I felt his pulse, which was low, and weak; but very little feverish. I desired he would order his people to look if his meat was dressed in copper properly tinned; I assured him he was in no danger, and insinuated that I thought he had been guilty of some excess before dinner; at which he smiled, and said to Risk, who was standing by, “Afrite! Afrite”! he is a devil! he is a devil! I said, If your stomach is really uneasy from what you may have ate, warm some water, and, if you please, put a little green tea into it, and drink it till it makes you vomit gently, and that will give you ease; after which you may take a dish of strong coffee, and go to bed, or a glass of spirits, if you have any that are good. He looked surprised at this proposal, and said very calmly, “Spirits! do you know I am a Mussulman?” But I, Sir, said I, am none. I tell you what is good for your body, and have nothing to do with your religion, or your soul. He seemed vastly diverted, and pleased with my frankness, and only said, “He speaks like a man.” There was no word of the war, nor of the Russians that night. I went home desperately tired, and peevish at being dragged out, on so foolish an errand. Next morning, his secretary Risk came to me to the convent. The Bey was not yet well; and the idea still remained that he had been poisoned. Risk told me the Bey had great confidence in me. I asked him how the water had operated? He said he had not yet taken any of it, that he did not know how to make it, therefore he was come at the desire of the Bey, to see how it was made. I immediately shewed him this, by infusing some green tea in some warm water. But this was not all, he modestly insinuated that I was to drink it, and so vomit myself, in order to shew him how to do with the Bey. I excused myself from being patient and physician at the same time, and told him, I would vomit _him_, which would answer the same purpose of instruction; neither was this proposal accepted. The old Greek priest, Father Christopher, coming at the same time, we both agreed to vomit the Father, who would not consent, but produced a Caloyeros, or young monk, and we forced _him_ to take the water whether he would or not. As my favour with the Bey was now established by my midnight interviews, I thought of leaving my solitary mansion at the convent. I desired Mr Risk to procure me peremptory letters of recommendation to Shekh Haman, to the governor of Syene, Ibrim, and Deir, in Upper Egypt. I procured also the same from the janissaries, to these three last places, as their garrisons are from that body at Cairo, which they call their Port. I had also letters from Ali Bey, to the Bey of Suez, to the Sherriffe of Mecca, to the Naybe (so they call the Sovereign) of Masuah, and to the king of Sennaar, and his minister for the time being. Having obtained all my letters and dispatches, as well from the patriarch as from the Bey, I set about preparing for my journey.