of the ceremony. One of these young men was very handsome, and as he
stood looking down and smiling on the baby he held, with the light of the
torch sharpening the lines of his features, would have made a lovely
picture. The expression was sweeter than St. Vincent de Paul, because
his smile told that he could have played with the baby as well as have
prayed for it. In this country one gets to see how much more beautiful a
perfectly natural expression is than any degree of the mystical
expression of the best painters, and it is so refreshing that no one
tries to look pious. The Muslim looks serious, and often warlike, as he
stands at prayer. The Christian just keeps his everyday face. When the
Muslim gets into a state of devotional frenzy he does not think of making
a face, and it is quite tremendous. I don't think the Copt has any such
ardours, but the scene this morning was all the more touching that no one
was 'behaving him or herself' at all. A little acolyte peeped into the
sacramental cup and swigged off the drops left in it with the most
innocent air, and no one rebuked him, and the quite little children ran
about in the sanctuary--up to seven they are privileged--and only they
and the priests enter it. It is a pretty commentary on the words 'Suffer
the little children,' etc.

I am more and more annoyed at not being able to ask questions for myself,
as I don't like to ask through a Muslim and no Copts speak any foreign
language, or very very few. Omar and Hassan had been at five this
morning to the tomb of Sittina Zeyneb, one of the daughters of the
Prophet, to 'see her' (Sunday is her day of reception), and say the
Fathah at her tomb. Next Friday the great Bairam begins and every Muslim
eats a bit of meat at his richer neighbour's expense. It is the day on
which the pilgrims go up the sacred mount near Mecca, to hear the sermon
which terminates the Haj. Yesterday I went to call on pretty Mrs.
Wilkinson, she is an Armenian of the Greek faith, and was gone to pray at