less, I heartily agree to the Arab saying: 'He who has
drunk Nile water will ever long to drink it again'; and when a graceful
woman in a blue shirt and veil lifts a huge jar from her shoulder and
holds it to your lips with a hearty smile and welcome, it tastes doubly
sweet. _Alhamdulillah_! Sally says all other water is like bad
small-beer compared to sweet ale after the Nile water. When the Khamseen
is over, Omar insists on my going to see the tree and the well where
Sittina Mariam rested with Seyidna Issa {55} in her arms during the
flight into Egypt. It is venerated by Christian and Muslim alike, and is
a great place for feasting and holiday-making out of doors, which the
Arabs so dearly love. Do write and tell me what you wish me to do. If
it were not that I cannot endure not to see you and the children, I would
stay here and take a house at the Abbassieh in the desert; but I could
not endure it. Nor can I endure this wandering life much longer. I must
come home and die in peace if I don't get really better. Write to
Alexandria next.

April 18, 1863: Mr. Tom Taylor

_To Mr. Tom Taylor_.

CAIRO,
_April_ 18, 1863.

MY DEAR TOM,

Your letter and Laura's were a great pleasure to me in this distant land.
I could not answer before, as I have been very ill. But Samaritans came
with oil and wine and comforted me. It had an odd, dreary effect to hear
my friend Hekekian Bey, a learned old Armenian, and De Leo Bey, my
doctor, discoursing Turkish at my bedside, while my faithful Omar cried
and prayed _Yah Robbeena_! _Yah Saatir_! (O Lord! O Preserver!) 'don't
let her die.'

Alick is quite right that I am in love with the Arabs' ways, and I have
contrived to see and know more of family life than many Europeans who
have lived here for years. When the Arabs feel that one really cares for
them, they heartily return it. If I could only speak the language I
could see anything. Cairo _is_ the Arabian Nights; there is a little
Frankish varnish here and there, but the government, the people--all is
unchanged since that most veracious book was written. No words can
describe the departure of the holy Mahmal and the pilgrims for Mecca. I
spent half the day loitering about in the Bedaween tents admiring the
glorious, free people. To see a Bedaween and his wife