resently we
all stop to see another temple, interesting enough, but not so
interesting as those already visited at Luxor and Karnak.

The dragoman, whose work is not easy, brings up the rear of the
cavalcade, having managed to keep even behind the fat lady, who has
stuck to the slippery surface of her saddle with many a desperate plunge
firmly resisted by her escort.

[Illustration: BOATMAN.]

The dragoman describes the temple fluently and intelligently, first in
English, then in French, and adds a little explanation in German for the
benefit of two men of that race who have talked loudly in their own
guttural tongue all the time he has endeavoured to make the rest of the
party hear. The dragoman does not reel his words off as if he were
repeating a lesson, as, alas, so many of the guides at our own
cathedrals do. He is a clever man, well educated and capable. It has
taken him years to learn all he knows, and it is only the clever boys
who can become good dragomans. One of our donkey-boys, a bright little
fellow who speaks far better English than most of his companions, tells
us, "I am going to be a dragoman." He says it deliberately, with a pause
between each word to get them correctly. "Thus I speak always with the
English and the Americans. To the English I speak English, which is
what I have learned, but when I am with Americans I can talk to them in
their own tongue too."

Laughing, we mount and are off again.

We are now penetrating into the great hills of sandstone we saw afar off
from the hotel. The road winds into a gorge, and at each turn displays
more vivid beauty. We feel a strange joy rising within us, so that we
would like to sing or shout at the tops of our voices. The brilliance of
the air shows up every line in the great precipices of orange-yellow,
streaked with red and purple, which rise against a sky of thrilling
blue. There is not a blade of grass or a leaf to be seen in these vast
solitudes, only the massive stones, broken and split and scattered, lie
in the fierce sun or black shadow. We can imagine these defiles looking
much the same when three or four thousand years ago the funeral
procession of one of the mighty Pharaohs wound its way into the heart of
the mountains, carrying the man who had never known opposition or denied
himself his slightest wish. They were very magnificent these
processions, composed of hundreds of people who carried all sorts of
things--furniture, chariots, boats, a