Coptic and Arabic, Armenian too,
With here and there a Talmud, and a treatise
On the Cabala or the Mysteries
In old Egyptian, which to wizards sweet is.

An ivory rod, a skull or two of Pharaohs',
That answered questions if examined rightly,
Huge chests of poisons, stupifying drugs,
And the brown incense crushed for burning nightly.

But I had quite forgot; there was one room
Paved and walled in with mummies, brown and sable,
The very ceiling mummies; a gilt coffin case
Served as old Abou-Ali's study table.

And each one down the long and level line,
Held out its stiffened arm, as if in warning,
And staring stood like yawning sentinel,
Waiting the trumpet of the judgment morning.

All Egypt's rank and beauty withered up
Was there in audience; in the neighbouring chamber,
The walls with spheres and stars were blazoned
thick,
With silver moons, and suns of gold and amber.

And the last room, most terrible of all,
Was roofed with dead men's eyes; each withered
jewel
Some alchemist had charred in search of spells,
And turned its diamond light to cindered fuel.

The only guardian of this awful house
Was Hassan, foolish son of an old weaver,
A gaping, prying, idle, thoughtless dolt,
A fingering, tipsy, lazy, hair-brained thiever.

In shuddering curiosity he roamed
From room to room, eying each mighty folio,
Pinching the mummies, sniffing at the drugs,
Eager to see the whole of that great olio.

Ali was in the desert, sifting out
From scorpions' holes and vultures' nests a powder,
Of great intensity of poison; all alone
Was Hassan, who grew hourly lazier, prouder.

The old Jew's daughter last week ran away,
The cobbler by the fountain lay bedridden,
The slipper-seller was tied up at home,
And for his idling being sorely chidden.

First from the door, and then the window looked
That monkey Hassan, dreading most his master;
Then to the mummy room in mischief swift,
Heedless of woe, and careless of disaster.

Out came the special book, a parchment tome,
Open the special leaf—the lamp was nourished
With magic oil of mummies' tongues, and lo!
He seized the rod that Abou-Ali cherished.

And read the potent words, and bade Aldeboron
To save him toil, go fetch the sweet Nile water,
Some three full pails, and this in Satan's name,
And great Taxana's, his dear eldest daughter.

Then spread a demon laugh among the dead,
That made his hair rise, as a mummy springing
Leaped from the room, forced by that wondrous spell,
In spite of all the other mummies to him clinging.

Back with the water-pails, and swilling out
Over the floor in streams the Nile flood courses;
Back with the slopping pails, with all the speed
And strength of ten untiring, untamed desert horses.

An inundation all before its time—
Alas! the fool is like a wild duck swimming,
And every moment higher floats the tide,
And all the ground floor now is full and brimmiug.

Swish, wash, and gurgle, bubble, ripple, rush,
It rises to the waist of frightened Hassan,
Nay, to the chin, in vain he's shouting out,
"Stay, goblin, stay, you're surely no assassin!"

The books are gone, all swept off by the flood;
He splashes, tumbles, swims, and swimming clamours,
But yet the laughing goblin at his toil
Continues, till poor Hassan fainter stammers:

"Stop, stop; give me the book.  I'm drowning, man;
Stop, or you'll kill me.  Save me, prophet sainted—
Save me, Mohammed "—in his ears and mouth
The cruel water rushed, and then he fainted.

*          *          *          *          *

When he awoke, within the baled out room
Stood Abou Ali, his wrath lord and master,
Beating him with a palm-stick, as the cause
Of all this desolation and disaster.

"Another time, you blockhead," Ali said,
"Before you read the spell that starts the goblin,
Learn that which lays him;" here he fell again
To thrashing him, with energy redoubling.

Then stripped him of his turban, gay and yellow,
And of his robe and sash, without remorse or pity,
And by the shoulders took him, and with kicks
Dismissed him, howling, from the sacred city.

PROMOTERS OF COMPANIES.

NOT many mouths ago, I was doing my best
to obtain employment in London. "Beggars
must not be choosers," and I was determined
to accept any appointment I could get, provided
I thought myself tolerably competent to fulfil
the duties of the situation.  One morning, when
looking over the Times, the following advertisement
caught my eye:

"WANTED, for a first-class Joint-Stock
Company, a SECRETARY.—Apply, by
letter, stating what salary is expected, and giving
references, to A. L., 109, Little Green-street, E.C."

Within half an hour of my having read this,
I had written and posted a letter addressed to
"A. L.," and had told that personage I was in
want of exactly such an appointment as he
described in his advertisement; that, as regarded
salary, I must be allowed to learn what duties
were expected of me before I could state the
amount of payment I should require; that, in
any case, I thought we should not quarrel about
terms; lastly, I gave the names of two or three
gentlemen in London, to whom I could refer as
l my character, capabilities, &c.; in conclusion,
I begged to know the name of the "first-
class Joint-stock Company" that was in want
of a secretary?

To my surprise, I did not get an answer for
three days, and, when it came, the letter gave
me so little information that I inclined at first
to have nothing more to say either to "A. L."