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nestine, and you will find means to live there, as well as any where else. Your profession is not so exalted, but that you may gain by it as much in France as you did in Grenada; besides, that place must assuredly be in the hands of the Spaniards, and what could you now do there? Come with me, say, my Ernestine is a Frenchwoman, and we shall surely find her. You are old, I am young, and I will work for Ernestine and for you; our Andalusian mares will carry us over the world; come along." Sabaoth complied, and was not the first instance of wisdom being led by folly. Folly! is there any folly that deserves so much indulgence as that of love; it excites energy in the coldest hearts, and attacks the most indifferent. The sighs of Sabaoth were almost in unison with those of Amurat, and on seeing the gambols of the shepherdesses in the plains, his heart revived, and he regretted that the time of his youth had been so much employed in stables. But let us not stop our two fugitives; they arrived at Pampeluna, following the road the Minstrel had taken; but there happened so strange an adventure to Amurat at Pampeluna, we can not pass it over. A youth of Navarre, struck with the beauty, and deceived by the dress of Amurat, took it into his head to make love to him, while he was alone in the room, and Sabaoth occupied with the care of his horses. The discourteous knight fastened the door, and was about to attempt violence on him: the brave Moor smiled at first at his mistake, and without deceiving the Navarrois, began to defend himself; but the other, firmly persuaded that it was a woman, flattered himself with an easy conquest. The blows however which he received from Amurat, made him comprehend that it would not be so easy as he had imagined. He had not thought that a woman could have had so much courage and strength. He was knocked down repeatedly, and Amurat was kicking him out of the room when Sabaoth entered in amazement.

Our two adventurers arrived in France, questioning all travellers, and passing through various provinces. They had lost the thread of their inquiries, and were in despair. From Pampeluna to Vaucelles is a long way; how to succeed in so difficult an undertaking!

Sabaoth wept in the most touching and most laughable manner. The two poor Andalusian mares were knocked up-our Pilgrims, however, kept moving; not that they had any longer a hope of success, but they were less tired when travelling than when quiet. They had gained the banks of the Loire; but neither at Angers, Tours, or at Orleans, could they learn any intelligence of the Piper or of his charming daughter. At Paris they were still more unlucky, for they might have found here a thousand Arabians for one player on the pipes. There were numberless girls, but no Ernestine. God of Love, what a difference between them!!

Our Pilgrims left Paris, and took the road to Flanders. Oh Flanders! we must now return to the sorrowing Ernestine. The poor girl deserved pity-she had no longer those tints of roses and lilies, whose brilliancy could not formerly have been seen with impunity, and she was become so thin and pale, Amurat, the enamoured Amurat himself would hardly have known her. Unfortunate Amurat! as he travelled, his embarrassments increased for, independent of the pains of love which he equally suffered with Ernestine, his purse, and that of Sabaoth, were exhausted. They were forced, Mahommedans as they were, to go from convent to convent begging hospitality. One evening they knocked at the gate of the monastry of Vaucelles. The Minstrel was at that moment relating some of his minor adventures, which he had omitted in the history of his life, and they were all sitting round the fire. The wind whistled so loud, some said they heard mournful cries, which probably were nothing but the breeze; but the Minstrel swore that it was an apparition; he was perfectly convinced there were such, for he had seen one at Toledo with his two eyes. "One night," said he, "soon after I had come to Toledo, as I was sleeping in my bed beside my chaste companion, I heard my water-pot tumble down, which made me start up in my sleep, and, by the glimmering light of my small lamp, I noticed a man in his shirt descend from my window. He seemed to resemble a good deal the officer of the holy brotherhood; but it cer tainly was an optical illusion which deceived my sight, and made me mis

take a living for a dead man. I jump ed out of my bed, and ran into the kitchen, where I passed the remainder of the night in the utmost fear, and without closing an eye."


He was at this part of the story, when they heard a loud knocking at the gate. The Minstrel trembled more than when in his bed he saw the apparition; but they laughed at his alarm, and made him go and see who was at the gate. "Who is there?" Open to two poor travellers." The gate is opened, and the first person who presented himself to his view was Sabaoth. He thought he was the Devil, and trembled more in all his limbs than formerly in the stable at Grenada, when this flower of grooms laid the thong on his innocent shoulders. Sabaoth also knew again him whom he had taught to physic horses, and who had doctored a Žegris, but did not feel much satisfaction at it, for he was afraid that, now as the Minstrel was on his own dunghill, he might feel himself inclined to repay him all the kindness he had received at Grenada.

