XII. THAT OF PASHA ABDULLA BEY.

Abdulla Bey—a Pasha—had

A turn for joy and merriment:

You never caught him looking sad,

Nor glowering in discontent.

His normal attitude was one

Of calm, serene placidity;

His nature gay, and full of fun,

And free from all acidity.

A trifling instance I'll relate

Of Pasha Bey's urbanity,

The which will clearly indicate

His marvellous humanity.

He had a dozen wives or so

(In him no immorality;

For Eastern custom, as you know,

Permits, of wives, plurality).

Yes; quite a dozen wives—or more—

Abdulla had, and for a while

No sound was heard of strife or war

Within Abdulla's domicile.

But, oh! how rare it is to find

A dozen ladies who'll consent

To think as with a single mind,

And live together in content.

Abdulla's wives—altho', no doubt,

If taken individually,

Would never think of falling out,—

Collectively, could not agree.

At first, in quite a playful way,

They quarrelled—rather prettily;

Then cutting things contrived to say

About each other wittily;

Then petty jealousies and sneers

Began,—just feeble flickerings—

Which grew, alas! to bitter tears,

And fierce domestic bickerings.

You never had a dozen wives—

Of course not—so you cannot know

The grave discomfort in their lives

These Pashas sometimes undergo.

Abdulla Bey, however, he

Was not the one to be dismayed,

And doubtless you'll astounded be

To hear what wisdom he displayed.

He did not—as some would have done—

Seek angry ladies to coerce;

He did not use to any one

Expressions impolite—or worse.

No, what he did was simply this:

He stood those ladies in a row,

And said, "My dears, don't take amiss

What I'm about to say, you know.

"I find you cannot, like the birds,

Within your little nest agree,

So I'll unfold, in briefest words,

A plan which has occurred to me.

"These quarrellings, these manners lax,

In comfort means a loss for us,

So I must tie you up in sacks

And throw you in the Bosphorus."

He tied them up; he threw them in;

Then Pasha Bey, I beg to state,

Did not seek sympathy to win

By posing as disconsolate.

He mourned a week; and then, they say

(A Pasha is, of course, a catch),

Our friend, the good Abdulla Bey,

Got married to another batch.