190 I GO A-FISHING. 



er boys. The world produces not dissimilar specimens 

 of humanity in different parts of its rugged surface. Here 

 was a boy like the son of a poor farmer in America, born 

 to poverty, but born with some degree of hope beyond the 

 small circle of his home — beyond the hills that inclosed 

 the narrow valley of the Nile. Why not ? Is there any 

 reason why an Egyptian boy should have less ambition 

 now than had one who led the armies of the valley across 

 the mountains of Syria and up to the summits of Leba- 

 non ? Not such, however, was the ambition of Hassanein. 

 No dreams of power or pomp of arms — no thought of 

 gorgeous halls and Aladdin palaces haunted his waking 

 thoughts or sleeping fancies. Sometimes, he said, there 

 did come into his brain a strange, wild vision. He could 

 not describe it. He did not understand it himself. He 

 only remembered that when a passing boat brought news 

 to the village of the splendor of Ibrahim Pacha's career, 

 he had a strange impulse to go with him to the ends of 

 the earth, and he went. For clays and weeks he floated 

 clown the ancient river on a loaded boat, and at last 

 reached Cairo and saw the armies of the great warrior 

 preparing for the Syrian campaign. 



I did not fully understand in what capacity Hassanein 

 went to Syria. It was not as a soldier ; perhaps it was 

 as servant to some officer of the army. Enough that 

 when the triumphant march took place through the Holy 

 Land he went along the way. It was strange to hear 

 him speak so carelessly of places that are so renowned. 

 It was pleasant to lie and hear a man talk of Jerusalem 

 and the plains of the Holy Land, naming them indeed by 

 Arab names, but names that I had already learned well, 

 and talking of them only as illustrating the swift career 

 of the great son of Mohammed Ali. 



