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council on the day of his father’s departure, and administered justice till two or three o’clock in the afternoon. As he returned to the palace from the council-chamber, an eunuch took him aside, and gave him a letter from queen Haiatalnefous. Amgiad took it, and read it with horror.

“Traitor,” said he, to the eunuch. as soon as he had perused it through, “is this the fidelity thou owest thy master and thy king?” At these words he drew his sabre and cut off his head.

Having done this in a transport of anger he ran to the princess Badoura his mother, shewed her the letter, told her the contents of it, and from whom it came. Instead of hearkening to him, she fell into a passion, and said, “Son, it is all a calumny and imposture; queen Haiatalnefous is a very discreet princess, and you are very bold to talk to me against her.” The prince, enraged at his mother, exclaimed, “You are both equally wicked, and were it not for the respect I owe my father, this day should have been the last of Haiatalnefous’s life.”

Queen Badoura might have imagined by the example of her son Amgiad, that prince Assad, who was not less virtuous, would not receive more favourably a declaration of love, similar to that which had been made to his brother. Yet that did not hinder her persisting in her abominable design; she, the next day, wrote him a letter, which she entrusted to an old woman who had access to the palace, to convey to him.

The old woman watched her opportunity to put it into his hands as he was coming from the council-chamber, where he presided that day in his turn. The prince took it, and reading it, fell into such a rage, that, without giving himself time to finish it, he drew his sabre and punished the old woman as she deserved. He ran immediately to the apartment of his mother queen Haiatalnefous, with the letter in his hand: he would have shewn it to her, but she did not give him time, crying out, “I know what you mean; you are as impertinent as your brother Amgiad: be gone, and never come into my presence again.”

Assad stood as one thunderstruck at these words, so little expected. He was so enraged, that he had like to have given fatal demonstrations of his anger; but he contained himself, and withdrew without making any reply, fearing if he stayed he might say something unworthy the greatness of his soul. Amgiad had not mentioned to him the letter which he had received the preceding day; and finding by what his mother had said to him that she was altogether as criminal as queen Haiatalnefous, he went to his brother, to chide him for not communicating the hated secret to him, and to mingle his own sorrow with his.

The two queens, rendered desperate by finding in the two princes such virtue as should have made them look inwardly on themselves, renounced all sentiments of nature and of mothers and conspired together to destroy them. They made their women believe the two princes had attempted their virtue: they counterfeited the matter to the life by their tears, cries, and curses; and lay in the same bed, as if the resistance they pretended to have made had reduced them almost to death’s-door.

When Kummir al Zummaun returned to the palace from hunting, he was much surprised to find them in bed together, in tears, acting despondency so well, that he was touched with compassion. He asked them with earnestness what had happened to them.

At this question, the dissembling queens wept and sobbed more bitterly than before; and after he had pressed them again and again to tell him, queen Badoura at last answered him: “Sir, our grief is so well founded, that we ought not to see the light of the sun, or live a day, after the violence that has been offered us by the unparalleled brutality of the princes your sons. They formed a horrid design, encouraged by your absence, and had the boldness and insolence to attempt our honour. Your majesty will excuse us from saying any more; you may guess the rest by our affliction.”

The king sent for the two princes, and would have killed them both with his own hand, had not old king Armanos his father-in-law, who was present, held his hand: “Son,” said he, “what are you going to do? Will you stain your hands and your palace with your own blood? There are other ways of punishing them, if they are really guilty.”

He endeavoured thus to appease him, and desired him to examine whether they did indeed commit the crime of which they were accused.

It was no difficult matter for Kummir al Zummaun to restrain himself so far as not to butcher his own children. He ordered them to be put under arrest, and sent for an emir called Jehaun-dar, whom he commanded to conduct them out of the city, and put them to death, at a great distance, and in what place he pleased, but not to see him again, unless he brought their clothes with him, as a token of his having executed his orders.

Jehaun-dar travelled with them all night, and early next morning made them alight, telling them, with tears in his eyes, the commands he had received. “Believe me, princes,” said he, “it is a trying duty imposed on me by your father, to execute this cruel order: would to heaven I could avoid it!” The princes replied, “Do your duty; we know well you are not the cause of our death, and forgive you with all our hearts.”

They then embraced, and bade each other a last adieu with so much tenderness, that it was a long time before they could leave one another’s arms. Prince Assad was the first who prepared himself for the fatal stroke. “Begin with me,” said he “that I may not have the affliction to see my dear brother Amgiad die.” To this Amgiad objected; and Jehaun-dar could not, without weeping more than before, be witness of this dispute between them; which shewed how perfect and sincere was their affection.

