waterfalls before our women thought of them; that had a perfect system of common schools so long before we boasted of our achievements in that direction that it seems forever and forever ago; that so embalmed the dead that flesh was made almost immortal—­which we can not do; that built temples which mock at destroying time and smile grimly upon our lauded little prodigies of architecture; that old land that knew all which we know now, perchance, and more; that walked in the broad highway of civilization in the gray dawn of creation, ages and ages before we were born; that left the impress of exalted, cultivated Mind upon the eternal front of the Sphynx to confound all scoffers who, when all her other proofs had passed away, might seek to persuade the world that imperial Egypt, in the days of her high renown, had groped in darkness.

CHAPTER LIX.

We were at sea now, for a very long voyage—­we were to pass through the entire length of the Levant; through the entire length of the Mediterranean proper, also, and then cross the full width of the Atlantic—­a voyage of several weeks.  We naturally settled down into a very slow, stay-at-home manner of life, and resolved to be quiet, exemplary people, and roam no more for twenty or thirty days.  No more, at least, than from stem to stern of the ship.  It was a very comfortable prospect, though, for we were tired and needed a long rest.

We were all lazy and satisfied, now, as the meager entries in my note-book (that sure index, to me, of my condition), prove.  What a stupid thing a note-book gets to be at sea, any way.  Please observe the style: 

     “Sunday—­Services, as usual, at four bells.  Services at night,
     also.  No cards.

“Monday—­Beautiful day, but rained hard.  The cattle purchased at Alexandria for beef ought to be shingled.  Or else fattened.  The water stands in deep puddles in the depressions forward of their after shoulders.  Also here and there all over their backs.  It is well they are not cows—­it would soak in and ruin the milk.  The poor devil eagle—­[Afterwards presented to the Central Park.]—­from Syria looks miserable and droopy in the rain, perched on the forward capstan.  He appears to have his own opinion of a sea voyage, and if it were put into language and the language solidified, it would probably essentially dam the widest river in the world.

     “Tuesday—­Somewhere in the neighborhood of the island of Malta.  Can
     not stop there.  Cholera.  Weather very stormy.  Many passengers
     seasick and invisible.