relation of mine. No one objecting, the
Barber related:

THE STORY OF THE BARMECIDE FEAST.

The young man's twin-brother, GULD
PUBLEEK, was in very poor circumstances
and hardly knew how to live. In his reduced
condition he was fain to go about to great
men, begging them to take him in—and to
do them justice, they did it extensively.

One day in the course of his poverty-
stricken wanderings, he came to a large house
with two high towers, a spacious hall, and
abundance of fine gilding, statuary, and
painting. Although the house was far from
finished, he could see enough to assure him
that enormous sums of money must be
lavished upon it. He inquired who was the
master of this wealthy mansion, and received
for information that he was a certain
Barmecide. (The Barmecide, gentlemen, is my
near relation, and, like myself, a lineal
descendant of the Prophet, and a born
Barber.)

The young man's twin brother passed
through the gateway, and crept submissively
onward, until he came into a spacious apartment,
where he descried the Barmecide
sitting at the upper end in the post of honour.
The Barmecide asked the young man's brother
what he wanted ? My Lord, replied he, in a
pitiful tone, I am sore distressed, and have
none but high and mighty nobles like yourself,
to help me. That much at least is true,
returned the Barmecide, there is no help
save in high and mighty nobles, it is the
appointment of Allah. But, what is your
distress? My Lord, said the young man's
brother, I am fasting from all the nourishment
I want, and—whatever you may please
to think—am in a dangerous extremity. A
very little more at any moment, and you
would be astonished at the figure I should
make. Is it so, indeed? inquired the Barmecide.
Sir, returned the young man's brother,
I swear by Heaven and Earth that it is so,
and Heaven and Earth are every hour drawing
nearer to the discovery that it is so.
Alas, poor man! replied the Barmecide,
pretending to have an interest in him. Ho, boy!
Bring us of the best here, and let us not spare
our liberal measures. This poor man shall
make good cheer without delay.

Though no boy appeared, gentlemen, and
though there was no sign of the liberal
measures of which the Barmecide spoke so
ostentatiously, the young man's brother, Guld
Publeek, endeavoured to fall in with the
Barmecide's humour. Come! cried the Barmecide,
feigning to pour water on his hands, let
us begin fair and fresh. How do you
like this purity? Ah, my Lord, returned Guld
Publeek, imitating the Barmecide's action,
this is indeed purity: this is in truth a
delicious beginning. Then let us proceed,
said the Barmecide, seeming to dry his hands,
with this smoking dish of Reefawm. How do
you like it ? Fat ? At the same time he
pretended to hand choice morsels to the
young man's brother. Take your fill of it,
exclaimed the Barmecide, there is plenty
here, do not spare it, it was cooked for you.
May Allah prolong your life, my Lord, said
Guld Publeek, you are liberal indeed!

The Barmecide having boasted in this
pleasant way of his smoking dish of Reefawm,
which had no existence, affected to call for
another dish. Ho! cried he, clapping his
hands, bring in those Educational Kabobs.
Then, he imitated the action of putting some
upon the plate of the young man's brother,
and went on. How do you like these
Educational Kabobs? The cook who made them is
a treasure. Are they not justly seasoned?
Are they not so honestly made, as to be
adapted to all digestions ? You want them
very much, I know, and have wanted them
this long time. Do you enjoy them? And
here is a delicious mess, called Foreen Leejun.
Eat of it also, for I pride myself upon it, and
expect it to bring me great respect and much
friendship from distant lands. And this pillau
of Church-endowments-and-duties, which
you see so beautifully divided, pray how do
you approve of this pillau ? It was invented
on your account, and no expense has been
spared to render it to your taste. Ho, boy,
bring in that ragout! Now here, my friend,
is a ragout, called Law-of-Partnership. It is
expressly made for poor men's eating, and I
particularly pride myself upon it. This is
indeed a dish at which you may cut and
come again. And boy! hasten to set before
my good friend, Guld Publeek, the rare stew
of colonial spices, minced crime, hashed
poverty, swollen liver of ignorance, stale
confusion, rotten tape, and chopped-up bombast,
steeped in official sauce, and garnished with
a great deal of tongue and a very little brains
—the crowning dish, of which my dear friend
never can have enough, and upon which he
thrives so well! But, you don't eat with an
appetite, my brother, said the Barmecide. I
fear the repast is hardly to your liking?
Pardon me, my benefactor, returned the
guest, whose jaws ached with pretending to
eat, I am full almost to the throat.

Well then, said the Barmecide, since you
have dined so well, try the dessert. Here are
apples of discord from the Horse Guards and
Admiralty, here is abundance of the famous
fruit from the Dead Sea that turns to ashes
on the lips, here are dates from the Peninsula
in great profusion, and here is a fig for
the nation. Eat and be happy! My Lord,
replied the object of his merriment, I am quite
worn out by your liberality, and can bear no
more.

Gentlemen (continued the loquacious
Barber), when the humourous Barmecide, my
near relation lineally descended from the
Prophet, had brought his guest to this pass,
he clapped his hands three times to summon
around him his slaves, and instructed them