ye, he first excommunicated ye an’ thin he sthrangled ye.  There, thinks I to mesilf, there he sets, th’ happy old ruffyan, on a silk embroidered lounge, in his hand-wurruked slippers, with his legs curled up undher him, a turban on his head, a crooked soord in his lap, a pitcher iv sherbet (which is th’ dhrink in thim parts) at his elbow, a pipestem like a hose in his hand, while nightingales whistle in th’ cypress threes in th’ garden an’ beautiful Circassyan ladies dance in front iv him far fr’m his madding throng iv wives, as th’ pote says.

“Whin th’ sicrety iv th’ threasury wants to repoort to him, he starts fr’m his office on his stomach an’ wriggles into th’ august prisince.  ‘What is it ye want, oh head iv lignum vity?’ says th’ Sultan.  ’Bark f’r th’ ladies,’ says he with a chuckle.  ‘Oh, descindant iv th’ prophet, whose name be blest!  Oh, sun an’ moon an’ stars, whose frown is death an’ whose smile is heaven to th’ faithful;—­’ ’Don’t be so familyar with me first name,’ says th’ Sultan, ’but go on with ye’er contimptible supplication,’ says he.  ‘Ye’er slave,’ says th’ sicrety iv th’ threasury fr’m th’ flure, ’is desthroyed with grief to tell ye that afther standin’ th’ intire empire on its head he’s been onable to shake out more thin two millyon piasthres f’r this week’s expinses iv ye’er awfulness,’ says he.  ‘What!’ says th’ sultan, ’two millyon piasthres—­bar’ly enough to buy bur-rd seed f’r me bulbuls,’ says he.  ’How dare ye come into me august prisince with such an insult.  Lave it on th’ flure f’r th’ boy that sweeps up, oh, son iv a tailor,’ he says, an’ he gives a nod an’ fr’m behind a curtain comes Jawn Johnson with little on him, an’ th’ next thing ye hear iv th’ faithless minister is a squeak an’ a splash.  He rules be love alone, thinks I, an’ feelin’ that life without love is useless, annybody that don’t love him can go an’ get measured f’r a name plate an’ be sure he’ll need it befure th’ price is lower.  His people worship him an’ why shudden’t they.  He allows thim to keep all th’ dogs they want, he proticts thim fr’m dissolute habits be takin’ their loose money fr’m thim, an’ ivry year he gives thim an Armeenyan massacree which is a great help to th’ cigareet business in this counthry.

“Happy Abdul, thinks I. If I cud be a haythen an’ was a marryin’ man, ‘tis ye’er soft spot I’d like to land in f’r me declinin’ days.  So whin I r-read in th’ pa-apers that there was a rivolution startin’ to fire Abdul Hamid, I says to mesilf:  ’A fine chance ye’ve got, me lads.  That old boy will be holdin’ down his job whin there’s a resignation fr’m th’ supreeme coort bench at Wash’nton,’ says I.  ‘Th’ first thing ye young Turks know ye’ll-be gettin’ a prisent fr’m ye’er sov’reign iv a necktie,’ says I, ‘an’ it won’t fit ye,’ says I.