THE TALE OF THE ENGLISH SAILOR.* HAVE an infidel in the courtyard," replied Mustapha, "who telleth of strange things. He hath been caught like a wild beast; it is a Frank Galiongi, who hath travelled as far as that son of Shitan, Huckaback; he was found in the streets, overpowered by the forbidden juice, after having beaten many of your highness's subjects; and the cadi would have administered the bamboo, but he was as a lion, and he scattered the slaves as chaff, until he fell, and could not rise again. I have taken him from the cadi, and brought him here. He speaketh but the Frankish tongue, but the sun who shineth on me knoweth I have been in the Frank country, and Inshallah! I can interpret his meaning." "What sort of a man may he be, Mustapha?" "He is a baj baj-a stout man; he is an anhunkher, a swallower of iron. He hath sailed in the war-vessels of the Franks. He holdeth in one hand a bottle of the forbidden liquor, in the other he shakes at those who would examine him a thick stick. He hath a large handful of the precious weed which we use for our pipes in one of his cheeks, and his hair is hanging behind down to his waist, in a rolled-up mass, as thick as the arm of your slave." "It is well-we will admit him; but let there be armed men at hand. Let me have a full pipe. God is great," continued the pacha, holding out his glass to be filled; "and the bottle is nearly empty. Place the guards, and bring in the infidel." The guards in a few minutes brought into the presence of the pacha a stout-built English sailor, in the usual dress, and with a tail which hung down behind, below his waist. The sailor did not appear to like his treatment, and every now and then, as they pushed and dragged him in, turned to one side or the other, looking daggers at those who conducted him. He was sober, although his eyes bore testimony to recent intoxication; and his face, which was manly and handsome, was much disfigured by an enormous quid of tobacco in his right cheek, which gave him an appearance of natural deformity. As soon as he was near enough to the pacha the attendants let him go. Jack shook his jacket, hitched up his trousers, and said, looking furiously at them, "Well, you beggars, have you done with me at last?" Mustapha addressed the sailor in English, telling him that he was in the presence of his highness the pacha. 66 What, that old chap muffled up in shawls and furs-is he the pacha? Well, I don't think much o' he;" and the sailor turned his eyes round the room, gaping with astonishment, and perfectly unmindful how very near he was to one who could cut off his head or his tail by a single movement of his hand. "What sayeth the Frank, Mustapha?" inquired the pacha. "He is struck dumb with astonishment at the splendour of your majesty, and all that he beholds." "It is well said, by Allah!" "I suppose I may just as well come to an anchor," said the sailor, suiting the action to the word, and dropping down on the mats. "There," continued he, folding his legs in imitation of the Turks, "as it's the fashion to have a cross in your hawse in this here country, I can be a bit of a lubber as well as yourselves; I wouldn't mind if I blew a cloud as well as you, old fusty-musty." "What does the Giaour say? What son of a dog is this, to sit in our presence?" exclaimed the pacha. "He saith," replied Mustapha, "that in his country no one dare stand in the presence of the Frankish king; and, overcome by his humility, his legs refuse their office, and he sinks to the dust before you. It is even as he sayeth, for I have travelled in their country, and such is the custom of that uncivilised nation. Mashallah! but he lives in awe and trembling." "By the beard of the Prophet, he does not appear to show it outwardly," replied the pacha; "but that may be the custom also." "Be chesm, on my eyes be it," replied Mustapha, "it is even so. Frank," said Mustapha, "the pacha has sent for you that he may hear an account of all the wonderful things which you have seen. You must tell lies, and you will have gold." "Tell lies that is, to spin a yarn; well, I can do that, but my mouth's baked with thirst, and without a drop of something no yarn from me, and so you may tell the old billy-goat perched up there." "What sayeth the son of Shitan?" demanded the pacha, impatiently. "The unbeliever declareth that his tongue is glued to his mouth from the terror of your From "The Pacha of Many Tales." By permission of Messrs. George Routledge and Sons. of their kind, lo living things, an unquestionable 1 thread alive upo to the ordinary it, does not in a fess I have bee calling Piscato expectations ruin, a cruel m quiet way in never takin wriggled its fresh victim his green w pleasant riv that he does under-jaw so well, and in the mo float, and the interi not yet ho is a could at -drop duct on the leg by her for cel the La some |