ers are not to go
about the streets, drunken like the Giaours of Franguistan, who come
here in their ships. Why is wine forbidden? because it makes men drunk.
If then we are not drunk, we keep within the law. Why was the law made?
Laws cannot be made for all; they must therefore be made for the control
of the majority--Is it not so? Who are the majority? Why the poor. If
laws were made for the rich and powerful, such laws would not suit the
community at large. Mashallah! there are no laws for pachas, who have
only to believe that there is one God and Mahomet is his prophet. Does
your slave say well?"

"Excellently well, Mustapha," replied the pacha, lifting the pitcher to
his mouth for a minute, and then passing it to Mustapha.

"Allah Karim! God is most merciful! your slave must drink; is it not the
pleasure of your highness? As the wine poured down the throat of your
highness, pervades through your whole frame to the extremities, so does
your slave participate in your bounty. Do I not sit in your sublime
presence? Can the sun shine without throwing out heat; therefore if your
highness drink, must not I drink? Allah Acbar! who shall presume not to
follow the steps of the pacha?" So saying, Mustapha lifted up the
pitcher, and, for a minute, it was glued to his lips.

"I think that story should be written down," observed the pacha, after
a pause of a few moments.

"I have already given directions, your highness, and the Greek slave is
now employed about it, improving the language to render it more pleasing
to the ears of your sublime highness, should it be your pleasure to have
it read to you on some future day."

"That is right, Mustapha, if I recollect well, the Caliph Haroun used to
command them to be written in letters of gold, and be deposited in the
archives: we must do the same."

"The art no longer exists, your highness."

"Then we must be content with Indian-ink," replied the pacha, lifting
the pitcher to his mouth, and emptying it.

"The sun will soon be down, Mustapha, and we must set off."

Chapter II

The pacha called for coffee, and in a few minutes, accompanied, as
before, by Mustapha and the armed slaves, was prowling through the city
in search of a story-teller. He was again fortunate, as after a walk of
half an hour, he overheard two men loudly disputing at the door of a
small wine-shop, frequented by the Greeks and Franks living in the city,
and into which many a slave might be obse