“No one, prince,” replied the sultan, “deserves greater commisseration than yourself; nor can any one be more sensible of your misfortune than I am. A more extraordinary fate can never have happened to any; and they, who may hereafter compose your history, will be able to relate an event the most surprising of any hitherto recorded. One thing only is wanting to complete it, and that is for you to be revenged: nor will I leave any thing untried to accomplish it.” The sultan having first informed the prince who he was, and the reason of his entering the castle, consulted with him on the best means of affording him a just revenge; and a plan occurred to the sultan, which he directly communicated. They then agreed upon the steps it was necessary to take, in order to insure success; and they deferred the execution of the plan till the following day. In the mean time, as the night was far advanced, the sultan took some repose. The young prince, as usual, passed his time in continual watchfulness; for he was unable to sleep since his enchantment: the hopes, however slight, which he cherished of being soon relieved from his sufferings constantly occupied his thoughts. The sultan rose as soon as it was day; and having concealed his robe and external dress, which might incumber him, he went to the Palace of Tears. He found it illuminated by a multitude of torches of white wax; and a delicious perfume issuing from various beautiful golden vases, regularly arranged, struck his senses. As soon as he perceived the bed on which the black was laid, he drew his sabre, and destroyed, without resistance, the little remains of life in this wretch. He then dragged the body into the court of the castle, and threw it into a well. Having done this he returned, and laid down in the black’s place, hiding his sabre under the covering, and remained there in order to complete what he projected. The enchantress arrived soon after: her first business was to go into the apartment where the king of the Black Isles, her husband, was. She directly stripped him, and, with unexampled barbarity, began to inflict upon his shoulders the accustomed number of blows. The poor prince filled the whole building with his cries, and conjured her in the most pathetic manner to have pity on him: the wretch, however, ceased not to beat him till she had completed the hundred. “Thou hadst no compassion on my lover,” said she, “expect therefore none from me.” As soon as she had finished, she threw the coarse garment made of goat-skin over him, and then the robe of brocade. She next went to the Palace of Tears; and, on entering, began to renew her lamentations. When she approached the couch where she thought her lover always remained, she exclaimed, “What cruelty to have thus destroyed the tranquil joy of so tender and fond a mistress as I am! Cruel prince, thou reproachest me with being inhuman, when I make thee feel the effects of my resentment, and has