THE DONKEY-BOY. 19.

zenbach, whose kindness I shall always gratefully remember

accompanied us. As we sat under the acacias, sipping the

black Turkish coffee, the steamer for Cairo passed, disturbing

the serenity of the air with its foul smoke, and marring the

delicious repose of the landscape in such wise, that we vowed

we would have nothing to do with steam so long as we voyaged

on the Nile. Our donkey-drivers patiently held the bridles

of our long-eared chargers till we were ready to return. It

was dark, and not seeing at first my attendant, a little one-

eyed imp, I called at random : " Abdallah ! "

This, it hap-

pened, was actually his name, and he came trotting up, hold-

ing the stirrup ready for me to mount. The quickness with

which these young Arabs pick up languages, is truly astonish-

ing.

" Gome vi chiamate ? "

(what's your name ?) I asked

of Abdallah, as we rode homeward. The words were new to

him, but I finally made him understand their meaning, where-

upon he put his knowledge into practice by asking me : " Come

vi chiamate ? " " Abbas Pasha," I replied. " Oh, well,"

was his prompt rejoinder, " if you are Abbas Pasha, then I am

Seyd Pasha." The next morning he was at the door with his

donkey, which I fully intended to mount, but became entan-

gled in a wilderness of donkeys, out of which Ibrahim extri-

cated me by hoisting me on another animal. As I rode away,

I caught a glimpse of the little fellow, crying lustily over his

disappointment.

We three chance companions fraternized so agreeably that

we determined to hire a boat for Cairo, in preference to waiting

for the next steamer. We accordingly rode over to the Mah-

moudieh Canal, accompanied by Ibrahim, to inspect the barks.

Like all dragomen, Ibrahim had his private preferences, and