THE GREAT SQUARE OF CAIRO. 35

the crowds of Smyrna and Alexandria, where the growing in-

fluence of European dress and customs is already visible.

Here, every thing still exhaled the rich aroma of the Orient, as it had been wafted to me from the Thousand and One

Nights, the Persian poets and the Arab chroniclers. I forgot

that I still wore a Frank dress, and found myself wondering at

the temerity of the few Europeans we met. I looked without

surprise on the long processions of donkeys carrying water-

skins, the heavily-laden camels, the women with white masks

on their faces and black bags around their bodies, the stolid

Nubian slaves, the grave Abyssinians, and all the other va-

rious characters- that passed and repassed us. But because they were so familiar, they were none the less interesting, for

all had been acquaintances, when, like Tennyson, " true Mus-

sulman was I, and sworn," under the reign of the good Haroun Al-Easchid.

We entered the Ezbekiyeh, which is wholly overgrown with

majestic acacias and plane*trees, and thickets of aromatic flow-

ering shrubs. It is in the Frank quarter of the city, and was

first laid out and planted by order of Mohammed Ali. All the

principal hotels front upon it, and light, thatched cafes fill the

space under the plane-trees, where the beau monde of Cairo promenade every Sunday evening. Nothing of the old City of

the Caliphs, except a few tall minarets, can be seen from this

quarter, but the bowery luxuriance of the foliage is all that the

eye demands, and over the plain white walls, on every side,

the palms — single, or in friendly groups — lift their feathery crowns. After installing our household gods in the chambers

of the quiet and comfortable Hotel d'Europe, we went out to enjoy the sweet evening air in front of one of the cafes. I