presents a very pleasing picture; above it, the rivulet that winds through the vale, is spread out into a placid sheet of water, whose left bank is luxuriantly wooded with trees, that dip their pensile branches in the lucid mirror, which vividly reflects the foliage that adorns its margin. Close to the bridge, the stream is precipitated down a steep channel, amongst stones and fragments of rock, by which it is divided into innumerable little rills, or dashed into foam. As the eye pursues the course of this streamlet, the tall trunks of a thousand trees are seen, mingled together, sustaining a leafy canopy upon their higher branches. rocky knoll upon the right, is broken into picturesque irregularities: in some places, roots of oak or elm swell the soil into a verdant mound; in others, they break through the surface, twist themselves into folds, or creep along the sides of the rugged bank, like huge serpents, now seen and now lost, as they undulate amongst fallen leaves, and moss, and earth, and verdure.

GATEWAY AT ROCHE ABBEY.

The

Of the fabric of the abbey a gateway only, placed at the entrance to the precincts, on the side towards Maltby, and some beautiful fragments of the transepts of the church, remain. The gateway is of later architecture than the church; indeed, so late, and standing at such a distance from the monastery, that it might be taken for part of the novum hospitium, mentioned in the account of the abbey property, and which was, doubtless, erected by the monks, for the convenience of persons resorting to the abbey, and especially of the pilgrims, who came in veneration of the image found in the rock. A large mass of stone-work, at a distance westward from the principal portion which remains of the church, is evidently the base of one side of the great western entrance. This admitted to the nave, flanked by side aisles, the whole of which has disappeared. Advancing eastward, we arrive at the columns which supported the tower, that rose at the intersection of the nave, choir, and transepts. Portions of these still remain. The eastern walls of the transepts still exist, and enough of the inner work, to show, that in each were two small chapels, to which the entrance was from the open part of the transept, and the light admitted from windows looking eastward. Mr. Allen, who gives the above description in his History of the County of York, notices a remarkable peculiarity respecting the northern transept. The north wall must have arisen almost in contact with the perpendicular rock, and, inIdeed, the whole of the northern side of the church must have been darkened by that rock, which rises as high as the walls of the abbey themselves. Between these side chapels, and extending considerably beyond them, was the principal choir, with lights at the east end, and on the north and south. And with this the church appears to have terminated, as there is nothing to indicate that there was here any lady choir, or other building beyond.

On the north side of the choir may be discerned some rich tabernacle work, a part of which has been

A SPRING DITTY.

THE Spring! the Spring! the blithesome Spring,
When wild flowers bloom, and wild birds sing;
Without a withered or waning leaf,

To waken a single thought of grief;
Oh well may feeling and fancy cling
To the glad return of the blithesome Spring.
On the sunny bank of the grassy lane
The tufts of primroses bloom again;
And beneath, as lovely and sweeter yet,
Is hidden the modest violet;

While the wild bee, round them, on restless wing
Makes music to welcome the merry Spring

And higher up in the bright blue sky
The lark warbles forth his melody;
In the fields like an echo afar is heard
The shout of the cuckoo, that wandering bird;
While closer concealed, like a viewless thing,
The nightingale chants to the gladsome Spring.
How cold and thankless the eye must be
Which, unmoved, the beauty of Spring can see;
How dull the ear, to delight unstirred,

By the hum of the bee, or the song of the bird;
And yet more cold and dull the heart

To which these feelings no joy impart.

Which no tribute of thanks or praise can bring

For the blessings poured forth with returning Spring. BERNARD BARTON.

