of the weary traveller, “Come, and partake of nature’s bounty,” and to complain that such an offer should be made in vain.  To a contemplative mind, such a scene might have suggested a thousand delightful reflections.  But what charms could it have for the soul of Alexander, whose breast was filled with schemes of ambition and conquest; whose eye was familiarised with rapine and slaughter; and whose ears were accustomed to the clash of arms—­to the groans of the wounded and the dying?  Onward, therefore, he marched.  Yet, overcome by fatigue and hunger, he was soon obliged to halt.  He seated himself on the bank of the river, took a draught of the water, which he found of a very fine flavour and most refreshing.  He then ordered some salt fish, with which he was well provided, to be brought to him.  These he caused to be dipped in the stream, in order to take off the briny taste, and was greatly surprised to find them emit a fine fragrance.  “Surely,” said he, “this river, which possesses such uncommon qualities, must flow from some very rich and happy country.”

Following the course of the river, he at length arrived at the gates of Paradise.  The gates were shut.  He knocked, and, with his usual impetuosity, demanded admittance.  “Thou canst not be admitted here,” exclaimed a voice from within; “this gate is the Lord’s.”  “I am the Lord—­the Lord of the earth,” rejoined the impatient chief.  “I am Alexander the Conqueror.  Will you not admit me?” “No,” was the answer; “here we know of no conquerors, save such as conquer their passions:  None but the just can enter here.”  Alexander endeavoured in vain to enter the abode of the blessed—­neither entreaties nor menaces availed.  Seeing all his attempts fruitless, he addressed himself to the guardian of Paradise, and said:  “You know I am a great king, who has received the homage of nations.  Since you will not admit me, give me at least some token that I may show an astonished world that I have been where no mortal has ever been before me.”  “Here, madman,” said the guardian of Paradise—­“here is something for thee.  It may cure the maladies of thy distempered soul.  One glance at it may teach thee more wisdom than thou hast hitherto derived from all thy former instructors.  Now go thy ways.”

Alexander took the present with avidity, and repaired to his tent.  But what was his confusion and surprise to find, on examining his present, that it was nothing but a fragment of a human skull.  “And is this,” exclaimed he, “the mighty gift that they bestow on kings and heroes?  Is this the fruit of so much toil and danger and care?” Enraged and disappointed, he threw it on the ground.  “Great king,” said one of the learned men who were present, “do not despise this gift.  Contemptible as it may appear in thine eyes, it yet possesses some extraordinary qualities, of which thou mayest soon be convinced, if thou wilt but cause it to be weighed against gold or silver.”  Alexander