re scarcely needed this additional excitement to this glorious day.
But the people cheered, the golden dirhems were scattered with renewed
profusion, and the intelligence was received by all parties as a solemn
ratification by Jehovah, or by Allah, of the morning ceremony.

The sun set, the court rose, and returned in the same pomp to the
serail. The twilight died away, a beacon fired on a distant eminence
announced the entrance of Alroy and Schirene into the nuptial chamber,
and suddenly, as by magic, the mighty city, every mosque, and minaret,
and tower, and terrace, and the universal plain, and the numberless
pavilions, and the immense circus, and the vast and winding river,
blazed with light. From every spot a lamp, a torch, a lantern, tinted
with every hue, burst forth; enormous cressets of silver radiancy beamed
on the top of each chartak, and huge bonfires of ruddy flame started up
along the whole horizon.

For seven days and seven nights this unparalleled scene of rejoicing,
though ever various, never ceased. Long, long was remembered the bridal
feast of the Hebrew prince and the caliph's daughter; long, long did the
peasantry on the plains of Tigris sit down by the side of that starry
river, and tell the wondrous tale to their marvelling posterity.

Now what a glorious man was David Alroy, lord of the mightiest empire
in the world, and wedded to the most beautiful princess, surrounded by
a prosperous and obedient people, guarded by invincible armies, one on
whom Earth showered all its fortune, and Heaven all its favour; and all
by the power of his own genius!

CHAPTER IX.

_The Death of Jabaster_

'TWAS midnight, and the storm still raged; 'mid the roar of the thunder
and the shrieks of the wind, the floods of forky lightning each instant
revealed the broad and billowy breast of the troubled Tigris. Jabaster
stood gazing upon the wild scene from the gallery of his palace. His
countenance was solemn, but disquieted.

'I would that he were here!' exclaimed the high priest. 'Yet why should
I desire his presence, who heralds only gloom? Yet in his absence am I
gay? I am nothing. This Bagdad weighs upon me like a cloak of lead: my
spirit is dull and broken.'

'They say Alroy gives a grand banquet in the serail to-night, and toasts
his harlot 'mid the thunderbolts. Is there no hand to write upon the
wall? He is found wanting, he is weighed, and is indeed found wanting.
The parting of his kingdom s