An Eastern Apologue—From the French.

----I read her my manuscript; I had been abusing woman I must confess. Not a single good word could I say for the sex; and long did my companion and I battle the point. Many truisms, much that was strictly veritable had I brought forward, and she had been obliged to yield to the justice of almost all my remarks, though disclaiming against my slander at the same time. Finally—"You intend to marry, yourself?" she asked.

"Certainly," I replied; "to find a woman bold enough to take me, after having convinced her that I knew all the duplicity of the sex, will henceforward be the dearest of my hopes."

"Is this resignation or fatuity?"

"That is my secret."

"Well, then," she said, "most learned doctor of conjugal arts and sciences, permit me to relate to you a little Eastern apologue, that I read long ago in a small volume that was offered to us every year in the shape of an almanac." I bowed my delighted attention. The pretty creature threw herself back in her chaise longue, rested her little feet upon the fender, and fixed her arch dark eyes upon me.

"At the commencement of the Empire," she began, "the ladies brought into fashion a game which consisted in accepting nothing from the person with whom one agreed to play, without saying the word 'Iadeste.' An affair of this kind lasted, as you may suppose, whole weeks, and the height of cleverness was to surprise one another into receiving a trifle without uttering the magic word."

"Even a kiss?"

"Oh! I have twenty times gained 'Iadeste' in that way," said she, laughing. "It was, I believe, about this time, apropos of this game of which the origin is either Arabian or Chinese, that my apologue obtained the honours of print."

"But if I tell it to you," she interrupted, looking doubtfully at me, and passing her taper finger slowly across her lips, with a charmingly coquettish gesture, "promise me to insert it at the end of your book!"

"Will you not be bestowing a treasure? I owe you already so many obligations, I do not hesitate to add this; therefore, I accept it at once." She smiled maliciously, and went on in these words.

"A philosopher had compiled a very large collection of all the tricks our sex can play; and so, to guard himself against our wiles, he carried this constantly about him. One day, in travelling, he found himself near an Arabian encampment. A young woman, sitting under the shade of a palm-tree, got up suddenly, on the approach of the stranger, and invited him so obligingly to repose under her tent that he could not resist accepting. The husband of this lady was then absent. The philosopher had scarcely established himself upon the soft carpets, when his graceful hostess presented him with fresh dates and a vessel full of milk; he could not help seeing the rare perfection of the hands which offered the beverage and the fruit. But to recover from the confusion into which the charms of the young Arabian had thrown him, and whose snares he began to dread, the wise man drew out his book and read! The enchanting creature, piqued at this disdain, said to him in the sweetest voice, 'That book must be very interesting, since it seems to be the only thing you consider worthy of notice. Would it be an indiscretion to ask the name of the science of which it treats!' The philosopher replied without raising his eyes, 'The subject of this book is beyond the comprehension of woman.' This refusal excited more and more the curiosity of the young Arabian. She put forward the prettiest little foot that ever left its transient trace upon the fleeting sands of the desert. The sage began to waver; his truant looks would wander toward those dainty feet till his eyes, too powerfully tempted, finally mingled the flame of their admiration with the fire that darted from the ardent and black orbs of the young Asiatic. Again, then, she asked in her soft low tones, 'what is the book?' and the charmed philosopher replied, 'I am the author of this work. It contains a record of all the tricks that woman ever invented!'

"'What! all—absolutely all?' inquired the daughter of the desert.

"'Yes—all! And it is only in studying woman constantly, that I have been able to overcome my fear of them.'

"'Ah!' said the Arabian, dropping the long lashes of her snowy eyelids; and then throwing suddenly upon the pretended sage the full lustre of her Eastern eyes she made him forget in one instant his valuable book and its invaluable contents. Behold my philosopher the most impassioned of men!

"Thinking that he perceived in the manner of his young hostess a slight touch of coquetry, the stranger hazarded an avowal of his adoration. How could he have resisted? The sky was so blue, the sand shone in the distance like a blade of gold; the wind brought love upon its wings, and the wife of the absent Arab seemed to reflect all the brilliancy with which she was surrounded. Her bright eyes, too, became liquid; and she seemed, by a slight movement of her graceful head, to consent to listen to the honeyed words of the quondam philosopher.

"The wise man was in a full tide of eloquence when the distant gallop of a horse was heard rapidly approaching.

"'We are lost!' cried the alarmed Fatima; 'my husband is coming. He is jealous as a tiger, and still more fierce. In the name of the Prophet, and if you love your life, hide yourself in this chest!' The frightened author, seeing nothing else to do, rushed into the chest; his hostess shut it down, locked it, and took the key. She went to meet her spouse, and after several caresses, which put him into the best of humour, 'I must tell you,' said she, 'a very singular adventure.'

"'I listen, my gazelle,' said the Arabian, seating himself upon a cushion and crossing big legs after the Oriental fashion.

"'There came here to-day a kind of philosopher; he pretended to have collected in a book all the treacheries of which my sex is capable; and this false sage—spoke—to—me of love!'

"'Well?'

"'I listened to him!' At these words the Arab bounded like a lion, and drew his kangiar. The philosopher, from the bottom of the chest, heard all, and sent to the devil his book, woman, and all the men of Arabia Petrea.

"'Fatima!' cried the husband, if you wish to live, answer! 'Where is the traitor?'

"Horrified at the storm she had raised, Fatima threw herself at the feet of her lord, and trembling under the menacing steel of the poniard, she pointed out the coffer, with a single look, as prompt as it was timid. Then rising, ashamed, she drew the key from her girdle and gave it to her jealous lord. But—as he turned furiously from her, the malicious beauty burst into a shout of laughter, and laying her white hand upon his shoulder, 'Iadeste!' she exclaimed; 'at last, I shall have my beautiful gold chain! Give it to me; you have lost. Another time, Fazom, have a little better memory!' The husband stupefied, let fall the key, and presenting the golden chain, on his knees, offered his dear Fatima to bring her all the jewels of all the caravans that passed that year, if she would only give up such cruel methods of gaining the 'Iadeste.' Then, as he was an Arabian and did not like to lose his gold chain, though it was to his wife, he remounted his steed and went off, grumbling at his ease in the desert—for he loved Fatima too much to show her his regrets.

"At last, the young woman released the philosopher more dead than alive from his prison, and said to him, gravely,

"'Mr. Philosopher, don't forgot to insert this trick in your collection.'"