listlessly to the brink of the cataract. At last the crisis came. The treasure was used up; their farms and country places had been sold much under their value to raise money for instant use. After their landed estates followed the horses, slaves, and their costly furniture. Finally, their ancestral palace passed out of their wasteful hands to those of strangers, and the poor young couple were compelled to take up their abode in a miserable hut, which happened to be empty, opposite the magnificent mansion in which their days of splendour and ease had been passed.

There they sat now and waited on Providence. The catastrophe had overwhelmed them so suddenly that at first they did not fully realise their misery, let alone accepting it with resignation. They now had ample leisure to study it and all its consequences, but they were as far as ever from learning the necessary patience wherewith to endure it. The thoughtless young man was especially a prey to hopeless despair; his very manhood seemed to melt away in his helpless misery. At last his wife plied him with so many loving and encouraging words that he took heart a little, and decided upon going out in the city to try to avail himself of the many resources in case of need he had boasted of in his days of prosperity. He was in high favour at court; he had many powerful friends; and besides that, he possessed so many talents and varied accomplishments, which he had no doubt he could convert into many golden pieces. In anxious suspense his beautiful wife awaited his return from this act of penance. He came at last, but bowed to the earth by a heavy load of humiliation, shame, and despair. He was hardly able to drag himself along under the insufferable burden. He dared not lift his eyes up to his wife's face. Scalding tears furrowed his burning

cheeks, his heart was consumed in his breast, and he passionately wished that the earth would open at his feet and swallow him out of sight.

The governor had refused to see him, the courtiers had pitied him and shrugged their shoulders, his many friends had accidentally not been at home, and no living soul had the slightest use for his selfimagined talents and accomplishments. There seemed nothing left for him but to die. Ibrahim was ready to give up the battle, he felt himself hopelessly lost, and yielded without any struggle to his evil and miserable fate. Without taking any sustenance, sleep or rest, he sat speechless on his couch for twentyfour hours in a state of most abject wretchedness, his gaze fixed hopelessly on his splendid mansion opposite, the Eden of bliss he had so foolishly lost. A more passionate pain and regret cannot be conceived; not even the sweet loving voice of his beloved Zarka was capable of rousing him from his grovelling depth of degradation. The day following Zarka passed through the gate of Jerusalem on her way to visit her father. She soon acquainted him in a few words with the whole extent of her miserable husband's folly and despair.

ex

'By the beard of the Prophet, you tell me strange things, claimed the Sheik. 'Did not I give you good advice? Well; I see.

Of what avail is wisdom itself in the hands of folly? It is as the rain, which evaporates in the desert. You come perhaps now to receive my second counsel ? Allah forbid that I should deny you your right. Your bridal present of ten thousand gold pieces is invested, according to your own desire, in a good landed estate. The interest of that will amply suffice for your own necessities. Go to the Kadi, and demand a dissolution of your marriage. The law will aid you

in getting rid of a man, who like a madman has ruined himself and his family. Let him pull his own oar, the fool! I have said it. Farewell! Zarka returned to her wretched cabin; she found Ibrahim in the same attitude in which she had left him, gazing passionately across the street on his beloved mansion.

'Ibrahim, my beloved, this must not continue,' she said softly, as she went up to him, and with trembling affection laid her arm round his neck. 'You must preserve yourself for a happier future. While there is life all is not lost. In the soil of life, however miserable, a grain of hope will ever grow. But nothing can grow in the air. Come, dearest, it is evening again, and you have eaten nothing. Rest on the divan; I will light the lamps. I will only absent myself for a short time to prepare for you a nourish ing dish. Come, my love, take heart. Allah is ever merciful!'

Zarka lighted a lamp, and left Ibrahim to himself. There he sat as before on the divan, gazing listlessly at the flame of the lamp. Upon the table before him lay an open book; it was the poems and tales of Abu Ley, in which Zarka had been reading before she went out: a mark told how far she had

come.