MERRIMENTS and rejoicing have a relative signification; The Russians are merry by rule and line, and it is prescribed to they do not imply the same thing in all countries. them by the police, in what way they are to rejoice. I was informed in Odessa, that I should never hear whistling in the streets of St. Petersburgh; that this was not considered to be consistent with order. Whistling, shouting, and hallooing, are not permitted to the populace; the soldiers, alone, enjoy the privilege of shouting huzza, when the emperor passes by the picquets. It is this stillness and solemnity, here entitled order and decorum, which render Petersburgh so dull a city. There is no life, no animation the people observe a dead silence; they seem rather to march than to walk in the streets; and paradoxically speaking, it is only in the silence of the night that any noise is heard. Then the outpourings of the gin shops occasionally break through the silence, and the peculiar song of the boor, informs the inhabitants, that the watchmen are asleep. In the day-time there is no such thing as a row, or a riot; no kick-up, no fight, no fun, not even a ballad singer to draw together a few individuals in a corner. Such things do not become an imperial city. Still one exception-still one sound is heard-one small shrill voice breaks this silence of the tomb-one, whom no laws have ever yet subdued-one, for whom the most eloquent of statesmen introduced a special clause of exception, in the most arbitrary of constitutional enactments-one, who has him,-all-powerful PUNCH is tolerated in this decorous defied, from time immemorial, the edicts thundered against society!-Life of a Travelling Physician. society!-Life of a Travelling Physician.

PROUD little man, opinion's slave,
Error's fond child, too duteous to be free,
Say, from the cradle to the grave,

Is not the earth thou tread'st too grand for thee?
This globe that turns thee on her agile wheel,
Moves the deep springs which thou canst never feel;
Her day and night, her centre and her sun,
Untraced by thee, their annual courses run.
A busy fly, thou sharest the march divine,
And flattering fancy calls the motion thine;
Untaught how soon some hanging grave may burst,
And join thy flimsy substance to the dust.-CRABBE.

761-2

ECHINI, OR SEA-EGGS.
II.

THE rounded forms of these animals, and the absence of limbs, would lead us to suppose that they are not intended for locomotion, but to remain fixed to one spot. Such is not, however, the case. Some of the species, having thin shells and slender bristles, burrow in the sand, covering themselves with it so as only to leave a small breathing hole. Others having stronger spines hide themselves in rocky places. These animals sometimes move along on their flat bases, but they have also the power of turning on themselves like the wheel of a coach. In the Philosophical Transactions, Mr. Osler has given a description of the mode in which one of the genera of this order buries itself in the sand. This is accomplished by the action of the spines, which in the genus alluded to (Spatangus) are on the under surface, short, thick, and expanded at the ends like the handle of a spoon with the convexity downwards; and which have a limited rotatory motion. The spines which grow from the sides are more slender, and when not in use they fall flat upon the body with their points directed backwards. Besides these, there are a few longer bristies arranged in a crescent on the back. When the animal is placed on sand, it commences operations by revolving the lower spines, thus soon creating a hollow quicksand, into which it sinks by its own weight, so far as to enable the lowest of the lateral spines to co-operate with them, by scattering and throwing up the losened particles; while these at the same time contribute by their reaction still farther to depress the body. As the animal sinks, a greater number of spines are brought into action, and its progress becomes very rapid; while the sand which had been pushed aside flows back and covers the body, when it has sunk below the level of the surface. In this situation the long dorsal bristles come into play, preventing the sand from closing completely, and preserving a small round hole for the admission of water to the mouth and respiratory organs.

These animals have numerous foes among fishes and worms; but their panoply of spines, which they are able to erect and stiffen at pleasure, affords sufficient protection. They are also liable to receive injuries and bruises when cast upon a rocky coast; but these they quickly recover from, and when a shell is broken into separate portions, the vitality of each part, and of its spinous processes, appears to remain; for Monro affirms that he saw the pieces of a broken shell walk off in different directions. Whether these animals employ the spines or the suckers as the organs of locomotion, has been a question among different authors; but as it has been ascertained, that in the common echinus, whose spines are about half an inch long, the suckers can be extended one inch and a half, and can at the same time be rendered firm and rigid, there seems little doubt but that the latter are mainly instrumental in the progress of the animal from one place to another.

