About twenty years ago, according to M. Dumas, under the reign of a former Bey, a ship bound from Marseilles to Gibraltar, with a cargo of cotton nightcaps, was driven by a gale into Tunis roads. At that period a duty was levied on vessels availing themselves of the port of Tunis; and this duty, depending on the caprice of the Raïa-marsa, or captain of the port, was very arbitrary. The Marseilles captain was naturally subjected to this impost; still more naturally the Raïa-marsa fixed it at an exorbitant sum. There was, however, no alternative but to pay: the unlucky speculator in nightcaps lay beneath the paw of the lion. With the loss of part of his skin, he slipped between the beast’s claws, and ran to throw himself at the feet of the Bey. The Bey hearkened to the complaint of the Giaour. When he had heard it, and had satisfied himself that the amount of extortion had been rightly stated by its victim, he said:— “Do you desire Turkish justice or French justice?” After long reflection, the Marseillese, with a confidence that did honour to the legislation of his native land, replied: “French justice.” “’Tis good,” replied the Bey; “return to thy ship and wait.” The seaman kissed his highness’s papooshes, returned to his ship, and waited. He waited one month, two months, three months. At the end of the third month, finding the time rather long, he went ashore, and watched for the Bey to pass by. The Bey appeared: the captain threw himself at his feet. “Highness,” said he, “you have forgotten me?” “By no means,” replied the Bey; “you are the captain of the French ship who complained to me of the Raïa-marsa?” “And to whom you promised justice!” “Yes; but French justice.” “Certainly.” “Well, of what do you now complain?” “Of having waited three months for it.” “Listen,” said the Bey. “Three years ago your consul treated me with disrespect; I complained to your king, claiming justice at his hands, and three years have I waited for it: come back in three years, and we will see.” “The deuce!” exclaimed the captain, who began to understand; “and is there no means of abridging the delay, your highness?” “You asked for French justice.” “But if I had asked for Turkish justice?” “That were different: it had been done you on the instant.” “Is it too late to change my mind?” “It is never too late to do wisely.” “Turkish justice then, highness—grant me Turkish justice!” “’Tis good. Follow me.” The captain kissed the Bey’s papooshes, and followed him to his palace. Arrived there: “How much did the Raïa-marsa exact from you?” inquired the Bey. “Fifteen hundred francs.” “And you consider that sum too large?” “Highness, such is my humble opinion.” “Too large by how much?” “By at least two-thirds.” “’Tis just; here are fifteen hundred piastres, making exactly a thousand francs.” “Highness,” said the captain, “you are the balance of divine justice,” and he kissed the papooshes of the Bey, and was about to depart. The Bey stopped him.