that of aloes-wood and cheering
the heart,--and how can Cairo be otherwise, when it is the Mother of the
world?"

[Illustration: A WELL IN THE DESERT BETWEEN SUEZ AND CAIRO.]

This ideal city of the Arabian Nights is very Oriental, very original,
very curious. Its four hundred thousand souls form a strange
conglomerate of humanity. In its narrow, picturesque streets one is
jostled by gayly dressed Greeks and cunning Jews, by overladen donkeys
and by sober, mournful-looking camels. One half expects to meet Ali Baba
and the Forty Thieves, as we still look for Antonio and the Jew on the
Rialto at Venice. Like Paris, Cairo is a city of cafes. During the
evening and far into the night crowds of individuals of every
nationality are seen seated in groups before them in the open air,
drinking every sort of known liquid, but coffee takes precedence of all
others. In picturesqueness of costume the Turk leads the world. His
graceful turban and flowing robes are worthy of the classic antique,
while the rich contrast of colors which he wears adds to the striking
effect. As he sits cross-legged before his open bazaar, or shop, smoking
a long pipe, he looks very wise, very learned, though in point of fact
there is no doubt more intelligence under the straw hat of a Yankee
peddler than under three average turbans. The dark, narrow lanes and
endless zigzag alleys have an indescribable interest, with their
accumulated dirt of neglect and the dust of a land where rain is so
seldom known. One looks up in passing at those overhanging balconies,
imagining the fate of the harem-secluded women behind them, occasionally
catching stolen glances from curious eyes peering between the lattices.

Egyptian porters, bent half double, are seen carrying on their backs
loads that would stagger a brewer's horse. Women, who ride their horses
and mules astride, are very careful to cover their faces from view,
while their eyes gleam out of peep-holes. Other women, of a humbler
class, jostle us in the streets, with little naked children straddling
one shoulder, and holding on to the mother's head with both hands.
People who ride upon donkeys require a boy to follow behind them with a
stick to belabor the poor overladen creatures, without which they will
not move forward, being so trained. Those who drive through the streets
in carriages are preceded by a gorgeously draped runner bearing a white
wand, and who constantly cries to clear the way. These runners