islands," said he, "that lie so fresh and green before thee and with which the whole face of the ocean appears dotted as far as thou canst see it, are more in number than the sands on the seashore. There are myriads of islands behind those which thou here discoverest, reaching farther than thine eyes, or even thine imagination can extend itself. These are the mansions of good men after death, who, according to the degrees and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are distributed among these several islands, which abound with pleasure of different kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who are settled in them; every island is a paradise accommodated to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, O Mirza, habitations worth contending for? Does life appear miserable, that gives the opportunities of earning such a reward? Is death to be feared, that will convey thee to so happy an existence? Think not man was made in vain, who has such an eternity reserved for him." I gazed with inexpressible pleasure on these happy islands. At length, said I, "Show me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds which cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of adamant." The genius making no answer, I turned about to address myself to him a second time, but I found that he had left me. I then turned again to the vision which I had been so long contemplating; but instead of the rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long, hollow valley of Bagdad, with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the sides of it. -The Spectator. THE PERILS OF INVISIBILITY.-W. S. GILBERT. Old Peter led a wretched life Old Peter had a furious wife; The little fairy Picklekin "I have three gifts-the first will give "O little fairy Picklekin," Old Peter answered with a grin, "To hesitate would be absurd,Undoubtedly I choose the third.” ""Tis yours," the fairy said; "be quite Whene'er you please. Remember me Old Mrs. Peter overheard Wee Picklekin's concluding word, And jealous of her girlhood's choice, Said, "That was some young woman's voice!" Old Peter let her scold and swear Old Peter, bless him, didn't care. "My dear, your rage is wasted quite- A well-bred fairy (so I've heard) For when conferred the fairy slim She popped away on fairy wings, So there remained a coat of blue, Old Mrs. Peter soon began And then resolved (I quote the Bard) Old Peter woke next day and dressed, Old Peter was a decent man, And though he twigged his lady's plan, Yet, hearing her approaching, he "Dear Mrs. P., my only joy," But no; the cross old lady swore The poor old fellow had no rest; "Now, madam, give them up, I beg- "For though some mirth it might afford But no resolved to have her quiz, But here's the worst of this affair- So he resolved at once to train, And walked and walked with all his main; For years he paced this mortal earth, To bring himself to decent girth. At night when all around is still, Old Peter walks through wind and rain, THE THREE WISHES. "You've saved my life," the master said, "At risk of yours, my faithful Ned; And that a service so immense May not fail of such recompense As lies in human means to make, (Would mine were god-like for your sake!) Three dearest wishes straight unfoldEach shall be granted soon as told.” "Well, den," grinned Ned, with ivory show, "Since massa please to hab it so, My firs' s'all be for-for-e'yah! As much good old peach-brandy, sah, As dis 'ere darkey an' his wife Can jubilate in all dere life. De nex'-Virginia weed enough For me to smoke an' her to snuff, Till life's las' mile-stone s'al be past." "It shall be so, Ned-now the last!" "De las'-hem-gorry! let me see-W'at s'all it in partic'lar be? Oh! now I hab him-chee, e'yah! A leetle more peach-brandy, sah!” THE SPELLING CLASS.-E. P. DYER. INSCRIBED TO ALL OUR MODEL SPELLERS. Stand up, ye spellers now and spell- Metempsychosis, Gherkins, Basque, Would make some spellers colicky. And Cataclysm and Beleaguer, Twelfth, Eighteenth, Rendezvous, Intriguer, Suite, Jalap, Hemorrhage, and Havana, And Rappahannock, Shenandoah, Nor need one think himself a Scroyle, If some of these his efforts foil, "IN THE GARRET ARE OUR BOYS." Here I'm sitting, stitching, darning While above my head the racket Sounds like distant thunder peals. What on earth can mean this tumult, Ah, I know it, yes I hear them,- There is Grayson, "dead in earnest," "Make believe" he's having auction, Now the barrel from the corner "There's your ball, and here mine goes." |