the place for lying. Is it possible to tell a
lie in your presence?"

"I have some reason for believing that the
thing is possible."

"Ah, Sidi!" exclaimed Djilali, "Bou Zebel
tell a lie! Impossible. Everybody knows
that never did a falsehood proceed from his
mouth."

"That is what we mean to verify, if it
pleases Allah."

"Hé!" said Djilali, ''what need of
verification? Is not your servant's word a
sufficient guarantee?"

"I must confess that it is not."

In spite of the reiterated protestations of
the chaouch and his friend, witnesses were
heard, and the result of their depositions
was as follows:—Ould Denéï was passing on
horseback, close to Bou Zebel, at a foot-pace,
and not at full gallop, when the latter
executed—most probably with malice prepense—
a manoeuvre with his broom, which sprinkled
some filth on the garments of the former.
Ould Denéï, having taken the liberty of
making a few simple observations on what
had occurred, was apostrophised with epithets
such as son of a dog, son of a shepherd, and
was even threatened with the broom of the
public functionary. He replied to the verbal
insults by others which bore in the market
an equivalent value, such as, son of a hog,
and son of horse-dung; and he avoided the
contact of the broom by sticking both his
spurs into his horse's sides. It was
impossible to deny, in fact, that the horse had
galloped; but, unfortunately for Bou Zebel,
it was in an opposite direction to that which
he had declared, and for an essentially
different purpose.

"Well, Bou Zebel," said the court, when
the witnesses had done; "you see that things
did not occur exactly in the way in which
you stated."

"Ah, Sidi! don't believe what they say.
Their depositions are all false, as far as I am
concerned. They are jealous of my position
near your person. And besides, they detest
me because I am your servant—the servant
of a Christian."

"Sidi," said Djilali, "are you not aware of
the sufferings we endure on your account?
This poor Bou Zebel is a victim of the hatred
with which we are persecuted because of
you."

"I am truly sorry," said the magistrate,
"because, to these misfortunes I am obliged
to add another, namely, to make him spend a
night in prison, to teach him, in the first
place, to restrain the outbreaks of his broom,
and secondly, not to lie."

At this there commenced an affecting
attempt to mitigate the sentence pronounced,
executed by the chaouch and his friend.
The court cut it short by an imperative sign,
and by calling in the assistance of a couple of
cavalry soldiers who were waiting on guard
in the ante-chamber.

"What is the meaning," he asked, as
soon as they were gone, "of this sympathy
between Djilali and Bou Zebel? Have
they played any tricks together in former
times?"

"I believe so," snuffled the kadi, from the
midst of his dusty books. " They are the
fellows, as I have heard, who cleaned out
Ali Ben Todjard, as he was returning from
Algiers, with a mule laden with precious
merchandise. It happened in Ben Alel's
time."

"Ah! Now I understand. There must
have been something of the kind between
them."

"Djilali's influence," continued the kadi,
"procured Bou Zebel his place in the
stables."

"'Tis Djilali's protection which makes him
so proud. It reminds me," the magistrate
went on, aside, "of what I have read in the
English journals: 'Handsome douceurs and
secresy offered to whoever will procure the
advertiser a government situation.' The
Arabs at least have the decency not to print
and publish—"

"Would you like to prosecute them," asked
the kadi, in ignorance of the current of his
superior's thoughts. The commentaries of
Sidi Krelil authorise—"

"Silence! We must not rake up old
grievances. If we were once to begin to do
that, I do not know who amongst you could
sleep in peace."

The kadi held his tongue, folded up his
commentaries, and seemed perfectly to
comprehend the state of the case. There was
even reason to believe, from the attitude
which his nose assumed, that some trifling
recollections of the past were flitting across
his memory. The magistrate made signs to
Djilali to introduce fresh plaintiffs and
defendants. As soon as he had done so, a horseman
entered to announce the approach of a
cavalcade from the tribe Oud-Medaguin, who
were coming to pay their âchour, or grain-
tax; and that it was necessary to send some
one to meet them, to conduct them into the
town, and show them where to deposit their
corn. Djilali, who was always fond of cultivating
relations with loads of wheat or barley,
volunteered his services to fulfil the mission
with an unusual amount of energy. "Those
young folks, every one of them," he said,
with that adorably self-sufficient air for which
we know him to be remarkable, "are quite
incapable of managing such a business with
anything approaching to competency. It is
absolutely necessary that I should be there
in person. Holy Sidi Mamar! if I were not,
you would see a pretty scene of confusion."
He started off, without waiting for
permission, leaving his official sceptre in the
hands of the makrezeni, who, although
unworthy, has sometimes the honour to act as
his substitute. Djilali's double immediately
set to work to perform his functions in the