Farther to the south is a great modern work, the Nile dam, a mile and a quarter long, and built of solid masonry.  In the deepest place it is one hundred feet high, and the thickness at the bottom is eighty-eight feet.  It was begun in 1899, and at one time upwards of ten thousand men were employed on the works.  It seemed to be finished when I was there, but a few workmen were still engaged about the place.  The total cost has been estimated at a sum probably exceeding ten millions of dollars.  There are one hundred and eighty sluices to regulate the out-flow of the water, which is collected to a height of sixty-five feet during the inundation of the Nile.  The dam would have been made higher, but by so doing Philae Island, a short distance up the river, would have been submerged.

The remains on this island are so well preserved that it is almost a misnomer to call them ruins.  The little island is only five hundred yards long and sixty yards wide, and contains the Temple of Isis, Temple of Hathor, a kiosk or pavilion, two colonnades, and a small Nilometer.  In the gateway to one of the temples is a French inscription concerning Napoleon’s campaign in Egypt in 1799.  All the buildings are of stone, and the outside walls are covered with figures and inscriptions.  Some of the figures are just cut in the rough, never having been finished.  Here, as elsewhere in Egypt, very delicate carvings are preserved almost as distinct as though done but recently.  The guard on the island was not going to let me see the ruins because I held no ticket.  After a little delay, a small boat, carrying some diplomatic officers, came up.  These gentlemen, one of whom was a Russian, I think, tried to get the guard to let me see the place with them, but he hesitated, and required them to give him a paper stating that I was there with them.  Later, when I got to the place where the tickets were sold, I learned that Philae Island was open for visitors without a ticket.  Perhaps the guard thought he would get some “backshish” from me.

I made an interesting visit to the Bisharin village, just outside of Assouan, and near the railroad.  The inhabitants are very dark-skinned, and live in booths or tents, covered with something like straw matting.  I stopped at one of the lodges, which was probably six feet wide and eight feet long, and high enough to enable the occupants to sit erect on the floor.  An old man, naked from the waist up, was sitting outside.  A young woman was operating a small hand mill, and one or two other women were sitting there on the ground.  They showed me some long strings of beads, and I made a purchase at a low price.  While at this lodge, for I can not call it a house, and it is not altogether like a tent, about a dozen of the native children gathered around me, and one, who could speak some English, endeavored to draw out part of my cash by repeating this speech:  “Half a piaster, Mister; thank you very much.”  The girls had their hair in small plaits, which seemed