EGYPT.

The Arabian sea is to me a reminder of tranquility; the thought of no

more temples to see, no more heights to climb, no poor, wretched beings,

whose only existence is prolonged agony to behold, for at least from the

hour of sailing, 12 a. m., on Saturday, 14th of December, 1895, until we

reach Ismalia, Saturday, December 21, at 12:30 p. m., what blissful

anticipation, and so fully realized on this quiet trip. A snug, cool

cabin all to myself, which opened into a private hallway with a great

open hatchway, or open half-door, gave me the delicious sea air in its

fulness of life and vigor without the necessity of my going on deck. Our

steamer chairs bought at Hongkong were shipped through from Ismalia on

the same vessel we were sailing to Albert Docks, London, where I found

mine in good condition. I could recline in this private hall, book in

hand, and cull from its valuable contents, information of the objects I

had seen, and what was still in store for me--all the Oriental steamers

have well-chosen libraries for the benefit of travelers. I had in

anticipation from the beginning of my trip a strong desire to note in my

diary items of interest, that I might have enough driftwood on my return

home for winter fireside, and from further research to be able to leave

to my grandchildren some fruit that would be to them a lasting

remembrance of me.

We have booked on the steamer "Caledonia" seventy first-class

passengers. Among them, my new-made acquaintances, Sir Richard Campbell,

wife and two daughters. The former was none too happy in his retirement

from active service to a passive one in the bogs of Ireland or to a

shoot on the moors of Scotland. We will credit him with no desire to

capture and hold captive the native coolies, but with a longing while

still in sight of India's coral strand for the boar and tiger haunts. I

suggested when he bemoaned of having no longer sufficient work to do to

keep him happy, that he would write a book of experiences of his life in

English service. He replied: "The market is overstocked and with but

little variety or freshness in the productions of the pen." His wife

will long live in my memory as a fac simile of gentleness and

refinement. I doubt whether she is in the body at my time of writing, as

a slow but sure sapping of life's strength was going on from her long

stay in India's treacherous climate.

Sunday's service was read on board our steamer by an officer, at whose

right hand at the table, I was seated during our voyage. He was clever

and I enjoyed the conversations held with him. A smooth sea and a

fresh-laundried shirt waist were most refreshing on that warm, but

lovely sail. We landed at Aden, a British port and important coaling

station, at 11:00 a. m., December 17 (Wednesday), where we lay three

hours. From Aden is exported Mocha coffee. Where it grows I cannot

imagine, for the port is to all appearances, the most rocky, barren

shore we have yet seen--desolation of desolation. Fortunately no coaling

was necessary for our vessel; it is a most disagreeable task, and

passengers go ashore if possible to escape the dirt and noise. All the

carpets and furniture are covered with temporary coverings during the

transfer from the barges of these huge sacks filled with coal. From hand

to hand are they tossed by the native coolies, the majority of the

number employed being women. The labor here, as on the Nile, seems to be

lightened by a cry, or wail, which never ceases till the work is

accomplished. Natives in their canoes came in swarms around the steamer

as she lay at anchor, bringing their stock in trade, which consisted of

ostrich feather boas, black or a color bordering on it, with those of

the original grey. In our excitement to get a bargain we purchased, but

they were poor specimens and not worth the pound we paid for them, but

we enjoyed the fun of bartering. Some of the passengers bought long,

stiff, white plumes, which could be utilized in making fans. After our

purchases were made Mrs. Dudley and myself having each selected a grey

boa, were warned by one who had been there before that we had more than

we bargained for, and that it would be better before depositing them in

the trunks to investigate. We needed no farther explanation, but held at

a safe distance the coveted articles and rushed to my cabin, while Mrs.

Dudley sent to the head steward for a package of cayenne pepper, which

had been my suggestion. After a fierce struggle, we succeeded in

thoroughly sprinkling the feathery lengths, and then purloined a steamer

towel, sewing them up until we should reach Paris, where we determined

to have them steamed and curled, providing there was anything to curl.

On my arrival in that city of fashion, I immediately sought a Tapissier

or cleaner, and besought them not to sue me for damages, if they should,

on opening the package, sneeze themselves to death. In a few days, on my

return to our Pension with two friends, we passed the feather cleaner's

establishment, when what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a huge

caterpillar in appearance in the window, which we all declared, must

have escaped from the jardin d'acclimatation. After many uncomplimentary

remarks, I was compelled to acknowledge that it belonged to me and was

bought in the Orient among other articles of "virtu." But to return to

Aden. We were struck with the weird looks of the natives, with nothing

to conceal their nakedness but the sacred cord around their loins. Their

hair was red; their skin black; the "Witches of Endor" would have paled

in comparison. The water seemed to be their native element; they would

dive down and under the vessel, appearing on the opposite side for a

piaster, which, when thrown from the deck of the vessel into the water,

they would bring to the surface in their mouths.

