This little imp was the fit type, or interpretation of the presiding genius of polygamy. I once visited this happy family, this biting satire on domestic bliss and the beauty of the harem of the East. The women were all sour, and busy at work, weaving or spinning cotton, "Do you work for your husband?" I asked,
The women.—"Thank Rabbi, no."
Traveller.—"What do you do with your money?"
The women.—"Spend it ourselves."
Traveller.—"How do you like to have only one husband among you four?"
The women.—"Pooh! is it not the will of God?"
Traveller.—"Whose boy is that?"
The women.—"It belongs to us all."
Traveller.—"Have you no other children?"
The women.—"Our husband is good for no more than that."