is a treasure, falling to decay.  The next, strange to say, was in perfect repair.  I got off the donkey, and Omar fidgeted and hesitated a little and consulted with a woman who had the key.  As there were no overshoes I pulled my boots off, and was rewarded by seeing the footprints of Mohammed on two black stones, and a lovely little mosque, a sort of Sainte Chapelle.  Omar prayed with ardent fervour and went out backwards, saluting the Prophet aloud.  To my surprise the woman was highly pleased with sixpence, and did not ask for more.  When I remarked this, Omar said that no Frank had ever been inside to his knowledge.  A mosque-keeper of the sterner sex would not have let me in.  I returned home through endless streets and squares of Moslem tombs, those of the Memlooks among them.  It was very striking; and it was getting so dark that I thought of Nurreddin Bey, and wondered if a Jinn would take me anywhere if I took up my night’s lodging in one of the comfortable little cupola-covered buildings.

My Coptic friend has just called in to say that his brother expects me at Kenneh.  I find nothing but civility and a desire to please.  My boat is the Zint el Bachreyn, and I carry the English flag and a small American distinguishing pennant as a signal to my consular agents.  We sail next Wednesday.  Good-bye for the present, dearest Mutter.

November 21, 1862:  Sir Alexander Duff Gordon

To Sir Alexander Duff Gordon.  BOAT OFF EMBABEH, November 21, 1862.

Dearest Alick,

We embarked yesterday, and after the fashion of Eastern caravans are abiding to-day at a village opposite Cairo; it is Friday, and therefore would be improper and unlucky to set out on our journey.  The scenes on the river are wonderfully diverting and curious, so much life and movement.  But the boatmen are sophisticated; my crew have all sported new white drawers in honour of the Sitti Ingleezee’s supposed modesty—­of course compensation will be expected.  Poor fellows! they are very well mannered and quiet in their rags and misery, and their queer little humming song is rather pretty, ‘Eyah Mohammad, eyah Mohammad,’ ad infinitum, except when an energetic man cries ’Yallah!’—­i.e., ’O God!’—­which means ‘go it’ in everyday life.  Omar is gone to fetch one or two more ‘unconsidered trifles,’ and I have been explaining the defects to be remedied in the cabin door, broken window, etc., to my Reis with the help of six words of Arabic and dumb show, which they understand and answer with wonderful quickness.

The air on the river is certainly quite celestial—­totally unlike the damp, chilly feeling of the hotel and Frank quarter of Cairo.  The Isbekeeyeh, or public garden, where all the Franks live, was a lake, I believe, and is still very damp.