“What will you say,” objected Masoud, “if I assure you that the poet means the spiritual belly and not the bodily one?” “This,” replied Seyyid ’Alí, quickly, “that there was once a Dervish whose mysticism had so clouded his understanding that he interpreted the writings of Omar Khayyam as you would have me interpret them. The drinking of wine, according to him, was meant to symbolise the adoration of God. Now, it chanced that the dervish broke the law, and was brought before his Governor, who sentenced him ‘to eat five hundred sticks.’ The farrashes, fortified by the juice of the grape, laid on with a will. It was heart-rending to hear the shrieks of the sufferer. His philosophy deserted him, so that he yelled for mercy. The minions of the law appealed to the Governor, who said to the dervish: ‘Have no fear, they are merely spiritual sticks. You must eat them every one. May they go down well with you.’ Are you answered?” “Blessed be Islám. Long live the Caliphs of the Faith!” cried Abdul Saleh, as though he had just awoke from sleep. “And long live the Ameers!” said Masoud, in a frenzy of patriotism. “May the soul of Abdur Rahman Khan, the conqueror of Kafiristan, the light of the nation and religion, rest in peace, and may the sword of Islám grow sharper day by day.” “The sword of Islám is sharp enough,” cried Seyyid ’Alí, “but it requires men to use it, as in the age of the blessed Caliphs.” “What do you mean by that?” said the Persian Mirza, in anger. “Do you think we have no men in Persia? May God keep stiff the neck of Iran. One man of Iran is worth fifty foreign unbelievers.” “Particularly if they come from Káshán and Isfahán,” added the guide, sarcastically, referring to the alleged lack of courage in the inhabitants of those two towns. “May your heart be cleansed,” cried the Mirza. “Your sarcasm, I take it, is aimed at the authorities, that enlist so few soldiers from the southern provinces, and scarce a single man from the towns you mention.” The Turk looked surprised. “Do you mean to say that Isfahán and Káshán do not contribute to the strength of the Persian Nizam?” he asked. “How, then, can Persia defend herself against aggression?” “You do not know, my good friend,” replied the Mirza, “what the Persians can do. We have no cause to fear any foreign invasion.” “Certainly not,” said the Afghan, with the tongue in his cheek, dreaming no doubt of the sacking of Isfahán by his countrymen. [Illustration: AN EGYPTIAN COFFEE-HOUSE FREQUENTED BY THE POOR.] “If you will have patience,” said the guide, “I will tell you the circumstances that led the authorities, whereon the sun of the Faith shines, to abandon the practice of enrolling recruits from Káshán and Isfahán.” We had now finished our meal and were drinking coffee and smoking hukkahs, and so we lent a willing ear to the sceptical rogue, who proceeded thus: