India and officers getting ready for the African campaign against the Abyssinian King Theodorus.  We were not a very large party, but as we charged through the streets of the great metropolis, we made noise for five hundred, and displayed activity and created excitement in proportion.  Nobody can steer a donkey, and some collided with camels, dervishes, effendis, asses, beggars and every thing else that offered to the donkeys a reasonable chance for a collision.  When we turned into the broad avenue that leads out of the city toward Old Cairo, there was plenty of room.  The walls of stately date-palms that fenced the gardens and bordered the way, threw their shadows down and made the air cool and bracing.  We rose to the spirit of the time and the race became a wild rout, a stampede, a terrific panic.  I wish to live to enjoy it again.

Somewhere along this route we had a few startling exhibitions of Oriental simplicity.  A girl apparently thirteen years of age came along the great thoroughfare dressed like Eve before the fall.  We would have called her thirteen at home; but here girls who look thirteen are often not more than nine, in reality.  Occasionally we saw stark-naked men of superb build, bathing, and making no attempt at concealment.  However, an hour’s acquaintance with this cheerful custom reconciled the pilgrims to it, and then it ceased to occasion remark.  Thus easily do even the most startling novelties grow tame and spiritless to these sight-surfeited wanderers.

Arrived at Old Cairo, the camp-followers took up the donkeys and tumbled them bodily aboard a small boat with a lateen sail, and we followed and got under way.  The deck was closely packed with donkeys and men; the two sailors had to climb over and under and through the wedged mass to work the sails, and the steersman had to crowd four or five donkeys out of the way when he wished to swing his tiller and put his helm hard-down.  But what were their troubles to us?  We had nothing to do; nothing to do but enjoy the trip; nothing to do but shove the donkeys off our corns and look at the charming scenery of the Nile.

On the island at our right was the machine they call the Nilometer, a stone-column whose business it is to mark the rise of the river and prophecy whether it will reach only thirty-two feet and produce a famine, or whether it will properly flood the land at forty and produce plenty, or whether it will rise to forty-three and bring death and destruction to flocks and crops—­but how it does all this they could not explain to us so that we could understand.  On the same island is still shown the spot where Pharaoh’s daughter found Moses in the bulrushes.  Near the spot we sailed from, the Holy Family dwelt when they sojourned in Egypt till Herod should complete his slaughter of the innocents.  The same tree they rested under when they first arrived, was there a short time ago, but the Viceroy of Egypt sent it to the Empress Eugenie lately.  He was just in time, otherwise our pilgrims would have had it.