always healthy; he never lost one either by straying or rapine; the jackall and the vulture came not near his fold; a heavenly Shepherd watched over and preserved the flock. Their wool was so fine, that it was purchased for the king of that country and the lords of his court. Ben Hafiz, with his wife Sherzaran, and their little child of the sea, were the happiest creatures in the world; his daily labor was a pastime; her duties in the cottage were never so quickly and pleasantly performed as since the time she had fostered the outcast and stranger child; while the days of Narina were spent either with the good dame at her spinningwheel, or in her own little garden of roses, which bloomed as no roses ever bloomed before; or with the nightingales, to whose songs she loved to hearken, and whose wings she longed to have, that she might fly away with the blessed silver dove which daily made a circuit of their valley, and ended with three times fluttering round the cottage, and then darting off with the quickness of thought. She also passed a large portion of her time with the gentle old Ben Hafiz, from whose simple wisdom she learned, that kindness to every thing that breathes returned to the giver the truest andgreatest happiness.

One evening towards sunset, while he was mending the wattles that were to fold his flock for the night, and was humming a little hymn of thanks to the sinking sun for the blessings he had enjoyed through the day, he was startled at hearing the voice of one close to his side, and upon turning round he saw an old pedlar, who entreated him to purchase some of his wares. Ben Hafiz, at first, wondered how he could have come upon him so suddenly without his having noticed his approach; continuing his occupation, however, and

taking but slight notice of the stranger's appearance, he told him that he himself wanted none of his articles, but that, perhaps, the dame in the cottage hard by might take a fancy to some of them. The pedlar turned upon his heel towards the hut, and the good old shepherd pursued his even-song.

"A fair evening to you, dame," said the traveller, "and many of them," as he cautiously thrust his head and shoulders into the room. "Do you please to want any good wholesome medicines and drugs, or good oil of roses, or knitting-needles, or any choice necklaces ? I have a large assortment. And if you have any fleece to dispose of, I will exchange with you. I know your wool fetches a good price at market, and you will find my wares as fine of their kind. If once you deal with me, I am sure I shall have you for a regular customer. I have been many years a travelling merchant about this part of the country, and all the great folks buy of me.”

"What you tell me may be very true," said the worthy old Sherzaran, "but I never deal with strangers for my fleeces; I can always sell them at a good market, and I am not fond of changing about. You may be no stranger in this country, but -" and then she looked him steadily in the face-"you are quite a stranger to me. No, good man, I do not want any of your wares."

At this moment the little Narina came trotting in, and the old dame observed that the pedlar's face changed to a frightful wolf-like expression as he caught sight of her. Then, in a moment, smoothing his brow, with an innocent smile he inquired whose child she was; "for," said he, "she cannot be your grand daughter, as I know you never had any children; and you have long since been too old to become a mother."

224

THE PEDLAR CLAIMS NARINA.

"Too old or too young," said the kind old Sherzaran, "she is mine, and so you may go about your business; I want nothing of you, and you shall have nothing from me."

That," said he, "remains to be seen; I have come all the way from the farthest territory of the kingdom of Arabia, at the command of my sovereign, to discover, by my magic art, where his only child has been secreted, who was stolen from his palace one night by her false hag of a mother, and committed to the mercy of the waves in a cedar chest. It is of little use your attempting to deceive me; you know that your husband found her at sea. I am sent to bring her back, and my gracious lord and master has commanded me to reward with a chain of inestimable price the person who should have protected her." At these words, thinking to dazzle the eyes of the simple cottager, he drew from his bosom a superb gold chain, studded with the most rare and precious jewels, whose lustre seemed to turn back the declining light of the sun to broad noon. But good old Sherzaran was not to be put from her purpose; her great love for the little Narina, and the strong desire she had to fulfil her duty to the child, made her faithful to the sacred charge she had undertaken. "Your gold and your diamonds," said she, "are no proof that what you tell me is true; the child may be, and I doubt not is, the offspring of some great king or noble; but if he desire to have her restored to him, he must send some one very different in appearance from you to fetch her." A thought then suddenly came into her head, for, seeing that, during this conversation, the old pedlar had entered the cottage door, and as he stood in the room, that there was no passage out but by him, she in a low voice told

Narina to go to her little bedroom and put on her silver-feathered shoes. The moment the villain heard these words he made a spring at the child; but Sherzaran, watching him all the while with the tender jealousy of an ewe over her lamb when an enemy is near, struggled between them. In an instant the little foundling was at her bed-side, and as soon the silver-feathered shoes were on her feet. The old dame called for help to her husband without, who, hearing the noise, looked up and saw his infant charge spring from the window like a terrified bird, and, softly alighting on her, feet, speed away towards the mountains, over their valley, with the skimming motion of a swallow when a rain-cloud is singing in the wind. Ben Hafiz immediately ran to the cottage, and bursting open the door, beheld his trusty partner on the ground across the passage leading to the little Narina's room, and the old pedlar, whose form had now changed to that of a bird, huge and hairy, on the legs of a beast, striding over her, to follow the object of his pursuit. At the entrance of the shepherd he turned round, and was preparing to seize him in his talons, when the precious ring that hung round the neck of Ben Hafiz caught his eye. The charm of this jewel held him fixed so long as he remained looking upon it, (for he could not approach him,) but all the while, like a chained fury, he vented the most bitter curses upon the shepherd and his wife. This circumstance first brought Ben Hafiz to remember his ring, and the injunction he had received from the guardian angel; but before he could pass it on to his finger, the horrid shape rushed through the door of the cottage, with the scream of a flock of vultures that are scared from their meal, leaving the faithful couple swooning on the ground at the horrid vision.

Upon returning to their senses, Narina was the first object of their thoughts and inquiries of each other. Where to seek for her they could not tell, for the last glimpse that the shepherd had of her, was when she was darting through a pass in the mountains with the swiftness of an arrow. He however arose, and went forth, directing his steps towards the quarter whence he had caught the last appearance of her little form. He took care, at the same time, upon leaving his cottage, to look behind and around him, lest the dreadful object of their late trouble should be watching his motions. He had scarcely reached the boundary of his valley, when, in the deep gloom of that eastern evening, he perceived a light, as of a summer meteor, flit past him, and before he could turn to follow its course, it had increased to a splendid, yet mild radiance, in the midst of which he beheld the well-known form of his angel visitor, while at the same moment his hand was clasped by the sweet little object of his search. "Go on, Ben Hafiz," said the gentle dweller of eternity; "be faithful to your trust, and you will be happy. No one was ever miserable in your world (the world I have left) who loved the truth, and performed what he felt to be his duty. In that world I had my sorrows, and they were of the deepest die; yet was I never wholly stricken down; I wept at the weakness and injustice of others, but never experienced that greatest of all afflictions, the reproaches of an upbraiding heart. Hold on the same course you have hitherto done, and you will hereafter dwell in the mansions of tranquil felicity, and partake of the same blessed thoughts that have happily fallen to my lot. One more charge I leave with you, and that is, never to allow the finger of a stranger to be laid upon your lit