and said, "Verily this is a dish worthy the table of the great Solomon." "Eat on, my friend,” replied the Barmecide. — Boy! place before us the lamb fattened with almonds. — Now, this is a dish never found but at my table, and I wish thee to eat thy fill of it." As he said this, he pretended to take a piece in his hand, and put it to Shacabac's mouth. Shacabac held his head forward, opened his mouth, pretended to take the piece, and to chew and swallow it with the greatest delight, saying, "O my master! verily this dish hath not its equal in sweetness of flavor." "Do justice to it, I pray, and eat more of it," said his host. "The goose, too, is very fat. Try only a leg and a wing. Ho there, boy! bring us a fresh supply." At which, Shacabac protested, "O no, my lord! for in truth, I cannot eat any more.". "Let the dessert, then, be served," said the Barmecide, "and the fruit be brought. Taste these dates: they are just gathered, and very good. Here, too, are some fine walnuts, and here some delicious raisins. Eat, and be not ashamed." Shacabac's jaws were by this time weary of chewing nothing. "I assure thee," said he, "I am so full that I can not eat another morsel of this cheer." "Well, then," said the joker, "we will now have the wine. Boy, bring us the wine! Here, my friend, take this cup: it will delight thee. Come, drink my health, and tell me if thou thinkest the wine good." But the wine, like the dinner and dessert, did not appear. However, he pretended to pour some out, and drank the first glass, after which he poured out anothe: for his guest. Shacabac took the imaginary glass, and, first holding it up to the light to see if it was of a good bright color, he put it to his nose to inhale its perfume; then, making a profound reverence to the Barmecide, he drank it off with every mark of keen appreciation. The Barmecide continued to pour out one bumper after another so frequently, that Shacabac, pretending that the wine had got into his head, feigned to be tipsy. This being the case, he raised his fist, and gave his host such a violent blow that he knocked him down. Whereupon the Barmecide shouted: "What, thou vilest of creation! Art thou mad?" "O my master!" said Shacabac, "thou hast fed me with thy provisions, and regaled me with old wine; and I have become intoxicated, and committed an outrage upon thee. But thou art of too exalted dignity to be angry with me for my ignorance!" At which the Barmecide burst into laughter. "Come," said he, "I have long been looking for a man of thy character. Let us be friends. Thou hast kept up the jest in pretending to eat: now thou shalt make my house thy home, and eat in earnest." Having said this, he clapped his hands. Several slaves instantly appeared, whom he ordered to set out the table and serve the dinner. His commands were quickly obeyed, and Shacabac now enjoyed in reality the good things of which he had before partaken only in dumb show. -From the Arabian Nights. Kindness is a precious oil that makes the crushing wheels of care seem lighter, -Eugene Field. The kitchen of a New England matron was her throneroom, her pride; it was the habit of her life to produce the greatest possible results there with the slightest possible discomposure. Everything there seemed to be always done and never doing. Washing and baking, those formidable disturbers of the composure of families, were all over with in those two or three morning-hours when we are composing ourselves for a last nap-and only the fluttering of linen over the green yard, on Monday mornings, proclaimed that the dreaded solemnity of a family washing had transpired. A breakfast arose there as by magic; and in an incredibly short space after, every knife, fork, spoon, and trencher, clean and shining, was looking as innocent and unconscious in its place as if it never had been used and never expected to be. The floor, of snowy boards sanded with whitest sand; the ancient fireplace stretching quite across one end—a vast cavern, in each corner of which a cozy seat might be found distant enough to enjoy the crackle of the great jolly wood-fire. Across the room ran a dresser, on which was displayed great store of shining pewter dishes and plates, which always shone with the same mysterious brightness; and by the side of the fire, a commodious wooden "settee," or settle, offered repose to people too little accustomed to luxury to ask for a cushion. Oh, that kitchen of the olden times, the old, clean, roomy New England kitchen! - who that has breakfasted, dined, and supped in one has not cheery visions of its thrift, its warmth, its coolness? The noon-mark on its floor was a dial that told off some of the happiest days; thereby did great-grandmother right up the short-comings of the solemn old clock that tick-tacked in the corner, and whose ticks seemed mysterious prophecies of unknown good yet to arise out of the hours of life. How dreamy the winter twilight came in here- when as yet the candles were not lighted when the crickets chirped around the dark stone hearth, and shifting tongues of flame flickered and cast dancing shadows and elfish lights on the walls, while our great-grandmother nodded over her knitting work, and puss purred, and old Rover lay dreamily opening now one eye and then the other on the family group! With all our ceiled houses, let us not forget our grandmothers' kitchens! Harriet Beecher Stowe. AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE. Oh, good painter, tell me true, Has your hand the cunning to draw Shapes of things that you never saw? Aye? Well, here is an order for you. Woods and corn-fields, a little brown- Biting shorter the short green grass, Perhaps you may have seen, some day, |