think of his country, he pursued his road. On his way he overtook a sort of Moorish Esquire, near a ravine, crying most bitterly, while two fine Andalusian mares were feeding quietly beside him. It was Sabaoth himself, who had witnessed the death of the Zegris, commander of the Moors, and his good master.

Amurat approached him, and asked him the same questions he had done to all he met : Sir," said he, "have you seen an old thin man playing on the bagpipe, accompanied by an old woman, two young boys, and a girl more beautiful than all the infantas of the world?" "Aye, that I have," replied Sabaoth sobbing, " at a distance, the eve of the battle we have just lost. I am well acquainted with that old bagpiper you speak of, and he ought to remember me, for I have of ten given him many a hearty thrashing in the stables of my last worthy defunct master at Grenada. I have

also some claim on his gratitude, for I made him a physician, and so able a one, that he attended my master. It was, however, fortunate for him, that during his attendance I was occupied in the stables, and was ignorant of his audacity in pretending to be doctor to a Zegris. I would have taught him what a stable boy was to a groom. But, be assured, that I have seen him pass by, and he had in fact with him two women and two children, but in so miserable a condition, that both Moors and Christians allowed him to continue his road unmolested, on account of his misery. I am not so fortunate, which is the cause of my weeping, for my road is intercepted, and I cannot return again to Grenada without risk of being taken; you also will run the same chance." Amurat replied, "Sir Squire, you are right in fearing being made a prisoner in this country, for they treat us Moors very scurvily; I that am speaking to you have narrowly escaped broiling by the holy Inquisition. Therefore, instead of returning to Grenada, let us disguise ourselves, which we can easily do, for I have in the havresack that you see on my shoulders, a dress that I intended for a present to the Mins trel, to render him propitious to my love, and another that I had bought for his adorable daughter. You shall put on the first, and I will dress my self in the second, when, mounting

these two mares, we may traverse all Spain in security; the holy brotherhood will not touch you, and I may perhaps overtake Ernestine." "I a gree to your proposal," answered Sabaoth, "for, after all, it is better to be a wanderer and vagabond than burnt."

We are concerned to leave our two Moors in the plains of Castille, but the monastery of Vaucelles recalls us. We had left Ernestine with her mother, and said, that this unfortunate girl could not eradicate from her heart the shaft which love had fixed there. She was ignorant of that formidable power that triumphs over reason in spite of ourselves, which we wish, and wish not to conquer, which effaces all other sentiments of the soul, which exists and renews itself by its own force, and will not allow us to have another thought, and which subjects us to a torment at once pleasing and painful, whereof cold hearts can have no idea.

Such was the volcano that inflamed the soul of Ernestine; such the deity, who, in the midst of pains, procured her delights; such the demon that was tearing her heart to pieces.

What could the wife of the Minstrel do in such a case? She had had intrigues, and a variety of adventures, but they are only the simulation of love. Her daughter seemed to her mad, which is the usual name indifference gives to that passion, and she considered as a weakness, what is the strongest power in nature. She reasoned and argued, during which, Ernestine sighed and wept. There was no other remedy for her disorder than the disorder itself. Besides, to bring back an impassioned heart from its wanderings, the person who attempts it should be pure, without which, no one has a right to talk of virtue, and the mother of Ernestine had lost that right over her daughter. Too happy Minstrel! during this time thou wast forgetful in the hall of guests, of all past troubles, and one pleasant half hour effaced the remembrance of sixty years of misery. Why should we seek happiness in the upper ranks of life, in opulent fortunes, or in a multiplicity of pleasures? It is not even to be found in mutual love, and consists solely in indifference.

The Minstrel was very communicative of every adventure he had had. He related one which certainly proves that the good and evil things of this

world are distributed somewhat like a lottery. He had met at Poictiers another bagpiper from the Ardennes, where a troubadour had taught each the same tune, but adapted to different words. Alas! the recompence each received was very different. Underneath are the words that fell to the lot of our unfortunate Minstrel :

First Couplet. "Gai, Pastoureaux, Gai Pastourelles : A vos agneaux, A vos Agnelles Laissez Loisir D'aller bondir: Gai, Pastourelles, Gai, Pastoureaux.

Second Couplet. Tems de jeunesse Est tems d'amours; Tems de vieillesse Est tems de plours: Sur la Condrette Viens Bergerette,

Gai, Troubadours."

nois, and gave him twenty pieces of gold, saying, Ah! this is what may be called a gallant Minstrel, not like to that other low bred fellow with his indecent songs.'

