Part 30 (1/2)

'And you are witty,' rejoined the Guebre. ''Tis a wondrous day.'

'What shall we do?' said Kisloch.

'Let us dine,' proposed the Negro.

'Ay! under this plane-tree,' said Calidas. ''Tis pleasant to be alone. I hate everybody but ourselves.'

'Here stop, you rascal,' said the Guebre. 'What's your name?'

'I am a Hadgee,' said our old friend Abdallah, the servant of the charitable merchant Ali, and who was this day one of the officiating stewards.

'Are you a Jew, you scoundrel?' said the Guebre, 'that is the only thing worth being. Bring some wine, you accursed Giaour!'

'Instantly,' said Kisloch, 'and a pilau.' 'And a gazelle stuffed with almonds,' said Calidas. 'And some sugar-plums,' said the Negro. 'Quick, you infernal Gentile, or I'll send this javelin in your back,' hallooed the Guebre.

The servile Abdallah hastened away, and soon bustled back, bearing two flagons of wine, and followed by four servants, each with a tray covered with dainties.

'Where are you going, you accursed scoundrels?' grumbled Kisloch; 'wait upon the true believers.' 'We shall be more free alone,' whispered Calidas. 'Away, then, dogs,' growled Kisloch. Abdallah and his attendants hurried off, but were soon summoned back.

'Why did you not bring Schiraz wine?' asked Calidas, with an eye of fire.

'The pilau is overdone,' thundered Kisloch. 'You have brought a lamb stuffed with pistachio-nuts, instead of a gazelle with almonds,' said the Guebre.

'Not half sugar-plums enough,' said the Negro. 'Everything is wrong,'

said Kisloch. 'Go, and get us a kabob.'

In time, however, even this unmanageable crew were satisfied; and, seated under their plane-tree, and stuffing themselves with all the dainties of the East, they became more amiable as their appet.i.tes decreased. 'A b.u.mper, Calidas, and a song,' said Kisloch. ''Tis rare stuff,' said the Guebre; 'come, Cally, it should inspire you.'

'Here goes, then; mind the chorus.'

Drink, drink, deeply drink, Never feel, and never think; What's love? what's fame? a sigh, a smile.

Friends.h.i.+p? but a hollow wile.

If you've any thought or woe, Drown them in the goblet's flow.

Yes! dash them in this br.i.m.m.i.n.g cup; Dash them in, and drink them up.

Drink, drink, deeply drink, Never feel, and never think.

'Hark, the trumpets! The King and Queen! 'The procession is coming.

Let's away.'

'Again! they must be near. Hurry, hurry, for good places.'

'Break all the cups and dishes. Come along!'

The mult.i.tude from all quarters hurried to the great circus, amid the clash of ten thousand cymbals and the blast of innumerable trumpets.

In the distance, issuing from the gates of Bagdad, might be discerned a brilliant crowd, the advance company of the bridal procession.