Of this remarkable man the name unfortunately is lost. But, happily for literature and for posterity, he had two remarkable daughters, of whom the eldest has won an extraordinary reputation in the East, where she stands, indeed, at the very head of literature. At the period with which this history deals she was young and beautiful. She had a courage above her sex, remarkable penetration, and genius unbounded. She had read everything, and her memory was so wonderful that of all she had read she forgot nothing. She had studied history, philosophy, medicine, and the arts, and her verses were acknowledged to be better than those of the most distinguished poets of her time. As has been said, her beauty was ravishing, and her amiability and her virtue rivalled her wit, her memory, her prudence, her accomplishments, and her personal loveliness. One day, when the sub-editor had white paper before him, wondering how he should make up the "schedule" for his next number, this lovely girl came to him and said, "Papa, grant me a boon!" and she kissed him. And he said, "A thousand, my darling." "Though they should cost you the half of your kingdom, papa?" "Though they should cost me the whole, my darling," said the fond father rashly. The girl clapped her hands and cried, "Victory! victory! Papa, I want to write the first article for the next number of the 'Friend of the City.'" Oh, how agonized was her poor father! How he begged her to release him from his fatal promise! but in vain. The girl was determined. She had her father's word, and she would not let him go. "Dear child," he said, "have you lost your senses? You know that the chief cuts off the head of each contributor as soon as she has received the advanced copy of the magazine. Do you really ask me to offer you to the knife?" "Yes, papa," said the brave girl; "I know all the danger that I run, and it does not deter me. If I die, my death will be glorious. If I live, I save my country." And at last the wretched father, driven to a partial consent by his daughter's firmness, went to the editor-in-chief with the schedule of the number for his approval, and showed to him that the first article on the fatal list, namely, "THE TRAVELLING MERCHANT," was "BY SCHEHEREZADE." The editor knew the name full well, and he knew that the author was the sub-editor's daughter. "Dog," said he, "do you suppose that because I am fond of you and use you, I shall spare your cursed house more than any other house in Delhi?" The poor sub-editor, all in tears, said that he had no such hope. "Be not deceived," said the editor. "When you bring to me your daughter Scheherezade's article, you take her life with your own hands."