man—­jump down.”  The man jumped down, and his ankle was dislocated, and for a whole year he was bedridden, and his ankle came not back to its place.  Next year the man again went on the roof of his house and repaired it.  Then he called to his wife, “Ho! wife, how shall I come down?” The woman said, “Jump not; thine ankle has not yet come to its place—­come down gently.”  The man replied, “The other time, for that I followed thy words, and not those of the Apostle [i.e., Muhammed], was my ankle dislocated, and it is not yet come to its place; now shall I follow the words of the Apostle, and do the contrary of what thou sayest [Kuran, iii, 29.]” And he jumped down, and straightway his ankle came to its place.

   [25] “Bear in mind,” says Thorkel to Bork, in the Icelandic
        saga of Gisli the Outlaw, “bear in mind that a woman’s
        counsel is always unlucky.”—­On the other hand, quoth
        Panurge, “Truly I have found a great deal of good in the
        counsel of women, chiefly in that of the old wives among
        them.”

* * * * *

In the Turkish collection of jests ascribed to Khoja Nasru ’d-Din Efendi[26] is the following, which has been reproduced amongst ourselves within comparatively recent years, and credited to an Irish priest: 

One day the Khoja went into the pulpit of a mosque to preach to the people.  “O men!” said he, “do you know what I should say unto you?” They answered:  “We know not, Efendi.”  “When you do know,” said the Khoja, “I shall take the trouble of addressing you.”  The next day he again ascended into the pulpit, and said, as before:  “O men! do you know what I should say unto you?” “We do know,” exclaimed they all with one voice.  “Then,” said he, “what is the use of my addressing you, since you already know?” The third day he once more went into the pulpit, and asked the same question.  The people, having consulted together as to the answer they should make, said:  “O Khoja, some of us know, and some of us do not know.”  “If that be the case, let those who know tell those who do not know,” said the Khoja, coming down.  A poor Arab preacher was once, however, not quite so successful.  Having “given out,” as we say, for his text, these words, from the Kuran, “I have called Noah,” and being unable to collect his thoughts, he repeated, over and over again, “I have called Noah,” and finally came to a dead stop; when one of those present shouted, “If Noah will not come, call some one else.”  Akin to this is our English jest of the deacon of a dissenting chapel in Yorkshire, who undertook, in the vanity of his heart, to preach on the Sunday, in place of the pastor, who was ill, or from home.  He conducted the devotional exercises fairly well, but when he came to deliver his sermon, on the text, “I am the Light of the world,” he had forgot what he intended to say, and continued to repeat these words, until an old man called out, “If thou be the light o’ the world, I think thou needs snuffin’ badly.”