again, plain John Chaw, servant to Farmer Bull.' You will observe that he turned over as he wished this. Well, instead of resting his other side comfortably upon the feather bed, he turned over, and over, and over, very quickly, upon something very hard. This awoke him. When he opened his eyes he found himself rolling over and over down the very steep pitch below the Wishing Well. He was very much frightened, for he thought that he should be knocked to pieces long before he got to the bottom of the hill. He said to himself, 'I only wish that I may get safely to the bottom of the hill.' While he was wishing this he gradually got his legs before him, and, in consequence, he did not roll over any more, but slid gradually down the steeper part of the hill, and arrived safe and sound at the bottom of it.

"John was now more puzzled than ever he was in his life before. How in the world did he get from Ballicalli Park, in Northumberland, to the Wishing Well at Ventnor, without his recollecting anything about the journey? 'But, then, to be sure, the rolling over and over had,' as he expressed himself, 'put his head in such a whirr that he was so giddy he could hardly stand, and that probably put the recollection of the journey out of his head. He thought, however, that probably he should find both his carriage and his wife waiting for him at the hotel.'

"He walked down to the hotel, and inquired of the waiter whether Lady Kitty Ballicalli was within? The waiter had never heard of the name.

"Is Mr. Ballicalli's carriage here?'

""Whose carriage?' asked the hostler, who was standing by. ""My carriage,' said John, drawing himself up, for he was rather offended at the hostler's familiar tone.

""Your carriage, Jack Chaw!' shouted the hostler, in a loud fit of laughter. So you have been a-losing Farmer Bull's waggon and team; I would not be in your shoes for summut!'

"John now walked down to the cottage, where he used to live with his mother and sister before he grew rich; in short, he was so puzzled that he did not know where else to go to. At first he thought to himself, 'perhaps they will be a little huffy at first, and think that I have not used them well in not asking them to Ballicalli Park, and making fine ladies of them. But, when I explain it all to them, and how particular Lady Kitty is, they must at once see that this would have been altogether out of the question. Then I did send them a twenty pound note now and then, which Lady Kitty said was all that persons in their rank of life could possibly require.

"John then went on to think that they would not canvass his conduct so closely, but would be overpowered by the honour of a visit from the rich Mr. Ballicalli, of Ballicalli Park, in the County of Northumberland. When he came to the cottage his mother was standing looking out of the door.

""'Ods boddikins!' said she, 'John, where in the name of goodness have you been all this blessed day? Farmer Bull has been kicking up such a rumpus about you. Horses and cows not tended to, and the pigs not fed. Farmer Bull actually fed the pigs himself, as Billy was not in the way either. It's a pretty go, indeed, to put your breakfast in your pocket and walk off nobody knows where, instead of coming comfortably home at meal-times.' Here she stopped to take breath, and John had a capital opportunity of putting in a word for himself; but he was quite taken aback by this unexpected attack. In short, it altogether bothered him. However, before his mother started again with the second part of her lecture, he observed that he did not understand what she meant by saying that he had been away the whole day, when she must have known as well as he did that he had not been in the Isle of Wight for at least three months before.

""What do you mean, John ?' said mother and sister both together.

""Why, I just mean this,' he said, 'that I have been spending my time for the last three months at Ballicalli Park, in the county of Northumberland, living like a gentleman; and I will tell you what, mother, riding in a carriage ain't such very great fun, after all, when one begins to be a little accustomed to it. I dare say, now, you are angry at my not having taken you to Ballicalli Park, or sent you more money; but I should think,' added he, in a kind of patronising tone, 'a twenty pound note every now and then, is not altogether to be sneezed at? And how are you all at home? Sister Sally, I see, is looking just as blooming as when I left her three months ago. And, how are the rheumatics, mother?-better, I hope.'

"His mother, however, instead of answering his kind inquiries about her rheumatics, shrugged up her shoulders and looked at Sally, and then exclaimed, 'The boy is gone stark mad! I fear he has not got wit enough left him to look after the team, or see to the cows, or even, I dare say, feed the pigs.' She then, like a thoughtful, careful mother, trotted off to Farmer Bull, to try to make her son's peace with him. 'Her son,' she said, 'had been taken very ill, in a sort of a fit like, and though he was better, she did not think that he was quite right in his head again. She hoped, however, that he would be able to get to his work again in the morning.'

