"What do you think of the English ladies?
eh, Richarn?
Are they not lovely ?" "Wah Illahi!" exclaimed the astonished Richarn, "they are beautiful! What hair! They are not like the negro savages, who work other people's hair into their own heads; theirs is all real--all their own--how beautiful!" "Yes, Richarn," I replied, "ALL THEIR OWN!" This was my first introduction to the "chignon." We arrived at Cairo, and I established Richarn and his wife in a comfortable situation as private servants to Mr.Zech, the master of Sheppard's Hotel.

The character I gave him was one that I trust has done him service.

He had shown an extraordinary amount of moral courage in totally reforming from his original habit of drinking.

I left my old servant with a heart too full to say good-by, a warm squeeze of his rough but honest black hand, and the whistle of the train sounded--we were off! I had left Richarn, and none remained of my people.

The past appeared like a dream; the rushing sound of the train renewed ideas of civilization.