The Minstrel did not recollect Amurat, so much had his dress disguised him. He conducted him to the ladies' apartment, where Ernestine came to receive him, and having placed the pretended damsel in proper hands, he returned to the hall of the strangers, where he was accustomed to do the honours of the monastery to visitors in the absence of the steward.


"Sir Sabaoth, by what adventure are you reduced to ask hospitality in a Christian monastery, you who laid down the laws and gave such rude blows in those superb stables of Grenada ?" "Alas, replied Sabaoth, “I may also ask you by what chain of events a Minstrel turned stable-boy, and afterward Esculapius in the kingdom of Murcia, can have fallen from such high state, as to be reduced in the Low Countries to act the part of porter to a set of Monks? But I see now my own fate, that the powerful master of our destinies, after having scattered us over this lower earth, amuses himself sometimes in making us from millers turn Bishops: It has happened to the gallant Zegris, formerly our common master. This great man, appointed General of Grenada, was conquered, Sir Minstrel, by the too fortunate Castillians, and his army

completely defeated. I was holding in readiness, behind the baggage, these same Andalusian mares whom I have seen you curricomb and purge with so much intelligence. Vain precaution!— the conqueror advanced, dispersed us, and cut off all passage to Grenada. Finding it impossible to return thither, and fearing the holy office, should I be taken by the Spaniards, I disguised myself, and wrapping myself up in this robe, which was then handsome, I traversed Spain, and arrived in France. But, in the mean time, before I relate to you all my disasters, could you not order me a little something to eat."

The Minstrel, who had no more gall than a dove, forgetting all that he had formerly suffered from the redoubtable Sabaoth, flew to the kitchen, and brings him the remains of an old pastry, and a flagon of champaign wine, which the faithless Mussulman finds a thousand times better than all the sour sherbet of Grenada.

Love, thou cruel and delightful god, thou recallest me to thee, and to quit the hall of the strangers to attend to what is passing in the ladies apartment. Precisely at the moment the Minstrel presented the handsome Amurat to Ernestine, this poor unfortunate was weeping over his fate, which was her usual occupation when alone-in company she contented herself with thinking of him and sighing, "Alas," said she, "he is now without doubt no longer among the living

the holy office never quits its prey. He is dead-the beloved of my heart, my eternal torment, and yet my delight." As she was thus talking to herself, a young lady, dirtily dressed, entered the apartment; she wore a veil that covered her face, and a gown that no one would ever have guessed to have been sky blue, or a robe in which love would ever have dressed out an admirer. This awkward lady advanced, with an embarrassed and melancholy air, and with trembling steps, but without taking her eyes off the ground, towards Ernestine, who conducted her to the chamber she was to sleep in, also without looking at her.

Ye blind admirers of a blind god, neither of you know the other. Ernestine sighs-this sigh is mechanically repeated by Amurat-he seats himself-thanks her, with uplifted hands, without looking at her-Ernestin

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The Minstrel's wife, now become cook to the visitors, on coming to receive orders from the strange lady, surprises her daughter in the midst of these inexpressible embraces. "Mother!" exclaims Ernestine, "it is the faithful Amurat, who has been seeking me all the world over." The reader may remember that this dame had favoured their loves with all her power, and to accomplish their marriage had not scrupled to rob her husband. She had been in despair of Amurat's life, from the moment she saw him carried off by her ancient lover, the officer of the holy inquisition-She had witnessed the declining health of her daughter-it may be guessed, therefore, how happy the sight of the handsome Moor made her. But how could they make the Minstrel hear reason? he was generally one of the best natured men in the world, but the most intractable in matters of religion. His wife thought of a method that would ensure success: it was to gain over the Lord Abbot, who certainly ought to know better than any bagpiper, whether a Christian could conscientiously espouse a sectary of Mahommed.

The Lord Abbot was not only free from bigotry, but very well informed. He quoted numberless examples of such marriages legally contracted, from the times of Mahommed to the present moment. He named several kings of Portugal and of Spain, who had married the daughters of Moorish princes, and even emperors of Constantinople, who had formed similar connexions, without the Patriarchs having had any thing to say against them.

