It is certain that the perceptions of an Egyptian are far less keen than ours. Their feeling of pain is hardly comparable with our own: with bad injuries, such as torn or crushed fingers, they do not seem at all distressed; and a boy said to me that it was no wonder I healed quickly, as I did not disturb a wound, ‘whereas an Arab would pull a cut open to look at it inside.’ With pain, so with the senses in health. They cannot distinguish one person from another by the footstep; they do not easily distinguish a voice; they seldom respond or seem to perceive any words when called from a distance, unless the attention is aroused by loudly calling the person’s name; they never notice slight or distant sounds, and seem to suppose that you will never perceive a whisper from one to another. That the sense of smell is not much developed is only too evident from the fearfully filthy condition of the village surroundings, which are sometimes poisonous to an European. Unfortunately the result of education is rather to spoil than to develop natural ability. Of the very few peasants I have met with who had been taught to write, two were fools in other matters, all common sense and ability appearing to have been crushed out of them. Nor is this at all surprising, when we know that the cardinal part of Muslim education is the learning of the pointless prolixities of the Koran by heart, as a pure matter of rote, without the use of the reason or intellect. To burden a child’s mind with such a fearful task is enough to ruin it, if not strong. It is a sad sight to see the whole of the coming intellects of a town rocking themselves to and fro while they gabble through _sura_ after _sura_ of the Koran in a gusty sing-song voice without pause or point; and then to reflect that this is the end and aim of nearly all their education. The native Coptic schools are the only encouraging sight of indigenous training; and the ability shown by some of their boys is astonishing.