ESNEH,
_Saturday_, _April_ 30.

On Thursday evening as I was dreamily sitting on my divan, who should
walk in but Arthur Taylor, on his way, all alone in a big dahabieh, to
Edfou. So I offered to go too, whereupon he said he would go on to
Assouan and see Philae as he had company, and we went off to Mustapha to
make a bargain with his Reis for it; thus then here we are at Esneh. I
embarked on Wednesday evening, and we have been two days _en route_.
Yesterday we had the thermometer at 110; I was the only person awake all
day in the boat. Omar, after cooking, lay panting at my feet on the
deck. Arthur went fairly to bed in the cabin; ditto Sally. All the crew
slept on the deck. Omar cooked amphibiously, bathing between every meal.
The silence of noon with the _white heat_ glowing on the river which
flowed like liquid tin, and the silent Nubian rough boats floating down
without a ripple, was magnificent and really awful. Not a breath of wind
as we lay under the lofty bank. The Nile is not quite so low, and I see
a very different scene from last year. People think us crazy to go up to
Assouan in May, but I do enjoy it, and I really wanted to forget all the
sickness and sorrow in which I have taken part. When I went to
Mustapha's he said Sheykh Yussuf was ill, and I said 'Then I won't go.'
But Yussuf came in with a sick headache only. Mustapha repeated my words
to him, and never did I see such a lovely expression in a human face as
that with which Yussuf said _Eh, ya Sitt_! Mustapha laughed, and told
him to thank me, and Yussuf turned to me and said, in a low voice, 'my
sister does not need thanks, save from God.' Fancy a Shereef, one of the
Ulema, calling a _Frengeeyeh_ 'sister'! His pretty little girl came in
and played with me, and he offered her to me for Maurice. I cured
Kursheed's Abyssinian slave-girl. You would have laughed to see him
obeying my directions, and wiping his eyes on his gold-embroidered
sleeve. And then the Coptic priest came for me for his wife who was ill.
He was in a great quandary, because, if she died, he, as a priest, could
never marry again, as he loudly lamented before her; but he was truly
grieved, and I was very happy to leave her convalescent.

Verily we are sorely visited. The dead cattle float down by thousands.
M. Mounier buried a thousand at El-Moutaneh alone, an