Cairo has been described so often and in so many ways by people who had nothing better to write about that I have no wish to add to the literature on that subject, but I cannot refrain from speaking, in passing, of one unusual scene which, so far as I have read, has for all of these years escaped the attention of literary loiterers. With my mind far back in centuries that are forgotten, in lands devoid of imperishable monuments like those around me, I had stayed on the summit of Cheops so long, one afternoon, that my dragoman declared I would have trouble in reaching the bottom before dark. Half-way down I paused for a glimpse at Cairo, with every minaret standing out boldly in the strong light. Then, suddenly, almost at my feet, the sinking sun created the shadow of the Great Pyramid, and it began to move. It advanced almost imperceptibly, at first, but gathered headway quickly and in a moment it was rushing across the twelve-mile plain toward the city with the speed of an express train, as it seemed to me; I am sure no race horse could have kept pace with it. When the shadow reached the Mokattam Hills it paused for an instant and then began, slowly and more slowly and with apparent difficulty, to climb the high side of the Citadel Mosque. When it was half-way up the wall the sun dropped out of sight like a shot and we were buried in Egyptian darkness, which, be it said, is no simple figure of speech. In a few minutes, however, we were able to complete our descent of the gigantic steps by the light of the brilliant afterglow, which spread its soft radiance over the land. As I was enjoying my after-dinner cigar one evening in a quiet corner of the garden in front of the hotel, I was approached by three women pedlers, apparently of the fellah class. They wore the common blue kimono-like garment, held together seemingly by luck, and their small black veils were thrown over their heads, leaving their faces bare and thus placing them outside the pale of Egyptian respectability. I was about to walk away to avoid their pestering, when my eyes met those of the one who was in the lead, and instantly I was attracted in place of being repelled. Great, brilliant eyes they were; not fickle and flirtatious, like those of the thinly veiled beauties of the harem who were seen in their coupes on the Shoobra Road every afternoon, nor sullen or sensuous, like those of the class to which her garb gave her claim; but steady and sincere, wide-open and frank, and in them shone a light that converted into specks the lanterns with which the grounds were illuminated. Such eyes do not come in one generation, not even by chance, nor are they born of the soil. Her face was of the pure Egyptian type, gentle in its contour and refined in every line, with perfectly arched eyebrows and a mass of hair as black as her eyes, and her easy carriage emphasized the grace of her tall, lithe figure, the curves of which not even her coarse robe could entirely conceal.