The butchers obeyed the commands of their chief, and reporting that he was dead, laid him in a litter, and marched in mournful procession towards the burying ground, followed by a great concourse of people.  Mixing with the crowd, in disguise, I at length stooped under the litter, and giving the chief, who lay extended in a winding sheet, a smart poke with a pointed stick, up he jumped, to the astonishment of the beholders; who cried out, “A miracle! a miracle! the dead is raised to life!” while I made my escape in the throng; but being fearful that the many tricks I had played, especially this last, might excite inquiry, and lead to a discovery, I fled from the city, and resolved to remain in this cave till curiosity should subside.

The sultan exclaimed, “These adventures are surprising;” when the second inhabitant of the cave said, “My lord, my story is much more wonderful than the last; for I contrived not only to be dead and buried, but to escape from the tomb.”  “Possibly,” said the sultan, “thy adventures may have been stranger than those of this man; but if any of you are acquainted with the memoirs of ancient monarchs, I could wish you to relate them; however, at present, I must take you with me to the palace, that I may make you welcome.”  When the men heard this proposition, they were alarmed, and cried out, “What, my lord, would you carry us to the city from which we have escaped to save our lives?” “Fear not,” replied he, “I am the sultan, and was amusing myself with hunting when I chanced to discover your cave.”  They bowed themselves before him, and exclaimed, “To hear is to obey;” after which they attended him to the city.  On their arrival, the sultan ordered them proper apartments and suitable entertainment, and invested each of them with a rich habit.  For some days they remained enjoying themselves; when, at length, one evening the sultan commanded them to his presence, and requested a narrative, when one of them related the following story.

History of the Sultan of Hind.

In ancient days there lived a sultan of Hind, than whom no prince of the age was greater in extent of territory, riches, or force; but Heaven had not allotted to him offspring, either male or female:  on which account he was involved in sorrow.  One morning, being even more melancholy than usual, he put on a red habit, and repaired to his divan; when his vizier, alarmed at the robes of mourning, said, “What can have occasioned my lord to put on this gloomy habit?” “Alas!” replied the sultan, “my soul is this morning overclouded with melancholy.”  “Repair then to the treasury,” said the vizier, “and view thy wealth; as, perhaps, the lustre of gold, and the brilliant sparkling of jewels, may amuse thy senses and disperse thy sorrow.”  “Vizier,” answered the sultan, “this world to me is all vanity; I regard nothing but the contemplation of the Deity:  yet how can I be relieved from melancholy, since I have lived to this age and he has not blessed me with children, either sons or daughters, who are the ornaments of manhood in this world?”