will not be surrendered like the head of a slave."

These rapidly pronounced words were instantly followed by a pistol-shot
which wounded Hassan in the thigh. Swift as lightning, a second killed
the keeper of the wardrobe, and the guards, firing at the same time,
brought down several officers. Terrified, the Osmanlis forsook the
pavilion. Ali, perceiving blood flowing from a wound in his chest,
roared like a bull with rage. No one dared to face his wrath, but shots
were fired at the kiosk from all sides, and four of his guards fell dead
beside him. He no longer knew which way to turn, hearing the noise made
by the assailants under the platform, who were firing through the boards
on which he stood. A ball wounded him in the side, another from below
lodged in his spine; he staggered, clung to a window, then fell on the
sofa. "Hasten," he cried to one of his officers, "run, my friend, and
strangle my poor Basilissa; let her not fall a prey to these infamous
wretches."

The door opened, all resistance ceased, the guards hastened to escape by
the windows. Kursheed's sword-bearer entered, followed by the
executioners. "Let the justice of Allah be accomplished!" said a cadi.
At these words the executioners seized Ali, who was still alive, by the
beard, and dragged him out into the porch, where, placing his head on one
of the steps, they separated it from the body with many blows of a jagged
cutlass. Thus ended the career of the dreaded Ali Pacha.

His head still preserved so terrible and imposing an aspect that those
present beheld it with a sort of stupor. Kursheed, to whom it was
presented on a large dish of silver plate, rose to receive it, bowed
three times before it, and respectfully kissed the beard, expressing
aloud his wish that he himself might deserve a similar end. To such an
extent did the admiration with which Ali's bravery inspired these
barbarians efface the memory of his crimes. Kursheed ordered the head to
be perfumed with the most costly essences, and despatched to
Constantinople, and he allowed the Skipetars to render the last honours
to their former master.

Never was seen greater mourning than that of the warlike Epirotes. During
the whole night, the various Albanian tribes watched by turns around the
corpse, improvising the most eloquent funeral songs in its honour. At
daybreak, the body, washed and prepared according to the Mohammedan
ritual, was deposited in a coffin draped with a splen