The number of spines and suckers on a single animal is very surprising, and the more so when it is remembered that each spine and each sucker are guided and supported by several muscles. It is stated that a moderate sized specimen of Echinus esculentus will have at least one hundred and sixty primary prickles o1 ac of the large, and eighty on each of the small area, which makes twelve hundred in all: when the lesser bristles come to be added to these, there will not be fewer than three thousand. In each ambulacrum there cannot be fewer than one hundred tubes from whence the suckers are protruded, so that the number of exterior appendages in this creature may be reckoned at four thousand. Then the pieces of the shell which have been described as so beautifully dove-tailed and fitted together, are reckoned by Professor Grant at more than ten thousand, without including the complicated dental apparatus of the mouth, or the calcareous pieces near the oral and anal orifices.

Another example, given at fig. 2, is of a genus (Scutella) of which numerous species still exist, and are very irregular in their forms. Some have the testa entire without any other holes than the series of little pores which are seen in all the echini. Some have it entire, and pierced from interval to interval by large holes which do not penetrate into its cavity. Others have the posterior margin festooned, like a dentated wheel, holes, or according as they want them, and these are divided according as they have large

The uses of the echini to man are few and unimportant. The esculent properties of one species have been already noticed, but the remaining kinds are simply objects of curiosity or of ornament, employed to deck moss or summer-houses, and to swell the collections of naturalists. One exception, and that an interesting one, must be made to the general remark on their inutility. Some of the species, armed with very large prickles, were put to a novel and ingenious use a few years ago, and certainly proved important means of civilization. The heathen children of the island of Rarotonga, in the South Seas, when under the instruction of Christian missionaries, were in want of pencils with which they might be taught to write on the flat stones which had been provided as a substitute for slates: for these, writes the missionary, "they went into the sea and procured a number of echinus or sea-egg, which is armed with twenty or thirty spines. These they burnt slightly to render them soft, that they might not scratch, and with the flakes of stone for a slate, and the spine of a sea-egg for a pencil, they wrote exceedingly well; and hundreds of them took down the principal portions of every discourse they heard."

In describing these curious animals we have not attempted an account of their internal structure, since the observations of naturalists have not yet penetrated to the full explanation of several points connected with their organization. But Monro, in his Structure and Physiology of Fishes, has given particulars which afford some idea of the general structure of the echini, to which

we may briefly allude. These animals are provided with a long, cylindrical, and winding intestine, and a portion which may be regarded as a stomach. On the under edge of the intestine are two vessels, without valves, nearly equal in size, and parallel to each other. Monro injected these with mercury, and from them filled a beautiful net-work of vessels, not only on the intestine, but dispersed on fine membranes, which tie the intestine to the inner side of the shell. He could not discover that these two vessels communicated with each other directly, nor by means of any organ like to our heart; yet near to the anus, which is the place of the heart in many other worms, he found a small organ which seemed to be hollow. Of the two vessels before spoken of, he thinks it probable that one is the principal artery, or aorta, the other analogous to our vena cava; and that they communicate by invisible branches, and circulate the blood by the muscular action of their coats, without the intervention of a heart, nearly in the way that the vessels in fishes carry the blood from the gills back to their heart. This conjecture being offered as to the circulation of the blood, its aëration is spoken of with greater certainty. Along the inner surface of each of the ambulacra lies a branchial leaf or membrane not unlike the processes or subdivisions of the gills in a skate, and having a direct communication with the suckers which perform so important a part in the economy of the animal. Of the water sucked in by these tubes, one portion is conveyed to the membranes in question, and is thus spread over the inner surface of the shell, while another portion is collected by appropriate vessels, and conveyed into five large ducts, that terminate, each by two branches, in large sacs or receptacles, over the sockets of the teeth, communicating with each other; and from these the liquor passes down the sockets of the teeth, and is discharged into the sea, on each side of the tooth. Such is the course of the fluid as described by Monro, but his view and observations have been questioned by other naturalists. whatever way the processes are carried on, there is, however, a most curious provision of aqueducts for conducting the medium of respiration and assimilation through the body; so that the smallest echinus may afford matter for wonder and admiration to those who have the means of investigating its elaborate and complicated structure.

WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? THY neighbour? It is he whom thou Hast power to aid and bless, Whose aching heart or burning brow Thy soothing hand may press. Thy neighbour? 'Tis the fainting poor, Whose eye with want is dim,

Whom hunger sends from door to door;—
Go thou and succour him.

Thy neighbour? 'Tis that weary man,
Whose years are at their brim,

Bent low with sickness, cares, and pain;-
Go thou, and comfort him.

Thy neighbour? 'Tis the heart bereft
Of every earthly gem;
Widow and orphan, helpless left;—
Go thou, and shelter them.

Thy neighbour? Yonder toiling slave,
Fettered in thought and limb,
Whose hopes are all beyond the grave;-
Go thou and ransom him.

Whene'er thou meet'st a human form
Less favoured than thine own,
Remember 'tis thy neighbour worm,
Thy brother, or thy son.

O pass not heedless by;

Perhaps thou canst redeem

The breaking heart from misery ;-
Go, share thy lot with him.-ANON.

In

THE SCARABEUS.

THE Scarabeus is a stone cut in the form of a certain beetle, which was worn by the ancient Etruscans, and by several other ancient nations, particularly the Egyptians, as a charm. They saw in it an image of the Creator, because it forms a ball of earth with its hind legs, in which it deposits its eggs, an emblem of the world instinct with divine influthemselves under Ålmighty protection. The scarabeus was ences; and wearing it was tantamount to formally placing to them what the crucifix is to the Roman Catholic; and as almost the whole of the Etruscan scarabei are engraved, the engraving of Hercules, Mercury, &c., took the place of Sant Antonio, Santa Theresa, and other mediators. The engraving was of the Lar, or patron saint, or of the thing for or against which protection was especially desired,

The most curious scarabei are those with inscriptions, possibly the wearer's name, or some word of mystic meaning. All the Etruscan words can be read, but the signification of scarcely any of them is as yet known. The next in curiosity are those with Egyptian figures, usually Isis and Horus, and they are found in the graves of most ancient structure. Some of the Etruscan scarabei are without engraving, and such are supposed to belong to men who were too poor to afford them otherwise; but I have seen a few of such exceeding beauty that I am not convinced of this being the case. They differ from the Egyptian both in form and material, but were worn like them on the finger and the neck. The ancient Egyptian scarabeus was either quite plain or inscribed, and was made of sinalto, basalt, or porphyry. The modern Egyptian, i. e. the Egyptian scarabeus of Roman times, was generally engraved in a rude manner, and made of amethyst, garnet, lapis lazuli, and various precious or semi-precious stones. The Etruscan is always of named of plasma, one I have seen of jacynth, and a very cornelian, onyx, sardonyx, agate, or jasper. One I have few, which are certainly genuine, of a coarse semi-transparent amethyst. From having observed that this charm was rigidly confined to a certain range of stones, opaque in Egypt and semi-transparent in Etruria, I had long felt convinced that some religious superstition was connected with the material of which it was made; but what that could be never struck me until I saw that, even when the amethyst was employed, it was only such crystals of it as were semitransparent; the reason then appeared to me evident. These stones were prescribed in order to express that the nature of the Creator was but dimly known to us; His ways but half understood, His works but half seen. Only His power and goodness are fully bodied forth, the one being the reason why we seek His protection, and the other our ground for believing that it will be granted, The Egyptian, whose scarabeus was older still, and always opaque, would intimate that to him the nature of the Creator was incomprehensible, further than those two attributes of which his amulet was emblematic.-MRS. GRAY'S Sepulchres of Ancient Etruria.

ALMOST all men are over-anxious. No sooner do they enter the world, than they lose that taste for natural and simple pleasures, so remarkable in early life. Every hour do they ask themselves what progress they have made in the pursuit of wealth or honour; and on they go as their fathers went before them, till, weary and sick at heart, they look back with a sigh of regret to the golden time of their childhood.-ROGERS.

