olis and Memphis.

To return to Cairo by the Kooha road is to meet at 5:00 p. m. the
Khedive and suite on their return from Abdin palace. It is said the
Khedive is never seen to smile; we can testify that he did not smile on
us, although we rode parallel with him that day. The tramp of his
attendant cavalry always attracts a crowd. We see, as we drive along,
the donkeys roll with their saddles in the sand; swarms of naked soiled
children, with their deafening yell, increase the clamor made by the
native pipe seller and blower. These are made of bamboo, and, when
properly handled, give out a noise peculiar to those people.
Water-sellers, with filled goatskins on their shoulders, leather aprons
to their knees, striking their copper goblets one against the other,
richly caparisoned mules, bearing venerable Mohammedan priests, whose
gowns are kissed as they go by--all these and more join this medley in
human or animal form. Traffic is suddenly stopped by a long string of
camels coming, laden with thick pieces of timber, rugged stones or
enormous bales of merchandise. They walk silently in the dust with long
strides, waving to and fro, exhaling an insupportable odor. Their heavy,
incommodious cargoes strike right and left, breaking everything before
them. Woe betide the pedestrian, who does not anticipate their coming,
and prepare to skip. These caravans are only momentary disturbances,
then all is righted till another passes. Through all this pandemonium we
drive to the tombs of the Caliphs, the independent sovereigns of Egypt
from the ninth to the twelfth century. In the face of the ruins
crumbling slowly beneath the action of centuries, one feels an
unutterable melancholy. Mosque of El Achraf-ynal El Ghours is near the
tombs of the Caliphs, their courts are full of rubbish and plants and
brambles, with its fountains for ablutions in ruins. These mosques
contain tombs and stone mausoleums. We pass out into a dilapidated
village of low mud houses, few shops, with fruits to sell, camels lying
down, asses and tattered children and old men. We ascend not far away
the staircase with disjointed steps, the mosque of Karl Bey. The
interior court, open to all elements, is paved with marble mosaics. The
ceiling of the mosque is carved, painted and gilded. The rose windows,
cut in massive stone, is in great perfection, but all is crumbling, like
everything else in the east.

The tombs of the Caliphs we overlook from the citadel, whe