One of the rajahs of Hindostan had a beautiful wife, whom he loved better than all the rest of his women. A young man, who was originally his barber, gained his confidence to such a degree, that nothing could be done but through his interest. The rajah, having accepted an invitation to an annual festival held at a great distance, trusted every thing to the integrity of this prime minister. Before his master had been gone a week, the villain dared to make love to his favorite wife. She treated him with indignation and scorn, and threatened, if he continued to repeat professions of his love, that she would expose his baseness. He knew the rajah had a most fiery and impetuous temper, and he at once resolved how to escape danger, and to be revenged upon his virtuous victim. He sought an interview with his master the very first moment he returned, and by a tissue of plausible falsehoods, made him believe that his favorite wife was a faithless creature, entirely unworthy of his confidence. The rajah, in a fit of blind fury, flew into the zananah, and without speaking a word, murdered the beautiful object of his recent attachment. The circumstance was soon forgotten; for such murders were common, and punishable by no laws. Even the nearest relatives of the deceased did not ask the reason of such violence. Thus precarious must all attachments be where moral and intellectual sympathy have no share in the union. After a considerable time had elapsed, one of the rajah’s wives, on her death-bed, said she had something important to disclose to her husband; the guilty favorite immediately imagined that his murdered victim had made her a confident of his infamous designs, and he fled with all possible precipitation. His fears proved true; the dying wife disclosed the whole history of his treachery. The rajah tore his hair, and ran round the palace like a madman. Horsemen were despatched in every direction, but the wicked minister escaped. The agonized prince did all he could--he raised a splendid temple to the memory of his murdered wife. Within the temple is her image, the eyes of which are costly diamonds. The unfortunate rajah at last went mad. He would look at his hands, and wash them a hundred times a day; but he could not cleanse the blood from his memory. The Hindoo women frequently follow their husbands to battle, and perish by their side. Rather than fall into the power of conquering enemies, they often commit suicide, or entreat their husbands to kill them.