Although in sable plumes my first
Displays himself on high,
His reputation is the worst,
His tastes are low, his race is curst—
We're glad to see him die.
My next is in the water found,
Or in the cozy inn,
Where talk and drink go freely round,
Or in the court maintains its ground,
Or keeps the thief from sin.
My whole is placed in humble hands,
And when with skill applied,
Will bring to light the golden sands.
'Tis known and used in many lands;
It seeks what others hide.

Killed by Fright.—Many an illness is caused simply by imagination, and those of us who go about our work with calmness and confidence are much more likely to escape disease than others who are filled with apprehension should infection come within a hundred miles of them. In connection with this, the Arabs tell the following story: One day a traveller met the Plague going into Cairo, and accosted it thus, "For what purpose are you entering Cairo?"

"To kill three thousand people," rejoined the Plague.

Some time after, the same traveller met the Plague on its return, and said, "But you killed thirty thousand!"

"Nay," answered the Plague, "I killed but three thousand; the rest died of fright."