"Let orders be immediately given," interrupted Bohetzad eagerly, "to erect a scaffold without the walls of the city, on the most elevated situation. Let the dread of death terrify those who might attempt to follow his footsteps. Such is my final resolution, and let it be announced to the people by the public criers."

The ten Viziers were well pleased to hear this resolution. They hoped at length, by their secret plots, to make the object of their envy fall beneath the sword of justice, and were eager to order the apparatus of punishment.

On the morning of the following day, which was the eleventh since the confinement of Aladin, the ten Viziers went to the King.

"Sire," said they, "your orders are obeyed; your pleasure is known, and the people assembled round the spot wait only for him who is to die there."

Bohetzad gave orders that the criminal should be brought to him. As soon as he appeared the ten Viziers lifted up their voices against him.

"Wretch! offspring of villains!" said they to him, "the scythe of death is raised over thy head; thy stratagems are exhausted, and thou art about to receive the reward of thy crimes and rashness."

"Audacious ministers," said Aladin, looking at them with a confident but modest air, "it belongs not to you to mark my forehead with the seal of death! If the decree which strikes me comes not from Heaven, what could all your attempts avail? Guilt alone can be afraid of them. But since I have nothing wherewith to reproach myself, had I even my head under the fatal sword, I should be preserved from the stroke, like the slave who was accused although innocent."

"Sire," interrupted all the Viziers at once, "impose silence on this audacious fellow; he wishes still to deceive your Majesty by a new tale."

"I wish not to impose upon the King," said Aladin; "it is you who cherish falsehood and imposture."

"Stop!" said Bohetzad to him; "I will yet put my patience to a last effort, and agree to hear the history of your slave and of his deliverance."

"Oh, the clemency of my King!" replied Aladin. "May truth at length reach your heart, which is so difficult of access! I wish not by a false relation to deceive your Majesty; the story I am going to relate is well known throughout all Chaldea."

HISTORY OF THE KING OF HARAM, AND OF THE SLAVE.

The King of Haram, uneasy at the manner in which his Viziers and Cadis administered justice in the provinces of his empire, went one night from his palace disguised, and only escorted by two eunuchs. By chance he passed near a dungeon, from whence he heard a plaintive and lamentable voice. He learned that this place served as a prison, in which criminals condemned to death were shut up; and approaching nearer it in order to hear distinctly the doleful accents, which appeared to come from the bowels of the earth, he heard these words:

"O powerful Allah! Thou who watchest constantly over the unfortunate, stooping under the burden of his misery, wilt Thou suffer innocence, falsely accused, to sink under presumptions which a fatal destiny hath heaped upon it? Infinite mercy! none of Thy creatures are insignificant in Thy eyes; Thou hearest the cries of a worm; listen to that of Thy slave; and if my death is not determined by Thy providence, arrest the stroke with which I am threatened."

A silence, interrupted only by sighs, succeeded this prayer. The King of Haram returned to his palace with a heart moved by these lamentations, and a spirit troubled with this adventure. In vain did he seek repose: the idea of the death of an innocent person agitated him, and he only waited the return of day to clear up this mystery.

As soon as the sun had enlightened the earth, he called together his ministers, and described to them the place from which the cries came that had excited his pity. They informed him that the unfortunate person confined in this dungeon was destined to die that very day upon the scaffold. They gave him an account of his trial, from which the crime appeared clear, and two witnesses certified that the slave, whom his Majesty had heard, was the perpetrator of it. The King of Haram could not resist what human justice reckons evidence, and immediately confirmed the order for his execution.

The slave, convicted of the crime, was taken from the dungeon: he walked to punishment with a firm and modest countenance; his hands bound, and his eyes lifted up to Heaven, which was now his only hope. He was at the foot of the scaffold; the executioners were preparing to strip him of his clothes, when an unexpected noise entirely changed the aspect of this scene of death. A hostile party, having formed the design of making themselves masters of the city, waited until the people, attracted by curiosity to see the execution, should have gone out of it. They hastily quitted the ambuscade in which they were concealed, fell upon the guard, and dispersed it. All those who endeavoured to defend it either fell by the sword or were made prisoners; not one escaped except the unhappy slave who was about to suffer an ignominious death.

The enemy, dreading the approach of the King, then withdrew to a distance in order to increase their forces, carrying with them the booty they had got, and deferred to another time the consummation of their enterprise.

Meanwhile, the slave, delivered from his chains by the hands of the enemy, and still fearing lest people should be dispatched to pursue him, gained the country, and walked day and night without stopping. At length, overcome with fatigue, he stopped under the shade of a laurel, which, from its size and height, appeared coeval with the world, and sat down. Opposite to this tree, and very near it, was the entrance of a dark cave; two torches threw a dreadful light around it, without altogether dispelling its darkness. His attention was fixed with astonishment on these objects, which inspired him with terror, when he thought he observed these two lights move and advance towards him. These bright fires were nothing but the glaring eyes of a monstrous lion, which came out of the cave and slowly approached the unhappy slave, who had nothing with which he could defend himself. The animal seized him, and, without hurting him, carried him into the cave. He instantly went out of it again, tore down the enormous laurel under which the man had been formerly seated, and, having placed it at the mouth of the cave in order to shut up its passage, ran into the desert in search of its mate, whom the need of food for their whelps had carried far from their common haunt.

The mouth of this cave, shut up by the trunk of the tree, was inaccessible to all human power. However, there was still sufficient light left for the slave to view the inside of this dreadful habitation, to distinguish its inhabitants, and to see there the fragments of bones and food with which the ground was covered. He saw likewise two young lions couching on a heap of moss, who were not frightened by his presence. In an opposite corner he perceived a heap of human bones, the sad remains of the unfortunate whom the same destiny that had brought him there had drawn toward this frightful abode. Nevertheless, amid these objects, fear did not damp his courage: he turned towards the south, and, like a faithful Mussulman, addressed his prayer to the great Prophet with as much zeal and fervour as if he had been in the most splendid mosque and in the most secure asylum.

Full of confidence in the Sovereign Arbiter of Destiny, he then cast his eyes into the dark cavities of this den. There were many clothes in it: he put his hand into the pockets of one garment, and found there a stone and a piece of steel for striking fire; the earth was covered with a dry moss, which served as litter to the savage inhabitants of this dwelling. The possibility of getting out revived his courage; and scarcely was the enterprise conceived when it was put in execution. He set fire to the moss which he had collected at the mouth of the cave; the flames penetrated the moist bark of the laurel's roots, and the fire speedily increasing, the tree lost its support and fell upon its side with a crash, so as to leave the mouth of the cave quite open. In examining this cave he had seen a bow, sabres, and poniards, which might serve for his defence. He had also discovered, by the light, a pan with coined gold, and pieces of this metal, with precious jewels of different kinds. Provided in this manner, with everything which could assist his escape, he armed himself with what was necessary, cut away with his sabre the burning branches which opposed his passage, and, blessing Heaven, at length recovered his liberty.

Scarcely had the slave got out of this dangerous cave, when he perceived the lion at the distance of four bowshots, and the lioness somewhat farther off in the plain. He put upon his bow a deadly arrow; and the lion, thinking to dart upon his prey, ran with great rapidity against the arrow, which was discharged at him. The steel reached his heart, and he fell lifeless.

The slave, freed from this enemy, soon had the other also to contend with. He darted another arrow, but it made only a slight wound. The animal, rendered still more furious, rushed forwards to throw him on the ground. The slave opposed her with his poniard, and plunged it into her side. The lioness, roaring aloud, made a new effort; but with his scimitar he struck off one of her fore-paws, and disabled her for further combat. She rolled along the earth, making the echoes resound with her roaring: the young lions from the cave answered her with hideous cries, which would have filled the most warlike soul with terror. In the meantime the conqueror secured his victory by piercing the animal in the vital parts, till at length she sank under the vigour of his arm. He ran immediately to kill the whelps, and drew them out of the cave. After this feat of valour, he looked in the plain for a tree, the fruit of which might afford him nourishment, and a stream in which he might quench his thirst; and still aided by Providence, everything seemed subject to his desires and offered itself to his hand.

Having at length recruited his strength, exhausted by so much fatigue, he re-entered the cave whose inhabitants he had destroyed, made himself master of the treasures it contained, shut up its entrance with the branches of a tree, and, armed to as much advantage as possible, and furnished with gold and silver to satisfy his wants, he took the road to his native country. He arrived there at the end of some days, and gave an account of his history to his relations. Camels and slaves were dispatched to bring away the precious effects which were left in the lions' den. Possessed of so much riches, the beneficent slave shared them with the indigent. Not far from his habitation he built an asylum for caravans, pilgrims, and travellers who might be obliged to take that road; and from the spoils of a lions' den he erected a temple of charity.

* * * * *

"Sire," added Aladin, after having finished his relation, "you see how this slave, condemned to perish upon the scaffold, on the false evidence of his enemies, and in danger of being devoured by lions, was miraculously delivered from these dangers; while his accusers and enemies, eager to feast their eyes with the sight of his tortures, were massacred and punished. The King of Haram, deprived of part of his subjects, suffered the punishment of his negligence in not examining the proceedings himself, and not listening sufficiently to complaints which, although they moved his pity, had not armed his justice."

Bohetzad felt an unusual struggle betwixt his own power, the relations and reflections of Aladin, and the solicitations of his ministers. A voice within him pleaded powerfully against the judgment he had pronounced; yet the orders which he had given publicly, the scaffold already prepared without the walls of the city, the crowd of people impatient to enjoy this execution, so long delayed, all seemed to increase the embarrassment of the King. His Viziers, seeing him hesitate again, were eager to fix his resolution by the strongest remonstrances; and going over all the arguments they had already alleged, they ended by alarming the King respecting the duration of his power.