The

THE joint dependence of human beings has led to the most beneficial results, inasmuch as long experience has shown the inadequacy of unaided exertion. By so much as the highly cultivated individual is superior to the houseless savage, by so much is man in society, and assisted by his fellows, raised above those who dwell in isolation and estrangement. Thus, human wants promote the cultivation of human energies, and evils at first sight irremediable, become the source of intelligence and refinement. solitary wanderer may have few vices, but he can have no virtues; for the qualities that ennoble the heart of man, and send his intellect careering through the boundless fields of science and art, are to be ascribed to the influence of association with his fellows, on his mental, moral, and physical capabilities, The errors of society must be rectified by society itself; the breaking up of intercourse might diminish, but could not increase, human excellence.M'CORMAC'S Philosophy of Human Nature.

SADI OF BAGDAD.

AN EASTERN TALE.

QUIETLY seated in his solitary dwelling, after the toils of a day spent in the laborious task of cutting and carrying wood, to sell in the vast city of Bagdad, Sadi was drawn from his repose by a tumult in the dark lane he inhabited. Near his own door he found two men, who, by their dress, seemed to be Armenian merchants, struggling with five or six ruffians, and nearly overpowered. Sadi's timely appearance, and the vigorous blows which he aimed at the robbers, quickly put them to flight; then, without waiting to be thanked for the opportune service he had rendered, he returned into his house.

The next evening, again seated near the window of his cottage, faint and exhausted by a day of unusual toil, he could not refrain from uttering aloud his secret thoughts. "Oh, Mahomet, why was I born to labour thus? What good is my life to me, since it must be spent in this incessant toil? Grant me, oh gracious prophet, grant me but the necessaries of life. I ask no more.'

While he was thus speaking, a gentle tap at the door was followed by the appearance of a stranger, clothed in a robe of linen, with a curious girdle round his waist; a turban of vast size was on his head, and a beard as white as snow covered his breast and descended to his girdle. He held in his hand a wand of ebony, and, in short, bore every outward mark, by which a good Musselman recognises one of those Genii, who watch over the affairs of men.

Sadi fell at his feet trembling.

"Fear not," said the stranger, in a mild tone, "I am thy good Geni; I have heard thy wish, and I am come to give it thee. What was it thou didst but now so ardently desire?"

"Oh, good Geni, was I to blame," replied Sadi; "I asked but the necessaries of life; simple necessaries!"

"Have I not said I come to grant thy wish; tell me, then, what will suffice to procure for thee what is necessary?"

"Oh, good Geni, had I but a drachm a day, I could procure all that I desire."

"Here, then, are eight drachms; in eight days I will return, and shouldest thou then require anything else, I will give it thee, provided it be necessary. But take care not to ask anything that thou canst not prove to be so; for the moment thou shalt ask for what is superfluous, I leave thee. I can grant no more."

At these words the stranger withdrew, leaving Sadi overwhelmed with joy at his sudden good fortune.

Sadi had never seen, much less had he ever possessed, so large a sum; and he began to reflect how he should dispose of it to the best advantage. His first resolve was never again to labour. "No," said he, "I will no longer waste my strength; I have enough for my daily food, and

Here he paused, and casting his eyes on the furniture of his apartment, he added, "I must needs have been mighty simple to suppose that a drachm a day would provide me with all I want. I have not a seat in my house but this wretched bench, nor have I a table to place my meat on, when I shall have bought it; I shall have food, indeed, but what is that, if I have not a decent place to eat it in?"

Next day, while eating his rice, which, for want of his accustomed exercise, he by no means swallowed with his usual relish, he began to murmur at the dryness of the food. "Always rice," said he; "feast days and fasts all alike! What was I about not to remember this? I shall soon grow tired of rice, and with so small a sum I can get nothing else. To vary one's food is absolutely necessary, for if I eat nothing but rice, I shall lose my appetite, and an appetite is surely among the necessaries of life. I will certainly tell my good Geni so.'

