Mohabat, a brave man, to whom this fortunate conclusion of the war was in great degree owing, was at first greatly caressed by the emperor; but having many enemies, among whom had long been the sultana and her brother, one Chan Chanan, who imputed the death of his son to Mohabat, accused him of high treason; and the accusation getting to the emperor's ears, who was naturally suspicious, he enquired into it, and finding some things which gave colour to the report, forgot the services of that general, and ordered him to court. He went, but with but five thousand men to protect him. He was ordered to account, before he preseuted himself to the emperor, for some part of his conduct; and, curaged at the affront, sent his son-in-law to complain of it. But the emperor sent the young man back with great indignity. Determined to secure himself, and to be revenged, Mohabat surprised Jehangire in his tent, took him prisoner; and, though with a show of respect, made him obey his wishes implicitly.

The sultana had made her escape in the mean time; but, Mohabat, who considered her as partly the source of his disgrace, determined to get her in his power. She was the messenger of the disaster to her brother, and cousulted with him on the properest means of rescuing the emperor, whose attendants she vehemently accused of negligence and cowardice. The emperor sent them word to desist; but, as he was under the influence of Mohabat, who still held him prisoner, they did not think themselves obliged to obey. They had to fight the enemy, at a great disadvantage. The sultana was not a tame spectator of the battle. Mounted on an elephant, she plunged into the stream with her daughter by her side. The young lady was wounded in the arm; but her mother pressed forward. Three of her elephant drivers were successively killed; and the elephant received three wounds in the trunk. She, in the mean time, emptied four quivers of arrows on the enemy, whose soldiers pressed into the stream to seize her; but the master of her household, mounting the elephant, turned him away, and carried her out of the river, notwithstanding her threats and commands. The imperialists behaved with great gallantry, and gained ground, but were in the end repulsed with great slaughter. They dispersed, and the sultana found means to escape to Lahore. Mohabat invited the visier to the camp, with assurances of safety, but he would not trust him; with

Noor Jehan he was more successful. She was scarcely arriven at Lahore, when she received letters from the emperor. He acquainted her that he was treated with respect by Mohabat, and that matters were amicably settled between them. He conjured her, therefore, as she regarded his peace and safety, to lay aside all hostile preparations, and to follow him to Cabul, where of his own free choice he directed his march. Noor Jehân did not long hesitate. When she arrived, troops were sent out by Mohabat, by way of doing her honour. But they were her keepers, and not her guards; they surrounded her tent, and watched her motions. Having got her in his power, Mohabat soon threw off the mask, and accused her publicly of treason. He affirmed, that she had conspired against the empeo, by estranging from him the hearts of his subjects; that her haughtiness was the source of publie calamities, her malignity the ruin of many individuals; that the most cruel and unwarrantable actions had been done, from her capricious orders in every part of the empire; that she had even extended her views to the throne, by favouring the succession of Shariar, under whose feeble administration she hoped to govern India at pleasure. He therefore insisted that she should be made an example of. "You, who are emperor of the Moguls!" said he to Jehangire, whom we look upon as something more than human, ought to follow the exainple of God, who has no respect to persons."

Jehangire felt his situation, and signed the warrant for her death. The dreadful message was delivered to the sultana; she heard it without emotion. "Imprisoned sovereigns," said she, "lose their right to life with their freedom; but permit me for once to see the emperor, and to bathe with my tears the hand that has sealed my doom." She was brought before her husband, in the presence of Mohabat. When in his sight, Jehangire was again sensible of the charms which lost ther force in absence. Her beauty shone with additional lustre through her sorrow. She uttered not one word, Jehangire burst into tears; "will you not spare this woman, Mohabat ?" said he," you see how she weeps." Mohabat answered, "the emperor of the Moguls should never ask in vain.” The guards retired from her, at a wave of his hand; and she was restored that instant to her former attendants.

Mohabat had now all but the outward pomp of power; and, under the name of the emperor, who seemed

to have forgotten all resentment, governed the kingdom for six months: but Noor Jehan was busied in schemes, which she concealed even from his penetrating eyes. He was attacked, in the city of Cabul, one morning, when he was coming to pay his respects to the emperor, In revenge, he blocked up the city; and the principal inhạbitants laying all the blame on the rabble, came out in the most suppliant manner to Mohabat. Jehangire, who disclaimed all knowledge of it, interceded for them, and only the most notorious ringleaders were punished. This project was defeated, but he determined to resign his power; and, after obtaining the most solemn promises of oblivion from the emperor, he did so. But he had gone too far to retreat. The weak forget, but the haughty never forgive indignities. The sultana kept fresh in her memory her disgrace, and remembered her danger. She applied to Jehangire for his immediate death. "A man," said she, "who is so daring as to seize the person of his sovereign, is a dangerous subject. The lustre of royalty must be diminished in the eyes of the people, whilst he who pulled his prince from the throne is permitted to kneel before it with feigned allegiance," Jehangire was shocked at her proposal, and commanded her to be si lent.