"I feel in spite of you," said the King, "that my heart revolts at what I am doing; nevertheless, as the safety of my kingdom depends upon this decree, I yield to your reasons. Let the criminal be conducted to punishment."

That very instant the guard seized Aladin. He was bound with cords, loaded with chains, and led without the city to the place where he was to terminate his existence. The King himself, mounted upon an elephant, and followed by his whole Court, repaired to the place of punishment: he was seated upon a throne from which he would behold the execution. The unfortunate Aladin was already on the scaffold, when suddenly a stranger, rushing through the crowd, and removing the guards and every obstacle that opposed his passage, threw himself into the arms of Aladin.

"Oh, my son! my dear son!" exclaimed he, the tears flowing in a torrent from his eyes. He could say no more, for grief stopped his utterance.

This unexpected event threw the people into commotion, and the King gave orders that the stranger should be brought before him.

"Sovereign monarch," said he to him, embracing his knees, "save the life of the unfortunate young man whom you have condemned to death. If a criminal must die, give orders for my punishment: I await it at your feet."

"Who are you?" said the King. "What interest have you in this criminal?"

"Sire, I am the chief of a band of robbers. Searching one day in the desert for a fountain to allay the thirst of my company, I found upon the grass, on the brink of a fountain, and at the feet of five palm-trees, which covered it with their shadow, a piece of cloth interwoven with gold, and some swaddling-clothes, on which an infant lay. Moved with compassion for this innocent creature, I carried him to my house, where my wife became his nurse. This child was not ours, sire; but he was to us a gift from Heaven, and became dearer to us than our own. He was endowed with such excellent qualities and so many virtues, that we regretted our having abandoned those which the exercise of our profession had made us forget; for in short—to my shame I avow it, sire—we were robbers. He followed us in our expeditions, and distinguished himself on every occasion by deeds of valour and humanity. We lost him in a conflict with your troops."

No other circumstance was necessary to inform the King that he who was about to die by his command was his only son! He rushed from his throne, flew to Aladin, with his own poniard struck the cords off him, and clasped him in his arms, with marks of the most tender affection.

"Ah! my son," exclaimed he, "I have been on the point of plunging in my heart the dagger of endless repentance. My heart must have been torn at the sight of a cruel punishment, and it has been mercifully converted into a spectacle of triumph and joy, whose ravishing splendour my soul can with difficulty support!"

He again embraced Aladin, set him upon his elephant, and returned to the palace, amid the din of trumpets and the acclamations of the people.

Baherjoa had been already informed of his unexpected happiness in finding a son for whose fate she had been so often alarmed. In a short time the King himself presented to her this dear child, dressed in such splendid garments that it was not easy to discover the alteration which a tedious confinement had produced upon him. The joy of this event soon spread through all ranks in the kingdom. Courtiers, merchants, and artists partook of it; the mosques were opened, and the people crowded thither to render thanks to Allah and His Prophet; public rejoicings testified the general happiness; the city of Ispahan was on this day transformed into a scene of pleasure; and everything, even the birds of heaven, sang the glory of the monarch and the deliverance of Aladin.

The ten Viziers alone, far from participating in the public happiness, were thrown into a dark dungeon, where the remorse of their consciences anticipated the punishment which, at the end of the thirty days that had been appointed for feasting, they were doomed to suffer. At length, by the orders of the Sovereign, they were brought to the foot of the throne, which was now become so formidable to them. Aladin was seated at his father's right hand. They turned away their guilty eyes, and after a silence that imposed respect and terror, Bohetzad thus addressed them:

"Pretended supports of my throne!" said he to them, "ministers so jealous of my glory! behold this criminal whom, with so much cruel obstinacy and such distinguished eagerness, you pursued. I ought to have sent him to punishment without hearing him! by listening to his stories, I exposed my glory, my safety, and the peace of my subjects! Justify yourselves if you can: you have liberty to speak."

In vain did the King endeavour to make these guilty ministers open their mouths. They were seized with a mortal coldness; their eyes, fixed on the ground, could not be drawn from it; their lips quivered; their feeble limbs bent under their knees and seemed ready to fail them.

"Speak," said Aladin to them in his turn: "where now is that attachment to the rules of justice which rendered you so eloquent against the son of a chief of the robbers, whose mere mistake was in your eyes a crime which ought to be expiated by the most infamous punishment? Are your courage and your zeal for the glory of the kingdom annihilated? Guilt weighs you down, remorse preys upon you, and you are confounded with shame."

"Your sentence, already written in heaven," resumed Bohetzad, "is about to be executed on earth. On the scaffold where my son was to suffer let these ten wretches finish their days, and let the public criers announce this decree to the people."

The order was instantly executed.

Bohetzad then leading back his son to the palace, continually renewed the tender proofs of his affection.

"Ah, dear son!" would he say, "how were you so little intimidated by the death which threatened you as to recollect all the circumstances you related? Whence have you drawn those numerous maxims and judicious reflections which can only be the fruit of experience and study?"

"Sire," replied Aladin, "it was not I who spoke, but Heaven which inspired me. In my infancy I had not been neglected; and since the happy moment in which I had the good fortune to be placed near your Majesty, I have been perfected in wisdom. The woman, whom I took for my mother, early directed my attention to the divine Koran, by whose sacred precepts, she told me, I ought to regulate my conduct. And that which will appear most extraordinary to you, sire, is, that her husband, led away by the force of habit, brought up in guilt almost from his infancy, and not hesitating in the least to plunder caravans, should yet be afraid of breaking his word. He was a faithful husband, a kind master to his slaves, to me more than an affectionate father, and of all men the least greedy of plunder. He cherished me; and as at that time I was not so well informed as I am at present, I honoured him as a benefactor and loved him as a parent."

"Enough respecting him, my son," replied the King. "Returning from the awful scene they have just beheld, and warned by the signal which the Muezzins have sounded from the tops of the mosques, the people are about to fill them. Order my treasurer to follow you; let plentiful alms and charity everywhere accompany your steps, and announce, in a suitable manner, the heir, whom, for the prosperity of my empire, Heaven has restored to my arms."

As soon as the religious ceremonies were finished, the King ordered the chief of the robbers, who was known to have remained at Issessara, to be conducted to the bath, to be decently dressed, and brought to the palace, that he might enjoy the triumph of his adopted son. Far from reproaching him with his former manner of life, but presuming on the natural principles of this man, whom example had not corrupted, whom opportunities had not seduced, and whom want had not provoked, he appointed him to the command of a frontier province, where he must necessarily command respect by his activity and military talents.

Bohetzad, Baherjoa, and Aladin, reunited by the ties of blood, of love, and of friendship, passed many years in unalterable affection, continually finding means to draw closer the knots which bound them together. At length, the monarch, feeling from his age and strength that it was time to resign the sceptre into more steady hands, assembled his divan, his ministers, Viziers, Cadis, lawyers, princes, lords, and all the grandees of the realm.

"Nature," said he to them, "hath called my son to succeed me; but, in his miraculous preservation, Heaven has given a clear indication of its will. In putting the crown upon his head this day, I only obey its decrees, and give you a master more worthy than I to command."



The Adventures of Urad; or, The Fair Wanderer.



On the banks of the river Tigris, far above where it washes the lofty city of the Faithful, lived Nouri, in poverty and widowhood, whose employment it was to tend the worm who clothes the richest and the fairest with its beautiful web. Her husband, who was a guard to the caravans of the merchants, lost his life in an engagement with the wild Arabs, and left the poor woman no other means of supporting herself, or her infant daughter Urad, but by her labours among the silk-worms, which were little more than sufficient to support nature, although her labours began ere the sunbeams played on the waters of the Tigris, and ended not till the stars were reflected from its surface. Such was the business of the disconsolate Nouri, when the voluptuous Almurah was proclaimed Sultan throughout his extensive dominions; nor was it long before his subjects felt the power of their Sultan; for, Almurah resolving to inclose a large tract of land for hunting and sporting, commanded the inhabitants of fourteen hundred villages to be expelled from the limits of his intended inclosure.

A piteous train of helpless and ruined families were in one day driven from their country and livelihood, and obliged to seek for shelter amidst the forests, the caves, and deserts, which surround the more uncultivated banks of the Tigris.

Many passed by the cottage of Nouri the widow, among whom she distributed what little remains of provision she had saved from the earnings of her labours the day before; and, her little stock being exhausted, she had nothing but wishes and prayers left for the rest.

It happened, among the numerous throngs that travelled by her cottage, that a young man came with wearied steps, bearing on his shoulders an old and feeble woman; setting her down on the ground before the door of Nouri, he besought her to give him a drop of water, to wash the sand and the dust from his parched mouth.

Nouri, having already distributed the contents of her pitcher, hastened to the river to fill it for the wearied young man; and, as she went, she begged a morsel of provisions from a neighbour, whose cottage stood on a rock which overlooked the flood.

With this, and her pitcher filled with water, the good Nouri returned, and found the feeble old woman on the ground, but the young man was not with her.

"Where," said Nouri, "O afflicted stranger, is the pious young man that dutifully bore the burden of age on his shoulders?"

"Alas!" answered the stranger, "my son has brought me hither from the tyranny of Almurah, and leaves me to perish in the deserts of Tigris. No sooner were you gone for the water, than a crowd of young damsels came this way, and led my cruel son from his perishing mother. But, courteous stranger," said she to Nouri, "give me of that water to drink, that my life fail not within me, for thirst, and hunger, and trouble are hastening to put an end to the unhappy Houadir."

The tender and benevolent Nouri invited Houadir into the cottage, and there placed her on a straw bed, and gave her the provisions, and a cup of water to drink.

Houadir, being somewhat refreshed by the care of Nouri, acquainted her with the cruel decree of Almurah, who had turned her son out of his little patrimony, where, by the labour of his hands, he had for many years supported her, and that till that day she had ever found him a most dutiful and obedient son, and concluded with a wish that he would shortly return to his poor helpless parent.

