place sits the neglected Sheik el Sadat, a lineal descendant of the prophet. Through a doorway, in one corner of a tiled room, stands the gold-mounted saddle on which his ancestors once proudly rode. That was long before the days of the Suez Canal, boulevards, stucco palaces, and the opera-house. At court the sheik is no longer the fashion, but there is still a little band of Mohammedans who believe in him. To them the sheik and his old house are sacred. Through the thirty days of Ramadan they sat and howled in his courtyard, and respectfully kissed his hand; and, like the sheik, there must be many other distinguished Oriental relics of the days gone by, left behind by the former tenants, and of no use to the present occupants. In Egypt the English hold the reins, and one of these days the Egyptian donkey may turn to the left when you meet him, as his distant relative in Whitechapel does. At present he keeps to the right, and staggers along under a load that is much too big for him. To-day he is not the fashion in Cairo. He is only ridden by tourists after dark, through streets that are too narrow and crooked for a carriage. But up the river it is very different. There you learn to like him. From his back you first see Karnak, and the statues of Memnon, and he is forever associated in your memory with the tombs of the kings. Tourists quarrel over him, and in most cases his name is “Rameses, the Great.” His chief complaint must be that an Englishman weighs more than an Egyptian; but he should consider [Illustration: A Daughter of the Nile.] how much better off the Egyptian is since the English have held the reins. He will only know of this from his own observation, and from what he hears the English say. He will never get it from a Frenchman; and the Egyptian, who could tell him, is sulky, and stupidly wishes that he had been rescued by some one else. The half-breed Jew and Turk in the “Mooskee” is too busy; and all the rest of Egypt don’t know why they are better off, or who to thank for law and order or the improved irrigation that gives them a fair chance with the rest of civilized mankind. But whether the donkey knows it or not, he is much hotter off, for an Englishman never rides him when he is old and weak, and that is more than he can expect from his Egyptian friends, who often get on him two at a time. At Shepheard’s people put aside their guide-books for a while. It is a play that requires no libretto. On the crowded piazza overlooking the street, London shopkeepers and foreign noblemen elbow each other, and all celebrities look very much alike.