three chaouses, who seized him, and
took him to the strangling-room. Bacri was, as we have said, a powerful
man, and struggled long and vigorously for life. But what could he do
unarmed against three stalwart men? He ultimately gave in, with the
name of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob on his lips, and perished
as many a former chief of the Jews in Algiers had perished before him.

Rais Ali having given, as we have seen, incontestable proof of his
courage and fidelity during the bombardment, was raised to a position of
easy affluence, and for many years continued a respected and harmless
inhabitant of the town. His kindly disposition induced him to forego
his Mohammedan prejudices against Christians--perchance his intercourse
with Christians had something to do with that--and he became a firm
friend of the Padre Giovanni during the course of that good old man's
career, which did not last long after slavery was abolished. The same
feelings induced him to befriend Blindi Bobi, who was also a friend of
the Padre.

Poor Ashweesha, and her father, Sidi Cadua, perished under the rod and
the bow-string; and Hadji Baba, the story-teller, continued to tell
stories and to jest to the end of his days. How the Deys tolerated him
has ever remained a matter of surprise to the thoughtful. Ziffa, his
naughty daughter, became a wife and a mother, in connexion with three
other wives, who were also mothers, and belonged to the Turk whom we
have more than once mentioned as the captain of the port.

Colonel Langley returned to England with his wife and children,
inexpressibly glad to exchange the atmosphere of the Crescent for that
of the Cross. Ted Flaggan was installed as butler to the family, and
remained in that position for many years. It is supposed by some of his
descendants that he would have continued in it to the present day, if
any of the family had remained alive.

As to the various members of the Rimini family, it may suffice that we
should dismiss them by drawing a slight sketch:

In a Sicilian cottage near the sea, a little old lady--some would say a
dear little old lady--sits in a high-backed chair. She gazes pensively,
now on the blue Mediterranean, now on a family group which consists of
the dark-eyed Juliet and the earnest Lucien, who are vainly striving to
restrain the violence of their youngest son; the eldest being engaged in
a surreptitious attempt to pull down a map of Algiers, which hangs on
the