d here, he did not go away.
Fresh apricots he sells down in the square.
"Repose," he murmurs, "is the best of foods,
And here my little heart shall stay in peace."

When Abd-el-Quader, undertaker's son.
Falls in his fits of folly, he binds round
His figure with a cord and does not lie
Inert and stiff. But still they scorpions see
In Altai's hand, Chaouch of Aissaoua.

Faradjy--fop--eats fire and fig-leaves now;
The while Hasan the Rat excites him on
To doughty deeds with his loud tambourine.
Playing with all his might and all his soul.
They dragged the hedge-rows green of El Qettar
To pay this tribute to the Emperor.

That fop, Ben Zerfa, who chopped hashish seeds
Among us here, said: "We have had good luck
This summer, and I'm going to pay my debts.
I'll execute my drill with stick and sword
And serve my sheik the very best I can."

If you had seen Ben Zerfa as he ran,
So lightly, bearing on his sturdy back
A basket filled with, heaven alone knows what!
It looked like cactus-pears, the basket closed.

El Hadj Batata--see his silly trance!
With shirt unbuttoned and with collar off,
And cap on eyes, at beating of the drums,
He shows his tuft denuded all of hair.
Even Mostafa ben el Meddah desired
To go to Paris and his fortune make.
"On my return," he said, "I'll buy a lamp,
A coffee-tray, and goodly sugar-bowl;
A big and little mattress, too, I'll buy,
A carpet and a rug so soft and fine."
Es Snybla, bellows-faced, who used to work
For our good mayor, off to Paris went
To make the soldiers' coffee. When he comes
Back home again, so much he will have earned.
He will be richer than a merchant great.

Oh, welcome, Sydy Omar! All of Paris
Is charmed to see you, O my Snybla dear!
If he would only go to Mexico,
And stay there it would be a riddance good.

He is a cafekeeper, and his son
A baker. For associate he has
Sydy Aly Mehraz, who does his work
Astride a thorn; he surely doth deserve
Our compliments. All three you see are dressed
In duck, in fashion of the Christian men.
There's de Merzong; the people say he's good,
But still they fear him, he is so uncouth.
Good God! When he begins aloud to cry
In Soudanese, it is enough to make
You fly to the antipodes away.

Oulyd ben Zamoum saw his cares increase--
Since he is a musician, as he thinks,
The world is rid of him. And when he starts