tion. He says not a syllable; scarcely even deigns to look at me, turning his face towards the wall. When I had paid my father's compliments, and opened the business of my embassy, he still kept silence a long time; after which he said drily, 'I'll see.' Retiring upon this hopeful response, I loitered about for some time, not liking to go back with no better news. At length, I take my way, and arriving at our house, find some laden mules at the door, and learn to my astonishment that Amarah had sent the money. Well:-my father a little while after receiving his taxes, loses no time in paying his debt, and I am now sent on an embassy of thanks. Amarah receives me and the money with an air of rage. 'What!' cried he, 'am I your father's banker? Go along with your money, and God be with you.' An anecdote is related on his own experience by an author of the name of Mondir-Ben-Mogheirah, which shows that Fadhel did not always think fit to be haughty in his good actions; though there is an air in it, still, of his liking to play the master. Mondir, falling into trouble, and quitting his country, went with his children to Bagdad. On his arrival he left them at the door of the great mosque, and went to see what was to be done. Observing a number of persons going as if to a festival, he followed them into a magnificent palace, where he sat down to dinner. Though a stranger, he was treated like the rest. He was served on a plate of gold; and after dinner was presented with the plate to carry away with him, together with two pouches of perfume. "On preparing to go," says Mondir, "I was stopped by one of the servants. I thought I was to give up my plate and my perfumes; but he only said that his master Fadhel wished to speak with me. I told Fadhel my story, and he begged me to spend the rest of the day with him. On the approach of night, I requested permission to look after my children. He asked where they were: I told him, at the mosque. Good,' said he; they are in God's keeping. You have nothing to fear for them.' So saying, he whispered one of his servants, and resuming the conversation, begged me to stay with him till next day, when a domestic should conduct me to the mosque. I stayed, went. next day with the man, and instead of the mosque, was conducted to a handsome well-furnished house, where I found my children, who had been taken there the day before." These are romantic stories, and look very impossible, according to our notions; but they are not the less true for that. It is the self-estimation generated in these and other respects by the old Arabian virtues, that helped to make the Mahometans at one period the masters of the civilized world, and left a dignity on their character, that is not without its effects to this day. The Greeks are now retrieving their character; the Turks have long been suffering theirs to subside in laziness and ignorance; yet compare, to this day, the ordinary Greek with the Turk, and you will find him a huckster compared with a gentleman. So at least we have been informed by travellers able to judge. And the reason is clear. The Turks live upon their former reputation, and experience both the good and harm of that repose on their dignity. Their very contempt for trade leads them into oppressions, for which a tradesman learns to despise them in return. But this has been a late discovery on the part of the Greeks, and is only common with such of them as have acquired a self-respect by familiarity with danger,-to wit, the traders by sea. The rest re

tain a great respect for the Turks, in spite of the opposition to which they have been stung. We will venture to say, that with the exception of some gallant islanders, and those who have become acquainted with books, and fancied the old beacons of Troy and Marathon lighted on the top of their hills, the Greeks never feel themselves in presence of their former masters, and about to measure strength with them in battle, but they have a misgiving like runaway footmen. So much the worse for those, who should have encouraged the Greeks to feel otherwise! And so much the more glorious for themselves, if they finally succeed in rescuing their name and their independence!

To return to our old friends. The curiosity of a reader of the Arabian Nights is fortunately able to be gratified with several anecdotes of Giafar. Besides extraordinary instances related of his talents for business, which he had perfected by studying under Abou-Joseph, the greatest lawyer of his time, he had the reputation of being the most eloquent man living, and the politest writer. As an instance of his credit with Haroun, they tell us, that Abdalmalek the Haschemite, a near kinsman of the prince, but not much in his good graces, was lamenting the circumstance one day to Giafar; adding, that he was sharply pressed by his creditors for a debt of four thousand crowns of gold; and that his son, who was now grown up and had great merit, could do nothing at court. "Be of good heart," replied Giafar: "I undertake to say, that the Caliph, from this moment, will regard you with a favourable eye; that he will pay your debts; that he will give his daughter in marriage to your son; and that she will bring him for dowry the government of Egypt. Isaac, of Moussol, (the celebrated musician) who was present when Giafar held this discourse, thought the wine he had been drinking with the Caliph had got into his head. What was his surprise, next day, when Haroun declared publicly to Abdalmalek, that all which had been promised him, in his name, by Giafar, was accorded.

