ADVENTURES OF GILBERT GO-AHEAD (from Robert Merry's Museum, January 1854, pp. 25-28)
I hardly know whether my readers will forgive me for introducing such long accounts of the famous men of those far-off regions into which my travels have now led me. Nevertheless, one must take some risk, now and then, and therefore I shall venture a little more in this line, giving free permission to everybody to skip over what they don't like. I recollect that in my early days, my mother asked Tom Liverlight, one of my playfellows, to dine with us, and he consented. He wielded his knife and fork very well, but when we offered him some custard he drew back, and said, somewhat sulkily, that he wouldn't have any.
"Why not?" said my mother.
"'Cause!" said he.
"'Cause why?" was the answer.
"'Cause I don't know what it is."
"It's custard."
"Wal,--I don't like it."
"Really,--and why not?"
"'Cause I never tasted it."
And so Thomas Liverlight went without his custard; and so, my readers who reject the history of Georgis Khan, and Tamerlane, because they never heard of these strange characters before, may shove back from the table, if they please, and let others devour the feast.
I remained at Samarcand nearly three weeks, during which time I was chiefly occupied in reading the history of Tartary. This city, as I have before stated, was the residence of Timour or Tamerlane, and under him it became one of the most splendid capitals in the world.
Timour was quite as remarkable in his history as the great Zingis: indeed the incidents of his life are even more romantic. He was the son of prince Tragai, and born near his father's capital, called Kech, in Independent Tartary, A.D. 1336. His mother was the beautiful queen Tekine Katune. His birth, according to the history of his country, had been long predicted to one of his ancestors, by a dream, in which eight splendid stars seemed to shoot out of the sleeper. The eighth appeared to cast round such a glory as to illuminate the four quarters of the world. This was understood to mean that a prince, in the eighth generation, should be born, who would fill the earth with the splendor of his deeds. Timour was understood, at the moment of his birth, to be the prince pointed out by the prophecy, and of course great things were expected of him.
His biographers were pretty much like our modern president makers. These latter, when they fix upon a man to fill the chief office of the nation, write pamphlets and books about him, and though he was an ordinary man before, he is now made to swell up into a prodigy. All his little, commonplace actions and sayings, which had before passed as hardly worth recording, are now embel-
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lished, and colored, and exaggerated, so as to appear like marvellous indications of his future greatness. Even the facts of history are changed, and if the hero always ran away from battle, these kind biographers make it out that, somehow or other, he was always victorious, and therefore they bestow upon him the title of a great general. If there is a blank in his biography, in which he said and did nothing, they fill it up with magnificent flourishes of what he will do, if he comes into power. The people of modern times are like the people of ancient times, and they love to amused and cheated in this way. Hence we often see them paying homage to the images of "clay and brass," which juggling politicians have set up for them. How these cunning magicians must laugh in their sleeves to see the enthusiasm of the masses for the little puppets whom they have dressed up and made to appear like giants.
The biographers of Timour not only tell us of the dream of the eight stars, but they go on to assert that as soon as he reached the age of reason, something might be seen in all his actions which showed an air of sovereignty. He would talk of nothing but thrones and crowns, and his favorite discourses had reference to the art of war or the government of kingdoms.
All this was no doubt made up afterwards, when the career of Timour being finished, it was thought fit by his historians to invent stories of his early life, to suit his actual character. In this respect the biographers differed from those we have alluded to above, inasmuch as their inventions were compatible with the object in view.
I cannot tell a hundredth part of the tales related of Timour, during the early part of his life. One only must suffice as a sample. On a certain occasion, during a state of war, as he was waiting for his confederates, at Samarcand, the enemy came upon him. With sixty persons, he fled into the desert, but here he was suddenly met and attacked by a thousand Getes--wild Tartar warriors of those regions. He and his men fought with incredible strength and valor, and finally slew the greater part of the assailants. At last his men were all killed but ten, and then, three others, appalled at the danger, fled. With his little band Timour now wandered about in the wilderness, but he was finally captured and thrown into prison. After a time he escaped, swam across the river Oxus, and being joined by a few followers, he led the life of a robber and outlaw.
After a time he returned to his native country, and three of his friends--who were chiefs--hearing that he was in the desert, went to see him. At length they found him, and Timour thus described the interview: "When their eyes fell upon me they were overwhelmed with joy, and they alighted from their horses. Then they came and kneeled and kissed my stirrup. I also came down from my horse, and took each of them in my arms. And I put my turban upon the head of the first chief; my girdle, rich in jewels, and wrought with gold, I bound on the loins of the second; and
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the third I clothed in my coat. And they wept, and I wept also: and the hour of prayer arrived, and we prayed. And we mounted our horses and came to my dwelling, and I collected my people and we made a feast."
Whatever else we may think of Tamerlane, we must admit that he had a pleasant way of telling a story.
The career of this famous chief was but little more than a series of bloody conquests and savage triumphs. He ravaged the countries immediately around him, and then undertook more distant enterprises. He compelled Persia to submit to his authority, and imposed an amount as tribute on the rich island city of Ormus, of six hundred thousand dinars of gold. He subdued all Western Asia, and a portion of Europe, even threatening Moscow and Novgorad--burning Azof, and reducing to ashes many other Russian cities. He conquered Bajazet, the powerful and war-like sultan of the Turks, in Asia Minor, who met him with 400,000 troops. Having taken him prisoner, he confined him in an iron cage. He invaded India or Hindostan, and plundered it of its countless treasures of gold, silver, and precious stones. Finally he gathered an army of 1,200,000 men, and in mid-winter set out for the conquest of China. On his way he was taken with fever, and died at Otvar, A.D. 1405, aged seventy years.
Some of the accounts of this fearful man fill the mind with horror. After a victory he would erect towers formed of the heads of the slain, or perhaps of the prisoners, each soldier being obliged to bring one head, to aid in constructing the hideous pile. In one instance, he ordered 4,000 soldiers and their horses to be pitched into the moat of a city which he had taken. In an expedition against the Getes, he took 2,000 prisoners. These he had piled alive, one upon the other, with brushes and mortar between, to construct military works. Seventy thousand heads were used by him as building materials, in the city of Ispahan, in Persia, for the construction of towers. The people, in this case, were massacred by the soldiers to supply these heads, a price being fixed for them by order of Timour!