Nouri did all she could to comfort the wretched Houadir, and, having persuaded her to rest awhile on the bed, returned to the labours of the day.

When her work was finished, Nouri, with the wages of the day, purchased some provisions, and brought them home to feed herself and the little Urad, whose portion of food, as well as her own, had been distributed to the unhappy wanderers.

As Nouri was giving a small morsel to Urad, Houadir awaked, and begged that Nouri would be so kind as to spare her a bit of her provisions.

Immediately, before Nouri could rise, the little Urad ran nimbly to the bed and offered her supper to the afflicted Houadir, who received it with great pleasure from her hands, being assured her mother would not let Urad be a loser by her benevolence.

Houadir continued several days with the widow Nouri, expecting the return of her son; till, giving over all hopes of seeing him, and observing that she was burdensome to the charitable widow, she one evening, after the labours of the day, thus addressed her hospitable friend:

"I perceive, benevolent Nouri, that my son has forsaken me, and that I do but rob you and your poor infant of the scanty provision which you, by your hourly toil, are earning: wherefore, listen to my proposal, and judge whether I offer you a suitable return. There are many parts of your business that, old as I am, I can help you in, as the winding your silk and feeding your worms. Employ me, therefore, in such business in the day as you think me capable of performing; and at night, while your necessary cares busy you about the house, give me leave (as I see your labour allows you no spare time) to instruct the innocent Urad how to behave herself, when your death shall leave her unsheltered from the storms and deceits of a troublesome world."

Nouri listened with pleasure to the words of Houadir.

"Yes," said she, "benevolent stranger, you well advise me how to portion my poor infant, Urad, whom I could neither provide for by my industry nor instruct without losing the daily bread I earn for her. I perceive a little is sufficient for your support; nay, I know not how, I seem to have greater plenty since you have been with me than before; whether it be owing to the blessing of Heaven on you I know not."

"Far be it from me," said Houadir, "to see my generous benefactress deceived; but the thinness of inhabitants, occasioned by the tyranny of Almurah, is the cause that your provisions are more plentiful; but yet I insist upon bearing my part in the burden of the day, and Urad shall share my evening's labour."

From this time Houadir became a useful member of the family of Nouri, and Urad was daily instructed by the good old stranger in the pleasures and benefits of a virtuous, and the horrors and curses of an evil, life.

Little Urad was greatly rejoiced at the lessons of Houadir, and was never better pleased than when she was listening to the mild and pleasing instructions of her affable mistress.

It was the custom of Houadir, whenever she taught Urad any new rule or caution, to give her a peppercorn; requiring of her, as often as she looked at them, to remember the lessons which she learnt at the time she received them.

In this manner Urad continued to be instructed; greatly improving, as well in virtue and religion, as in comeliness and beauty, till she was near woman's estate; so that Nouri could scarcely believe she was the mother of a daughter so amiable and graceful in person and manners. Neither was Urad unskilled in the labours of the family, or the silk-worm; for, Nouri growing old and sickly, she almost constantly, by her industry, supported the whole cottage.

One evening, as Houadir was lecturing her attentive pupil, Nouri, who lay sick on the straw bed, called Urad to her.

"My dear daughter," said Nouri, "I feel, alas! more for you than myself: while Houadir lives, you will have indeed a better instructor than your poor mother was capable of being unto you; but what will my innocent lamb, my lovely Urad do, when she is left alone, the helpless prey of craft or power? Consider, my dear child, that Allah would not send you into the world to be necessarily and unavoidably wicked; therefore always depend upon the assistance of our holy Prophet when you do right, and let no circumstance of life, nor any persuasion, ever bias you to live otherwise than according to the chaste and virtuous precepts of the religious Houadir. May Allah and the Prophet of the Faithful ever bless and preserve the innocence and chastity of my dutiful and affectionate Urad!"

The widow Nouri spoke not again; her breath for ever fled from its confinement, and her body was delivered to the waters of the Tigris.

The inconsolable Urad had now her most difficult lesson to learn from the patient Houadir; and scarcely did she think it dutiful to moderate the violence of her grief.

"Sorrows," said Houadir, "O duteous Urad, which arise from sin or evil actions, cannot be assuaged without contrition or amendment of life; there the soul is deservedly afflicted, and must feel before it can be cured: such sorrows may my amiable pupil never experience! But the afflictions of mortality are alike the portions of piety or iniquity: it is necessary that we should be taught to part with the desirable things of this life by degrees, and that by the frequency of such losses our affections should be loosened from their earthly attachments. While you continue good be not dejected, my obedient Urad; and remember, it is one part of virtue to bear with patience and resignation the unalterable decrees of Heaven; not but that I esteem your sorrow, which arises from gratitude, duty, and affection. I do not teach my pupil to part with her dearest friends without reluctance, or wish her to be unconcerned at the loss of those who, by a marvellous love, have sheltered her from all those storms which must have overwhelmed helpless innocence. Only remember that your tears be the tears of resignation, and that your sighs confess a heart humbly yielding to His will who ordereth all things according to His infinite knowledge and goodness."

"O pious Houadir," replied Urad, "just are thy precepts: it was Allah that created my best of parents, and Allah is pleased to take her from me; far be it from me, though an infinite sufferer, to dispute His will; the loss indeed wounds me sorely, yet will I endeavour to bear the blow with patience and resignation."

Houadir still continued her kind lessons and instructions, and Urad, with a decent solemnity, attended both her labours and her teacher, who was so pleased with the fruits which she saw spring forth from the seeds of virtue that she had sown in the breast of her pupil, that she now began to leave her more to herself, and exhorted her to set apart some portion of each day to pray to her Prophet, and frequent meditation and recollection of the rules she had given her, that so her mind might never be suffered to grow forgetful of the truths she had treasured up. "For," said the provident Houadir, "when it shall please the Prophet to snatch me also from you, my dear Urad will then have only the peppercorns to assist her."

"And how, my kind governess," said Urad, "will those corns assist me?"

"They will," answered Houadir, "each of them (if you remember the precepts I gave you with them, but not otherwise), be serviceable in the times of your necessities."

Urad, with great reluctance, from that time was obliged to go without her evening lectures; which loss affected her much, for she knew no greater pleasure in life than hanging over Houadir's persuasive tongue, and hearing, with fixed attention, the sweet doctrines of prudence, chastity, and virtue.

As Urad, according to her usual custom (after having spent some few early hours at her employment), advanced toward the bed to call her kind instructress, whose infirmities would not admit her to rise betimes, she perceived that Houadir was risen from her bed.

The young virgin was amazed at the novelty of her instructress's behaviour, especially as she seldom moved without assistance, and hastened into a little inclosure to look after her; but not finding Houadir there, she went to the neighbouring cottages, none of the inhabitants of which could give any account of the good old matron; nevertheless the anxious Urad continued her search, looking all around the woods and forest, and often peeping over the rocks of the Tigris, as fearful that some accident might have befallen her. In this fruitless labour the poor virgin fatigued herself, till the sun, as tired of her toils, refused any longer to assist her search; when, returning to her lonely cot, she spent the night in tears and lamentations.

The helpless Urad now gave herself up entirely to grief; and the remembrance of her affectionate mother added a double portion of sorrows to her heart: she neglected to open her lonely cottage, and went not forth to the labours of the silk-worm; but, day after day, with little or no nourishment, she continued weeping the loss of Houadir, her mild instructress, and Nouri, her affectionate mother.

The neighbouring cottagers, observing that Urad came no longer to the silk-worms, and that her dwelling was daily shut up, after some time knocked at her cottage, and demanded if Urad the daughter of Nouri was living. Urad, seeing the concourse of people, came weeping and trembling toward the door, and asked them the cause of their coming.

"O Urad," said her neighbours, "we saw you, not long ago, seeking your friend Houadir, and we feared you also were missing, as you have neither appeared among us, nor attended your daily labours among the worms, who feed and provide for us by their subtle spinning."

"O my friends," answered Urad, "suffer a wretched maid to deplore the loss of her dearest friends. Nouri, from whose breasts I sucked my natural life, is now a prey to the vulture on the banks of the Tigris; and Houadir, from whom I derive my better life, is passed away from me like a vision in the night."

Her rustic acquaintance laughed at these sorrows of the virgin Urad. "Alas!" said one, "Urad grieves that now she has to work for one, instead of three." "Nay," cried another, "I wish my old folks were as well bestowed." "And I," said a third, "were our house rid of the old-fashioned lumber that fills it at present (my superannuated father and mother), would soon bring a healthy young swain to supply their places with love and affection." "Ay, true," answered two or three more, "we must look out a clever young fellow for Urad; whom shall she have?" "Oh, if that be all," said a crooked old maid, who was famous for match-making, "I will send Darandu to comfort her, before night; and, if I mistake not, he very well knows his business." "Well, pretty Urad," cried they all, "Darandu will soon be here: he is fishing on the Tigris; and it is but just that the river which has robbed you of one comfort, should give you a better." At this speech, the rest laughed very heartily, and they all ran away, crying out, "Oh, she will do very well when Darandu approaches."

Urad, though she could despise the trifling of her country neighbours, yet felt an oppression on her heart at the name of Darandu, who was a youth of incomparable beauty, and added to the charms of his person an engaging air, which was far above the reach of the rest of the country swains, who lived on those remote banks of the Tigris. "But, O Houadir, O Nouri!" said the afflicted virgin to herself, "never shall Urad seek, in the arms of a lover, to forget the bounties and precepts of so kind a mistress and so indulgent a parent."

These reflections hurried the wretched Urad into her usual sorrowful train of thoughts, and she spent the rest of the day in tears and weeping, calling for ever on Nouri and Houadir, and wishing that the Prophet would permit her to follow them out of a world where she foresaw neither comfort nor peace.

