"Well," said Hophara, “I wish I had no greater trouble." His magical book was with him, and he forthwith turned aside and wrote therein, "May my daughter be married to a poor man."

Now, he thought that if he had no greater trouble than this, his life might pass pleasantly enough, for he was rich enough to give his child all needful assistance. He returned to his home with much trepidation, anxious to ascertain the efficacy of his wonderful book, and he was presently satisfied of its power by finding all his household in great consternatian and alarm at the sudden disappearance of their master's only daughter. Hophara alone was calm in the general tumult, and all were astonished to see the placidity with which he received the intelligence. In a few days his daughter returned, praying her father's forgiveness, and acknowledging that her flight from home was occasioned by her attachment to one, to a marriage with whom she knew that her father would never give his consent. She confessed that she was married, and she sought only for pardon-for pardon and nothing more. All who knew the pride of Hophara, and his ambition for himself and for his family, were struck with amazement at seeing that he not only forgave his daughter for this serious act of disobedience, but sent for her husband, whom, though but a poor man, he most graciously received and acknowledged as his son-in-law, and to whom he made many valuable and liberal presents.

In an inconceivably short time, however, the money and the valuables which Hophara had given to his sonin-law had disappeared, and there was need of a further supply, or there was danger that Hophara would be disgraced by the poverty and necessity of his only daughter and his acknowledged son-in-law. A fresh supply of money was given, but with not quite so good a grace as the first, nor did it last much longer. Then more was required, then more still. At length Hophara, finding that serious inroads had been made upon his wealth, began to think that he had made an injudicious choice of a trouble; and forthwith he meditated how this

evil might be remedied, and another substituted for it. He had been told by the old man in the cave, that any trouble would continue with him till he should choose another, and write the name of it in the wonderful book. He had chosen that his daughter should be married to a poor man, because he thought that this would be à very light trouble to him, seeing that he had wealth enough of his own, and to spare; but now he began to discover that he had been endeavouring to get rid of this trouble by making the poor man rich, but this he found he could not do, unless he should choose some other trouble, and write the name of it in the book. He was now thrown into a serious perplexity, and thought he had been making a very foolish use of his mysterious book. It had presently become the means of taking away from him a very large portion of his wealth, and it seemed likely to be the means of utterly impoverishing him; for, having once began to supply the wants of his son-in-law, he could not with much consistency or propriety withhold these supplies, yet he was very sure that they would be all to no purpose so long as the last wish continued in the book; he therefore thought that his best policy would be to put up with the loss that he had already sustained, to write down some other trouble, and then to place his son-inlaw above the reach of poverty.

conse

With renewed diligence, but with rather less impetuosity than before, he again set about seeking after some substitute for his present calamity, and resolved within himself that he would consider a little more attentively than before, what might be the quences of his choice. Therefore, he endeavoured to devise or to imagine some trouble which should not contain within itself the seeds and means of further troubles; one that should not leave him, as the present did, poorer than it found him. He considered various kinds of calamities, and, having the last time made choice of a relative evil, he thought it might now be better to choose one that was personal; and knowing by his talk with wise men, that bodily afflictions were not so great as mental afflictions, he

resolved at last to make choice of some bodily ailment; so, as he had never had the toothache, and as a tooth did not seem any great matter, he chose the toothache, and enriched his son-in-law, who forthwith became a very prudent and careful man, not throwing away his money as before. This pleased Hophara very much, only it would have pleased him much more if he had not been at so great an expense of money and of trouble to procure this result. But the toothache did not please him at all; it was a very unpleasant thing indeed; even its novelty was no recommendation to it. Hophara put his hand to his face, and walked about the room stamping and raving like a madman. He could do nothing he could neither eat nor drink-sleeping, too, was quite out of the question; and as for going to court, the very thought was ridiculous, he should be making such grimaces that the king himself and all the courtiers must absolutely laugh at him. He began to think that the wise men, who had told him that the afflictions of the body were less than those of the mind, were not quite so wise as they looked or he thought that he was not himself overwise, for making such a fuss about a trifle like the toothache; but, wise or not wise, he could not help it. All his friends, family, and household pitied him very much, and recommended a variety of remedies, all of which he knew would be of no use to him; some advised him to have the tooth taken out, but he knew better, for he knew that if that one were taken out it would leave its malady to another, and at that rate he might have them all taken out. Having, however, learned wisdom from his former calamity, he determined that he would not throw away his teeth as he had thrown away his money; for it might be possible that by some turn of fortune he might get money again, but teeth once gone could never be restored-for in those days the terro-metallic teeth were not invented. However, the toothache must be got rid of, by hook or by crook, for Hophara was not philosopher enough to bear that with patience. Indeed, he was in such a passion with the wonderful book, that

