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gardener, who had offered him his house for a retreat till the ship should sail to convey him away.

One morning early, when the prince was as usual preparing to work in the garden, the gardener prevented him, saying, “This day is a great festival among the idolaters, and because they abstain from all work themselves, to spend the time in their assemblies and public rejoicings, they will not let the Moosulmauns labour; who, to gain their favour, generally attend their shows, which are worth seeing. You will therefore have nothing to do to-day: I leave you here. As the time approaches, at which it is usual for the ship to sail for the isle of Ebene, I will call on some of my friends to know when it will depart, and secure you a passage.”

The gardener put on his best apparel, and went out.

When the prince was alone, instead of going out to share in the public joy of the city, his solitude brought to his mind, with more than usual violence, the loss of his dear princess. He walked up and down the garden sighing and lamenting, till the noise which two birds made on a neighbouring tree led him to lift up his head, to see what was the matter.

Kummir al Zummaun was surprised to observe that the birds were fighting furiously: in a very little while, one of them fell down dead at the foot of the tree; the victorious bird took wing again, and flew away.

In an instant, two other large birds, that had beheld the battle at a distance, came from the other side of the garden, and pitched on the ground, one at the feet, and the other at the head of the dead bird: they looked at it for some time, shaking their heads in token of grief; after which they dug a grave with their talons, and buried it.

When they had filled up the grave with the earth they had turned up, they flew away, but returned in a few minutes, bringing with them the bird that had committed the murder, one holding one of its wings in its beak, and the other one of its legs; the criminal all the while crying out in a doleful manner, and struggling to escape. They carried it to the grave of the bird which it had lately sacrificed to its rage, and there killed it in just revenge for the murder it had committed. They opened its belly, tore out the entrails, left the body on the spot unburied, and flew away.

The prince had remained in astonishment all the time that he stood beholding this singular spectacle. He now drew near the tree where this scene had passed, and casting his eyes on the scattered entrails of the bird that had been last killed, spied something red hanging out of the stomach. He took it up, and found it was his beloved princess Badoura’s talisman, which had cost him so much pain and sorrow, and so many sighs, since the bird had snatched it out of his hand. “Ah, cruel!” said he to himself; still looking on the bird, “thou took’st delight in doing mischief, so I have the less reason to complain of that which thou didst to me: but the greater it was, the more do I wish well to those that revenged my quarrel, punishing thee for the murder of one of their own kind.”

It is impossible to express the prince’s joy: “Dear princess,”

continued he to himself, “this happy minute, which restores to me a treasure so precious to thee, is, without doubt, a presage of our meeting again, and perhaps sooner than I think of. Thank heaven who sent me this good fortune, and gives me hope of the greatest felicity that my heart can desire.”

Saying this, he kissed the talisman, wrapped it up in a riband, and tied it carefully about his arm. He had been almost every night a stranger to rest, the recollection of his misfortunes keeping him awake, but this night he enjoyed calm repose: he rose somewhat later the next morning than he used to do, and went to the gardener for orders. The good man bade him root up an old tree which bore no fruit.

Kummir al Zummaun took an axe and began his work. In cutting off a branch of the root, he found his axe struck against something that resisted the blow. He removed the earth, and discovered a broad plate of brass, under which was a staircase of ten steps.

He went down, and at the bottom saw a cavity about six yards square with fifty brass urns placed in order, each with a cover over it. He opened them all, one after another, and found they were all of them full of gold-dust. He came out of the cave, rejoicing that he had found such a vast treasure, put the brass plate on the staircase, and had the tree rooted up by the gardener’s return.

The gardener had ascertained that the ship which was bound for the isle of Ebene, would sail in a few days, but the exact time was not yet fixed. His friend promised to let him know the day, if he called upon him on the morrow; and while the prince was rooting up the tree, he went to have his answer. He returned with a joyful countenance, by which the prince guessed he brought him good news. “Son,” said the old man (so he always called him on account of the difference of years between him and the prince) “be joyful, and prepare to embark in three days; the ship will then certainly sail; I have agreed with the captain for your passage.”

