For the damsels were as blithe as larks, more playful than kittens; never looking sad and sentimental, projecting clandestine escapes.

But supplied with the thirtieth part of all that Aspasia could desire; glorying in being the spouses of a king; nor in the remotest degree anxious about eventual dowers; they were care-free, content, and rejoicing, as the rays of the morning.
Poor old men, then; it would be hard to distill out of your fate, one drop of the balm of consolation.

For, commissioned to watch over those who forever kept you on the trot, affording you no time to hunt up peccadilloes; was not this circumstance an aggravation of hard times?
a sharpening and edge-giving to the steel in your souls?
But much yet remains unsaid.
To dwell no more upon the eternal wear-and-tear incident to these attenuated old warders, they were intensely hated by the damsels.
Inasmuch, as it was archly opined, for what ulterior purposes they were retained.
Nightly couching, on guard, round the seraglio, like fangless old bronze dragons round a fountain enchanted, the old men ever and anon cried out mightily, by reason of sore pinches and scratches received in the dark: And tri-trebly-tri-triply girt about as he was, Donjalolo himself started from his slumbers, raced round and round through his ten thousand corridors; at last bursting all dizzy among his twenty-nine queens, to see what under the seventh-heavens was the matter.

When, lo and behold! there lay the innocents all sound asleep; the dragons moaning over their mysterious bruises.
Ah me! his harem, like all large families, was the delight and the torment of the days and nights of Donjalolo.
And in one special matter was he either eminently miserable, or otherwise: for all his multiplicity of wives, he had never an heir.
Not his, the proud paternal glance of the Grand Turk Solyman, looking round upon a hundred sons, all bone of his bone, and squinting with his squint..