dread some latent treachery lurking in ambush under these gay and pleasant looks. Besides all these imaginations and apprehensions, which were perpetually disturbing his peace of mind, he had many other troubles of various kinds, and it was one of his greatest vexations that he was supposed to be much more happy than all the rest of the world, when he knew that the fact was far otherwise; so that while he saw himself an object of envy, he felt that in truth he was rather an object of pity.

It happened one day that Hophara wandered in moody meditation far beyond the walls of the city, scarcely knowing whither he went, and what he was seeking. He at length found himself in a solitary place by the river's side, far away from the tumult of the city or the sound of human voices; for he felt sorely troubled by the lively manifestations of joy and satisfaction which he continually heard around him. The sun was high in the heavens, and the heat of it began to be oppressive, when happily he saw at a distance a cave that had been hollowed out from a rock. Thither he directed his steps with eager haste, and, when arrived there, he sat down on a stone bench not far within the mouth of the cave, and which seemed to have been placed there for the accommodation of weary travellers. He was so delighted with the refreshing coolness and pleasant rest of the place, that for a while he forgot his troubles; but afterwards, when he had somewhat recovered from his fatigue, he felt his curiosity excited to examine more closely the place in which he had sought refuge from the heat of the sun. He had not proceeded many steps towards the interior of the cave, befere he saw the figure of an aged man as still as a marble statue, seated with a book

in his hand, and apparently reading with profound attention by the dim light of a small lamp suspended from the roof of the cavern. Hophara was struck at the strange sight, and was held in pleasing astonishment at the remarkable beauty of the old man's face, which seemed to him a perfect model of pure contentment and benevolence, looking as though his own cup of happiness was more than full, and was overflowing beneficently for others. It was not fear, but awe and admiration, that held the Egyptian silent, as he gazed upon this interesting sight; and so long did he stand looking upon the aged man in silence, that at length when he would have spoken he felt a kind of charm that held him speechless. As if, however, knowing his thoughts, the old man raised his mild and beautiful eyes from the book in which he was reading, and, fixing them upon Hophara with a pleasing and friendly expression, said, "Man of Memphis, what seekest thou?"

There was so much music in the tone of the voice that Hophara felt at once enchanted and disenchanted; for he was delighted with the kindness expressed, while the feeling of awe which had chained up his tongue was presently dispersed, and he freely replied to the interrogation, "I seek happiness!"

Then the old man replied, "Canst thou not find it in Memphis? Hast thou not riches? Hast thou not station and power? Hast thou not learning, and piety, and many friends? Is there aught which men desire and which thou possessest not? If there be, speak, and it shall be given to thee?"

Hophara felt reproved, and replied, "It is true as thou hast said; the blessings of life are mine abundantly, but, alas! I can enjoy them but imperfectly. Though

I am rich, I have no more enjoyment from my riches than the poor seem to have from their poverty; though I am high in station and in power, I often envy the slaves who envy me."

"Wouldst thou then become poor and humble? asked the stranger. "Wouldst thou part with all or any of the blessings which thou now possessest?"

Readily enough he answered to this question, saying, "Not willingly; for though I do not feel quite happy with them, yet I am sure that I should be quite unhappy without them."

"What wouldst thou then?" said the sage.

Hophara replied, "I would fain be rid of those many cares, and troubles, and anxieties which embitter my life, and prevent the full enjoyment of my blessings."

"But dost thou not know," said the old man, "that every living being is destined to endure some trouble, pain, or trial? Wouldst thou unreasonably then ask for a lot which no mortal man has yet possessed?"

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Nay," replied Hophara, "I ask not for a degree of happiness which no mortal man has ever enjoyed. I know that it is impossible to live without some troubles or causes of uneasiness."

"Thou wouldst then have," said the old as possible, and them as light as possible?" "Even so,” replied the Egyptian.

66 man, as few

"Have then thy wish," said the stranger. There was something so awful and preternatural in the sound of the voice, that Hophara trembled when he heard the words, for he felt that they were spoken with power. Forthwith the lamp in the cavern burned brighter, and cast around them both a light as bright as the sun at mid-day. The old man rose from his seat, and present

ing the book to Hophara he said, "Man of Memphis, thou art a man of many troubles, and thou seekest to be free from these troubles, that thou mayest enjoy the many blessings which thou possessest. Thou knowest that no one of the living is exempt from all cause of sorrow, and thou art not so unreasonable as to seek for that which no mortal hath ever enjoyed. Take then this book and preserve it as an inestimable treasure; choose for thyself whatever trouble or troubles thou wilt, however few or however small, still thou canst not be altogether without trouble, and whatever be the existing trouble, it shall remain with thee till thou hast chosen for thyself anew. Whatever thou choosest thou must write in this book, and it shall be unto thee as thou desirest, and no other trouble shall come unto thee save that which thou desirest, so long as thou keepest possession of this book, and thou canst only get rid of the book by bringing it again to me in this cave."

Hophara eagerly received the book, regarding it as the instrument of his happiness, and was about to thank his unknown benefactor with intemperate and passionate gratitude, when suddenly the bright light of the cave disappeared, and he was left in total darkness and solitude. He called aloud, but no one made answer, and so bewildered was he by what he had seen and heard, that he knew not which way to turn towards the entrance of the cave. He feared to turn either one way or the other lest he might go wrong, and so be more and more involved in the labyrinth of darkness. He began to think that he must be dreaming, but he felt that he had actual possession of the book; yet what use could it be to him in this darkness, for he could not see to write anything therein, and he recollected that the old man

had said to him "Whatever be the existing trouble, it shall remain with thee till thou hast chosen to thyself a new." Therefore he began to fear that this trouble of darkness and bewilderment must endure so long as he kept possession of the book, and more than once he thought to cast it away from him as a gift more for evil than for good; but there was a charm which prevented him from parting with it, because though he felt it a trouble to him where he then was, yet he thought that it would be a great treasure to him could he but once find his way with it to his own home. He was now under the necessity of using patience and sagacity in order to find his way out of the cave, and he could not help thinking how much trouble it cost him to get rid of his troubles. At length, after much wandering in the darkness, he thought he saw some glimmer of light, and, directing his footsteps that way, found to his great satisfaction that he was now about to emerge again into the light of day.

Now was he glad indeed, for the terror under which he had been labouring in the cave had given a double relish to liberty and daylight. He hastened to his home, full of pleasing anticipations that he was now about to be the happiest of mortals, and the very hope of happiness that was to come, gave him a higher degree of rapture than anything he had hitherto enjoyed. His first care, trouble indeed it was not, was to choose some other trouble in the place of those under which he was then labouring; but it so happened that the delight which he felt in the acquisition of this new talisman was so great, that he scarcely regarded his troubles as anything; they seemed merely to give a zest to his being, so that though his actual condition was precisely the