The amount of the spoils taken by the armies of this conqueror almost exceeds the powers of the imagination. On returning from India, the soldiers were loaded with diamonds and other precious stones. Each had several slaves, some of whom were royal princesses.
Yet, it would appear that Tamarlane was not all savage. He had great pleasure in seeing his army recreating themselves, after the fatigues and sacrifices of war. He took a lively interest in his generals, and rewarded them with costly presents.
On the birth of a grandson, he made a great feast, at his capital of Samarcand, then the depository of the spoils of his victories. Seats were erected, which extended for six miles. The emperor was seated on a gorgeous throne, a vast crowd of beautiful females, covered with veils of gold brocade, sprinkled with
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jewels, being on either side. There were luxuries from various countries, the choicest wines of every climate, and a gorgeous host of officers and soldiers, which rendered the scene more like a dream than a reality.
Such scenes as these show that Timour had a taste for magnificence, but it seems that the gratification of his own pride and vanity, even in such cases, was his ruling passion. It is sickening to the heart to read the lives of such men, who, in our more enlightened age, appear rather like monsters than human beings.
S. G. G.
ADVENTURES OF GILBERT GO-AHEAD (from Robert Merry's Museum, February 1854, pp. 56-60)
Having remained several weeks at Samarcand, I set out on horseback for Bokhara, a famous city which lies about a hundred and fifteen miles southwesterly of Samarcand.
Before I proceed in the story of my adventures, it may be well to give a more exact idea of this region. Independent Tartary is called by the people who inhabit it, Turcomania, which means the country of the Turks. It is, in fact, the birth-place of the Ottomans, who had their origin here some centuries since.
Turcomania, at the present day, includes several independent states, called Khanats, because their rulers or chiefs are denominated Khans. These are as follows, being arranged in the order of their importance:--1. Khanat of Bokhara. 2. Khanat of Khiva. 3. Khanat of Koondouze. 4. Khanat of Khokan. 5. Khanat of Hissar. 6. Khanat Scheherisebze; and finally, the country of the Kirquise. The population of all these states is supposed to be about seven millions. We know so little about those countries, however, that the number of inhabitants may be considerably more or less.
These countries contain small distinct tribes of Turks or Tartars, who, however, bear a general resemblance to each other in appearance, manners, and customs. Mixed with these, are Jews, Persians, Armenians, and others. The prevailing religion is Mahomedism. The modes of living are various: some of the people dwelling in cities, and carrying on trade and manufactures; others,
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dwelling in the country, and rearing cattle; and others still, living by plunder and rapine.
The country around Samarcand is hilly, but in proceeding towards the city of Bokhara, we soon came to a region consisting of barren plains, here and there raised by sand-heaps, in the form of a horse-shoe, this shape being given by the wind, which thus deposits the sand around low mounds of clay which constitute a portion of the soil. We crossed wide spaces entirely without vegetation, except patches of low brushwood, a few dried and stunted herbs, mixed with the camel-thorn. Here and there a rat, which, by the way, looked very much like his American namesake--small lizards, and some solitary bird of a species unknown to me, were the only occupants that seemed to inhabit these solitary wastes. Yet, even here, we frequently meet with the ruins of cities which once existed, but which have passed away and been forgotten by history.
As we proceeded, we could see to the south a range of low mountains, and finally, as we turned to the north, we came to a valley, which we were told was watered by the river Zer-af-chan, or Golden river. We did not, however, reach the stream, as it runs to the right of Bokhara some six or seven miles. The country now assumed a very different aspect, being in the highest degree fruitful, and in some parts cultivated. We passed several several villages, and now the country seemed to be pretty thickly peopled. The greater part of the inhabitants were living in low houses constructed of earth mixed with withes of willow, and sometimes supported by posts. We often met with groups of tents occupied by people who roamed from plain to plain with droves of horses, camels, horned cattle, and goats.
At last, after three days' travel, we came in sight of the city. Viewed from a small eminence, the plan is very imposing. It is eight miles in circuit, and is surrounded by a triangular wall of earth twenty feet high, pierced by twelve gates of brick masonry. The country around is flat but rich, and the city is so enlivened in trees, as to give it a charming appearance. The great mass of low mud edifices are not seen, but the public edifices, towers and mosques rise here and there above the foliage, leading the beholder to imagine that he is about to enter a vast and magnificent city. But as he reaches the interior of the place, this illusion vanishes.
Most of the streets are indeed so narrow that a loaded camel blocks them up entirely! In some of them, two or three can hardly pass at a time. They are also odiously dirty. By far the largest part of the houses are of one low story; they are built of some dried bricks laid on a rude frame-work of wood. The roofs are all flat; towards the street they present bare walls without windows. Only one house in the city, so far as I saw, had glass. The holes for windows are defended by lattices, which are opened or closed according to necessity.
When I got into the heart of the city,
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I found myself rubbed and pushed and jostled about by loaded camels, horses, and asses going along the narrow streets, as if I had been nobody at all. "Ah, ah!" said I to myself, "you don't know that Gilbert Go-ahead has come." It was very clear that the city of Bokhara had no idea of what had happened. In truth, it is always rather dampening to one's self-love, to enter into a great city where you are a total stranger, and where you soon perceive that you are only one of ten or twenty thousand persons, all as important to themselves as you are to yourself. A man who travels, finds out that there are too many people in the world to justify that swelling self-conceit which would make one feel as if he was a very important spoke in the wheel of all creation.
On entering Bokhara, I felt as I have often done before in similar circumstances, that is, rather dull, and half home-sick. In this strange place, I could not but feel the force of that dismal ditty--
"I cares for nobody, and nobody cares for me."
I have generally found a good dinner to be the best rememdy for this complaint, and therefore, as soon as possible, I got to my lodgings, and made an excellent meal upon a sort of mutton chop, tea, and plenty of fruit.
My lodgings consisted of a single room in one of the caravanseras, of which there are about forty in the town. Some of them belong to the khan, and others to private individuals. They consist of low rectangular buildings, mostly two stories high, inclosing a square court. Many of them extend to three hundred feet on each of the four sides. The entrance is by a general gateway into the court. The lower story is occupied wholly for merchandise, and a very busy scene of trade is displayed in the court and at the doors of the several stores and magazines. The upper rooms are used as lodgings. There is no lookout but into the court.
