THE DONKEY-BOY. 19 zenbach, whose kindness I stall 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 oneeyed imp, I called at random : " Abdallah ! " This, it happened, was actually his name, and he came trotting up, holding the stirrup ready for me to mount. The quickness with which these young Arabs pick up languages, is truly astonishing. " Come 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 then.' meaning, whereupon he put his knowledge into practice by asking me : " Come vi cliiamate?''' "Abbas Pasha," I replied. "Oh, well," was his prompt rejoinder, " if you are Abbas Pasha, then I am Seyd Pasha." The nest morning he was at the door with his donkey, which I fully intended to mount, but became entangled in a wilderness of donkeys, out of which Ibrahim extricated 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 Mahmoudieh Canal, accompanied by Ibrahim, to inspect the barks.

Like all dragomen, Ibrahim had his private preferences, and