The prime minister tremblingly endeavoured
to exculpate himself.

"Son of an owl and a spider," pursued the
king, "Meerza Snooza, the magician, assured
me that if I could obtain the shirt of a happy
man, I should be delivered from my ailments.
You must be happy. Why did you withhold from
me your shirt?"

"Alas! sire," replied the statesman, "how
can I be happy, with the fear of your sublime
displeasure ever before me? The most I can now
hope is to keep my head where Nature has
placed it from day to day. The humblest of
your majesty's subjects is happier than I.
The scorching sun blazes upon the hill-top,
and there the tempest roars; but the zephyr
and the shadow love the valley. Not among
such as I can your majesty hope to find bliss.
I have upon my estate a farmer, however, who
is the happiest of mankind. If your majesty will
but suffer me to go in search of him, the talisman
will be found."

So the king, resolving to allow the prime
minister to get still richer before he was
bowstrung, commanded him to bring the
farmer.

The farmer came. He was a sour, sturdy fellow
from the neighbourhood of Khoi, the garden
of Persia. He immediately took off his shirt at
the royal command. It was a coarse, rough
garment, and appeared to be thickly inhabited.
The king, though he put it on, was obliged to
take it off again in less than half an hour, in a
state of intolerable irritation; for, reasoned his
majesty, it is impossible any one can be happy
who wears such a shirt as that.

The farmer, who was recalled to the royal
presence, confirmed the opinion, and told a long
dreary story about droughts, and locusts, and
taxes; so that the king would have ordered his
head to be cut off at once to get rid of him;
but the farmer, seeing himself in such imminent
peril, assured the king that the merchant to
whom he sold his corn was a happy man without
doubt, and begged to be allowed to fetch him,
and so got out of danger in the same manner as
the prime minister had.

The merchant came. The king, now warned
by experience, determined to interrogate him
before putting on his shirt. The merchant
complained, as much as the farmer had, of taxes, and
had, besides, another class of grievances
peculiarly his own. He was particularly eloquent
about custom-houses, the extortions of officials,
and a variety of other things, which made the
king so angry that he determined at least to
comfort his disappointment by ordering the
merchant to be executed. This ceremony over, the
king felt something better; but still the
talismanic shirt was not found.

For a long time the king sought the shirt of
happiness through every class of society, and
sought it in vain. Although innumerable
persons were beheaded, bowstrung, and tortured
every day, yet, surprising to relate, happiness
could not be found among his subjects.

One day, however, when his majesty, being
encamped in his summer quarters near
Sultanieh, was out for an afternoon's ride, he saw
a careless red-nosed fellow sitting on a post,
and, every now and then, taking a bottle from
under his sash, applying his lips with intense
satisfaction to its contents. Still, there was a sturdy
air about the man, and a merry light in his eye,
which did not point him out as an habitual wine-
bibber. He seemed rather to be keeping
festival, or enjoying himself upon some occasion of
good fortune.

"Dog of a toper," asked the king, abruptly,
struck with a sudden thought, " are you
happy?"

"Thy servant is happy, king," said the
man.

The king then ordered the royal ferroshes to
seize him, and give him five hundred lashes, to
cause him to relate the reasons of his happiness.
The red-nosed man limped a little when
subsequently brought to the king's tent in the evening,
but still persisted in saying that he was
happy; for, said he, " My wife has only been
dead three weeks." Meerza Snooza, the magician,
who, since he had been consulted, always
accompanied the king in his search, and dined
at the royal table, on being appealed to,
decided that the red-nosed man had good
reasons for his happiness, for that he might have
been henpecked, and was, perhaps, just then
under the first impression of joy at his
deliverance.

Upon this the king immediately ordered the
red-nosed man to be stripped, in order to obtain
the garment which he required, when, wonderful
to relate, it appeared that the only happy man
in his dominions had  no shirt.

Early in March will be commenced a New Serial Work
of Fiction, entitled
VERY HARD CASH
By CHARLES READE, D.C.L.,
Author of "IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND."
To be continued from week to week, until completed in
about eight months.

On Monday, March the Second, will be published, bound in
cloth boards, price 5s. 6d.,
THE EIGHTH VOLUME,
Containing from No- 177 to 200, both
inclusive; and, in addition, SOMEBODY'S
LUGGAGE, being the Extra Double
Number for Christmas.