rofessor (who also squats), some eating
their frugal meals, some mending their clothes, and some merely
chatting. These groups are so many and so close together that often the
visitor can only make the circuit of the place on its outskirts; he
cannot cross. There is generally a carrier of drinking-water making his
rounds amid the serried ranks. "For whoever is thirsty, here is water
from God," he chants. One is almost afraid to put down the melodious
phrase, for the street cries of Cairo have become as trite as the _Ranz
des Vaches_ of Switzerland. Still, some of them are so imaginative and
quaint that they should be rescued from triteness and made classic. Here
is one which is chanted by the seller of vegetables--the best beans, it
should be explained, come from Embebeh, beyond Boulak--"Help, O Embebeh,
help! The beans of Embebeh are better than almonds. Oh-h, how _sweet_
are the little sons of the river!" (This last phrase makes poetical
allusion to the soaking in Nile water, which is required before the
beans can be cooked.) Certain famous baked beans nearer home also
require preliminary soaking. Let us imagine a huckster calling out in
Boston streets, as he pursues his way: "Help, O Beverly, help! The beans
of Beverly are better than peaches. Oh-h, how _sweet_ are the little
sons of Cochituate!"

[Illustration: PORCH OF EL AZHAR

From a photograph by Sebah, Cairo]

The central court of the Splendid is surrounded by colonnades, whose
walls are now undergoing repairs; but the propping beams do not appear
to disturb either the pupils or teachers. On the east side is the
sanctuary, which is also a school-room, but a covered one; it is a
large, low-ceilinged hall, covering an area of thirty-six hundred square
yards; by day its light is dusky; by night it is illuminated by twelve
hundred twinkling little lamps suspended from the ceiling by bronze
chains. The roof is supported by three hundred and eighty antique
columns of marble and granite placed in irregular ranges; there are so
many of these pillars that to be among them is like standing in a grove.
The pavement is smoothly covered with straw matting; and here also are
assembled throngs of pupils--some studying, some reciting, some asleep.
I paid many visits to El Azhar, moving about quietly with my venerable
little dragoman, whom I had selected for an unusual accomplishment--silence.
One day I came upon an arithmetic class; the professor, a thin,
ardent-eyed man of