troop of them carrying water-jars--such sweet, graceful beings, all
smiles and grace. One beautiful woman pointed to the village and made
signs of eating and took my hand to lead me. I went with her, admiring
them as they walked. Omar came running after and wondered I was not
afraid. I laughed, and said they were much too pretty and kindly-looking
to frighten anyone, which amused them immensely when he told them so.
They all wanted me to go and eat in their houses, and I had a great mind
to it, but the wind was fair and the boat waiting, so I bid my beautiful
friends farewell. They asked if we wanted anything--milk or eggs--for
they would give it with pleasure, it was not their custom to sell things,
they said, I offered a bit of money to a little naked child, but his
mother would not let him take it. I shall never forget the sweet,
engaging creatures at that little village, or the dignified politeness of
an old weaver whose loom I walked in to look at, and who also wished to
'set a piece of bread before me.' It is the true poetical pastoral life
of the Bible in the villages where the English have not been, and happily
they don't land at the little places. Thebes has become an English
watering-place. There are now nine boats lying here, and the great
object is to _do the Nile_ as fast as possible. It is a race up to Wady
Halfeh or Assouan. I have gained so much during this month that I hope
the remaining three will do real good, as the weather will improve with
the new year they tell me. All the English stay here and 'make
Christmas,' as Omar calls it, but I shall go on and do my devotions with
the Copts at Esneh or Edfou. I found that their seeming disinclination
to let one attend their service arose from an idea that we English would
not recognise them as Christians. I wrote a curious story of a miracle
to my mother, I find that I was wrong about the saint being a Mussulman
(and so is Murray); he is no less than Mar Girghis, our own St. George
himself. Why he selected a Mussulman mason I suppose he best knows.