evenings "slow." It was astonishing how much execution he accomplished with those words of very moderate caliber, "slow," "jolly," and "stunning." The universe arranged itself in Verde Giovane's mind, under those three heads. Presently it was easy to predicate his criticisms in any department. He had lofty views of travel. Verde Giovane had come forth to see the world, and vainly might the world seek to be unseen. He wished to push on to Sennaar and Ethiopia. It was very slow to go only to the cataracts. Ordinary travel, and places already beheld of men, were not for Verde. But if there were any Chinese wall to be scaled, or the English standard were to be planted upon any vague and awful Himalayan height, or a new oasis were to be revealed in the desert of Sahara, here was the heaven-appointed Verde Giovane, only awaiting his pale ale, and determined to dally a little at Esne. After subduing the East by travel, he proposed to enter the Caucasian Mountains, and serve as a Russian officer. These things were pleasant to hear, as to behold at Christmas those terrible beheadings of giants by Tom Thumb, for you enjoyed a sweet sense of security and a consciousness that no harm was done. They were wild Arabian romances, attributable to the inspiration of the climate, in the city he found so slow. The Cairenes were listening elsewhere to their poets, Verde Giovane was ours; and we knew very well that he would go quietly up to the first cataract, and then returning to Alexandria, would steam to Jaffa, and thence donkey placidly to Jerusalem, moaning in his sleep of Cheapside and St. Paul's.

His chum, Gunning, was a brisk little, barrister, dried up in the Temple like a small tart sapson. In the course of acquaintance with him, you stumbled surprised upon the remains of geniality and gentle culture, as you would upon Greek relics in Greenland. He was a victim of the Circe, Law, but not entirely unhumanized. Like the young king, he was half marble, but not all stony. Gunning's laugh was very ludicrous. It had no fun in it. -no more sweetness than a crow's caw, and it sprang upon you suddenly and startling, like the breaking down of a cart overloaded with stones. He was very ugly and moody, and walked apart muttering to himself, and nervously grinning ghastly grins, so that Gunning was sus pected of insanity—a suspicion that became certainty when he fringed his mouth with stiff black bristles, and went up the Nile with Verde Giovane..

For the little Verde did say a final farewell at last, and left the dining-room gayly and gallantly, as a stage bandit disappears down pasteboard rocks to desperate encounters with mugs of beer in the green-room.

XI

Berde pia Gio na ne.

I KNEW at Cairo, too, another youth, whom I was sure was a Verde. I thought him brother of the good Verde Giovane, but he denied all relationship, although I am convinced he was at least first cousin. Possibly, you know not the modesty of the Indian Englishman.

It was in the same dining-room, and the youth was expatiating to Major Pendennis upon his braving the desert dangers from Suez, of his exploits of heroism, and endurance upon the Nile voyage, which he had already made, and was again projecting, and generally of things innumerable, and to lesser men insuperable, undergone or overborne.

"And up the Nile, too," said he, "I carried no bed, and slept upon the bench; over the desert I go with one camel, and she carries every thing. Why will men travel with such retinues, caring for their abominable comfort;" and the young gentleman ordered his nargileh.

"But, my dear sir," said Major Pendennis, "why rough it here upon the Nile? It is harder to do that than to go comfortably. You might as well rough it through England. The bottle, if you please."

"Why, Major," returned the youth, smiling in his turn, and crowding his body into his chair, so that the back of his head rested upon the chair-back, "it is well enough for some of you, but we poor East India subalterns! Besides, you know, Major, discipline-not only military, which is in our way, but moral. For what says the American poet, who, I doubt not, lives ascetically in some retired cave:

"Know how sublime a thing it is

To suffer and be strong."

So saying, the young man clapped his hands, and a Hindoo boy in his native costume appeared. The youth addressed some words to him in an unknown tongue, which produced no effect until he pointed to his nargileh, and rising at the same time, the slave removed the nargileh a few steps toward his master, who curled up his feet and prepared to suffer and be strong in the sofa

corner.

By this time Galignani and the French news were entirely uninteresting to me. Who this was?-this personage who modestly styled himself we "poor East India subalterns," and summoned Hindoo servants to turn round his nargileh, and hob-nobbed with Major Pendennises, and who suffered and was strong in such pleasant ways.

Major Pendennis shoving his chair a little back, said, When I was in the East," and compared experience of travel with his young friend.

The Major, truly a gallant gentleman, related the Roman hardihood of those British officers who advance into the heart of Hindostan and penetrate to Persia, reclining upon cushioned camels, resting upon piles of Persian carpets on elevated frameworks under silken tents, surrounded by a shining society of servants and retinue, so that, to every effective officer, every roaring and rampant British Lion of this caliber, go eight or ten attendant supernumeraries, who wait upon his nargileh, coffee, sherbet, and pale ale, and care generally for his suffering and strength.

In the dim dining-room, I listened wondering to these wild tales of military hardship sung by a soldier-poet. I fancied as the periods swelled, that I heard the hoary historian reciting the sparkling romance of Xerxes' marches and the shining advance of Persian arms. But no sooner had the Major ceased his story, than "we poor East India subalterns" "took up the wondrous tale."

The Howadji weltered then in a whirlpool of brilliant confusion. Names of fair fame bubbled up from the level tone of his speech, like sudden sun-seeking fountains from bloom-matted plains. I heard Bagdad, Damascus, Sinai, and farther and fairer, the Arabian Gulf, Pearls and Circassians. I knew that he was telling of where he had been, or might have been, or wished to have been. The rich romance reeled on. The fragrant smoke curled in heavier clouds. I felt that my experience was like a babe unborn, beside that of this mighty man, who knew several things, and had brushed the bloom from life with

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