On the eighth day the Geni came at the appointed hour, and no sooner did Sadi behold him, than, throwing himself at his feet, he made known to him all the wants he had enumerated.

The Geni listened with a benignant smile, and answered, "You are right, Sadi, all these things are necessary. Here is money to buy thee furniture, and in future thou shalt have two drachms each day, to buy thee food; with this thou wilt be able to vary thy diet. Adieu, in eight days I will return."

Next morning, Sadi rose betimes, and went out to make his purchases; but no sooner did he see his new furniture arranged in the low and mean apartment, than he felt how unsuited they were. "This will never do," cried he, "to

put my beautiful furniture in this dark hole is madness; the ceiling will assuredly fall some day, and my beautiful table, that I delight to look on, will be crushed in the ruins. I must have a better place than this before I can be at all comfortable; and thanks to my good Geni, that will soon be done, for he has promised to give whatever is necessary, and to have a house that will not. fall down on one's head, is surely necessary."

The Geni arrived, and finding the request of Sadi perfectly reasonable, gave him the sum required to carry it into effect.

Behold him, then, established in his new house, surrounded with good and convenient furniture; provided every day with food to his taste. What can now be wanting? surely, when the Geni comes, he will think of nothing more to ask for.

So thought Sadi; but when the novelty of his good bed and bright furniture wore off, other thoughts arose.

"What good are all these things to me, if I am to live perpetually alone? I have no friends, no acquaintances to see how grandly I live. Had I a wife, indeed, she would be a constant witness of my felicity, and would, no doubt, double its zest. I shall certainly ask the Geni if a wife is not necessary to my happiness."

One day, while these thoughts were in his mind, he walked out into the public square at Bagdad, where a merchant was exhibiting female slaves; having nothing to employ his time, Sadi loitered near the spot. A young nobleman was disputing with the merchant, the price of one of the slaves, on whom he set an enormous value; at length he raised her veil, and exhibited features of exquisite beauty, which instantly sunk into the heart of the poor Sadi. He watched with trembling the progress of the bargain, and, with joy unspeakable, saw the nobleman retire, without completing the purchase of the beautiful slave.

This very day the Geni was to return, but shall he dare to ask a sum so enormous as the price set on the fair Georgian? "Yet the Geni promised to give me whatever was necessary to my happiness; and is not the society of the woman one loves necessary? What good is my house to me, if I must live alone; and how can I marry another while I love this beautiful creature to distraction? No, the Geni will never deny me, for is it not clear that to marry the woman one loves is absolutely necessary; and to do this, I must have first the money to purchase her of her present owner."

All these arguments, however, scarce gave Sadi courage to make his request, and when the Geni arrived, he found him sad and dejected.

"How now, Sadi; why art thou thus? Have I not granted all thou canst desire? Why, then, art thou not happy?"

"Alas, good Geni, can he be happy who loves to distraction, and has not the means of gratifying his passion?"

Certainly not," replied the Geni, "but what hinders thee from marrying the object of thy affections? thou must needs be a most desirable match for any of thy neighbours."

"It is not such as these that I would have," said Sadi, "the woman I adore is as beautiful as a Houri, and more graceful than the acacia."

"Thou must needs be in love," replied the Geni, smiling, "since it makes thee poetical; where didst thou see this fair creature thou describest so well?"

Sadi now fell at the feet of the Geni and related the whole affair. When he had finished, the Geni remained for a few seconds silent, and then said, in a grave tone, "Ponder well, O Sadi! the step thou art about to take;" but before he could proceed, Sadi broke in on his discourse with vehemence: "Can he reflect who loves to distraction; can he pause who sees himself in danger of losing for ever the object of his affections? Grant me, beneficent being, grant me this fair creature for my wife, and I can ask, I can want no more. Have I not proved that she is necessary to my happiness?"

