The Monarch and the Court.

Sáhela Selássie, “the clemency of the Trinity,” seventh king of Shoa, whose surname is Menilek, was twelve years of age when the assassination of Woosen Suggud called him from a monastery to the throne, and placed in his hands the reins of despotic government over a wild Christian nation. His sire had enjoyed a brief, but exceedingly active reign of four and a half years, during which he extended his empire far beyond the limits bequeathed to him by Asfa Woosen—made conquests in the south to the mountains of Garra Gorphoo, and in the west to the Nile. The most despotic measures marked his transient but iron rule; and had he survived, the expectations formed of him would in all probability have been realised, and he would have become monarch of all Abyssinia. But the nation groaned under his oppression; and after a series of the harshest acts, induced by visits in disguise, like those of Haroun Alraschid, the great Kaliph of Bagdad, to the houses of his subjects, and to places of public resort, a Shankela slave, whom he had provoked by ill usage, turned upon his royal master, and having slain him with a sword, set fire to the palace at Kondie, which was burned to the ground; and the wealth amassed in many earthen jars melted, according to the tradition, into a liquid stream of mingled silver and gold, which flowed over the mountain-side.

In Shoa, as in other savage countries, the tidings of the dissolution of the monarch, unless timely concealed, spread like lightning to the furthest extremities of the kingdom, and become a signal for rapine, anarchy, and murder, which rage unrestrained during the continuance of the interregnum. Every individual throughout the realm deems himself at full liberty to act according to the bent of his own vicious inclinations—to perpetrate every atrocity, and to indulge in the gratification of every revengeful and licentious passion, without fear of retribution or of punishment; and it being perfectly understood that there exists neither law nor rule until the new sovereign shall have been proclaimed, the kingless land for a season runs rivers of blood. Fearful was the tragedy that followed the assassination of Woosen Suggud. The royal family residing at Ankóber, and the heir-apparent at a still greater distance from Kondie, there ensued a scene of anarchy and confusion which it would be difficult to describe; and at Debra Libanos alone there fell no fewer than eight hundred victims to private animosity, of whose murder no account was ever taken.

The eyes of the monarch being closed in death, the minister styled Dedj Agafári, “the introducer through the door,” proceeds to the inauguration of the successor, who, unless some other arrangement shall have been willed, is usually the heir-apparent. Presented to the senators and to the inmates of the palace, the herald proclaims aloud, “We have reason to mourn, and also to rejoice, for our old father is dead, but we have found a new one.” The accession thus declared, the king is invested with the robes of state, and taking seat upon the throne, the public officers first in order, and then the people, offer homage, and bow before his footstool.

General mourning is invariably observed during the seven days which follow the promulgation of the national calamity. Men, women, and children, evince their grief by tearing the hair, scarifying the temples with the nails, and casting themselves sobbing and screaming upon the ground—the good qualities of the deceased being extolled the while. But the chief mourners on the melancholy occasion are those princes of the blood-royal who are affected by the barbarous practice handed down from the earliest periods of Abyssinian history. For in the kingdom of Shoa revolutionary projects against the crown have invariably been anticipated by consigning the uncles and brothers of the sovereign to a subterranean dungeon, where they pass the remainder of their days in the elaborate carving of harps and ornaments of ivory.

Widely different from that of the aspiring Rasselas is the lot of these pining members of the dynasty of Shoa. No happy valley is theirs, whom a barbarous policy has from time immemorial condemned thus to linger in hopeless imprisonment during the remnant of their sublunary pilgrimage, unless the demise of the despot without issue should, peradventure, call some one of the captives from the dank vault to the throne. Food, with scanty materials for amusement and occupation, are indeed allowed, together with permission to breathe the air of heaven after the sun has set upon their own green hills. But no domestic tie links them to the society from which they are immured—no sympathy of wife or child can ever, by a word of kindness, alleviate their lonely condition. The bonds of relationship have been rudely snapped asunder, and the very name of brother is the stern curse of those whose only crime is their affinity to the monarch.

Seven princes of the blood-royal were inmates of the vaults of Góncho on the arrival of the British Embassy in Shoa. The legitimate issue male of the reigning sovereign has fortunately been limited to two; but it was not the less melancholy to reflect, that one or other of these interesting youths must, in all human probability, drag out the noon and evening of his days within the walls of that dismal dungeon, where so many have sunk into the grave unrecorded and unpitied. The crown, although hereditary in the house of Solomon, is elective by will at each decease, and the eldest born can assert no exclusive title to succession by right of primogeniture. Bashakh Woorud, “go down if go like,” is an ominous title enough to distinguish the heir-apparent to the throne. Better known by his Christian appellation of Hailoo Mulakoot, and now in his sixteenth year, he has by his royal sire been permitted to accompany the army into the field, when he slew some of the Galla with his own hand; but entertaining a predilect............