just after sunset. Instantly the boat was filled. Of
course Omar and the Reis at once organized a procession to take me and my
lantern to the tomb of Abu-l-Hajjaj--it was the last night but one of his
moolid. The lantern was borne on a pole between two of my sailors, and
the rest, reinforced by men from a steamer which was there with a
Prussian prince, sung and thumped the tarabookeh, and we all marched up
after I had undergone every variety of salutation, from Sheykh Yussuf's
embrace to the little boys' kissing of hands. The first thing I heard
was the hearty voice of the old Shereef, who praised God that 'our
darling' was safe back again, and then we all sat down for a talk; then
more _Fattahs_ were said for me, and for you, and for the children; and I
went back to bed in my own boat. I found the guard of the French house
had been taken off to Keneh to the works, after lying eight days in
chains and wooden handcuffs for resisting, and claiming his rights as a
French _protege_. So we waited for his return, and for the keys which he
had taken with him, in hopes that the Keneh authorities would not care to
keep me out of the house. I wrote to the French Consular agent at Keneh,
and to the Consul at Alexandria, and got him back the third day. What
would you think in Europe to see me welcome with enthusiasm a servant
just out of chains and handcuffs? At the very moment, too, that Mohammed
and I were talking, a boat passed up the river with musick and singing on
board. It was a Sheykh-el-Beled, of a place above Esneb, who had lain in
prison three years in Cairo, and whose friends were making all the
fantasia they could to celebrate the end of his misfortune, of disgrace,
_il n'en est pas question_; and why should it? So many honest men go to
prison that it is no presumption at all against a man.

The day after my arrival was the great and last day. The crowd was but
little and not lively--times are too hard. But the riding was beautiful.
Two young men from Hegaz performed wonderful feats.

I dined with the Maohn, whose wife cooked me the best dinner I ever ate
in this country, or almost anywhere. Marie, who was invited, rejoiced
the kind old lady's heart by her Belgian appreciation of the excellent
cookery. 'Eat, my daughter, eat,' and even I managed to give
satisfaction. Such Bakloweh I never tasted. We removed to the house
yesterday, and I have had company ever since.

One Sheykh Alee--a very agreeable