it several times, as a precious pledge of your goodness, I read it over and over, and was confounded at the excess of my good fortune.  You would have me declare that I always love you.  Ah! did I not love you so perfectly as I do, I could not forbear adoring you, after all the marks you have given me of an affection so uncommon:  yes, I love you, my dear soul, and shall account it my glory to burn all my days with that sweet fire you have kindled in my heart.  I will never complain of that ardour with which I feel it consumes me:  and how rigorous soever the evils I suffer, I will bear them with fortitude, in hopes some time or other to see you.  Would to heaven it were to-day, and that, instead of sending you my letter, I might be allowed to come and assure you in person, that I die for you!  My tears hinder me from saying more.  Adieu.”

Ebn Thaher could not read these last lines without weeping.  He returned the letter to the prince of Persia, and assured him it wanted no correction.  The prince closed it, and when he had sealed it, he desired the trusty slave to come near, and said to her, “This is my answer to you dear mistress’s letter.  I conjure you to carry it to her, and to salute her in my name.”  The slave took the letter, and retired with Ebn Thaher.

After Ebn Thaher had walked some way with the slave, he left her, and went to his house, and began to think in earnest upon the amorous intrigue in which he found himself unhappily engaged.  He considered, that the prince of Persia and Schemselnihar, notwithstanding their interest to conceal their correspondence, conducted themselves with so little discretion, that it could not be long a secret.  He drew all the consequences from it, which a man of good sense might have anticipated.  “Were Schemselnihar,” said he to himself, “a lady of common rank, I would contribute all in my power to make her and her lover happy; but she is the caliph’s favourite, and no man can without danger attempt to engage the affections of the objets of his choice.  His anger would fall in the first instance on Schemselnihar; it will next cost the prince of Persia his life, and I should be involved in his misfortune.  In the mean time I have my honour, my quiet, my family, and my property to preserve.  I must, while I can, extricate myself out of such a perilous situation.”

These thoughts occupied his mind all that day.  Next morning he went to the prince of Persia, with a design of making one more effort to induce him to conquer his passion.  He represented to him what he had before urged in vain; that it would be much better for him to summon all his resolution, to overcome his inclination for Schemselnihar, than to suffer himself to be hurried away by it; and that his passion was so much the more dangerous, as his rival was powerful.  “In short, sir,” added he, “if you will hearken to me, you ought to think of nothing but to triumph over your love; otherwise you run the risk of destroying yourself with Schemselnihar, whose life ought to be dearer to you than your own.  I give you this advice as a friend, for which you will some time or other thank me.”