st neatness and dexterity. So I
said to myself, 'A peasant's wife would known nothing about
inkstands--she must belong to the _taleb_."

"Good," said Bou-Akas, nodding his head. "And the money?"

"Did your highness remark that the merchant had his clothes and hands
covered with oil?"

"Certainly, I did."

"Well; I took the money, and placed it in a vessel filled with water.
This morning I looked at it, and not a particle of oil was to be seen on
the surface of the water. So I said to myself, 'If this money belonged
to the oil-merchant it would be greasy from the touch of his hands; as
it is not so, the butcher's story must be true.'"

Bou-Akas nodded in token of approval.

"Good," said he. "And my horse?"

"Ah! that was a different business; and, until this morning, I was
greatly puzzled."

"The cripple, I suppose, did not recognize the animal?"

"On the contrary, he pointed him out immediately."

"How then did you discover that he was not the owner?"

"My object in bringing you separately to the stable, was not to see
whether you would know the horse, but whether the horse would
acknowledge you. Now, when you approached him, the creature turned
towards you, laid back his ears, and neighed with delight; but when the
cripple touched him, he kicked. Then I knew that you were truly his
master."

Bou-Akas thought for a moment, and then said: "Allah has given thee
great wisdom. Thou oughtest to be in my place, and I in thine. And yet,
I know not; thou art certainly worthy to be Scheik, but I fear that I
should but badly fill thy place as Cadi!"

From the Manchester Examiner.

LOVE.--A SONNET.

BY J. C. PRINCE.

Love is an odor from the heavenly bowers,
Which stirs our senses tenderly, and brings
Dreams which are shadows of diviner things
Beyond this grosser atmosphere of ours.
An oasis of verdure and of flowers,
Love smiteth on the Pilgrim's weary way;
There fresher air, there sweeter waters play,
There purer solace charms the quiet hours.
This glorious passion, unalloyed, endowers
With moral beauty all who feel its fire;
Maid, wife, and offspring, brother, mother, sire,
Are names and symbols of its hallowed powers.
Love is immortal. From our head may fly
Earth's other blessings; Love can never die!

_Ashton, 5th March._

From the Spectator.

THE HISTORY OF SORCERY AND MAGIC.[I]

The rationale of magic,