Thou hast indeed, if thy impatience and vehemence be a sign of love. Take, then, this order on the treasury of the caliph, to the merchant, and possess thyself of thy fair enslaver. At my return may I find thy felicity perfect." So great was the impatience of Sadi to behold again the beautiful Georgian, and to make her his own, that he was in the public square by day-break. About noon, the merchant arrived, and showing his order, he was instantly put in possession of the fair Zelima, who followed him with

a beating heart, certainly believing that she was destined to share the splendours of the royal harem. What was then her horror and astonishment when she found herself the property of Sadi, and doomed to inhabit his poor cottage.

With a piercing shriek, she threw herself on the ground, and when Sadi approached to raise her, she repulsed him with disgust. In vain he exerted his skill to render the coarse food he had hitherto been accustomed to, palatable to the refined taste of Zelima; she pushed it away with disdain, and refused to taste food, or to take refreshment of any kind, or to rise from the spot where, in the first transport of disappointed vanity, she had thrown herself.

Sadi was in despair: it was necessary to wait the next visit of the Geni, and in the meantime the beautiful Zelima may die of hunger and grief. All his efforts to bring her to a more complaisant mood proved vain. She did, indeed, swallow a few morsels of rice, but this she did in sullen silence, and only opened her lovely mouth to vent reproaches on the author of her misery.

The young man was walking before his house at the moment of the Geni's arrival, with a face which instantly betrayed the wretchedness of his heart.

"How now, Sadi; what has happened?" " 'Alás, good Geni, I am the most miserable of men; my wife, my beautiful Zelima, far from returning my affection, drives me from her with horror: the very sight of my coarse and homely garments fills her with disgust. She will not taste my food; the air of this close and narrow lane stifles her. In short, she will die if she remains here, and I too shall die with grief."

The Geni waited with patient forbearance, till this burst of passionate grief had subsided, and then said, "Tell me then, Sadi, what is necessary for thee: what dost thou require?"

"Ah, good Geni," replied Sadi, in a calmer voice, "when one loves, is it not necessary to please the object of one's love, and to do this I must have handsome clothes for myself; garments like those she has been accustomed to, for my wife; a house, and attendants conformable to her taste. If I have not these, how can I please her; and is it not necessary that I should gain the love of the woman I adore -of the wife I have chosen?"

"Assuredly, all this is necessary. To-morrow, thou shalt move to a house in one of the best streets of Bagdad, where thou wilt find all things to suit the wants and wishes of thy wife."

"But," interrupted Sadi, "with two drachms a day, how shall I maintain such a household?"

"Fear not," replied the Geni; "every eight days thou shalt find on thy pillow a purse containing sufficient for the expenses of the week; at the end of the year I will return; in the mean time, thou canst not fail to have all that is necessary."

Time flew in the enjoyment of his new possessions; each of the neighbours in turn invited Sadi. The days were passed in feasting; and by the end of the year, he had received the hospitality of all who inhabited the same quarter. Surely, when the Geni comes he will find him happy!

Alas! on the appointed day, Sadi was found seated in dejected meditation on the roof of his house. He scarce rose to welcome the approach of his expected visiter, and preserved a profound silence till addressed by the Geni.

"Still unhappy, Sadi! how is this? When I had hoped to find thee possessed of all thou couldst desire, why art thou thus dejected?"

"Must I not live as others live?" replied Sadi, in a sullen tone. "When I have been treated with profuse hospitality, must I not return it?"

"Assuredly it is necessary to return the hospitality we accept; not to do this were mean and paltry."

"And have I the means to do this? Have I a service of vermilion; have I dancing and singing women; have I perfumes; and, above all, have I a cook, who can furnish an entertainment like those I have received? If I would be happy, are not all these necessary?"

"Be content," replied the Geni; "to-morrow thou shalt have the means to regale thy neighbours. A cook shall not be wanting who might serve a table for the Caliph. Hast thou now asked all?"