"Now, Sir Steward, I appeal to you," continued the Minstrel,“ if I had had any wicked intention in thus pronouncing the word, which assuredly I had not; did I sing any thing very different from what the Ardennois had done? see how different our rewards were, and then let any one talk to me of justice on this earth. The lady indeed was of noble birth, and brilliant as mine own country rose, and the knight a prince of France, whose fleur-de-lis adorned his superb shield. Without knowing it, the Ardennois had flattered two noble lovers, whilst I, as ignorantly, had offended them. He received gold, and I blows. May I not therefore assert, that there is only good and evil luck in the world." This indeed was most evident in the family of the Minstrel ; for, in spite of the various evils he had

"De la fougere,

Du Dieu lutin

De la Bergere

Et du Butin."

And you will please to remark," said the Minstrel," that I pronounced, after my country fashion, the B like to P; but from what has since happened to me, I have taken good care to improve my pronunciation. You must know then, that as I was singing this air one day under the shade of a tree, and pronouncing the word Butin very indecently, a lady started out from behind some bushes, inflamed with rage, attended by a handsome knight, who ordered their varlets to beat me soundly, to teach me, as they said, to respect ladies in my songs. I was thus very unjustly punished; for, a few minutes afterwards, my brother piper arrived, ignorant of what had befallen me, and seating himself near to the same bush, wherein the couple had again hid themselves as if nothing had happened, began to chant forth the happiness of a gallant rose that on the breast of beauty doth repose, &c. &c. At these sounds, which, in good truth, were not a whit more harmonious than mine, the loving couple quitted the bush, praised most highly the Arden

had caused him to be recompensed by gayety; he still laughed, and laughed although on the brink of the grave, whilst his unfortunate daughter was pining away with love in the spring of life. Let us imitate this economy of pleasures and pains which is scattered through our passage here below,every thing invites us.

The whole monastery was delighted with the Minstrel. The Cambresian could no longer quit him; the steward had taken a liking to him; and the Lord Abbot, desirous of retaining him at Vaucelles, said to him, "are you so anxious to carry your bones to Bruges, that we cannot keep you here?" "No, truly," replied the piper," I am no way desirous to return to Bruges, where I have neither friend nor relation, nor house nor home; and I was only returning thither, because I knew not where else to lay my head." The abbot continued, "You play wonderfully well on the pipes, do you think you could blow the Serpent of the monastery? ours is just dead, and I offer you his place." "He who pretends to know most, knows least," answered the Minstrel; " in truth I I am capable of being a most excellent serpent to the abbey chapel, and you shall see to-morrow how I will make its roofs resound. But what will be

come of my wife, my daughter, and my two brats? "We will take charge of you all here," said the abbot; "your wife shall be cook to the visitors, your daughter, femme de chambre to the ladies that may come to partake of our hospitality, and your two boys shall ring the bells, and rake the walks of our garden." "You talk like Saint Bernard, your glorious patron," replied the Minstrel, transported with joy. The old woman was made acquainted with this arrangement, and consented to it, although she did not pique herself on being an excellent cook. The situation of femme de chambre was rather humiliating to Ernestine, but as it was no great fatigue, she accepted of it. The little boys were so enchanted with their employment, that they wished to enter on their business instantly; one went to the belfry and rang the bells for more than two hours, while the other broke three rakes that same evening on the garden walks.

Here then was our vagabond family fixed, and tolerably well established; they were all contented excepting Ernestine alone, whose melancholy increased with the noisy pleasures that surrounded her. All foreign joy annoys the wretched, for joy is not the lot of an impassioned heart, and it is in the season of roses that chagrin makes the deepest wounds. It was in vain that the Minstrel exerted himself to rouse his daughter from that state of languor which was consuming her; in vain did this good-natured fellow, now sufficiently master of the serpent, resume his pipes every Sunday and and feast-day, to make the girls of the environs dance; in vain he intreated his daughter to join them ;-dancing tired her, and the Morisco airs, which her father played so wondrous well, brought back bitter recollections, and increased her melancholy.

She performed her office of femme de chambre so much to the satisfaction of those ladies and damsels that caine to Vaucelles, that all of them felt a friendship, and thought her manners much superior to her situation.

Her sweetness of temper was unalterable, and, contrary to the common course of things, her misery did not affect her good humour. Shall she be then for ever the only one to whom life is become a burden in this happy monastery?

VOL. IV.

Part Fifth.

WHEN happiness has not been preceded by pain it is the less agreeable, for the value of all things is doubled by contrast. A rich man who has never been poor knows not the worth of money; and successful love, that has not met with difficulties, does not afford supreme felicity.

