When on board, we begin now to keep a sharp lookout for crocodiles. We hear of them constantly--see their tracks upon the sand-banks in the river--go through agonies of expectation over every black speck in the distance; yet are perpetually disappointed. The farther south we go the more impatient we become. The E’s, whose dahabeeyah, homeward-bound, drifts slowly past one calm morning, report “eleven beauties,” seen altogether yesterday upon a sand island, some ten miles higher up. Mr. C. B.’s boat, garlanded with crocodiles from stem to stern, fills us with envy. We would give our ears (almost) to see one of these engaging reptiles dangling from either our own mainmast or that of the faithful Bagstones. Alfred, who has set his heart on bagging at least half a dozen, says nothing, but grows gloomier day by day. At night, when the moon is up and less misanthropic folk are in bed and asleep, he rambles moodily into the desert, after jackals. Meanwhile, on we go, starting at sunrise; mooring at sunset; sailing, tracking, punting; never stopping for an hour by day, if we can help it; and pushing straight for Abou Simbel with as little delay as possible. Thus we pass the pylons of Dabôd with their background of desert; Gertássee, a miniature Sunium, seen toward evening against the glowing sunset; Tafah, rich in palms, with white columns gleaming through green foliage by the water side; the cliffs, islands, and rapids of Kalabsheh, and the huge temple which rises like a fortress in their midst; Dendûr, a tiny chapel with a single pylon; and Gerf Hossayn, which from this distance might be taken for the mouth of a rock-cut tomb in the face of the precipice. About half way between Kalabsheh and Dendûr, we enter the tropic of cancer. From this day till the day when we repass that invisible boundary, there is a marked change in the atmospheric conditions under which we live. The days get gradually hotter, especially at noon, when the sun is almost vertical; but the freshness of night and the chill of early morning are no more. Unless when a strong wind blows from the north, we no longer know what it is to need a shawl on deck in the evening; or an extra covering on our beds toward dawn. We sleep with our cabin-windows open, and enjoy a delicious equality of temperature from sundown to sunrise. The days and nights, too, are of almost equal length.