In the midst of these melancholy meditations, she was disturbed by a knocking at the door. Urad arose with trembling, and asked who was there.

"It is one," answered a voice in the softest tone, "who seeketh comfort and cannot find it; who desires peace, and it is far from him."

"Alas!" answered Urad, "few are the comforts of this cottage, and peace is a stranger to this mournful roof: depart, O traveller, whosoever thou art, and suffer the disconsolate Urad to indulge in sorrows greater than those from which you wish to be relieved."

"Alas!" answered the voice without, "the griefs of the beautiful Urad are my griefs; and the sorrows which afflict her, rend the soul of the wretched Darandu!"

"Whatever may be the motive for this charitable visit, Darandu," answered Urad, "let me beseech you to depart; for ill does it become a forlorn virgin to admit the conversation of the youths that surround her: leave me, therefore, O swain, ere want of decency make you appear odious in the sight of the virgins who inhabit the rocky banks of the rapid Tigris."

"To convince the lovely Urad," answered Darandu, "that I came to soothe her cares and condole with her in her losses (which I heard but this evening), I now will quit this dear spot, which contains the treasure of my heart, as, however terrible the parting is to me, I rest satisfied that it pleases the fair conqueror of my heart, whose peace to Darandu is more precious than the pomegranate in the sultry noon, or the silver scales of ten thousand fishes enclosed in the nets of my skilful comrades."

Darandu then left the door of the cottage, and Urad reclined on the bed, till sleep finished her toils, and for a time released her from the severe afflictions of her unguarded situation.

Early in the morning the fair Urad arose, and directed her steps to the rocks of the Tigris, either invited thither by the melancholy reflections which her departed mother occasioned, or willing to take a nearer and more unobserved view of the gentle Darandu.

Darandu, who was just about to launch his vessel into the river, perceived the beauteous mourner on the rocks; but he was too well versed in love affairs to take any notice of her: he rather turned from Urad, and endeavoured by his behaviour to persuade her that he had not observed her, for it was enough for him to know that he was not indifferent to her.

Urad, though she hardly knew the cause of her morning walk, yet continued on the rocks till Darandu had taken in his nets, and, with his companions, was steering up the stream in quest of the fishes of the Tigris. She then returned to her cottage, more irresolute in her thoughts, but less than ever inclined to the labours of her profession.

At the return of the evening she was anxious lest Darandu should renew his visit—an anxiety which, though it arose from fear, was yet near allied to hope; nor was she less solicitous about provisions, as all her little stock was entirely exhausted, and she had no other prospect before her than to return to her labours, which her sorrows had rendered irksome and disagreeable to her.

While she was meditating on these things, she heard a knocking at the door, which fluttered her little less than the fears of hunger or the sorrows of her lonely life.

For some time she had not courage to answer, till, the knocking being repeated, she faintly asked who was at the door.

"It is Lahnar," answered a female: "Lahnar, your neighbour, seeks to give Urad comfort, and to condole with the distressed mourner of a mother and a friend."

"Lahnar," answered Urad, "is then a friend to the afflicted, and kindly seeks to alleviate the sorrows of the wretched Urad."

She then opened the door, and Lahnar entered with a basket on her head.

"Kind Lahnar," said the fair mourner, "leave your burden at the door, and enter this cottage of affliction. Alas! alas! there once sat Nouri, my ever-affectionate mother, and there Houadir, my kind counsellor and director; but now are their seats vacant, and sorrow and grief are the only companions of the miserable Urad!"

"Your losses are certainly great," answered Lahnar; "but you must endeavour to bear them with patience, especially as they are the common changes and alterations of life. Your good mother Nouri lived to a great age, and Houadir, though a kind friend, may yet be succeeded by one as amiable; but what I am most alarmed at, O Urad! is your manner of life. We no longer see you busied among the leaves of the mulberries, or gathering the bags of silk, or preparing them for the wheels. You purchase no provision among us; you seek no comfort in society; you live like the mole buried under the earth, which neither sees nor is seen."

"My sorrows indeed hitherto," replied Urad, "have prevented my labour; but to-morrow I shall again rise to my wonted employment."

"But even to-night," said Lahnar, "let my friend take some little nourishment, that she may rise refreshed; for fasting will deject you as well as grief; and suffer me to partake with you. And see, in this basket I have brought my provisions, some boiled rice, and a few fish, which my kind brother Darandu brought me this evening from the river Tigris."

"Excuse me, kind Lahnar," answered Urad, "but I must refuse your offer. Grief has driven away appetite to aught but itself far from me, and I am not solicitous to take provisions which I cannot use."

"At least," replied Lahnar, "permit me to sit beside you, and eat of what is here before us."

Upon which, without other excuses, Lahnar emptied her basket, and set a bowl of rice and fish before Urad, and began to feed heartily on that which she had brought for herself.

Urad was tempted by hunger and the example of Lahnar to begin, but she was doubtful about tasting the fish of Darandu; wherefore she first attempted the boiled rice, though her appetite was most inclined to the fish, of which she at last ate very heartily, when she recollected that as she had partaken with Lahnar, it was the same whatever part she accepted.

Lahnar having finished her meal, and advised Urad to think of some methods of social life, took her leave, and left the unsettled virgin to meditate on her strange visitor.

Urad, though confused, could not help expressing some pleasure at this visit; for such is the blessing of society, that it will always give comfort to those who have been disused to its sweet effects.

But Urad, though pleased with the friendship of Lahnar, yet was confounded when, some few minutes after, she perceived her again returning.

"What," said Urad, "brings back Lahnar to the sorrows of this cottage?"

"Urad," said Lahnar, "I will rest with my friend to-night, for the shades of night cast horrors around, and I dare not disturb my father's cottage by my late approach."

But as soon as she had admitted Lahnar, she perceived that it was Darandu disguised in Lahnar's clothes. Urad, greatly terrified, recollecting her lost friend Houadir, felt for a peppercorn, and let it fall to the ground.

A violent rapping was in a moment heard at the cottage, at which Urad uttered a loud cry, and Darandu, with shame and confusion, looked trembling toward the door.

Urad ran forward and opened it, when the son of Houadir entered, and asked Urad the reason of her cries.

"O thou blessed angel!" said Urad; "this wicked wretch is disguised in his sister's clothes."

But Darandu was fled, as guilt is ever fearful, mean, and base.

"Now, Urad," said the son of Houadir, "before you close your doors upon another man, let me resume my former features."

Upon which Urad looked, and beheld her old friend Houadir. At the sight of Houadir, Urad was equally astonished and abashed.

"Why blushes, Urad?" said Houadir.

"How, O genius," said Urad, "for such I perceive thou art—how is Urad guilty? I invited not Darandu hither: I wished not for him."

"Take care," answered Houadir, "what you say. If you wished not for him, you hardly wished him away, and, but for your imprudence, he had not entered your home. Consider how have your days been employed since I left you? Have you continued to watch the labours of the silk-worm? Have you repeated the lessons I gave you? or has the time of Urad been consumed in idleness and disobedience? Has she shaken off her dependence on Mahomet, and indulged the unavailing sorrows of her heart?"

"Alas!" answered the fair Urad, "repeat no more, my ever-honoured Houadir: I have indeed been guilty, under the mask of love and affection; and I now plainly see the force of your first rule, that idleness is the beginning of all evil and vice. Yes, my dearest Houadir, had I attended to your instructions I had given no handle to Darandu's insolence; but yet methinks some sorrows were allowable for the loss of such a mother and such a friend."

"Sorrows," answered Houadir, "proceed from the heart, and, totally indulged, soon require a change and vicissitude in our minds; wherefore, in the midst of your griefs, your feet involuntarily wandered after Darandu, and your soul, softened by idle sighs, was the more easily impressed by the deceits of his tongue.

"But this remember, O Urad—for I must, I find, repeat an old instruction to you—that of all things in the world, nothing should so much engage a woman's attention as the avenues which lead to her heart. Such are the wiles and deceits of men, that they are rarely to be trusted with the most advanced post; give them but footing, though that footing be innocent, and they will work night and day till their wishes are accomplished. Trust not, therefore, to yourself alone, nor suffer your heart to plead in their favour, lest it become as much your enemy as the tempter, man. Place your security in flight, and avoid every evil, lest it lead you into danger, for hard it is to turn the head and look backward when a beautiful or agreeable object is before you. Remember my instructions, O Urad! make a prudent use of your peppercorns, and leave this place, which holds a man sensible of your folly and resolute in his own dark and subtle intentions."

Urad was about to thank Houadir, but the genius was fled, and the eyelids of the morning were opening in the east.

Urad, in a little wallet, packed up her small stock of necessaries, and, full of terror and full of uncertainty, struck into the forest, and without reflection took the widest path that offered. And first, it was her care to repeat over deliberately the lessons of Houadir. She then travelled slowly forward, often looking, and fearing to behold the wicked Darandu at her heels.

After walking through the forest for the greater part of the day, she came to a steep descent, on each side overshadowed with lofty trees; this she walked down, and came to a small spot of ground surrounded by hills, woods, and rocks. Here she found a spring of water, and sat down on the grass to refresh herself after the travels of the day.

As Urad's meal was almost at an end she heard various voices issuing from the woods on the hills opposite to that which she came down. Her little heart beat quick at this alarm; and recollecting the advice of Houadir, she began to repeat the lessons of her instructress, and ere long she perceived through the trees several men coming down the hill, who, at sight of her, gave a loud halloo, and ran forward, each being eager who should first seize the prize.

Urad, trembling and sighing at her danger, forgot not to drop one of her peppercorns, and immediately she found herself changed into a pismire, and with great pleasure she looked for a hole in the ground, and crept into it.