O handsome Amurat, what tears and sighis has the sentiment that occupies your soul caused you? You are not yet, however, at the end of your career; and are gallopping over hill and dale with the squire Sabaoth, as was formerly done by the knight of La Mancha with the faithful Sancho.

Sabaoth, dressed up in the long doctoral gown, intended for the father of Ernestine, at that time a physician, was taken for a magician all along the roads; children, at his sight, hid themselves on the breasts of their nurses, young girls ran away, old people crossed themselves, while the younger ones laughed enough to split their sides. The handsome Amurat, dressed in a gown of sky-blue, inspired other sentiments. He was thought to be a damsel of high rank, if not a princess, so brilliant were his charms, his manners so noble and interesting. The villagers shouted out as they passed, "begone, hasten from hence, thou ill-looking spectre, thou wicked mon ster, whom that beautiful lady has chosen for her companion, to increase the brightness of her charins by the contrast of thy ugliness!" While they addressed Amurat, “ Return, return, fair fugitive, and do not deprive our country of so much beauty." The two Moors, thus disguised, arrived at Madrid, and thence advanced into Arragon, where they gained some intimation of a wandering family having passed through those parts. "It must be them," said Amurat; "let us spur on, friend Sabaoth, we shall surely overtake them." "I am in no such hurry as you are," replied Sabaoth. "what care I for this vagabond family? Sir Amurat, may Mahommed protect you, but for my part, I shall return to Grenada.” “That you can no longer do," answered Amurat; "have you forgotten, that should the Castillians lay hold of you, you are of the set they burn on a slow fire? Come with me into France, there is no Inquisition in that country. We shall recover my Er

B

nestine, and you will find means to live there, as well as any where else. Your profession is not so exalted, but that you may gain by it as much in France as you did in Grenada; besides, that place must assuredly be in the hands of the Spaniards, and what could you now do there? Come with me, I say, my Ernestine is a Frenchwoman, and we shall surely find her. You are old, I am young, and I will work for Ernestine and for you; our Andalusian mares will carry us over the world; come along." Sabaoth complied, and was not the first instance of wisdom being led by folly. Folly! is there any folly that deserves so much indulgence as that of love; it excites energy in the coldest hearts, and attacks the most indifferent. The sighs of Sabaoth were almost in unison with those of Amurat, and on seeing the gambols of the shepherdesses in the plains, his heart revived, and he regretted that the time of his youth had been so much employed in stables. But let us not stop our two fugitives; they arrived at Pampeluna, following the road the Minstrel had taken; but there happened so strange an adventure to Amurat at Pampeluna, we can not pass it over. A youth of Navarre, struck with the beauty, and deceived by the dress of Amurat, took it into his head to make love to him, while he was alone in the room, and Sabaoth occupied with the care of his horses. The discourteous knight fastened the door, and was about to attempt violence on him the brave Moor smiled at first at his mistake, and without deceiving the Navarrois, began to defend himself; but the other, firmly persuaded that it was a woman, flattered himself with an easy conquest. The blows however which he received from Amurat, made him comprehend that it would not be so easy as he had imagined. He had not thought that a woman could have had so much courage and strength. He was knocked down repeatedly, and Amurat was kicking him out of the room when Sabaoth entered in amazement.

Our two adventurers arrived in France, questioning all travellers, and passing through various provinces. They had lost the thread of their inquiries, and were in despair. From Pampeluna to Vaucelles is a long way; how to succeed in so difficult an undertaking!

Sabaoth wept in the most touching and most laughable manner. The two poor Andalusian mares were knocked up-our Pilgrims, however, kept moving; not that they had any longer a hope of success, but they were less tired when travelling than when quiet. They had gained the banks of the Loire; but neither at Angers, Tours, or at Orleans, could they learn any intelligence of the Piper or of his charming daughter. At Paris they were still more unlucky, for they might have found here a thousand Arabians for one player on the pipes. There were numberless girls, but no Ernestine. God of Love, what a difference between them!!