After a while the absent gaze of Ibrahim met the open book; he looked at the page mechanically, receiving no thought and impress from it. By-and-by his imagination was roused in noticing the gorgeous and quaintly shaped letters. His consciousness awoke by degrees, and he had actually been reading for some time before he was fully aware of it. What he read was indeed a theme well adapted to lay hold on his exclusive attention: In the Name of All-merciful Allah, to whom belong praise and glory eternally:

6

'Thus it is told. In Ramlah lived once a venerable Sheik, who was VOL. IV.-NO. XXI. NEW SERIES.

famous for his wisdom and wonderful deeds all over Syria. To him came one day, from a distant country, a man with with a sorely afflicted heart, who at once lifted up his voice of deep contrition and spake, "Oh Sheik, you who possess the stone of the wise, I come to you in my utmost need to supplicate your merciful aid for myself. Three devils have lodging in my breast, against whom I have been waging a constant battle, but have never been able to vanquish them, so that they finally will needs tear me to pieces. The first is Anger; the second is the Love of Gain; and the third Ambition.

666

Lay open without fear your whole heart to me, my son," said the Sheik, touching with his fingers the forehead of the supplicant.

"I obey your command," answered the stranger, sighing deeply, while he collected his thoughts; "I am grown old and grey in crimes and misdeeds. Awful is the depth of wickedness to which our evil passions will lead us. Anger was the first of the sleeping devils in my bosom who awoke to life. I had friends in my youth, but could not retain them; I had servants, but I maltreated them. Before I got beard on my chin I was detested and shunned by all. But passionate Anger was but the forerunner of the other monsters who had taken shelter with me. The Love of Gain now awoke, and stretched his grasping, pitiless claws at the whole world. To gratify this evil spirit, I coveted everything I saw; much was too little, more was not enough. All could only satisfy this spawn of Eblis. I plundered the widows and orphans, and heaped curses upon curses on my miserable head. the master of the three was yet to come. Though I was hated, detested, and cursed by all mankind, both by the good and bad, I still thirsted for honour from that world. It was the glittering symbol of

But

A A

honour, it was power, which blinded me. I must sit in the high seat at any price. I craved to tyrannise, to rule, to behold my fellow-mortals in the dust at my feet. To gratify this desire, the two other devils lent their willing aid. My anger awed, my gold undermined and corrupted, so that none could withstand me.

"I brooked no resistance," continued the stranger, shuddering. "I dipped my hands in blood more than once to clear the path to a desired object. I played with human lives as others did with dice. The cries of the dying resound for ever in my ears, the tears of the abandoned burn as glowing sulphur in my soul. Pitiful Heaven! for me is no redemption. I must, I must belong to the eternally lost. Ah!" continued the stranger, whilst he wrung his hands, and the anguish of death forced the sweat out on his brow, "could I but live my life over again, it should surely be a better one."

The stranger ceased to speak. Crushed and trembling, he stood before the Sheik, seeming already in the flesh to feel the torture of the damned. "My son," said the Sheik, as he again touched the forehead with the point of his finger, "Heaven is pitiful: be it as you will; your wish is granted. You are young again, and your life is still before Know that the life of misery and crime you have just described was but a magic vision, granted you in mercy, that you might learn how far your evil passions will lead you if you do not in time master them. Go your way in peace, my son, and praise the mercy of Allah."

you.

'Woe is me! woe is me! Had only my insanity been but a dream!' stammered Ibrahim, as he finished the story, while his face was bathed in tears and his hands clasped in despair. 'Merciful Allah, and thou great Prophet, were I only permitted thus to begin my life afresh! By

the ashes of my mother, by everything which is holy on earth and in heaven, I swear that my life should be very different.'

Zarka had in the meantime returned, unperceived by Ibrahim, and she overheard with deep emotion his cry of repentance and solemn promise of amendment. The hand with which she placed the dish on the table trembled perceptibly, and the tone of voice with which she addressed him was low and timid, though full of melody and loving tenderness. Allah is great, Allah is merciful, and the Prophet is his trusty servant,' she said softly. There is nothing wonderful to the Almighty One. Be consoled, my friend. Everything may have been for the best. Who knows but that your prayer had been offered at a propitious moment? Eat, refresh yourself, and be a man, that your dearly beloved may not continue to feel as a woman.'

