eking for them. In short, in an instant, he brought forth a true
_chef-d'oeuvre_ of malice.

He continued some moments in ecstacy with his work, and carried it in
triumph to his friends--or rather to his accomplices. The satire was
received with the liveliest applause: it was the pure and vigorous style
of Osmyn. The writer had imitated his handwriting; and soon the libel
was spread about in his name.

Murmurs arose on all sides against the ingratitude of Osmyn. The satire
fell into the hands of the Caliph, who in his rage ordered the
unfortunate Osmyn to be stript of all his property, and driven from
Bagdad. Osmyn, overpowered by the blow, could not defend himself;
besides, how could he make his innocence heard amidst the cries of his
calumniators.

After having wandered a long time, every where imploring pity--sometimes
meeting with kindness, but oftener repulsed with selfishness--he
arrived, at nightfall, before a superb country house, magnificently
illuminated. He heard the accents of joy mingled with the sounds of a
brilliant concert of music, and saw all the signs of a splendid fete.
However, the thunder began to roll, the sky was obscured by heavy
clouds, and Osmyn's miserable clothing was soon drenched by the rain.

He approached this beautiful house, in hopes to find there, if not
hospitality for the night, at least an asylum for some minutes. The
slaves perceived him, and said to him harshly--"What do you ask,
beggar?"

"A humble shelter from the storm, a morsel of bread to appease my
hunger, and a little straw to rest my body on, borne down by fatigue."

"Thou shalt have none of these."

"For pity--"

"Begone!"

"See how it rains!--Hear how it thunders!"

"Go elsewhere, and come not to disturb by thy presence the pleasures of
our master."

Osmyn was on the point of obeying this order, when the master of the
house, who had witnessed this scene from a window, came down, called his
slaves, and ordered them to receive the unfortunate man, to procure him
clothes, a bed, and all he was in need of. "Misery," said he, "misery is
for him who revels in the presence of the poor, and suffers them to
plead for assistance in vain; and misfortune for the rich who, cloyed
with luxuries, refuse a morsel of bread to a famishing stranger. Poor
traveller, go and repose thyself, and may the Prophet send thee
refreshing slumbers, that thou mayst for a time forget thy sufferings."

"Oh Heaven!" cried Osmyn, "what vo