The kind gentleman sat by his bedside, and grieved to find that Pambé talked in strange tongues, instead of listening to good books, and almost seemed to become a benighted heathen again—till one day he was roused from semi-stupor by a voice in the street by the dock-head. “My friend—he,” whispered Pambé. “Call now—call Nurkeed. Quick! God has sent him!” “He wanted one of his own race,” said the kind gentleman; and, going out, he called “Nurkeed!” at the top of his voice. An excessively coloured man in a rasping white shirt and brand-new slops, a shining hat, and a breast-pin, turned round. Many voyages had taught Nurkeed how to spend his money and made him a citizen of the world. “Hi! Yes!” said he, when the situation was explained. “Command him—black nigger—when I was in the _Saarbruck_. Ole Pambé, good ole Pambé. Dam lascar. Show him up, Sar”; and he followed into the room. One glance told the stoker what the kind gentleman had overlooked. Pambé was desperately poor. Nurkeed drove his hands deep into his pockets, then advanced with clenched fists on the sick, shouting, “Hya, Pambé. Hya! Hee-ah! Hulla! Heh! Takilo! Takilo! Make fast aft, Pambé. You know, Pambé. You know me. Dekho, jee! Look! Dam big fat lazy lascar!” Pambé beckoned with his left hand. His right was under his pillow. Nurkeed removed his gorgeous hat and stooped over Pambé till he could catch a faint whisper. “How beautiful!” said the kind gentleman. “How these Orientals love like children!” “Spit him out,” said Nurkeed, leaning over Pambé yet more closely. “Touching the matter of that fish and onions,” said Pambé—and sent the knife home under the edge of the rib-bone upwards and forwards. There was a thick, sick cough, and the body of the African slid slowly from the bed, his clutching hands letting fall a shower of silver pieces that ran across the room. “Now I can die!” said Pambé. But he did not die. He was nursed back to life with all the skill that money could buy, for the Law wanted him; and in the end he grew sufficiently healthy to be hanged in due and proper form. Pambé did not care particularly; but it was a sad blow to the kind gentleman. ONE VIEW OF THE QUESTION Copyright, 1893, by D. Appleton & Co. _From Shafiz Ullah Khan, son of Hyat Ullah Khan, in the honoured service of His Highness the Rao Sahib of Jagesur, which is in the northern borders of Hindustan, and Orderly to His Highness, this to Kazi Jamal-ud-Din, son of Kazi Ferisht ud Din Khan, in the service of the Rao Sahib, a minister much honoured. From that place which they call the Northbrook Club, in the town of London, under the shadow of the Empress, it is written_: Between brother and chosen brother be no long protestations of Love and Sincerity. Heart speaks naked to Heart, and the Head answers for all. Glory and Honour on thy house till the ending of the years, and a tent in the borders of Paradise.