Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.
But we must return to the celestial court, and astonish the world with the wonderful events which there took place. The astrologers and wise men had consulted the heavens, and had ascertained that on the thirty-third minute after the thirteenth hour, the marriage procession must set out, or the consummation would not be prosperous. Who can describe the pomp and glory of the spectacle, or give an adequate idea of its splendour? Alas! it would not be possible, even if it were attempted by ten thousand poets, each with ten thousand tongues of silver, singing for ten thousand years. Such, however, was the order of the procession.
First walked ten thousand officers of justice, with long bamboos, striking right and left to clear the way, to the cadence of soft music, blending with the plaintive cries of those who limped away and rubbed their shins.
Then marching, ten abreast, one hundred thousand lanterns to assist the sun, partially eclipsed by the splendour of the procession.
Next appeared, slowly keeping time to a dead march, five thousand decapitated criminals, each carrying his own head by its long tail of hair.
“Staffir Allah! What is that but a lie?” exclaimed the pacha. “Did you hear what the dog has dared to breathe into our ears, Mustapha?”
“Mighty pacha,” replied the Chinaman, with humility, “if your wisdom pronounces it to be a lie—a lie it most certainly must be; still it is not the lie of your slave, who but repeats the story as handed down by the immortal eastern poet.”
“Nevertheless, there appears to be a trifling mistake,” observed Mustapha. “Is the procession to proceed, O pacha?”
“Yes, yes; but by the Prophet, let the dog tremble, if again he presumes to laugh at our beards.”