a king,
And march in triumph through Persepolis?"

"So will I ride through Samarcanda streets,
... to Babylon, my lords; to Babylon!"

[Illustration: THE NILE--COMING DOWN TO GET WATER

From a photograph by Sebah, Cairo]

When we leave Cairo we cannot take with us the light of these
labyrinths; we cannot take their colors; but one traveller, last May,
having found in an antiquity-shop an ancient perfume-burner, had the
inspiration of bargaining with these Persians, seated cross-legged in
their aromatic niches (said traveller on a white donkey outside), for
small packages of sandal and aloes wood, of myrrh, of frankincense and
ambergris, of benzoin, of dried rose leaves, and of other Oriental twigs
and sticks, for the purpose of summing up, later, and in less congenial
climes perhaps, the spicy atmosphere, at least, of the Cairo bazaars.
What would be the effect of breathing always this fragrant air? Would it
give a richer life, would it tinge the cheek with warmer hues? These
merchants have complexions like cream-tinted tea-roses; their dark eyes
are clear, and all their movements graceful; they are very tranquil, but
not in the least sleepy; they look as if they could take part in subtle
arguments, and pursue the finest chains of reasoning. Would an
atmosphere perfumed by these Eastern woods clarify and rarefy our denser
Occidental minds?

THE NILE

As every one who comes to Cairo goes up the Nile, the river is seldom
thought of as it appears during its course past the Khedive's city. This
simple vision of it is overshadowed by memories of Abydos, of Karnak and
Thebes, and Philae--the great temples on its banks which have impressed
one so profoundly. Perhaps they have over-impressed; possibly the
tension of continuous gazing has been kept up too long. In this case the
victim, with his head in his hands, is ready to echo the (extremely
true) exclamation of Dudley Warner, "There is nothing on earth so
tiresome as a row of stone gods standing to receive the offerings of a
Turveydrop of a king!" This was the mental condition of a lady who last
winter, on a Nile boat, suddenly began to sew. "I have spent nine long
days on this boat, staring from morning till night. One cannot stare at
a river forever, even if it _is_ the Nile! Give me my thimble."

One is not obliged to leave Cairo in order to see examples of the
smaller silhouettes of the great river--the shadoofs or irrigating
machines, the rows of