After such authorities, nothing remained but to tell the Minstrel what was passing; but this good Minstrel was at the moment in an excess of rage, and had almost throttled poor Sabaoth, who, while they were drinking together, had told him that the pretended girl, who had accompanied

him to the monastery, was a boy, and neither more nor less than Amurat. At the name of Amurat, the Minstrel bristled up like a game-cock, flung Sabaoth's turban into the fire, and was tearing away his gray beard by handfuls; " Race destested, of Cain or of Beelzebub," bawled out the Minstrel ; "" was it for such circumcised dogs to pretend to marry my daughter?" They had the utmost difficulty to disengage the unfortunate Sabaoth from the hands of this madman; but no sooner did the Lord Abbot appear, than the sight of his pectoral cross calmed the rage of the respectful serpent. The Abbot told him he was a fool." Most reverend father," replied the Minstrel, my wife has told me so these many years.' "Your wife is in the right," answered the head of the monastery; she is desirous to conclude a marriage which you ought to have had done in Murcia, and had you then consented you would have spared yourself a great deal of trouble. Unnatural father! would you see your daughter perish before your eyes? come forward, Ernestine, it is I that will perform this marriage; give me your hand my pretty, and let this faithful Moor receive it; I will that he remain in the convent until my nephew sets out for Frizeland, whither he shall accompany him.


He has travelled over many parts of the world, and has been unfortunate, two sufficient qualifications to guide the youth of my nephew; he shall be his esquire, and I will take charge of his fortune. I shall instruct him in the principles of our holy religion, and if he embraces it, I pretend that it shall be by persuasion alone, and of his own freewill,"

The Cambresian was enchanted with the idea of his uncle; he embraced Amurat, who cast himself at the Abbot's feet, and said, "Reverend Father, I will follow no other religion but yours and Ernestine's, I was the most wretched of mankind-you have made me the most happy"-on his respectfully approaching the Minstrel, he exclaimed, "Ah! with all my heart, now thou art a Christian, and my Lord Abbot will have it so.' He then kissed the hands of his mother-in-law, but the presence of the Abbot could not prevent him from throwing himself with transport into the arms of Ernestine.

All present were much affected, when Sabaoth, of whom no one had thought in these arrangements, said, sorrowfully, "And what is to become of me then?" On turning their eyes on him, the sight of his bald head, his beard, that had been so inhumanly torn by the terrible Minstrel, and his dress all in tatters, together with his strange countenance, formed such a spectacle, that even at this melting moment, it was impossible to check a laugh. Even Ernestine herself smil ed, for the first time, since her separation from Amurat-precious smileit was a prelude to the happiness she was about to enjoy. The Lord Abbot thrice opened his mouth to address Sabaoth, and thrice burst out into laughter-he recovered himself, however, but it was not without difficulty, to say, "Sir Sabaoth, after the brilliant situation you lately occupied under a Zegris, it may perhaps be indecorous in me to offer you the less honourable employment of taking care of the mule, the ass, and two cart horses of the convent, together with my hackney-but it is all I can offer you, and the only employment that is now vacant.


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My reverend father," replied the old Moor, "beasts for beasts, it is all

occasionally to put on. "I have been every thing that it has pleased you to make me I have been cuckolded and beaten, and yet, my dear, I am happy."-His wife continued to cook, in her best manner, for all the ladies who sought hospitality; and Ernestine had the attention to keep the apartments very clean, and the beds well made, The young boys now became as big as father and mother; passed one of them for the best chimer, and the other for the best raker of walks in all the country of Cambresis.

The Lord Abbot felicitated himself on having attached so many worthy people to his monastery. There were none, not even Sabaoth, who did not feel pride in their employment, and he was quoted as the first of all grooms in that neighbourhood. The Abbot see

ing them all so contented by his means, was happy himself from having been the cause-but we may search now alas in vain, for such worthiness in monasteries or elsewhere.


of Sir John Moore.)

one to me; and I shall like as well to (By the Author of the Lines on the Funeral curry asses and mules, as Andalusian mares. My misery and troubles have cured me of ambition; I therefore accept your offer, and will be the head of your stud, whatever it may consist of."

The marriage-day of Amurat and Ernestine was fixed, it was a holy day for all the vassals of the monastery of Vaucelles; and Amurat, on becoming a husband, did not cease being a lover. Ernestine recovered her good looks, and the gayety of her age. She had only one chagrin, when her husband departed with the young Cambresian, of whom we have said so much in the course of this true history; but this chagrin was not of any duration, for the war in Finland was neither perilous nor long.

The Minstrel gayly grew old under the shade of his serpent-the others began to taste happiness, but for him, he had always been happy. Feeling, however, an increase of happiness at the comfortable arrangements, he addressed his chaste companion in a dignified manner, which he knew how

O gentle Sleep! wilt Thou lay thy head
For one little hour on thy Lover's bed,
And none but the silent stars of night
Shall witness be to our delight!

