prosing old fools! the beauteous princess had long made up her mind, and had never swerved from it through the tedious six years during which the doubts and discussions of those venerable old numskulls had embroiled the whole nation in the Molean and Anti-molean controversy. It was about the first hour after noon that the beautiful Babe-bi-bobu, suddenly rising from her recumbent attitude, clapped her pretty little hands, the fingers of which were beautifully tipped with henna, and beckoning to her attendants, retired gracefully from the hall of audience. The surprise and commotion was great, and what made her conduct more particular was, that the only son of the chief brahmin who had first raised the question, and headed the Anti-molist party, was at the moment of the princess's departure, prostrate before the throne, with his forehead, indeed, to the ground, but his bosom swelling high with hope and ambition. Within a bower of orange trees, in the deep recesses of the royal gardens, to which she had hastened, sat the panting princess. She selected some flowers from those which were scattered round her, and despatched them to her favourite musician and attendant, Acota. Who was there in the whole kingdom of Souffra who could so sweetly touch the mandolin as Acota? Yet, who was there, not only in Souffra, but in all the adjacent countries, who struck such occasional discordant notes as Acota, and that in the ear of the beautiful princess Babe-bi-bobu, who, far from being displeased, appeared to approve of his occasional violence, which not only threatened to crack the strings of the instrument, but the tympanums of those who were near, who longed to escape, and leave the princess to enjoy the dissonance alone, little thinking that the discord was raised that their souls' harmony might be undisturbed by the presence of others, and that the jarring of the strings was more than repaid to the princess, by the subsequent music of Acota's voice. Acota seated himself, at a signal from the princess, and commenced his playing, if such it could be called, thrumming violently, and jarring every chord of his instrument to a tone of such dissonance, that the attendant girls put their fingers into their ears, and pitied the beautiful Babe-bi-bobu's bad taste in music. "Ah! Acota," said the princess, opening upon him all the tenderness of her large and beaming eyes, "how weary am I of sitting on my cushion, and seeing fop after fop, fool after fool, dawdle down upon their faces before me; and, moreover, I am suffocated with perfumes. Strike your mandolin again louder, beloved of my soul--still louder, that I may be further relieved of this unwished-for crowd."