sidi krelil (a law-book) from the Ouled Sidi Calhha, marabouts of the Ouled Medaguin. I arrived there in the evening at nightfall, and I tied up my mule, without suspicion, at the door of my host's tent. The ground was perfectly naked; there was not a single hiding-place for thieves. And, besides, I thought that the Ouled Medaguin, like other people, would respect the property of their marabouts, for fear of drawing down the vengeance of Heaven. I went to rest, then, in perfect tranquillity. During the night, I arose to go and breathe the air, and went up to a bush which I met with, at twenty paces' distance from the tent. When I lay down again, the idea of this bush continued to haunt me. It appeared to me that I had not seen it on arriving the previous evening. Nevertheless, I went to sleep again. A few instants afterwards, I was once more awake; and, casting a glance upon my mule, I perceived in front of her a bush, on which she seemed to be browsing. I looked towards the position of the other, and could see nothing of it. The two bushes were so exactly alike, that the thought struck me that perhaps the ancestor of the Ouled Sidi Calhha-Allah have mercy upon him!--had done me the favour to transport the former to my mule, to replace her straw, which was running short. I could not, in fact, admit the possibility of the bush's having travelled alone, without the aid of some supernatural power. I was puzzled and absorbed in my reflections, still gazing at my animal. All on a sudden, I observed my bush to shake and tremble; and then a man got out of it, jumped upon the back of my mule, and started off at full gallop. I was robbed. The bush was a man. It was an Ouled Medaguin-may Allah curse them! I comprehended then, to my sorrow, the marvellous travels of that diabolical bush; and that I should take the air close by it, and see nothing all the while! By the benediction of my grandfather, Si Hhamed-Allah have mercy upon him!-it is too bad.

F. R. It is certainly a singular mode of stealing.

Bou Tekrouide. Gracious Allah! there is nothing at all surprising in it. The Ouled Medaguin are always in that way. I am their kaïd, but I do not attempt to conceal their little failings. They are thieves, 'tis true; but that is the very reason why people should be cautious when they pass the night in their company.

F. R. A pleasant answer! Are you not aware that it is your duty to protect strangers, and that the orders on this subject are precise? And, then, who would mistrust a bush, and suppose it to be the means of such diabolical tricks?

B. T. But bush-thieving is well known throughout the whole country. (With some pride)-The Ouled Medaguin are the inventors of it. Under the Turks, when the police was inefficient, they practised it on a grand scale. I shall never forget the thirty camels and seventeen mares that were carried off in this way in one single night, from a caravan which came from the south to purchase grain. Fortyseven Medaguins, exactly the number of the stolen animals, transformed themselves into bushes, and insensibly approached, to be eaten by their future prey, under the very noses of the masters and the watchmen whom they had appointed. Then, at a given signal, every bush sent forth its man, and every man took possession of his beast, to the great astonishment of the people, who believed the whole thing the work of the devil, and took the Ouled Medaguins to be his ministering demons.

F. R. Faith! they were not far from the truth. The devil alone can have sent into the world such people as the Ouled Medaguin. Is there no possibility of improving them, except by utter extermination?

B. T. Oh, but they are greatly changed, ever since you have governed the country. Certainly, they

would take good care now how they played such a trick. Some time ago they decided, in their council of notables, to give up bush-thieving, as carrying things a little too far; and therefore I am greatly surprised to hear what has happened to Si Hhamed. It is really incredible.

F. R. It is perfectly credible, according to my ideas. It is, moreover, a very easy matter to set right; you will tell your people that I allow them a fortnight to restore the mule, and to catch the thief. If, at the end of that time, they have not done so, they shall reimburse its value to the owner, and pay into the treasury a fine of ten times that amount. (To Si Hhamed)-How much was your mule worth?

P. My mule! She was the handsomest mule in the place. Every one will testify that such a mule was never seen for perfection of form and swiftness of pace. She was worth at least two hundred douros. I refused a hundred and eighty at the last market.

B. T. Two hundred douros for your mule! May Sidi-Ben-Abd-Alla blind my eyes and cripple my limbs, if she was worth so much as thirty!

P. By the justice of the Master of Worlds!-by the benediction of the Holy Chamber, I have only spoken the truth! May Sidi-Bou-Krari wither my tongue, and punish me to the twentieth generation, if I have lied!

F. R. In this fashion, I see it is impossible to arrive at the truth by means of either testimony. You both of you swear with equal facility; and the assertion of the one is as good as that of the other. I shall elsewhere obtain information as to the value of the mule; and as that is not required till the interval allowed the Ouled Medaguin has elapsed, I shall have plenty of time for it. (To Si Hhamed)-You may now retire; you will return in a fortnight. (To Bou Tekrouide)-And you, remember my conditions. B. T. I will do what Allah has written. Do not require impossibilities.

