in this same street! How many sultans may
have perambulated this identical thoroughfare,
on the track of suspected viziers or
doubtful favourites! Who can say how many
calendars' sons, or emirs in disguise may not
have rested on the marble seat of yon quaint
old fountain, grotesque in the moonlight, and
have quenched their thirst with its cooling
waters? Every stone about me seems in
some unspeakable way woven with the
history of the past, and bound by endearing
links to the bygone chapters of fairy
romance.

The first living creature I have encountered
this night in my perambulations is an
old decrepit man on a donkey. Muffled in
ample folds of muslin, it is difficult to say—
save by his stooping form—whether he be
aged or young. He starts at meeting me, at
that unusual hour, but goes on his solitary
way with the usual Moslem salutation, "God
is great, and Mahomet is his prophet!" The
voice dies away in the silent distance; and I
wend my weary way to the hotel by the
grotesque principal square, to rest till
daylight, and dream of caliphs, viziers, genies,
hunchbacks, cadis, Ethiopians, and
cheesecakes.

It is mid-day, that is to say early in the
forenoon by the hour, though high-noon
judging from the intensity of the sun's rays;
l am equipped once more for a visit of Oriental
research amidst the stone, and wood and dust
of Grand Cairo; and, forcing my hasty way
through a regiment of bearded dragomen
that are fain to make common property of
me, I rush down the wide stairs into the
courtyard, climbing upon the nearest of
nine saddled donkeys that cut off all egress
from the hotel. I give the creature the full
length of the reins, with licence to bear me
whither he wills. The animal is evidently
quite up to the tastes of overland travellers,
and trots away with me at a cheerful pace,
towards and into the very busiest and
narrowest thoroughfares.

I have frequently heard that the cream of
daily life in Cairo is to be met with only in
the by-ways and bazaars, especially in that
devoted to the Turkish dealers in
miscellaneous wares. I have not been misinformed.
The interest of the scene becomes intensified
with the narrowness of the thronged
streets. As the width of the pavement
decreases, the shouting of the donkey-boys,
the oaths of camel-drivers, the threats of
Arab-mounted eunuchs, the shrieks for
baksheesh become louder and shriller, and
it requires some little presence of mind
to make way through the noisy staggering
throng.

I am now in the very heart of busy Cairo,
with its many pulses beating quick and high
about me. I am where I have for long years
sighed to be, and whither in my dreams I
have often wandered in imagination. But
Cairo by moonlight and Cairo by sunlight
—hot, glaring, suffocating high-noon—are, in
appearance, two very different places. The
softness, the coolness, the hushed romance of
night hide themselves before the dusty heat
of mid-day. The arabesque windows, the
latticed portals, the high gables, the gaunt
palms, the carved fountains that, by the pale
light of the moon, appeared so richly
picturesque, so artistically finished, are now
broken, deformed, and thickly- coated with
dust. The mosques are very much out of
repair. The bazaars are fast falling to decay
—I should say not let on repairing leases.
The baths appear to stand in need of
frequent purifying dips themselves. The motley
crowd of merchants, devotees, fellahs, Copts,
Turks, Arabs, eunuchs, buyers, and loungers
are, on the whole, exceedingly doubtful about
the skin and garments, and I cannot avoid
feeling a strong conviction that a free
application of whitewash and soap would greatly
improve the appearance of the Cairo community
and their tenements.

The street I am now quietly pacing along
is of ample dimensions compared to many
of the busy thoroughfares. The houses on
either side appear as though inhabited long
before the builder had any intention of
finishing them off. They are the merest
ghostly skeletons of tall old houses grown
out of their bricks and mortar ages ago,
and embalmed, mummy-like, in the dust and
heat of the city of the Nile. Stretching
across the entire width of the street, from the
tops of either range of dwellings, is an
unsightly cross-bar-work of bamboos, on which
are scattered, at intervals of much
uncertainty, fragments of tattered matting, carpets,
sacking, worn-out garments, and, in short,
whatever fabric gives promise of shielding
the passers-by and dwellers in the bazaar
from the scorching rays of the summer sun.
It gives to the whole street an appearance of
having bungling plasterers at work on a
ragged and extensive ceiling.

I could rein in my ambling donkey in the
midst of this most picturesque street, and
spend a good hour in an examination of the
passers-by, of the shops, their owners, and
their frequenters. Why that sherbet shop at
the corner of the narrow passage, with the
Italian name over the doorway, the many-
coloured bottles in the windows, and the
many-vestured gossipers within seated on
divans, couches, and easy-chairs, drinking
and listening to some quaint story or touching
scandal, are alone a fertile study for a lover
of the novel and the picturesque.

But time presses, and I must allow my
willing animal to amble forward amongst
camels and water-carriers, gay equipages
and frightful mendicants. We proceed far
up this street, and, as if perfectly aware of
my desire to see all that is interesting and
characteristic of Egyptian city-life, my donkey
bears me nimbly and warily through the
pressing throng, past the dilapidated old