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Mountpromise, and that I was a candidate for Goldborough at the last election, and that I should have won easy, if my committee had not been bought? I wish to heaven that if you do say anything about me, you'd tell the simple truth.
Pasha.—What says the friendly Lord of London ? Is there aught that I can grant him within the Pashalik of Karagholookoldour ?
Dragoman (growing sulky and literal)-—The friendly Englishman—this branch of Mudcombe—this headpurveyor of Goldborough—this possible policeman of Bedfordshire is recounting his achievements, and the number of his titles.
Pasha. The end of his honours is more distant than the ends of the earth, and the catalogue of his glorious deeds is brighter than the firmament of heaven!
Dragoman (to the Traveller).—The Pasha congratulates your Excellency.
Traveller.--About Goldborough? The deuce he does !—but I want to get at his views in relation to the present state of the Ottoman Empire; tell him the Houses of Parliament have met, and that there has been a speech from the throne, pledging England to preserve the integrity of the Sultan's dominions.
Dragoman (to the Pasha).—This branch of Mudcombe, this possible policeman of Bedfordshire, informs your highness that in England the talking-houses have met, and that the integrity of the Sultan's dominions
has been assured for ever and ever, by a speech from the velvet chair.
Pasha.-Wonderful chair! Wonderful houses ! whirr! whirr ! all by wheels !—whiz! whiz! all by steam !-wonderful chair! wonderful houses ! wonderful people !—whirr! whirr ! all by wheels !-whiz! whiz ! all by steam !
Traveller (to the Dragoman).—What does the Pasha mean by that whizzing ? he does not mean to say, does he, that our Government will ever abandon their pledges to the Sultan ?
Dragoman.—No, your Excellency, but he says the English talk by wheels, and by steam.
Traveller.- That's an exaggeration ; but say that the English really have carried machinery to great perfection; tell the Pasha (he'll be struck with that) that whenever we have any disturbances to put down, even at two or three hundred miles from London, we can send troops by the thousand, to the scene of action, in a few hours.
Dragoman (recovering his temper and freedom of speech).—His Excellency, this Lord of Mudcombe, observes to your highness, that whenever the Irish, or the French, or the Indians rebel against the English, whole armies of soldiers, and brigades of artillery, are dropped into a mighty chasm called Euston Square, and in the biting of a cartridge they arise up again in Manchester, or Dublin, or Paris, or Delhi, and utterly exterminate the enemies of England from the face of the earth.
Pasha.--I know it-I know all—the particulars have been faithfully related to me, and my mind comprehends locomotives. The armies of the English ride upon the vapours of boiling cauldrons, and their horses are flaming coals !-whirr! whirr ! all by wheels whiz! whiz! all by steam!
Traveller (to his Dragoman).- I wish to have the opinion of an unprejudiced Ottoman gentleman as to the prospects of our English commerce and manufactures : just ask the Pasha to give me his views on the subject.
Pasha (after having received the communication of the Dragoman).—The ships of the English swarm like flies; their printed calicoes cover the whole earth; and by the side of their swords, the blades of Damascus are blades of grass. All India is but an item in the ledger-books of the merchants, whose lumber-rooms are filled with ancient thrones !-whirr! whirr ! all by wheels !-whiz! whiz! all by steam !
Dragoman.—The Pasha compliments the cutlery of England, and also the East India Company.
Traveller.—The Pasha is right about the cutlery. (I tried my scimitar with the common officers' swords belonging to our fellows at Malta, and they cut it like the leaf of a novel). Well (to the Dragoman), tell the Pasha I am exceedingly gratified to find that he entertains such a high opinion of our manufacturing energy; but I should like him to know, though, that we have got something in England besides that. These foreigners are always fancying that we have nothing but ships, and railways, and East India Companies. Do just tell the Pasha that our rural districts deserve his attention, and that even within the last two hundred years there has been an evident improvement in the culture of the turnip.
Pasha (after hearing the Dragoman).—Through all Feringhistan the English are foremost and best; for the Russians are drilled swine, and the Germans are sleeping babes, and the Italians are the servants of songs, and the French are the sons of newspapers, and the Greeks they are weavers of lies, but the English and the Osmanlees are brothers.
Dragoman.—The Pasha compliments the English.
Traveller (rising).—Well, I've had enough of this. Tell the Pasha, I am greatly obliged to him for his hospitality, and still more for his kindness in furnishing me with horses, and say that now I must be off.
Pasha (standing up on his Divan).—Proud are the sires and blessed are the dams of the horses that shall carry his Excellency to the end of his prosperous journey.--May the saddle beneath him glide down to the gates of the happy city, like a boat swimming on the third river of Paradise.-May he sleep the sleep of a child, when his friends are around him; and the while that his enemies are abroad, may his eyes flame red through the darkness—more red than the eyes of ten tigers !—farewell !
Dragoman.-The Pasha wishes your Excellency a pleasant journey.
SKETCH OF A HAREM.
BEHIND the veil, where depth is traced
By many a complicated line,Behind the lattice closely laced
With filigree of choice design,Behind the lofty garden wall,
Where stranger face can ne'er surprise,– That inner world her all-in-all,
The Eastern woman lives and dies.
Husband and children round her draw
The narrow circle where she rests; His will the single perfect law,
That scarce with choice her mind molests; Their birth and tutelage the ground
And meaning of her life on earthShe knows not elsewhere could be found
The measure of a woman's worth.
Within the gay kiosk reclined,
Above the scent of lemon groves,
And birds make music to their loves, -
1 Unconscious of the outer strife
That wears the palpitating hours.