and blasphemed with a louder and more varied blasphemy than the rest. And after a little space, while the soul of Al-Backsheesh was yet straitened within his heart by reason of the blasphemy, a bell tinkled in the distance, and the sons of the accursed fought in the doorway, and the hall was as the Hall of Iblis. And after they were gone there came one of fierce aspect in the guise of a Chief Clerk, and the Sultan trembled before him, and was even as clay in his hands. Then said Al-Backsheesh, "This King is no King," and went on his way with great searchings of heart.

Then fared he forth in sorrow till he came unto a Hall greater and more splendid than the last, with a gallery upon four sides of it, and a floor of black and white marble cunningly intermingled, whereon stood the statues of kings. And the floor of the Hall was full of venerable sages, and the galleries of youths who were clad in the Cloak of Comeliness and crowned with the Crown of Completion. And both on the floor and in the galleries, in the places best suited both for seeing and hearing, were unveiled damsels like moons, whose lips were like double carnelian, their mouths like the seal of Solomon, and their teeth ranged in a line that played with the reason of proser and rhymer. And in the midst, upon a throne of Indian teak wood plentifully adorned with French polish and purfled with red gold leaf, there sat a Prince in a vesture of scarlet, whose face shone as the sun, and his words distilled themselves like melted butter over the souls of his hearers. Then Al-Backsheesh joyed with great joy and sustained dilatation of the bosom, saying within himself, "Surely this is the Sultan, and to him I will make known mine evil plight."

But as he yet spake, behold, the young men who were clad in the Cloak of Comeliness reviled the Sultan, and those who were crowned with the Crown of Completion did make sport concerning him. And Al-Back

sheesh looked for the Sworder, and saw only two Uncomely Ones who bore upon their shoulders Pokers of Power. Neither did the Sultan deal with those who evil entreated him and reviled him, but kept silence and consulted a Kalendar, since he had no Sworder, neither Leather of Blood, and the two Uncomely Ones knew not how to wield the Pokers of Power.

Then was Al-Backsheesh covered with shame and confusion of face, and the world grew dark before his eyes. And he spake, saying, "I sought for a King, but I have come unto a city of women and fools, where Kings are not, but only the shadows of Kings. Therefore I will speedily get me hence to a land which prospereth under the rule of a Prince."

So saying, he hasted to go. But in his haste, catching his foot in his robe, he stumbled and fell, and his signet-ring slipped from his finger. And straightway the assembly was ware of Al-Backsheesh as he lay prone upon the marble floor, with his turban upon his head and slippers upon his feet. And there was a mighty tumult in that place. Then rose up one in a black robe, and behind him were two in dark blue raiment with buttons of brassy sheen. And their look was fierce and lowering. But with a great cry AlBacksheesh arose and fled away, while the Accursed Ones pursued after him, as it were the hounds of the Jinn. And as he sped apace down the street of the city, with those that followed him close behind, he sought in his bosom for wherewithal to purchase his life. But he found naught save six dinars and eight dirhams of the coinage of Haroun -al-Raschid the Commander of the Faithful and Prince of True Believers. Then Al-Backsheesh, considering that they would be of no currency in a city of the infidels, smote upon his breast as he fled, and cried out with an exceeding bitter cry, so that the whole city heard the voice of his complaint. But they that followed him drew nearer as he

ran

And Shahrazad was surprised by the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.

Then quoth Dunyazad, "Oh, my sister, how pleasant is thy tale, and how tasteful; how sweet, and how grateful!" She replied, "And what is this compared with that I could tell thee the nights to come, if I live, and the King spare me?" Then thought the King, "By Allah, I will not slay her till I hear the rest of her tale, for truly 'tis wondrous." So they rested that night until the dawn. After this the King went forth to his Hall of Estate, and the Wazirs and the troops came in and the court was crowded, and the King gave orders and judged and appointed and deposed, bidding and forbidding during the rest of the day. Then the Divan broke up, and King Shahryar entered his palace.

"NE SUTOR ULTRA CREPIDAM."

IN OBITUM FLACCI.

OCCIDIT heu Flaccus; lacrimas effundite, Musae;
Qua fuerit victus sorte poeta, rogas?
Illa senex noster divina poemata vertit,
Cui stilus in dextra more bipennis erat.
Cur petis, infelix, hederas? cur talia vertis
Carmina si certum est vertere, verte nemus.

AH! Horace, our poet, our singer, is dead,
And the Muses full tearfully stand,
Mr G. has translated him out of his head,
With a pen like an axe in his hand.

"O surely, good Sir, thou art fatuous grown,"
A former associate said,

"'Twere better to leave such word-chopping alone, And stick to wood-chopping instead."

A. J. CHOTZNER.

A SMOOTH CYCLOID.

THIS is that happy paradise loved best
Of all the particles. No tensive string
Is here to check their mirth; no heavy ring
Constrains their freedom or disturbs their rest.
Some clamber to the high cuspidal crest

And slide, exultant, with alternate swing
Down through the lowest valley; glorying
To make that quickest journey. Some, in jest,
Will race, contestful, to the winning post
Where slow and fast, that started with some space
Of handicap, must needs make equal boast

Of victory. And others, worn and frail

With life's hard buffetings, think small disgrace To seek the level pleasures of the dale.

A PERFECTLY ROUGH SPHERE.

ART yet not giddy, thou poor twirling sphere?
Pleasure is this, or penance for some sin,
That thou must rise and fall with normal spin
Monotonously same? When thou art near
The hopeless summit, trembles there a tear
Of dark despairing agony within?
Or is there secret happiness to win

A way around the dreadful dome? In fear

Thou hadst thy dwelling once upon its crown; And slothful pride, that heralded thy fall,

Gave the one little touch that brought thee down:

So now, perchance, to thee thy very all

Is that hid Sisyphus of thine own soul

That helps thee, spinning, to the topmost Pole.

G. T. B.

A PHILOSOPHER'S VOYAGE ROUND

LONDON AT NIGHT.

With an account of the natural phenomena observed in various districts.

M

EN, or, perhaps one should say, poets, have been known to stand on the bridge at midnight while the clocks were striking the hour, but there is no record of their having re

mained there for any appreciable time. If the number of hours which the bard stood on the (burning?) bridge were taken to be in inverse ratio to his poetical capacity, the present writer would lay claim to be considered a worse poet than Longfellow. His place in literature would also be lowered by the consideration that he not only stood on the bridge, but sat down, drank a cup of coffee, ate something which purported to be cake, and heard the clocks strike several hours after midnight, with the intervening quarters. Nor was it withal a lovely night in June, but a dampish night in February 1895.

I quite feel that statements like the above require, and anyone is justified in demanding, full and circumstantial explanation. From this, however, I do not shrink, being more embarrassed by lack of adequate expression than any scarcity of fact or detail.

Let me begin in the words of the learned and eminently useful Becker, with which the first scene of Gallus opens.

"The third watch of the night was drawing to a

VOL. XVIII.

PPP