Alas! 'tis said that the Couch must be
of the Eider-down that is spread for Thee,
So, I in my sorrow must lie alone,
For mine, sweet Sleep! is a Couch of stone.

Then, the saddest of music is ever here,
For Grief sits with me in my cell,
And she is a Syren who singeth well.

Music to Thee I know is dear;

But Thou, glad Sleep! lov'st gladsome airs,
And wilt only come to thy Lover's prayers
When the bells of merriment are ringing,
And bliss with liquid voice is singing.

Fair Sleep! so long is thy beauty wooed,
No Rival hast Thou in my solitude;
Be mine, my Love! and we two will lie
Embraced for ever-or awake to die!
Dear Sleep! farewell!-hour, hour, hour,


Will slowly bring on the gleam of Morrow, But Thou art Joy's faithful Paramour, And lie wilt Thou not in the arms of Sorrow,



THIS is one of the most amusing works of one of the most amusing of our English authors. Mr D'Israeli possesses a great fund of literary anecdote, and it is at all times disposeable. He has not, perhaps, a very reasoning mind, and being aware of that, he rarely enters into any lengthened discussion of principles; but being a man of sensibility, observation, and fancy, he is perpetually throwing out very true and delicate remarks and sentiments, expressed with much warmth and earnestness, and accompanied with rich and lively illustration. Open where we may a volume of his writings, and we are sure at once to come on something entertaining; and if we be in the habit of thinking for ourselves as we read, every page is so sprinkled over with hints, suggestions, and feelings, that, like the conversation of a well-informed and intelligent friend, Mr D'Israeli's compositions put our minds upon the alert, and exercise, without fatiguing our faculties. Though a great story-teller, he is never a gossip; his stories, too, are all of interesting people, and they are uniformly narrated with a moral purpose. Indeed, the principal charm of all his works, and especially of the present, is that we always find ourselves in the very best company. Famous names shine over every page-the voices of the illustrious dead become familiar to our ears-we see the great men of great times, not like ghosts rising from the grave, but clothed in all the glad ness of animation, and we constantly shut his volumes with brightened fancies, a heightened enthusiasm, and a more vital sympathy with the noblest of our kind. We are inclined to think, that in English literature at least, Mr D'Israeli is a writer sui generis, for we know not any other person in whom is combined the same light literary in formation with such power of lively expression, the same unaffected and empassioned enthusiasm towards every thing in the shape of genius, with so considerable a share of that rare faculty in himself,-the same eager, rambling, and desultory spirit of youth,

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with so much of the shrewdness, and even wisdom of age; in short, we know of nobody else who seems to be a Man of Letters, so entirely from the pure love of literature, who follows so unrestrainedly the bent of his nature, and who therefore unites with the knowledge, we might almost say the erudition, of the author-the liberal spirit and accomplishments of the gentleman.

If we have formed a just estimate of the value of this volume, an abstract of some of its most interesting chapters cannot fail to afford pleasure to such of our readers as may not have seen the original book. And in our abstract we shall imitate the desultory manner of Mr D'Israeli himself.

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In his chapter "On the Youth of Genius," Mr D'Israeli observes, that many sources of genius have been laid open to us, but though these may sometimes call it forth, they have never supplied its place. The equality of minds, in their native state, he justly considers as monstrous a paradox as the equality of men in a political state, Johnson has defined genius as mind of general powers accidentally determined by some particular direction," a theory which rejects any native aptitude, and according to which the reasoning Locke, without an ear or eye, might have become the musical and fairy Spencer. Reynolds again thought that pertinacious labour could do every thing. Akenside more truly says, that " from Heaven descends the flame of genius to the human heart.” But though the origin of genius be dark, its history may be clear, and although we cannot be her legislator, we may be her annalist. In reading the memoirs of a man of genius, we have often cause to reprobate the domestic persecutions of those who opposed his inclinations. The Port Royal Society thrice burned the romance which Racine at length got by heart. Pascal's father would not suffer him to study Euclid. The father of Petrarch burnt the poetical library of his son, amid the shrieks, groans, and tears of the youth. The uncle of Alfieri for twenty years suppressed the poetical character of the noble bard. The truth is, that the parents of a man of genius have had another association of ideas concerning him than we have had. We see a great man, they a disobedient child,-we track him through his

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