How radiant is Cousrouf Pacha's countenance! How little the viceroy
of to-day resembles the exiled pacha of the past, during his weary
sojourn in Cavalla, with nothing to enliven him but his little
struggle with the boy Mohammed and his harem! A land is now at his
feet. Onward the procession moves through the crowds that throng the
streets; they have now turned into the Muskj Street--the beautiful
street, the pride of the inhabitants, with its old-fashioned, lofty
houses. Onward the procession moves toward the citadel. There, in
the beautiful palace, will the viceroy be enthroned. "Long live our
new ruler! Long live our viceroy!" These are the cries that greet
him throughout his entire march to the citadel; and these cries
still rend the air long after Cousrouf Pacha has entered the palace,
at whose gates he had been received by the grand dignitaries of the
land. He greeted them all in brief but kindly terms, and then
retired to the private apartments of his palace.
He now reclines on his cushions, thinking of his past and of his
future. A glad smile lights up his countenance. The way was long and
weary, but its obstacles have now been overcome. Once he was a
slave, but he had sworn to struggle for a great aim. He has kept his
oath. Here he is the first, the ruler. Who knows but he may yet
completely cast off the burden of dependence, and become absolutely
free? Every thing rests on the acquisition of good and faithful
friends and servants, and he will acquire such.
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