F. R. I shall know how to appreciate your efforts.

ARAB LOVE.

SCENE II.-A female plaintiff is introduced, a girl of eighteen, beautiful both in face and figure, of the Arab type in its purest form, and as simply and neatly dressed as a woman of the middle rank can be. Unlike the plaintiffs of the other sex, she seems perfectly competent to state her case, and expresses herself with a clearness and decision that are rarely met with in Arab women. It is evident that she is under the influence of some genuine and powerful sentiment; in other words, that her soul is illumined by a ray of faith. She commences speaking, without requiring to be interrogated.

Plaintiff. I am come to you, because here neither justice nor truth is to be found, except amongst the French. It is useless for them to deceive us, and shut us up in our tents; we see your works, and we know you well.

French Resident. My daughter, your words impress me with a favourable opinion of you. Speak without fear; and be assured that everything possible shall be done to aid you.

P. Oh! I do speak without alarm. It is not here that a woman need be afraid-I have never felt more at ease.

F. R. Quite right, my child. What complaint have you to make? Has any injustice been done to you?

P. I will tell you all, and that truly; for you are the only one who can understand me, and support my rights. My name is Ourida Bent Douni; I am the daughter of Douni Ben, the khhab of the tribe of the Beni Todjar, and I have to complain of my own father, who wants to force me to marry his neighbour, Mammar Belasenan, an ugly and infirm old man.

F. R. How came your father to entertain so unfortunate an idea? Could he be seduced by the dowry offered by Belasenan? Does he wish, like so many others, to sacrifice his child for a few crowns?

P. No; the dowry has nothing to do with this affair. My father wishes to marry Belasenan's daughter; and Belasenan refuses to yield her, except on condition that I am given in exchange. I have resisted this with all my strength; because the man to whom I am to be transferred fills me with aversion. My refusal has brought upon me my father's anger, with blows and bad treatment of every description. They bound me fast. Here; look at my arms still bruised by the rope, which I broke or rather which (the plaintiff here falls into a most becoming state of embarrassment) which was broken for me. For, without that aid, I know not what would have become of me.

F. R. Let us see, my child; lay aside all bashfulness. It is desirable you should tell me what that aid was, although I fancy I can guess it. Since you seem to understand our nation so well, you ought to know that a sincere attachment is always respected and honoured amongst us, and that we despise only hypocrisy and falsehood. Speak without hesitation. Tell me all you have on your mind.

P. (With a burst of natural feeling.) Yes; I will tell him. And why not? Ought I to conceal anything from you? It was not I myself who broke my bonds; I had not sufficient strength for that. It was Hhabib Oulid Galb, a brave horseman, and one of your Makrezen.

F. R. Whom you prefer to Belasenan, do you not? P. Yes; I love him. Why not avow it? What harm is there in that? I had much rather die at once, than belong to any other man than him!

F. R. Good, very good, my child; your sincerity and openness of heart do you the greatest possible honour. I give you my word, you shall have satisfaction. But let me have a full and clear explanation: did Oulid Galb carry you off?

P. Oh, I am not ashamed to tell you all. We have loved each other for more than a year, ever since Ben Tâm's wedding, where he saw me dance with the women of the tribe, and where I witnessed his performance of the exercises better than any other rider of all the assembled goums. Afterwards, being aware of my father's violent temper, he often tried to persuade me to elope with him. I always refused: but my patience was at last exhausted. On finding myself bound fast and beaten, I sent Bent Soudan, our negress, to inform him; but I swear, by the head of the prophet, that we came at once straight to you.

F. R. I believe you. He accompanied you hither. He is here, then?

P. Yes, certainly, he is here; but of course he did not dare to present himself with me.

Orders are immediately given for the introduction of Oulid Galb, who does not keep the court waiting long. He is a handsome young man, with a countenance at once mild and energetic, and in complete and orderly horseman's costume. A glance is sufficient to justify the plaintiff in preferring him to the decrepit Belasenan. His attitude betrays a certain degree of uneasiness, but only from the fear lest his wishes should be disappointed.

P. (To the cavalier.) Fear nothing. I have told the Agha all: he knows everything.

Oulid Galb. (Evidently more at his ease.) Glory to Allah! You were right to tell him; for, as for me, I should have found some difficulty in doing so.

