“Who bids for this woman?” says I.

“I do,” say he.

“What will you give?”

“Half-a-crown,” says he.

“Will you throw a glass of grog into the bargain?”

“Yes,” says he.

“Then she’s yours; and I wish you much joy of your bargain.”  So I hands the rope to him, and he leads her off.

“How much did you say he sold his wife for?” said the pacha to Mustapha, when this part of the story was repeated to him.

“A piastre, and a drink of the fire-water,” replied the vizier.

“Ask him if she was handsome,” said the pacha.

“Handsome,” replied the sailor to Mustapha’s inquiry; “yes, she was as pretty a craft to look at as you may set your eyes upon; fine round counter—­clean run—­swelling bows—­good figure-head, and hair enough for a mermaid.”

“What does he say?” inquired the pacha.

“The Frank declareth that her eyes were bright as those of the gazelle, that her eyebrows were as one, her waist as that of the cypress, her face as the full moon, and that she was fat as the houris that await the true believers.”

“Mashallah! all for a piastre.  Ask him, Mustapha, if there are more wives to be sold in that country?”

“More,” replied the sailor, in answer to Mustapha; “you may have a ship full in an hour.  There’s many a fellow in England who would give a handful of coin to get rid of his wife.”

“We will make further inquiry, Mustapha; it must be looked to.  Say I not well?”

“It is well said,” replied Mustapha.  “My heart is burnt as roast meat at the recollection of the women of the country; who are, indeed, as he hath described houris to the sight.  Proceed, Yaha Bibi, my friend, and tell his——­”

“Yaw Bibby!  I told you my name was Bill, not Bibby; and I never yaws from my course, although I heaves to sometimes, as I do now, to take in provisions.”  The sailor took another swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and continued—­“Now for a good lie.”

* * * * *

“I sailed in a brig for the Brazils, and a gale came on, that I never seed the like of.  We were obliged to have three men stationed to hold the captain’s hair on his head; and a little boy was blown over the moon, and slid down by two or three of her beams, till he caught the mainstay, and never hurt himself.”

* * * * *

“Good,” said Mustapha, who interpreted.

“By the beard of the Prophet, wonderful!” exclaimed the pacha.

* * * * *