was a German, a “beer-bottle in the morning and a bottle of beer in the evening,” to borrow a simile from his own nation; a Syrian merchant, the richest and ugliest of Alexandria; and a few French house-painters going to decorate the Pasha’s palace at Shubra.  These last were the happiest of our voyagers,-veritable children of Paris, Montagnards, Voltaireans, and thoroughbred Sans-Soucis.  All day they sat upon deck chattering as only their lively nation can chatter, indulging in ultra-gallic maxims, such as “on ne vieillit jamais a table;” now playing ecarte for love or nothing, then composing “des ponches un peu chiques;” now reciting adventures of the category “Mirabolant,” then singing, then dancing, then sleeping, and rising to play, to drink, talk, dance, and sing again.  One chaunted: 

“Je n’ai pas connu mon pere
Ce respectable vieillard. 
Je suis ne trois ans trop tard,” &.;

Whilst another trolled out: 

“Qu’est ce que je vois? 
Un canard en robe de chambre!”

[p.34]They being new comers, free from the western morgue so soon caught by Oriental Europeans, were particularly civil to me, even wishing to mix me a strong draught; but I was not so fortunate with all on board.  A large shopkeeper threatened to “briser” my “figure” for putting my pipe near his pantaloons; but seeing me finger my dagger curiously, though I did not shift my pipe, he forgot to remember his threat.  I had taken charge of a parcel for one M. P-, a student of Coptic, and remitted it to him on board; of this little service the only acknowledgment was a stare and a petulant inquiry why I had not given it to him before.  And one of the Englishmen, half publicly, half privily, as though communing with himself, condemned my organs of vision because I happened to touch his elbow.  He was a man in my own service; I pardoned him in consideration of the compliment paid to my disguise.

Two fellow-passengers were destined to play an important part in my comedy of Cairo.  Just after we had started, a little event afforded us some amusement.  On the bank appeared a short, crummy, pursy kind of man, whose efforts to board the steamer were notably ridiculous.  With attention divided between the vessel and a carpet-bag carried by his donkey boy, he ran along the sides of the canal, now stumbling into hollows, then climbing heights, then standing shouting upon the projections with the fierce sun upon his back, till everyone thought his breath was completely gone.  But no! game to the backbone, he would have perished miserably rather than lose his fare:  “patience and perseverance,” say the wise, “got a wife for his Reverence.”  At last he was taken on board, and presently he lay down to sleep.  His sooty complexion, lank black hair, features in which appeared beaucoup de finesse, that is to say, abundant rascality, an eternal smile and treacherous eyes, his gold[FN#6] ring, dress

[p.35]of showy colours, fleshy stomach, fat legs, round back, and a peculiar manner of frowning and fawning simultaneously, marked him an Indian.  When he awoke he introduced himself to me as Miyan Khudabakhsh Namdar, a native of Lahore:  he had carried on the trade of a shawl merchant in London and Paris, where he had lived two years, and, after a pilgrimage intended to purge away the sins of civilised lands, he had settled at Cairo.