pear before him on the feast of the full moon. They came from Bethel and Dan, the court and the school of the prophets.

Then King Solomon, arrayed in the regal robes, sat on his throne, the sceptre of Israel in his right hand. The Queen of Sheba sat beside him. He commanded his sages to speak. Many opened their mouths, and discoursed right eloquently; they told of many things. The eyes of the queen shone like dew-drops which quiver at sunrise on the peach-blossoms. Solomon was sad.

At last one arose of courtly mien. He told of wondrous cities in far-off lands; how the sun scalds the dew in Sahara; how it forsakes the chill north for whole months, leaving the cold moon in its place; he spoke of the fleets that go down to the sea; he told how they weave wax at Tyrus, spin gold at Ophir; of the twisted shell that comes from Oroba, and the linen in Egypt that endures the fire; he spoke of fleets, of laws, the art that makes men happy.

"Truly, he is wise," said the king. "But let others speak." Another came forth; he was young in years, his cheek was burning with enthusiasm, the fire of genius shone in his eye like the day star when all the others are swallowed up in light. He spoke of the works of the great One; told how the cedar of Lebanon, when the sun kisses its forehead, lifts up its great arms with a shout, shaking off the feathery snow in winter, or the pearly dew of autumn, to freshen the late river that glitters at its foot. He spoke of the elephant, the antelope, the jackal, the camel, the eagle; he knew them all. He told of the fish that make glad the waters as the seasons dance and frolic around about their heads. He sang in liquid softness of the daughters of air who melt the heaven into song; he rose to the stars, spoke of old chaos, of the world, the offering of love. He spoke of the stars, the crown, Mazzaroth, and the tall ladder Jacob saw. He sang again the star of creation.

“He is wiser than Solomon," said the king; “to him belongs the prize."

But at that moment some men in humble garb brought a stranger unwillingly along His raiment was poor, but comely and snow white. The seal of labor was on his hand;

the dust of travel covered his sandals. His beard long and silvery, went down to his girdle; a sweet smile, like a sleeping infant's, sat unconscious on his lip. His eye was the angel's lamp, that burns in still devotion before the court of paradise, making the day. As he leaned on his shepherd's staff in the gay court, a blush like a girl's stole over his cheek. 'Speak," said the king.

"I have nothing to say," exclaimed the hoary man. 'I know only how unwise and frail I am. I am no sage." And Solomon's countenance rose. "By the sceptre of Elshaddai I charge thee to speak, thou ancient man. Then he began: "My study is myself; my acts, my sentiment. I learn how frail I am; I of myself can know nothing. I listen to that voice within; and I know all, I can do all." Then he spoke of his glees, his glooms, and his hopes; his aspirations, his faith. He spoke of nature, the modest trees, the pure golden stars. When he came to Him who is ALL IN ALL he bowed his face and was dumb. "Give him the ring," said Solomon. He knows himself, he is the wisest. The spirit of the Holy is in him." "Take back the gift," said the sage, "I need it not. He that knows himself needs no reward, he knows God, he sees the All of things. Alas! I do but feebly know myself--I deserve no ring. Let me return to my home and my duty.”

66

THE LOST WATCH

(AS RELATED BY JUVENAL, IN SCRIBNER'S MONTHLY).

Mr. EDITOR. The following most extraordinary incident was related to me by a very worthy man, whose word is as good as his affidavit among all who know him. But in giving it to the public, through your widely-circulating magazine, I have thought it well to acconipany it by his sworn affidavit, which will be found below.

Some ten or fifteen years ago,
But just how long I do not know,

A man,

while crossing in a boat

A Western river of some note,

[I have forgotten the man's name-I think it was Pike, but I am not quite sure, nor do I recollect the name of the river-I never was good at remembering But I am more sure of the facts; they made too deep an impression on my mind to be so easily forgotten.]

names.

Dropped in the stream, as I was told,
Ah, sad mishap! a watch of gold.

He saw it sink,-'twas new and bright,-
Down, down, and down, quite out of sight.
He made long search, but all in vain;
The watch could not be found again.
Who knows, says he, at last, but what,
Some hungry fish, just in that spot,
Has quickly seized it for his prey,
And then as quickly fled away?
So, in despair he leaves the river,
And gives it up as lost forever.

Well, years rolled by, when on a day,
As fortune le him round that way,
And times were dull, he felt inclined
To see if he some fish could find,
Perchance, in that unlucky stream,
But still, he did not hope or dream
By fishing there, to find the prize
So long concealed from human eyes.
He only hoped, with fair success,
To catch enough for one good mess.

He cast his line,—but needs must wait,
And many times renew his bait.

The hours passed by. 'Twas getting late-
And not one fish. Such was his fate,
When suddenly, to his delight,

He felt a most uncommon bite,

And hauling in, with skill and care,

Lest from the hook the fish should tear,
Up comes, at length, to greet his eyes,
A salmon-trout of largest size.

[I ought, however, in all honesty to say that I am not quite positive that this was the kind of fish he caught-I only give my impression; I am not versed in piscatorial affairs, never having caught a fish in my life.]

It was enough. He did not stay
For more, but homeward took his way
With lighter heart-but heavier load,
Than when he traveled that same road
The day he lost his watch, you know,
Some ten or fifteen years ago.

As through the streets he lugged his prize
It drew the notice of all eyes;

And many wanted much to buy it;
But "No!" says he, "My wife shall fry it.
I'll have, to-night, as rich a treat
As ever lord or king did eat."
Ah, lucky man was he to hold it!

How sad indeed if he had sold it!

But still the thought ne'er crossed his mind,
That in the fish his watch he'd find;
It had been lost so long ago,

Some ten or fifteen years, you know.
Right on he keeps his homeward way,
Arriving just at close of day;
He lays his load upon the table,
And says, "Dear wife, if you are able,
Come dress this fish,-'tis something nice,-
Then cook it well, and in a trice;
The dinner hour is long since past,

I've had a long and weary fast."

So now his wife
Whets up a knife

And straightway goes to dress it.
When lo! indeed!
Need I proceed?

You all, no doubt, will guess it.

But this I'll state,

At any rate,

"Twill take me but a minute,

She dressed the fish
As he did wish,

And took out what was in it.

Then with the roe,

(That's good, you know)

Believe it if you will,

She cooked the fish-
They ate the fish.

The watch,--is missing still.

Here follows the affidavit of my informant, above referred to; but being a diffident man, he requests that his name be not printed in full, and I have, in order to please him, given only the initials.

A-G-appeared before me on this the 1st day of April, 1878, and being duly sworn, declared that the above statement of facts is true in every particular according to his own personal knowledge; and furthermore, that he is first cousin to Mr.-'s wife and often at his house, and that hearing of his good luck, he happened round there on the very evening the fish was caught, but unfortunately, not till after they had finished their dinner, and so he got none of the fish; but they kindly gave him a glass of cider, and showed him the head and tail of the fish, which the cat was contemplating with great interest. Nothing was said about the watch, and he is morally certain if it had been found his cousin would LAMPREY EELS, J. P.

have told him.

OSHKOSH, April 1st, 1878

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