something of the customs of the people, I should have given him my hand, perhaps drawn him between my knees, put an arm around his waist, and talked familiarly; but I thought it best to wait and see how he would behave toward me.

He first made me a graceful salutation just as a man would have done, then took my hand and gently touched

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it to his heart, lips, and forehead, after which he took his seat on the high divan or bench by my side. Here he again made a salutation, clapped his hands thrice to 10 summon the woman, and ordered coffee to be brought.

"Is Your Excellency in good health?" he asked.

"I am very well, praised be Allah!" I answered. "Has Your Excellency any commands for me? You have but to speak; you shall be obeyed."

"You are very kind," said I; "but I have need of 5 nothing. I bring you greetings from the Pasha, your father, and this letter, which I promised him to deliver into your own hands."

Thereupon I handed him the letter, which he laid to his heart and lips before opening. After he had read the 10 letter, the boy turned to me with his face a little flushed and his eyes sparkling, and said, "Will Your Excellency permit me to ask whether you have another letter?"

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"Yes," I answered; "but it is not to be delivered here."

"That is right," said he. "When shall you reach Cairo ?"

"It depends on the wind; but I hope in seven days from now."

The boy whispered to the schoolmaster, but presently 20 they both nodded as if satisfied, and nothing more was said on the subject.

Some sherbet (which is nothing but lemonade flavored with rose water) and pomegranates were then brought to me, and the boy asked whether I would not honor him by 25 remaining during the rest of the day. If I had not seen

his face, I should have supposed I was visiting a man,— so dignified and self-possessed was the little fellow.

The people looked on as if they were quite accustomed to such mature manners in children. I was obliged to use as much ceremony with the child as if he had been 5 the governor of the town. But he interested me, nevertheless, and I felt curious to know the subject of his consultation with the schoolmaster. I was sure they were forming some plan to have the Pasha recalled from exile.

After two or three hours I went away in order to over- 10 take my boat, which was slowly working its way down. the Nile. The boy arose and walked by my side to the end of the town, the other people following us. When we came out upon the plain he took leave of me with the same salutations, and the words, "May God grant Your 15 Excellency a prosperous journey!"

"May God grant it!" I responded; and all the people repeated, "May God grant it!"

The whole interview seemed to me like a scene out of the "Arabian Nights." To me it was a pretty, picturesque 20 experience which cannot be forgotten: to the people, no doubt, it was an everyday matter.

Abridged.

Khartoum': a town in Africa in the Soudan. - Pasha': an officer of high rank. — Vice'roy: the governor of a country; a man who rules in the place of the king. Allah: the Mohammedan name for God. - "Arabian Nights" a book of Eastern fairy tales.

A TRIUMPH

CELIA THAXTER

CELIA THAXTER, an American writer, was born at Portsmouth, N.H., in 1835. Much of her life was spent on the Isles of Shoals, a group of small, rocky islands near the coast of New Hampshire. Mrs. Thaxter had a great love for flowers and for the sea. She died in 1894.

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Little Roger up the long slope rushing

Through the rustling corn,

Showers of dewdrops from the broad leaves brushing
In the early morn,

At his sturdy little shoulder bearing,

For a banner gay,

Stem of fir with one long shaving flaring

In the wind away!

Up he goes, the summer sunrise flushing
O'er him in his race,

Sweeter dawn of rosy childhood blushing
On his radiant face;

If he can but set his standard glorious
On the hill-top low,

Ere the sun climbs the clear sky victorious,
All the world aglow!

So he presses on with childish ardor,
Almost at the top!

Hasten Roger! Does the way grow harder?
Wherefore do you stop?

From below the cornstalks tall and slender

Comes a plaintive cry;

Turns he for an instant from the splendor

Of the crimson sky,

Wavers, then goes flying towards the hollow,
Calling loud and clear,

"Coming, Jenny! Oh, why did you follow?

Don't you cry, my dear!"