I soon found myself overrun with a set of idlers, who came to tell me the news, ask questions, and to offer their services. It was well enough for a time, but I soon found it very tedious, so I turned them all out and shut my door. This, it seems, was contrary to Tartar politeness, and when I went out, I found myself the object of an intense and hostile excitement. At least about fifty persons were gathered in the court near my quarters, and, as I descended the stairs, they thronged around and encircles me, making a great hubbub, and threatening me with violent gestures.
I, however, went straight ahead, and as I was a foot taller than any one among them, and, moreover, seemed pretty cool, they opened a space before me, and I got into the street. The crowd, however, formed at my heels, and followed me for a considerable distance. I did not look behind, but I head the clatter of the rabble close upon me. At last, I felt something come flat against my back. Turning quickly round, I perceived that one of the mob had thrown at me a small melon, which took effect between my
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shoulders, and was running down my back in a juicy shower.
I picked out the fellow who had thrown this by his attitude, and rushing suddenly upon him, I seized him by the throat, drew him to the spot where the wreck of the melon lay, and while he grew black and blue with my clutch, I bathed his face in the fragments of the melon, taking care to make it go a little rough over his nose. I then gave him a jerk, and sent him spinning across the street. The fellow hallooed like a fox-hound, and soon the whole street was alive with people. Chancing to look up, I saw that some were gazing over the battlements of the roofs, and through the openings in the walls of the houses, and half revealed by putting aside the lattices, I noticed the turbaned heads of many women. There was now a general hubbub in the streets, and I thought it time to beat a retreat.
Just as I was looking around to see which way to go, a narrow door in the wall close by was opened, and without a moment's reflection in I went. I ran along a passage and soon came to a court, shaded with trees, the floor being paved with variegated marble. In the centre, a fountain was playing, and around was a group of women. These screamed and fled. Having a very good opinion of women in general, and then being very good-looking, I followed close at their heels, all the way begging their protection. They, however, had no idea of listening to me. They flew up the stairs which led to a gallery extending around the court, and disappeared.
I expected the crowd to burst into the place, but it seems they had not seen me enter the door, and they were therefore thrown off the scent. I had time to look around me. The place I had got into was evidently the house of some very rich person. The court was enclosed by high walls of wood, richly carved and gaudily painted. The fountain was covered by a pavillion, beautifully executed, in a manner which reminded me of what I had seen in pictures of Arabian architecture.
"Well," said I to myself, "I'm always in luck, good or bad. A moment ago I was threatened with speedy annihilation by a mob; now I am a guest of one of the richest citizens of Bokhara." This train of thought was, however, soon cut short, for in a few moments a man came into the court, who, as soon as he set his eyes upon me, seemed smitten with horror. I bowed in the Eastern fashion, and looked very polite and smiling, but he waived me back, and shrunk from me as if I had been an alligator. He then went to a corner of the court and struck a gong, which made the whole court resound with its echoes. In a moment half-a-dozen men came in, and rushing at me, attempted to seize me.
Instead of yielding to fate, I sprang up the stairs, and ran along the gallery, but hotly pursued. Coming to a door, I popped in, and flew along a dark corridor which opened before me. As I was proceeding, the floor suddenly fell from beneath my feet, and I was pitched down headlong into a dungeon.
For a moment I was stunned, for I
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had fallen at least fifteen feet, and had been received by the ground. When I recovered my faculties, I perceived that the place was dark as pitch. Indeed not a ray of light was visible. I groped about with my hands and feet, and soon took the measure of my apartment, which was some ten feet square. It was without a single article of furniture, except a piece of earthenware, which seemed to be a broken vase or pitcher.
"Well," thought I, "this is--" but it is too long a story to tell in the first chapter.
S. G. G.
ADVENTURES OF GILBERT GO-AHEAD (from Robert Merry's Museum, March 1854, pp. 88-92)
I have but a confused recollection of what happened to me, for several hours after my plunge into the dungeon. My fall was so sudden, and the shock so severe as to upset my understanding. I only recollect that I groped about in the darkness, and came to the conclusion that I was alone, and completely imprisoned. I shrieked aloud--I ran from one side of the room to the other--I felt along the walls--I crawled over the floor--and then, gradually, a sickness came over me, and I fainted away.
How long it was I cannot tell, but after a time I awoke, and saw a light streaming through the crevice of a door, into my room. I sat up, and began to gather my senses. I heard voices, and then I recollected what had happened, and where I was. I listened, and heard two men talking about me.
"Oh, he is dead," said one--"I went in an hour ago, and he was as stiff as a dried crocodile."
"Well, well," said the other--"then we have nothing to do but to put him into the canal, with a stone about his neck."
"Exactly, but what a supper he will make for the fishes! Why he is nearly twice as large as any of us."
"So much the worse, for he'll be a heavy load for two of us."
"Oh never mind, though he's long he is as lean as a rake handle. Are you ready?"
"Wait a minute!"
By the time the conversation had reached this point, I had made up my mind what to do. I determined to pretend to be dead, and then let these amiable sextons take me out of prison: for the rest I would trust to circumstances. So I stretched myself at full length on the ground and lay stiff and still as a Thanksgiving pig just out of the oven. The fellows soon came in, and holding their lamp close to me, took a survey of my person. It is very rare that people hear their own funeral orations, but on this occasion, I had the satisfaction of listening to mine.
"What a long, lank looking cut-throat of a fellow he is," said one of the coroners. "He must have been a desperate scamp."
"Yes, yes," was the reply. "He is evidently a Turcoman. I don't wonder that the sultana and her women were frightened to see him enter the convent. Allah! How the Khan raved and tore his beard when he heard of it."
"No doubt: the khan don't like to have any man even set eyes on his women, and there he is right. But I don't believe this fellow was a Turcoman. On the contrary, I think he was an Affghan."
"An Affghan? an Affghan? why do you think so?"
"He has just the make of an Affghan: the lank, long limbs; hands like eagle's claws; a hooked nose, like the beak of a vulture, and a spreading
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webbed foot. I could swear by that, he was born within sight of the Koosh mountains."
"Then, perhaps he was one of our countrymen?"
"I could take my oath of it."
"And we, poor slaves that we are, must tumble his body into the water like a sack of dirt."
"Must! Why must we?"
"Because if we refuse, we shall take his place and go into the canal ourselves."
