She is neatly dressed, wears a silk fiché, and is as alert as ever. In the afternoon, I visit her at the Hotel, and she asks me to accompany her to the Bank, where she cashes three bills of exchange for three hundred pounds each! I ask her what she is going to do with all this money, and she tells me that she is going to build a little home for her grandson and send him to the College of the Americans here. "And is there like America in all the world?" she exclaims. "Ah, my heart for America!" And on asking her why she did not remain there: "Fear not; just as soon as I build my house and place my son in the College I am going back to New York. What, O Khalid, will you return with me?" She then takes some gold pieces in her hand, and lowering her voice: "May be you need some money; take, take these." Dear old Im-Hanna, I would not refuse her favour, and I would not accept one such. What was I to do? Coming through the Jewellers' bazaar I hit upon an idea, and with the money she slipped into my pocket, I bought a gold watch in one of the stores and charged her to present it to her grandson. "Say it is from his brother, your other grandson Khalid." She protests, scolds, and finally takes the watch, saying, "Well, nothing is changed in you: still the same crazy Khalid." To-morrow she is coming to see my room, and to cook for me a dish of _mojadderah_! Ah, the old days in the cellar! In the thirtieth Letter, one of considerable length, dated March, is an exceedingly titillating divagation on the _gulma_ (oustraation of animals), called forth, we are told, "by the rut of the d----d cats in the yard." Poor Khalid can not sleep. One night he jumps out of bed and chases them away with his skillet, saying, "Why don't I make such a row, ye wantons?" They come again the following night, and Khalid on the following morning moves to a Hotel which, by good or ill chance, is adjacent to the lupanars of the city. His window opens on another yard in which other cats, alas!--of the human species this time--are caterwauling, harrowing the soul of him and the night. He makes a second remove, but finds himself disturbed this time by the rut of a certain roebuck within. Nature, O Khalid, will not be cheated, no more than she will be abused, without retaliating soon or late. True, you got out of many ruts heretofore; but this you can not get out of except you go deeper into it. Your anecdotes from Ad-Damiry and your quotations from Montaigne shall not help you. And your allusions to March-cats and March-Khalids are too pitiful to be humorous. Indeed, were not the tang of lubricity in this Letter too strong, we would have given in full the confession it contains.