in the museums, where even the small boys may
stare at them in the "altogether," without blanket, bathrobe or pajamas
to cover their physical imperfections. After "life's fitful fever,"
poor old Ram and his historical rivals and friends sleep well in these
hard, ebony boxes in the museum at Cairo. Ram had lots of air and
elbow room during his spectacular career, and it seems hardly fair that
he should be kept on exhibition now, although his mummy is most
interesting and always draws a crowd. To parody William a little, it
might be said:

To what base uses may we come!
* * * *
Imperial Ram'ses dead and turn'd to clay
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.
O, that that earth, which set the Nile on fire,
Should lie in glass! this is a fate too dire!

Ram, scarabs, flies, and _bakshish_ are, after all, the main things of
Egypt and the Nile. I once asked Gooley Can confidentially:

"How many statues did the great king put up for himself--two hundred?"

"Oh, very many more than that! he was a busy man."

But in many departments he had his rivals. Now there was Bubastis I.
of the twenty-second dynasty. (His name seems somewhat similar to that
of our old friend Bombastes, when pronounced by a man with a cold in
his head--but anyway, we'll call him "Bub.") He was a man of not a few
accomplishments, many habits and some deeds: for instance, he made a
grand-stand play when he started out for Jerusalem with twelve hundred
chariots, sixty thousand horsemen and four hundred thousand footmen.
He took it hands down in a canter--and took a whole lot of other
things, too, when he got his hands in the bags of Solomon's temple.
This was a "classy" performance and gave him some small change for the
evening of his days. Thebes was his home town and he was as well known
in the all-night restaurants as Oscar Hammerstein is on Forty-second
Street. He was a great poker player, and wore an amalgamated copper
mask when engaged in a stiff game; it was a helpful foil when trying to
work his passage on a pair of trays. This, mind you, was in the stone
age of poker, when a man couldn't hide his feelings when he held a full
hand. To-day the player sits disconsolate and looks woebegone when
glancing at his royal flush.

When Bub got hard up he made raids on the "capitulists" of the day, and
often cleaned up both banks of the Nile, from Wady Halfa to Port Said.
When short of funds he frequently staked