The robbers, coming down to the bottom of the vale, were surprised to find their prize eloped; but they divided into separate bodies, resolved to hunt till night, and then appointed that little vale as the place of rendezvous.

Urad, perceiving that they were gone, wished herself into her original form, but alas! her wish was not granted, and the once beautiful Urad still continued an ugly pismire.

Late at night the robbers returned, and the moon shining bright, reflected a gloomy horror upon their despairing faces. Urad shuddered at the sight of them, though so well concealed, and dared hardly peep out of her hole—so difficult is it to forget our former fears. The gang resolved to spend the rest of the night in that place, and therefore unloaded their wallets, and spread their wine and provisions on the banks of the spring, grumbling and cursing each other all the time for their unfortunate search.

Urad heard them lamenting their ill fortune with the utmost horror and indignation, and praised continually the gracious Allah who had rescued her from such inhuman wretches; while they with singing and drinking spent the greatest part of the night, and wishing that their comrades in the other part of the forest had been with them; at length falling into drunkenness and sleep, they left the world to silence and peace.

Urad, finding them fast asleep, crawled out of her hole, and going to the first, she stung him in each eye, and thus she went round to them all.

The poison of the little pismire working in their eyes, in a short time occasioned them to awake in the utmost tortures; and perceiving they were blind, and feeling the pain, they each supposed his neighbour had blinded him in order to get away with the booty. This so enraged them that, feeling about, they fell upon one another, and in a short time almost the whole gang was demolished.

Urad beheld with astonishment the effect of her stings, and at a wish resumed her pristine form, saying at the same time to herself, "I now perceive that Providence is able by the most insignificant means to work the greatest purposes."

Continuing her journey through the forest, she was terribly afraid of meeting with the second band of robbers, and therefore she directed her steps with the greatest caution and circumspection.

As she walked forward, and cast her eyes all around, and stopped at every motion of the wind, she saw the son of Houadir coming to meet her in the path in which she was travelling.

At this sight Urad ran toward him, and with joy begged her old governess would unmask herself, and entertain her with instruction and persuasion.

"No, my dear child," answered the son of Houadir, "that I cannot do at present; the time is not as yet come. I will first, as you have been tried, lead you to the palace of the Genii of the Forest, and present your unspotted innocence before them; for, O my sweet Urad, my heavenly pupil!" said he, kissing and taking her in his arms, "your virtue is tried; I have found you worthy of the lessons which I gave you. I foresaw evils might befall you, and therefore I took pity on your innocence, and lived with Nouri your mother, that I might train up my beloved Urad in the paths of virtue; and now your trial is past, Urad shall enjoy the happiness of a genius."

Urad, though somewhat confounded at Houadir's embrace under the appearance of a man, yet with great humility thanked her benefactor; and the son of Houadir, turning to the left, led Urad into a little by-path, so concealed that few, if any, might ever find its beginning. After a long walk through various turnings and intricate windings, they came to a small mean cottage, where, the son of Houadir leading the way, Urad followed.

The son of Houadir striking fire with his stick, a bright flame arose from the centre of the floor, into which he cast divers herbs, and repeating some enchantments, the back part of the cottage opened and presented to the view of Urad a beautiful dome, where she saw sitting round a table a numerous assembly of gay persons of both sexes.

The son of Houadir, leading in Urad, said, "This, my dear pupil, is the assembly of the Genii of the Forest." And, presenting her to the company, "Behold," said he, "the beautiful and well-tried Urad. But here you may cast off your reserve, fair maid, and indulge in the innocent pleasures of the Genii of the Forest."

The son of Houadir then led her to the table, and seated her on the same sofa with himself. The remainder of the day was spent in mirth and pleasure.

Urad, having never beheld anything splendid or magnificent, was greatly delighted at the gay company and beautiful saloon, nor did she receive the caresses of the son of Houadir reluctantly.

At night, Urad was shown a glorious apartment to rest in, and the son of Houadir attended her.

"My dear Houadir," said Urad, "when shall I behold your proper shape? When shall I see you as my tutelary genius?"

"That," answered the son of Houadir, "I shall be in every shape; but call neither one nor the other my proper shape; for to a genius all shapes are assumed: neither is this my proper shape, nor the wrinkles of an old woman. But, to confess the truth, O beautiful Urad, from the first moment of your birth I resolved to make you my bride, and therefore did I so patiently watch your growing years, and instruct you in the fear of vice and the love of virtue."

Urad, astonished at the words of the son of Houadir, knew not what answer to make; but the natural timidity of her sex, and the strangeness of the proposal, filled her with strange apprehensions. However, she begged at least that the genius would, for a time, leave her to herself.

"No, my lovely Urad," answered the son of Houadir, "never, never, will thy faithful genius leave thee!"

"Why," said Urad, "didst thou bestow so many peppercorns upon me, as they now will become useless?"

"Not useless," said the son of Houadir: "they are indeed little preservatives against danger; but I have the seeds of some melons which will not only rescue you, but always preserve you from harm. Here, faithful Urad," continued he, "take these seeds, and, whenever you are fearful, swallow one of these, and no dangers shall surround you."

Urad thankfully received the seeds.

"And what," said she, "must I do with the peppercorns?"

"Give them," said the son of Houadir, "to me, and I will endue them with stronger virtues, and thou shalt by them have power also over others, as well as to defend thyself."

Urad pulled the peppercorns out of her bag, and presented them to the son of Houadir, whose eyes flashed with joy at the sight, and he immediately thrust them into the folds of his garments.

"O son of Houadir, what hast thou done?" said Urad.

"I have," answered the false son of Houadir, "gained the full possession of my lovely Urad, and now may address her in my proper shape." So saying, he resumed his natural figure, and became like a satyr of the wood.

"I am," said he, "O beautiful Urad, the enchanter Repah, who range in the solitude of the forest of the Tigris. You I saw surrounded by the influence of the genius Houadir, and therefore was obliged to use artifice to gain you as my wife."

The poor deluded victim, with tears in her eyes, implored his mercy and forbearance; but he laughed at her tears, and told her her eyes glittered the brighter for them.

Urad, in her despair, again put her hands into the bag whence she had fatally resigned the peppercorns, and felt about in agony for her lost treasure. And now finding none, and perceiving that the genius Houadir attended not to her cries, she was drawing out her hand when, in a corner of the bag, she felt one peppercorn, which had before escaped her search.

She instantly drew it out, and, throwing it on the ground, the enchanter stood motionless before her; the apartments vanished, and she found herself with him in a dark hut, with various kinds of necromantic instruments about her.

Urad, though fearful, yet was so much overcome with fatigue and fright that she sank on the ground; and, happily for her, the enchanter was in no condition to persecute her.

"Curse on my folly," said he, as he stood fixed to the ground, "that I neglected to ask for the bag itself which held the gifts of the genius Houadir! her pretty pupil had then been my slave, in spite of the many fine lessons she had been taught by that pitiful and enthusiastic genius; but now by chance, and not by the merit of thy virtues, or thy education, art thou delivered from my seraglio. But this grieves me not so much to lose a sickly girl as that I find a superior power condemns me to declare to you the causes of your error.

"Know, then, Urad—I speak not from myself, but He speaks who, from casual evil, can work out certain good—He forces me to declare that no specious appearance, no false colours, should incline the virtuous heart to listen to the wiles of deceit; for evil then comes most terrible when it is cloaked under friendship. Why, then, had Urad so great an opinion of her own judgment as to confide in the false appearance of the son of Houadir when she might have consulted her faithful monitors? The falling of a peppercorn would have taught her to trust to no appearances, nor would she have parted with her peppercorns, which were to refresh in her memory the sentiments of virtue, chastity, and honour—no, not to Houadir herself. No adviser can be good who would destroy what he himself has first inculcated; and no appearance ought to bias us to receive as truths those things which are contrary to virtue and religion. How, then, did Urad keep to the instructions of Houadir?"

Thus spoke the enchanter, and no more; his mouth closed up, and he stood fixed and motionless. And Urad, finding her spirits somewhat recovered, hastened out of the hut, and perceived that it was morning.

She had now no more peppercorns to depend upon; wherefore she cried to Houadir to succour her; but the genius was deaf to her entreaties.

"Poor miserable wretch!" said Urad to herself, "what will become of thee, inclosed in a forest through which thou knowest no path? But," continued she, "why should I not examine the enchanter, who perhaps is yet immovable in the cottage? I saw him fold them in the plaits of his garments, and they may yet become mine."

So saying, she returned to the hut, where entering, the very sight of the dumb enchanter affrighted her so much, that it was a long time before she could venture near him. At length she put out her hand, and pulled forth her beloved peppercorns, the enchanter still standing motionless.

Away flew Urad like lightning from the hut, and ran till she had again reached the road from which she had been decoyed.

She continued her journeying for seven days, feeding on the fruits of the forest, and sleeping in the densest thickets.

The eighth day, as she was endeavouring to pass a ford where a small rivulet had been swelled by the rains, she perceived a large body of horsemen riding through the woods, and doubted not that it was the remainder of the gang of robbers whom she had before met with.

Urad was now in some measure reconciled to danger; and therefore, without much fear, dropped a peppercorn, and expected relief.

The peppercorn had been dropped some time, the horsemen advanced, and no one appeared to her succour.

"Alas!" said Urad, "why has Houadir deceived me? Neither her advice, nor her magical peppercorns, can save me from these cruel robbers. O genius, genius! why hast thou forsaken me in my severest trials!"

By this time the robbers were come up, and were highly rejoiced to find such a beautiful prize.

Their captain leaped from his horse to seize her, and the trembling Urad gave a loud shriek, which was answered from the woods by the roaring of a hundred lions.

"O Allah," said the chief, "the lions are upon us!"

