"The next night, to my great annoyance, they aroused me from my devotions as before. Again did my substance disappear in providing for their demands; and, after having eaten and drunk until they were intoxicated, they went away, and I hoped to see them no more, as they were not sparing in their observations upon the new decree of your highness, relative to the shutting up of the baths."

"Proceed, good Yussuf."

"The third night they again came, and having no more money to spare, and finding them still making my house a tavern, I hoped that they would come no more; but they came again, a fourth night, and then behaved most indecorously, singing lewd songs, and calling out for wine and rakee until I could bear it no more, and I then told them that I could no longer receive them. The fat-stomached one, whom I have before mentioned, then rose, and said, 'Yussuf, we have proved your hospitality, and we thank you. No one would have received three such ill-favoured persons, and have regaled them for the love of G.o.d, as you have done. We will now reward thee. Thou art a beeldar of the palace, and we will now present thee with the sword of justice, which has been lost since the days of the great Solomon; take this, and judge not by its outward appearance. When commanded to take off the head of a criminal, if he is guilty, the sword will flash like fire, and never fail: but should he be innocent, it will become a harmless lath of wood.' I took the present, and was about to return thanks, when the three ill-favoured Moussul merchants gradually took the form of celestial beings, and vanished."

"Indeed, this is a strange story--what, did the big-bellied fellow look like an angel?"

"As an angel of light, O caliph."

"What, and the weazen-faced negro?"

"Like a houri, O caliph."

"Well, then," replied the caliph, "you shall now, Yussuf, try the power of this wonderful sword. Strike off that criminal's head."

Yussuf returned to the robber, who remained kneeling, and walked round him, crying out with a loud voice, "O sword, if this man be guilty, do thy duty; but if he be, as he has declared in his dying moments, innocent, then become thou harmless." With these words Yussuf drew his sword, and exhibited a lath of palm-wood. "He is innocent, O caliph; this man, being unjustly condemned, ought to be set free."

"Most certainly," replied the caliph, delighted with the manoeuvre of Yussuf, "let him he liberated. Chief of the beeldars, we cannot part with a man, who, like Yussuf; possesses so famous a weapon. Let there be ten more beeldars appointed, and let Yussuf have the command of them as chief, with the same perquisites and salary as the other chiefs."

Yussuf prostrated himself before the caliph, delighted with his good fortune, and as he retired, he exclaimed, "I am Yussuf, my trust is in G.o.d. Allah preserve the three Moussul merchants."

It was not long before the caliph, Giaffar, and Mesrour, appeared again as the merchants to Yussuf, and heartily enjoyed his discomfiture and confusion, when they discovered themselves. Still Yussuf enjoyed the favour of Haroun to the end of his life, and was more fortunate than Giaffar and others, who only once fell under the wrath and suspicion of the all-powerful caliph.

"Such, O pacha, is the history of Yussuf, the water-carrier."

"Yes, and a very good story too. Have you not another, Menouni?"

"Your highness," replied Mustapha, "the caravan will depart at break of day, and Menouni has but three hours to prepare. It can no longer be detained without the chief making a report to the authorities, which would not be well received."

"Be it so," replied the pacha; "let Menouni be rewarded, and we will try to find some other story-teller, until his return from his pilgrimage."

VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER FOUR.

"Mustapha," observed the pacha, taking his pipe out of his mouth, "what makes the poets talk so much about the Book of Fate?"

"The Book of Fate, your highness, is where is written our _Talleh_, or destiny. Can I say more?"

"Allah acbar! G.o.d is great! and it is well said. But why a book, when n.o.body can read it?"

"These are great words, and spiced with wisdom. O pacha! doth not Hafiz say, 'Every moment you enjoy, count it gain?' Who can say what will be the event of any thing?"

"Wallab thaib! well said, by Allah! Then why a book, if the book is sealed?"

"Yet there are wise men who can read our kismet, and foretell."

"Yes, very true; but I have observed that it is not until after an event has happened, that they tell you of it. What are these astrologers?

