Sheykh Yussuf took me into the tomb of his ancestor, Sheykh Abul Hajjaj, the great saint here, and all the company said a Fathah for my health.  It was on the night of Friday, and during the moolid of the Sheykh.  Omar was surprised at the proceeding, and a little afraid the dead Sheykh might be offended.  My great friend is the Maohn (police magistrate) here—­a very kind, good man, much liked, I hear, by all except the Kadee, who was displeased at his giving the stick to a Mussulman for some wrong to a Copt.  I am beginning to stammer out a little Arabic, but find it horribly difficult.  The plurals are bewildering and the verbs quite heart-breaking.  I have no books, which makes learning very slow work.  I have written to Hekekian Bey to buy me a dictionary.

The house here is delightful—­rather cold now, but will be perfect in hot weather—­so airy and cheerful.  I think I shall stay on here all the time the expense is nil, and it is very comfortable.  I have a friend in a farm in a neighbouring village, and am much amused at seeing country life.  It cannot be rougher, as regards material comforts, in New Zealand or Central Africa, but there is no barbarism or lack of refinement in the manners of the people.  M. Mounier has invited me to go and stay with them at El-Moutaneh, and offers to send his dahabieh for me.  When it gets really hot I shall like the trip very much.

Pray, when you see Mme. Tastu, say civil things for me, and tell her how much I like the house.  I think it wonderful that Omar cooked the dinner without being cross.  I am sure I should swear if I had to cook for a heretic in Ramadan.

February 12, 1864:  Sir Alexander Duff Gordon

To Sir Alexander Duff Gordon.  LUXOR, February 12, 1864.

Dearest Alick,

We are in Ramadan now, and Omar really enjoys a good opportunity of ‘making his soul.’  He fasts and washes vigorously, prays his five times a day, goes to mosque on Fridays, and is quite merry over it, and ready to cook infidels’ dinners with exemplary good-humour.  It is a great merit in Muslims that they are not at all grumpy over their piety.  The weather has set in since five or six days quite like paradise.  I sit on my lofty balcony and drink the sweet northerly breeze, and look at the glorious mountain opposite, and think if only you and the chicks were here it would be ‘the best o’ life.’  The beauty of Egypt grows on one, and I think it far more lovely this year than I did last.  My great friend the Maohn (he is not the Nazir, who is a fat little pig-eyed, jolly Turk) lives in a house which also has a superb view in another direction, and I often go and sit ’on the bench’—­i.e., the mastabah in front of his house—­and do what little talk I can and see the people come with their grievances.  I don’t understand much of what goes on, as the patois is broad