Burton retired, but in two or three minutes returned with a paper which he handed to Lord Salisbury.

“You’ve soon done it,” said his Lordship, and on unfolding the paper he found the single word “Annex.”

“If I were to write for a month,” commented Burton, on noticing Lord Salisbury’s disappointment, “I could not say more.”

However, being further pressed, he elaborated his very simple programme.[FN#500] The policy he advocated was a wise and humane one; and had it been instantly adopted, untold trouble for us and much oppression of the miserable natives would have been avoided.  Since then we have practically followed his recommendations, and the present prosperous state of Egypt is the result.

On 21st November 1885, Burton left England for Tangier, which he reached on the 30th, and early in January he wrote to the Morning Post a letter on the Home Rule question, which he thought might be settled by the adoption of a Diet System similar to that which obtained in Austro-Hungary.  On January 15th he wants to know how Mr. Payne’s translation of Boccaccio[FN#501] is proceeding and continues:  “I look forward to Vol. i. with lively pleasure.  You will be glad to hear that to-day I finished my translation and to-morrow begin with the Terminal Essay, so that happen what may subscribers are safe.  Tangier is beastly but not bad for work. ...  It is a place of absolute rascality, and large fortunes are made by selling European protections—­a regular Augean stable.”

Mrs. Burton and Lisa left England at the end of January, and Burton met them at Gibraltar.

142.  K.C.M.G., 5th February 1886.

When the first volume of The Arabian Nights appeared Burton was sixty-four.  So far his life had been a long series of disappointments.  His labours as an explorer had met with no adequate recognition, the Damascus Consulship could be remembered only with bitterness, his numerous books had sold badly.  Every stone which for forty years he had rolled up proved to be only a Sisyphus stone.  He was neglected, while every year inferior men—­ not to be mentioned in the same breath with him—­were advanced to high honours.  Small wonder that such treatment should have soured him or that—­a vehement man by nature—­he should often have given way to paroxysms of anger.  Still he kept on working.  Then all of a sudden the transplendent sun sailed from its clouds and poured upon him its genial beams.  He had at last found the golden Chersonese.  His pockets, so long cobwebbed, now bulged with money.  Publishers, who had been coy, now fought for him.  All the world—­ or nearly all—­sang his praises.[FN#502] Lastly came the K.C.M.G., an honour that was conferred upon him owing in large measure to the noble persistency of the Standard newspaper, which in season and out of season “recalled to the recollection of those with whom lay the bestowal of ribbons and crosses the unworthy neglect with which he had been so long treated.”