ter--are not the place for serious history. Nor
is the page completed so that it can be described as a whole. Egypt at
this moment is the scene of history in the actual process of making, if
the term may be so used--making day by day and hour by hour. Arabi has
been called the modern Masaniello. The watchword of his revolt was,
"Egypt for the Egyptians"; and there is always something touching in
this cry when the invaded country is weak and the incoming power is
strong. But it may be answered that the Egyptians at present are
incapable of governing themselves; that the country, if left to its own
devices, would revert to anarchy in a month, and to famine, desolation,
and barbarism in five years. Americans are not concerned with these
questions of the Eastern world. But if a similar cry had been
successfully raised about two hundred years ago on another
coast--"America for the Americans"--would the Western continent have
profited thereby? Doubtless the original Americans--those of the red
skins--raised it as loudly as they could. But there was not much
listening. The comparison is stretched, for the poor Egyptian fellah is
at least not a savage; but there is a grain of resemblance large enough
to call for reflection, when the question of occupation and improvement
of a half-civilized land elsewhere is under discussion. The English put
down the revolt, and sent Arabi to Ceylon, a small Napoleon at St.
Helena. The rebel colonel and his fellow-exiles are at present enjoying
those spicy breezes which are associated in our minds with foreign
missions and a whole congregation singing (and dragging them fearfully)
the celebrated verses. Arabi has complained of the climate in spite of
the perfumes, and it is said that he is to be transferred to some other
point in the ocean; there are, indeed, many of them well adapted for the
purpose. The English newspapers of to-day are dotted with the word
"shadowed," which signifies, apparently, that certain persons in Ireland
are followed so closely by a policeman that the official might be the
shadow. Possibly the melancholy Khedive is shadowed by the memory of the
exile of Ceylon. For Tufik did not cast his lot with Arabi. He turned
towards the English. To use the word again, though with another
signification, though ruler still, he has but a shadowy power.

[Illustration: AN EGYPTIAN DANCING-GIRL]

THE ARAB MUSEUM

Near the city gate named the Help of God, on the northeastern border