"John did get to his work again the next day, and went on as steadily as ever. He talked, to be sure, a good deal about Ballicalli Park, and Lady Kitty, for the first ten days; but he got so laughed at and quizzed that he soon let the subject drop altogether. And so it remained untalked of, and almost forgotten by everybody but himself, till these last few years, since the number of visitors coming to Ventnor has so greatly increased.

"It struck John one day, observing what numbers of people walked up the hill to see the Wishing Well, that his story occasionally told to a gaping stranger, might turn to some account; and many a shilling, I believe, it has brought him. Stories, my dear sir, as I suppose you must be aware, like wine and friends, improve by keeping. Not that I mean to say that there is one single particle of this tale, in its latest and most improved version, that John Chaw does not himself most implicitly believe to have happened.

"What appears to John to be the most extraordinary part of the history is the way in which the fairy accomplished his second wish, of making him plain John Chaw again, Farmer Bull's servant, and the wonderful manner in which she contrived to snip off three whole months out of his past life, so that not a trace of their existence remained. For nobody could ever persuade him that he had not been for three months Mr. Ballicalli Chaw, of Ballicalli Park, in the county of Northumberland, and he never would marry for fear of those three months of his life being rediscovered, and Lady Kitty Ballicalli prosecuting him for bigamy.

HAROUN ALRASCHID.

O'ER the gorgeous room a luxurious gloom,

Like the glow of a summer's eve, hung;
From its basin of stone, with rose-leaves bestrown,
The fountain its coolness flung;

Perfumes wondrously rare fill'd the eunuch-fann'd air,

And on gem-studded carpets around
The poets sung forth tales of glory or mirth

To their instruments' eloquent sound;

On a throne framed of gold sat their monarch the bold,

With coffers of coin by his side,

And to each, as he sung, lavish handfuls he flung,

Till each in his gratitude cried,

"Long, long live great Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old!"

Disturbing the feast, from the Rome of the East

An embassage audience craves;

And Haroun, smiling bland, cries, dismissing the band,

"We will look on the face of our slaves!" Then the eunuchs who wait on their Caliph in state Lead the messenger Lords of the Greek.

Proud and martial their mien, proud and martial their sheen,

But they bow to the Arab right meek;

And with heads bending down, though their brows wear a frown,

They ask if he audience bestow.

"Yea, dogs of the Greek, we await ye, so speak!-
Have ye brought us the tribute you owe?
Or what lack ye of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old ?"
Then the Greek spake loud, "To Alraschid the Proud
This message our monarch doth send:

While ye played 'gainst a Queen, ye could mate her, I ween

She could ill with thy pieces contend;
But Irene is dead, and a Pawn in her stead

Holds her power and place on the board:
By Nicephorus stern is the purple now worn,
And no longer he owns thee for lord.
If tribute ye claim, I am bade in his name

This to tell thee, O King of the World,
With these, not with gold, pays Nicephorus bold !"-
And a bundle of sword-blades he hurl'd
At the feet of stern Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.
Dark as death was his look, and his every limb shook,
As the Caliph glared round on the foe-
"View my answer!" he roar'd, and unsheathing his sword,
Clove the bundle of falchions right through.

"Tell my slave, the Greek hound, that Haroun the Renown'd,

Ere the sun that now sets rise again,
Will be far on the road to his wretched abode,
With many a myriad of men.

No reply will he send, either spoken or penn'd;
But by Allah, and Abram our sire,
He shall read a reply on the earth, in the sky,
Writ in bloodshed, and famine and fire!

Now begone!" thundered Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

As the sun dropt in night by the murky torch-light,
There was gathering of horse and of man:
Tartar, Courd, Bishareen, Persian, swart Bedoween,
And the mighty of far Khorasan-

Of all tongues, of all lands, and in numberless bands,
Round the Prophet's green banner they crowd,

They are form'd in array, they are up and away,
Like the locusts' calamitous cloud;

But rapine or spoil, till they reach the Greek soil,

Is forbidden, however assail'd.

A poor widow, whose fold a Courd robb'd, her tale told,

And he was that instant impaled

By the stern wrath of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old !

On o'er valley and hill, river, plain, onwards still,
Fleet and fell as the desert-wind, on!

