scus; and the latter,
under that of Sala-Solo, his father-in-law, Prince of Gondar. All
misfortunes seemed to shower at once upon the unfortunate Mansoor. He
made what military preparations he could, although his powers had
already been taxed nearly to the utmost to repress the Arabs, and sent
ambassadors to soften the wrath of his enemies. They would accept,
however, no composition; and continued to close in upon him, one from
the north, the other from the south, threatening destruction to the
whole country.

The miserable king now began to repent of having wished for a child.
But he could not help loving Ali, in spite of all things; indeed, he
perhaps loved him the more for the misfortunes he seemed to have
brought. At anyrate, he spent night and day by his side, saying to
himself, that yet a few days, and the fifteen years would be passed,
and the boy at least would be safe. He was encouraged to hope by the
slow progress of the two armies, which seemed bent more on enjoying
themselves, than on performing any feats of arms.

But there was an enemy more terrible than these two--namely, Lulu, the
mother of the murdered child Ali, who had thrown aside her woman's
garments, and become a mighty warrior, for the sake of her revenge.
She wielded the 'sword of good-luck;' and hearing of the approach of
the two armies, feared that her projects might be interfered with by
them. So she collected her forces, marched down to the city-walls,
attacked them at night, was victorious, and before morning entirely
possessed the place, with the exception of the subterranean retreat of
King Mansoor, which it seemed almost impossible to take by force. She
manned a large number of boats, came beneath the water-wall, and
summoned the garrison to surrender; but they remained silent, and
looked at the king, who stood upon the terrace, with his long white
beard reaching to his knees, offering to parley, in order to gain
time. Lulu, however, drawing the 'sword of good-luck,' ordered ladders
to be placed, and mounting to the storm, gained a complete
victory--all the garrison being slain, and Mansoor flying to his child
in the interior chambers. Here the bereaved mother, hot for vengeance,
followed, her flaming weapon in hand, and thrusting the trembling old
man aside, smote the youth to the heart, crying: 'King Mansoor, be as
miserable as Lulu, the mother of Ali.' He understood who it was, and
cried and beat his breast, incapable of other action