"I blush, good Geni, to require more than thou hast so liberally granted; but my wife, too, has been treated by the wives of my new friends. She must in turn receive them, and, with her present means, she cannot do this with the retirement which our customs demand."

"Thou doest well to remember the wants of thy wife; these, too, shall not be wanting. There is a spacious building joins the court of thy house; this shall be henceforth thy harem, and to-morrow it shall be furnished with fitting guards and female slaves to tend thy beauteous Zelima."

When next the Geni visited Sadi, he found him listless and sad in the midst of his splendid mansion; and so profoundly occupied with some painful reflection, that he did not perceive his approach till he addressed him thus: "Hast thou not yet all that is necessary to make thee happy?"

"If I had what is necessary," replied Sadi, in a low voice, "should I lie here? Are not all my friends gone to their country houses, and am not I obliged to remain here desolate and deserted? If I had what is necessary, should I die with weariness for want of occupation suited to my taste? I love the country; I love trees-a spacious garden; all these I want to renovate my health and to furnish me with occupation. Surely an occupation suited to my taste is at least a necessary; and to have this I must have gardens and land, for I find no employment so suited to me as the cultivation of trees and flowers."

"Thou art right," replied the Geni, "an occupation is necessary to-morrow thou shalt be conveyed to an estate three leagues from Bagdad. Put, therefore, thy household here under the guidance of a faithful slave, and be prepared to go with Zelima to enjoy the fragrant breezes and thy new pursuits."

"What!" exclaimed Sadi, "and leave my harem, my singing and dancing slaves, and all my means of diversion! No, good Geni, if thou wilt indeed grant my request, all my household must accompany me.'

"Be it so, then; to-morrow thou shalt have the means of conveying thy establishment to the place I have assigned thee. I shall not visit thee there; but shouldest thou need my aid, come to the spot where thou didst first behold me, at the same day and hour, and I will meet thee there. Adieu!"

Nothing, for a long time, troubled the felicity of Sadi; furnished with occupation, he no longer passed his days in listless idleness, but took delight in seeing all prosper around him. He had cattle and horses in abundance; his gardens were extensive and beautiful; and he pleased himself with cultivating the choice flowers they contained.

Unfortunately, however, there was at one corner of the estate, a spot which joined the possessions of a poor man named Abiram; and the cattle of Sadi, unsatisfied with their own rich pasturage, would often trespass on the ground of this poor man, and, in one night, ate up all he had. He complained, but it was vain; the herdsmen of Sadi were much too great to listen to him; and at length he carried his cause before the Cadi. As the complaint was just, and the facts proved, Sadi was adjudged to pay the damage, and, in consequence, he returned to his house moody and discontented.

"In a week," said he to himself, "I shall see my good Genius, and I will ask him for this miserable cottage. It is not to be borne that, in the midst of my felicity, I am to be in danger of being perpetually teased by these frivolous and vexatious proceedings. I am determined I will have Abiram's cottage: it is true the land is so bad I cannot use it, but I shall then at least be in no danger of another law process."

He kept his appointment with the Geni, and made known his request-not failing to prove the necessity of the thing he asked for.

"This piece of land," replied the Geni, "belongs to the Caliph. Present thyself, therefore, at his audience tomorrow; in the mean time I will inform him of thy request, and doubtless he will grant whatsoever I shall counsel him; for know, I am his good Genius as well as thine, and I shall not fail to know the success of thy petition."

The next day Sadi presented himself at the audience of the Caliph, and prostrating himself, without lifting his. eyes to the august throne on which he was seated, waited, as the custom is, till he should be bid to rise.

What was his astonishment, then, to hear himself addressed in the well-known accents of his good Geni?

"Rise, Sadi, and behold in me at the same time thy good Genius and one of the Armenian merchants whose life thou didst so gallantly defend. Desiring to reward the service thou hast rendered me, and also to try my power to render at least one individual happy, I assumed the disguise under