On the whole, then, I am glad to have made the acquaintance of Achmed. I like him well. I shall always have agreeable recollections of him. He is pleasant to look at; pleasant to deal with, notwithstanding his extortions; pleasant to think about. But I have more respect for Hodge. He has nothing to say for himself. If he is picturesque, it is not after the received fashion. If his life contains a poem, it is not one that would be appreciated, generally, either in the Eastern, or the Western, Row. He has, however, a stout, and withal a good heart. One ought to be the better for knowing something of his unobtrusive manly virtues. Achmed has a gust for pleasure, in which matter he has had some training. He is a merry fellow who will enliven your holiday. Hodge’s spiriting lies in a different direction. CHAPTER XLVI. WATER-JARS AND WATER-CARRIERS. The pitcher may go to the well often, but comes home broken at last.—_Old Proverb._ Every drop of water that has ever been used for domestic purposes—the waterworks of Cairo and Alexandria are innovations only of yesterday—has, with the exception of the small quantity conveyed in goat-skins by men, been brought up out of the river and canals by women. Their custom has been to carry it on their heads in large earthen jars, called goollehs. These are so large that they are capable of being formed into rafts, which you often meet upon the river, with two men upon each steering and punting them along. This is the way in which they are taken from the places, where they are manufactured, to be distributed to the towns and villages along the banks of the stream. Each weighs when full, as near as I could tell by lifting one, about forty pounds. Wherever you may be you see the women trooping down to the river-bank with these jars on their heads to fetch water. Arrived at the water’s edge, each woman tucks her short and scanty skirts between her legs, and, walking a step or two into the stream, fills her goolleh. She then faces round to the bank, and sets it down on the ground. The next move is to face back again to the stream, and wash her feet. When ready to depart she receives the assistance of the one who will go next into the water in placing the full jar on her head. The last of the troop has no assistance. With forty pounds weight on their heads they walk up the steep bank, and, perhaps, a mile or two off to the village, making as light of it as if it were no more than a chignon. The practice of carrying these weights on the head gives an erectness to the figure, and a prominency to the chest, which nothing else could produce.