streets and dwellings of Haleb, and on the sands of the desert that encircled them without. What a charm had that stillness and solitude for the heart of Semid then; in the fulness of its delight he fixed his eagle eye on the blue and cloudless sky, and on the dreary wastes a round; his feelings were indescribable. As his firm and haughty step passed rapidly along, his dark hair fell in profusion on his neck, and the folds of his garment dis played the contour of his graceful limbs "Again," he exclaimed, "youth, and beauty, and power are mine; men will gaze on me with envy, and woman's eye shall be no more turned from this form with pity and aversion; and the world is to me once more a field of pleasure, triumph, and love." At that moment the Muezzin's voice was heard from the summit of the white minaret calling to prayers, and the wanderer fell on his knees, and poured out his heartfelt thanks to Allah, who had caused the clouds of sorrow to pass from his path, and made its desolation as the gardens of the blest.

He resolved immediately to quit the city, and enjoy the pleasure of travelling through new and distant scenes, and having purchased horses, and hired a servant, he departed, and directed his course towards Bagdad.

On the evening of the second day he overtook a small caravan of merchants travelling the same route, with their camels loaded with the costly silks and stuffs of Syria. Their progress, as of all the eastern caravans, was slow, and as night drew on, they halted in some spot which possessed a shade and a fountain of water. The tents were then pitched, the fires lighted, and the camels turned loose in the desert; the evening meal was prepared in the open air by the domestics, who had spread the rich carpets on the earth, and the merchants having quickly and sparingly partaken of the repast, formed a circle, sipped their coffee, and conversed at intervals; while the Arab camel-drivers seated round their fire, ate their coarse repast, and told their tales with infinite animation. The following day, as they pursued their journey, Semid fell into conversation with one of the merchants, an elderly man, of a mild and impressive as

pect, who listened with delight and wonder to the discourse of the stranger, which few could hear un moved, as to his youth and exquisite beauty were now added the wis dom and experience he had acquired as an Imaun. As they drew near the termination of their journey, the merchant of Bagdad grew more and more attached to Semid, and earnestly pressed him, as he had no home of his own, to reside under his roof, partake of the toils and cares of his business, and be to him as a son. They soon beheld the Tigris flowing in its pride beneath the walls of Bagdad, and entered the gardens of palmtrees on its banks. Passing through several narrow and unpaved streets, the merchant and his friend stopped at the low door of a mean-looking habitation. Being admitted, a scene of luxury appeared within. The court or area was adorned by a noble fountain, over which hung the orange and lemon trees; recesses in the walls, covered with cushions and carpets, invited to repose; and the interior apartments were splendidly furnished; but when the merchant of Bagdad, after the travellers had bathed and perfumed themselves, bade a slave call his child, his Houlema, to welcome her father and his friend, Semid saw only the form, heard only the voice, of the girl of Bagdad. It was evening, and the cool apartment, with its trellised and projecting windows, hung over the waters beneath; the moon, that lit up the waves and their shores, cast her light through the open lattice-work at which sat Houlema, who had taken her guitar, and as she sang verses expressive of the joys of home, and its dear affections, after long and cruel separations, like the cool wave of the Tigris amidst the burning sands that surround it, her voice was inexpressibly sweet. Her form was of the middle size, and her complexion excessively fair; her eyes were hazel, her hair dark, and her bust lovelier than was ever formed by a Grecian sculptor; the small and delicate foot was no way concealed by the rich sandal that held it, and the white and rounded arm was exposed nearly to the shoulder; in her whole air, in every look and word, there was a spirit, a vivacity, as if the soul itself were infused in it.

As Semid gazed and listened to her voice, he felt a charm come over his spirit, far different to that which the superior beauty of the Circassian had inspired.

His venerable patron now began to initiate him in the details of commerce, sent him sometimes with a caravan of merchandise to Bussora, and other parts of the Persian gulf, and assigned him a portion of his gains. Semid saw his increasing fortune with indifference, in every journey always anticipating the hour of return; he gazed with rapture from afar on the blue wave of the Tigris that circled round the dwelling of his beloved Houlema. The father, who from the first had destined his only child for his favourite, to whom he felt as to an only son, saw their growing passion with pleasure. Often when the lovers were seated in the cool kiosque that overlooked the wide plain beyond the city, Semid told of the various scenes and reverses he had passed through, while his fine eyes and matchless features beamed with affection; Houlema thought she never had beheld so fascinating a being, or listened to a voice of such soul-touching melody. Till then new to love, she yielded resistlessly to her passion; she then took her guitar, and sang of the bliss of kindred spirits, devoted to each other's love, till blasted by inconstancy and coldness, like the angels Haruth and Maruth, who lived glorious in the realms of Allah, ere, tempted to wander to the scenes of earth, they fell. "She loves me for myself alone," thought Semid, "and not for my beauty, unlike the youthful Circassian, whose impetuous and sudden affection wrought my ruin bred up in retirement, and untainted by dissipation, in her tenderness I shall find a resting-place at last." So thought the wanderer, who with all his sorrows and experience knew not yet the inconstancy of woman, when assailed through her vanity or beauty.

