We entertained our guests with coffee and lemonade, and, as well as we could, with conversation. The bey, who spoke only Turkish and Arabic, gave a flourishing account of the sugar works, and dispatched his pipe-bearer for a bundle of fresh canes and some specimens of raw and candied sugars. He said he had an English foreman and several English workmen, and that for the English as a nation he had the highest admiration and regard; but that the Arabs “had no heads.” To our inquiries about the ruins, his replies were sufficiently discouraging. Of the large temple every vestige had long since disappeared; while of the smaller one only a few columns and part of the walls were yet standing. They lay out beyond the town and a long way from the river. There was very little to see. It was all “sagheer” (small); “mooshtaïb” (bad); not worth the trouble of the walk. As for “anteekahs,” they were rarely found here, and when found were of slight value. A scarab which he wore in a ring was then passed round and admired. It fell to our little lady’s turn to examine it last and restore it to the owner. But the owner, with a bow and a deprecating gesture, would have none of it. The ring was a toy--a nothing--the lady’s--his no longer. She was obliged to accept it, however unwillingly. To decline would have been to offend. But it was the way in which the thing was done that made the charm of this little incident. The grace, the readiness, the courtesy, the lofty indifference of it, were alike admirable. Macready in his best days could have done it with as princely an air; but even he would probably have missed something of the oriental reticence of the Bey of Erment. He then invited us to go over the sugar factory (which we declined on account of the lateness of the hour), and presently took his leave. About ten minutes after came a whole posse of presents--three large bouquets of roses for the sittàt (ladies), two scarabei, a small funereal statuette in the rare green porcelain, and a live turkey. We in return sent a complicated English knife with all sorts of blades, and some pots of English jam. The wind rose next morning with the sun, and by breakfast time we had left Erment far behind. All that day the good breeze served us well. The river was alive with cargo-boats. The Philæ put on her best speed. The little Bagstones kept up gallantly. And the Fostât, a large iron dahabeeyah full of English gentlemen, kept us close company all the afternoon. We were all alike bound for Esneh, which is a large trading town and lies twenty-six miles south of Erment.