_Bosh_--nothing--I have said." And the pacha remained some time smoking his pipe in silence.

"May it please your highness," observed Mustapha, "I have outside a wretch who is anxious to crawl into your presence. He comes from the far-distant land of Kathay--an unbeliever, with two tails."

"Two tails! was he a pacha in his own country?"

"A pacha! Staffir Allah!--G.o.d forgive me! A dog--a most miserable dog--on my eyes be it; but still he hath two tails."

"Let the dog with two tails be admitted," replied the pacha. "We have said it."

A yellow-skinned, meagre, and wrinkled old Chinaman was brought in between two of the guards. His eyes were very small and bleared, his cheek-bones prominent; all that could be discovered of his nose were two expanded nostrils at its base; his mouth of an enormous width, with teeth as black as ink. As soon as the guards stopped, he slipped down from between them on his knees, and throwing forward his body, _kow-tow-ed_ with his head in the dust nine times, and then remained with his face down on the floor.

"Let the dog with two tails rise," said the pacha.

This order not being immediately obeyed by the servile Chinaman, each of the two guards who stood by him seized one of the plaited tails of hair, which was nearly an ell in length, and pulled up his head from the floor. The Chinaman then remained cross-legged, with his eyes humbly fixed upon the ground.

"Who art thou, dog?" said the pacha, pleased with the man's humility.

"I am of Kathay, and your vilest slave," replied the man, in good Turkish. "In my own country I was a poet. Destiny hath brought me here, and I now work in the gardens of the palace."

"If you are a poet you can tell me many a story."

"Your slave has told thousands in his lifetime, such hath been my fate."

"Talking about fate," said Mustapha, "can you tell his highness a story, in which destiny has been foretold and hath been accomplished? if so, begin."

"There is a story of my own country, O vizier! in which destiny was foretold, and was most unhappily accomplished."

"You may proceed," said Mustapha, at a sign from the pacha.

The Chinaman thrust his hand into the breast of his blue cotton shirt, and pulled out a sort of instrument made from the sh.e.l.l of a tortoise, with three or four strings stretched across, and in a low monotonous tone, something between a chant and a whine, not altogether unmusical, he commenced his story. But first he struck his instrument and ran over a short prelude, which may be imagined by a series of false notes, running as follows:--

Ti-tum, ti-tum, tilly-lilly, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti-tum, tilly-lilly, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.

As he proceeded in his story, whenever he was out of breath, he stopped, and struck a few notes of his barbarous music.

THE WONDROUS TALE OF HAN.

Who was more impa.s.sioned in his nature, who was more formed for love, than the great Han Koong Shew, known in the celestial archives as the sublime Youantee, brother of the sun and moon?--whose court was so superb--whose armies were so innumerable--whose territories were so vast--bounded as they were by the four seas, which bounded the whole universe; yet was he bound by destiny to be unhappy, and thus do I commence the wondrous tale of Han--the sorrows of the magnificent Youantee.

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly--

Yes, he felt that some one thing was wanting. All his power, his wealth, his dignity, filled not his soul with pleasure. He turned from the writings of the great Fo--he closed the book. Alas! he sighed for a second self to whom he might point out--"All this is mine." His heart yearned for a fair damsel--a maid of beauty--to whose beauty he might bow. He, to whom the world was prostrate, the universe were slaves, longed for an amorous captivity and sighed for chains. But where was the maiden to be found worthy to place fetters upon the brother of the sun and moon--the magnificent master of the universe? Where was she to be found?

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.

Yes, there was one, and but one, worthy to be his mate, worthy to be the queen of a land of eternal spring, filled with trees whose stems were of gold, branches of silver, leaves of emerald, and whose fruits were the fragrant apples of immortality. And where was this moon, fit bride unto the sun? Was she not plunged in grief--hidden in a well of her own tears--even in the gardens of joy? Those eyes which should have sunned a court of princes, were dimmed with eternal sorrow. And who was the cause of this eclipse, but the miscreant gold-loving minister, _Suchong Pollyhong Ka-te-tow_.

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly.