Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 June 1891 — THE MOORISH STORY-TELLER. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE MOORISH STORY-TELLER.

How He Entertains His People with Fanciful Tales of the East. Hall Caine, the author of “The Deemster” and other novels, has discovered in his travels a Moorish storyteller. The Moorish story-teller is not usually a Moor, properly so-called, but of negro blood, and comes from beyond the Atlas. He is a familiar figure on the Mohammedan holiday, Friday, in the sok, or market place, of Moorish towns. Surrounded by two, three or four lines of listeners, in a semi-circle, he strums on a sort of a guitar, and tells his stories in gasps and spasms and with great fervor. His stories are not always of a kind that bear repetition, but some are harmless; and of that sort Mr Caine gives, as an example, a story which he himself heard in

the sok at Tangier, and had translated to him by a resident. Most of this oral literature of the,, market place seems to be a sort of apocrypha to the “Arabian Nights“ Once there was a good man, and his name was Ali. He had a Christian captive, a beautiful English girl. Ali was willing to make her his wife if she would become a true believer. Praise the merciful Allah and his prophet the Lord Mohammed! [Story-teller and audience touch their foreheads.] She, on her part, was willing to be Ali’s wife if he would become a Christian. One day Ali told her to go down to his stable under his house and saddle his favorite horse. “When she got to the stable the horse lifted both its forefeet and struck her down. For a time she was insensible, and when she recovered consciousness she took the blow the horse as a proof of her unbelief in the true God and his prophet. Allah save and bless us. [All touch foreheads again.] So she went up to Ali and told him she believed and would become his wife. Then Ali said: ‘Go down again and saddle my horse.’ She went down, and the horse struck her again. Once more she returned to Ali. ‘You were not a true believer,’ said Ali; ‘go down again.’ Yet again she went down to the stable, and then Ali’s favorite horse suffered her to saddle him, and she brought him to Ali, and Ali married her, and she was a true believer forever after. [Storyteller stops to make a collection; a good number of copper coins are handed to him, then he resumes.] Now we leave Ali and go far away into the desert. There was a fignt between a good Moor and a great Christian chief. The Moor had a beautiful wife, and the Christian killed him and took his wife and rode aw r ay with her. And one day he met Ali and challenged him to fight. But Ali had a magic sword, with which he could kill whatever he could see, no matter how far away; so while the chief was boasting Ali drew his sword and swept it in the air. And when the Christian chief cried, ‘Come and fight me,’ Ali answered him, ‘You are dead already, turn yourself round and you shall see.’ “Then the chief found that he had been cut so clean by Ali’s magic sword that he did not know that he was dead. But he fell asunder as he twisted about and rolled off his horse into the sand. So the Moorish woman whom he had made captive rejoiced, and she looked upon Ali and saw that he was a goodly man and offered herself to him to be his wife. But Ali had got a wife already, even the captive who had once been a Christian. So he would not take the Moorish woman, but gave her to another, and thus all was well and everybody happy. Give thanks to Allah, the merciful and mighty. [More touching of foreheads and another collection. |” Then a story of finer flavor, told with infinite and too obvious pantomime, amid shrieks of laughter from men and women, and little boys and girls.

Wide as the Poles. Mrs. Highup—What is the science of your treatment, Dr. Newschool ? Dr. Newschool (homeopathist)—lt is very simple. We take the poison which produces a disease, weaken it by successive reductions, and administer it in small doses. Like cures like, you know. Mrs. Highup (some days later)— What is this new Ivmph treatment you are using, Dr. Old chool? Dr. Oldschool—lt is very simple. We take the poison which produces a disease, weaken it by successive reductions, and administer it in small do-es—a mild form of inoculation, jou know. Mrs. Highup (an hour later)—What is all that rumpus out in the street? Servant—lt’s Dr. Oldschool and Dr. Newschool fighting.— New York Weekly.

MOORISH MINSTREL.