peared, carrying with them all his treasure,-the camels, the horse, the slave, and the candlestick.

Thus was Abdallah punished by poverty, and almost by death, for his unreasonable ambition, which perhaps might have been pardonable if it had not been accompanied by an ingratitude as wicked as it was audacious, since he had not so much as the resource of being able to conceal his perfidies from the too piercing eyes of his benefactor.

As this story of Abdallah turned out to be much longer than my friend the Rajpoot had anticipated, and the black sheep had chased the white one into the sea a considerable time before the conclusion, we found it necessary to separate for the night. I

am,

Most learned Wilfred,
Your faithful friend,

I. N. O.

Alexandria, 4th of the month Ab,

in the year 584.*

i. e. 26th July, 1824.-ED.

No IX.

Curious Example of Algerine Justice-The Avaricious punished; a Circassian History-Indian StoriesThe Blind Man and the Pundit-The Preacher and the Villager.

On the succeeding evening, most illustrious Wilfred, my friend Bikram waited upon me to renew our intercourse.

"Your story of Abdallah," said he, “is an instructive one; but I think the Durwesh Abounadar was too good to such a wretch, whose avarice was not to be satiated by the most liberal gifts of his benefactor."

"The observation is just," I replied, "but the avarice of some mean people has been known to lead them to a most audacious height of impudence; as, for example, in the following story of a mendicant of Magrebi, which my friend Mr Abraham Karkass

related to me, he having heard it during his travels in that quarter, and which affords a curious example of Algerine justice :—

A Greek merchant resident at Algiers in the year 1691, and during the Deylik of Hajji Chaban, had been in the habit of dropping a few aspers into the hand of an old beggar who sat in the sun near his house, making thread lace; but, having occasion to go for six months into Egypt, his charity was discontinued. At length, however, he returned, and began to repeat his accustomed gift. The beggar, however, declined it, saying it was better to pay him his arrears at once. "What arrears ?" cried the merchant. "The sum due to me," replied the old wretch, "during your absence, amounting to 180 rials." The Greek, not knowing whether his impudence deserved more to be kicked or to be laughed at, left him; upon which he was immediately summoned before the Dey. The Moor alleged, that the merchant had for a whole month daily given him a rial, and upon such an income he had left off work; that the merchant had gone awaywithout the least notice that his pension was to cease; that he had still kept his post, praying for

his return; besides, relying on his accustomed liberality, he had contracted debts for his support; but, upon demanding his arrears, the Greek had laughed at him.

The merchant did not disown the truth of the premises, but insisted, that, alms being voluntary, its continuance depended on the will of the donor. The Dey, however, decreed that the beggar should be paid, with a piaster over and above for his reproaches; sagely observing, that he had no business to excite expectations that he did not mean to gratify.

Bikram Dilwalee laughed a good deal at this narrative, and then, in fulfilment of his promise formerly given, he proceeded, with all due emphasis, placidity, and decorum, to recite the story of "The Avaricious Punished, a Circassian History," as follows:

Diarbec, lord of the fruitful plains that lie along the banks of the river Teflis, was descended from the most ancient family that inhabited the valleys. His house could boast of a longer series of uninterrupted beauties than any other in Circassia. He could reckon fourteen virgins of his own family

who were all sold into the Seraglio of Ispahan, some of whom had actually possessed the heart of the mighty monarch of Persia. His ancestors had grown rich by the traffic of beauty, and had left him in possession of such numerous flocks and herds that they covered the neighbouring mountains.

His riches, however, were not sufficient to satisfy his avarice. He was still desirous of increasing his acquisitions, and still laboured to augment a fortune already greater than he could enjoy. He despised his fellow-mortals, and trusted only in his own extensive possessions; from them he expected pleasure in manhood, and comfort in old age. He took no pains to cultivate friendship, and felt more pleasure in the prostration of distant homages than in the warm embraces of affection blended with esteem.

Notwithstanding his pride, he had one friend that esteemed and one daughter that loved him. His friend Arcadi was just, generous, and sincere. He had travelled in search of wisdom among the Brahmins, who propagate their sublime doctrines on the banks of the Ganges. He had also been initiated into the mysteries of those who adore the