F. R. Very well. I see I shall be able to make short work of it. (To Oulid)-Will you marry this woman? (The young man shouts the most decided Yes!' that ever was heard under like circumstances.) And you will you take this man for your husband? (Ourida emits another 'Yes!' not

more pointedly affirmative, but certainly shriller, than the former one.) After your mutual consent, in the name of Allah, who has inspired your love, I declare you man and wife. (To the kadi)-Draw up the act of marriage immediately.

The Kadi. (A little out of countenance.) But, Sidi, Sidi Krelil, in the chapter on the union of the sexes

F. R. My friend, I know very well what Sidi Krelil says. He would direct me to restore the daughter to her father, and, in spite of her repugnance and her protestations, would make her marry a man whom she detests, and who is old enough to be her grandfather. But, then, you easily foresee what would happen if I were mad enough to follow his rules. Either Belasenan would murder this poor girl, or else she would elope with the man whom she loves, thereby causing a great public scandal. Is not the dilemma plain to you all? (Here a slight murmur of assent arises in the assembly, piercing the thick strata of prejudice which envelop it.) Now, since by obeying the law you want to revive, I cause an evil or a crime; and since by violating its directions, I produce nothing but good, is it not better to take the latter alternative?

The Kadi. But it is nevertheless written in the commentaries of Sidi El Khhal, that

F. R. Your Sidi El Khhal tells us no more about the matter than Sidi Krelil. Those who make laws, and those who write commentaries upon them, can say but one and the same thing; namely, that they must be obeyed. But when a law is not in harmony with the human heart, it is constantly violated, however cruel may be the penalties which enforce it. The law in question has been absurdly enacted in flagrant opposition to the human heart; and one of the two, either the law or the human heart, must necessarily sometimes give way. The law has yielded in the present instance, and why? Because the law is the work of man, while the human heart is the work of Allah. But I fear you do not comprehend this logic.

The Chiefs (in chorus, nine-tenths of whom fancy they are listening to a Chinese oration). What admirable words! It is the spirit of Allah speaking by your mouth!

F. R. (To the kadi.) Well! Does your conscience now permit you to draw up the act in question?

The Kadi (in a fit of common sense, which now and then seizes him). By the justice of Allah! With all my heart. It can do nothing but good.

F. R. Note well, all you who hear me. I wish the Arabs practised less the crimes of falsehood, theft, and murder, and more frequently married the women they love.

The Chiefs (in chorus, with a charming smile, before which the last layer of prejudice promises to vanish). Sidi Boukrari! I call that speaking!

Ben Safi. Oh, certainly. You do quite right in marrying this poor girl. I know her father, who is an old curmudgeon that would skin his own child alive for a douro.

F. R. I never had any doubts on that subject. (To the kadi)-Where is the act? There is no need to mention any dowry for the father; for if he should come to claim it, you will tell him that the blows he gave his daughter will be reckoned as a set-off against it.

The kadi draws up the act, with the usual forms, gravity, and spectacles. The precious paper is then presented, by the French resident himself, to the newmarried couple, who, in their eagerness to seize it, run a risk of tearing it in pieces. Glories to Allah, cries of joy, and innumerable benedictions, flow from their mouths. They depart at last, after two or three times mistaking their way out, in their delirium of happiness. The assembly, involuntarily affected by

the scene, and unused to a sincere display of warm and natural sentiment, are decidedly satisfied with this daring violation of the law.

THE NUN OF KENT.

IN the year 1525, Henry VIII. being king, there lived in the parish of Aldington, in Kent, a certain Thomas Cobb, bailiff or steward of the archbishop of Canterbury, who possessed an estate there. Among the servants of this Thomas Cobb was a country girl called Elizabeth Barton-a decent person, so far as one can learn, but of mere ordinary character, and until that year having shewn nothing unusual in her temperament. She was then, however, attacked by some disease, which reduced her, after many months of suffering, to that abnormal and singular condition in which she exhibited the phenomena known to modern wonder-seekers under the name of somnambulism or clairvoyance. The scientific value of such phenomena is still undetermined; but that they are not purely imaginary, is generally agreed. In the histories of all countries and of all times, we are familiar with accounts of young women of bad health and irritable nerves, who have manifested at recurring periods certain unusual powers; and these exhibitions have had especial attraction for superstitious persons. In the sixteenth century, when demoniacal possession was the explanation received of ordinary insanity, it would not seem illogical to recognise in a manifestation still more uncommon, the presence of a supernatural agency; and we cannot easily make too great allowance for the moral derangement likely to follow, when a weak girl found herself suddenly possessed of powers which she was unable to comprehend. Bearing this in mind, the story we are proceeding to relate will not be altogether unintelligible.

