A SERIO-COMICAL RECEPTION.

It need scarce be said that the advent of the stranger produced some
surprise among the Terpsichorean crowd, into the midst of which he had
been so unceremoniously projected. And yet this surprise was not such
as might have been expected. One might suppose that an English
man-o'-war's-man, in pilot-cloth pea-jacket, glazed hat, and wide duck
trousers, would have been a singular sight to the eyes of the
dark-skinned individuals who now encircled him; dressed, as all of them
were, in gay-coloured floating shawl-robes, slippered or sandalled feet,
and with fez caps or turbans on their heads.

Not a bit of a singular sight; neither the colour of his skin, nor his
sailor-costume, had caused surprise to those who surrounded him. Both
were matters with which they were well acquainted, alas! too well.

The astonishment they had exhibited arose simply from the _sans facon_
manner of his coming amongst them; and on the instant after it
disappeared, giving place to a feeling of a different kind.

Succeeding to the shouts of surprise, arose a simultaneous peal of
laughter from men, women, and children; in which even the animals seemed
to join, more especially the maherry, who stood with its uncouth head
craned over its dismounted rider, and looking uncontrollably comic.

In the midst of this universal exclamation the sailor rose to his feet.
He might have been disconcerted by the reception, had his senses been
clear enough to comprehend what was passing. But they were not. The
effects of that fearful somersault had confused him; and he had only
risen to an erect attitude under a vague instinct or desire to escape
from that company.

After staggering some paces over the ground, his thoughts returned to
him; and he more clearly comprehended his situation. Escape was out of
the question. He was prisoner to a party of wandering Bedouins, the
worst to be found in all the wide expanse of the Saaran desert, the
wreckers of the Atlantic coast.

The sailor might have felt surprise at seeing a collection of familiar
objects, into the midst of which he had wandered. By the doorway of a
tent, one of the largest upon the ground, there was a pile of
paraphernalia, every article of which was typical, not of the Saara, but
the sea. There were "belongings" of the cabin and caboose, the 'tween
decks and the forecastle, all equally proclaiming themselves the debris
of a castaway ship.

The sailor could ha