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"The kafir waits to kiss the dust of your sublime feet," replied the vizier. "Let him approach, then, Mustapha," said the pacha joyfully; and the renegade immediately made his appearance. "Kosh amedeid! you are welcome, Huckaback. We have had our ears poisoned since you quitted us. I forget where it was that you left off."
As to the language of the stories, it is all literally and faithfully that of a Gipsy, word by word, written down as he uttered it, when, after we had got a gudlo into shape, he told it finally over, which he invariably did with great eagerness, ending with an improvised moral. But when they jawed adree the ker, they lastered the kosh had mullered a divio juckal that was jawan' to dant the chavo.
"The Kafir waits to kiss the dust of your sublime feet," replied the vizier. "Let him approach, then, Mustapha," said the pacha joyfully, and the renegade immediately made his appearance. "Kosh amedeid, you are welcome, Huckaback. We have had our ears poisoned since you quitted us. I forget where it was that you left off."
Before the pacha had finished his pipe, the arrival of the story-teller was announced; and after waiting a few minutes from decorum, which seemed to the impatient pacha to be eternal, Mustapha clapped his hands, and the man was ushered in. "Kosh amedeid! you are welcome," said the pacha, as the Kessehgou entered the divan: he was a slight, elegantly moulded person, of about thirty years of age.
I have been told that "when a nag mullers it's hardus as a kosh, and you can pogger it like a swagler's toov," "When a blind-worm dies it is as hard as a stick, and you can break it like a pipe-stem." They also believe that the Nag is gifted, so far as his will goes, with incredible malignity, and say of him "If he could dick sim's he can shoon, He wouldn't mukk mush or grai jal an the drum."
He was a kushti rye and his rani was as good as the rye. There was a waver mush a playin, an' mandy penned: "Pen the kosh paulier, hatch 'em odoi, don't well adoorer or he'll lel saw the covvos! Chiv 'em pauli!" A chi rakkered the ryes an' got fifteen cullos from yeck. And no moro the divvus from your kaum pal, THE WATER VILLAGE, Dec. 16, 1871.
Before the pacha had finished his pipe, the arrival of the story-teller was announced: and after waiting a few minutes from decorum, which seemed to the impatient pacha to be eternal, Mustapha clapped his hands, and the man was ushered in. "Kosh amedid! you are welcome," said the pacha, as the kessehgou entered the divan: he was a slight, elegantly moulded person, of about thirty years of age.
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