onderful
beauty. A young man here--a Shereef--has asked me to open negotiations
for a marriage for him with the Maohn's grand daughter a little girl of
eight--so you see how completely I am 'one of the family.'

My boat has not yet made its appearance. I am very well indeed now, in
spite, or perhaps because of, the great heat. But there is a great deal
of sickness--chiefly dysentery. I never get less than four new patients
a day and my 'practice' has become quite a serious business. I spent all
day on Friday in the Abab'deh quarters where Sheykh Hassan and his slave
Rahmeh were both uncommonly ill. Both are 'all right' now. Rahmeh is
the nicest negro I ever knew, and a very great friend of mine. He is a
most excellent, honest, sincere man, and an Effendi (_i.e._ writes and
reads) which is more than his master can do. He has seen all the queer
people in the interior of Africa.

The Sheykh of the Bishareen--eight days' journey from Assouan has invited
me and promises me all the meat and milk I can eat, they have nothing
else. They live on a high mountain and are very fine handsome people.
If only I were strong I could go to very odd places where Frangees are
not. Read a very stupid novel (as a story) called '_le Secret du
Bonheur_'--it gives the truest impression of the manners of Arabs that I
have read--by Ernest Feydeau. According to his book _achouat_ (we are
brothers). The 'caressant' ways of Arabs are so well described.

It is the same here. The people come and pat and stroke me with their
hands, and one corner of my brown abbaieh is faded with much kissing. I
am hailed as _Sitt Betaana_ 'Our own Lady,' and now the people are really
enthusiastic because I refused the offer of some cawasses as a guard
which a Bimbashee made me. As if I would have such fellows to help to
bully my friends. The said Bimbashee (next in rank to a Bey) a coarse
man like an Arnoout, stopped here a day and night and played his little
Turkish game, telling me to beware--for the Ulema hated all Franks and
set the people against us--and telling the Arabs that Christian Hakeems
were all given to poison Muslims. So at night I dropped in at the
Maohn's with Sheykh Yussuf carrying my lantern--and was loudly hailed
with a _Salaam Aleykee_ from the old Shereef himself--who began praising
the Gospel I had given him, and me at the same time. Yussuf had a little
reed in his hand--the _kalem_ for writing, about two feet long and of the