Mirza,' that name will do very well. Now, I suppose, thou wilt wish to pay for the dress. I will take, for the present, thy useless armour as payment, which, as it would prove a great incumbrance to us, in crossing the desert, we will even dig a hole near to this tree and bury it. I shall come upon this spot again in some of my travels, when I will repossess myself of it, and keep it, Sir-Abdallah Mirza, in remembrance of our meeting."

The playful vein in which nearly the whole of this address was spoken, gave way in the latter sentence, in expressing which the merchant's voice and manner became serious and somewhat tremulous, as if he laboured under some strong emotion of the mind, which, though the young knight observed it, was quite a mystery to him. Sir Lionel began to feel a degree of respect and awe in the presence of the merchant, which induced him to yield implicit obedience to all his directions.

Abdallah Mirza, by which name, for the present, Sir Lionel, Baron de Darbye, will be

signified, retained the spur which had belonged to King Richard, and with which he had been knighted: but the importance which he seemed to attach to a spur, excessively amused the merchant, till Abdallah Mirza explained to him the reason of his regard for it, which commanded his respect and admiration, though he considered it a very odd circum

stance.

"Thou hast permission, also, friend Abdallah," said the merchant, " to retain thy sword, but it must be concealed from view, as I keep my cimeter," at the same time shewing the hilt of it from under a fold of his loose dress, "for it would not be exactly safe to travel wholly unarmed, or have thy European blade conspicuous to view."

A hole was soon scooped out in the sandy soil, near the trunk of the tree, in which, the armour, shield, and helmet of Sir Lionel were safely deposited. As they were being covered over, the young knight thought of his bright hopes when first he encased himself in them, and the different scenes which had since marked

VOL. II.

G

his career, and he heaved a deep, long, and heart-felt sigh, when he saw the hole closed up, as if he were mourning over the loss of some dear departed friend.

"To horse, to horse, Abdallah," exclaimed the Saracen merchant, "thy deeds of chivalry have now vanished from before thee, like an unsubstantial dream, or, as the bright sun obscured by a thick and impervious cloud. But, be not cast down, or suffer thyself to be overweighed with sorrow, for, who can tell but thy present vicissitudes and misfortunes are but a trial of thy virtues and fortitude -a cloud passing over thy shining destiny? In saying this, the infidel merchant bounded, with infinite agility and ease, into saddle, an example which was quickly followed by his young companion, when they entered on the desert at a smart trot.

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CHAPTER IV.

"PORTIA.- How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.'

NER.-'When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.'
PORTIA. So doth the greater glory dim the less:

A substitute shines brightly as a king,

Until a king be by; and then his state
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
Into the main waters.""

Shakspeare.

THE travellers continued a straight forward route, throughout that, and the three following days, without approaching near any well, or overtaking the camels-a circumstance which excited Abdallah Mirza's surprise, and the more so, from his observing, that the infidel merchant was, in no shape, discomposed by it, or betrayed the least anxiety or uneasiness upon the matter.

On the evening of the fourth day of their

being on the desert, the merchant observed "My servants with the camels, I suppose, have proceeded on, or we are not in the track they have taken, which is most likely, for I see nothing of the well. Never mind, we shall find them, no doubt, on the borders of the desert, that is, should we be fortunate enough to reach them. The wind, friend Abdallah, is rising, and comes upon us in sudden gusts, a fearful intimation of an approaching tempest, and may the God of Mahomet avert its ending in a whirlwind. These whirlwinds, over the deserts, are truly awful. At times, they raise clouds-nay, mountains of burning hot sand, of such extent, as to overwhelm, and bury a whole party of travellers, their camels and merchandise-all, all have perished, and never heard of after. The lofty pyramids have even been covered for awhile, from sight, by these frightful phenomenons. When we approach some rising ground, we will remain upon it for the night, as, in case of such an awful visitation, we shall then be safer than in a hollow."