A man one day having introduced to Giafar a female slave whom he wished to sell, the Barmecide found her so much to his taste, that he gave forty thousand crowns for her, and paid the sum in advance. The poor girl, in tears, reminded her seller of a promise he had repeatedly made that he would not part with her. Giafar no sooner heard her remonstrance, than he said to the man, "Attest only that she is free, and that you have married her, and you may keep the money.” The following shows that Giafar had no great notion of a decapitation or so, any more than his master; but then it was for a vital purpose. It shows also, that Haroun by no means partook of that readiness to give up the ghost, which he expected of his loving subjects. One day his vizier found him plunged in a profound melancholy. He enquired the cause, and found that a Jew had predicted his death, which was to take place in the course of the year. Giafar sent for the Jew, and asked him upon how long a life he reckoned himself, according to the science he professed. The Jew said, that his horoscope promised him a long life. Upon this the vizier advised his master to put the astrologer to death, in order to convince him of the falsity of his predictions. The thing was done, and the caliph recovered.

From another anecdote, it appears that Giafar, like many other wise men, was not exempt from a weakness in his own instance, which he

could see in others. We observe, nevertheless, that he was not a slave to it. Going upon some business to the Caliph a little before his downfall, he thought fit to consult the stars, in order to see if the hour was favourable. His house was on the banks of the Tigris; and as he consulted his ephemerides, he heard a boatman reciting some verses to the following purport:

"He consults the stars forsooth:
Pleasant youth! pleasant youth!
He consults the servants' hall,
When the master settles all!"

Giafar had no sooner heard these words, than he threw aside his ephemerides and his astrolabe, mounted his horse to go to the palace, and a little while after was put to death.

It is a pity that D'Herbelot forgot his promise respecting the other sons of Yahia, for, besides what historians would say of them, and the notices of miscellaneous authors, he makes mention of a distinct history of the Barmecides. We are not aware that he says any thing of the forty Barmecides, who are stated by some writers to have completed the number of those who suffered. Perhaps they are confounded with the forty Barmecides, who were to have been put to death in one of the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, had not Giafar succeeded in finding out the slave who stole the apple. The only account we have met with of any descendant of the family is what is related by the same great orientalist of a son of Fadhel. It is in high keeping with the family history, and very touching. "A celebrated poet," says he, "called Mohammed of Damascus, informs us, that conversing one day with Fadhel at a time when quantities of verses had been written on the birth of his son, and none of the verses pleasing him, he asked me if I would not try my hand upon the same subject. I did so, and pleased him so well, that he made me a present of ten thousand crowns. After the misfortunes of him and his family, I happened to be one day at a bath, where the master gave me a nice-looking youth for my attendant. I know not how I came to think of them, but the verses I had written on the birth of the son of Fadhel, ran so in my head, that I must needs be singing them; when all of a sudden, the lad who waited on me, fell to the ground, and on his recovery left me to myself.

"I was very much surprised at this circumstance, and on quitting the bath, complained to the master that he had given me an attendant afflicted with epilepsy. The man protested that he was not aware of it, and sent for the poor boy, who no sooner beheld me again, than he asked who was the author of the verses I had recited. I told him, myself. He enquired for whom I had written them; and upon my replying For the son of Fadhel,' he asked if I knew what had become of this son of Fadhel. I said, no; upon which he told me, that he that was then speaking to me was the very person; and that, on hearing my verses, the contrast between his past and present condition came with such anguish on his mind, that he had fallen to the earth. Struck with compassion for the son of a personage to whom I owed all that I pos

Literally, according to D'Herbelot, he governs himself by the stars, never dreaming that the stars themselves have a master, who will assuredly take his own

course.

sessed, I told him, that I was growing old; that I had none to inherit after me; and that if he would come with me before the cadi, I would make him my heir. He replied, with tears in his eyes, God forbid, that I should take back what my father gave away!' nor could I prevail on him, then or afterwards, by all the arguments I was master of, to allow me to show him any acknowledgment for the benefits I had received, or to take the least tittle out of my purse."

