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slaves, dressed like men in white cravats and black suits, offered their arms to the hanums. A dancing-mistress taught them the quadrille. They acted their part as gentlemen very awkwardly, but the idea, as you see, was not wanting in originality: the effect was very fine. Every one spoke of it for a month. To finish the picture, an English governess educates her children; her femme de chambre is a Marseillaise, which is the reason that Farideh speaks French with the accent of Canebière.

Of

Encouraged by the indulgence of my father, you may be sure I renewed my visits to Adilah. My brother having duties at court, often left us alone, and confidences naturally followed. course, we speak of you. She knows you and loves you; so we are three friends. I can not describe the happiness that I feel in this pretty nest of love. When Ali returns one would think the heavens had opened. Jesting charmingly, he relates to us all the court gossip, which we receive with bursts of laughter. While he adores his wife, he is still a perfect boy. Adilah jested him on some little social success at which she pretended to be jealous. Elegant, intellectual, and gallant, he plays, it seems, a conspicuous part in the European colony. Even his manner of wearing the tarboch is imitated.

The style of living is much like that at Chimilah. There are fewer slaves perhaps, but this is a country unsurpassed for caprice and phantasy. The other day that remark of my father's in his letter to M. Gütler, and which I had nearly forgotten, recurred to me, and I asked an explanation of it.

other evening, he proposed a sail on the Nile. Lying under the canopy of crimson silk, I tried to forget everything. The stream, flecked by the moon, extended its limpid sheet between the somber banks of the river, pierced at intervals by spots of white-the huts of the Fellahs. Under this pale light of the transparent skies, where the shade seemed a twilight, a guttural chant reached us borne on the limpid air. The flowing of the water mingled with this savage melody. There were in all a quietude, calm, and poesy, that I can not define. I listened, I looked, I dreamed. Suddenly Adilah bent over me. Of what are you thinking?" she asked.

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The truth was, I was thinking of the happiness before my eyes. Alas! I sometimes feel lonely-oh, so lonely-in this life of fairy tales to which I have been transplanted.

VII.

MARTHA! an adventure, a true romance in the uniform course of my harem-life.

It was one of those days when one awakens glad at heart, when one feels happy without cause or reason, when I went the other morning to Adilah's, knowing her to be alone. A delightful cry of surprise greeted me, for I had come to spend the day. You can tell it was to be a fêteday. The weather was superb. Not a breath of air, but the balminess of January, which is our spring; the trees with their emerald leaves and the skies with the purest azure. Adilah led me into the garden. The gardens in Egypt have a splendor unknown to those in Europe. A garden is the only place where a hanum has a right

"Nothing is more true," answered Ali, to go on foot-the boundary of her prison. Ali "Egypt is ruined !"

ing.

"Decidedly that is nonsense," cried I laugh

"But, my dear Miriam, we owe enormous sums that we probably never can pay." “What will you do about it?”

has done wonders with his.

Aviaries filled with rare birds, jets of water falling in diamond-dust upon hedges of oranges and mimosa, walks bordered by banana-trees, dates, and bamboo, parterres of lilies, and, like an impenetrable dome, great sycamores mingle

With his thoughtless shifting of responsibil- with the palm-trees, forming a thick shade which ity, he answered:

"That is the business of our wekil."

This wekil, the superintendent of all respectable Arab houses, is often very rich, at his master's cost. The great lords here do not know any material trouble; they are born only to enjoy themselves. My father is ruined!-Ali is ruined, or, as he jestingly says, he has always been poor. Hosnah alone, in our family, is rich.

This name of Hosnah, drawn into our conversation, led to a remark of my brother's which struck me.

keeps cool in the greatest heat of summer.

We reached a kiosk built upon the Nile. Adilah passes there the hot hours of the afternoon, those hours of siesta when the entire town rests and sleeps. The interior of this buen retiro is enchanting. The walls are of rose-colored marble, with long Indian blinds; favorite books and refreshing drinks are scattered around.

After chattering awhile, I observed that the softness of kief made my pretty sultana languid, and she listened to me smiling in her lazy idleness. A sort of dullness weighed upon and op

"Listen to me," he said, "and be very little pressed us. By degrees our conversation ceased; with her."

