THE SULTANA IN HER STATE ARRHUBA.

93

One evening, Mélanie, more dispirited and paler than usual, was in the drawingroom with her pupils, who were paying in that apartment their customary evening visit. Among the guests she recognized the helpless wanderer, whom, three years before, at every hazard, she had befriended. The recognition was mutual; Mélanie was introduced to the parents of the young nobleman; and by them every kindness and attention which gratitude could suggest, was lavished upon her. She frequently visited them; and their son, from whose memory Mélanie, with her goodness, her talents, and her beauty, had never passed away, soon learned to love her with a deep and lasting affection. She became his happy wife; was honoured and beloved by his noble relatives; and often, in after years, did her devoted husband revert with joy and thankfulness to their sad, yet most blessed FIRST MEETING.

THE SULTANA IN HER STATE ARRHUBA.

NOTHING more forcibly strikes a European traveller in the East, than the utter difference which exists between Eastern and Western manners. Everything, indeed, is new the scenery is new; the character of Eastern vegetation is new; the style of dress and of domestic furniture is altogether new; but the total change of social customs and manners is the circumstance which, above all others, arrests the attention of the Western stranger.

The accompanying plate represents the mode in which Eastern ladies, of the highest rank, are accustomed to enjoy the beauties of external nature. The ponderous carriage, placed on wheels, indeed, but destitute of springs; the gaudy carving and gilding by which it is supposed to be adorned; the long-horned oxen which drag it, having their tails tied to the singular tassels which dangle from its front, the skin of their foreheads stained, like the Turkish ladies' nails, with henna, and wearing amulets on their noses; all these things may well attract the notice of an English observer; as may also the half-bald Greek arrhubagee, who, equally patient with themselves, leads the patient oxen by the horns; but these circumstances, strange as they are, are less interesting to him as indications of national character, than is the black eunuch, who walking next the carriage, with a drawn sword in his hand, threatens instant death to the passenger who shall dare to glance at the sacred charge within. Formerly it was in Turkey the indispensable usage, that every arrhuba should be closely covered by silken curtains; and while that usage prevailed, the imprisoned ladies, debarred alike from the enjoyment of fresh air and beautiful scenery, could neither see, nor be seen, except when a breeze more powerful than usual, or the jolting of a vehicle without

springs upon an uneven road, moved the curtains aside, and revealed, for a moment, the unfortunate beauties concealed within. Some approximation to European habits has of late removed these silken curtains, and even open carriages, on springs, built after the English fashion, and filled by the usually secluded females of the harem, have been seen in the Turkish capital. Still, however, it is but too true, that a woman of the highest rank in Mohammedan countries, is half an idol, half a slave; slavery unmitigated, being the lot of females of the lower classes.

English women! while you contemplate the abject condition of your Eastern sisters, forget not to be thankful for the privileges which Christianity has bestowed upon yourselves!

The accompanying plate represents the Sultana driving from her palace at Eyoub, through the Valley of the Sweet Waters.

Fair Beauty of an Eastern land,

Thy glowing cheek is scarcely fann'd

By softest odours of the sky,

Or breezes borne from Araby;

Thy tresses shine with pearl and gem,

Meet for a queenly diadem;

Around thee slaves and damsels wait;

All pomp and splendour, outward state,

Is thine, fair lady of the East;
Yet sorrow fills a Christian breast,
To think thy soul is dark as night;

That no bright ray of heaven's own light

Hath taught thy heart to rise above
Earth's fading joys and dying love!
Do no sad thoughts or gloomy fears
Oppress thee? Do no silent tears
Bedew thy cheek's rich, rosy hue,
Or dim thine eye's dark, lustrous blue,
When musing on that solemn day,
When glittering pride must pass away,
And round thee close the clouds of gloom,

Like shadows darkening o'er the tomb?

'Tis sad to gaze upon that brow,

Those smiling lips, whose ruby glow

Might mock the flowers that round thee spring,

And know that joy can o'er thee fling

But a faint, momentary ray,—

A trembling beam that may not stay!