Saying this, he quietly pushed the Nubian with his gray steed, the black horse and his rider, the carriage and horses, into the sack, bowed down to the ground again, and then stepped lightly and erect toward the city gate.
The Caliph shook his head as he looked after him, went home full of thought, and hung the double row of pearls round Zuleika's neck.
Then he sent for his private secretary and said:
"Take a swan quill and a sheet of the finest parchment, and write down carefully what I shall dictate: the story of Zachur with the Sack."
Many of our young readers have doubtless long since seen the meaning of this tale shine forth through its thin veil. We should all be surprised at a Zachur, and yet, like him, we have each a faithful capacious sack—memory—into which, from our youth upward, we have crammed what is noble and common, pearls and pebbles, and yet it does not become full, nor our purse—our power of comprehension—empty.
THE DIFFERENCE.
Who warms his slippers for papa
When he comes home at night?
Who meets him with a joyous laugh,
And blue eyes beaming bright?
Who climbs upon his ready knee,
With kisses sweet as kiss can be?—
Our Kitty.
Who teases poor old grandmamma,
And pulls her work away,
And with her gold-rimmed spectacles
Too often tries to play?
Who's full of mischief, sport, and fun,
From early morn till day is done?—
Our Kitty.
Whose little arms "hug mamma tight"?
Whose lips give kisses sweet?
Who follows nurse about the house
With little restless feet?
Who sings to Dolly, scolds her, too,
And tries to act as "big folks" do?—
Our Kitty.
Who, bent on mischief, truth to say,
Like any little elf,
Within the pantry hides to taste
The "goodies" on the shelf?
Who bothers cook, where'er she goes,
And makes her scold, you may suppose?—
Our Kitty.
But lest our Kitty chance to get
More than her share of blame
For mischief, I'll explain there is
Some difference in the name:
One Kitty is our child, you see;
The other, Kitty's c-a-t!