The ascent of the Nile was one of my Meccas, and now
that it is over the reality has almost become a dream.
In Egypt the weather is so nearly perfect during the season that it
was no surprise to find the day of our departure a cloudless one. I
seldom worry myself to arrange beforehand for the creature comforts of
a journey, trusting to the beneficent star which seems to hover over
the unworthy to shine upon my pathway. But this time I had so dreamed
of and brooded over and longed for the Nile that I went so far as to
investigate the different lines of boats, and we chose the moonlight
time of the month, and we hurried through Russia and Turkey and Greece
with but one aim in view, and that was to have our feet on the deck of
the _Mayflower_ on the 19th of February. And we succeeded.
Ah, it was a dream well worth realizing! Twenty-one days of rest.
Three glorious weeks of smooth sailing over calm waters. Three weeks
of warmth and sunshine by day, and of poetry and starlight by night.
Three weeks of drifting in the romance which surrounds the name of
that great sorceress, that wonderful siren, that consummate coquette,
that most fascinating woman the world has ever known.
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