before. We were no longer strangers. We stopped again at Luxor. There I had time, before the night shades gathered around us, to call at the hotel Luxor, where a gentleman with an attack of malarial fever had been transferred on our upward trip. His wife and daughter I had become much interested in. They were from the state of Maine, and we had mutual friends. They were glad to see me again, and were feeling most depressed in their isolation, but were buoyant with the hope that the husband and father would soon be able to be taken back to Cairo. They had been able to secure a trained nurse, and a good physician. I think Luxor is a military post. Many of the passengers improved the shining hours in revisiting the bazaars and by moonlight the gay, light-hearted and free among our young folks went again to see the ruins of Karnak. We bought many photographs here, which were most satisfactory. We next visited Keneh, where the jugs and gargoulets are made, for the Nile water. The factories are near by and many purchased these porous amphorae, hoping that in their own homes the water poured in them might come out as deliciously cool as did the water of the Nile.

We stop at Dirneh and Ballianah, but at Abydos we linger longer, where we take a seven-mile ride to the temple of Seti, finding on those sculptured walls much to admire. We lunched again in the ruins, and having no desire to eat, I fed through the iron-barred gate my share to the poor, wretched Arab children that swarmed around. I hate to recall these poor, down-trodden people. Is life worth living to them? What I declined to eat, they devoured with such voraciousness that it almost made me hungry. I am told Cook & Co. are regarded by these natives as a Godsend. He surely does much towards bringing them in touch with humanity. And now a day's rest is to follow this tiresome one, and until we reach Assouit we can rest without any rude alarms, which will be at least for twenty-four hours. Confusion, worse confounded, was the scene at the landing at Assouit. The wharf was piled high with parcels of merchandise, the owner of each crying in a deafening voice, the surpassing features of their commodities, pushing and pulling each other to establish their rights. We dare not pass through this motley crowd to mount our donkeys until our dragoman interfered, striking indiscriminately right and left with his stick, which too often fell upon their heads or backs. We did succeed in examining the rhinoceros canes, made of hides, which sold at $5.00 apiece, and of teak wood, which, we were told, were inclined to splinter. However, we took our chances. There were also embroidered portieres, and draperies, most elaborate Soudanese embroideries, specimens of which I gladly possessed myself. If the crowd is too threatening, you can barter from the steamer's deck. These Arabs are very dexterous; they bundle their goods, and with a grace we know not of, throw them up to the deck for inspection. Woe betide the unfortunate one who attempts to return the articles by the same process, if by mischance the precious bundle falls into the water. Sheiks rush in frenzy, and the noise from the crowd grows like the roar of a mighty cataract; and in one case of the kind, where the party was unlucky in his aim, he was compelled, for the peace of the passengers, to pay for the lost articles. I heard among the crowd on deck some one exclaim: "This is great fun!" Perhaps it is, but I failed to appreciate it.

At 4:00 p. m., the 19th of January, we landed in Cairo, a tired but a wiser crowd, and we are not yet through the wilderness. O, for a Moses! Why did he not survive the Deluge? Backsheesh from every one of that crew. Those who had brushed the dust or sand from your shoes or clothes as you flew by them at each landing place; those with shoo-fly or brushes, whom we had never encountered during the entire trip, were in line for a piaster, to say nothing of the big fees expected by the male attendants at table and in your cabin. But greatest of all were the expectations of the dragomen, who were most sullen if anything less than one or two pound note or gold piece was offered them. It is safe to say to go under "Thomas A. Cook & Co.'s auspices up the Nile," you cannot get off without paying at least three hundred dollars for a three-weeks' excursion. Already, competing companies at reduced prices are manifesting themselves, and I heard with perfect satisfaction to their patrons, but the Sheiks, they say, are bought up by the "Cook's." How much of this is Nile gossip, I did not attempt to fathom. I had made the trip; never missed but one excursion, and still being in the body, gave thanks that it was finished.

