Some years since, there lived in Portland a worthy shoemaker named Peter Plunkett. Unpoetical as his name may appear, Peter possessed a vivid imagination, which, had it been properly cultivated, might have made him, perchance, a poet or a novelist. As it was, he chiefly employed it in building air-castles of more than royal magnificence, wherein dwelt fairies and genii. If there was any book that approached the Bible, in Peter’s estimation, it was the “Arabian Nights’ Entertainments.” He had a devout belief in all the marvellous stories which it contains, and often sighed in secret that it had not been his fortune to live in the days of that potent monarch,—the Caliph Haroun Al Raschid.

Peter Plunkett’s peculiarity was well known. Indeed, his mind was most of the time far back in the golden age of fairies, so that he would sometimes be guilty of amusing mistakes. On one occasion, he addressed his housekeeper as “Most charming princess!” whereupon the good woman was led to entertain serious doubts as to his sanity, which, indeed, were not wholly unreasonable, since, though an excellent cook, she certainly did not look much like a princess.

Not far from Peter’s shop lived Squire Eveleth, who, being mirthfully inclined, resolved to take advantage of the worthy shoemaker’s fancies, and play upon him a practical joke.

Happening into Peter’s shop, he led the conversation to the subject of genii. “I have sometimes thought,” said he, gravely, “that the fairies and genii have not yet abandoned the earth, but still continue, invisibly to us, to exercise an influence over our destinies.”

“So have I,” said Peter, eagerly. “Many a time I have fancied, as I sat here at work, that I could hear the rushing of their wings as they circled about me; and I have sometimes invoked them to appear in visible form; but they never have.”

“Perhaps they will some time,” said the squire, encouragingly. “I wish you would come and take tea with me to-morrow,” he continued, after a pause. “I should like to confer with you about these things.”

Consent was readily accorded; and the next afternoon found Peter Plunkett a guest of the squire. The latter, unperceived, mingled a potion with Peter’s tea; and the result was that in half an hour he was in a sound sleep. In this condition, the squire had him conveyed in a carriage to the depot; and, in a few minutes, they were travelling towards Boston. They reached the city in the evening; and Peter, still sleeping, was conveyed to the Revere House, carried to a bed-chamber, and deposited in bed. Squire Eveleth then retired, and, after leaving a note on the table, left the house; and, after passing the night at another hotel, returned, in the morning train, to Portland.

The sun was already high in the heavens when Peter Plunkett awoke. He gazed, bewildered, at the unwonted appearance of the room, and, jumping out of bed, walked mechanically to the window.

“Surely this can’t be Portland,” he said to himself, as the towers and steeples of Boston met his view. “Where am I? What can have happened to me?”

Turning from the window, his eye rested upon a letter lying upon the table, addressed to himself.

He opened it hastily, and read as follows:—

As Peter Plunkett read this terrible missive, his hair stood on end with affright; yet, in the midst of his terror, he was filled with joy at the nature of the favor which had been granted him.

That night, he returned to Portland. Many curious inquiries were made of him as to the object of his journey; for this was the first time he had left Portland for many years. To all these inquiries he preserved an impenetrable silence; merely shaking his head mysteriously, lest he should incur the dreadful doom denounced against him. Henceforth he deemed himself as one singled out from the great mass of mankind. Upon his fellow-mortals he looked with a pitying eye, as beings with whom the invisible spirits of the air had never deigned to hold communication. Happy in his innocent delusion, he would not exchange places with the most powerful monarch. Locked up in his trunk are the gold coins which he found in his pocket in accordance with the mysterious letter. He will never spend them; for he regards them as a fairy gift; and he fancies, that, while he holds them in his possession, Fortune will ever smile upon him.

THE END.