"That does not follow, as a matter of course; to tell you the truth, Narik, I'm tired of this slavery, and if you had a little courage we might escape."
"Escape! How?"
"We have a commission to take this body to the suburbs: let us take it--and when we are there we can see what our boy Aga can do."
"Agreed--with a slight modification of your plan."
"How?"
"Let us take another with us."
"Who?"
"Vathine."
"Your sister--is she in Bokhara?"
"She is here."
"And a slave? Beard of Mohammed--I guessed as much! She is a slave here in the palace! I thought I recognized her gazelle eyes. It was she that gazed at me through her screen and waved her hand to me. What a donkey I was not to recognize Vathine. How did it happen that she came here?"
"Oh, as such things always happen. A troop of Turcomans swept down from the mountains upon our poor hamlet, one moonlight night. I was away--you were away. What could our old decr[e]pit father do? What could women do? They could only wail. Will the Turcoman desist fr[o]m his plunder because his victims scream? Will the hawk forego his meal because the dove bleeds and trembles in his grasp? No, no! Vathine was too good a prize to be released. With a troop of other slaves, captured by the robbers in their foray, she was brought to Bokhara, and sold to a merchant who supplied the harem of the Khan."
"And when did she come hither?"
"A month since."
"Alla-il-Alla! Where is she now?"
"In the pavilion of the outer garden."
"Well--and how shall we proceed?"
"We will have her come into the garden: we will then put her in the place of this corpse--wrapping her up well. Thus we can pass out, for the guards will be deceived, and will not stop us. We shall be outside of the walls by ten o'clock, and our escape will not be discovered till morning. So we have twelve hours the start of our pursuers."
"Good! let us proceed at once. Really, Nasik, I thought you a stupified dunce. It seemed to me that your soul was bent to slavery, and that you never thought of home--of Kaboul--of our native hills--of your parents--of Vathine--the beautiful Vathine--your sister! I thought you a coward--stooping to the load laid by tyrants upon your back--while you, out of simple fear of the
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lash, quietly submitted. Oh, I now find your heart heroic--true to its birth at the foot of mountains that touch the skies, and bring down waters to the valley, which have been tinged with the light of angel's wings. Alla-il-alla. Let us go."
The two men now made their preparations, and as they bent down to take me up, I rendered myself as rigid as if I had been magnetized. With some tugging and grunting, they got me upon their shoulders, and carried me through a door, and a long dark passage, till we came to the open air. I was very near sneezing, and in the effort to prevent it, I slightly contracted one of my legs. "Beard of Mahomet!" said the fellow who had the nether end of me, "if I didn't know this man was dead, I should say he gave me a kick! But, dead or alive, I hope we shall soon be done with him, for he's as heavy as a camel. I should think his bones were made of iron!"
We were proceeding across the garden, entirely surrounded by darkness, when my carriers paused to take breath. They tumbled me upon the ground rather uncivilly, but I was playing the dead man, and so I did not consider it as belonging to my part to resist it. The men now held some conversation, which I did not distinctly hear, as my head was jammed in between some shrubs, which, by the smell, I took to be Persian lilacs. After a time, I heard one of them say distinctly,--
"It is an excellent plan. We will bury the body beneath yonder heap of stone and earth, and it will be some days before they find it out. We can bundle up Vathine as the corpse, and pass out all the same."
"Excellent, excellent," was the reply. According to this arrangement, I was carried near the wall of the garden, and laid down preparatory to my burial. Having no desire to undergo this process, I quietly rose first on my feet, and then I stood upright.
Had the two men been suddenly frozen into icicles, they could not have been more completely riveted to the earth on which they stood. It was too dark to study their physiognomy, but I easily guessed their aspect of horror at seeing a man, and a pretty tall one, thus suddenly raise himself from the dead.
After a very short pause, I said--"Whist, I am your friend; I know your plans, and will assit them. Let us go together!"
"Who are you? What are you?" stammered one of the men.
"A prisoner--a slave, like yourselves. Do not stop to parley. Proceed! Bring Vathine hither at once, and let us prepare her for her expedition."
After some explanation, Nasik went, and in half an hour he came back with his sister. She was nearly dead with fright, and it was a long time before she could be persuaded to perform the part assigned her. Almost perforce, she was at last laid out, and by the aid of a little straw, stuffing, and splicing, she was made into a very portly corpse. We all three took her up; and staggering under our load, as if it were very heavy, we
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passed through the outer garden, and came to the gate. Here a difficulty arose, for the guard had only been ordered to let two men pass with the body. I very easily settled the matter, however, by slipping two dollars into the fellow's palm, as he held it at his back--a motion which is very common here, by the way, and is as easily understood in a public officer to mean bribery, as that a dog's wagging his tail and looking you in the face, means that he would like something to eat.
It was not near midnight, and not only the city, but the suburbs, were wrapped in a silence as profound as the darkness. As soon as we got well clear of the city walls, Vathine was taken out of her straw coffin, and restored to life. She now proceeded at a quick pace, but in silence. The two men seemed to understand the route, and before the sun rose, we were at least fifteen miles from Bokhara.
It was deemed prudent to lay by during the day, and so we concealed ourselves in a clump of trees which had grown up amid the ruins of some buildings. Nasik ventured out, however, and brought us some dried goat's flesh, and some bread made of beans and rye pounded together. I had now time to make inquiries and to tell my story in return. I found both the Affghans quite intelligent as to affairs in this part of the world. When I told them I was an American, they seemed delighted, and told me that from the first they knew I was of their own blood and lineage. When I asked me where they supposed America was, they both spoke at once and told me it was a mountain country on the southern slope of the Hindoo Koosh mountains; that it actually belonged to Kaboul, or Affghanistan, though the chief of the district claimed to be independent.
It may readily be supposed that I felt not only mortified, but offended, to discover that the name and fame of the United States had never reached these regions. It was a little too much to have it supposed that I belonged to a new "patch" of earth up in the mountains, over which some barbarian chief exercised dominion. I held my tongue between my teeth for some time, but at last I gave vent to my feelings.
"Gentlemen," said I, "at what college did you graduate?"
They both gazed at me in wonder, but said not a word. "Gentlemen," I added, "do you mean to say that you never heard of the stars and stripes?"
They shook their heads.
"Do you mean to say you never heard of George Washington?"
A shake of the head.
"Nor of Bunker Hill?"
A shake.
