"My duty to a fellow Muslim, and especially to one of my own esmaf, must not be neglected," replied Murad. "The reward is with Allah."

"I have bought my grave-clothes," continued Selim; "you will find them in a box in the wardrobe of the room in which I sleep."

Some further conversation occurred between the two friends, and then Selim rose and said, "I must now speak to Aziz, as the Bin-bashee has left him; and call also on Atib, the tailor. By the holy mantle of Mouhammad, Atib is the only man in the city to whom -even for a para—I am a bordjlu, a debtor."

"Then fortunate is your star," exclaimed Murad. "I must pay Atib to-day," resumed Selim, "that no reflection may be cast on my memory. Atib is an honest man, and with him I shall also deposit my vasiiet, my will, which, but for the blood-relationship between us, I should have confided to thee, O Murad." And here, Selim, taking leave, fasterred up his shop and departed. Murad remained in the bazaar, but, for this day, the Franks certainly deserved the bad character given to them by the one-eyed papoudjee. They bought no slippers.

A few hours passed away, and about sunset Selim attended prayers at an adjacent mosque, and then entered his now solitary abode in Turk Town. No cheering sound greeted his approach, the Khanum and her prattling children were now alike in the cold grave, and the poor Osmanlee's heart, though nearly bursting, still prompted him to bow, without repining, to the will of Allah.

Slowly he passed on to his chamber, where, taking a mattress from the cupboard or youk in which it was kept, he spread it on the floor, carefully placed thereon the necessary bed-clothes, and then sank down, not to sleep, but to meet his apparently inevitable fate.

The night wore on-the agitated mind of Selim instinctively surveyed his past life-the follies in the warm blood of inexperienced youth committed—the opportunities for charity even recently neglected-the hasty words of anger from time to time addressed to his slaves-the lukewarm zeal with which he had occasionally befriended the stranger-the now clearly apparent selfishness that often unwittingly had actuated his motives-all, all passed before "the mind's eye" of Selim rapidly, distinctly, and forcibly; heart, and head, and memory, seemed to acquire supernatural powers of recollection—and many, therefore, were the prayers for pardon that now passed the lips of the self-accusing Mussulman.

In a few moments the figure glided nearer to the bed. Selim started up in an agony of terror. "WHO ART THOU?" were the only words he could utter, and a cold sweat burst forth on his brow.

"Be silent!" slowly exclaimed a hollow voice. "I AM AZRAEL, THE ANGEL OF DEATH!"

"My destiny is then fulfilled!" murmured Selim, his knees knocking together, and his teeth chattering. Yet, in this dreadful moment, the lessons of the Moullah did not depart from him. He religiously pronounced the Muslim profession of faith. "I testify there is no Deity but Allah; and that Mouhammad is God's Apostle. To God we belong, and to God we must return." Having made this profession, Selim sunk into a swoon.

On partially recovering his senses, and now feeling certain he was about to die, he hastily pulled the wadded quilt over his head, expecting every moment to be his last, and every echo of the wind to be the footstep of Azrael.

Some time elapsed, yet Selim still lived, though all his strength had long passed away. Why did Azrael hesitate to give the fatal blow? A thought struck Selim. Had the Angel of Death mercifully departed? But he removed not the quilt from his face, fearful to meet the gaze of the fell destroyer. Had Azrael passed on to the Hebrew mahalle, to slay a predestined number of heartless usurers? Had he altogether, or only for a while, left Selim? And when would he return? Oh, the agony of suspense! the indescribable horror of that dread pause in the tide of life, when at its very height of glorious flood, the sparkling stream delays for a short space that fatal turn which marks the commencing ebb, the downward, slow but certain, ever-increasing current rushing to the Sea of Death! Selim swooned again. Is he dead?

The night passed away; the day dawned; the call to the first prayer resounded from the minarets; andbut who are these?

Several persons entered the apartment. They saw spread on the floor a bed, whereon appeared the form of a human body, motionless as a corpse, and covered with a quilt. The first was Murad, now come to redeem his promise made in the bazaar.

"The dream is indeed fulfilled," thought Murad to himself, "yet bakkaloum, yet let us see; we are early, 'tis scarcely day, it is possible life may not be extinct, and if I come but in time to close my poor friend's eyes, the Frankish fear of contagion shall find no imitator in Murad, the Papoudjee. Inshallah! Selim shall not be quite deserted in the hour of

Atib, the little tailor, and Aziz now came forward, while Murad stooped down, and in a voice trembling with emotion, slowly uttered the simple word, "Selim!"

