“Come, let me relate to thee how he travels to Syria, How he marches in the upland country. His food and his water he has to carry on his arm, Laden like a donkey; This makes his neck stiff like that of a donkey, And the bones of his back break ... If he arrives in face of the enemy, He is like a bird in a snare ... If he arrives at his home in Egypt ... He is ill, and must lie down. They have to bring him home on the donkey, Whilst his clothes are stolen, and his servants run away. Therefore, O scribe, Reverse thine opinion about the happiness of the scribe and of the officer.” As literature this precious effusion is merely contemptible; but it is very illuminating as to the character of the class which was responsible for the production of it. Generally speaking, the Egyptian leaves you with the pleasant impression that he is a decent kindly fellow, with a cheery outlook on life, and a love of pretty things and laughter; but the scribe is an undoubted fly in the ointment. He thought himself its finest perfume; but that is just precisely what makes him so unquestionably the fly. We need not imagine that the condition either of the soldier or of the artisan was quite so miserable as the scribe would have us believe. The misfortune is that it was only the scribe who was vocal. If the soldier or the craftsman had been able to leave behind him his opinion of the scribe, it would probably have been quite as unflattering, and perhaps more pungently expressed. It would not have required great genius to make fun of a profession which lived by the favour of the great man, and whose typical figure is the kneeling scribe of the Cairo Museum, with his twisted deprecating smile, and his submissively crossed hands, waiting, like a dog, uncertain whether his master will kick him or fling him a bone.