We have concluded the charter for the dahabiyeh Sesostris, and the fitting out begins at once.

JANUARY 2. The weather is now settled and warm. We walk in the morning, and in the afternoon visit the museums; an immense collection of Egyptian sepulchral inscriptions, parchments, and such; many mummies of the old kings,-that of the one who built the Great Pyramid among the rest,the All-Powerful, now peered at by Cook's tourists, who make note of everything, even to the polish of his well-exposed toe-nail. In the garden a Moslem saying his prayers on the turf. The bargain is made for the tug to haul us up the river.

JANUARY 3. One month ago to-day I was in my home at Zoar, with no idea of leaving. We have already been in Cairo a week, and gradually the sights and scenes are becoming familiar-not that they ever could become stale. We are invited to dine on Saturday with Mr. Gorst at the British Embassy; after to the opera. We go down to the Sesostris; a swarm of Orientals on deck; everything very handsome, but the fat cook has only one eye. We drive to look for stuffs for

cushions.

JANUARY 4. In the morning to the grocer's for innumerable things to eat and drink. This grocer is a splendid creature, like an emperor. We are

served with coffee and cigarettes; upon leaving, Oriental salaams are plenty. In the afternoon we go in a queer cart to an old mosque covered with grape-vines, where we see the Howling Dervishes, a curious, unlovely row of wild-looking, longhaired men, some old, some young; they chant and furiously wag their heads to and fro. One young fellow reads from the Koran in a broken, passionate voice, tremulous and near tears; trombones and a rude clarinet make the uncouth accompaniment; a gaping crowd of outside barbarians gaze idly on. After that, through incredible dust and antique filth, to the Coptic Church; very old and idolatrous. There is only a sixpence to choose between the two. Rare mosaic of mother-of-pearl decorates the sanctum; the rites indicated by the machinery exposed are akin to those of the Greek Church. A venerable man, like a picture of Moses in our old Bible, receives alms at the door. The narrow, dirty alleys, with overhanging, ruinous houses, swarm with beggars proclaiming themselves Christians and crying for backshish. I dispense largess to two. We drove to the water's edge to see where Moses was found by Pharaoh's sister (I think it was), and other memorials of him; all expressed some doubt, but it is not an article of faith; there are no bulrushes now in the neighbor

hood; then to the Gezîreh drive and back to the Sesostris, and walk home.

JANUARY 10. We went on the Sesostris at 8.30; Mrs. W., her daughter, Miss K., and Mr. B. of Liverpool with us; also Mr. B., an entertaining young man. The wind was ahead; we had two tugs, rather weak and puffy; with both wind and current against us, the pace was slow. Down the river come the strange boats and stranger cargoes of the wild people in flowing robes. Always, in the background, the pyramids. Palm trees fringe the river and cluster among the mudwalled villages scattered along the shore; trains of camels, with loads, and groups of goats and sheep and cattle feeding, tethered or tended, in the emerald-green field, without fences to mar the harmonies. After dinner we land at ancient Memphis; a mob of howling Egyptians and donkeys on the bank. The sheik, laying on mercilessly with a cudgel, drives away many; they turn on him and throw lumps of dirt, with great outcry. Finally we are perched on donkeys and the motley procession starts, with a crowd of imploring beggars on all sides; two young girls, with vast earrings, single me out, caressing my legs and soliciting me with the most endearing and complimentary titles of

Lord, Baron, and Prince. To this I turn a deaf ear. A big Bedouin cutthroat assists me ostentatiously up the steep places; I wave him off with asperity, and am shocked afterward to learn it was a sheik. My donkey-boy Mohammed begins from the first to ingratiate himself, with a view to ultimate reward. The patient ass I bestride is called "Telegraph," and is a miracle of strength, carrying my heavy weight with the greatest ease; I am pleased to know how easy it is to ride them. We pass through a most picturesque mud village; no two houses alike, and standing at every angle. We come suddenly on the vast heap of rubbish which once was the great capital of Egypt; broken fragments of statuary and sculptured stone lying about in the majestic groves of date palms. On the ruins are pitched the transitory tents of some Arabs; in every direction, camels, goats, and buffaloes.

The first great fragment is a statue of Rameses II, of colossal size, the lips large enough for a man to stand on; with legs partly broken; terrible almost in its titanic size. Around it are other fragments, and, all about, the silent mounds of the ruined and abandoned city: fragments of pottery; indescribable heaps of rubbish. Further on is the vast and nearly perfect statue of Rameses, inclosed by a mud wall, over which a platform is built, and

up which we are conducted to look down upon the face, severe and almost godlike, not in the least disfigured; around it, heaps of rubbish overgrown with palms. Return, followed by crowd from the village, fawning and clamoring for backshish. The climax was reached when we alighted amid stormy howls and gesticulations. Suddenly the sheik lays about with his cudgel and they scatter. A grotesque sight to see men with beards fly before the pursuer like children; some, with lamentable cries and well-counterfeited grief, crowded down to the water's edge for more; even the one I had personally tipped joined in the cry. I threw a small coin; they pounced upon it, and one slipped into the Nile and was fished out in a rueful state of hanging drapery, like cerements; the wet one raised lamentations, and in the row another fell in. The sheik made another rush with his cudgel, and as the boat moved away we saw them gather around the donkeys with cries and gesticulations, and then the whole group started toward the village.

We journey home under the gaudy evening sky, the setting sun gilding the walls of the gaunt, barren hills. We have a full moon, and part reluctantly at the end of a memorable day.

JANUARY 11. In the morning Will and I walked