“What is your opinion, Mustapha?” demanded the pacha.

“Is your slave to speak?  Then I would say, that it was absurd to make such a mountain of a mole-hill.”

“Very true, Mustapha.  This princess will never be married; so proceed, good Menouni.”

* * * * *

I should observe to your sublime highness, that the Molists were the strongest party, and the most arrogant; not content with wearing the marks of nature, they stuck upon their faces fictitious moles of every hue and colour, and the most violent partisans appeared as if they were suffering from some cutaneous disorder.  It was also a singular circumstance, that no Molist was ever known to change sides, whereas, after bathing, many of the Anti-Molists were found most shamefully to apostatise.  Everything was disastrous, and the country in a state of anarchy and confusion, when the question was most fortunately settled by the remark of a little slave about twelve years old, who was regularly flogged by his master every morning that he got up, upon a suspicion of Molism, and as regularly every evening by his mistress, on a second suspicion of Anti-Molism.  This poor little fellow whispered to another boy, that moles were blemishes or not, just as people happened to think them, but, as for his part, he thought nothing about the matter.  The espionage at that time was so strict, that even a whisper was to be heard at the distance of miles, and this observation was reported; it certainly was new because it was neutral, when neutrality was not permitted or thought of; it was buzzed about; the remark was declared wonderful, it ran like wildfire through the suburbs, it roared through the city, it shook the very gates of the palace; at last it reached the holy in divan, who pronounced it to be inspiration from the Deity, and immediately there was issued a solemn edict, in which it was laid down as a most positive and important article of Souffrarian faith, that moles were not scars, and only blemishes when they were considered so to be.  Everyone praised the wisdom of this edict; it was read and subscribed to as an article of faith; towns greeted towns, house congratulated house, and relations shook hands; what was still stranger was, husbands and wives were reconciled—­and what was even more delightful, there was now some chance of the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu no longer remaining unmarried.

This fortunate edict, by which it was clear that those who believed a mole to be a blemish were quite safe, and those who did not believe it, were in no manner of danger, set everything to rights; the metropolis was again filled with aspirants, the air tortured with the music of the mandolins, and impregnated with the attar of roses.  Who can attempt to describe the sumptuousness of the palace, and the splendour of the hall in which the beautiful princess sat, to receive the homage of the flower of the youth of her kingdom.  Soothingly soft, sweetly, lovingly soft, were the