"Nor of Zachary Taylor, nor Buena Vista?"
A shake.
"Nor of Winfield Scott, nor Churubusco, nor the Halls of Montezuma?"
An emphatic shake.
"Nor of Franklin Pierce?"
"He's mad!" said Nasik to his friend.
"No, no--I'm not mad," said I,
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emphatically. "It's hard work to turn the head of a Yankee. His brains are as true as the cog wheel of a brass clock. He's like a catamount--he takes big leaps now and then, but he always comes down on his feet. The difficulty lies in your ignorance. I see how it is. You never went to school: you never studied Parley's Geography, you don't take the newspapers. Just tell me, did you ever see Webster's Spelling Book? or Merry's Museum?"
"Never!"
"I thought so. Did you ever see the Bible?"
"We never heard of it."
"Did you ever see a Connecticut clock?"
"Never."
"That's enough," said I; "that's enough. What can be expected of men who never heard of the stars and stripes, George Washington, Bunker Hill, Old Zack, Franklin Pierce, the bible, or a Connecticut clock! Poor benighted heathen, that you are! Nevertheless, we won't quarrel. You have all the faculties of men, no doubt, and serve God after your fashion. Pray, what is your religion?"
"We are Mahometans."
"You believe in the Koran."
"No, we don't believe it: that is not our business. The priests believe it for us."
"So, so. Do the priests eat for you? Do they drink for you? Do they sleep for you?["]
"No; in all worldly matters we act for ourselves: as to religion, we can't be expected to understand it. It is written in books which we cannot read; so the priests do our religion for us."
"That's very convenient: how do you pay them?"
"Oh, we give them alms; build temples for them; pay them reverence; furnish them with monasteries; pay them roundly for the sins we commit; give them the tenth part of all we produce or gain."
"They have a nice time, no doubt."
"Certainly, and why not? They are the ambassadors of the Prophet, to whom heaven and earth belong. He commands all nations to give it to the priests, and in this, he only requires that to be given which is his."
"Exactly; and you ought to be thankful that the priests only take tithes, when they might take the whole."
Here the conversation took another turn, and what followed will require another chapter.
S. G. G.
[To be continued.]
ADVENTURES OF GILBERT GO-AHEAD (from Robert Merry's Museum, April 1854, pp. 116-121
The next night we continued our travels, with great caution, however, for we still feared pursuit. A good deal of the time we were obliged to lie by in thickets, or amid the deserted ruins which were not unfrequent along our route. In the intervals of rest and concealment, I had a good deal of conversation with my male companions--their sister being always kept aloof, and never having intercourse with me. Occasionally I could see a glimpse of one or both of her eyes, from beneath her veil, but this had always the appearance of accident, and not of design.
They were rather intelligent young men, and had not only been over the greater part of Afghanistan, but into the adjacent countries of Northern India, Beloochistan, and Persia. One of them had been to Mecca with a caravan, which was alike a religious and trading enterprise. He started from Cabool, and passed through Herat, Teheran, and Damascus, and thence across the Arabian Desert to the holy City of the Mahometans. He was a good story teller, and gave a very lively account of his travels. He related a great many incidents and episodes, and among other things he told us the following tale, which he said he heard from the lips of a Persian poet, who related it one night to the company of the caravan.
"A great many years ago, there lived and reigned in Cashmere, a race of princes, each of whom was called the Eye of God--a profuse title, certainly, but which seemed justified, in some degree, by the crown they wore, for this was ornamented with the most superb diamond that ever was seen. It was said to have been brought by the Angel Gabriel himself, to the founders of the little kingdom, in token of the affection of the Prophet, and as an assurance of the favor of Heaven. The king caused it to be set in his crown, and with this it descended from father to son for a long series of generations. The diamond was not only one of the finest water, but it was of that deep and pure nature indicative of the highest order of precious stones, for while it was rather pale and dull in the light, it shone with intense and beaming rays in the dark. Nor was this all: it had the faculty of filling the eye, and also, if steadily contemplated, of illuminating the mind. And hence, while it adorned the brows of the princes of Cashmere, it shed light, knowledge, and wisdom upon their understandings. It was indeed regarded as a talisman of great sanctity, and came at last to be almost worshipped by the people. When the king appeared in public with it on his head they all fell on their faces, and remained prostrate till he had passed by. No wonder that such a gem should be called the Eye of God, and that at last this title should descend to the princes who wore it.
"Now in the city of Cashmere, there
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was a young man named Moroz, of great learning and genius, but he was very poor. His heart was filled with ambition and love of pleasure, but his poverty prevented the indulgence of his propensities. By degrees he gave himself up to evil thoughts, and began to despise mankind, religion, and all good and holy things. He said to himself: 'After all, life is only a game, and they who play it best are the best fellows. Right is only might; religion is the bugbear of the priests; they do not believe it themselves. Oh! if I was rich I would have all the pleasures of life, and as to death, I should have no fear of that!'
"While he thus conversed with himself the king came along, with the crown on his head. All the people prostrated themselves except Moroz: he stood erect, and gazed steadily at the sacred diamond. A sudden but dreadful thought came into his mind. 'If I could only become the possessor of that gem!' said he to himself, 'I could carry it to Delhi, and sell it to the Great Mogul for a million of dollars. Then I should be rich--then my heart would be full of pleasure and happiness!' After a short time he went away, but from that time a new being animated him. He shut himself up in his room, and thought only of the sacred diamond. The more he thought of it the more intense became his desire to possess it. At last he determined to make the attempt to obtain it. He had no scruples of conscience, for he did not believe in religion; he laughed at the idea of a future state, of heaven and hell, and hence, he had no respect for right or wrong.
"It is true the idea crossed his mind that this gem was said to be sacred, and to have gifts above other gems. Once or twice he said to himself, 'What if, after all, it should turn out that this diamond really is like the eye of God, and can see into the soul? If I possessed it, should I not be miserable after all?' He soon, however, dismissed such reflections, and laughed at his fears, as the miserable dreams of cowardice. 'Let me cast aside such weakness,' said he to himself; 'let me dare to be a man, and then I may realize the full pleasures of existence. Let me remain a coward, and I only remain a slave, and wear out my life in the miseries of slavery.'
