of
Cairo, is the old mosque El Hakim. Save its outer walls, which enclose,
like the mosques of Touloun and Amer, a large open square, there is not
much left of it; but within this square, housed in a temporary building,
one finds the collection of Saracenic antiquities which is called the
Arab Museum.

This museum is interesting, and it ought to be beautiful. But somehow it
is not. The barrack-like walls, sparsely ornamented with relics from the
mosques, the straight aisles and glass show-cases, are not inspiring;
the fragments of Arabian wood-carving seem to be lamenting their fate;
and the only room which is not desolate is the one where old tiles lie
in disorder upon the floor, much as they lie on broken marble pavements
of the ancient houses which, half ruined and buried in rubbish, still
exist in the old quarters. Why one should be so inconsistent as to find
no fault with Gizeh, where rows of antiquities torn from their proper
places confront us, where show-cases abound, and yet at the same time
make an outcry over this poor little morsel at El Hakim, remains a
mystery. Possibly it is because the massive statues and the solid little
gods of ancient Egypt do not require an appropriate background, as do
the delicate fancies of Saracenic taste. However this may be, to some of
us the Arab Museum looks as if a New England farmer's wife had tried her
best to make things orderly within its borders, poor soul, in spite of
the strangeness of the articles with which she was obliged to deal. It
must, however, be added that the museum will not make this impression
upon persons who are indifferent to the general aspect of an aisle, or
of a series of walls--persons who care only for the articles which adorn
them--the lovers of detail, in short. And it is well for all of us to
join this class as soon as our feet have crossed the threshold. For we
shall be repaid for it. The details are exquisite.

The Arab Museum has been established recently. Every one is grateful to
the zeal which has rescued from further injury so many specimens of a
vanishing art. One covets a little chest for the Koran which is made of
sandal-wood. It is incrusted with arabesques carved in ivory, and has
broad hasps and locks of embossed silver. There are many koursis, or
small, stool-like tables; one of these has panels of silver filigree,
and fretted medallions bearing the name of the Sultan Mohammed ebn
Kalaoon, thus showing that it once belonged to the