re, again
entered the hall of audience, and found to her surprise, that there
remained out of the many thousands of young rayahs, not fifty who could
pretend to the honour of her hand and throne. Among them, no longer
dressed as a musician, but robed in the costume of his high caste, stood
the conscious and proud Acota, and, although his jewels might not have
vied with those worn by others who stood by him, yet the brightness of
his eyes more than compensated. Next to Acota stood Mezrimbi, the son of
the chief Brahmin, and he, only, could be compared to Acota in personal
beauty; but his character was known--he was proud, overbearing, and
cruel. The beauteous Babe-bi-bobu feared him, for there was a clause in
her father's will, by which, if the first choice of the princess should
prove by any intermediate accident to be ineligible, his father, the
chief Brahmin, was empowered to make a selection for the princess, and
his decision was to be equally inviolable. The beauteous eyes of the
princess first lighted upon the form of Mezrimbi, and she trembled, but
the proud bearing of Acota reassured her, and waving her hand as she
sat, she addressed the assembled youths as follows:--

"Faithful and gentle rayahs, impute it to no want of modesty that, for
once, I sink the graceful bashfulness of the virgin, and assume the more
forward deportment of the queen. When all appear to possess such merit,
how can I slight all but one by my decision? Let me rather leave it to
the immortal Vishnu to decide who is most worthy to reign over this our
kingdom of Souffra. Let Vishnu prompt you to read your destiny; I have
placed a flower in this unworthy bosom, which is shortly to call one of
you its lord. Name then, the flower, and he who first shall name it, let
him be proclaimed the lawful king of Souffra. Take then, your
instruments, noble rayahs, and to their sounds, in measured verse, pour
out the name of the hidden flower, and the reason for my choice. Thus
shall fate decide the question, and no one say that his merits have been
slighted."

Having finished her address, the beauteous princess let fall her veil,
and was silent. A shout of applause was followed by wild strummings and
tunings of mandolins, and occasional scratching of heads or turbans, to
remember all that Hafiz had ever written, or to aid their attempts at
improviso versification. Time flew on, and no one of the young rayahs
appeared inclined to begin. At last one stepped