aws. They have heard this all their lives, but always laugh
at it with the same heartiness. Why, Shedad, son of Amroo,' continued
Baroni to an Arab near him, 'you have listened to this ever since you
first tasted liban, and it still pleases you!'

'I am never wearied with listening to fine language,' said the Bedouin;
'perfumes are always sweet, though you may have smelt them a thousand
times.'

Except when there was some expression of feeling elicited by the
performance, a shout or a laugh, the silence was absolute. Not a whisper
could be heard; and it was in a muffled tone that Baroni intimated to
Tancred that the great Sheikh was present, and that, as this was his
first appearance since his illness, he must pay his respects to Amalek.
So saying, and preceding Tancred, in order that he might announce his
arrival, Baroni approached the pavilion. The great Sheikh welcomed
Tancred with a benignant smile, motioned to him to sit upon his carpet;
rejoiced that he was recovered; hoped that he should live a thousand
years; gave him his pipe, and then, turning again to the poet, was
instantly lost in the interest of his narrative. Baroni, standing as
near Tancred as the carpet would permit him, occasionally leant over and
gave his lord an intimation of what was occurring.

After a little while, the poet ceased. Then there was a general hum and
great praise, and many men said to each other, 'All this is true, for my
father told it to me before.' The great Sheikh, who was highly pleased,
ordered his slaves to give the poet a cup of coffee, and, taking from
his own vest an immense purse, more than a foot in length, he extracted
from it, after a vast deal of research, one of the smallest
of conceivable coins, which the poet pressed to his lips, and,
notwithstanding the exiguity of the donation, declared that God was
great.

'O Sheikh of Sheikhs,' said the poet, 'what I have recited, though it is
by the gift of God, is in fact written, and has been ever since the days
of the giants; but I have also dipped my pen into my own brain, and
now I would recite a poem which I hope some day may be suspended in the
temple of Mecca. It is in honour of one who, were she to rise to our
sight, would be as the full moon when it rises over the desert. Yes, I
sing of Eva, the daughter of Amalek (the Bedouins always omitted Besso
in her genealogy), Eva, the daughter of a thousand chiefs. May she never
quit the tents of her race! May she always r