Where was green grass before, when that host had pass'd o'er,

Every vestige of verdure was gone!
On o'er valley and hill, desert, river, on still,
With the speed of the wild ass or deer,
The dust of their tread, o'er the atmosphere spread,
Hung for miles like a cloud in their rear.

On o'er valley and hill, desert, river, on still,
Till afar booms the ocean's hoarse roar,

And amid the night's gloom are seen tower, temple, dome

Heraclea, that sits by the shore!

The doom'd city of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

There was mirth at its height in thy mansions that night,
Heraclea, that sits by the sea!

Thy damsels' soft smiles breathed their loveliest wiles,

And the banquet was wild in its glee!

For Zoe the fair, proud Nicephorus' heir,
That night was betrothed to her mate,
To Theseus the Bold, of Illyria old,

And the blood of the Island-kings great.
When lo! wild and lorn, and with robes travel-torn,
And with features that pallidly glared,
They the Arab had spurn'd from Damascus return'd,
Rush'd in, and the coming declared
Of the armies of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

A faint tumult afar, the first breathing of war,
Multitudinous floats on the gale;

The lelie shout shrill, and toss'd cymbal's peal,
And the trumpet's long desolate wail,
The horse-tramp of swarms, and the clangour of arms,
And the murmur of nations of men.
Oh woe, woe, and woe, Heraclea shall know-
She shall fall, and shall rise not again;
The spiders' dusk looms shall alone hang her rooms,
The green grass shall grow in her ways,
Her daughters shall wail, and her warriors shall quail,

And herself be a sign of amaze,

Through the vengeance of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

The Greek's quenchless fire, the Mussulman's ire
Has hurled over rampart and wall.

And 'tis all one wild hell of blades slaughtering fell,
Where, fiercest and fellest of all,

Work'd the falchion of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

But day rose on day, yet Nicephorus grey,

And Theseus, his daughter's betrothed,
With warrior-like sleight kept the town in despite

Of the Moslem insulted and loathed.
Morn rose after morn on the leaguers outworn,
Till the Caliph with rage tore his beard;

And, terribly wroth, sware a terrible oath

An oath which the boldest ev'n fear'd.
So his mighty Emirs gat around their compeers,
And picked for the onslaught a few.

Oh! that onslaught was dread, -every Moslem struck dead!

But, however, young Theseus they slew,

And that gladdened fierce Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

Heraclea, that night in thy palaces bright

There was anguish and bitterest grief.

"He is gone! he is dead!" were the words that they said,
Though the stunn'd heart refused its belief;

Wild and far spreads the moan, from the hut, from the throne,

Striking every one breathless with fear.

"Oh! Theseus the bold, thou art stark, -thou art cold,

Thou art young to be laid on the bier."

One alone makes no moan, but with features like stone,

In an ecstasy haggard of woe,

Sits tearless and lorn, with dry eyeballs that burn,

And fitful her lips mutter low

Dread threatenings against Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon ol d.

The next morn on the wall, first and fiercest of all,

The distraction of grief cast aside,

In her lord's arms arrayed, Zoe plies the death-blade,

Ay, and, marry, right terribly plied.
Her lovely arm fair, to the shoulder is bare,
And nerved with a giant-like power,

Where her deadly sword sweeps fall the mighty in heaps;
Where she does but appear the foe cower.

Rank on rank they rush on,-rank on rank are struck down,

Till the ditch is choked up with the dead.
The vulture and crow, and the wild dog, I trow,

Made a dreadful repast that night as they fed
On the liegemen of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

This was not to last. - The stern Moslem, downcast,
Retrieved the next morning their might;
For Alraschid the bold, and the Barmecide old,

Had proclaimed through the camp in the night,

That whoso should win the first footing within
The city that bearded their power,

Should have for his prize the fierce girl with black eyes,
And ten thousand zecchines as her dower.
It spurred them right well; and they battled and fell,

Like lions, with long hunger wild.
Ere that day set the sun Heraclea was won,
And Nicephorus bold, and his child,
Were captives to Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

To his slave, the Greek hound, roared Haroun the renowned,

When before him Nicephorus came,

"Though the pawn went to queen, 'tis checkmated, I ween,
Thou'rt as bold as unskilled in the game.