sweet northerly breeze, and look at the
glorious mountain opposite, and think if only you and the chicks were
here it would be 'the best o' life.' The beauty of Egypt grows on one,
and I think it far more lovely this year than I did last. My great
friend the Maohn (he is _not_ the Nazir, who is a fat little pig-eyed,
jolly Turk) lives in a house which also has a superb view in another
direction, and I often go and sit 'on the bench'--_i.e._, the _mastabah_
in front of his house--and do what little talk I can and see the people
come with their grievances. I don't understand much of what goes on, as
the _patois_ is broad and doubles the difficulty, or I would send you a
Theban police report; but the Maohn is very pleasant in his manner to
them, and they don't seem frightened. We have appointed a very small boy
our _bowab_, or porter--or, rather, he has appointed himself--and his
assumption of dignity is quite delicious. He has provided himself with a
huge staff, and he behaves like the most tremendous janissary. He is
about Rainie's size, as sharp as a needle, and possesses the remains of a
brown shirt and a ragged kitchen duster as turban. I am very fond of
little Achmet, and like to see him doing _tableaux vivants_ from Murillo
with a plate of broken victuals. The children of this place have become
so insufferable about _backsheesh_ that I have complained to the Maohn,
and he will assemble a committee of parents and enforce better manners.
It is only here and just where the English go. When I ride into the
little villages I never hear the word, but am always offered milk to
drink. I have taken it two or three times and not offered to pay, and
the people always seem quite pleased.

Yesterday Sheykh Yussuf came again, the first time since his brother's
death; he was evidently deeply affected, but spoke in the usual way, 'It
is the will of God, we must all die,' etc. I wish you could see Sheykh
Yussuf. I think he is the sweetest creature in look and manner I ever
beheld--so refined and so simple, and with the animal grace of a gazelle.
A high-bred Arab is as graceful as an Indian, but quite without the
feline _Geschmeidigkeit_ or the look of dissimulation; the eye is as
clear and frank as a child's. Mr. Ruchl, the Austrian Consul here, who
knows Egypt and Arabia well, tells me that he thinks many of them quite
as good as they look, and said of Sheykh Yussuf, _Er ist so gemuthlich_.
There is a German here deciph