We were again booked for Shephards. What a cosmopolitan crowd gathered in the exchange of that hostelry that evening. Many permanent guests for the season; many more in a transition condition; many waiting for the return of our vessel, as it was the best on the river, to go again on that bourne, from which most travelers return. The room allotted me was on the ground floor; I think in my weakness I would have accepted it, but Mrs. Stroud and Baxter, my patron saints, declared it unfit for me, and a cot was placed in a large upper room which had been assigned these ladies, and I was forced by them to take the best bed. At the end of three days the crowd grew less and accommodations better, and a sunny, bright room was given me all to myself. Can such kindness as those friends conferred upon me ever be forgotten? Not by me, nor those of the name who come after me. One is not apt to forget an "oasis in the desert." Having decided to remain in Cairo for at least two weeks, in anticipation of meeting a friend who had followed in my wake "around the world," I decided to have some repairs made in my wardrobe, such as old buttons taken off, new ones in their place; new veils, new gloves, etc. All this was done at a little shop near by, kept by an English woman named Cole. There Mrs. Baxter accompanied me, and I came out quite renewed, as far as my clothes were concerned. Having a spark of life yet remaining, and with my usual amount of energy, I was again persuaded to go to Jerusalem with a party, rather than to remain for the Bombay steamer that was, I supposed, to bring my friend with whom I had agreed to return home. When the proposition was made me by Mrs. Logan--I will confess, even to my grandsons, to a little irreverence--the very thought of more temples to see and more tombs to encounter, was a trifle too much for my endurance, and I simply said "No! Not if I expected to meet my Lord!" for to tell you the truth, I expected and felt He would come and meet me if rest was not soon obtained. But after a week's sojourn in Cairo I agreed to join the party and go over to Jerusalem and Damascus for a brief stay of ten days. Plans were made with T. Cook & Sons for dragomen and provisions, when all were frustrated by quarantine being declared. Our only escape from Egypt was to be made by Brindisi and Marseilles. All ports of the Turkish dominion were shut off from us on account of several cases of cholera which had broken out in Alexandria. "To arms" was never before more readily responded to than by the inmates of that caravansary. Tickets were secured by those who had not yet bought. I had, in purchasing mine at Bombay, bought through to Marseilles; luggage was brought forward, big bags, little bags and my "Cheap Jack" was much in evidence. Lunch baskets were prepared by the hotel for the journey to Ismalia that resembled great wooden bird cages. Among those friends we left behind were those destined for the Nile trip and a few habitues of Cairo, not easily frightened. With homesick eyes, those of our country followed us, and as a parting gift gave us lovely bouquets of flowers.

I must, before leaving Cairo, give an account of a large ball given in honor of those who had been up the Nile, and those who were awaiting a departure thence. It was given by the proprietors of Shepheards. The salon was cleared of its tables and the military band assisted the house musicians in furnishing music. The crowd was large, but I speak truthfully and without exaggeration when I say that American women take the palm in dancing. There is a stiffness, a want of gracefulness, in those ladies of foreign nations. We were shocked by the innovation of the British army officers, with their red coats, and swords dangling at their side, which were permissible in this Oriental city, but when their spurs were worn, to the detriment of the gauzy draperies of ladies participating in the dance, it was a breach we could not overlook.

FROM EGYPT TO FRANCE

And now we are in Ismalia, our sailing port. Two steamers are momentarily expected; one bound for Brindisi, the other for Marseilles. The poor hotel accommodations were emphasized when this avalanche of people came down upon them. After baggage was identified and there was no room in the inn for many of us, I selected a sofa in the drawing room, on which to rest till the signal was given that the "Caledonia" was in sight. It was not a bed of roses, but many around me had a worse accommodation; but upon it I became half unconscious from sheer exhaustion, when a tender hand was laid upon me, and a kind, persuasive voice whispered in my ear: "Come with me; there is room for you with us." Almost reluctantly I arose and followed Mrs. Logan, who had, through her well-known forethought, secured two apartments for herself and party, the latter having agreed to double up and give me the extra cot in Mrs. Logan's room. We expected surely the cry would come at midnight, and we slept with one eye open to sight our steamer's coming. It was a cold, moonlight night. The desert's glistening sands were on one side of us, the sparkling waters of Lake Tesmah in the Suez Canal on the other. There was a bird with a lone, peculiar cry that added loneliness to the scene, and when the morning light dawned upon us we were still in Ismalia. A most inhospitable breakfast was served us, and at nine o'clock came the welcome cry: "Ship ahoy!" The wharf from off which these steamers anchored was near to the hotel and a procession of yawning pedestrians was soon on its wending way, followed by innumerable dragomen, who were still in anticipation of one more backsheesh, and a crowd of blear-eyed, frowsy Arab children brought up the rear. Breakfast was awaiting us on the good old ship "Caledonia," and a warm welcome from Capt. Andrews. My spirits rose, and my traveling friends, Mrs. Wilbur and her daughter, soon were on deck, taking in the surroundings. We landed at Port Said about 5:00 p. m. I invested my last piaster in an olive wood paper cutter. Port Said is said to be the most wicked place on earth. As I hailed from Chicago I thought perhaps honors were even. We did not go ashore, but got our steamer chairs in readiness for the next day, as we were told we would have a choppy sea, and we fully realized the truth of the prophecy. Our cabins proved the safe retreat, and there I remained until we reached Brindisi, at 6:00 a. m., February the 5th. At 5:30 we were called on deck by a visit from the health officers, as our vessel hailed from an infected district. All bore the inspection and we soon set sail again and landed in Marseilles the 7th of February. My baggage was soon O. K.'d, and a cab took me with my luggage to the hotel. Later in the day I took a drive through the city, and was much impressed with the growth since a former visit in 1881. Off the coast of Marseilles is built the famous prison Chateau d'If, immortalized by the author of Monte Cristo, a fine view of which is seen from the church of Notre Dame, built on a high rock on the outskirts of the city. The train for Paris leaves at 9:00 p. m., and after a fair night's rest, I am in the French custom house, where I have no trouble. A cab is secured for me and I land safely in time for coffee and rolls at Madame Therries, where I am expected. A hasty toilet and refreshments taken, gave me fresh strength, and I soon found my way to Brown & Shipley, bankers, where I found eight letters from home. I took up one, the latest date; found from its contents "all were well," and I retraced my steps to my own apartment, where I spent a most blessed day, reading and writing letters.