the cargo, and collect
the dues that have to be paid on it; and we watch them with interest,
for they are quite different in appearance from our own hook-nosed,
bearded sailors, with their thick many-coloured cloaks. These Egyptians
are all clean shaven; some of them wear wigs, and some have their hair
cut straight across their brows, while it falls thickly behind upon
their necks in a multitude of little curls, which must have taken them
no small trouble to get into order. Most wear nothing but a kilt of
white linen; but the chief officer has a fine white cloak thrown over
his shoulders; his linen kilt is stiffly starched, so that it stands out
almost like a board where it folds over in front, and he wears a gilded
girdle with fringed ends which hang down nearly to his knees. In his
right hand he carries a long stick, which he is not slow to lay over the
shoulders of his men when they do not obey his orders fast enough.

After a good deal of hot argument, the amount of the tax is settled and
paid, and we are free to go up into the great town. We have not gone far
before we find that life in Thebes can be quite exciting. A great noise
is heard from one of the narrow riverside streets, and a crowd of men
comes rushing up with shouts and oaths. Ahead of them runs a single
figure, whose writing-case, stuck in his girdle, marks him out as a
scribe. He is almost at his last gasp, for he is stout and not
accustomed to running; and he is evidently fleeing for his life, for the
men behind him--rough, half-naked, ill-fed creatures of the working
class--are chasing him with cries of anger, and a good deal of
stone-throwing. Bruised and bleeding, he darts up to the gate of a
handsome house whose garden-wall faces the street. He gasps out a word
to the porter, and is quickly passed into the garden. The gate is
slammed and bolted in the faces of his pursuers, who form a ring round
it, shouting and shaking their fists.

In a little while the gate is cautiously unbarred, and a fine-looking
man, very richly dressed, and followed by half a dozen well-armed negro
guards, steps forward, and asks the workmen why they are here, making
such a noise, and why they have chased and beaten his secretary. He is
Prince Paser, who has charge of the Works Department of the Theban
Government, and the workmen are masons employed on a large job in the
cemetery of Thebes. They all shout at once in answer to the Prince's
question; but by-and-by they pus