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ing robes entered with napkins and handed one to each of us. The host then led the way to the dining-room, outside of the door of which stood a servant with a large basin, soap, and ewer from which he was ready to pour the water to wash our hands before we went to the table-a part of the proceeding, which, as the sequel will show, was not all unnecessary.

The ancient Pharisees may have laid too much stress upon washing before meat. Their error, probably, was in exalting a merely decent and sanitary proceeding into a religious ceremony. Besides, it was not so much the filth of the flesh as of the spirit that they vainly hoped to get rid of by this baptism of the hands. Their notion, evidently, was that, in the market place and in the bazaar, they came in contact with their fellowmen, who were not as holy as they were, and it was necessary to undergo a process of ceremonial purification to rid themselves of the defilement contracted in this way. But surely anyone who has gone through an Egyptian town, and who has touched and handled the multitudinous wares that he has been pressed to buy, does not need-or at least ought not to need any superstitious considerations to impress him with the importance of the washing of the hands as a preparation for the dinner table. The revelations of modern science in respect to the manner in which diseases are propagated exalts this into something like a sacred duty.

The hand-washing being accomplished with commendable thoroughness, the guests, carrying the napkins with them, surrounded the table, which was circular in form, the upper part of it brazen, surrounded by a slightly elevated rim. Each person was furnished with a spoon, but with neither knife, fork, nor plate. Each one was furnished with a good substantial piece of excellent bread. Then the courses commenced. The first, of course, consisted of soup.

This was served in a large bowl placed in the centre of the table, and each helped himself with his spoon. But this was the only dish that was disposed of in this way; and it was, I presume, only in deference to a sort of imperious necessity, that the intervention of the spoon between the hand and the article of diet has come to be allowed. Indeed, it is doubtful whether soup, especially soup to be taken alone, is not a modern innovation in the East. Anything that cannot be eaten with the fingers seems to be out of place on an oriental table.

The soup, it must be said, on this occasion was excellent, as were, indeed, all the dishes which followed. The next course was mutton, excellent in quality and well cooked, and in rather too big pieces to be easily managed by the unassisted finger by one who had not been initiated into this mode of eating. However, our excellent host, with great courtesy, led the way, and showed us how the necessary separations were to be effected by tearing the larger pieces asunder. With genuine kindliness and hospitality, he searched out the most savory morsels, and with his own fingers passed them to his guests. The writer felt himself particularly flattered in being one of the first at the table to be honored with this kind of attention. At the same time that the first course of meat was brought on, several dishes containing an excellent salad, pungent, but savory, were put upon the table-one for every three or four guests; but as this salad was minced very fine, and rendered liquid, with what, for anything that I know to the contrary, was oil and vinegar, we were under the necessity of using pieces of bread to assist our fingers in its manipulation.

An excellent vegetable course consisted of a preparation of rice and cabbage cooked together. The cabbage was stuffed with the rice in some unique way, designed, no doubt, to assist the fingers in passing it to the

mouth. Another vegetable course interjected between the different preparations of mutton which came to the table, consisted of beans, in a common dish, of course, which was placed in the middle of the table, the only thing of which there was more than one dish being the salad. Here, one earnestly coveted a fork; but with the assistance of a bit of bread, and a rather dexterous use of the digits, we managed even the beans. Another dish, which I can hardly trust myself to describe, consisted of some sort of sausages, and while they were savory and toothsome, they seemed to be specially fitted for the fingers. Unfortunately my memory for dishes is not good. I can seldom remember from one meal-time to another what I have eaten. I am afraid, therefore, that I shall pass by some of the chief delicacies of this unique occasion without giving them the attention which they deserve, and which I would be certainly disposed to give them if my memory would but serve me,

There is one thing which deserves honorable mention, and that could not, without a grave dereliction of duty, be passed over in silence. After sundry other courses of less importance, we had served up a roast turkey. It was a specially fine bird, and was well cooked, as it deserved to be. But it was brought upon the table without the mark of a knife upon it. The reader will readily imagine our consternation when we were invited each to help himself. But our courteous and attentive host, perceiving our embarrassment, came again promptly to our rescue. Taking hold of one side of the breast with thumb and finger, he stripped the skin off from it, and then repeated the operation on the other side. Then, ground being broken to this extent, he proceeded to pull down and loosen, with the same natural implements, a portion of the flesh. And at this point, partially relieved from our embarrassment, having seen how

the egg could be made to stand upon its end, we all began to try the experiment ourselves. The result was, that though it could not be said truthfully that the turkey was torn limb from limb, the flesh was literally picked from its bones.