"O Azrael! O thou Angel of Death!" cried a faint voice immediately from the bed, "at length thou art

returned! I, Selim, a true and faithful Muslim, am thoroughly resigned to my fate. Keep me no longer in suspense, but do thine office quickly. O Azrael, Azrael, as my last words, I testify there is no Deity but Allah. And I testify that Mouhammad is God's Apostle."

On hearing these words the little tailor rushed from the room.

But Selim, confident that the inevitable Azrael was about to return, resumed his prayers aloud, in which his two friends joined.

"I thank you, O Murad," replied Selim, gradually recognizing his friend's voice, "but by the Beard of the Prophet, AZRAEL HAS BEEN HERE THIS NIGHT."

"You have had but another dream," suggested Murad.

"No," replied Selim, now opening his eyes; "again let me acquaint you. Azrael has been here, Azrael has pronounced the dread summons, and I expect his immediate return."

Atib, the little tailor, or terzy, here evinced considerable uneasiness, became fidgety, and threw a furtive glance at the door-curtain, as if expecting Azrael to make his appearance forthwith from behind it.

"Selim's brain is wandering," whispered Murad to Aziz, "if Azrael has been here, how could Selim be yet alive?"

The little tailor here returned to the bed, and moving his tongue with some difficulty, owing to the fearful dryness of his mouth, ventured to ask Selim (who had again opened his eyes, but still remained prostrate), "Who else had paid him a visit during the night, or who had attended upon him?"

“Kimsè guelmèdi!" exclaimed Selim; "no one at all. And how could they, for the door of my house was fastened? I gave you permission to break in, as you doubtless have done, for if you rattled the doorring, I heard you not."

The door fastened!" exclaimed the little tailor; "Break in!' why, we found the door open! We rattled no door-ring."

"To Azrael," replied Selim, "doors, perhaps, are no obstruction. Bolts and bars are but flimsy cobwebs to the Angel of Death. The door may have opened at his approach."

The Moullahs know more about that than I do," continued the persevering tailor; "but pray, then, as you say no one has been up here, who is the man we saw down in the court-yard just now? Is he a new Kapoudjee, a new door-keeper?"

"Dead! a corpse!" exclaimed the hitherto sinking and bewildered Selim. "A man dead in the courtyard!" cried he, springing upright in the bed.

"As dead as Solyman the Magnificent!" cried the sleazy little tailor, "As defunct as Hajji Bektash!” "Then God be praised!" shouted Selim, leaping into the middle of the floor. "God be praised! as the fellow is dead, whoever he is, HE makes the seventh of my dream, and not I. Azrael has taken him, and not me."

But here an almost electric change came over Selim's countenance, and he, in a tremor, exclaimed: "Yet, Azrael did address me! How is this? Seven dead, and I alive. And the dream ".

In another instant Selim rushed as rapidly down to the court-yard as the little tailor had done. His three friends followed him, astounded at the strength and activity of a man but a few minutes before verging on dissolution. They found him gazing sternly at the corpse.

"The Pezavenk !" exclaimed Selim. I can unriddle it all. This fellow is a thief; this bag of beshliks, these other monies are mine. He has, this night, been plundering my house."

"I know the Pezavenk's ugly countenance," exclaimed Aziz. "This is the very Arab who was dozing on my mastabah in the bazaar yesterday, when the Binbashee arrived."

“Ah!” added Murad; “and he must then have been feigning sleep, and thus overheard Selim relate his dream to me."

"And, worse than all," rejoined Selim; "This son of a dog (may his father be burnt!) must have entered my chamber for plunder, and, seeing my state, have passed himself off as AZRAEL, THE ANGEL OF DEATH! What a brain I must have not to have discovered the trick."

"Well, at all events," cried the little tailor, "the dream is now out-seven were to die, and seven are dead. Selim is now the eighth in the house, and Inshallah, he will be saved."

And Selim was saved, and for aught we know to the contrary, yet occupies a shop in the slipper-bazaar at

drink to constitutional liberty, to the Upper and Lower Danube armies, or to freedom of the press?"

"Hyay, sir, I could not learn all that in a month." "But in three months, I daresay, you will be able to learn it well enough. Master Janos, take that man into custody."