She appeared to acquiesce; but, from fears and injuries, Mohabat was driven again into rebellion, and the empe ror dying during the contest, we hear no more of NoorJehâu.

OTWAY'S ORPHAN.

THE plot of this celebrated tragedy, though generally supposed to be invented by the author, is taken from a fact related in a very scarce pamphlet (of which, I oelieve, only two copies are now to be found) entitled English Adventures, published in 1667. The following are the particulars:

The father of Charles Brandon, afterwards Duke of Suffolk, retired, on the death of his lady, to the borders of Hampshire. His family consisted of two sons, and a young lady, the daughter of a friend lately deceased, whom he adopted as his own child.

This lady, being singularly beautiful, as well as amiable in her manners, attracted the affections of both the brothers. The elder, however, was the favourite, and he privately married her; which the younger not knowing, and overhearing an appointment of the lovers to meet the next night in her bedchamber, he contrived to get his brother otherwise employed, and made the signal of admission himself (thinking it a mere intrigue). Unfortunately, he succeeded.

On a discovery, the lady lost her reason, and soon after died. The two brothers fought, and the elder fell, The father broke his heart in a few months afterwards. The younger brother,. Charles Brandon, the unintentional author of all this family misery, quitted England in de spair, with a fixed determination of never returning.

Being abroad for several years, his nearest relations supposed him dead, and began to take the necessary steps for obtaining his estates; when, rouzed by this intelligence, he returned privately to England, and for a time took obscure lodgings in the vicinity of his family man

sion.

While he was in this retreat, the young king (Henry VIII), who had just buried his father, was one day hunt, ing on the borders of Hampshire, when he heard the cries of a female in distress in an adjoining wood. His gallantry immediately summoned him to the place, though he then happened to be detached from all his courtiers; where he saw two ruffians attempting to violate the honour of young lady. The king instantly drew on them; and a scuffle ensued, which roused the reverie of Charles Brandon, who was taking his morning's walk in an adjoining thicket: he immediately ranged himself on the side of the king, whom he then did not know; and by his dexterity soon disarmed one of the ruffians, while the other fled.

The king, charmed with this act of gallantry so congenial to his own mind, inquired the name and family of the stranger; and not only repossessed him of his patrimonial estates, but took him under his immediate protection.

It was this same Charles Brandon who afterwards privately married Henry's sister, Margaret, Queen-dowager of France; which marriage the king uot only forgave, but created him Duke of Suffolk, and continued his favour towards him to the last hour of the duke's life.

He died before Henry; and the latter showed in his attachment to this nobleman, that notwithstanding his tits of capriciousness and cruelty, he was capable of a cordial and steady friendship. He was sitting in council when the news of Suffolk's death reached him; and he publicly took that occasion both to express his own sorrow, and to celebrate the merits of the deceased. He declared, that during the whole course of their acquaintance his brother-in-law had not made a single attempt to injure an adversary, and had never whispered a word to the disadvantage of any one;" and are there any of you, my Lords, who can say as much?" When the king subjo:ned these words, (says the historian,) he looked round in all their faces, and saw that confusion which the consciousness of secret guilt naturally threw upon them.

Otway took his plot from the fact related in this pamphlet ; but to avoid perhaps interfering in a circumstance which might affect many noble families at that time living, he laid the scene of his tragedy in Bohemia.

There is a large painting of the above incident now at Woburn, the seat of his Grace the Duke of Bedford; and the old Duchess-dowager, in shewing this picture a few years before her death to a nobleman, related all the particulars of the story.

The character of Antonio in the above play (an old debauched senator, raving about plots and political intrigues) is supposed to have been intended for that celebrated character, Anthony the first Earl of Shaftesbury.

POPE,

His Royal Highness, Frederick Prince of Wales did him the honour of dining with him at Twickenham; when the poet, perhaps exerting himself too much on the occasion, fell fast asleep immediately after dinner. Lord Bolingbroke, confounded at this circumstance, wished to wake him; but the Prince, with great condescension, prevented him, saying: "No, no, my Lord; we should accommodate ourselves to the infirmities of such a man as Mr. Pope."