The dessert was in keeping with the courses which preceded it. It comprised two or three different preparations of rice, each preparation made with skill, aud some excellent fruit. Enough, however, has been written to show that among the Arabs, at least, hospitality has not become one of the lost arts. Of course, our prejudices led us to suppose that if this excellent dinner had been served in Western fashion, it would have been great improvement.

However, we are moderns; these people are ancients. We are of mushroom growth, the product of a night; they are deeply rooted in the past. We have aspirations, but little or no memories; perhaps they lack in the matter of aspiration, but they dwell reverently and lovingly on the memories of the past. Our obliging host told us, with a touch of melancholy, that some of his people were adopting the table manners and customs of the English; but, he added: "I continue to tread in the footsteps of my fathers." This was, perhaps, carrying conservatism too far, but there is something in it that one cannot but respect.

At the conclusion of the meal, the servant, with his ewer and basin, reappeared, and knelt down before each guest, while he washed his hands and mouth. And the thoroughness with which this was done by our Arab friends was admirable. They not only washed our mouths outwardly, but inwardly, bestowing time and care upon the operation. This may account in part for the excellence of the teeth of the Arabians. Now and again you find an Arab whose teeth have been broken, or knocked out by accident; but the most of them have

admirable teeth. Besides, with the poorer sort of Arabs, their teeth are not worn out with eating. They live on little. Many a one of them, I am told, lives a whole day on half a piastre, or two and a half cents a day. A poor fellow, who earns twelve cents a day, has often to support himself and family on it. A piece of bread, a piece of sugar-cane a little grass or clover, that he shares with the donkey, constitute his frugal meal. But I am writing of the well-to-do Arab. He takes care of his mouth and his teeth. As regularly as he eats, the mouth is thoroughly washed, the teeth rubbed and cleansed, and the result is good teeth, and, I fancy, good digestion down to old age. According to our ideas, this would be better attended to in the privacy of our own chamber. This, however, is a question of taste.

There are people who think that eating itself is not so interesting a process to look at that it should be done in the presence of others. On a question of this kind, surely one may be excused for not expressing too decided an opinion.

There will, no doubt, be difference of opinion about this Arab dinner. To me, I must confess, it was a matter of very considerable interest. I shall not, and I am sure the party of which I had the honor to be a humble member will not, soon forget the debt of gratitude we owe to our kind Arab host for his genuine Oriental hospitality. It will be cherished among the most pleasing recollections of a visit to the land of the Pharaohs, full of nothing but pleasant recollections.

CAIRO, EGYPT, Feb. 6th, 1895.

BY MARGARET ROSS.

Clay pipes are given away when asked
for, but the old Scotchman is too
proud to be an object of charity, with-
out making some kind of protest. He
walks into the store, rabs his chin re-
flectively, and says: "Am bheil ca-
nach buidhe agad?"
(Have you got
cotton?") The storekeeper jerks the
cotton off the shelf and spreads it out.
The old man pulls a corner of it in
every direction, ravels a thread, and
looks at it dubiously, and then puts
his hands in his pockets and walks

AMONG the Lewismen who have colonized the Lake Megantic region of the Eastern Townships, the old Highland custom of administering communion but once a year still prevails. The services in connection with this rite extend over a period of five days, commencing on Thursday and ending the Monday following, and are conducted chiefly in the Gaelic language. Sacrament week is generally appointed for some time in July or August, and is made the occasion for a great deal of visiting. As each township to the other side of the store, where holds its annual sacrament-it is never called communion-the inhabitants are prepared for an influx of visitors from the neighboring townships, and it is not at all an uncommon occurrence for the old people to walk from twenty to thirty miles on these occasions, which are considered times of great refreshing.

These people are nearly all connected with each other. They are very clannish, and possess little variety in the way of names. John MacLeod (Red John) may not be a blood relation of John MacLeod (Crooked Finger), but his wife's cousin, Donald McDonald (Devil), is married to Peggy "Nighean Domhnull" (Donald's daughter), daughter of Donald McDonald (Murdoch's son), whose cousin, Kate Christy, is married to John MacLeod (Crooked Finger). This connection renders it imperative that you speak most respectfully of John MacLeod (Red John) to John MacLeod (Crooked Finger).