"That may be," said he who was dismounted; "but were the whole world set against me, I would secure my prize." So saying, he took Urad in his arms to place her on his horse.

The roaring of the lions continued, and many of them came howling out of the woods: the robbers fled in dismay, all but the ruffian who had seized on the fair Urad, who was striving in vain to fix her on his horse. A lion furiously made at him, and tore him limb from limb, while Urad expected the same fate from several others who came roaring around.

"But," said she, "better is death than infamy, and the paw of the hungry lion, than slavery to a robber."

The noble beast, having devoured his prey, came fawning at the feet of Urad, who was surprised at his behaviour and gentleness; but much more was her astonishment increased when she heard him speak.

"O virgin (for none other can experience the assistance of our race, or stand unhurt before us), I am the King and Sovereign of these mighty forests, and am sent by the genius Houadir to thy protection. But why did the distrustful Urad despair, or why did she accuse Providence of deserting her? should not the relieved wait with patience on the hand that supports him, and not cry out with impatience, and charge its benefactor with neglect?"

"True, O royal lion," answered the fair Urad; "but fear is irresistible, and the children of men are but weakness and ingratitude. But blessed be Allah, who, though justly provoked at my discontent, yet sent to my assistance the guardian of the fair. Yet how cometh it to pass, O royal protector, that you, who are so bold and so fierce in your nature, should yet behave with such tenderness and kindness to a helpless virgin, whom you might with pleasure to yourself in a moment devour?"

"The truly great and noble spirit," answered the lion, "takes a pride in protecting innocence, neither can he wish to oppress it. Hence learn, fair virgin, that of all mankind he only is noble, generous, and truly virtuous, who is ready to defend helpless womanhood. What, then, must you think of those mean wretches who cajole you under the appearance of affection, and yet tell you that it was only to try you? He that is suspicious is mean: he that is mean is unworthy of the chaste affections of the virtuous maid. Wherefore, O Urad, shun him, however honoured by mankind, or covered by the specious characters of virtue, whoever attempts the honour of your chastity, for he cannot be just: to deceive you he must himself swear falsely, and therefore cannot be good; or if he tell the truth, he must be weak and ungenerous, and unworthy of you."

In such conversation they passed along the forest, till, after a few days, they were alarmed at the noise of the hunters and the music of the chase.

"Alas!" said the beautiful Urad, "what is this that I hear?"

"It is," answered the royal beast, "the noise of the hunters; and thou shalt escape, but me will they in sport destroy. The lion you call cruel, who kills to devour. What, then, is he who wantons in the death of those who advantage him not? But man is lord of all: let him look to it how he governs!"

"Nay, but," answered Urad, "leave me, gentle protector, and provide for your safety; nor fear but Houadir will prevent the storms that hover over from breaking upon me."

"No," answered the royal beast, "she has commanded me to follow you till I see her presence; and where can I better sacrifice my life than in the service of chastity and virtue?"

The hunters were now in sight, but advanced not towards the lion; they turned their coursers aside, and only one of superior mien, with several attendants, rode towards Urad.

The lion erecting his mane, his eyes glowing with vivid lightnings, drew up the wide sinews of his broad back, and with wrathful front leaped towards him who seemed to have the command.

The horseman, perceiving his intention, poised his spear in his right hand, and spurred his courser to meet him.

Ere the royal beast had reached the horseman, the rider threw his spear, which, entering between the fore-paws of the lion, nailed him to the ground. The enraged animal tore his paw from the ground; but the spear still remained in his foot, and the anguish of the wound made him shake the whole forest with his lordly roarings.

The stranger then rode up to the fair Urad, whom viewing, he cried out, "By Allah! thou art worthy of the seraglio of the Vizier Mussapulta: take her, my eunuchs, behind you, and bear her through the forest of Bagdad, to the home of my ancestors."

The eunuchs obeyed, and bore her away, though Urad dropped her corn upon the ground; but still she trusted in the help of Houadir.

The Vizier Mussapulta then ordered that one of his slaves should stay behind, and destroy and bury the lion; which he commanded to be done with the utmost caution, as Almurah had made a decree that if any subjects should wound, maim, or destroy any lion in his forests, the same should be put to death.

The eunuchs bore away Urad to the seraglio, taking her through by-ways to the palace of the Vizier, lest her shrieks should be heard. Mussapulta followed at a distance, and the slave was left with the tortured and faithful lion.

In a few hours they reached the palace, and Urad, being conducted to the seraglio, was ordered to be dressed, as the Vizier intended visiting her.

Urad was thunderstruck at the news, and now began to fear Houadir had forgotten her, and resolved, as soon as the eunuchs had left her, to drop a second peppercorn. But poor Urad had forgotten to take her bag from her old garments, which the women who dressed her had carried away. She dissolved in fresh tears at this piece of carelessness.

"Well," said she, "surely Houadir will neglect me, if I so easily neglect myself."

She waited that night with fear and trembling; but no Vizier appeared.

This eased her greatly, and the next day, when the eunuchs came, they informed her that Mussapulta had that evening been sent by the Sultan to quell an insurrection, and that they did not expect him home under twenty days.

During this time no pains were spared with Urad to teach her the accomplishments of the country, all which, in spite of her unwillingness to learn in such a detestable place, she nevertheless acquired with the utmost ease and facility.

The insurrection being quelled, the Vizier returned, and, not unmindful of his fair captive, ordered that she might be prepared for his reception in the evening.

Accordingly Urad was sumptuously adorned with jewels and brocades, and looked more beautiful than the fairest Circassian; and the dignity of her virtue added such a grace to her charms, that even her keepers, the eunuchs, dared not look upon her. In the evening the chief eunuch led her into the presence of Mussapulta. She shrank from him with horror.

"What!" said he, "cannot a fortnight's pleasure in this palace efface the remembrance of your sorrows? But be gay and cheerful, for know that the Vizier Mussapulta esteems you beyond any of his wives."

"The esteem of a robber, the esteem of a lawless ranger," answered Urad, "charms not the ears of virtue."

"What," said Mussapulta, sternly, "dost thou refuse my proffered love? Then shalt thou die! Slay this proud maiden in my sight. Cut off her head at once."

The eunuch hesitated.

"Why," said the proud Vizier, "do you delay to obey me?"

As he said this an eunuch came running in haste, crying, "The Sultan, the Sultan Almurah, approaches!"

All was instant confusion. Mussapulta turned pale and trembled. He ordered the eunuch to release the fair Urad, and at that moment the faithful lion entered with the Sultan Almurah.

The lion instantly seized on the Vizier Mussapulta, and tore him limb from limb. Yet the generous animal would not defile himself with the carcass, but with great wrath tossed the bloody remains among the females of the seraglio.

Almurah commanded Urad to advance, and at the sight of her,

"O royal beast," said he to the lion, "I wonder not that thou wert unable to describe the beauties of this lovely maid, since they are almost too dazzling to behold. O virtuous maid," continued Almurah, "whose excellencies I have heard from this faithful animal, if thou canst deign to accept of the heart of Almurah, thy Sultan will be the happiest of mankind; but I swear, by my unalterable will, that no power on earth shall force or distress you."

"Oh," sighed Urad, "royal Sultan, you honour your poor slave too much; yet happy should I be were Houadir here!"

As she spoke, the genius Houadir entered the room: the face of the sage instructress still remained, but a glowing splendour surrounded her, and her walk was majestic and commanding. Almurah bowed to the ground, Urad made obeisance, and the rest fell prostrate before her.

"My advice," said Houadir, "is necessary now, O Urad, nor ought young virgins to enter into such engagements without counsel and the approbation of those above them, how splendid and lucrative soever the union may appear. I, who know the heart of Almurah, the servant of Mahomet, know him to be virtuous: some excesses he has been guilty of, but they were chiefly owing to his villanous Vizier, Mussapulta." (Here the lion gave a dreadful roar.) "Against your command, Almurah, did he wound this animal, which I endowed with speech for the service of Urad, to teach her that strength and nobleness of soul would always support the innocent.

"Mussapulta having wounded him, commanded his slave to put the royal beast to death; but I gave the slave bowels of mercy, and he carried him home to his cottage till the wound was healed, when the lion, faithful to his trust, came towards you as you were hunting, and being endowed with speech, declared the iniquity of Mussapulta—but he is no more.

"Now, Urad, if thy mind incline to Almurah, receive his vows, but give not thine hand where thy heart is estranged, for no splendour can compensate the want of affection."

"If Almurah, my gracious lord," answered Urad, "will swear in three things to do my desire, his handmaid will be happy to serve him."

"I swear," answered the fond Almurah. "Hadst thou three thousand desires, Almurah would satisfy them or die."

"What strange things," said Houadir, "has Urad to ask of the Sultan Almurah?"

"Whatever they are, gracious genius," said Almurah, "Urad, the lovely Urad, may command me."

"Then," said Urad, "first I require that the poor inhabitants of the forest be restored to their native lands, whence thou hast driven them."

"By the great Allah, and Mahomet the Prophet of the just," answered Almurah, "the deed was proposed and executed by the villain Mussapulta! Yes, my lovely Urad shall be obeyed. But now, Urad," continued the Sultan, "ere you proceed in your requests, let me make one sacrifice to chastity and justice, by vowing, in the presence of the good genius Houadir, to dismiss my seraglio, and take thee only for my wife."

"So noble a sacrifice," answered Urad, "demands my utmost returns; wherefore, beneficent Sultan, I release thee from any further compliance with my requests."

"Lovely Urad," said Almurah, "permit me, then, to dive into your thoughts:—yes, by your kind glances on that noble beast, I perceive you meditated to ask some bounty for your deliverer. He shall, fair virgin, be honoured as Urad's guardian, and the friend of Almurah; he shall live in my royal palace, with slaves to attend him; and, that his rest may not be inglorious or his life useless, once every year shall those who have injured the innocent be delivered up to his honest rage."

