pierced through the shrubs that concealed the retreat, gleamed on the languid features of his beloved master.

war

-And long be thy rest O Wolkmar! may sleep sit pleasant on thy soul! Unhappy man ! hath estranged thee from thy Fanny and her infant. Where art thou, best of wives? thy Wolkmar lives! report deceived thee, daughter of affliction! for the warrior rests not in the narrow house. Thou fled'st; thy beauty caught the eye of power; thou fled'st with thy infant and thy aged father. Unhappy woman thy husband seeketh thee over the wilds of Switzerland. Long be thy rest, O Wolkmar ! may sleep sit pleasant on thy soul!

Yet not long did Wolkmar rest; starting, he beheld the dog, who, seizing his coat, had shook it with violence; and having thoroughly awakened him, whining, licked his face, and sprang through the thicket. Wolkmar, eagerly following, discerned at some distance a man gently walking down the declivity of the opposite hill, and his own dog running with full speed towards him. The sun yet threw athwart the vale, rays of a blood-red hue, the sky was overcast, and a few big round drops rustled through the drooping leaves. Wolkmar sat him down; the dog now fawned upon the man, then bounding ran before him. The curiosity of Wolkmar was roused he rose to meet the stranger, who, as he drew near, appeared old-very old, his steps scarce supported with a staff; a blue mantle was wrapped around him, and his hair and beard white as snow,

and waving to the breeze of the hill, received from beneath a dark cloud, the last deep crimson of the setting sun.

The dog now ran wagging his tail, first to his master, and then to the stanger, leaping upon each with marks of the utmost rapture, till too rudely expressing his joy, the old man tottering fell at the foot of a blasted heech, that stood at the bottom of the hill. Wolkmar hastened to his relief, and had just reached the spot, when starting back, he exclaimed, "My father, O my father!" Gothre, for so the old man was called, saw and knew his son; a smile of extacy lighted up his features, a momentary colour flushed his cheek ; his eyes beamed transport through the waters that suffused them; and stretching forth his arms, he faintly uttered, " My beloved son!"-Nature could do no more: the bloom upon his withered cheek fled fast away; the dewy lustre of his eye grew dim; the thobbing of his heart oppressed him; and, straining Wolkmar with convulsive energy, the last long breath of aged Gothre fled cold across the cheek of his son.

The night grew dark and unlovely; the moon struggled to appear, and by fits her pale light streamed across the lake; a silence deep and terrible prevailed, unbroken but by a wild shriek, that at intervals died along the valley. Wolkmar lay entranced upon the dead body of his father, the dog stood motionless by his side; but, at last alarmed, he licked their faces, and pulled his master by the coat, till having in vain endeavoured to awaken them, he ran howling

dreadfully along the valley; the demon of the night trembled on his hill of storms, and the rocks returned a deepening echo.

Wolkmar at length awoke; a cold sweat trickled over his forehead; every muscle shook with horror; and, kneeling by the body of Gothre, he wept aloud. "Where is my Fanny!" he exclaimed ; "where shall I find her; oh that thou hadst told me she yet lived, good old man! if alive, my God! she must be near the night is dark, these mountains are unknown to me As he spoke, the illumined edge of a cloud shone on the face of Gothre-a smile yet dwelt upon his features" Smilest thou, my father?" said Wolkmar; "I feel it at my heart; all shall yet be well." The night again grew dark, and Wolkmar, retiring a few paces from his father, threw himself on the ground.

He had not continued many minutes in this situation, before the distant sound of voices struck his ear; they seemed to issue from different parts of the valley; two or three evidently approached the spot where Gothre lay, and the name of Gothre was at length loudly and frequently repeated. Wolkmar, starting from the ground, sighed with anxiety and expectation: leaning forward, he would have listened, but the beating of his heart apalled him. The dog, who, at first alarmed, had crept to his feet, began now to bark with vehemence: suddenly the voices ceased, and Wolkmar thought he heard the soft and quick tread of people fast approaching. At this moment, the moon burst from behind a dark cloud, and shone full on the dead body of Gothre.

