houseless dogs, whose days are spent in the city of Cairo, and their nights in the tombs, surrounded and followed us, howling most horribly. Roused by these screams and howls, which seemed to protest against life and light, so unusual at this place and hour, the Bedouin Arabs, an untameable race, who would look upon themselves as prisoners if the walls of a city separated them from the Desert, even during their sleep, ranged themselves on the steps of the mosques or entrances of the sepulchres, wrapped in their bournouses, seeming like the sheeted and shrouded ghosts whose repose we had troubled.

Two

In the midst of so dismal a company, and such sepulchral apparitions, we reached a retired place, where we were shown the tombs of the Jezam, a branch of the Arab tribe of Kohlan, which settled in Egypt after the Mussulman conquest. sumptuous monuments rose above all the rest; they were the tombs of two men celebrated for their hospitality and munificence; one, named Tharif, had daily a thousand guests at his table, who were invited by his slaves, placed for that purpose at the gates of the city; the other, named Mokenna, being in want of fuel to provide food for some travellers who had visited his tent, burned for the purpose a rich spoil which he had just taken from his enemies. The magnificent hospitality, which they had displayed during life, was repaid after death; they

reposed in tombs as spacious and splendid as palaces.

On quitting these monuments, we visited the last of all, which seemed more ancient than any we had seen; the walls were cracked through their whole extent, and open in several places. Mohammed pointed out to us over one of the openings, an epigram written by some Persian poet, the point of which turns on a novel conceit.

The gaping chinks that these proud walls divide
Are open mouths which laugh at human pride.

We had passed nearly two hours in the city of the dead, and had visited the most remarkable buildings. It was time to revisit our Arabs; we returned therefore to the first tomb we had visited, still attended by the hawks, accompanied by the dogs, and escorted by the phantoms. As if, however, this fantastic cortège had been retained by a superior power in the sepulchral city, it halted at the gate which opens on the plain of the living; we parted from it without regret, to return to our tent. But for some time longer we heard the screams of the hawks, and the howls of the dogs; but re-assured by silence and night, the first returned to their nests of marble, and the others to their kennels of granite; so that, after some time, every sound died away, and no noise awoke an echo in the city of the dead, which we had roused for a moment from its eternal sleep.

On our return we found our Arabs seated round the fire they had kindled, telling stories. Behind them the dromedaries were couched on the sand, and confounded with it, from their similarity of colour, forming a wider circle: our tent was pitched apart; it was a favourable moment for examining the group by which we were to be accompanied, and of taking note of the men to whom we had intrusted our lives.

X. OUR ARABS AND THEIR DROMEDARIES.

THE chief or sheikh was named Taleb. He was small, thin, and muscular; though ugly, he had an affable expression of physiognomy; he spoke rarely and briefly; his words sharply accented, and his rapid glance, held a constant mastery over our Arabs: in the sequel, we had opportunities of estimating the promptitude and energy of his character.

At his left was Bechara, with whom I had already formed an acquaintance in the court-yard of the hotel, when he proved to me the excellence of his dromedaries, and pointed out their admirable qua lities. He was as meagre as his chief, but while the latter was severe and taciturn, Bechara was a merry fellow, of infinite jest. During the whole day he was singing on his dromedary, and when night came, this Scheherazadè of the Desert, recounted stories of merciless length to his companions, until he put them to sleep. He then went on with a monologue until he fell asleep himself. This loquacity, so precious on a long road to those who are taciturn themselves, made Bechara the idol of his companions. If Taleb was chief during the day, no sooner had the sun set,

than undisputed possession of the sceptre of command was transferred to Bechara.

On the other side of Taleb was Bechara's brother in arms, friend and confidant; he was an Herculean Arab, in high favour with the chief, and respected by the rest of his comrades, because he was the strongest of the troop. He was the first sent forward when any anxiety shaded the brow of Taleb, and the last who went to sleep when Bechara at night recited his eternal stories; thus he was highly valued by both; he was an arm to the one, and an ear to the other.

The only one deserving of remark, after these three men, was Abdallah, our cook; he had been recommended to us by M'Moara, with an assurance that he had studied his art under the best masters in Cairo. He was then living under sentence of condemnation; it is impossible to form a notion of the filthy mixtures that this prisoner served up at our meals.

We need not say anything about Mohammed, our old friend, who had followed us from Alexandria, and also accompanied us on this journey.

I have nothing to say respecting the intellectual character of the rest of the group. In their physical aspect they were real sons of the Desert; slim, active, and lithe as serpents; meagre and abstemious as their own camels. At the first glance, we saw that we