The lovely Urad fell at the feet of her Sultan, and blessed him for his favours; and the sage Houadir approved of Urad's request and the promises of Almurah. The lion came and licked the feet of his benefactors; and the genius Houadir, at parting, poured her blessings on the royal pair.



Alischar and Smaragdine.



There lived once on a time, in the province of Khorassan, a rich merchant, to whom, in his sixtieth year, a son was born, and he called his name Alischar. Fifteen years afterwards the father died, but not without giving his son, in the hour of death, many excellent advices and moral instructions as to his conduct through life. Alischar buried his father, and not long afterwards his mother also, and began to exercise diligently the trade which his parents had bequeathed to him. In this way a whole year was spent, without the least departure from the wise course of behaviour which his father had prescribed for him in his last moments. But, unfortunately, ere many weeks more were gone, he fell into the company of certain vicious people, who seduced him into a life of such luxury and extravagance, that in a short time the money the old man had left him was entirely spent. Proceeding in the same follies, he by-and-bye was obliged to part with the shop itself,—the household furniture followed,—and, in a word, Alischar was left without anything he could call his own, except the bare roof over his head and the clothes upon his back.

Having nothing wherewithal to still the cravings of hunger, the youth might now be seen daily roaming about the streets, idle and listless. One day in this sad condition he was loitering about in the great square of the city, when his attention was attracted by a crowd of people, who seemed to be gathered around one who sold some merchandise by auction. He drew near, and, mixing among the assemblage, saw that the business was the selling of a beautiful young slave, who stood in the midst with a form of the most fascinating elegance, cheeks that outshone the rose, and beauty more dazzling than the reflection of the full moon in a fountain of dissolved pearls. Scarcely had he looked upon her ere love seized him and mastered him; he knew not what to do or to say, but remained like a stone in the midst of the crowd, gazing. The bystanders, who were ignorant that Alischar had so soon dissipated his patrimony, never doubted that he had come in order to be a bidder for the beautiful slave. The crier moved his situation so as to stand right opposite to him, with the girl in his hand, and began to call out the usual words more loudly than before, "Ye rich merchants, ye honourable wholesale dealers, gentlemen all of worth and condition, what say ye for this brunette slave, who is the mistress of the moon of heaven, whose name is called Smaragdine, and whose fame is purer than the pearl in the depths of the Red Sea? Say your bidding, great and small."

At first five hundred and twenty-five ducats were offered; but immediately there came forward an old man, by name Beschadeddin, shapeless in his form and shuffling in his gait,—the aversion of every eye that rested on him. This old man came forward across the market-place, and offered without hesitation a thousand ducats.

The crier cast his eyes around, but the former bidders remained silent, and then asked the master of the slave if he was satisfied with this offer.

"I am," said the merchant, "but upon condition that the girl herself is so also; for I have sworn to her, that she shall be sold to no one for whose service she does not herself feel an inclination."

Upon this the crier turned to the girl, and asked her what she had to say to the matter. She cast her bright eyes upon the hateful old man, and replied, "Know ye not the verse of the old poet, how he says:

"'Grey hairs were never formed to give me delight; Sooner would I twist my fingers amidst the dead leaves That are about to fall from the tree, when the wind of winter is blowing?'"

"You are right," said the auctioneer, laughing (and the master of the slave re-echoed his laugh and his answer); "let us see whether we cannot light upon a younger bidder."

With that there drew near a man whose years were not few, but he had dyed his beard and moved trippingly. He also offered a thousand ducats; but at that moment Smaragdine began to recite as from the book of some poet, but the verses were in truth her own:

"'Say to him that dyes his beard, that I love not the false. Deception is in him that conceals the works of God and Time. He that disguises his countenance, how shall one put faith in his words?'"

A third now came forward, but unfortunately he was one-eyed. The slave regarded him, and quoted, or seemed to quote, without hesitation,

"'Avoid the one-eyed lover, maiden; How shall he be thy safe guardian, fair woman? Will he love thee better than the apple of his eye?'"

"Look round you," said the crier; "is there none here that pleases you better?" And with this he pointed to a short stout man whose beard was of unusual dimensions.

"Fie!" said the slave, "this is he whom the poet had in his eye when he sang,

"'Providence has given my adorer too great an allowance of beard. This bush resembles the night of winter—long, black, and cold.'"

"Choose for yourself, girl," said the auctioneer, laughing more heartily than before; "I pray you look round upon all the circle of the bystanders."

The slave cast her eyes slowly around the company, and at last rested them upon Alischar, whose appearance had charmed her from the first moment.

"Mr. Crier," said she, "I will belong to no one but this handsome young man. It is of him that the poet was thinking when he wrote those verses:

"'Sorrow and pain fly from the loveliness of his countenance, And pierce the hearts of the maidens every one. Why are they not veiled deeply over the eyes? Why court they destruction in gazing upon his beauty?

The breath of his lip is like the odour of myrrh and camphor. Men slander him; but the moon rises in heaven, and who will then believe that there is darkness?'"

When she ceased from her recitation, her master drew near to Alischar, and said, "Friend, you see what a wonder of beauty, education, and eloquence this slave is; and, if you got such a treasure for a thousand ducats, be assured you were a most fortunate man. I swear to you that she can read the Koran in seven different methods—that she excels equally in seven different styles of penmanship—that she embroiders to admiration in silk, in silver, and in gold—and that you will soon get your money out of her, if it were but by the sale of her works in the market-place."

The crier also put in his word. "O sir," quoth he to Alischar, "it is obvious that Providence has an especial kindness for you: she is a pearl and a jewel. You are about to be the happiest of men."

Alischar could not help smiling when he heard all this.

"How!" said he to himself, "last night I went supperless to bed, and yet these people all fancy I am in a condition to pay a thousand ducats for a dark-eyed slave!"

He shook his head, for he would fain escape the pain of saying openly that he was too poor to think of such a purchase.

"Quick," said the beautiful slave, "let me speak to the young man myself: I must talk to him a little in private, for I am determined that he, and he only, shall buy me."

The crier took her by the hand, and, leading her to Alischar, retired a few paces to allow them opportunity of conversation.

"Amiable young man!" whispered she to the youth, "will you not buy me?"

Alischar shook his head sorrowfully.

"Aha!" said she, "I have it. Perhaps you think I am too dear? Will you give nine hundred ducats for me?"

"No."

"Eight hundred?"

"No."

"Seven hundred?"

"No, no."

And in this way she came down to one hundred ducats, receiving always the same melancholy monosyllable in reply.

"I have not a hundred ducats in the world," said Alischar, and a deep sigh came from his breast.

"Perhaps you could give ninety—eighty—seventy?"

At last he could not help himself, and whispered in her ear,—"Angel of light!" said he, "I have neither gold nor silver, not to talk of ducats; I have not a penny in the world: you must find another purchaser."

"Do what I bid you," answers she. "Take hold of my hand, and kiss me on the side of the cheek, for that is the signal of the bargain being completed."

Alischar, scarcely conscious of his proceedings, obeyed the girl. The instant afterwards she drew a purse from her bosom, and said, "Take that, my love; you will find a thousand ducats in it: pay nine hundred to my master for me, and lead your new slave home with all speed."

When they came to the house there was neither bed, sofa, table, nor dish in it. The slave instantly sent Alischar to the market to get a few necessary moveables and provisions. He did what she bade him. Smaragdine forthwith put the house in the nicest order, and set about dressing a little supper with the most exquisite skill. In short, the next day Alischar married the beautiful slave. Then Smaragdine set herself busily to work in embroidering a carpet. She represented on it all sorts of quadrupeds so skilfully that one expected to see them move; and birds, so that it was a wonder one did not hear them singing. In the whole of this work she occupied only eight days, and when these were over she sent her man to the market to sell the carpet, cautioning him, however, with great strictness, to avoid falling into any adventure that might terminate in their separation. Alischar followed scrupulously the instructions of his wife, and in this manner, supported by Smaragdine's needlework, they spent a whole year of undisturbed felicity.

One day, as Alischar was going to market with one of Smaragdine's coverlets, as usual, to sell, he happened to meet with a certain Infidel who at once offered him sixty ducats for it. He had a secret disinclination to have any dealings with a Giaour, and asked first sixty-five, and then seventy ducats, and so up at last to a hundred. The man, to his astonishment, said, "Well, there is your money;" and not having the face to play the extortioner further, Alischar pursed the gold, and returned homewards. He was close to the door of his house ere he observed that the Giaour had been following him, and was just behind him.

"I see you are now at home," said the Infidel, "and I beg you will have the kindness to give me a cup of water, for I have been broiling in the streets all day, and am ready to expire with thirst."

Alischar, who would never have forgiven himself for refusing so trivial a civility, went immediately into the house for a jug of water.

"Where have you been lingering so long to-day?" said Smaragdine. "I know not how or why, but a certain painful anticipation of some misfortune has been hanging over my mind ever since you went out. It rejoices my very heart to see you come home sound and well again; but what is it you want with the water-jug?"

"Only to refresh a person who seems about to die of thirst," answered Alischar; "but I shall be back again in a moment, my dear Smaragdine." With this he ran downstairs, and was surprised to find the Infidel, whom he had left without on the street, seated within the porch.

"Dog of a Giaour!" says he, "what do you here?"

"Pardon me, good sir," replies the Giaour; "I was so wearied that my legs refused to support me any longer, and it was a matter of mere necessity that I should sit down somewhere."

Alischar gave him a cup of water, and waited to see him arise and take his departure; but, behold, nothing was less in the man's mind.

"Out with you," at last cries Alischar; "out this moment, I say."

