al dispositions; the evil spirits, whose nature
is malicious, and whose deeds are destructive, haunt, for the most
part, the wildest and most barren spots, living in dark damp caverns
deep below the earth, and bestride at night the pestilential winds to
visit the men on the fertile southern coasts of Asia. The good spirits
live in cool grottoes in the beautiful and fertile parts near springs,
and often with the morning dawn soar through the air to Arabia, Persia,
and India, to refresh and accompany those men who render themselves
worthy of their assistance. The Eastern nations call this unknown
wonderful land Ginistan; and though knowing it to be on the earth, they
yet think it inaccessible, and separate it from all the inhabited
countries of the globe.

In one of these beautiful grottoes, where clear crystals forced
themselves like icicles through stones glittering with ore, the lovely
Gulhyndi for the first time reopened her eyes, being roused by a
rippling spring in the back ground, which gushed down into a basin of
polished jasper. The limpid stream served her as a mirror when she
awoke, and there she saw herself reflected in the most charming
morning-dress. After having contemplated herself for a moment, she
uttered a sigh of wonder: all around her became animated. From the
streamlet rose nymphs with rushes in their hair, the water still
flowing from their snowy bosoms; in their hands they had instruments
which they held against the rippling of the stream, and these struck
the cords and produced wonderful sounds. In the trees hung beautiful
boys with wings of splendid colours; their golden locks flowed from
their heads like foliage, and a glow like that of the rising sun beamed
from their rosy cheeks. From the clefts in the rocks fantastic figures
stretched forth their faces, pale, mournful faces, with crowns of gold
and precious stones on their heads, holding silver gongs in their
hands, on which were suspended silver bells, which they struck.
Gulhyndi's astonishment was at its height, when she heard these
singular creatures sing the following words:

"Mountains, rivers, breezes fleet,
Greet thee, sweet.
Greet thee in the dew drop's bright,
Queen of light.
The night has lull'd the rose's child,
Soft and mild,
Has she wrapp'd it in her veil,
But its leaves are opened all
When sunbeams fall
Warmly at morn into the vale.
And thy fate has been the same.
Thy soft frame
Died