ed from Assouan. The
tutelary Albion wisely considered that it would be better to sacrifice
that futile spectacle and, in order to increase the yield of the soil,
to dam the waters of the Nile by an artificial barrage: a work of solid
masonry which (in the words of the Programme of Pleasure Trips) "affords
an interest of a very different nature and degree" (sic).

But nevertheless Cook & Son--a business concern glossed with poetry, as
all the world knows--have endeavoured to perpetuate the memory of the
cataract by giving its name to a hotel of 500 rooms, which as a result
of their labours has been established opposite to those rocks--now
reduced to silence--over which the old Nile used to seethe for so many
centuries. "Cataract Hotel!"--that gives the illusion still, does it
not?--and looks remarkably well at the head of a sheet of notepaper.

Cook & Son (Egypt Ltd.) have even gone so far as to conceive the idea
that it would be original to give to their establishment a certain
_cachet_ of Islam. And the dining-room reproduces (in imitation, of
course--but then you must not expect the impossible) the interior of
one of the mosques of Stamboul. At the luncheon hour it is one of the
prettiest sights in the world to see, under this imitation holy cupola,
all the little tables crowded with Cook's tourists of both sexes, the
while a concealed orchestra strikes up the "Mattchiche."

The dam, it is true, in suppressing the cataract has raised some
thirty feet or so the level of the water upstream, and by so doing has
submerged a certain Isle of Philae, which passed, absurdly enough, for
one of the marvels of the world by reason of its great temple of Isis,
surrounded by palm-trees. But between ourselves, one may say that the
beautiful goddess was a little old-fashioned for our times. She and her
mysteries had had their day. Besides, if there should be any chagrined
soul who might regret the disappearance of the island, care has been
taken to perpetuate the memory of it, in the same way as that of the
cataract. Charming coloured postcards, taken before the submerging of
the island and the sanctuary, are on sale in all the bookshops along the
quay.

Oh! this quay of Assouan, already so British in its orderliness, its
method! Nothing better cared for, nothing more altogether charming could
be conceived. First of all there is the railway, which, passing between
balustrades painted a grass-green, gives out its fascinating noise