“Never yet has it failed. In your world, a man may live in poverty and die in distress; yet, when he comes into this world with that spotless garment on, all the fiends of hell shrink back in horror at his approach, and all the angels of Heaven greet him with shouts of joy and anthems of praise. The Master places a crown of gold on his brow, and silver slippers on his feet.” “But I see you have great riches in your coffin with you; could you not bribe the doorkeeper, and buy your way in?” “Your questions mock me. What were my paltry sum to Him who holds the world in His hands. My advice to you is to seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness; to seek peace and pursue it; to buy the truth and sell it not. These will be worth more to you than wealth and titles of honor and power and dominion all combined. I would rather be a true disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ than wear the brightest diadem that ever graced a monarch’s brow, and know Him not.” Thanking the king for his kindness, and his words of wisdom, I bow myself out of his presence. The people here talk of “King So Karimsap” as though he had lived yesterday, when the truth is his light of life went out more than fifty centuries before we were born! It is said that “the railroads in Egypt use mummies for fuel; and on wet days the engineers are heard frequently to cry out?: ‘These plebeians won’t burn worth a cent; hand me out a king!’ On express trains, it is claimed, they use nothing but kings.” Christmas morning I am up before the lamps of night are dimmed by the rising god of day. There seems to be a rivalry among the stella host, each trying to outshine its neighbor. Each star twinkles and smiles and laughs and pours a flood of glory down. I never saw anything like it—there is less of earth than of Heaven in the scene. I say “Surely, these are creatures singing the praise of their Master—of Him whose birthday they fain would celebrate.” While yet these balls of fire gleam bright from the blue sky above, Johnson and I are in the saddle on our way to the Pyramids. Yes, in the saddle. In Cairo, saddles are street-cars. Egyptian boys, each with a fresh-barbered donkey, bridled and saddled, throng the streets. The moment a traveler steps on the sidewalk, he is doomed. These boys leading their donkeys, crowd around him like hungry wolves around a helpless lamb. He can not get away. The boys are irresistible. They take hold of you, and throw you into the saddle, and instantly the donkey moves off. Then all the boys throw up their caps and halloo, except the one whose donkey you are on. He, of course, follows you, one hand grasping the donkey’s tail and the other clutching a stick. The tail is used as a rudder to guide the animal, and the stick as an argument to persuade him to quicken his already flying steps. Every one rides as if he were carrying the mail. Indeed, he can not help it. The donkey is running for life—he must move, or be brained on the spot.