his nostrils were like trumpets, his eyes blazed like torches, and his wings whirled round and over him like the simoom of the desert.
At so fearful a sight all the fisherman's courage oozed out of him; but the Genie, perceiving him, cried with a loud voice, "O, Solomon, Prophet of God, slay me not, for never again will I withstand thee in word or deed!"
"Alas!" said the fisherman, "I am no prophet; and as for Solomon, he has been dead for nearly two thousand years. I am but a poor fisherman whom chance has knocked by accident against thy door."
"In that case," answered the Genie, "know that presently thou wilt have to die."
"Heaven forbid!" cried the fisherman; "or, at least, tell me why! Surely it might seem that I had done thee some service in releasing thee."
"Hear first my story," said the Genie, "then shalt thou understand."
"Well, if I must!" said the fisherman, resigning himself to the inevitable; " but make it short, for truly I have small stomach left in me now for the hearing of tales."
"Know, then," said the Genie, "that I am
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