THE depictors of occurrences, and expounders of the characters of events, have thus drawn the flourishes of the following curious history on the chapter of relation.

In an empire of the regions of the world, there was a king, in whose mind a fondness for jewels, like love for the sun in the dusty atom,* was strongly impressed. A sight of a clear ruby, like the fumes of sparkling wine, would fill his soul with rapture; and he regarded pearls as more precious than the teeth of ruby-lipped maidens with rosy cheeks. On this account, having collected together all the jewels in his treasury, he would frequently place them at once in his view, that he might have the pleasure of examining the particular beauties of each. The officers entrusted with the care of them, by repeatedly carrying them from the treasury, unpacking and repacking them daily, were unable to bear farther fatigue, and often from the weakness of human nature, (on which failure and omission are attendant,) shewed a slowness which sub­jected them to reproof, and occasioned dissatisfaction in the king’s mind. In order, therefore, to enjoy his wishes without the difficulty of labour and interruption of trouble, he commanded the goldsmiths skilful as Samri and per­fect in their art, who had given exqui­site specimens of their elegant work­manship in gold and jewelry, that they should make a fish of gold, elegantly shaped and nicely formed, on which should be set the most precious jewels, and the clearest pearls selected from the royal treasures, the prime rarities of the mines and ocean. What a fish! It was in itself an inconceivable treasure. The scales were composed of rubies and pearls, and its fins of diamonds and other precious stones. All creation, from the moon down to a fish,* was cap­tivated by its unparalleled elegance. The ocean shrunk into the sand from envy of its beauty, and the diamond mines sunk still lower at view of its brilliancy. Its splendour made the Pisces of heaven dive into the vase of humiliation, and the fish of Kousir and Tunseem* acknowledged their inferiority. From the water of its own brilliancy, it wanted not the streams of Paradise; and as by its beauty it captivated the hearts of heroes like Alexander, it had no occasion for the fountain of Khizzer.* In short, the fame of it, like the liber­ality of the king, reached the extremities of the globe, and, like his imperial glory, pervaded the world.

A thief,—who was a professor in his art, and by his consummate skill in rob­bing could steal the golden rays of the sun warm from the heavenly crucible, filch the ruby from the reins of Sol ere it could reach the womb of the mine, snatch the liquid pearl from the Nei­saun* before it could enter the shell of the oyster, and draw up the sign pisces from the seven cœrulean seas,—having intelli­gence of the fish, in order to prove his superiority in thievish art, and shew his prowess in knavery, formed the resolution of stealing it. Fixing the saddle of intent on the steed of resolve, he coursed over the expansive plains of contrivance. Having measured the royal palace with the line of contemplation, he marked well the place where to enter, and where to make his escape.

When the golden fish of the sky had dived into the fountain of the west, and night exalted her sable canopy over the world, this celebrated traveller of darkness, taking with him his imple­ments of robbery, paced round the fortress, in order to try the alertness of the guards and wakefulness of the centi­nels. Every where he heard repeated the cry of “Take care!” and on all sides resounded the watch-words, “Be vigilant, be watchful.” He therefore necessarily sat down in a corner, wait­ing for favourable opportunity, till at length the secrets of the heart of dark­ness began to be revealed, and the adorner of time bound over the sable head of night a gem-bespangled fillet of lucid dew-drops; or, in other words, half the night had passed away. The centinels now, from the damp of the dew and the coldness of the air, having drawn their cowls over their heads, between sleep and wakeing pronounced their challenges, faintly as the sound which murmurs from an empty vessel.

