Centre Democrat. [volume] (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1848-1989, 1883-01-04
THE MAMELUKE'S LEAP.

THE MAMELUKE'S LEAP.
There are few more striking city
landscapes in the whole of Africa
though there may be many handsomer
than the panorama of Cairo. where an.
cent and modern Mohammcdanism
stand represented side by side As a
mere picture. the traveller may perhaps
give his preference to the towering red
cliffs and terraced streets of Oran, the
magnificent crescent of white houses
surmounting the green sloping hills
and sparkling waters of Algiers bay,
or the strange little eagles nest of
Constantine perched on the summit of
perpendicular crag. and cncrcled on
all sides but one by a hidcous chasm
800 feet in depth. But in the pictur-
esque Imingling Of the past and the
present, of quaint Eastern harbarism
and jaunty Western civilization, Cairo
stands alone.
1t must be owned. however, that the
late Khedive's efforts 10 make his capi-
tai cheap edition of Paris have had
anything but a satisfactory result.
Moslem cities are as conservative as
their inhabitants, and do not take kind
" TO the bustling new-fangled notions
of the West The Shurbra Gardens.
indeed (Which form the park Of Cairo1,
are charming foil TO the hot, dusty
plain all around; and so, too. is the long
avenue Of date palms extending from
the Nile almost to where the mighty
crests of the pyramids are seen looming
against the rich tropical sky on the
border of the everlasting desert. But
there is a garish. offensive smartncss
about every street of the new "Ismail-
iyeh Quarter" with its tall, white
hotels and bride-cake-likc villas. and
inclosed grass-plots sorely in need of
watering; and it is quite a relief to
turn from this "madc-to-order" town
into the maze Of dark, narrow, Oriental
streets around the base of the citadel
hill, where one may still see what the
great city was in the days when she
drst received her Arabic title Of al
Kahira."
Here, indeed, you may take your fiji
Of Eastern associations. You seem to
be looking up from the bottom Of
we'll at the bright summer sky, which
is only visible as little ribbon Of burn
ing light far overhead. between the
fiat, heavy-battlemented roofs Of the
strange old houses, with their blank
massive walls and deep tunnel-like
doorways. All around you the quaint,
old-world life of the Arabian Nights"
Is in full swing. The gray-bearded bar
Der Is chatting to his Arab customer as
he shaves his crown. The laden camel
striding up the narrow, rubbish-heapcd
street, almost tramples upon a tur-
baned loafer who is too lazy to get out
of the way. The "kabobH" (sellcr Of
cooked meats) sets out upon the narrow
aOard before him his little squares Of
Inoking mutton, each impaled upon its
own tiny spit. The deformcd beggar
extends the shapeless mass Of sores
which serves him "a a hand, with a
thrill petition for charity. The bare
limbed water-carrier waddles past un-
der his dripping bag Of skin, eyed envi-
ously by the tattered, dusty pilgrim
from Mecca, who is looking around in
search Of a bath-house The veiled
woman glides noiselessly past in her
shroud-like robe, like a risen corpse
while the gaunt, half-clad, wild-eyet
dervish (religious devotee) stalks
through the crowd yelling like a mac
man, and tossing his bare arms franti
caIly in the air.
Amid such scene one would hardly
be surprised to come upon Khojah Has
san, or Sinbad. the sailor. snugly seate,
in a shady corner and recounting TO
circle.of admiring listeners one Of thos
interminable stories which delighte'
the CaIiph Haroun Al-Raschid. BE
core YOU reach the foot of the winding