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not he want to make it out that I was a descendant from the grand visir Ibrahim?

Kaled. A sad misfortune truly! What harm could that do you? Is'nt it just as well to descend from Ibrabim as from any body else?

Nebi. I know that well enough; but the price

Kaled. Well, the price! Did I sell him you dear? Probably I gave a great deal for him. This happened long ago. I did not know my trade then as well as I do now. How could I imagine that those who cost me the most money, were the most good for nothing?

Nebi. A fine reason, truly! Is that likely? Is it possible there can be a country where people are such fools? A rogue's excuse! a rogue's excuse! I don't wonder that some folks make fortunes!

Kaled. A rogue's excuse ! Make fortunes! Would not one suppose that it is all profit? What say you to the bad bargains that ruin me? Have they not a hundred trades that are quite incomprehensible? What do you think of my buying that German baron, whom I have never been able io get rid of, and who is still at home devouring my victuals! That rich Englishman, too, who was travelling to drive away the spleen, for whom I refused five hundred sequins, and who killed himself before my face, and tricked me out of my money! Is not this enough to make one's heart bleed? And the doctor, as he is called, do you imagine that I get any thing by him? At the last Tunis fair, was pot I so stupid as to buy a lawyer and three parsons, whom I have never ventured to show in the market, and who are still in my house along with the German baron?

Nebi. You cursed unbeliever, you wish to silence me by your clamour; but the cadi will do me justice.

Kaled. I am not afraid of you; the cadi is a just and discerning man, who encourages commerce, and who knows very well that the slave trade is going to ruin, because these folks become worth less every day.

Nebi. Once for all, will you take back your doctor?
Kaled. No, by my faith, will I not.
Nebi. Well, we will see that very soon.
Kaled. As soon as you like.

rit NEBI.


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TALES OF THE HALL, Vol. II. " AND now in quiet way they came to live On what their fortune, love, and hopes would give : * The honied moon had nought but silver rays, And shone benignly on their early days; The second moon a light less vivid shed, And now the silver rays were tinged with lead. They now began to look beyond ihe Hall, And think what friends would make a morning call; Their former appetites returned, and now Both could their wishes and their tastes avow

į, "Twas now no longer“ just what you apprové,' But, " let the wild-fowl be to-day, my love.' In fact the senses drawn aside by force Of a strong passion, sought their usual course.

6. Now to her music would the wife repair, To which he listened once with eager air; When there was so much harmony within, That any note was sure it's way to win; But now the sweet melodious tones were sent from the struck chords, and none cared where they

went. Full well we know that many a favourite air, That charms a party, fails to charm a pair; And as Augusta played she looked around, To see if one was dying at the sound : But all were gone-a husbaud, wrapt in gloom, Stalked careless, listless, up and down the room.”

The Preceptor Husband. No. 41.



TO H. P. “ And forsaking all others cleave only unto her.” GO, and visit the couch where a fond partner lies

lø the moment of nature's extremest pain; Mark her agonized groans and her pitiful sighs,

And the hectic that bursts froin her burning brain : And tho’eankered and crusted thy cold, callous heart,

Some yearnings of anguish will torture thee then; And a bitterer tear from thy eye-balls will start

Than shall ever be wrung from thy soul again! If for her who endureth those conflicts for thee,

In thy sternness of mood thou hast nurtured dislike, And wished-God forgive thee!-thy glances could be As the lightning which blasteth whate'er it may strike. Thy conscience will coil round thy heart like a snake,

And above thy dark spirit thoughts fearfully rise, More burning and black than the billows that break

On that horrible shore where “the worm never dies." As she grasps thy cold hand there will waken a pulse

Which with audible throbbings tby sins will reprove: And when wild ghastly smiles, thy proud lip shall con

vulse, Her's will melt with affection, and tremble with love. For woman still smiles like an angel of light,

O'er humanity's wide, weltering ocean of woes ; And her truth and her tenderness dawn on the sight, Like green sunny islands of balm and reposei


IUPBRAID thee? Phaon, never!: I find y

False and perjured tho' thou arty,
Yet thou 'rt dearer far than ever

To this sad and broken heart go to
You first taught this heart to love thee: 97!!

You first taught this heart to mourn'; 10 All my joys were centred in thee, rugpuh hat Blighted now thou 'rt from me torm. W

***!! sqederra 14

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