he actually threw it in the fire with the intention to destroy it; but it was not to be got rid of so easily, for it bounced indignantly out of the fire, scorning to be burnt. So tormented was Hophara with the toothache that he hardly knew what he was doing or what he would have, but at all events he must get rid of the toothache; therefore he begged leave of his magical companion to substitute the earache for the toothache. No sooner said than done. Alas! Hophara thought that there was not a pin to choose between them. He again wondered what the wise men could mean by speaking so lightly of bodily suffering, and he thought that they deserved to have the toothache or earache for their pains, whichever they preferred; and that they ought to have them both together till they had made up their minds which of the two to keep. Hophara's friends pitied him as much for the earache as they had before for the toothache, and their pity did him as much good in the one case as it had done in the other. Being not a bit more in love with the earache than he had been with the toothache, he was quite as anxious to get rid of that complaint as he had been to get rid of its predecessor. By way of a change, this happiest of men, who was privileged to make choice of his own troubles, next tried a fit of the gout, which, being a gentlemanly complaint, had nothing particularly exceptionable about it, except its most intolerable and tremendous painfulness.

Hophara did not like it, however, any better than the toothache or the earache; he made sad wry faces at it, but did not stamp about the room, nor did he swear, for that would have been unworthy of his high station, and he was a very particular man in that respect. His friends came about him as before, and pitied him very heartily, and he felt greatly obliged to them for their pity, only he begged they would not come near his

toe.

He thought again of the wise men, and the more he thought of them, the less he thought of their wisdom. Then, again, in addition to the bodily pain of the gout, he was mortified by the pity so liberally bestowed upon him as being so very unfortunate, when

he ought by right to have been the most fortunate man living; for he was permitted to choose whatever trouble he preferred, and to have only that one as long as he liked. Many people have a great many troubles much longer than they like, and nobody is altogether free from trouble; what more, then, can a man reasonably desire, than to have his choice of calamity? Besides this, Hophara had chosen bodily instead of mental pain, because all wise men had said that mental was more afflicting than bodily pain. Still, however, he did not like the gout, and though it was very clear that he was a peculiarly high-favoured man by virtue of possessing this wonderful book, yet he could not help thinking that he had been quite as well without it. He wanted very much to get rid of the gout, but he was at a loss what to have in its place; it was not possible for him, while labouring under this attack, to go to the cave and return the book to the old man from whom he had received it. Then, again, he did not know that he was quite sure of finding the old man at home, if he should go; and what a miserable thing it would be if he should never be able to get rid of this mysterious book, and thus be forced to endure the gout all his life long, or to make choice of some other calamity, which for aught he knew might turn out worse than the gout.

He

All these thoughts and meditations, added to the bodily pain he endured, were a great annoyance to him, and thus his temper became soured. became nervous and irritable, and every body observed how much he was altered of late. Now the wise men who had persuaded him that bodily pain was a mere trifle, and unworthy of regard, did not come near him while he was suffering with the gout, because perhaps they thought bodily pain was beneath the notice of a wise man. Hophara was left, therefore, to the resources of his own wisdom, to get himself out of his present scrape. To get rid of the book while he had the gout, was quite out of the question, therefore he knew that he must choose some other trouble; but the difficulty again was, what should he choose? The wise men were not near

him to assure him how much more agreeable bodily pain is than mental, and moreover he had recently undergone such bodily pain that he was not disposed to undergo any more if he could possibly help it, and he certainly could help it while he had that wonderful book in his possession. Now, between the twinges of that unwelcome visitor, the gout, he endeavoured to think what would be the least troublesome trouble that he could have in its stead; but the twinges came on so rapidly that he could not maintain any continuous train of thought, but was forced to think by fits and starts, interlarding his brief meditations with loud outcries. Indeed, he was almost mad with pain, and that will account perhaps for what follows.