The day following we were on the Red Sea--smooth sailing, and no land in

sight; weather, (December 18th,) beautifully cool and pleasant. The

passengers on deck enjoyed the sport so much in vogue on these "P. and

O." steamers. "Pull for your life," which enlisted the participation of

ladies and gentlemen; the latter, after removing their shoes, could

stand on the well-sanded deck. The leaders locked horns and their

comrades chose sides, each placing their arms around the waists of the

one preceding them, and then came the "tug of war." It was as great fun

to the bystander as it was good exercise for those engaged in the sport.

A reward followed to the victorious side, which, perhaps, took the form

of ginger ale or seltzer. We enter the Suez canal at 4:00 p. m.,

December 21st (Saturday afternoon). The evening shadows closed around

us; the low shores sank into half-transparent vagueness, and threw into

relief against the evening sky a solitary individual straying along the

water's edge, while within, a hundred yards from shore, were a band of

Arabs, folding their tents, preparatory to a long journey across the

desert. It was a most impressive scene. The quiet was almost

overpowering. The lonely hour and the more lonely surroundings, all

combined, made an indelible impression. The camels were in the act of

kneeling to receive the burden they must carry on the journey. In the

moonlight, the undulating sands of the Lybian and Arabian deserts looked

like the billows of an ocean, and the camels with their swaying motion

like moving sail vessels, were lost to sight in solemn silence. This

voyage on the Suez canal has a charm of its own indefinable.

The Suez maritime canal is about 120 miles in length from sea to sea

(Mediterranean to the Red). Out of this length only thirty-eight miles

were found to be above sea level; the remaining eighty-two were either

below or on the same level. About midway between the two seas is Lake

Timsah, nine miles in circumference. That basin is converted into a

central harbor, where vessels may at all times find a safe and

convenient anchorage. From El Guise, through which the canal passes to

the Mediterranean, the width is 240 feet, and from El Guise to Ismalia

it is 180 feet, after which it passes into the proper width, 240 feet.

The estimate of keeping the canal in order, from its completion in 1869

to 1895, is about L75,000 sterling. Great dredges lie near the shore as

we pass, from which vessels steer away. Charges agreed upon for transit

are ten francs, or two dollars, per ton; hence, our steamer "Caledonia"

paid for her weight of 4,125 tons, $825. The Indian steamers, instead of

stopping at Suez, steam directly to Port Said, anchoring off Ismalia

only long enough for passengers to land. We reached this point at 12:00

p. m. Before arriving a late supper was ordered by a few to celebrate

the leave-taking, for many who had traveled together so far were to

continue their journey to Marseilles and from thence to England, and

others with us were to go into Egypt. We here bade good-bye to Mr. and

Miss Donnesthorpe, who had been with us en route from Nagasaki, Japan.

Before leaving Mr. Donnesthorpe gave me his confidence regarding his

engagement to an English girl he had left at home. The outward-bound

vessels, instead of stopping at Alexandria, steam direct through the

canal to Suez and Bombay, while one vessel homeward bound passes through

this canal every week. Thus, two vessels a week make 104 a year.

Averaging 1,000 tons per vessel, the aggregate 104,000 tons at two

dollars a ton will produce the sum of L41,600 sterling annually. These

vessels carry to and from home about 10,000 persons a year, and this

number pay L4,000, so that from the Peninsular and Oriental line of

steamers alone the canal company will receive L45,000 annually,

exclusive of the duties received from coal ships. Total averages from

other lines are about L185,000, to say nothing of the pilgrims from

Tunis, Tripoli, on their pilgrimages to Medinah and Mecca. $5,000 to

$8,000 is saved on this route of travel to the merchants from England

to India. The depth of this canal in every part is twenty-six feet.

Steam is supplanting the use of sails, for the Red Sea offers no

exceptional difficulties to steamers. No vessel would require more than

her sails, for the wind blows strong and steady during nine months of

the year.

The opening celebration of the canal by the viceroy was regal. An opera

house, theatre and circus were constructed in Cairo; gas was introduced

into the city of the Mameluke Caliphs; Ezhekiah plaza was renovated in a

manner that ten years before would have been thought impossible; the

streets were laid out and flanked by granite and freestone curbing, and

sidewalks laid with massive flagstone; railway stations renovated and

the streets leading to it improved, so that on first introduction a

stranger would be favorably impressed. The viceroy's palaces were

repainted and every hotel in Cairo was engaged for the guests of the

Khedive, to feed them and lodge them at 48 shillings per day per capita;

all carriages and cabs free and at their disposal, the cost of

entertainment was $2,000,000. Light houses were erected at Bitter Lake,

and electric lights of great power at Port Said. Ismalia, the center

part of the Suez canal, is on Lake Tismah; it was filled with water from

the Mediterranean, November, 1862, through the canal the average depth

was nineteen feet. Ismalia stands at the confluence of three canals;

the Maritime, Sweet Water from Suez to Ismalia, and the canal from

Zazazed to Ismalia, which runs through Ancient Goshen, in whose confines

dwelt the children of Israel 400 years.