When Ibrahim the next morning opened his eyes he thought that he was dreaming, and closed them instantly again. Presently he opened them once more, and this time they remained wide open. He turned his head slowly, and looked with amazement all round. He looked at his hands and touched the one with the other. He felt the silken covering which enveloped him, the delicate bolster upon which he was reclining; he rubbed his eyes and stroked his beard. Yes, by the grave of the Prophet, it seemed, it must be a reality. He took courage, and rose quickly from his couch. No-by Heavenit was no dream. On the couch beside him reposed his beautiful young wife in a tranquil and sweet sleep.

To his utter amazement he found that he had awoke in his old sleeping apartment in his ancestral mansion, and was lying upon his customary luxurious couch.

He hurried briskly to the latticed

window which faced the street. No doubt remained. This was the street where his house was, and opposite stood the dilapidated hut where he had sought refuge in his distress. Did he perhaps in reality yet occupy that miserable dwelling, and was lying there asleep? Allah knows. Was he himself or not? Was he sleeping or awake? was he in his palace or over yonder in the wretched hut? He began to be dizzy. Confounded, alternating between joy and fear, he tottered back to his couch, and lay down again to collect his thoughts, and try to solve at his leisure this perplexing riddle.

At last a light broke upon him; he remembered the story he had read the previous evening. Perhaps this fearful history of a life leading to misery and total destruction was but a hallucination; perhaps a magical vision vouchsafed to his senses by a merciful Heaven, to admonish him in time; or, more probably, a warning dream.

'Yes, only a dream,' was the answer to his half-aloud soliloquy. 'Only a dream,' repeated a sweet voice in soft accents near him. He sprang up-his wife was at his side. It was now her turn to shed tears; but they were not the bitter tears of anguish, but the sweet ones of deep-felt joy and melting gratitude. She seated herself at the side of the almost petrified Ibrahim, laid her head on his breast, and continued softly:

Yes, Heaven has granted in its pity that you be permitted to begin your life afresh, armed with this precious experience. The whole of your wealth is not lost; sufficient is left to live a life not alone free from want, but a life even of enjoyment, worthy of your rank and your ancestors. It is in your power to do so, if you but will. Ibrahim! I loved you long before you knocked at my father's door; I determined to save you from

inevitable destruction. Love, the most precious of Allah's gifts, deems itself strong enough for anything. But I came very near failing. I had to apply for counsel to my father, the wise Sheik. What he advised me seemed but half wise; I ventured to add something of my own folly to save you, my dearest lord and husband.

'You wasted in earnest, but I only in appearance; you scattered your wealth to the winds, but I gathered everything up, and heaped treasure upon treasure. When you finally were compelled to sell your houses, gardens, and ancestral palace, I had the means of repurchasing most of it. It is yours, the whole of it, my Ibrahim, as I am myself wholly yours

!'

Speechless, Ibrahim pressed his faithful spouse to his grateful breast. This silent act, this passionate embrace, spoke louder than all kinds of eager promises.

When Zarka again called upon her father, the Sheik gave her hardly time to offer his filial salute, when he exclaimed peevishly: 'By the soul of the Prophet, my daughter, it is hard to owe you anything. You come, doubtless, to demand your third piece of advice, the last part of your dowry. Very well; your heart will then have peace, and we shall be even with one another. This invention of dunning or these ceaseless importunities must come from Eblis himself.'

'No, my father,' answered Zarka, with a happy smile; I come but to thank you for your first counsel. It was of such efficacy that I did not need the second; and am able to make you a present of the third.'

'The ways of Allah are strange and wonderful,' remarked the Sheik, stroking with complacent dignity his venerable beard. 'It is and

will always be, praised be the Prophet, Wisdom only which rules supreme in this crazy world.'