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I ever heard was told me by a celebrated story-teller in Damascus. He was an Arab: at every pause he made, which was about once in ten minutes, my interpreter repeated faithfully what he had said. The tale was as follows :—

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In a small town on the coast of Syria lived a silk-weaver in great comfort, with his wife and three children. Allah, who saw the simplicity of his heart, blessed his labours; and he too gave praise to the Highest, and had health and contentment, and those of his household loved him. But it came to pass, that one morning, as he was seated at work, at his window that looked out on the sea, the love of riches entered into his heart, and then its happiness passed away like a dream. He fixed his eyes on the vessels that were passing onwards near to where he sat, and for a long time did not cast them down again on the web of silk that he held, which dropped from his hand to the ground. The tears fell from his eyes; his wife saw it, and said, "Why weepest thou, my soul? what is come to thee this day?” They go," he said, "they go, each to its own distant land, loaded with wealth that will make many families happy. O that one of these barks was bound for the poor home of Comrou the silk-weaver!" She picked up the silk web from the ground, and said, "Son of the weaver Mashil, art thou mad? pursue thy work, for such wild desires will only lead to poverty and want!" And with that she threw it towards him. He looked at her vexed and angrily, and for the first time thought that her face was not comely, or her form beautiful. The pining after riches is like the hand of disease; his family wept when they looked on his pale face and wasting frame. One day, as he was at work in the chamber of his house that stood on the edge of the sea, so strongly was he moved by these consuming thoughts and desires, that he broke in pieces the web of silk that he held, rushed out of the house, and wandered wildly along the shore. He saw a vessel preparing to leave the port-hastened on board—and took passage for the land to which she was bound, without heeding where it might be. The vessel sailed all night and the following day and night: and when the third morning dawned, they saw the shore before them.

Sick and weary of the voyage, the weaver implored to be set on shore even in a strange land, rather than sail any farther: his request was granted, and in a short time a boat conveyed him to the beach. He gazed sadly around, for the place was desert. There was a high mountain before him, and he hastened to ascend it; on reaching the summit, to his infinite joy he saw a clear and beautiful pool of water, for he was nearly dead with thirst and weariness. Looking eagerly around, he espied a small stone drinking-vessel, of curious form, lying useless by the side of the pool; he filled it to the brim, and raised it to his lips. What was his astonishment, as he drank, to hear the sound of money rattling in his vest! He tore it open! Oh, what was his rapture, to find it filled with gold chequins! Again he filled the stone vessel, and drank deep; again he heard the delicious sound, and saw the gleam of the gold, dearer than the light of the eyes of his youngest born. He seized them, and pressed them to his soul, convinced that he had thus found a source of endless riches; for as often as he drank, so often the money came with the

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