To-day the Khamseen is blowing and it is decidedly hot, quite unlike the heat at the Cape; this is close and gloomy, no sunshine.  Altogether the climate is far less bright than I expected, very, very inferior to the Cape.  Nevertheless, I heartily agree to the Arab saying:  ’He who has drunk Nile water will ever long to drink it again’; and when a graceful woman in a blue shirt and veil lifts a huge jar from her shoulder and holds it to your lips with a hearty smile and welcome, it tastes doubly sweet. Alhamdulillah!  Sally says all other water is like bad small-beer compared to sweet ale after the Nile water.  When the Khamseen is over, Omar insists on my going to see the tree and the well where Sittina Mariam rested with Seyidna Issa {55} in her arms during the flight into Egypt.  It is venerated by Christian and Muslim alike, and is a great place for feasting and holiday-making out of doors, which the Arabs so dearly love.  Do write and tell me what you wish me to do.  If it were not that I cannot endure not to see you and the children, I would stay here and take a house at the Abbassieh in the desert; but I could not endure it.  Nor can I endure this wandering life much longer.  I must come home and die in peace if I don’t get really better.  Write to Alexandria next.

April 18, 1863:  Mr. Tom Taylor

To Mr. Tom Taylor.  CAIRO, April 18, 1863.

My dear Tom,

Your letter and Laura’s were a great pleasure to me in this distant land.  I could not answer before, as I have been very ill.  But Samaritans came with oil and wine and comforted me.  It had an odd, dreary effect to hear my friend Hekekian Bey, a learned old Armenian, and De Leo Bey, my doctor, discoursing Turkish at my bedside, while my faithful Omar cried and prayed Yah Robbeena! Yah Saatir! (O Lord!  O Preserver!) ’don’t let her die.’

Alick is quite right that I am in love with the Arabs’ ways, and I have contrived to see and know more of family life than many Europeans who have lived here for years.  When the Arabs feel that one really cares for them, they heartily return it.  If I could only speak the language I could see anything.  Cairo is the Arabian Nights; there is a little Frankish varnish here and there, but the government, the people—­all is unchanged since that most veracious book was written.  No words can describe the departure of the holy Mahmal and the pilgrims for Mecca.  I spent half the day loitering about in the Bedaween tents admiring the glorious, free people.  To see a Bedaween and his wife walk through the streets of Cairo is superb.  Her hand resting on his shoulder, and scarcely deigning to cover her haughty face, she looks down on the Egyptian veiled woman who carries the heavy burden and walks behind her lord and master.