In the midst of each dark and filthy dungeon is fixed a stone, with two iron chains, to which one or two of these wretched creatures are attached by an iron ring fastened round the neck.

There they sit staring with fearfully distorted faces, their hair and beard unkempt, their bodies emaciated, and the marrow of life drying up within them.

In these foul and loathsome dens they must pine until the Almighty in his mercy loosens the chains which bind them to their miserable existence by a welcome death.

There is not _one_ instance of a cure, and truly the treatment to which they are subjected is calculated to drive a half-witted person quite mad.

And yet the Europeans can praise Mehemet Ali! Ye wretched madmen, ye poor fellahs, are ye too ready to join in this praise?
Quitting this abode of misery, my dragoman led me to "Joseph's well," which is deeply hewn out of the rock.