the villagers treated Mustapha, and which he fully returned, made it all seem so very gentlemanly.  They are not so dazzled by a little show, and far more manly than the Cairenes.  I am on visiting terms with all the ‘county families’ resident in Luxor already.  The Nazir (magistrate) is a very nice person, and my Sheykh Yussuf, who is of the highest blood (being descended from Abu-l-Hajjaj himself), is quite charming.  There is an intelligent little German here as Austrian Consul, who draws nicely.  I went into his house, and was startled by hearing a pretty Arab boy, his servant, inquire, ‘Soll ich den Kaffee bringen?’ What next?  They are all mad to learn languages, and Mustapha begs me and Sally to teach his little girl Zeyneb English.

Friday, 22_nd_.—­Yesterday I rode over to Karnac, with Mustapha’s sais running by my side.  Glorious hot sun and delicious air.  To hear the sais chatter away, his tongue running as fast as his feet, made me deeply envious of his lungs.  Mustapha joined me, and pressed me to go to visit the Sheykh’s tomb for the benefit of my health, as he and Sheykh Yussuf wished to say a Fathah for me; but I must not drink wine at dinner.  I made a little difficulty on the score of difference of religion, but Sheykh Yussuf, who came up, said that he presumed I worshipped God, and not stones, and that sincere prayers were good anywhere.  Clearly the bigotry would have been on my side if I had refused any longer.  So in the evening I went with Mustapha.  It was a very curious sight, the little dome illuminated with as much oil as the mosque could afford, and the tombs of Abu-l-Hajjaj and his three sons.  A magnificent old man, like Father Abraham himself, dressed in white, sat on a carpet at the foot of the tomb; he was the head of the family of Abu-l-Hajjaj.  He made me sit by, and was extremely polite.  Then came the Nazir, the Kadee, a Turk travelling on Government business, and a few other gentlemen, who all sat down round us after kissing the hand of the old Sheykh.  Everyone talked; in fact it was a soiree for the entertainment of the dead Sheykh.  A party of men sat at the further end of the place, with their faces to the Kibleh, and played on a taraboukeh (sort of small drum stretched on earthenware which gives a peculiar sound), a tambourine without bells, and little tinkling cymbals fitting on thumb and fingers (crotales), and chanted songs in honour of Mohammed and verses from the Psalms of David.  Every now and then one of our party left off talking, and prayed a little or counted his beads.  The old Sheykh sent for coffee, and gave me the first cup—­a wonderful concession.  At last the Nazir proposed a Fathah for me, which the whole group round me repeated aloud, and then each said to me, ’Our Lord God bless and give thee health and peace, to thee and thy family, and take thee back safe to thy master and thy children,’ one adding Ameen and giving the salaam with