"Oh, my Billy!" she exclaimed to a little boy, who ran up to her out of breath, "see your beloved Gothre! he is gone for ever-gone to heaven, and left us! O my poor child!" clasping the boy, who cried most bitterly, "what shall we do without him, what will become of us-we will die also, my Billy !"

Wolkmar, in the mean time, stood enveloped with shade, his arms stretched out, motionless, and fixed in silent astonishment; his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he faintly, and with difficulty uttered, "My Fanny, my child!" His accents reached her ear, she sprang wildly from the ground, "It is my Wolkmar's spirit," she exclaimed. The sky instantly cleared all around, and Wolkmar burst upon her sight. They rushed together; she fainted. "God of mercies!" cried Wolkmar, "if thou wilt not drive me mad, restore her to life: she breathes! I thank thee, O my God, she breathes! the wife of Wolkmar lives!" Fanny, recovering, felt the warm embrace of her beloved husband"Dear, dear Wolkmar," she faintly whispered, "thy FannyI cannot speak-my Wolkmar, I am too happy-see our Billy!" The boy had crept close to his father, and was clasping him round the knees. The tide of affection rushed impetuously through the bosom of Wolkmar, "It presses on my heart," he said, "I cannot bear it." The domestics, whom Fanny had brought with her for protection, crowded round. "Let us kneel,' said Wolkmar, "round the body of aged Gothre." They knelt

around; the moon shone sweetly on the earth, and the spirit of Gothre passed by-he saw his children, and was happy.

CRUELTY OF A FATHER.

(From the Arabic of Addjaïb

Mouaser.)

A merchant, by name Kebal, had married a young, rich, and amiable wife. Though the Mahommedan law authorises polygamy, this imperious wife would divide neither the heart, nor bed of her husband. Kebal, of few aspiring views, having subjected himself to the matrimonial yoke, contracted an habitual dread of his wife, to whom he was indebted for his fortune; and his timidity induced him even to renounce, in her favour, the privilege allowed him by the law, having sworn to her an inviolable fidelity. At a distance from his wife, he soon forgot the oath and protestations he had made to her.

The business of his traffic having obliged him to take a journey, he was smitten with the charms of a young slave, whom he purchased for five hundred sequins. At nine months end the slave brought forth a child, whose birth, far from giving joy to the father, filled him with terrible apprehensions.

Kebal, who wanted to keep peace at home, made no difficulty of securing it by a crime. His wife, whom he had forgot in the heat of tumultuous passion, then occurred to his mind, and the fear of a jealous woman made him divest himself of every sentiment of humanity. He began

arm.

by sacrificing to his quiet the unfortunate object of his amours. After destroying the mother, the same intention was resolved on for the son; but the voice of Nature made itself to be heard within him, in spite of his horrid purpose, and stopped short his To keep himself from shedding his own blood, he at length thought it advisable, to take the child with him into a desert, persuaded that the innocent victim would soon perish in it. But Providence, that watched over the preservation of his life, conducted a shepherd to the place where he was exposed. His beauty, his cries, and his forlorn state, moved the heart of the poor shepherd to pity his distress, and he carried him to his hut. His wife, as compassionate as himself, very willingly took upon her the care of the child, and assigned him a she-goat for his wet-nurse. He was already four years old, when Kebal, on a journey, halted in the village where this shepherd lived, and took up his lodging with him. He took notice of his son, whom he was far from knowing; but whether he was struck with the child's beauty, or whether Nature spoke to him in his favour, he felt strong emotions at sight of him, and asked the shepherd if he was his father.

How great was Kebal's surprise, when the shepherd related to him how he had found the child! it was his own son! he could not help knowing him to be such by the circumstances of time and place; but to the sympathy that first affected him soon succeeded sentiments of violent hatred yet, dissembling, he pretended that the child's charms

The shepherd's poverty-his friendship for the child-and the certainty of his being more happy in the hands of a rich man, than his own, induced him to consent to the proposal. He was far from suspecting the design that had been already meditated against him.

Kebal had him no sooner at his disposal, than he hurried away and took him to the seashore. There the beauty of this young child, his innocence, his tender endearments, his cries, his tears-nothing could bend the atrocious soul of Kebal. He seizes his son, sews him up in a bag of leather, and casts him into the sea, sure that now he would not escape death. But propitious Heaven had otherwise ordered it. The bag came immediately into the nets of a fisherman, who fortunately hauled him out that very instant.