But nothing which is related of this noble-minded family surpasses in interest the daring and devoted enthusiasm which they excited in the bosom of an old man of the name of Mondir, who had partaken of their benefactions. It is the more pleasant to repeat, because Haroun himself retrieves a little of his reputation in it. On the downfal of the minister and his kinsmen, Haroun had prohibited their names from being mentioned, on pain of death. In spite of this order, the people of Bagdad every day beheld an old man, who took his stand before one of their palaces, and, ascending a mound of earth for a pulpit, harangued the passengers on the noble actions of the deceased. The Caliph, informed of this daring behaviour, sent for the man, and condemned him to death. Mondir heard the sentence with great good-will, demanding only the favour of being allowed to speak to the Caliph before it was executed. Permission being granted, it turned out that what he had to say was nothing less than a long discourse, in which he enlarged with all his might on the favours he had received from the Barmecides. The Caliph, who listened without impatience, was so touched with the man's words, that he not only recalled the sentence, but gave him a plate of gold that happened to be near him. But the cream of the man's gratitude is still to come: for, on receiving the plate, and prostrating himself according to custom at the Caliph's feet, he cried out, "Behold another benefit which I have received from the Barmecides." Never was obstinacy so delicious. Mondir that day was lord of the East, for he had the Caliph at a disadvantage, and Haroun had wit and spirit enough to feel it.

We know not what became of this glorious family in after-times. If we are to believe the Arabian Nights, they existed to a late period, and had recovered much of their grandeur; for the personage who makes so pleasant a figure in the story of the Barber's sixth Brother is a Barmecide; and that story is laid in the time of the Caliph Mostanser Billah, who was thirty-sixth Caliph of the race of Abbas, and flourished upwards of four hundred years after Haroun. From the same authority it would appear, that this Barmecide was the last of his race; but it must be owned, that the author seems to have killed him, purely to confiscate his property to the Caliph, and dislodge the unfortunate Shacabac. It is possible, however, that he founded his fiction on a known circumstance, and very probable that the family had recovered themselves. That they retained their character for generosity, is equally probable; the national and family-manners alike conspiring to preserve it. At all events, they were destined to charm and be beloved by the whole civilized world. Their history, without the aid of fiction, is a romance; and united to it in those delightful tales, it helps to complete the charm of a work of imagination by giving it a heart with its wings, and uniting the best realities of life with the most playful idealism.

THE VAUDOIS VALLEYS.

YES! thou hast met the sun's last smile
From the haunted hills of Rome;
By many a bright Egean isle

Thou hast seen the billows foam:

From the silence of the Pyramid

Thou hast watch'd the solemn flow
Of the Nile, that with his mantle hid
The ancient realm below:

Thy heart hath burn'd as shepherds sang
Some wild and warlike strain,
Where the Moorish horn once proudly rang
Through the pealing hills of Spain:

And o'er the lonely Grecian streams
Thou hast heard the laurels moan,
With a sound yet murmuring in thy dreams
Of the glory that is gone.

But go thou to the hamlet-vales
Of the Alpine mountains old,
If thou wouldst hear immortal tales,
By the wind's deep whispers told!

Go, if thou lov'st the soil to tread
Where man hath bravely striven,
And life like incense hath been shed,
An offering unto Heaven!

For o'er the snows and round the pines
Hath swept a noble flood,

The nurture of the peasant's vines
Hath been the martyr's blood.

A spirit, stronger than the sword,
And loftier than Despair,
Through all th' heroic region pour'd,
Breathes in the generous air.

A memory clings to every, steep

Of long-enduring Faith,

And the sounding streams glad record keep

Of courage unto death!

Ask of the peasant where his sires

For Truth and Freedom bled,

Ask, where were lit the torturing fires

Where lay the holy dead?

And he will tell thee all around,

On fount, and turf, and stone,

Far as the chamois' foot can bound,
Their ashes have been sown.

Go, when the sabbath-bell is heard
Up through the wilds to float,

When the dark old woods and caves are stirr'd
To gladness by the note;