floating sleeves till they wave backward like white wings.
Then on dash the spirited horses, dogs bark, children squeal, beggars
dodge, men swear, and women, holding their face-veil closer, ejaculate
fiercely.

On springs the syce; what cares he for man or beast? while proudly
following rolls the rich equipage, or prances the Arab steed with its
turbaned rider and Oriental robes.

Mahmoud, the subject of this little sketch, was the syce of a rich Pasha
in Cairo; he was a favorite with his master, and everybody loved
him--even the horses would neigh joyfully at his approach, and eat from
his hand as gently as a dog. His life was an easy one, for, being a
favorite, no arduous duties were placed upon him, and his strength was
encouraged and sustained by the master for the swift running which
commands so much admiration. So agile did he become, that no name among
the syce of Egypt was more renowned than that of Mahmoud. Often at the
latticed windows bright eyes of hidden beauties followed him through the
narrow streets, and watched for his coming as he led the way for his
master each morning in his rides. Sometimes they threaded their way
through the crowded bazars amid scenes of the _Arabian Nights_,
breathing wonderful Eastern perfumes, gazing on rare gems and exquisite
embroideries; and again, down the road to the Pyramids, with the soft
air blowing in his face, trees waving overhead, and birds singing
merrily; or, in the blood-red sunset, passing down the Choubra Road, the
fashionable drive of Cairo, with its shade of gnarled old sycamores, and
crowded with conveyances of every description. Sometimes he led the way
for the harem carriage, very proud of the honor.

One morning the Pasha sat in his garden under the blossoming
orange-tree, smoking his chibouque, and talking with his friend the Bey
from Alexandria, whose horse stood in the path champing impatiently at
his bit, and held by his syce, Abdullah, in his gay costume. They talked
of politics, the condition of the country, its financial troubles; they
spoke of their religion and their mosque, of the Suez Canal, the
improvements of the city, the Khedive's new palace, their own
dwelling-places. By-and-by the conversation ran upon their horses and
their favorite syce.

"Abdullah can outrun them all," said the Bey.

"Not so," replied the Pasha; "my Mahmoud is the finest runner in
Cairo--ay, in all Egpyt."

"Sayest thou so?" cried the Bey. "Come and let us test