a roar of rage. In a moment we were
on our feet, and dashing away toward the sound.

The sight that greeted us was a strange one, and horribly picturesque.
In front of a low-roofed house of stone was a crowd of Mahommedans
fierce with anger and loud in imprecation. Knives were flashing; murder
was afoot. There stood, with his back to the door of the house, a
Somauli policeman, defending himself against this raging little mob. Not
defending himself alone. Within the house he had thrust a wretched Jew,
who had defiled a Mahommedan mosque; and he was here protecting him
against these nervous champions of the faith.

Once, twice, thrice, they reached him; but he fought on with his
unwounded arm. We were unarmed and helpless; no Somaulis were near.
Death glittered in these white blades. But must this Spartan die?

Now there was another cry, a British cheer, a gleam of blue and red,
a glint of steel rounding the corner at our left, and the Mahommedans
broke away, with a parting lunge at the Somauli. British soldiers took
the place of the bloodthirsty mob.

Danger over, the Somauli sank down on the threshold, fainting from loss
of blood. As we looked at him gashed all over, but not mortally wounded,
Blithelygo said with glowing triumph: "British, British, you see!"

At that moment the door of the house opened, and out crawled to the feet
of the officer in command the miserable Israelite with his red hemmed
skirt and greasy face. For this cowardly creature the Somauli policeman
had perilled his life. Sublime! How could we help thinking of the talk
at his Excellency's table?

Suddenly the Somauli started up and looked round anxiously. His eyes
fell on the Jew. His countenance grew peaceful. He sank back again into
the arms of the surgeon and said, pointing to the son of Abraham: "He
owe me for a donkey."

Major Warham looking at Blithelygo said with a chilled kind of lustre to
his voice: "British, so British, don't you know!"

A VULGAR FRACTION

Sometimes when, like Mirza, I retire to my little Hill of Bagdad for
meditation, there comes before me the bright picture of Hawaii with
its coral-bulwarked islands and the memory of an idle sojourn on their
shores. I remember the rainbow-coloured harbour of Honolulu Hilo, the
simply joyous Arcadie at the foot of Mauna Loa, and Mauna Kea which
lifted violet shoulders to the morning, the groves of cocoa-palms and
tamarinds, the waterfalls dropping over sheer precipices a