"After a time he was fully resolved, and now the only question was how he should get possession of the gem? In order to accomplish his object, he contrived to obtain a place in the king's household, and thus he was duly admitted to the palace. He had a small cabinet assigned him near the king's bed-chamber, and thus he was able to carry on his schemes. When every body was asleep, he took the crown to his cabinet and made a cast of the diamond. Being a skilful chemist and worker in gems and metals, he made an exact imitation of it. This he set in the place of the true gem one night, and with the latter in his pocket, he secretly left the palace and quitted Cashmere.
"He bent his steps towards Delhi,
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which was then the capital of India, and the most brilliant city in the world. The king, called the Great Mogul, was chief of the whole empire, and his riches knew no bounds. His palace glittered with gold, and his whole person was radiant with the most costly jewels. His gardens were filled with the most fragrant plants and delicious fruits. At night they shone with the light of ten thousand lamps, and the whole air trembled with delicious music. The palace itself, filled with gay and happy people, seemed but a paradise of pleasure, from morning to night. Princes and princesses, the young, the rich, the noble, all gathered there, seemed only to live for enjoyment.
"'Let me get to Delhi,' said Moroz, to himself, 'and I shall be happy! The king will be ready enough to possess himself of the finest gem the world has ever known, and one who thus gratifies him, will, not only be made rich by him, but will be made a prince of his court, at least.'
"So thought the young man, and with his heart bounding in triumph, he pursued his journey eagerly towards Delhi. He was, however, under the necessity of travelling only by night, for he knew that the cheat he had practiced would soon be discovered, and that he was likely to be pursued. The sense of danger gradually grew upon him, and hence he became watchful and suspicious. A whole week passed before he could feel so secure as to take a look at his prize. But one night as he lay hidden in the shadow of an old temple, he took the gem from his pocket, unrolled the numerous folds of cloth with which it was covered, and gazed upon it. How beautiful--how wonderful was the light that streamed from its innermost depths! How did the soul of Moroz expand as he gazed upon it, and felt the consciousness that he was its proprietor.
"Although alone in the gloom of night, and amid the ghostly ruins of some fallen and forgotten temple, his whole being glowed with an intense delight. Already he seemed to enjoy the pleasures for which he had sighed, and to grasp the sceptre of power which he yearned to wield. For a long time he was absorbed in gazing upon the diamond, which constantly unfolded new rays, and shed more delicious tints, till suddenly its aspect changed, and it seemed to enlarge, grow round, and assume the appearance of a human eye. It still grew larger, and ere long it seemed to gaze into the very soul of the young man, with a steady and mournful look. Moroz shrunk back, and for a moment closed big eyes; but ashamed of what he deemed weakness, he opened them again, and look[ed] steadily at the diamond. Its aspect was now even more stern than before, and Moroz standing up exclaimed--'Horrible! it is indeed the Eye of God!'
"The young man shook with the excitement, and although he rolled up the diamond and hid it deep in his pocket, it was impossible wholly to renew his peace of mind. When morning came, he shook off his fears, in some degree,
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and laughed at them as the phantoms of a dream. Still the diamond felt heavy in his pocket, and seemed to become a burden to him. He could not help thinking of it, and with a kind of sinking of the heart. His feeling of triumph was gone, and a strange anxiety took possession of his brain. As night approached, he was positively afraid of the shadows that gathered around him.
"'This is dreadful!' said he, at last; 'and it will drive me mad if I give way to it. I am playing the part of a child--a woman. Let me be a man! Is not my secret my own? Who knows, but me, that I have this gem in my pocket? And after all--what is it? A mere stone. Come let me look at it again. It is all nonsense to call it the Eye of God. But there is no God; or, if there be, it is money, and money is made to be our slave, and not to make slaves of us. What a fool I am--here I have unbounded riches in my grasp--here is power, here are pleasures--all wrapped up in this little ball. And I, so weak am I, that I am ready to cast it into the river and run away from it all because of a superstitious fancy that it is a God. A God, indeed; let me have another look at it!'
"It was night--Moroz was again alone. He unrolled the diamond as before; at first it only sent forth its mild but lovely radiance, streaming out, as it were, a fountain of many colors, from which issued a perpetual rainbow. But gradually it expanded, and at last again it assumed that searching look which belongs to the All-Seeing--the All-Knowing. Moroz gave back glance for glance--gaze for gaze. He braced himself to a desperate effort; he said, again and again: 'It is but a stone--it is only a diamond. Let me not make myself the dupe of my own excited imagination!'
["]By these means the young man was able in some degree to command his nerves. After a time he rolled up the gem, and felt that he had conquered, hut he was mistaken. His power of mind was gone. He had lost confidence in his own reasoning and in himself. The gaze of the Eye of God, whether it was a phantom of his own mind, or a reality, everywhere haunted him. He felt constantly as if that dreadful look was upon him. He knew that he was a thief--he was conscious that he was bearing about on his person the fruit of a sacrilegious robbery. In vain he said to himself, 'Nobody knows it but me!' He knew it, and that was too much. Oh, it was terrible--and Moroz at last, in the agony of his mind, exclaimed, 'It is indeed true; there is a God, and though this is but a stone, yet it has the power of revealing God to man, and man to himself. Hideous sight! I see, by the light of this miracle, the sentence written on my soul--'Thou art a thief!' A thief? What pleasure is left for me, thus judged guilty of the meanest of crimes. Would to heaven I had remained content in my poverty. But what shall I do? Let me hasten to Delhi and disburthen myself as soon as possible of this terrible treasure.'
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"Agitated with these and similar thoughts, Moroz made his way, after a journey of five weeks, to the gorgeous capital of the Great Mogul. But he was so worn out with anxiety, that he could not look upon the wondrous curiosities of the palace. Afraid of being detected as the robber of the great gem--for already the news of the theft had spread over Hindostan--he slunk into a dark and narrow garret in the outskirts of the city, and meditated upon the means of parting with his prize, to the king. But new difficulties, not foreseen, beset him. 'How,' said he to himself, 'how shall I appear as the seller of this diamond, and avoid being seized as a thief?'
"That was indeed a very important question, and it was strange that the acute Moroz had not thought of it before. He debated the matter for a long time, until he had worked himself up into a state bordering on madness. At last he gave up the idea of selling his treasure in Delhi, and departed for Persia, intended to dispose of it to the Shah, who was then famed for his riches. Arrived at Sheraz, he was seized with the same fear which had beset him at Delhi, and so he hastened on to Bagdad--intending to offer his treasure to the Caliph--then one of the most splendid sovereigns in the world. Here he was racked with apprehensions similar to those he had felt before, and so he proceeded to Constantinople, hoping in that capital to find himself beyond reach of the rumors of his theft, which pervaded all the other countries he had visited.
