"Giaffar," said the caliph, "issue a decree to the governor of the city that it be proclaimed throughout the streets of Bagdad, that no person whatever, shall, for the space of three days, carry water from the river to the bazaars for sale, and that whoever trespasses shall be hanged." The governor, Khalid ben Talid, immediately that he received the fetva, took the proper measures to have it promulgated. Heralds were despatched throughout the various quarters of the city, who proclaimed the will of the caliph. The people wondered, but submitted. Yussuf, who had performed his morning devotions, had reached the banks of the Tigris, and just filled, and hoisted on his shoulders, his ox-skin of water, when the appearance of one of the heralds attracted his attention; he listened to the legal proclamation, and let down his ox-skin with a curse upon all merchants of Moussul. "Confusion to the scoundrels, who last night prophesied such an unlucky event! If I could but lay hands upon them!" exclaimed Yussuf. "They did but hint it, and behold, it is done." Whilst Yussuf was thus lamenting over his empty water-skin, some of the other water-carriers came up, and began to console him after the fashion of Job's comforters. "Surely," said one, "you need not be troubled at this edict, you gain more than any five of us every day, and you have no wife nor child to provide for. But I, wretched man that I am, will have the misery of beholding my wife and children starving before the expiration of the three days." Another said, "Be comforted, Yussuf, three days will soon pass away, and then you will relish your kabobs and your rakee, your sweetmeats and your wine, with greater pleasure, having been so long deprived of them." "Besides," added a third, "you must not forget, Yussuf, that the prophet has declared that a man is eternally damned, body and soul, who is constantly drunk as you are." These observations kindled Yussuf's bile to that degree, that he was nearly venting his spleen upon his sarcastic consolers. He turned away, however, in his rage, and throwing his empty skin over his shoulders, proceeded slowly towards the mosque of Zobeide, cursing as he went along, all Moussul merchants down to the fiftieth generation. Passing the great baths, he was accosted by one of the attendants with whom he was intimate, who inquired, why he was so depressed in spirits. "That cold-blooded caliph of ours, Haroun Alraschid, has put an end to my earnings for three days, by threatening to hang any water-carrier who shall carry his load to the bazaar. You know, my friend, that I never have put by a single para, and I fear that in three days my carcase will become shrivelled with famine, and dried up for the want of a cup of rakee."