The spacious inner court was arranged as an
open conservatory; in this was a bar for refreshments, and "Allsopp's
Pale Ale" on draught, with an ice accompaniment. What an Elysium! The
beds had SHEETS and PILLOW-CASES! neither of which had I possessed for
years.
The hotel was thronged with passengers to India, with rosy, blooming
English ladies, and crowds of my own countrymen. I felt inclined to talk
to everybody. Never was I so in love with my own countrymen and women;
but they (I mean the ladies) all had large balls of hair at the backs of
their heads! What an extraordinary change! I called Richarn, my pet
savage from the heart of Africa, to admire them. "Now, Richarn, look at
them!" I said. "What do you think of the English ladies? eh, Richarn?
Are they not lovely?"
"Wah Illahi!" exclaimed the astonished Richarn, "they are beautiful!
What hair! They are not like the negro savages, who work other people's
hair into their own heads; theirs is all real - all their own - how
beautiful!"
"Yes, Richarn," I replied, "ALL THEIR OWN!" This was my first
introduction to the "chignon."
We arrived at Cairo, and I established Richarn and his wife in a
comfortable situation, as private servants to Mr. Zech, the master of
Sheppard's Hotel. The character I gave him was one that I trust has done
him service:
