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deck where we were all congregated looking at the scenery, and made a bee-line for the count's cabine de luxe. He was within — and from the recesses of the apartment, after a surprised pause, there came such a roar of Homeric laughter as I have seldom heard, mingled with the valet's anxious protests and a chorus of “Gott im Himmels !” and “Um Gotteswillens” – ending with the crestfallen emergence of Auguste, who repaired to the barber again to sacrifice his starboard muttonchop! In a trice 't was done – and the Nile has lost one of its most picturesque features for this voyage. But I must say that Auguste is vastly improved. He looks less like a Methodist Episcopal bishop of the old school than formerly, and it leaves the gentle Dean of St. Phylactery's in sole possession of the outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace. Auguste, however, does not realize it. He cannot reconcile himself to the idea that his appearance is exactly modest; and his shamefaced attitude recalls that of a pet poodle in summer when first clipped.

There is nothing to do to-day but look at the river, for we pass none of the notable sites. Nevertheless it has been one of our most wonderful days because of the increasing magnificence of the eastern cliffs, towering almost from the water's edge and rearing majestic summits against the sky. To my shame I have never looked upon our own Grand Canyon, but I imagine the panorama of this day must in some degree have approximated it, more especially at sundown when the particolored veil of evening fell across the massive face of the stone and converted those tawny mountains into glowing gems of prismatic color - prismatic but always pale under the indigo dome of the night.

It is a lazy life we lead on such days as this, but it is inexpressibly delightful; and the Professor, who is probably the most active man who ever held a sedentary post, is constantly referring in terms of glowing praise to what he is pleased to call “roughing it on the Nile."

This being Saturday we have had a dance on deck, while lying quietly at anchor in midstream opposite a town named, ineuphoniously, Sohậg. The crackedvoiced old piano has been mended with string, in some mysterious way, by the Herr Doktor Ritter von Schwartzenkopf, or whatever his name is,-a versatile young gentleman with a very charming “bride," as our gossips have called her for several days. Tonight it developed that she has a four-year-old boy at home! But in any case she dances divinely, and the Herr Ritter proves to be capable of extracting undreamed-of harmonies from the instrument, now that he has mended its inward parts. The Austrian

Graf stood his trick at the keys also, like a man, and gave us the “Blue Danube," as became an exalted resident of Vienna. Later, when all the pianistic talent was seemingly exhausted, the old lady from the Blue Grass, she of the eighty summers and indomitable spirit, sat down at the keyboard and played as untiringly and as mechanically as a pianola until the lights went out.

So much for the pomps and vanities of this world. To-morrow the Dean is to preach in the forward cabin.

March 5. We have had our sermon, and the Dean outdid himself. I confess I do not now remember the exact text, but it was a moving discourse on the foibles of modern society - dress, and especially dancing. I suspected the presence of a twinkle in the ecclesiastical eye when he considered the latter folly, in view of the experiences of last evening. Of course there was a collection, — for the hospital at Luxor, — and while it was not large it will hopefully be bettered next Sunday when we have another service, conducted, as usual, by the Dean. I find him, on smoking-room acquaintance, to be a delightful man, by the way, - one whose travels have been extensive, who knows and delights in America, and who tells a story inimitably.

Since church there has been nothing to do but loll on the warm decks and see the panorama unfold itself — the gigantic cliffs, the palm-clad banks with their mud towns and lofty pigeon towers, the tireless creaking of the shadoufs. The landing for Abydos we have passed without a call, leaving it for the down-trip, and noting as we passed only its deep intervale of spreading green.

This afternoon we passed the railroad bridge which conveys the line to the eastern shore at another of those cacophonously named towns— Nag' Hamadi. I note that sugar refineries of a modern aspect begin to be very common along these upper reaches, intruding lofty steel chimneys that sort curiously with the landscape. By sundown we made our mooring for the night at the landing-stage of Dendera, not far from the ancient temple. Opposite lies the considerable town of Keneh, the usual alighting-place of such travelers as come to Dendera by rail. Such, no doubt, have small difficulty in securing ferrymen and beasts for the journey to the temple, but it is surely easier to tie up, as we have done, within two miles of the shrine and on the same side of the stream.

Dendera seems to me a charming name, well suited to the uses of the Egyptian Aphrodite — for such I like to believe Hathor to have been. Already we have had a glimpse of her distant pylon in the ruddy evening glow - tapering towers seen dimly across fertile meadows. We are to visit them to-morrow. For this evening we have had to content ourselves with a scamper on the bank, the whole ship's company availing itself of the opportunity to take a walk on the tops of little dikes that serve as foot-paths through the waving grain. There is a bit of a mud village close by the landing dominated by a few scrawny palms, and tenanted by a tiny population with a horde of noisy dogs for company. The river has fallen far below the top of the banks. Off toward the west the plain undulates, under a lush growth that is already waist-high, to the temple and the first great dunes of the desert.

The creaking of a belated shadouf drew the Professor and me away from the throng and down the river shore. It was a triple machine, raising the water by successive stages to the top of the lofty bank, and the men toiled at it naked, save for loin cloths, although the evening chill had long succeeded to the heat of the day. They paused from their labor as we came up and besought a little backsheesh, indicating the arduous character of their task by melting sighs and groans. The thinnest of them, pointing to his meagre arms, ejaculated, “Skin-nee! Skin-neel” Then, having sounded the depth of our charity, they returned to their shadoufing, and it was interesting

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