At last they determined the contest, by desiring Jehaun-dar to tie them together, and put them in the most convenient posture for him to give them the fatal stroke at one blow. “Do not refuse the comfort of dying together to two unfortunate brothers, who from their birth have shared every thing, even their innocence,”

said the generous princes.

Jehaun-dar granted their request; he tied them to each other, breast to breast; and when he had placed them so that he thought he might strike the blow with more certainty, asked them if they had any thing to command him before they died.

“We have only one thing to desire of you,” replied the princes, “which is, to assure the king our father on your return, that we are innocent; but that we do not charge him with our deaths, knowing he is not well informed of the truth of the crime of which we are accused.”

Jehaun-dar promised to do what they desired and drew his sabre, when his horse, being tied to a tree just by, started at the sight of the sabre, which glittered against the sun, broke his bridle, and ran away into the country.

He was a very valuable horse, and so richly caparisoned, that the emir could not bear the loss of him. This accident so vexed him, that instead of beheading the two princes, he threw away his sabre, and ran after his horse.

The horse galloped on before him, and led him several miles into a wood. Jehaun-dar followed him, and the horse’s neighing roused a lion that was asleep. The lion started up, and instead of running after the horse, made directly towards Jehaun-dar, who thought no more of his horse, but how to save his life. He ran into the thickest of the wood, the lion keeping him in view, pursuing him among the trees. In this extremity he said to himself, “Heaven had not punished me in this manner, but to shew the innocence of the princes whom I was commanded to put to death; and now, to my misfortune, I have not my sabre to defend myself.”

While Jehaun-dar was gone, the two princes were seized with a violent thirst, occasioned by the fear of death, notwithstanding their noble resolution to submit to the king their father’s cruel order.

Prince Amgiad told the prince his brother there was a spring not far off. “Ah! brother,” said Assad, “we have so little time to live, what need have we to quench our thirst? We can bear it a few minutes longer.”

Amgiad taking no notice of his brother’s remonstrance, unbound himself, and the prince his brother. They went to the spring, and having refreshed themselves, heard the roaring of the lion. They also heard Jehaun-dar’s dreadful cries in the wood, which he and the horse had entered. Amgiad took up the sabre which lay on the ground, saying to Assad, “Come, brother, let us go and save the unfortunate Jehaun-dar; perhaps we may arrive soon enough to deliver him from the danger to which he is now exposed.”

The two princes ran to the wood, and entered it just as the lion was going to fall on Jehaun-dar. The beast seeing prince Amgiad advancing towards him with a sabre in his hand, left his prey, and rushed towards him with great fury. The prince met him intrepidly, and gave him a blow so forcibly and dexterously, that it felled him to the ground.

When Jehaun-dar saw that he owed his life to the two princes, he threw himself at their feet, and thanked them for the obligation, in words which sufficiently testified his gratitude. “Princes,”

said he, rising up and kissing their hands, with tears in his eyes, “God forbid that ever I should attempt any thing against your lives, after you have so kindly and bravely saved mine. It shall never he said, that the emir Jehaun-dar was guilty of such ingratitude.”

“The service we have done you,” answered the princes, “ought not to prevent you from executing the orders you have received: let us first catch your horse, and then return to the place where you left us.”—They were at no great trouble to take the horse, whose mettle was abated with running. When they had restored him to Jehaun-dar, and were come near the fountain, they begged of him to do as their father had commanded; but all to no purpose. “I only take the liberty to desire,” said Jehaun-dar, “and I pray you not to deny me, that you will divide my clothes between you, and give me yours; and go to such a distance, that the king your father may never hear of you more.”

The princes were forced to comply with his request. Each of them gave him his clothes, and covered themselves with what he could spare them of his. He also gave them all the money he had about him, and took his leave of them.

After the emir Jehaun-dar had parted from the princes, he passed through the wood where Amgiad had killed the lion, in whose blood he dipped their clothes: which having done, he proceeded on his way to the capital of the isle of Ebene.

On his arrival there, Kummir al Zummaun inquired if he had done as commanded? Jehaun-dar replied, “Behold, sir, the proofs of my obedience;” giving him at the same time the princes’ clothes.

“How did they bear their punishment?” Jehaun-dar answered, “With wonderful constancy and resignation to the decrees of heaven, which shewed how sincerely they made profession of their religion: but particularly with great respect towards your majesty, and an inconceivable submission to