"In all these wanderings, he had spent at least a dozen years, and though he was not yet old, his hair was thin and gray, his body bent, and his aspect that of a man smitten with despair. Indeed every pulse that had once beat with pleasure, was now tremulous with care, anxiety, and dread. Conscious of possessing the value of millions, he was still living in poverty--often for weeks hardly having the necessities of life. Convicted of crime in his own mind, he had also a dread lest every man that he met should recognize on him the mark of sin, and expose him. Clinging to the fruit of his theft with a sort of miser's greediness, he still looked upon it with dread and bore it about as a burthen and a curse hanging to his very heart. He was afraid of the day, because men then looked upon him; he dreaded the darkness, for then God's Eye seemed gazing at him; for now, even when the diamond was wrapped up, the moment the night set in, it shone out and looked at him, in whatever place he might be. Even when, in his agony, he placed his hand over his sight, the terrible vision as of an Omniscient Eye, burning into his very soul, was still before him. No screen could exclude it--no effort efface it--no envelope could conceal its radiance, or make him forget its power for a moment.
["]It was strange that such sufferings had not broken the heart of the criminal, but though his frame was shattered it was full of vigor. His nerves were true, his perceptions keen, his vital energy great as in his youth. Yet his ex-
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istence was only turned to agony. His last hope was gone; for, on arriving at Constantinople, he found that the robbery of the famous gem of Cashmere was known, and that all the officers of the police were on the alert to detect the thief.
"'What now shall I do?' said the miserable man. 'Shall I keep my treasure, and when I die, let it pass to my heirs? I shall then have been a criminal and a beggar only for the benefit of posterity. This is indeed the usual feature of the miser--but it will not do for me. Shall I cast this gem away and fly from it as from a curse? Alas! that will not wipe out my crime, even if I could forego the pleasures I have hoped for long years to derive from the sale of it. What then shall I do? Shall I go back to Ca[sh]mere, restore my plunder, and thus atone for my crime? What--go back to poverty? That I cannot do. Which way then shall I turn?"
"When the wretched man had ended these reflections; he was nigh starving, for he had lost all means of obtaining the necessaries of life. He was in fact in a miserable shed, in one of the outer streets of Constantinople, and there was not another person in the dwelling. He was lying on a heap of dirty straw, from which he found it impossible to rise. He felt that he was dying and called aloud for help, but no one answered, except that three or four dogs, hungry and lank, came into the room, and after a while passed out and set up a dreadful howl.
"Moroz saw that his last hour was come. With feeble and trembling fingers, he took out the roll from his pocket, and began to unfold the diamond. He wished to gaze upon it once more, even though he must pay the usual penalty of feeling its light to scorch his soul. He fainted several times before he could complete his task. When the last fold was taken off, what was his amazement to discover only a mass of sand, in place of the sacred diamond! Had he been robbed, or was this a miracle? The fading senses of the poor man could not solve the question. His pulse failed--his eyes closed--and the wretched Moroz was no more. But that very day--that very hour--the real gem--the Eye of God--was returned to its place in the Crown of Cashmere!"
S. G. G.
[To be continued.]
ADVENTURES OF GILBERT GO-AHEAD (from Robert Merry's Museum, May 1854, pp. 153-156)
The young Afghan told many other stories, but I have not time to repeat them. On the eleventh day after our departure from Bokhara, we arrived at Balkh, the capital of a province of the same imme. It is situated in a province, on the Balkh river, 280 miles S. E. of Bokhara. It is now but a shadow of what it was in its days of glory--the capital of the Bactrian kingdom, then bearing the title of Bactra. It is also spoken of in another history under the [n]ame of Zariaspa. The ruins of mosques, temples and other edifices, some still visible, and others only indicated by heaps of sand and soil, extend over a circuit of twenty miles around the city.
The history of this place has been indeed remarkable. So far back as the time of Ninus and Semiramis--two or three thousand years ago--it figures in history. In the time of Xerxes, Bactra was a province of Persia; afterwards it yielded to the arm of Alexander of Macedonia. Here he founded a Greek colony, and built a city, and in twenty days, by the aid of his army, he encircled it with a wall. This was the foundation of the Greek Bactrian kingdom, which flourished for a long period. In more modern times the city and province of Balkh have been possessed by Genghis, Aurungzebe, Nadir Shah, and other Eastern conquerors. At present it is surrounded hy a mud wall, and contains about 2,000 inhabitants. It is governed by a chief who receives all the revenues, but he is tributary to the Khan of Bokhara.
At this place my Afghan friends took leave of me, and I saw them no more. I was now under the necessity of determining upon my future plans. By this time my stock of cash was reduced to one hundred and twenty-seven dollars--a small sum for one who was still a wanderer almost in the middle of Asia. After considerable reflection I determined to make my way into Persia, and there decide as to my route homewards. I was influenced in this decision by finding at Balkh a trading caravan on its march to Teheran, to which I found no difficulty in attaching myself.
The caravan consisted of sixty persons, all mounted on horses or camels. It was now spring, and the season was very pleasant. Our route was westerly, and led us over an uneven, but not mountainous country. We passed several villages, and met with numerous groups of people living in tents, and appearing to be of nomadic habits.
In five days we arrived at Herat, the chief town in the province of Khorassan. It is the central market for the interior trade carried on between Cabul, Cashmere, Bokhara, Hindostan, and Northern Persia. It consists now of a fortified town, only three-quarters of a mile square. The walls are lofty, and are made of sunburnt bricks. It contains 4,000 horses, and perhaps 25,000
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people. The smaller streets are covered with filth, which fills the air with an intolerable odor. The residence of the Prince is a low, mean building, standing upon an open square, in the centre of which is the Galleries and the Great Mosque. The city is divided into four quarters by four bazaars, consisting of arched brick work, and each running from one side of the town to the other, and being entered by a gate at the wall. Here the collection of merchants and traders, with their caravans and equipages, presents a very animated and curious scene.