It has been already stated, that Hophara was a very wise and a very good man; it may also be added that he was also a very good husband to a very good wife. In the midst of his meditations, it somehow came into his mind, that among other sufferings he might be able to undergo the loss of this very good wife. The very thought filled him with alarm and trepidation -nay, it was so very terrible that when once it got into his head he could not get it out again. He tried hard to think of something else, but nothing else would remain in his thoughts. He did not know how far the magic power of his book might extend, perhaps it might bring his wife to life again, if he should happen to feel very uncomfortable in the loss of her. The old man of the cave certainly said nothing about any one coming to life again, but he said that one trouble should continue till another was written in the book; of course, then, if the trouble of the loss of his wife was to cease when he should write another trouble in the wonderful book, his wife must necessarily be restored to him; and yet again he thought, for he had heard such talk from those who did not think so highly of their wives as he did, that the trouble of the loss might cease without the restoration of the person lost, but for his own part he did not know how that could be. Indeed, he might have thought, only perhaps the severe twinges of the gout prevented it, that in the case of his

daughter the marriage was not done away with, although the poverty of it was; and that, therefore, it might probably be the same with the loss of his wife the loss might continue, but the trouble might depart. Then, again, the gout kept giving him such severe twinges, that he hardly knew what he was thinking about; and though his wife did not know of his possessing this mysterious book, yet such was her penetration, that it was possible she might find it out; and if, after having written in it such a wicked wish as that which he now meditated, his wife should see, and should get possession of the book, what could he say for himself? But the gout was very troublesome, and he was so dis tracted with pain, that he could not think of any other way to get rid of it than to undergo the loss of the best of all possible wives. Being quite alone, and just suffering under one of the most villanous twinges that his complaint had yet given him, in a fit of desperation he drew from his bosom the awful book, and wrote therein the trouble which he fain would substitute for the gout. He was frightened out of his wits while he was doing it, for fear his wife might come into the apartment and catch him at it. His hand trembled like an aspen leaf, and he wrote it so badly that he was afraid the spirit which watched over the book might not be able to read it. But he presently found that there was no mistake; his gout was gone, his foot was in a rapture of ease, and without thinking of the condition on which he had purchased this relief, he sprang from his couch and danced about in mad delight. His wife at that moment entered the room, and so glad was she to see this pleasant and sudden change, that the emotion quite overcame her, she went into a fit on the instant, and died with joy.

"The happiest death in the world!" cried Hophara. But, alas! in a few moments came reflection, and with it the deepest grief-he raved and tore his hair, and would have torn his garments, only he was afraid of betraying the book which he kept concealed in his bosom. He called in the aid of all the most skilful physicians in Memphis, and when they came they all said

that they could do nothing he knew that before they came. He would fain recal her to life by means of his wonderful book; only he was not quite certain that he could; and even if he could, what would she say to him, when she should come to life again, and know all the particulars, as she certainly must. This made him pause, and he knew not what to do. He fairly wished the book at the bottom of the Red Sea. So impatient was he to get rid of the book, and without waiting for his wife's funeral, he set off as fast as his legs could carry him to the cave where the old man dwelt. And all the people of Memphis, when they saw with what irreverent haste he ran, thought that he was crazy, and so indeed he was; but though the people stared at him, and pointed at him, and though some rude and idle boys in the street called and shouted after him, still he ran on as one possessed. The day was intensely hot, the sun was shining with cloudless splendour, yet he ran, and he ran, and he ran all across the shelterless sands, till he came to the cave whence he had received that pernicious book which had robbed him of half his wealth, and of a beloved wife, and which had afflicted him with the toothache, the earache, and the gout. Coming out of the light, the cave was to him so intensely dark that he could see nothing; but he went on, and on, fully resolved not to turn back till he should find the old man, or, if he could not find him, to perish in the cave. He walked a long while in total darkness, and began to be in great alarm, and to wish that he had never wished to get rid of his troubles. At length he saw a glimmer of light: he knew the lamp; he hastened towards it, and there he saw the old man sitting with a book in his hand, reading by lamplight as quietly as if nothing had happened. At sight of the person who had caused him so much trouble, sitting and reading with such exquisite composure, Hophara could with difficulty refrain from behaving rudely, being scarcely able so far to govern his temper as to abstain from throwing the book at the old man's head. Just in the same fashion as at the first visit which Hophara had paid to the