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THE LOST CAMEL.

66

A DERVISE was journeying alone in the desert, when two merchants suddenly met him. "You have lost a camel," said he to the merchants. "Indeed we have," they replied. "Was he not blind in his right eye, and lame in his left leg ?" said the dervise. "He was," replied the merchants. Had he lost a front tooth ?" said the dervise. "He had," rejoined the merchants. "And was he not laden with honey on one side, and wheat on the other ?" "Most certainly he was," they replied; "and as you have seen him so lately, and marked him so particularly, you can, in all probability, conduct us unto him. "My friends," said the dervise, "I have never seen your camel, nor ever heard of him, but from you." "A pretty story, truly!" said the merchants; "but where are the jewels which formed a part of his cargo ?" "I have neither seen your camel nor your jewels," repeated the dervise. On this they seized his person, and forthwith hurried him before the cadi, where, on the strictest search, nothing could be found upon him, nor could any evidence whatever be adduced to convict him either of falsehood or theft. They were then about to proceed against him as a sorcerer, when the dervise, with great calmness, thus addressed the court:-" I have been much amused with your surprise, and own that there has been some ground for your suspicions; but I have lived long and alone, and I can find ample scope for observation even in a desert. I knew that I had crossed the track of a camel that had strayed from its owner, because I saw no mark of any human footstep on the same route; I knew that the animal was blind in one eye, because it had cropped the herbage only on one side of its path; and I perceived that it was lame in one leg, from the faint impression which that particular foot had produced upon the sand. I concluded that the animal had lost one tooth, because wherever it had grazed a small tuft of herbage was left uninjured in the centre of its bite. As to that which formed the burden of the beast, the busy ants informed me that it was corn on the one side, and the clustering flies that it was honey on the other.

GHOSTS.

DR. FOWLER, Bishop of Gloucester, in the early part of the eighteenth century, was a believer in apparitions. The follow

ing conversation of the bishop with Judge Powell is recorded:"Since I saw you," said the lawyer, "I have had ocular demonstration of the existence of nocturnal apparitions." "I am glad you are become a convert to truth; but do you say actual ocular demonstration ? Let me know the particulars of the story." "My lord, I will. It was, let me see, last Thursday night, between the hours of eleven and twelve-but nearer the latter than the former-as I lay sleeping in my bed, I was suddenly awakened by an uncommon noise, and heard something coming up stairs and stalking directly towards my room. The door flying open, I drew back my curtain, and saw a faint glimmering light enter my chamber." "Of a blue colour, no doubt." The light was of a pale blue, my lord, and followed by a tall meagre personage, his locks hoary with age, and clothed in a long loose gown; a leathern girdle was about his loins, his beard thick and grizzly, a large fur cap on his head, and a long staff in his hand. Struck with astonishment, I remained for some time motionless and silent. The figure advanced, staring me full in the face. I then said, "Whence and what art thou?" "What was the answertell me what was the answer ?" "The following was the answer I received:-'I am watchman of the night, an't please your honour, and made bold to come up stairs to inform the family of their street door being open, and that if it was not soon shut, they would probably be robbed before morning.'"

66

CHARLES V., Emperor of Germany, when he abdicated a throne, and retired to the monastery of St. Juste, amused himself with the mechanical arts, and particularly with that of a watchmaker. He one day exclaimed, "What an egregious fool must I have been to have squandered so much blood and treasure, in an absurd attempt to make all men think alike, when I cannot even make a few watches keep time together."

THE Khan of Tartary, who does not possess a single house under the canopy of heaven, has no sooner finished his repast of mare's milk and horseflesh, than he causes a herald to proclaim from his seat that all the princes and potentates of the earth have his permission to go to dinner.

"PRAY, Mr. Abernethy, what is a cure for the gout ?" was the question of an indolent and luxurious citizen. "Live upon sixpence a day-and earn it," was the pithy answer."

NELSON, when young, was piqued at not being noticed in a certain paragraph of the newspapers, which detailed an action wherein he had assisted. "But never mind," said he, "I will one day have a gazette of my own.'

I HAVE seen vicious horses in Egypt cured of the habit of biting by presenting to them, while in the act of doing so, a leg of mutton just taken from the fire. The pain which a horse feels in biting through the hot meat causes it after a few lessons to abandon the vicious habit.-Burckhardt.

ALLAN WATER.

On the banks of Allan Water, when the sweet springtime did fall, Was the miller's lovely daughter, fairest of them all.

For his bride a soldier sought her, and a winning tongue had be, On the banks of Allan Water, none so gay as she.

On the banks of Allan Water, when brown autumn spread its store,

There I saw the miller's daughter; but she smil'd no more, For the summer grief had brought her, and the soldier false was he,

On the banks of Allan Water, none so sad as she.

On the banks of Allan Water, when the winter snow fell fast, Still was seen the miller's daughter, chilling blew the blast! But the miller's lovely daughter both from cold and care was free,

On the banks of Allan Water there a corse lay she.

OH! NANNY.

M. G. Lewis.

OH! Nanny, wilt thou fly with me,
Nor sigh to leave the charming town?
Can silent glens have charms for thee,
The lowly cot and russet gown?
No longer dress'd in silken sheen,
No longer deck'd in jewels rare,
Say, canst thou quit the busy scene
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

Oh! Nanny, when thou'rt far awa,
Wilt thou not cast a wish behind?
Say, can'st thou face the flaky snaw,
Nor shrink before the warping wind?

Oh! can that soft and gentlest mien
Severest hardships learn to bear;
Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
Oh! Nanny, can'st thou love so true,
Through perils keen wi' me to gae;
Or when thy swain mishap shall rue,
To share with him the pang of wae ?
And when invading pains befall,

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care,
Nor, wishful, those gay scenes recall
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
And when at last thy love shall die,

Wilt thou receive his parting breath;
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,
And cheer with smiles the bed of death?
And wilt thou o'er his much-lov'd clay
Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear;
Nor then regret those scenes so gay,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

SIR JOHN MOORE.

THE death of Sir John Moore has furnished the subject of a poem of extraordinary beauty, the author of which was long unknown. It is now ascertained to be the production of one whose compositions were few, and who died young.-WOLFE.

Nor a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the ramparts we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot,
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning,
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,

And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
And bitterly thought of the morrow.

We thought as we hollow'd his narrow bed,
And smooth'd down his lonely pillow,

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow.

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him;
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on,
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half of our heavy task was done,

When the clock struck the hour for retiring, And we heard the distant and random gun, That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory;

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone-
But we left him alone with his glory!

Penny Magazine, 1833.

SCOTS wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots wham Bruce has often led,

Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victory!

Now's the day and now's the hour,
See the front of battle lour,

See approach proud Edward's pow'r,

Chains and slavery!

Wha will be a traitor knave,
Wha can fill a coward's grave,
Wha sae base as be a slave,

Let him turn and fice?

Wha for Scotland's King and law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa',

Let him follow me!

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