ALI EFEENDl's STORIES. 509 was still fresh and uncorrupted. It was of a fine, silky texture and a bright auburn color. The individual was a woman, with a very symmetrical head, and small, regular features.

She may have been a beauty once, but nothiDg could be more hideous. I pulled off a small lock of hair, and took it with me as a curious relic. Esneh appeared much more beautiful to me than on my upward journey; possibly, by contrast with the mud-built houses of Soudan. I went to a coffee-shop and smoked a slieesheh, while the muezzin called down from the mosque in front : " God is great 5 there is no God but God ; Mohammed is the Prophet of God."

Ali Effendi, the agent of the Moodir, or Governor, came to see me and afterwards went on board my vessel. As the wind was blowing so furiously that we could not leave, I invited him to dinner, and in the meantime we had a long talk on afrites and other evil spirits. I learned many curious things concerning Arabic faith in such matters. The belief in spirits is universal, although an intelligent Arab will not readily confess the fact to a Frank, unless betrayed into it by a simulated belief on the part of the latter. Ali Effendi informed me that the spirit of a man who is killed by violence, haunts the spot where his body is buried, until the number of years has elapsed, which he would otherwise have lived. He stated, with the greatest earnestness, that formerly, in passing at night over the plain between Embabeh and the Pyramids, where Napoleon defeated the Mamelukes, he had frequently heard a confusion of noises, — cries of pain, and agony, and wrath — but that now there were but few sounds to be heard, as the time of service of the ghosts had for the most part expired.

One of his personal experiences with an afrite amused ru*