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fan sent from a 1000 miles up the Nile by an
old friend -- Tea and coffee with delicious cream
very high raised biscuit sliced tongue red and tender
escalloped oysters with many kinds of delicious home-
made cake was the invariable supper -- Friendly
talk was the only entertainment except perhaps just
at the end of the evening the open piano suggested
a little music was desired, and sweet voices some-
what decadent sang sweetly but with timidity "Are
we almost there, said the dying girl" -- "Coming thru
the rye" -- &tc where a resident basso with a tone
really below any known real musical necessity
would after the habitual urging would give
us "rocked in the cradle of the deep" -- the refrain
held with such sustained power I am sure the
glasses in the cupboard tinkled -- By that time
music was in the air and with a rousing cheer
all stood about the piano and sang America ^{or "Auld acquaintance"}
we were all in a glow as we went out for our
wraps -- I can never forget Mrs Sweetser's last passing
gallantry -- standing on the top of the high terrace
step holding an oil lantern in the air ^{for our safety} the only
revealer of the night in all Amherst -- Those
lanterns and "lantern-bearers" what chapters
could be written of them! Stevenson alone could
do them justice -- As a young girl after this experience
as I removed my few simple adornings I used to
wonder to myself why in the many noon