On the Isle of Rhoda, the broadest arm of the Nile, there is a Nilometer dating from the time of the Pharaohs. We went to see it, and crossed on the other side of the island in a caïque, in the company of barefooted Arabs. We moored to the spot where the daughter of the Pharaoh found Moses. The Nile being now in overflow, the Nilometer was submerged in the water to the very top. The native women, with bronze arms, were drawing water from the Nile in stone pitchers, and carried it away, balancing their picturesque burdens, gracefully poised on head and shoulder, recalling the Biblical times. Every Friday in the “Gisheh,” the Hyde Park of Cairo, about sundown, the aristocracy of the city take their drive. We went for a stroll in the park through a wide avenue bordered by thickly planted trees. In the large park-alleys broughams passed containing harem ladies with faces closely veiled with muslin, accompanied by their favourite slaves. A native of high degree came driving in an open carriage, with sandalled, gorgeously-clad syces (carriage runners), with white wing-like sleeves embroidered with gold, running before his carriage and clearing the way for their master. After our drive we had tea at a little inn on the bank of the Nile, where we found a nice sheltered place close to the river. Just in front was moored a _dahabiah_, a large sailing vessel cruising up the Nile as far as the Cataracts. We were immediately surrounded by a crowd of natives; one of them was offering “good bananas,” in English, and another one wanted absolutely to clean our shoes. Our arrival at Cairo had been advertised in the papers. The local authorities were warned and English reporters came to ask Mr. Koyander the reason of our visit to the Metropolis of Africa. They may be perfectly tranquillised, for we certainly have nothing to do with politics, Sergy and I! It had been our intention to travel in Palestine after our tour in Egypt, but cholera was raging at Mecca, which, much to our disappointment, prevented us from going there. I was sorry to say good-bye to Mrs. Holland. We parted with mutual regret and promises of letters. Kissing me fondly she said: “I love you awfully, darling; I have never met a more lovely little thing than you!” A few more kisses and we separated to follow our diverse destinies. Mrs. Holland stood on the doorway to see us off and waved her hand in friendly farewell, whilst the omnibus slowly carried us away.