The Argosy — page 256: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

240 Ten Minutes tn a Life. Mustapha, who had been sitting aside, at first amused and then alarmed, arose to prevent hini. ‘“* Haggi Mohammed !” thundered the ad interim Sultan, “ obey | 1” The aga bowed and retired. Mehallé added, “‘ Let the imaums repair to the mosques and offer up petitions for the new sultan! Cadi- lisquier, have the tomb of Mustapha opened in Scutari!” The Sultan tried tosmile. ‘* Keepers of thetreasury,” continued Mehallé, “distribute among the poor of Stamboul the hoardings of the late Sultan !” ‘¢ Enough, buffoon !” exclaimed Mustapha, in an agitated voice, on seeing how readily his servants obeyed these strange orders. “T still command,” replied Mehallé, with calm self-possession ; “ the clock has not yet struck the hour of eight. Art thou, then, so impatient to know the fate that awaits thee?”’ The courtiers were at a loss to under- stand the mysterious scene. They looked with terror on this bold young man, invested with the insignia of power, and the Bostangi was astonished at seeing his master tremble before a strolling juggler. ‘¢ Mustapha,” continued the diviner, ‘‘I am about to tell thee the time of thy death, for the evening star has risen. Mufti, advance.” The president of the oume/a came forward. The diviner proceeded : ‘¢-You who read every day the book of our Prophet and explain it to the people, tell me how avarice and usury, drunkenness and murder, perfidy and cruelty, should be punished.” The mufti replied in a low, grave tone, “ By the Koran any one of these crimes is ‘deserving of death.” ‘Thou hearest, Mustapha? It is the Prophet who condemns thee.” As he said this he beckoned to the mutes. Mustapha tried to rush to the divan, but was seized by the slaves, who had learned to recognize the symbol of power which Mehallé wore, and the cord was passed around his neck. ‘‘Thy hour has come! I am the son of Solyman, who fell fifteen years ago in this very place, pierced with wounds from thy sword ! Thou hast counted the heads of every member of my family. Thou hast confounded the son of thy master with the child of aslave. I am the evening star: I am the Sultan Amurath !” As he thus spoke the young prince made a step forward. His lofty brow, his features, voice, manner and commanding dignity of person inspired a deep emotion in the assembly. After a moment the cry went up, “‘ Long-live Amurath!” and at the same moment the body of Mustapha fell lifeless on the marble floor. The clock had struck eight. Before the hour-hand had once again passed round the dial, largess had been profusely scattered among the populace of Stamboul, oaths of allegiance taken by officers of state, and the proclamation, ‘‘ His Highness, our very magnificent lord and master, Sultan Abdul Aziz Amurath, has ascended the throne!” trumpeted by the public crier before the mosque of St.,Sophia. ECoOMmicloooks (C(O) in —_)