Semid had been absent for some weeks on a journey to Basra, and one evening Houlema was solacing herself with music in the apartment in which she had so often sat with him, and anticipating his return, when the chief officer of the Pacha of Bagdad returning home on the

opposite shore of the Tigris, heard those sweet sounds wafted across in the stillness of the night, and listened with rapture. The next day he told his prince that he had heard melody, such as none but the Houris who attend the blest could have made, and that the woman who possessed such a voice must be inexpressibly beautiful.

The Prince's curiosity was awakened, he directed inquiries to be made, and was soon acquainted that it was the daughter of the old merchant, whose melody was only inferior to her loveliness. Resolved to gratify his passionate desire of seeing her, he put on the disguise of a merchant, who sold precious stones and ornaments, and being admitted with some difficulty, by displaying some splendid jewels to the sight of Houlema, was enraptured with her beauty. On the following day he sent for the father, and demanded his daughter in marriage; the old man, undazzled by the prospect of grandeur for his child, and faithful to his promise to Semid, gave a submissive but decided refusal. Although enraged at having his hopes crossed by a subject, yet confiding in his own attractions and rank, he came, magnificently attired and attended, to the merchant's house, and requesting an interview with Houlema in her father's presence, he declared his passion, and offered her his heart and throne, declaring he would part with his harem, and cease to love any other woman for her sake. Houlema shrank from the splendid offer; her lover, beautiful and devoted, rushed to her thoughts; she felt how dear he was to her again she looked on the imploring Prince; he was very handsome, his dignity gave him additional attractions; and, when he swore, by the Prophet and the Caaba, that she should be the sole companion of his life and love, the admired and adored of his court, the words were inexpressibly sweet to

her.

Seduced by such tenderness and devotion, and the glowing pictures her lover drew of her future glory as the Princess of Bagdad, she consented at last to become his bride.

Semid, full of anticipations of love and happiness, returned to Bagdad, and hastened to the home of his friend, who met him with a counte

nance of sorrow and confusion, and acquainted him with the infidelity of Houlema, and deplored her ingratitude. Overwhelmed with anguish, he would have sought his intended bride in the harem of the Pacha, had not the father restrained him, and calmed his cruel agitation; then raising his eyes, streaming with tears to Heaven, he called on Allah to witness the treachery of his mistress, and abjured for ever the destructive beauty of woman, which first in the Circassian had plunged him in exquisite misery; and now, in the perfidious Houlema, had driven him forth again a wanderer on the earth. Saying this, he rushed out of the apartment, and, mounting his horse, left Bagdad for ever behind him. For several days he pursued his way, heedless of its direction: whether his head sank on the desert-bed or on the mountain-rock, whether the sun shone on his parched breast, or the fountain cooled his burning lips, his misery was all within. One night as he passed over a sandy tract, he saw not very far before him a traveller attacked by a small party of Bedouins. Hastening up, his own and his servants' aid decided the day, and the Arabs took to flight.

The Turk, who was wounded, was most grateful for this timely aid, and implored his deliverer to accompany him to his home; and, as all situations were at this moment alike, he consented willingly. Day after day the travellers proceeded over melancholy wastes of sand, on which rested the burning rays of the sun, till at last a dark spot was visible in the horizon, and as they drew near, exquisitely grateful was the deep verdure of various trees, and the shade of the palm and cypress trees which stood waveless in the silent desert, like the ruins of an eastern temple.

In this deep and beautiful retreat, encircled by a high wall, lived the generous Turk with his only sister; left orphans at an early age, they had become inseparably attached to each other. Every effort was used by them to make Semid's residence agreeable; and, soothed by the attentions, and interested by the accomplishments, of the young Kaloula, his dejection and anguish by degrees abated. In order to interest

his deliverer, Achmed invited a party of his friends to an entertainment, and his Arab servants traversed the waste in various directions to the fertile tracts on its borders. In that oriental banquet every luxury appeared, whether allowed or forbidden by the Koran, the various wines of Syria, the rich fruits and conserves of Damascus, the delicacies of Sheraz.