The astonished fisherman opens the bag, and, seeing in it a child, who still could breathe a little, suspended it by the feet, and, after bringing it to life, carried it to his cottage. Kebal's son was destined to find every where sensible hearts, except that of his barbarous father.

The fisherman brought him up in his profession, and the lad distinguished himself in it by equal dexterity and intrepidity. He was already arrived at the age of fifteen years, when Kebal, who took frequent journeys to promote the concerns of his commerce, passed through the town where the young man lived.

He

met him with the fisherman that had saved his life, and both were loaded with baskets of fish, which they sold about the streets. The young man's pleasing aspect attracted Kebal's attention, and to have an opportunity of knowing who he was, he bought some of the fisherman's fish. Afterwards, asking him, if he that followed was his son, the fisherman answered that he was not his father, and related to him in what manner he found him in his nets sown up in a bag.

Kebal, knowing him to be his son, could not imagine how he had escaped a death, which he thought to be inevitable. Enraged at seeing the ill success of so many crimes, he resolved to concert better his measures. He offered five hundred sequins to the fisherman, as purchase-money for his servant; and the bargain was soon concluded.

Kebal, without making himself known to his son, kept him to do business for him as his slave. His sweet temper-his fidelity

nothing could touch

that cruel father, who was still more and more bent on his destruction.

Two years had now elapsed since his son had served him with an unexampled zeal, when he put into his hands a sealed up letter. "Set out," said he, to him, "for Bagdad; you will there find my daughter, and deliver to her this letter-I recommend you to her care. Remain with her till my return; I shall soon follow you.'

The young man obeyed Kebal, and immediately went on his way. Arrived at Bagdad, he enquired after his master's house,

and knocked at the door of that which was shewn him to be his. Kebal's daughter chanced to open it, and saw a young man, more beautiful than love itself, that delivered to her a letter on the part of her father. Impatient, she opens it; but how great was the horror she was seized with in reading these words" The bearer of this letter is my greatest enemy; I send him to you that you may procure him to be assassinated; I require from you this proof of your tenderness.'

Kebal's daughter, far from resembling her father, was remarkable for singleness of heart, and a very humane disposition. Considering more attentively the letter-carrier, she could not help loving him; and love suggested to her a mean of saving the life of him, who in a moment was become so dear to her; and of seeking with him an union that was to last for life. Having ordered the young man to wait for a short while, she wrote, counterfeiting her father's handwriting, another letter, conceived in these words" He, who shall deliver to you this letter is dearer to me than my own son could be; consider him as myself; confide to him the management of all my business, and see him married directly to my daughter Melahie."

Having wrote this letter, she sealed it. Stepping afterwards into the room where she had left the young man" You are mistaken," said she," the letter you gave me was for my mother; I will shew you to her apartment." Young Kebal presented the letter to the mother, who, having read it, and not doubting it was

from her husband, executed the orders he had given her, and had the young man married to her daughter.

In the mean time, Kebal, having settled all the business he had to transact, set out on his return to Bagdad. Nothing could equal his astonishment, when, coming home, he found his son alive and joyous. His surprise was still greater when he learned that he was become his son-in-law. All these events appeared to him incredible; but the fear of discovering his iniquities made him loth to have the affair cleared up to him; he, therefore, thought it best to dissemble, and disguise, under the appearances of friendship, the mortal hatred he still bore his innocent son. Melahie, his daughter, was not the dupe of this deceitful tranquillity. Her tenderness, alarmed for the safety of a dear husband, made her pry into every device and design of her father.

Kebal, some time after his arrival, gave a sheep to his domestics, with several pitchers of wine. "Make merry," said he, "this night, and celebrate my happy return into my country; but I require of you the doing me a good piece of service. A secret enemy has a design on my life; this night I will inveigle him into my house; about the fourth hour of the night he will go down the stairs leading from my apartment; as soon as ye hear him, stab him to death in the dark."

At the fixed hour, Kebal desired his son to go into the yard where his domestics were, and to bring one of them to him.