Khedive; and on the other side the Finance Minister, and next to him Arabi Bey, now Minister of War, to whom I sat directly opposite, and had opportunity to observe him the whole evening. I was struck with the gravity of his manner, which was serious almost to sadness. While all round the tables the company was merry and gay, he sat silent, as one absorbed in thought. I do not think he smiled the whole evening. Nor did he take a drop of wine. While Europeans and Americans were drinking freely, his glasses remained untouched. In this, as in his prayers and fastings, he is a devout Moslem, and conforms to the strictest rules of his religion. Yet there was nothing sullen in his manner, as if he would cast a silent reproach on the pleasures which he could not enjoy. On the contrary, he preserved the forms of Oriental courtesy, and whenever our eyes met across the table, he touched his breast and forehead, as if by this token he would give me the kiss of peace. Such was the man who was soon to be at the head of Egypt, not only of the army, but of the state — the leader in a war, and the captive of England.
Of course there could be no American dinner without toasts and speeches. General Stone proposed "The Memory of Washington," which was honored as usual by all rising and standing in silence. Next came "The President of the United States," to which there was a response which, reviewing the sad events of the year, paid a deserved tribute to our martyred President, and expressed generous hopes for his successor. To the name of "The Khedive," Mahmoud Pacha replied in Arabic. One of the Chamber of Notables also spake in the same language, and an officer translated his words into French. A distinguished German editor, Mr. Sonnemann of Frankfort, responded for "The Press," eulogizing the Press of America as surpassing in enterprise and independence the Press of Europe. M. de
