We stopped first at Atfour, the city noticed above, where we found that what had seemed to us a palace was a large manufactory of Egyptian caps belonging to the Pasha. Thence we glided up the stream, the American ensign at the peak of each of our high lateen yards, fluttering, and seeming to rejoice as much as we at being on the Egyptian river. The banks, villages, islands, and groves, slipped along by our sides, presenting views sometimes highly picturesque, and always of a strikingly oriental character. The country, however, is generally at this season of the year tame and monotonous. The crops had been gathered in, and the open plains (for there are no enclosures, except occasionally to a garden) were burnt to a cinder by the fierce raging sun; the earth was gaping, and seemed to pant under its fury; and, except the neighborhood of the villages, and now and then a garden watered by artificial means, there was not a speck of verdure to be seen. The villages also, when we came to inspect them, we found to be miserable in the extreme. They consist of one or two hundred houses, made of bricks hardened in the sun and covered with domes of the same material. The bricks retain the original color of the muddy deposite, and the villages have a dull, gloomy appearance. Whitewash is never used within; but on the outside a mottled appearance is sometimes given to the houses by the custom of sticking cakes of camels’ ordure against their front and sides to dry; this being the only fuel used in the country. It is said to burn very well, and when thus prepared, to have no disagreeable odour. If the reader will imagine a collection of houses thus daubed on the outside, with earthern floors and bare walls of mud, a small hole for a window, excessively filthy within, and abounding in vermin; he will have an idea of an Egyptian village. He must add also now and then a large, well-filled granary of the Pasha in the neighborhood of the villages; and in the villages themselves a number of dwellings in ruins; for the bricks often yield to the operation of the weather, and the badly constructed domes tumble in. As we sailed along, our attention was very often drawn to the houses for hatching chickens, one or more of which may be seen in each of their villages. They are formed by taking a number of pots, of the capacity of about a gallon, contracted at the neck, which is turned towards the exterior. About fifty or sixty of these are built up with bricks and mud into an edifice like an elongated bee-hive, twelve or fifteen feet in height. The eggs are small and the fowls diminutive, but of a very pleasant flavor.