brother Richard proved unable to recover, she is

the very Bride of the Canticles!"

"The rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley," answered the Prior in a sort of snuffling tone; "but your Grace must remember she is still but a Jewess."

"Ay!" added Prince John, without heeding him, "and there is my Mammon of unrighteousness too—the Marquis of Marks, the Baron of Byzants, contesting for place with pennyless dogs, whose thread-bare cloaks have not a single cross in their pouches to keep the devil from dancing there. By the body of St Mark, my prince of supplies, with his lovely Jewess, shall have a place in the gallery—What is she, Isaac? Thy wife or thy daughter, that Eastern houri that thou lockest under thy arm?"

"My daughter Rebecca, so please your grace," answered Isaac, with a low congee, nothing embarrassed by the Prince's salutation, in which, however, there was at least as much mockery as courtesy.

"The wiser man thou," said John, with a peal of laughter, in which his gay followers ob-