said a plump little lady, proudly speaking of
her position in the anderoon, to a lady of my
acquaintance—"he likes me best, because I am
fat and soft, like a feather-bed." So it happens
that the connexion between husbands and wives
being of so light a kind, when a man falls into
disgrace his wives and relatives take part against
him, and their first concern is to ask for their
dowry and divorce.

When a man dies, his widows go, according
to an immemorial custom in the East, to
his nearest relative, who is bound to support
them. If they be young, he finds them new
husbands; if old, food, raiment, and a
home.

Besides the regular wives, there is a class of
legalised concubines called "Seegas;" but the
seega is merely looked upon as a servant: never
eating or associating habitually with her master.
These women, however, are said to be more
faithful in misfortune than wives are. Their
children, as well as natural children generally,
inherit property just as if they had been born of
wives.

I cannot close this paper upon Persian
women without telling a true and pathetic
story which seems to unsay much that I have
written. It is indeed a bright and noble exception
to the sad and general fact. The ex-prime
minister of Persia was married to a sister of
the king. All accounts concur in representing
the ameer as a man of a most princely and
gallant presence. He was essentially a Persian
minister, and most enlightened and patriotic in
his endeavours to serve the country which he
governed with almost unlimited power. His
morals were stainless; his honour was untainted
by suspicion. Magnanimous, uncorrupt, merciful,
liberal, forgiving, history in vain looks for his
parallel among the modern Persians. He made
roads, he encouraged agriculture, he fostered
trade, he suppressed the torture and cruel
punishments, he erected hotels for travellers,
and new bazaars. Fairly judged, he was,
perhaps, the most remarkable Oriental ruler of his
time.

But it was said that he had the love of state
and splendour often noticeable in such men:
the fondness for display which characterised
Bacon, Wolsey, and Cardinal Richelieu. If
the charge were true—as perhaps it was—it
is still a question whether policy had not more
to do with it than ostentation. For in many
places in this world—and in Persia especially
—it is necessary to govern a great deal by
the eye; ad a great man, to be duly
respected, must carry his rank about with
him. It was whispered that he went abroad
with more magnificence than the king. A
kitchen boy was then got to say that he
had been bribed to poison meat for the royal
table. So, in a day, the ameer was hurled
from power, and became a fugitive and an
outlaw.

By the intervention of the European embassies
his life was spared for a time, but he was ordered
to leave the capital. His wife, as devoted as
she was beautiful, good, and young, accompanied
him. She never left him, by day or by night,
always making a point of eating with him : for
she knew that they would not poison her. Still,
for greater precaution, they lived chiefly upon
boiled eggs. But his enemies feared him as
long as he remained alive, and they determined
to destroy him by stratagem. They sent one
of those cunning old women who always do the
mischief in Persia, and who decoyed the royal
lady into the garden under pretence of seeing
a messenger from the king. This messenger
told her that her husband was pardoned,
and that he was to go to the bath, where a
robe of honour awaited him, and he would
be reinvested with all his former dignities.
She let him go. When in the bath, the chief
executioner came to him. The ameer was
a strong man, and the executioner was afraid.
Perhaps, too, his conscience smote him, for he
owed place and fortune to the fallen minister.
But nothing is more remarkable in Persia than
the despotic power of the king, and the abject
slavishness with which his most cruel edicts
will be executed. The ameer, being offered
his choice of deaths, selected poison, and as it
did not act quickly enough, veins were opened
in his arms and thighs. As soon as he was
dead, his wife was given in marriage to the son
of his successor in office. But it is said that
she was inconsolable, and that she never forgot
the husband she had loved so well, and whom
she had tried to save with devoted
tenderness.

            ON THE WASTE.

WOE-BEGONE and weak, and thinly clad,
      Struggling o'er the moorland through the gloom,
Why should one so innocent and sad
      Rove so late, on such an eve, from home?
Then—it was a child who did reply—
"One is left at home, about to die;
Nothing of the rain, and nought of wind
Makes me chill, while on I haste, to find
                 Aid and relief."

Proud rode by, upon his horse all fire,
      Soldier, glorious in array to see,
Swart his lip, his eyes astir with fire:
      Why so fierce, in such lone place is he?
Then, with anger tossed upon the wind,
Swore the knight, "My comrade is maligned;
What care I for wine-cup on the road?
What care I for miscreant foes abroad,
                 Who seek one thief?"

Both have passed; the pale and weary child,
       Next, the man of war; and, darker brown,
Lo! on pool and tuft of heather wild,
        How the storm from Heaven is bursting down!
Now, a barefoot priest, the weltering moss,
Will, despite of night and tempest, cross.
"Stay me not, but Benedicite,"
With a smile and panting voice, says he,
                  "There waiteth grief."

O three pilgrims of the wilderness,
      Where love starves and beauty chills to death,
I think how each takes part in some distress,
       Old as earth, the eternal Heaven beneath;