yn opened his little box and found it filled with
pastilles of divers forms and colours. He was almost tempted to laugh at
the meanness of such a gift, when he perceived these words written on
the lid of the box--"_Each time that thou eatest one of these pastilles,
thine imagination will bring forth a poem perfect in all its parts,
sublime and delicate in its details, such in short as will surpass the
ablest works of the best Persian poets._"

Osmyn did not want vanity; the possession of so fine a secret failed not
to turn his young brain, and a hundred illusions of fortune and glory
presented themselves at once to his imagination.

From the value of the present given by the genius to his brother, Zambri
doubted not that his paper contained also some marvellous secret. He
opened it and read with as much surprise as sorrow--"_A new Receipt for
preparing Sherbet._" Some lines pointed out the method of composing a
liquor, of which one drop only being infused in a bowl of Sherbet, would
give it a taste and perfume hitherto unknown to the most voluptuous
Asiatics.

Osmyn was overjoyed, and Zambri was in despair; Osmyn wished not to quit
his brother, but the orders of the genius were imperative. The two
brothers embraced each other tenderly, shed tears, and separated. The
eldest took the road to Bagdad, where all the learned, and all the poets
of Asia were assembled to attend the court of the Caliph. As to poor
Zambri, he quitted the cottage of his father, carrying nothing with him
but _the humble receipt for preparing Sherbet_, and leaving to chance
the direction of his course.

Before his arrival at Bagdad, Osmyn had already eaten half-a-dozen of
the pastilles, and consequently carried with him half-a-dozen poems,
beside which were to fade the productions of the greatest Eastern poets.
But he soon found that pretenders to talent often succeed better than
those who really possess it. He felt the necessity of connecting himself
with literary men, and men of the world; but he only found them occupied
with their business, their pleasures, or their own pretensions. Under
what title could he present himself? Under that of a poet? The court and
the city overflowed with them; they had already filled every avenue. To
consult his fellows would be to consult his rivals; to ask their praises
would be to ask a miser for his treasures. Besides, so many books
appeared, that people did not care to read. However, Osmyn's works were
publ