As night drew on, and the conversation became more animated, it was proposed, after the oriental custom, that each guest should tell a tale, or relate some remarkable event of his life; one told his dangerous pilgrimage to Mecca, another a tale of the Afrit or the Goule, till it came to Semid's turn, who, put off his guard by the gaiety and interest of the scene, began most imprudently to relate the great incident of his life, the gift of the ring. As he proceeded, some of the guests became thoughtful, others looked incredulous, but Kaloula never took her glance from the ring on which it was intensely fixed, and during the rest of the evening her manner was abstracted, and her mind wandering far from the present scene. Afterwards when seated by her side in the garden at sun-set, Semid observed that her vivacity was gone: at times her tone and look were hurried and wild, and then sad and despairing. In her society he had felt a new and vivid interest; ungifted with the matchless beauty of the Circassian, or the sweetness of temper, and charm of song and melody, of Houlema, there was in her that high energy of mind, and richness of imagination which inevitably attract in woman; and Semid, when listening to her fascinating conversation, thought the charms of beauty outdone. Accustomed all her life to the solitude of her brother's home, Kaloula's haughty spirit was nursed amidst scenes savage and inspiring. It had been her delight to guide her courser into the deep retreats of the desert, and no where is nature so sublime as there; and when seated at her lattice window or in the garden beneath, she had beheld the slow caravan wind its way amidst the burning sands, in which thousands of various nations and aspects were mingled; and again, when the bands of Bedouins had rushed on their prey, she had heard the

fierce shouts of the battle in the desert, and seen the spectacle of pain and death. At times she loved to gaze on the wild and desolate scenery around, when the moon had given it a sad brightness, and its silence was broken only by the rapid flight of the Bedouin's courser, or the cry of the hyena. At times the lonely traveller, or the caravan merchant, when the mid-day heats were fiercest, would approach with longing eye that lovely group of trees, and implore to drink of its fountains, as the richest boon of Heaven; from them she heard tales of other lands and descriptions of scenes which she longed to visit.

Won by the personal attractions, and eloquent converse, of the stranger, she loved him; still that passion struggled with ambition and pride. Often Semid observed, as her look fell on the ring on his finger, her colour changed, and she uttered a deep sigh. "Were that ring but mine," murmured the haughty girl," what a scene of triumph and delight would it open to me. The princes of the east would vie for the possession of Kaloula's charms, to which the beauty of all women would then yield. Her glory, who defended the city whose ruins are in the desert, the Queen of Palmyra, would not surpass mine. My path would no longer be in this far solitude, but be high, commanding, and immortal.”

The conflict of thought was too severe; her noble form became emaciated, the lustre fled from her dark eye, and its look of tenderness turned on her lover was often changed for one of horror. It was past the hour of noon on one of those days when, to breathe the open air is almost to inhale the blast of death, the very fountains seemed to gush languidly, and the leaves to wither on the trees; and Semid, overcome with the heat, had thrown himself almost fainting on a sofa, when Kaloula approached and earnestly pressed him to drink of some cool sherbet prepared by her own hands. There was something in her voice and manner, in the burning hue of her cheek, that infused a sudden suspicion into his mind. He took the vase of sherbet from her trembling hand, and turning aside his face pretended to drink, but poured the contents into his vest.

He then languidly reclined, and appeared to fall into a deep sleep; an hour passed away, and a soft step approached the door; it faltered and seemed to retire; but soon was heard more hurriedly advancing, and at last entered the apartment. It was Kaloula; she went to the window, and gazed on the burning sand and sky, and then turned her pale face, that was bathed in tears, to Semid, who lay motionless, and appeared to breathe no longer. She then drew near the ottoman and bent in silent anguish for awhile over him, when with a sudden effort she stretched forth her hand and clasped the ring to take it from his finger. Semid sprang from the couch, and looked on Kaloula with an indescribable expression, who, clasping her hands violently, uttered a loud cry, and sank insensible on the floor. He bent in agony over her. "Again," he exclaimed, "have I leaned as my last hope on woman's love, and it has pierced my soul. O! prophet of my faith, I discern now thy wisdom, at which I have murmured, in severing woman from our path in the world of bliss; since cruelty and ambition can be cherished amidst feelings of kindness and love. Never will I yield again to her charms, or be swayed by her artful wiles."