"Blessed," says the Giaour, "be they that refuse not a drink of water to him who standeth athirst before the door, and who grudge not a bit of bread to him that is a-hungered. Now my thirst is quenched, but my hunger is even greater than that was. Give me a bit of bread and a couple of onions, and for more I will not trouble you."

"Pack off!" said Alischar; "there is nothing in the house."

"With your leave, sir," says the other, producing his purse, "here are one hundred ducats: have the kindness to seek some bread and onions here in your neighbourhood, and I shall feel myself eternally obliged by your condescension."

"The man is mad," thinks Alischar to himself; "but that is no reason why I should suffer a hundred ducats to go a-begging for quarters."

"Haste, sir, haste!" continued the Giaour. "I am near to death, so great is my hunger, and no one knows what sort of a misery that is until he has experienced it himself. If it be but a crust, a crumb—a morsel of dry meal even; but something I must have, else I want strength to move myself from this seat."

"Wait a moment, then," said Alischar. And with that he went out, taking care to lock the door behind him. He soon returned with roast meat, pastry, honey, a water-melon, and some bread, upon a tray.

"Oh!" cried the Giaour, when he saw him returning so, "this is too much. Ten men might dine on this, and here am I alone before it all, unless you would do me the honour to sit with me."

"Eat alone," said Alischar harshly.

But by-and-bye the guest takes the water-melon, and divides it very neatly into two parts, contriving by dexterous management of the knife to besmear the one of these with a strong tincture of nepenthe of Crete and opium, enough to have put an elephant to sleep.

"Pray," said the Infidel, holding the medicated half towards Alischar, "accept this beautiful slice of melon at the hands of your servant."

Alischar could not be so rude as to refuse this: he ate the fruit, and in a moment the fatal effects of it were apparent, for he sank into utter oblivion, losing all his senses at once.

The Giaour rises softly the moment he perceives this, locks the door, and putting the key of the house in his pocket, runs with all speed to inform his brother of the success of his treachery. This was the old Beschadeddin, our acquaintance, who, though he pretended to be a Mussulman, had always remained an Infidel. It was he who had excited his brother to all this knavery, in order that he himself might if possible gain possession of Smaragdine. He now took his people with him, provided himself with gold, mounted his mule, and repaired directly to Alischar's habitation. His slaves seized Smaragdine by force, threatening her with instant death if she dared to utter a single cry, and so conveyed her in safety to the house of their master.

"Ah, wretch!" says the old reprobate, "have I got you at last into my hands? I swear to you, that if you do not consent to renounce Mahomet I will make minced meat of you forthwith."

"Hack me and hew me into a thousand shreds, if such be your pleasure," answers she; "but know, wretch of wretches! that a Moslem I am, and a Moslem I will die. Allah chastises those He best loves with difficulties and dangers, and upon Him alone I set all my trust."

Upon this the wretched ancient gave orders to his female slaves to prick Smaragdine's flesh with pins, and then to tie her up in the corner of the kitchen, but on no account to give her a morsel to eat. But even this last blow had no effect on Smaragdine, who merely exclaimed as she had been doing before,

"God is God, and Mahomet is His Prophet!"

When poor Alischar, on his part, awoke from his sleep, and found himself alone in his bed, fear unutterable came into his mind, and he began to cry out for his Smaragdine like one possessed. But his cries were as useless as his searches: he could find his love nowhere, and concluded that the vile Giaour had deceived him for the sake of abstracting her. At first he sat in a corner shedding hot tears, hour after hour, by himself; but perceiving that his tears were of no avail, he tore his garments, took a stone in each hand, and walked through the town beating his breast alternately with these stones, and crying out all the time in a loud voice of distress, "O Smaragdine! Smaragdine!"

The children collected about him, and first one and then another of them entreated him to tell his story. He did so, and whoever heard him pitied him. After he had in this way gone through the whole town, he happened to see an old woman of his acquaintance sitting at her door, and saluted her respectfully. The old lady, being knowing in such matters, perceived at once the symptoms of a desolate lover, and asked him the reason of his distress. He told her all, and she said to him,

"I am very much grieved for your case, my son; but take courage. I certainly think my assistance will be of much advantage to you. Go hence immediately, buy one of the bread-baskets in which the hawkers carry their loaves about, and put a few articles of female attire in it. I undertake to go about with the wares, and I flatter myself you will ere long hear some tidings of Smaragdine."

Alischar was out of himself with joy even at this small glimpse of hope; he covered the hand of the old dame with tears and kisses, and forthwith fetched her what she had asked for. She made herself ready without delay to commence her operations, and in the course of her wanderings came, after no long space of time, to the very house of Beschadeddin.

She happened to enter at a moment when the female slaves of the house were misusing poor Smaragdine.

"And what," says she, "has the poor child done to you that you should treat her so roughly?"

"In truth," they answered, "we do what we do against our own inclination, but we must obey our master's orders."

"Not when he is from home, surely," says the old woman again; "do have a little pity. Oblige me so far as to unbind this unfortunate, and refresh her a little with some food."

The slave-girls, whose hearts were by no means destitute of sensibility, loosed her bands, and left her for a moment alone with the old woman. She made good use of the happy occasion, told her in whose name she had come, and said that if she would take care to be at the window exactly at midnight, Alischar would be there at that moment, when she might easily drop upon his shoulders and regain her freedom. With this she hies away to Alischar to make him acquainted with her success. She assured him that Beschadeddin being from home, the slaves had promised to leave Smaragdine unbound for that one night, and he needed not many words to make him undertake the adventure.

He was at the appointed spot the moment darkness closed, determined to stand there and wait patiently for the time when his love should appear. But alas! his sorrow had cost him many slumberless nights, and now that he thought himself secure of his happiness again, long-absent sleep came, and overpowered him suddenly where he stood on the street.

It happened that just about this time a thief was passing down the same street. Perceiving that Alischar was fast asleep, this fellow eased him of his turban, and setting that on his head, was about to proceed on his way. Smaragdine, at this moment standing in the window, saw the gleam of her lover's turban, and never doubting that it was worn by Alischar himself, opened the lattice, and said to the thief in an audible whisper,

"Come, come, love, I am ready to come down."

"Here is a fine adventure," quoth the thief to himself; "let us make the best of it."

With this he placed himself below Smaragdine's window, received her on his shoulders, and darted off with her like lightning.

"Oh," says she to him, "you are so strong, you trot as nimbly as if you were a horse under me; and the good old woman had persuaded me that grief had weakened you so that you could scarcely drag your own limbs along."

The gentleman, on his part, made no answer to these observations, and Smaragdine at last began to feel his face, which being very rough and half covered with hair, her error was apparent, and she began to cry out with all her might,

"Who art thou? who art thou?"

"Silence!" answered the thief: "I am Hirvan the Kurd, and I belong to the band of Ahmed-ed-deyf. We are forty of us, all jolly brothers of the trade, and a happy life shall you lead with us."

Smaragdine perceived into what horrors her error had plunged her: she committed her soul to God and her body to the Prophet, and allowed Hirvan to proceed with her in silence.

He conveyed her straight to a cavern without the city, which was the hiding-place of the band. At that moment there was no one in it but the mother of the captain, who had been left to arrange the plunder of the preceding night, and in particular the wardrobe of a young cavalier whom they had murdered, and whose horse and portmanteau were observed just within the entrance of the cavern. The young robber handed over Smaragdine to the old lady's protection, and went out again in quest of more adventures; and no sooner were they alone than the old one began to praise Smaragdine's beauty, and to felicitate her upon the prospect of being bride to her own son, the captain, whose manifold accomplishments she most vigorously extolled. Smaragdine, after a little while, began to dry her tears, and by degrees affected to be quite comforted. She even went so far as to say that she regretted one thing more than all the rest, and this was that she could not take a bath, and be ready to give the captain a reception more worthy of his rank and character.

"Ah, the bath! the bath!" cries the old woman, "you are quite in the right; there is no comfort in this world like the bath; but it is a luxury I never enjoy, for I have nobody about me to shampoo me."

"Here am I," says Smaragdine; "allow me to attend on you the first, and then you will do the like good office to me."

The bargain was soon struck. The bath was got into order, and the old woman, the first time for many years, entered it. Smaragdine kept the water very hot, and rubbed and scrubbed the old dame so, that she was quite in transports, and at length fell fast asleep under the pleasing influence. While she slept Smaragdine took possession of the clothes and arms of the murdered cavalier, mounted his horse, and galloped from the cavern, without having the least notion whither.

When morning broke she found herself in an uncultivated country, destitute of any marks of human habitation. She ate some roots and fruits, allowed her horse to graze under the trees, and so proceeded all the day.

On the eleventh morning she descried, in the valley before her, a noble and beautifully situated town; and behold, as she drew nearer to the gates, there came from thence a multitude of horsemen, who surrounded her upon the highway, threw themselves on the ground before the hoofs of her horse, kissed her garment, and hailed her as the Sultan sent to them by the especial care of Heaven. Each man clapped his hands, and exclaimed, Allah jausur es Sultaun![18] that is to say, God give victory to the Sultan, King of the world—blessed be thy coming!

[Footnote 18: This is a cry which still survives in Egypt—the very cry with which the inhabitants of that country welcomed successively, in 1800-1, the Generals of the French, the Turkish, and the English armies.]

What may all this mean? thinks the bewildered girl to herself. She asked the question aloud, and the Lord High Chamberlain hastened to answer it. "Know, sire," said he, "that when the Sovereign of this city dies without children, all the inhabitants are, according to the constitution, assembled together in the great street, there ready to come out and salute as their Prince the first traveller who happens to emerge from the wilderness; and in this manner it is impossible for us not to acknowledge the finger of Providence, who gives the crown to the person He judges most fit to wear it. Heaven be praised for having sent us, on this occasion, a King such as you seem to be; for had it been never such a ragamuffin, or even scoundrel, it must have been equally our duty to welcome him as our lord."