The fault of my lodging here is the noise.  We are on the road from the railway and there is no quiet except in the few hot hours, when nothing is heard but the cool tinkle of the Sakka’s brass cup as he sells water in the street, or perchance erksoos (liquorice-water), or caroub or raisin sherbet.  The erksoos is rather bitter and very good.  I drink it a good deal, for drink one must; a gulleh of water is soon gone.  A gulleh is a wide-mouthed porous jar, and Nile water drunk out of it without the intervention of a glass is delicious.  Omar goes to market every morning with a donkey—­I went too, and was much amused—­and cooks, and in the evening goes out with me if I want him.  I told him I had recommended him highly, and hoped he would get good employment; but he declares that he will go with no one else so long as I come to Egypt, whatever the difference of wages may be.  ’The bread I eat with you is sweet’—­a pretty little unconscious antithesis to Dante.  I have been advising his brother Hajjee Ali to start a hotel at Thebes for invalids, and he has already set about getting a house there; there is one.  Next winter there will be steamers twice a week—­to Assouan!  Juvenal’s distant Syene, where he died in banishment.  My old washerwoman sent me a fervent entreaty through Omar that I would dine with her one day, since I had made Cairo delightful with my presence.  If one will only devour these people’s food, they are enchanted; they like that much better than a present.  So I will honour her house some day.  Good old Hannah, she is divorced for being too fat and old, and replaced by a young Turk whose family sponge on Hajjee Ali and are condescending.  If I could afford it, I would have a sketch of a beloved old mosque of mine, falling to decay, and with three palm-trees growing in the middle of it.  Indeed, I would have a book full, for all is exquisite, and alas, all is going.  The old Copt quarter is entame, and hideous, shabby French houses, like the one I live in, are being run up; and in this weather how much better would be the Arab courtyard, with its mastabah and fountain!

There is a quarrel now in the street; how they talk and gesticulate, and everybody puts in a word; a boy has upset a cake-seller’s tray, ’Naal Abu’k!’ (Curses on your father) he claims six piastres damages, and everyone gives an opinion pour ou contre.  We all look out of the window; my opposite neighbour, the pretty Armenian woman, leans out, and her diamond head-ornaments and earrings glitter as she laughs like a child.  The Christian dyer is also very active in the row, which, like all Arab rows, ends in nothing; it evaporates in fine theatrical gestures and lots of talk.  Curious!  In the street they are so noisy, but get the same men in a coffee-shop or anywhere, and they are the quietest of mankind.  Only one man speaks at a time, the rest listen, and never interrupt; twenty men don’t make the noise of three Europeans.