I have already spoken of the dahabiehs. Ali owns a charming, roomy one. After dinner the

her eyes closed, and she slept. Surprised by one of those vague, intangible reveries, where images meet and blend with each other, I tasted in this

silence, this repose, a happiness purely physical, an exquisite sensation of quietude and peace. At the extremity of the room a window of very delicate work forms a charming angle. Some sprays of Virginia jasmine have penetrated through the interstices, and are so intermingled with the fine carving that the window is only a screen of gilded wood and flowers. While I was mechanically looking, some of these sprigs loosened, and sowed with white stars the wooden steps that led to the window. Leaning my elbows on the velvet sill, I inhaled the delicious and enervating odors. When my hand had made an opening in the leaves, I discovered that the window looked out on another garden which was deserted. Weeds, a crowd of trees, and a carpet of high dry grass were in view everywhere. Believing the place uninhabited, my eyes explored without ceremony this corner of a wild paradise, when suddenly I perceived, just below me, a young man seated at a bamboo table upon which were spread letters and papers; his head resting on the back of his cane chair, his eyes fixed on vacancy, he appeared absorbed in deep reverie. At first sight I thought him ugly. His forehead was high, his eyes dark, and at the same time melancholy and haughty; his profile irregular, but vigorous and severe. Everything about him betokened a mind and a will-a something which surprised the gaze and enchained it. Suddenly a slight frown wrinkled his brow, and his head fell on his hand. Hidden behind my grating, I thought I had discovered the secret of grief and despair. Then he rose and opened a bundle of letters, reading rapidly and with feverish eager

ness.

This morning I expected my father to breakfast. Do you read that? To breakfast! This innovation on established usage was an exceptional favor. We have reached that point.

I had the table placed in the veranda, in the midst of the flowers. My father came in with his pleasant smile. When he was seated, he

asked, "Is it well with you?"

I wished to wait on him, to have him all to myself, and delightedly offered him a thousand little attentions that I was jealous of the slaves for rendering; and, truly, I was not so very awkward.

The coffee was brought while I was chattering on, gay and smiling.

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My dear child, at present it is only a vague project. I have often reflected on the future which awaits you. With your education and ideas," he continued, "I can not disguise from myself how you would suffer in this harem-life, where you would only be a first slave. I wish to consult you."

This confidence caused me a certain agitation, for I was touched at being thus understood by my father.

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He stopped at one page to read it again, and a bitter smile parted his lips, as he crushed the letter in his hand. I do not know why, but the thought occurred to me that the letter was from a woman. Poor lover! he suffered perhaps from some deception. I was still there thinking, I am very ambitious for her." when a slave came up and spoke to him. The unknown rose, and followed him. When he had disappeared I could not prevent myself from speculating upon the vision which had, in spite of myself, captivated my curiosity, like an enigma of which I wished to decipher the answer.

How good you are, father!" I murmured. "I love a rebellious daughter, that is all; and

The voice of Adilah roused me from this idle investigation. Martha! There is a mystery under this. Who can this young solitary, confined like a bear in this sad garden, be? One thing at least I can certainly tell you-he is not Prince Charming.

VIII.

It is very evident that you have already built up a romance in your pretty head. My dear, your imagination is too active on the subject of my famous hero discovered from the window. There is a romance, truly, but it is this:

I do not know why the recollection of Adilah's mysterious neighbor rose to my mind. Fate has such strange caprices! I burned to question, but an insurmountable embarrassment arrested the words on my lips.

"Then, father," I timidly ventured, "who is he?"

"He is very rich, and occupies the highest position. I do not know a more desirable parti in Egypt."

Though I am very sure of the power of my father, and have the blindest confidence in his judgment, I can not be silent as to the fear and repulsion I feel for the manner in which they arrange Mussulman marriages. To marry a stranger, who is met for the first time on the wedding-day, knowing nothing of him—not even the sound of his voice-is it not terrible?

"I can believe in all your solicitude, father," I added, "but to me this man will be an indifferent stranger-—and, then, if I could not love him?"

My father smiled, and was thoughtful for a few moments; then, as if yielding to a sudden inspiration

"Decidedly, I am on a dangerous precipice," he said. "You have made me commit so many infractions that I do not know where to stop."

"What do you mean?"

"A foolish idea has occurred to me, that I can show you your husband; then on the promenade you will know his voice. You shall also speak to him."

"How can that be?"

“We shall see! we shall see!" he replied, as if he feared having gone too far. "This time, at least, I promise nothing."

You can imagine how my curiosity was aroused after this conversation. My brain reeled. Who could this fiancé be, whose name, even, my father dared not reveal? In vain I pondered. The Selamlik is closed to us, it is true, but in my drives I have often met my father in company with the sons of princes and pashas, and I tried now to recall some of the faces. To which one of them must I look for all the qualities I have dreamed of? Martha! if he should be the one? You will, no doubt, deceive yourself, for have I not told you he is ugly?

A week has flown, and in none of my interviews with Adilah have I again seen the mysterious neighbor. He never appears at Choubrah at the hour when one meets all Cairo there. Was he a phantom? and has he flown? Twice I have gone to my sister-in-law's house without any success. Happily, it does not make me thin.

IX.

