“’My brother and she got on very well at first, and he loudly professed to share the esteem and (considering she was my wife I may say) affection with which I regarded her.  But suddenly a change came over him.  One night whilst we slept he threw us overboard into the sea.  My wife turned out to be a fairy, and, as you may imagine, she was not born to be drowned.  As for me I was, so to speak, on my way to be as dead as a herring, when she seized me and transported me to an isle.  When it was day the fairy said to me, “You see, my husband, that in saving your life I have not badly recompensed you.  I am, as you doubtless begin to suspect, a fairy.  Finding myself on the seashore when you were about to embark, I felt strongly drawn towards you.  Desiring to prove the goodness of your heart, I presented myself in the disguise with which you are familiar.  It was, I admit, a trifle shabby.  You have used me generously.  I am delighted to have found occasion to repay you; but as for that brother of yours, I am death on him.  I shall never rest till I have taken his life.”

“’"I beg you to do no such thing,” I said.

“’"I will sink his vessel and send him to the bottom of the sea,” she insisted.

“’After much endeavour I managed to appease her wrath, and in the twinkling of an eye, before you could say “Ali Baba!” she had transported me back to my own house.  On entering I found this black dog who stared strangely at me.

“’"My husband,” said the fairy, “do not be surprised to see this dog here; he is your brother.  He has behaved in a most shocking way towards you.  He has maligned you, misrepresented you, threatened you, even called you a Grand Old Spider.  I have condemned him to remain in this state till you have concluded your little transactions in Home Rule.”

“‘"But my dear!—­” I said.’”

At these words SCHEHERAZADE, remarking that it was daybreak, ceased to pursue his narrative.

* * * * *

TO A MODERN MINSTREL.

(AFTER KINGSLEY.)

Be puff’d, dear boy, and let who will be clever;
Write catchy things, not good ones, all day long,
And make a name to-day, and not for ever,
By one weak song.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  FERVOUR IN THE FOG.

Unpromising Individual (suddenly—­his voice vibrating with
passion). 
  “SHE’S MOY UNNEY;
  OIM ’ER JOY!”]

* * * * *

NOTICE.—­Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper.  To this rule there will be no exception.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Index.]