This Elizabeth Barton, it seems, 'in the trances, of which she had divers and many, consequent upon her illness, told wondrously things done and said in other places whereat she was neither herself present, nor yet had heard report thereof.' To simple-minded people, under the beliefs then impressed by the church, the natural explanation of such a marvel was, that she must be possessed either by the Holy Ghost or by the devil. The archbishop's bailiff, not feeling himself able to decide in a case of so much gravity, called in the advice of the parish priest, one Richard Masters; and together they observed carefully all that fell from her. The girl had been hitherto well disposed, as the priest probably knew; she had been brought up religiously; and her mind running upon what was most familiar to it, she spake words of marvellous holyness in rebuke of sin and vice;' or, as another account says, she spake very godly certain things concerning the seven deadly sins and the ten commandments.' This seemed satisfactory as to the source of inspiration. It was clearly not a devil that spoke words against sin, and therefore, as there was no other alternative, it was plain that God had visited her. Her powers being thus assuredly from Heaven, it was plain also, by a natural sequence of reasoning, that she held some divine commission, of which her clairvoyance, or whatever it was, was the miracle in attestation.

What the commission might be, was not immediately conjectured; but it was obvious that an occurrence of such moment was not to be kept concealed in the parish of Aldington; the priest mounted his horse, and rode post-haste to Lambeth with the news to the archbishop of Canterbury; and the story having lost nothing of its marvel by the way, the archbishoppoor old Warham-who was fast sinking into dotage, instead of ordering a careful inquiry, and appointing some competent person to conduct it, listened with greedy interest; assuring Father Richard that beyond

doubt the speeches which she had spoken came of God; and bidding him keep him diligent account of all her utterances.' Cobb, the bailiff, being encouraged by such high authority, would not keep any longer in his kitchen a prophetess with the archbishop's imprimatur upon her; and so, on returning, as soon as the girl was sufficiently recovered from her illness to leave her bed, he caused her to sit at his own table with his mistress and the parson. The story spread rapidly through the country; inquisitive foolish people came about her to try her skill with questions; and her illness, as she subsequently confessed, having then left her, and only her reputation remaining, she bethought herself whether it might not be possible to preserve it a little longer. Perceiving herself to be much made of, to be magnified and much set by, by reason of trifling words spoken unadvisedly by idleness of her brain, she conceived in her mind that having so good success, and furthermore from so small an occasion, and nothing to be esteemed, she might adventure further to enterprise, and essay what she could do, being in good advisement and remembrance.' So it is written of her in a Rolls House manuscript. Her fits no longer recurred naturally, but she was able to reproduce either the reality or the appearance of them; and she continued to improvise her oracles with such ability as she could command, and with tolerable success.

In this undertaking she was speedily provided with an efficient coadjutor. The Catholic Church had for some time been rather unproductive of miracles, and as heresy was raising its head and attracting converts, so favourable an occurrence as the present was not to be allowed to pass without results. The archbishop sent his comptroller to the prior of Christchurch at Canterbury, with directions that two monks whom he especially named-Doctor Bocking, the cellarer, and Dan William Hadley-should go to Aldington to observe. At first, not knowing what was before them, both prior and monks were unwilling to meddle with the matter. Beginning to inquire into it, however, they soon perceived to what account it might be turned. Bocking-selected, no doubt, from previous knowledge of his qualities-was a man devoted to his order, and not over-scrupulous as to the means of furthering its interests. He quickly discovered material in Elizabeth Barton too rich to be allowed to waste itself in a country village. Whether he himself believed in her or not, he was anxious to insure the belief of others, and he therefore set himself to assist her inspiration towards more effective utterance. Conversing with her in her intervals of quiet, he discovered that she was wholly ignorant, and unprovided with any stock of mental or imaginative furniture; and that consequently her prophecies were without body, and too indefinite to be theologically available. This defect he remedied by instructing her in the Catholic legends, and by acquainting her with the revelations of certain female saints. In these women she found an enlarged reflection of herself; the details of their visions enriched her imagery; and being provided with such fair examples, she was able to shape herself into fuller resemblance to the traditionary models.

As she became more proficient, Father Bocking extended his lessons to the Protestant controversy, which was then in its early stages of agitation; initiating his pupil into the mysteries of justification, sacramental grace, and the power of the keys. The adept damsel redelivered his instructions to the world in her moments of possession; and the world, with its great discernment, discovered a miraculous manifestation in the marvellous utterances of the untaught peasant. Lists of these pregnant sayings were forwarded regularly to the archbishop, some of which may still lie mouldering in the Lambeth library. It is idle to inquire how far the girl was as yet conscious of