NURSING the strange illusion which unites my reader in the garden with the great project that my father had unfolded, I passed several days in weaving my romance. You know my busy imagination, which carries me so easily to what you call the land of fiction. My Prince Charming, you must own, does not this time exceed the ideal of a modest ambition. Why should I think of him? I do not know. The truth is, perhaps, that in this harem-life behind my grating I have no one else to think of. A true daughter of Eve, I am enchanted at having a secret adventure. I arrange in my head a charming concourse of circumstances, with the most adorable effect. One day my father brings him to me, and presents him as a skirmisher; I have an unconscious air of not knowing him; then, unlooked-for surprise, I accidentally appear the next morning from the height of my window

among the bushes of his Eden. Then secret encounters, and all the course of graceful gallantries of Eastern poesy!

Is not all that beautifully worked out? Well! my poor Martha, my dream has vanished in the clouds, with my hero, and, as the height of humiliation, there only remains of it an unheard-of imprudence, which I must here confide to you.

Always compelled by order of my father to observe great prudence, for three days I had not been able to escape to see Adilah. At that hour I knew I should find her in that well-beloved kiosk, from which my curious gaze could search the forbidden garden. Would he appear there this day? Though I despised his stupidity at not having suspected his happiness in being gazed at by two such beautiful eyes as mine piercing through the leaves, I had a great desire to pay him off in my turn with utter indifference. Fancy that I have arrived. Adilah was writing.

"What happiness!" she cried on seeing me. "Wait until I finish this letter, and then I will be yours entirely."

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Good! Do not disturb yourself, I will take a book."

And, in fact, I stationed myself on a divan with a collection of Arab poems by a poet called Hassan, which Ali had left there. Need I add that in ten minutes I was distracted by the songs of the birds at the neighbor's garden? An impertinent bullfinch perched upon our grating thrust in his head inquisitively. I rose to drive him off.

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I low delicious these jasmines are!" I s say to Adilah. You will know that already I was at my tower of observation, arranging the sprays with an indifferent air.

Nothing was visible on the other side in the deserted walks. The bullfinch, which had flown to a palm, from his lofty perch seemed to mock me, as if he suspected my anger, I swallowed my confusion, and, in truth, your little princess well merited the disappointment. Adilah still wrote. Disgusted at staying planted there like a fool, I was about to leave the place, when I suddenly heard a rustling among the leaves. Martha, it was he! I soon saw him appear at the turn of the path. He came toward me. Was it chance, or sympathy? Twice he raised his eyes to my window. It seemed to me that his gaze, deep and burning, encountered mine. My dear, I turned crimson, though I knew he could not see me, and remained hidden behind my flowery curtain. He approached nearer, and was disappearing behind the kiosk, when a mad idea flashed across my brain. I once read a pretty Persian legend which seems invented for my case: At the foot of a tower on a bank of turf

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the poet Hafiz slept. . . . Above him at a window the Princess Gulnare leaned out inquisitively, and played with a rose. Suddenly the rose slipped from her fingers, and, falling on the sleeper, awakened him." In default of the rose, I have but to stretch out my hand to gather one of these branches. My dear, the act followed the thought; my flowers fell at his feet as he passed below me. Surprised, he stopped and looked up. I withdrew so rapidly that Adilah rose.

"What is the matter?" she asked.

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"Heavens! Only think of it! I have thrown then that my Prince Charming was of high rank,

a flower to your neighbor."

"Are you crazy?”

"But, to begin with, I have no neighbor." I drew her to the window. He was still there, half smiling, and smelling my flowers.

and had a most romantic history, and was the son of a minister of Mehemet Ali, who fell into

"I think I have been dreaming for about five disgrace under Abbas. Abbas had all his relaminutes." tions massacred, and confiscated their immense fortune. Hassan's rare endowments made that suspicious prince so uneasy that he exiled him. Hassan has acquired renown as a poet and as a soldier. In the last war he was at Plevna, where, it seems, he fought like a hero at the head of one of the regiments of Osman Pasha."

Amazed, Adilah uttered a little cry; but we were too secure in our shelter to fear anything from his curiosity.

"What do you think of him?" I whispered. "Ugly."

"Look well at him."

She looked at him intently. "And now?" I added.

"He does not improve."

This answer delighted me. I have always been jealous, you know, of my impressions; it seems to me that any one who shares them steals them.

But the amazement of Adilah was boundless. Now that she was convinced of the existence of a neighbor, I related my adventure. Heaven only knows how much delicate irony this prank cost me. Happily, there is nothing to betray me. The Lord Hafiz, who was there, as disconcerted as myself, can not suppose it anything but perhaps the malice of some slave.

I entreated Adilah to keep my folly secret, when, to finish my disgrace, Ali entered at the moment. Our discovery was a great surprise to him, for he, like his wife, had believed the garden uninhabited.

While we stood still he went to the window. An exclamation of amazement escaped his lips. "What is it?" inquired Adilah.

