The British troops were entrained to-day at noon. Two Soudanese and one Egyptian regiment lined the entry to the railway station as a guard of honour. The young Khedive himself, accompanied by his brother, Mehemet Ali Bey, and followed by Zulfikar Pasha and many of the court functionaries, drove to the station to bid them farewell, and arriving a few moments before the first of the departing regiments, caused his carriage to be so placed that the men must march past it. As each regiment passed him, His Highness, who had alighted and stood beside the victoria, saluted, and said repeatedly ‘Good-bye, gentlemen,’ in English. To entrain the troops took, of course, some little time, and the —— remained a while in the small square outside the station while their comrades were taking their places in the coaches. His Highness, who looked very grave and had spoken but briefly with Sir Evelyn Baring and other English gentlemen present, had entered his carriage, and the sayces had leapt to their places before it, when suddenly a voice shouted, ‘Three cheers for Abbas Pasha.’ Who the enthusiast was I do not care to guess; but the cry was taken up eagerly. Despite discipline, despite etiquette, against propriety even though it was, a mighty cheer burst from the waiting troops round the royal carriage, and was echoed from within the station with redoubled volume. The Khedive seemed for a moment overcome. Then he drove quickly away. The farewell of the native populace to the troops as they marched through the streets was pathetic in its earnestness. By a purely spontaneous motion all Cairo had gathered wherever it could to wish the Englishmen ‘God go with you.’ The passage of the regiments was marked by innumerable incidents showing the affection in which the men were held and the genuine distress of the people at their loss. A typical instance of this native enthusiasm is worth recording. In the —— regiment—I purposely avoid naming it—for some time quartered in the Citadel, is a turbulent giant known as ‘Mad Donald’—a long service man, greatly liked, known for gallantry in the field, and steady enough on parade; but who has twice lost his stripes for drunkenness. For he is not content to be passively drunk, but must also be violent. Under the influence of alcohol destruction becomes his ruling passion. In his periodical outbursts Donald has been a terror to the many street merchants whose displays of fragile wares cumber the Er Rumeyleh Square, at the head of the Mooskee. He has overturned their tables, made wholesale havoc of their goods, and fought the crowd with the trestles of the spoiled. His chief enemy and victim has been an old dealer in gaudy crockery and glass ornaments, whose entire stock he has several times reduced to shivers, and then danced upon the wreck, defying the police. Yet to-day as the —— marched by, with stalwart Donald leading man of his company, this old man dragged his table forward, crying, ‘Ya, Donal; ya, Donal;