Sunday, April 17.—­The epidemic seems to be over, but there is still a great deal of gastric fever, etc., about.  The hakeem from Keneh has just been here—­such a pleasing, clever young man, speaking Italian perfectly, and French extremely well.  He is the son of some fellah of Lower Egypt, sent to study at Pisa, and has not lost the Arab gentility and elegance by a Frenghi education.  We fraternized greatly, and the young hakeem was delighted at my love for his people, and my high opinion of their intelligence.  He is now gone to inspect the sick, and is to see me again and give me directions.  He was very unhappy that he could not supply me with medicines; none are to be bought above Cairo, except from the hospital doctors, who sell the medicines of the Government, as the Italian at Siout did.  But Ali Effendi is too honest for that.  The old bishop paid me a visit of three and a half hours yesterday, and pour me tirer une carotte he sent me a loaf of sugar, so I must send a present ‘for the church’ to be consumed in raki.  The old party was not very sober, and asked for wine.  I coolly told him it was haraam (forbidden) to us to drink during the day—­only with our dinner.  I never will give the Christians drink here, and now they have left off pressing me to drink spirits at their houses.  The bishop offered to alter the hour of prayer for me, and to let me into the Heykel (where women must not go) on Good Friday, which will be eighteen days hence.  All of which I refused, and said I would go on the roof of the church and look down through the window with the other Hareemat.  Omar kissed the bishop’s hand, and I said:  ‘What! do you kiss his hand like a Copt?’ ‘Oh yes, he is an old man, and a servant of my God, but dreadful dirty,’ added Omar; and it was too true.  His presence diffused a fearful monastic odour of sanctity.  A Bishop must be a monk, as priests are married.

Monday.—­To-day Ali Effendi-el-Hakeem came to tell me how he had been to try to see my patients and failed; all the families declared they were well and would not let him in.  Such is the deep distrust of everything to do with the Government.  They all waited till he was gone away, and then came again to me with their ailments.  I scolded, and they all said, ’Wallah, ya Sitt, ya Emeereh; that is the Hakeem Pasha, and he would send us off to hospital at Keneh, and then they would poison us; by thy eyes do not be angry with us, or leave off from having compassion on us on this account.’  I said, ’Ali Effendi is an Arab and a Muslim and an Emeer (gentleman), and he gave me good advice, and would have given more,’ etc.  No use at all.  He is the Government doctor, and they had rather die, and will swallow anything from el-Sittee Noor-ala-Noor.  Here is a pretty state of things.