Though the city is on the whole crowded and dismal, and parts of it insufferably dirty, the suburbs are extensive and beautiful. The river Heriwod, on which Herat stands, is made to send its waters through canals, in all directions, and thus the gardens and grounds are irrigated. The necessaries of life are cheap and abundant; the bread and water are famous, the fruits are various and delicious. I learnt that melons, somewhat resembling our water-melons, as big as my head, could be bought in the season of them, for about two cents apiece. Strawberries and cherries were already in market, though it was only the early part of spring. Each could be bought for about two cents a quart.
The chief goods received here are shawls, indigo, sugar, chintz, muslins, leather, and skins from Tartary. These articles are exported to different parts of Persia. Saffron and assafoetida are the staple products of Herat, and from this market they are distributed
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over the adjacent countries. Silk is produced in the vicinity. The skins of sheep and lambs are abundant, and 150 people are employed in making them into caps and cloaks, with the wool on. The carpets of Herat are famous for their brilliancy of color and for their luxurious softness.
This city, like most others in these regions, is of great antiquity, and is renowned in history. In early times this country was called Aria, and Herat, the capital, bore the name of Artacoana. Alexander the Conqueror visited this place, and seems to have been much struck by the fertility of the country. In more modern times Herat has experienced various changes. In 1824, it suffered from wars that raged in that country, and since that time it has been much inferior to the ancient city in extent, population, and wealth. Nothing of particular interest occurred here, except that I purchased some turquoises at a low price, and as I learned that these precious stones are almost wholly produced from the mines and quarries near Nishapoor I determined to visit that place, and see if I could not make a speculation to reward me for my bad success in the clock line, and the various misadventures which had been the result of my failures.
My mind soon became interested in this matter, and as usual my imagination was speedily filled with plans and schemes, and their possible or probable success. "What after all," said I to myself, "if I should turn out a rich man? Greater wonders have hap-
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pened. Didn't Lord Timothy Dexter make his fortune out of warming-pans, sent to a tropical country, and why shouldn't Gilbert Go-ahead, in spite of his thriftless travels, have some luck at last? Let us see--suppose I buy a hundred ounces of turquoises for a hundred dollars, I can get five hundred dollars an ounce for them in New York! There is a clear profit of forty-nine thousand dollars! That would do, at Sandy Plain, for a moderate man like me, one who has dined on rats, and been rejoiced at the hind leg of a monkey! Good--this is a promising business, and I will at least look into it. It's a long lane that never turns. It's a dry stick that won't give sap if squeezed. Perhaps my day of good luck has come. I'll at least put a venture into this lottery."
After a stay of two days at Herat we departed, and soon arrived at Meshed, a sort of holy city in this part of the world. It contains the remains of the famous Caliph Haroun al Raschid, and also of the celebrated Imrain Raza. The mausoleum of the latter is still an object of great interest on account of its richness and beauty of architecture. It has gates of silver, and its doors are studded with jewels. It once had railings of gold, but these were taken away by ravaging conquerors. With its glittering domes and minarets and its handsome arcades, it is one of the most interesting curiosities I have ever beheld. No Christian or Jew is permitted to visit it. The houses of the city are low and mean, being built of sun-dried bricks. The population is about 50,000. The place has some trade, but it has all the appearance of a decayed and decaying town. A good many turquoises are sent here and sold to pilgrims passing on to Mecca, or returning thence.
From this place Nishapoor lies in a south-westerly direction, at the distance of 49 miles. In a day and a half we reached this place. We found it to be a wretched-looking town, of low, mean dwellings, crowded into a small space encircled by a ditch and mud wall. Nearly half of the interior of the town is encumbered with ruins.
I was much disappointed to find that the mines were at a distance of 49 miles from Nishapoor. However, I determined to visit them, and therefore parted from the caravan and set out on horseback with three merchants, one Hindoo, one Bokhara, and one Mesopotamian, all going to buy turquoises like myself. Our route was south-westerly. The country over which we passed seemed naturally fertile, and the people showed tolerable skill in agriculture. Irrigation was general and well managed, considering the rude and unimproved state of every kind of domestic art. But at least three-fourths of the arable land lay in a fallow state, it being the custom to till it only once in five years; the rest of the time is allowed for it to recruit.
In a day and a half we arrived at the mines. These are some eight or ten in number, situated in small hills. They are only wrought by the neighboring villagers, who use no machinery, but dig
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into the rocks with picks, drills, and chisels, in the most clumsy manner. The gems are fond in a reddish brown argillaceous rock, as well as in rocks of quartz, of a whitish gray color. The mines belong to the government, but are rented to a chief for the annual sum of 2,000 tomans. The villagers have one-fourth of what they find.
I very soon discovered that all my plans of speculation were entirely at fault. The fact is that the workmen here are the greatest cheats I ever met with. They ask an extravagant price for the turquoises, and do not hesitate to pass off bits of bluish glass, manufactured for the purpose, upon those who are ignorant, or not on their guard. I was taken in by a fellow in this way, who got from me twenty-seven dollars for a handful of glass, having greatly the appearance of true gems. In fact they were handsomer than real ones, for they were of a very intense blue. When I found out the cheat, I went to a magistrate and had the man brought up for trial. When I told my story both the judge and the criminal laughed in my face. "Is that all?" said the former. "Why, selling glass for turquoises is an established trade here; the fault in your case is that not being a merchant you have entered into commerce. I dismiss the man you have summoned hither, and condemn you to pay the costs of the court."
"And how much are they?" said I.
"Sixty-two and a-half cents," said his worship.
I gave him a dollar, and he was preparing to give me the change. "Never mind the change," said I. "I will take it out in your way. You are a judge and I presume a lawyer."
"Yes; I am both."
"Well, what is your price for an opinion?"
"That depends upon circumstances."
"Suppose a man wrongs me and I knock him down; how much ought I to pay?"
"That depends upon his quality."
"Suppose he is a judge, but unjust."
"Well, it would cost you a dollar!"
"And, how much for your opinion?"
"Thirty-seven and a-half cents."
"That is cheap enough. Now the change you owe will pay for your legal opinion, and there is a dollar for knocking you down!"
Upon this I gave his worship a slap with my full palm at the side of his head, which sent him across the room and at last laid him on the floor. I did not wait to return him compliments, for I expected a storm. I went straight to the stable, and saddling my horse I left the village and returned to Nishapoor.
S. G. G.
[To be continued.]