Our Pilgrims left Paris, and took the road to Flanders. Oh Flanders! we must now return to the sorrowing Ernestine. The poor girl deserved pity-she had no longer those tints of roses and lilies, whose brilliancy could not formerly have been seen with impunity, and she was become so thin and pale, Amurat, the enamoured Amurat himself would hardly have known her. Unfortunate Amurat! as he travelled, his embarrass ments increased: for, independent of the pains of love which he equally suffered with Ernestine, his purse, and that of Sabaoth, were exhausted. They were forced, Mahommedans as they were, to go from convent to convent begging hospitality. One evening they knocked at the gate of the monastry of Vaucelles. The Minstrel was at that moment relating some of his minor adventures, which he had omitted in the history of his life, and they were all sitting round the fire. The wind whistled so loud, some said they heard mournful cries, which probably were nothing but the breeze; but the Minstrel swore that it was an apparition; he was perfectly convinced there were such, for he had seen one at Toledo with his two eyes. “One night," said he, "soon after I had come to Toledo, as I was sleeping in my bed beside my chaste companion, I heard my water-pot tumble down, which made me start up in my sleep, and, by the glimmering light of my small lamp, I noticed a man in his shirt descend from my window. He seem ed to resemble a good deal the officer of the holy brotherhood; but it certainly was an optical illusion which deceived my sight, and made me mis

take a living for a dead man. I jump ed out of my bed, and ran into the kitchen, where I passed the remainder of the night in the utmost fear, and without closing an eye."

He was at this part of the story, when they heard a loud knocking at the gate. The Minstrel trembled more than when in his bed he saw the apparition; but they laughed at his alarm, and made him go and see who was at the gate. "Who is there?" "Open to two poor travellers." The gate is opened, and the first person who presented himself to his view was Sabaoth. He thought he was the Devil, and trembled more in all his limbs than formerly in the stable at Grenada, when this flower of grooms laid the thong on his innocent shoulders. Sabaoth also knew again him whom he had taught to physic horses, and who had doctored a Žegris, but did not feel much satisfaction at it, for he was afraid that, now as the Minstrel was on his own dunghill, he might feel himself inclined to repay him all the kindness he had received at Grenada.

The Minstrel did not recollect Amurat, so much had his dress disguised him. He conducted him to the ladies' apartment, where Ernestine came to receive him, and having placed the pretended damsel in proper hands, he returned to the hall of the strangers, where he was accustomed to do the honours of the monastery to visitors in the absence of the steward.

"Sir Sabaoth, by what adventure are you reduced to ask hospitality in a Christian monastery, you who laid down the laws and gave such rude blows in those superb stables of Grenada?" "Alas," replied Sabaoth, "I may also ask you by what chain of events a Minstrel turned stable-boy, and afterward Esculapius in the kingdom of Murcia, can have fallen from such high state, as to be reduced in the Low Countries to act the part of porter to a set of Monks? But I see now my own fate, that the powerful master of our destinies, after having scattered us over this lower earth, amuses himself sometimes in making us from millers turn Bishops: It has happened to the gallant Żegris, formerly our common master. This great man, appointed General of Grenada, was conquered, Sir Minstrel, by the too fortunate Castillians, and his army

completely defeated. I was holding in readiness, behind the baggage, these same Andalusian mares whom I have seen you curricomb and purge with so much intelligence. Vain precaution !— the conqueror advanced, dispersed us, and cut off all passage to Grenada. Finding it impossible to return thither, and fearing the holy office, should I be taken by the Spaniards, I disguis ed myself, and wrapping myself up in this robe, which was then handsome, I traversed Spain, and arrived in France. But, in the mean time, before I relate to you all my disasters, could you not order me a little something to eat."

The Minstrel, who had no more gall than a dove, forgetting all that he had formerly suffered from the redoubtable Sabaoth, flew to the kitchen, and brings him the remains of an old pastry, and a flagon of champaign wine, which the faithless Mussulman finds a thousand times better than all the sour sherbet of Grenada.

Love, thou cruel and delightful god, thou recallest me to thee, and to quit the hall of the strangers to attend to what is passing in the ladies apartment. Precisely at the moment the Minstrel presented the handsome Amurat to Ernestine, this poor unfortunate was weeping over his fate, which was her usual occupation when alone-in company she contented her. self with thinking of him and sighing. "Alas," said she, "he is now without doubt no longer among the living

the holy office never quits its prey. He is dead-the beloved of my heart, my eternal torment, and yet my delight." As she was thus talking to herself, a young lady, dirtily dressed, entered the apartment; she wore a veil that covered her face, and a gown that no one would ever have guessed to have been sky blue, or a robe in which love would ever have dressed out an admirer. This awkward lady advanced, with an embarrassed and melancholy air, and with trembling steps, but without taking her eyes off the ground, towards Ernestine, who conducted her to the chamber she was to sleep in, also without looking at her.

Ye blind admirers of a blind god, neither of you know the other. Er nestine sighs-this sigh is mechanically repeated by Amurat-he seats himself-thanks her, with uplifted hands, without looking at her-Ernestine