"The harbor of Suez roadbeds was found to afford anchorage for 500

ships, its depth being from sixteen to twenty-four feet, bottomed with

soft mud. In 1858 the canal company chose for its president M. Ferdinand

de Lesseps. In 1859 the work was commenced. Mohammed Said Pasha of Egypt

took 177,642 shares. In 1863 Said Pasha died and Ismail, son of Ibrahim,

son of Mohammed Ali, succeeded to the vice-royalty of Egypt. England was

jealous of the concession to France. The sultan wavered, but Napoleon

III. had his eye on him, and he was frightened out of his intended

course. Ismail broke his contract with the canal company and would

furnish no fellahs. Napoleon III. came to the rescue of De Lesseps. A

committee composed equally of French and Egyptians, was called by

Napoleon and declared in favor of the company to the amount of

L3,600,000, to be payable in installments in fifteen years."

De Lesseps, long calumniated, individually persevered against

disadvantages in the undertaking, until finally (November 17, 1869) he

exhibits with worthy pride his mighty achievement to the civilized

globe, represented by crowned heads and dignitaries of all countries,

monarchial and republican.

During our stay of twenty-four hours, or even less time, in Ismalia, we

visited the home De Lesseps occupied during his sojourn here. It was

within an enclosure where beautiful trees overshadowed the house and it

looked lonely and forsaken. We also went to the house or palace which

the Viceroy had built for himself. Dogs formidably guarded the entrance.

We did not tarry long, but my brother and I wandered far enough into the

sands of the desert to satisfy all our longings forevermore. The canal

was built by the French, but the English bought most of the stock and

have control of it, although it runs through Egyptian territory. From

the inhospitable Hotel Victoria we rode on a tramway to the depot, where

rather a poor train of cars awaited us, conveying us for miles through

the desert sands, suddenly merging into plains and reaching Cairo at

6:00 p. m., the 22nd of December. Little by little the plain becomes

less green as we approach the Egyptian capital; the valley contracted

and the pyramids appear roseate beneath the rays of the setting sun. On

the right, through the palm trees, against the yellow tones of the

Lybian desert, are the heights of Mokattam, with the citadel and the

mosques of Mahomet Ali, the dome of which shines brilliantly between two

tapering minarets. A forest of minarets and white walls and we have

arrived amid deafening cries of the cabmen and the running omnibuses for

the different hotels. My brown "Cheap Jack" purchased in Bombay to

carry a steamer rug which I had bought there again proved a white

elephant, but after many gestures it is transferred by a porter to

Shephard's Hotel. Crowds stand waiting for rooms to be allotted them,

and as good luck has so far followed me both on steamers and at hotels,

I find myself in a brief time nicely ensconced in a sunny room. We

hasten to make ready for dinner, and are most happy to be seated

alongside of Mrs. John A. Logan and her party of four young ladies and

Doctor B., who heads the table and proves himself a most fitting

decoration. The salon is crowded, and at one end on a stage is stationed

a band of native musicians, male and female, with European musical

instruments upon which the latest opera airs were played. It is

customary after dinner is served to join the immense crowd that

promenades or is seated, according to choice, in the corridors and

exchange of the building. There tiny cups of coffee with brandy,

absinthe and cigarettes are offered by the coolies in picturesque dress.

Ladies, as well as men, partook freely, handling the cigarette with an

air of nonchalance which bespoke its frequent use. It seemed that people

from every nation and every tribe were assembled there. The air became

dense, and it has been truly said that nowhere else than in Shephard's

Hotel can such a transformation scene be witnessed. Many of my own

neighbors from Chicago were here. We met our Japanese colonel again. He

had just returned from the Nile trip. He walked with the assurance of a

man who had won laurels and was wearing them. I was glad to meet him, as

our close proximity at the table on the steamers promoted a good feeling

between us. Cairo is a winter resort for English, Arabians, Swedes and

in fact the climate attracts from all over the world. The ladies who are

there for the season make as great a display of fine clothes as we see

in our own drawing rooms at home; in fact, the display of jewels is

regal. But of this the traveler wearies, as our days are so busy; we

willingly retire early to restore nature's wasted powers. One old lady

from Wales sat with her gouty feet on a cushion, to which you were

oblivious, for she was so bejewelled. She was an Egyptologist, she told

me. I found her an agreeable woman, but fond of display. I apologized

for my Quaker-like garb, explaining to her why I did not feel at ease in

such a crowd in my quiet silk gown; that I had only a steamer trunk with

me, and while its contents might ordinarily have passed muster, the

piling on top of them--a lot of "Benares brass"--had crushed what little

stiffness my balloon sleeves had once maintained. She scanned me closely

and, with a confidential air, whispered: "You are a good

conversationalist, anyhow, so never mind." I really began to feel a

sense of inflation, and looked to see my sleeves puff up.

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.