“In my present situation,” replied Kummir al Zummaun, “you could not bring me more agreeable intelligence; and in return, I have also tidings that will be as welcome to you: come along with me, and you shall see what good fortune heaven has in store for you.”

The prince led the gardener to the place where he had rooted up the tree, made him go down into the cave, shewed him what a treasure he had discovered, thanking Providence for rewarding his virtue, and the pains he had been at for so many years. “What do you mean?” replied the gardener: “do you imagine I will take these riches as mine? The property is yours: I have no right to it. For fourscore years, since my father’s death, I have done nothing but dig in this garden, and could not discover this treasure, which is a sign it was destined for you, since God has permitted you to find it. It is better suited to a prince like you than to me; I have one foot in the grave, and am in no want of any thing. Providence has bestowed it upon you, just when you are returning to that country, which will one day be your own, where you will make good use of it.”

Kummir al Zummaun would not be surpassed in generosity by the gardener. They disputed for some time. At last the prince solemnly protested, that he would have none of it, unless the gardener would divide it with him. The good man, to please the prince, consented; so they shared it between them, and each had twenty-five urns.

“Having thus divided it, son,” said the gardener to the prince, “it is not enough that you have got this treasure; we must now contrive to carry it privately aboard, otherwise you will run the risk of losing it. There are no olives in the isle of Ebene, those that are exported hence are a good commodity there: you know I have plenty of them, take what you will; fill fifty pots, half with the gold-dust and half with olives, and I will get them carried to the ship when you embark.”

The prince followed this advice, and spent the rest of the day in packing up the gold and the olives in the fifty pots, and fearing the talisman, which he wore on his arm, might be lost again, he carefully put it into one of the pots, with a particular mark to distinguish it from the rest. When they were all ready to be shipped, night coming on, the prince retired with the gardener, and related to him the battle of the birds, with the circumstance by which he had found the talisman. The gardener was equally surprised and joyful to hear it on his account. Whether the old man was quite worn out with age, or had exhausted himself too much that day, the gardener had a very bad night; he grew worse the next day, and on the third day, when the prince was to embark, was so ill, that it was plain he was near his end. As soon as day broke, the captain of the ship came with several seamen to the gardener’s; they knocked at the garden-door, which the prince opened to them. They asked him for the passenger who was to go with them. The prince answered, “I am he; the gardener who agreed with you for my passage is sick, and cannot be spoken with; come in, and let your men carry those pots of olives and my baggage aboard for me; I will only take leave of the gardener, and follow you.”

The seamen took the pots and the baggage, and the captain bade the prince make haste, the wind being fair.

When the captain and his men were gone, Kummir al Zummaun went to the gardener to take his leave of him, and thanked him for all his good offices; but found him in the agonies of death, and had scarcely time to bid him rehearse the articles of his faith, which all good Moosulmauns do before they die, before the gardener expired.

The prince being under the necessity of embarking immediately, hastened to pay the last duty to the deceased. He washed his body, buried him in his own garden, and having nobody to assist him, it was almost evening before he had put him into the ground.

As soon as he had done, he ran to the water-side, carrying with him the key of the garden, designing, if he had time, to give it to the landlord; otherwise to deposit it in some trusty person’s hand before a witness, that he might have it after he was gone.

When he reached the port, he was told the ship had sailed several hours, and was already out of sight. It had waited three hours for him, and the wind standing fair, the captain durst not stay longer.

It is easy to imagine that Kummir al Zummaun was exceedingly grieved at being forced to remain longer in a country where he neither had, nor wished to have, any acquaintance; to think that he must wait another year for the opportunity he had lost. But the greatest affliction of all was, his having parted with the princess Badoura’s talisman, which he now considered lost. The only course left him was to return to the garden from whence he had come, to rent it of the landlord and continue to cultivate it by himself, deploring his misery and misfortunes. He hired a boy to assist him to do some part of the drudgery: that he might not lose the other half of the treasure which came to him by the death of the gardener, who died without heirs, he put the gold-dust into fifty other jars, which he filled up with olives, to be ready against the ship’s return.

While the prince was beginning another year of labour, sorrow, and impatience, the ship having a fair wind, continued her voyage to the isle of Ebene, and happily arrived at the capital.

The palace being by the sea side, the