Monsoor, my chief! now one gallop, to see The land you have sworn that no despot shall grind! Though sun-tanned and arid, by Allah! 'tis free! Its crops are these lances: these sons of the wind, Our steeds, are its flocks--a grim harvest to bind! Monsoor, my chief! how we dash o'er the sand, Hissing behind us like storm-driven snow! Flash the long guns of your wild Arab band, Brandish the spears, and the light jereeds throw, As, half-winged, through the shrill singing breezes we go! Monsoor, my chief! send the horses away: The sports of your tribe I have seen with delight. Now let us watch while the rose-tinted day Fades from the desert, and peace-bearing Night Shakes the first gem on her brow in our sight. Monsoor, my host! lo, I enter your tent, As brother by brother, hands clasping, is led: I sleep like a child in a dream Heaven-sent; For have I not eaten the salt and the bread? And Monsoor will answer for me with his head. GEORGE H. BOKER. CONSTANTINOPLE, Jan. 10, 1875. HOW HAM WAS CURED. This was in slave times. It was also immediately after dinner, and the gentlemen had gone to the east piazza. Mr. Smith was walking back and forth, talking somewhat excitedly for him, while Dr. Rutherford sat with his feet on the railing, thoughtfully executing the sentimental performance of cutting his nails. Dr. Rutherford was an old friend of Mr. Smith who had been studying surgery in Philadelphia, and now, on his way back to South Carolina, had tarried to make us a visit. "You see," Mr. Smith was saying, "about a week ago one of our old negroes died under the impression that she was 'tricked' or bewitched, and the consequence has been that the entire plantation is demoralized. You never saw anything like it." "Many a time," said Dr. Rutherford, and calmly cut his nails. "There is not a negro on the place," continued Edward, "who does not lie down at night in terror of the Evil Eye, and go to his work in the morning paralyzed by dread of what the day may bring. Why, there is a perfect panic among them. They are falling about like a set of ten-pins. This morning I sent for Wash (best hand on the place) to see about setting out tobacco plants, and behold Wash curled up under a haystack getting ready to die! It is enough to--So as soon as you came this morning a plan entered my head for putting a stop to the thing. It will be necessary to acknowledge that two or three of them are under the spell, and it is better to select those who already fancy themselves so.--Rosalie!" I appeared at the window. "Are any of the house-servants 'witched?" "Mercy is," said I, "and I presume Mammy is going to be: I saw her make a curtsey to the black cat this morning." "Well, what is your plan?" inquired Dr. Rutherford.