The humane Master Janos again seized the delinquent by the collar, and escorted him to the place appropriated to such malefactors, where he had time to consider why he was put there.

The three months passed slowly enough to the nailsmith. It was now the middle of March. Master Janos punctually released his prisoner: and the honest man determined to prove the reform in his sentiments, and thereby rise in Master Janos's opinion.

"Success to liberty and the Hungarian army!" cried he. Master Janos stumbled against the wall in speechless horror; and as soon as he recovered his equilibrium, he seized the astonished nailsmith, who, when he had regained his terrified senses, found himself again in the narrow, ominous-looking chamber; but now, instead of the stout red-faced gentleman, he stood before a lean black one, who, when he understood the charge against the prisoner, without permitting any explanation, condemned him to three months' imprisonment, informing him that henceforth, unless he wished to fare worse, he must exclaim, "Success to the imperial armies, the great constitution, and the one and powerful Austria!" And the nailsmith, having made three steps beyond his prison-door, was brought back to renew his captivity, and to ponder over his strange fate.

The three months again passed, and it was some time in June that Master Janos released his captive. The poor man, even at his prison-door, began to bawl out redeeming words. "Long live Prince Windischgratz! Success to glorious Austria!" cried he. Master Janos laid his hand upon his sword, as if to protect himself from this incorrigible man.

"What!" demanded he, "Was it not enough to imprison you twice? Have you not yet learned what to say? Step in here;" and for the third time there was the narrow chamber; but, instead of the meagre black gentleman, it was again the red-faced individual before whom our victim appeared to answer for his oftrepeated crime.

"Obstinate traitor!" he exclaimed, are you aware of the extent of your offence; and that if I did not condemn you, as I mercifully do now, to an imprisonment of three months on my own responsibility, you must be given up to justice, and would probably be cut into four quarters, as you deserve?" The unhappy man could not do otherwise than rejoice, in his extreme terror, at the mildness of the sentence.

"What should I have said?" he asked of his lenient judge, in a voice of despair.

"What should you have said? Why, success to the republic! success to democracy! success to revolution!" The poor fellow promised faithfully to remember these things, and resigned himself patiently to the new lease granted him of his dark abode.

During the ensuing three months, everything had changed, except the good fortune of Master Janos; neither time nor chance could succeed in displacing him, as they had so many others. He was still vicejailer of the noble city of Pesth. It was now September; the nailsmith's penalty was out, and Master Janos called him forth. The prisoner's countenance expressed something unusually important; and no sooner did the jailer approach, than, seizing his hand, he burst into tears.

"Oh, Master Janos," said he, sobbing, “tell the gentleman that I humbly kiss his hand and wish from the bottom of my heart, success to the republic!"

As the hungry wolf pounces on the lamb, so once more did Janos seize the nailsmith by the ill-used collar; and indeed so shocked was the worthy jailer, that after dragging the prisoner into the narrow, ominouslooking room, it was some time ere he could explain the circumstances to the lean black gentleman, who once more occupied the place of the fat red-faced one; and great was his surprise when the individual, instead of sentencing the delinquent to be broken on the wheel, merely awarded him three months more incarceration. On the 3d of November 1849, all who had been imprisoned for slight political offences were released from confinement; among others, the nailsmith. As Master Janos opened the door, the unfortunate man stopped his mouth with his handkerchief, giving the humane jailer to know by this pantomime that he would henceforth keep his demonstrations to himself.

Now that the first wild pang is past and over,
Now I have learn'd to accept it as a truth,
That men love not as women, that the lover

To whom the woman gives herself, her youth,
Her trust, her love, her worship-in his heart,
Just on the surface-keeps a spot apart,
Deck'd with gay weeds, and painted flies and flowers,
Bright to the eye, all scentless though they be:
Beneath whose flaunting blooms and shadeless bowers,
He can receive as flaunting company;

I can forgive thee, knowing that I hold,
Alone of all, the key of purst gold

That locks the gate beyond, whose golden trellis
Shuts out the common herd and shuts in me,
'Mid nightingales and fountains, where a palace
Hymen hath built, and I alone with thee
Can dwell while both shall live, supreme to reign
The rightful queen of this my fair domain.

So, I forgive thee, husband, yes, I pardon,

I give thee back the love I had withdrawn: Love-ay, but not the same love, that gay garden With all its florid flowers, its dance-trod lawn, Its painted butterflies, a tomb contains

Wherein lie buried Trust's poor cold remains.