He hastened from the dwelling, and all night long in deep anguish of soul pursued his way.On the evening of the 10th day he stood on the declivity of a range of mountains, on whose snows lay the last beams of the sun; and a noble plain was spread at their feet, in the midst of which stood the ruins of a superb temple. Semid drew near, as the night was falling around, and took up his abode in one of the ruined apartments; and when day broke he was struck with admiration and wonder at a sight so new to him. A corridor of pillars, with capitals of exquisite beauty, encircled the temple, which, though roofless, and its many niches despoiled of their statues, looked in its naked grandeur as if time might have no power over it. Here Semid thought he had found a habitation and solitude where woman's step would never intrude, and he could indulge his sorrows unmolested. Several days had passed, and the fruits that grew on

the plain composed his meals, when one evening, whilst the air was cool, he perceived a girl habited in a simple Syrian dress, approaching the ruin. She started with surprise at seeing a stranger; but recovering herself, asked what induced him to remain in so lonely a spot, and why he had never visited her father, who was the Imaun of the village behind the mountain, and would be happy to show him hospitality. Semid promised to come to the village, and the next day, crossing the mountain, he was received by the priest of the prophet with the greatest kindness. After a simple repast, Melahie took her guitar, and sang some native Syrian melodies with great sweetness. Delighted with his visit, the traveller's solitude seemed less welcome on his return. A few days passed, ere Melahie came again, and sitting on a part of the ruins beside Semid, she told him their history as far as she knew, and listened to his tales of other lands, and of his travels, with intense interest. Her form was slender, and, unlike the women of the east, her hair was light, and her eyes blue; but they had a look of irresistible sweetness and innocence, and her delicate features reflected every feeling of her soul. He frequently visited her father's cottage, and her steps still oftener sought the lonely ruin. Seated by Semid's side, and fixed on his seducing discourse, she was happy; and he could not see the intense interest he inspired, while her tears fell fast at the picture of his sorrows, or her eyes kindled with delight when he told how his sad destiny was changed, without feeling his own heart deeply moved. He saw that she loved him, and soon felt that this entire confidence, this sweet deference and surrender of feeling, in a young and devoted woman, is far more dangerous than any studied allurement.

Still he imagined she loved him only for his beauty, or because she saw in him superior accomplishments to all around her. One evening as the Syrian was seated in silence beside him, and gazing on the rich scenery, Semid suddenly addressed her: "Melahie, it is in vain to disguise our mutual affection; but you repose your peace on me only to be

deceived; let me warn you that he who has appeared to you thus beautiful and interesting only deludes you. You see before you a magician of power, and of malice equal to his power, but not to injure you. Turn your eyes on your lover now." He suddenly drew the ring from his finger; the girl shrieked, and starting from her seat covered her face with her hands, for before her stood no longer the captivating stranger, but an elderly, pale, and sorrow, stricken man; yet his look was haughty and full of fire, and waving his hand impressively, "fly from me now," he said, " you see me in my true colours; your beautiful lover is no more." Melahie turned on him for a moment a look of fixed sad ness, and then silently departed. Many weeks passed, and still she came not to his lonely abode; but one morning as he stood sadly musing amidst the monuments of former glory, he saw her slowly walking towards him; but her beauty was faded by sorrow, and her delicate form wasted, and when she beheld the venerable figure of her onceadored lover, an expression of exquisite anguish passed over her fea tures. Still she drank in every word that fell from his lips, though the music of that voice had ceased, and the tone was cold and faltering; when he bade her fly from his solitude, and shun the evil destiny that surrounded him, and the treacherous allurements that might yet ensnare her, she burst into tears, unable to vanquish her love, yet shrinking from the painful change she witnessed.

The last evening they were thus to meet she found him reclined at the foot of a pillar; his countenance was paler, his eye more hollow than when she saw him last, and his whole air that of a man to whom earthly things are soon to be no more. "You are come, Melahie," he said, fixing his eyes with a mournful expression on her, "in time to bid me farewell for ever. You cannot grieve much for one whom it is impossible you could love. Semid, young and beautiful, engaged your affection, but oppressed with years, and sinking beneath his sorrows, the stranger will rest unremembered in his grave."

"Never! Oh! never," replied the beautiful Syrian, "can Melahie forget