is the story of the _Dwarf Nosey_.

Such was the story of the Frankish slave. When he had finished, Ali
Banu had fruits served to him and the other slaves, and conversed,
while they were eating, with his friends. The young men who had been
introduced into the room so stealthily, were loud in their praises of
the sheik, his house, and all his surroundings. "Really," said the
young writer, "there is no pleasanter way of passing the time than in
hearing stories. I could sit here the livelong day with my legs
crossed, and one arm resting on a cushion, with my head supported by my
hand, and, if allowable, the sheik's nargileh in my hand, and so
situated listen to stories with the greatest zest. Something like this,
I fancy, will be our existence in the Gardens of Mohammed."

"So long as you are young and able to work," replied the old man, who
had conducted the young men into the house, "you can not be in earnest
in such an idle wish. At the same time, I admit that there is a
peculiar charm about these narratives. Old as I am--and I am now in my
seventy-seventh year--and much as I have already heard in my life,
still I am not ashamed when I see a large crowd gathered round a
story-teller at the corner, to take my place there too and listen to
him. The listener dreams that he is an actor in the events that are
narrated; he lives for the time being amongst these people, among these
wonderful spirits, with fairies and other folk, whom one does not meet
every day; and has afterwards, when he is alone, the means of
entertaining himself, just as does the traveller through the desert,
who has provided well for his wants."

"I had never thought much about wherein the charm of these stories
lay," responded another of the young men. "But I agree with you. When I
was a child, I could always be quieted with a story. It mattered not,
at first, of what it treated, so long as it was told me, so long as it
was full of incidents and changes. How often have I, without
experiencing the slightest fatigue, listened to those fables which wise
men have devised, and in which they express a world of wisdom in a
sentence: stories of the fox and the foolish stork, of the fox and the
wolf, and dozens of stories of lions and other animals. As I grew
older, and associated more with men, those short stories failed to
satisfy me; I required longer ones, which treated too of people and
their wonderful fortunes."

"Yes, I recall that time very plainl