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I returned home very thoughtful. mance that my extravagant imagination had conceived was shattered at a single blow. What probability was there that my father would even look at this proscribed man? But a frightful anxiety soon took the place of my silly dreaming. My fatal imprudence had betrayed his retreat. Good Heavens ! If they should discover him! I was certain of Ali's silence, but any indiscretion would be fatal to him! At this thought I trembled, as though he were already denounced.

The next morning I could not rest, and escaped to go and get tidings. What might not have happened since the previous evening? I found Ali and Adilah very tranquil, and not in the least uneasy about their poor neighbor. Not daring to question them, under the pretext of going to find a book, I ran to the kiosk.

I had counted without thinking of our terrible Mohammedan customs-the window was walled

up!

From the French of JAQUES VINCENT (Revue des Deux Mondes).

(To be continued.)

FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF THE NEW WORLD.

II.

A CRUISE in the Druid along the northern dian coast is astonishing to those who are ac

shores of the Bay of Chaleur, as far as Gaspé, gave me an opportunity of seeing a very interesting coast in reference to the resources of the "inshore fisheries." The settled country extends but a very short distance inland-the skyline shows invariably an outline of low, rounded hills covered entirely with forest. But along certain portions of the coast the sea was well covered with powerful boats fishing for cod. On hailing some of these for the purpose of buying fish, it was pleasant to see the abundant "take," which often covered the bottom of the boats. The cod were generally small-that is to say, not above three or four pounds' weight—and a large proportion of them not above two pounds. But they were of excellent quality. At several stations along the shore, and especially at the picturesque little village of Gaspé, there were large establishments for the curing and export of these fish. From the great abundance of the supply, it could not be otherwise than that the price should be low; but I heard with regret that the fishery was generally prosecuted on a system of "advances" by the curing-houses-which was, in fact, the truck system on an extended scaleand that the final result to the fishermen was a very low rate of remuneration for an occupation very toilsome, involving great exposure, and often not devoid of danger. The northeastern shores of the Bay of Chaleur are very open, and in easterly and northeasterly winds are exposed to the full sweep of the Atlantic.

When at Gaspé, which is a most picturesque little town with an excellent harbor, I saw one of the fast American schooners, whose operations in the mackerel-fishery of this coast are much complained of by the Canadian fishermen. Their complaints reminded me much of the similar complaints on the west coast of Scotland, against what is called "trawling" for herrings. In both cases new and more efficient modes of catch have been at least coincident with a departure of the shoals from former places of resort, if not with diminished productiveness over a larger area. This is one of the allegations which will probably form the subject of inquiry between the Governments concerned on the pending question of the fishery treaties.

As regards another branch of the fishing industry, the provincial population have it all to themselves. I refer to the lobster-fisheries. The abundance of lobsters on this part of the Cana

VOL. VIII.-14

quainted only with this pursuit on the almost exhausted shores of Scotland. Until quite lately any number of the finest lobsters could be caught by a noose at the end of a short rod, from boats rowing gently along the shores, with a torchlight, at night. Of late, however, the introduction of more skilled methods of capture has sensibly thinned them. And no wonder, for I was told of one man taking in a single night upward of six hundred lobsters, getting only about sixty cents, or about half a crown, per hundred. The fishermen in this trade also are very much in the hands of large capitalists, who supply the gear and tackle, purchase the shell-fish, boil them in great caldrons, and “tin" them for export to the United States and to Europe. It is impossible that any supply can long support the present rate of capture without being very speedily reduced. But the shores along which the lobsters are found are so extensive that, if proper regulations are made and enforced as to a close time and as to the size of fish, they may continue for many years to yield a profitable return.

The northern shores of the Bay of Chaleur, although higher than the southern, are nevertheless low and far from picturesque. Small farms, divided by straight lines, with wooden houses of various shapes and sizes, cover a gentle declivity, which ends in a steep bank or an insignificant precipice of red sandstone. But at one point, Cape Bonaventure, the carboniferous strata have been thrown on edge, and rise into a high and sharp-pointed cliff, which has been cut off by the action of the sea and of floating ice from the mainland. This island is perpendicular on all sides, very narrow, and about three hundred feet high, with an undulating platform at the top, inhabited by thousands of cormorants and other sea-fowl, where they are absolutely secure from molestation. Through this great cliff the sea has worked its way in an arched cave, which pierces from one side to the other, and through which, at high water, a boat can row. It is from this peculiar feature, I presume, that the place is called Percé. When the colors of the sunset were thrown on this island, with its splintered plates of rock, its deep cracks and fissures, and its own fine local tints, it formed one of the most curious and beautiful objects I have ever seen on any coast.

A drive of ten miles up the valley of the Cascapediac and a descent from that point to the

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