During the week preceding Sacrament Sunday a great deal of shopping is done, and the village store is rendered as tempting as possible. Scotch people, however, are not easily persuaded to part with their coppers.

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groceries are kept. Here he asks, in dignified English, for some " Jampan tea:" tastes it, smells it, shakes his head, and turns towards the door. He does not go out, however, but comes back and says, as an afterthought, "She'll dake a bibe." He gets his pipe, and retains his selfrespect.

Two or more ministers from other Gaelic congregations are invited to assist the minister of the township in which sacrament is held. Occasionally a leading light from some other church is invited to officiate, but, as a rule, the sermon of the city divine is much too short, and he starts his services punctually two faults a Lewisman cannot pass over.

The week-day services are well attended, but chiefly by the older people and by intending communicants. Thursday is known as Fast Day (Latha trasg), though the services, as well as those of Saturday and Monday, are of the ordinary character. Next to Sunday, Friday or Question Day (Latha na ceist), is the most important of the series There is no preaching, but after the usual preliminary services some communicant gives out a verse of Scripture bearing

on Christian experience, and on which he wants light. He asks for marks of the truth of that verse in the experience of Christi ns present. The presiding minister "opens the question,' after which he calls on those believed to be eminent Christians usually elders from that and other congregations to give their opinions. A good deal of delay is here occasioned by the difficulty of persuading these good souls to get on their feet. They have usually plenty to say, and take a long time to say it; indeed, have confidently expected to be called on, and would feel much chagrin if not asked to "speak to the question." Two motives influence the man in his reluctance to rise. It is a mark of humility to asseverate that he is unworthy, that he is incompetent, that others can speak more to edification than he. Then, again, he knows that he will be listened to by the ministers and many laymen supposed to be deep theologians, and that for any slip he may make he will surely be called to account. However, after many shakes of the head, and much apparent unwillingness, he finally expounds his views, and not infrequently speaks with a loftiness of language and vigor of thought, characteristic of those who have made the Bible a life study. From five to eight are usually asked to "speak to the question," which is closed by a second minister, who criticizes the opinions given, speaking in approval of the points he considers good; but woe to the unfortunate elder whose theology, as the minister understands it, is not sound.

On Sunday every person who is able to walk, or to sit up to be driven, goes to church. At ten o'clock the worshippers commence to congregate in the churchyard. They come from settlements four, five, and six miles away from their church, which is built in the village of their township. All along the sides of the roads leading into the village old women are sitting, putting on the shoes and stockings

they have carried that far under their shawls. Each wears a white cap, tied under the chin, and whose only ornament is a broad, black band just back of the frill that frames her ruddy old face. It is a rare occurrence to see one of the old men walking with his cuilleach (old woman) to prayers; he prefers to walk about six feet in front of her and talk back. It is a still rarer occurrence to see any of the old people in a conveyance. They have been accustomed to walk all their lives; habit is too strong for them, and they cannot be persuaded to enter a buggy.

As they reach their destination, a prolonged hand-shaking takes place. The hand-shake of a Lewisman is a sort of manual gymnastic, and takes about three minutes to accomplish. He grasps your hand and shakes it vigorously, while he says: “Cia mar tha thu fein" ("How do you do?") If you have been initiated into the delights of the language of Heaven you answer: "Tha gu slan,” (“Very well;") and at each successive inquiry your hand is grasped lower down, well shaken, the clasp relaxed to be tightened still lower down, and so on, till your finger tips are reached, when you are left to wonder how many joints have been dislocated by the process.

After the preliminary greetings they gather in little groups round the churchyard and village, some seating themselves on the logs of the church wood-pile, others on the platform of the village hay scales, and soon the air is filled with an ever increasing cackle of Gælic. By half-past ten, buggies containing the middle-aged married people and a large contingent of young men and maidens are driven to the church, the occupants assisted out, and the horses fastened to fences in the vicinity of the church.

At eleven o'clock the visiting ministers emerge from the manse and go to their respective pulpits. The English sermon is to be preached in the church, which is already crowded to

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