At this crisis, the courageous thief, extending himself on the ground and winding on his belly like the serpent, reached the walls of the fortress. Hav­ing unfolded from his wrist a long cummund,* twisted and entwined as the curly tresses of the fair, he threw it over the battlements, and with the agility of a ropedancer swarmed up to the parapet, from which he let himself down into the fort. Having entered the sleeping apartment of the king, he beheld him reposing on the couch of prosperity, and, like the planet of his enemies, immersed in sleep. A lamp stood on the floor, and the fish (on account of which the thief had mounted, as it were the ladder of the skies, and descended again to earth) lay under the pillow. A hand­maiden, beautiful as the Peries, was gently rubbing with her hand, soft and delicate as the rose-leaf, the king’s feet,* advancing lightly, the thief concealed himself behind a curtain, till sleep had overpowered the damsel, and reclining her head, she sunk to rest. Gently snatch­ing her veil from her shoulders, he covered himself with it, and performed the same office for the Sultaun that she had been engaged in. When a short time had elapsed, the king turned him­self on his side, when the thief seizing the opportunity drew the fish from under the pillow, and quitting the fortress in the manner he had entered, escaped unobserved through the midst of the drowsy guards.

As the fish, from its length, could not be concealed under his arm in day­light, and the gates of the city were yet shut, the cunning thief thought within himself, and said, “At this sea­son, when night affords privacy under her sable mantle alike to the robber and those who keep the vigils of prayer, not to finish my undertaking and keep the precious fish in the town, is to wash my hands in my own blood. The king must soon find out his loss, and the strictest search will be made; the city gates will not be opened, by way of preventing escape, and I may be caught with my fish in the net of destruction. Sup­posing, however, that on the smile of dawn, they should open the gates, in the light of day to attempt con­veying such a prey as this, which is as well known by its brilliancy to the world, as the moon, is departing from the circle of prudence.”

Having at length formed an artful stratagem, he wrapped the fish in the veil, which he had taken from the dam­sel, as a reward for supplying her office, in the form of a shroud over a dead infant, and covered it with wreaths of white flowers stolen from the house of a gardener. After the manner of those afflicted by sudden calamity, with all violence and clamour raising his voice in mournful exclamations, he came to the city gates. The guards enquired, saying, “Who art thou? and on whose account dost thou lament?” To which he answered, “I am a poor wretch, without property, of empty purse, persecuted by the fickle skies, and ruined by cruel fortune. I had a son, who prattled sweetly as the paroquet, who was as a nightingale giving the melody of a garden to my lowly hut, and who made the blighted buds of my desponding heart to blossom into the flowers of chearfulness. This night he died of the small pox, and left me captive in the snares of grief, and my heart scared like the tulip by the wounds of sorrow and despair. As I was unable to procure the requisites for laying out and enshrouding after the manner of my relations and equals, I became fearful of the taunts of my enemies and sneers of my acquaintance; so that I was anxious at a silent hour, like the present, to lay him in the grave, and commit him to repose in the cradle of the tomb, in order that my relations and friends might not be informed of my poverty, and that my heart, already torn into a thousand pieces by the death of my child, should not be pierced with the scorpion sting of ridicule, which would be an aggravation of my sor­rows, and add the scandal of the malicious to the poignancy of my grief.”

One of the guards, agreeably to his surly nature, beginning to growl like a cur, said, “At this midnight hour, to open the gates of the city walls with­out the orders of the magistrate to such a poor wretch as thee, can be of no advantage. Sit down quietly, therefore, till the dawn of morn­ing; refrain from thy nonsensical lamentations, and do not unreasonably disturb our delightful repose. Unless thou desirest a sound drubbing, do not, like the frantic, make such a bawling.” The thief for an instant, heaving a cold sigh from his inflamed heart, sat down to wait the attainment of his wishes, but immediately after, bursting into louder complaints than ever, raised such a clamour, that the guards all together abused him, and opened upon him the portals of reviling and threats. The well-experienced thief, bowing himself before them with humiliation and entreaty, began to pray for mercy, and said; “Ah! ye light walkers on the shore of chearfulness, have compassion upon me involved in the whirlpool of grief and sorrow, and avoid the tormenting path of the afflicted, who have the pangs of despair impressed in the footsteps of their souls.” At length, the guards, when they saw that unless they opened the gates, and got rid of this troublesome interruption, it was impossible to enjoy the sweets of sleep from his clamorous vociferation, remediless, let him through, and dismissed him.