walking along the ranks, asked each man, ‘Do you fast?’ ‘Do you?’ A few confessed with fear and trembling—many denied. At last a young soldier stepped forward and said very respectfully, ‘Oh, Effendina! I have read in the Commandment of God, given in the Koran, that we must fast. If I neglect the commands of my God, how shall I be faithful to those of an earthly ruler?’ ‘What is your name?’ ‘Ahmed Arabi.’ ‘Take him from my sight!’ No one expected ever to see him again, but next day he was not only sent back to his regiment, but with the increased rank of corporal. This is the man of whom we read in the despatches of last winter that the motive power of all his actions is cowardice. I next hear of him in the disastrous Abyssinian War. His duty was to arrange for the transport of provisions and baggage—not much glory or fame to be gathered there, though no fault was found with his efficiency or discipline. But even then, I have been told by a European officer who went through the campaign, his influence was growing. Each night, when the day’s work was done, it was round him that the soldiers gathered, and he preached, or spoke, or recited the Koran to them. It was in February, last year, that the Egyptian authorities, having no ground of accusation against Arabi, but distrusting him as ‘a man with ideas,’ tried to put him out of the way quietly, but failed. He had a short time before, in conjunction with two other colonels, Abdullal, of the Black Regiment, and Ali Fehmy, presented a petition asking for an inquiry into the grievances of the army, which was accepted. In February, these three colonels received a summons from the Khedive to come to the Abdin Palace to receive orders for the arrangement of a procession which was to be formed next day on the occasion of the marriage of one of the Princesses. Their suspicions were aroused, and before going to the Palace they left a message with their regiments—‘If we are not back at sunset, come for us.’ As soon as they arrived at the Palace they were seized, thrown into a room, their swords taken from them, and the doors locked. Whether their friends would ever have seen them again is a matter for speculation; all Cairo to this day says ‘No’; but at sunset the soldiers arrived, demanding their officers, and then it was too late to do anything but throw the doors open as quickly as might be and let the prisoners out. Those who saw the release say that the two other colonels seemed in a great hurry to be safe in their barracks again, but Arabi walked slowly out, calm and unmoved as usual, Those who take the trouble may read this story, plainly told in the Blue-books published in June. Why is it that one hears so often of Arabi’s mutiny, but never of the first act in the piece which led to it?