dreadful a situation. Can I, alas! obey the sultan, when he orders me to plunge a poniard into your bosom. What horrible employment for a father! If you do not yourself fear death, at least hesitate to inflict on me the pain of being the wretched instrument, and embruing my hand with your blood.”--“Still, my father,” said Scheherazadè, “I implore you to grant my request.”--“Your obstinacy,” replied he, “excites my anger; why can you wish thus to rush to your own destruction? They who do not look forward to the end of a dangerous enterprise, know not how to bring it to a fortunate conclusion. The same thing will, I fear, happen to you, which did to the ass, who was well off, yet could not keep so.” --“What happened to the ass?” replied Scheherazadè. “Listen to me,” answered the vizier, “and I will relate the story.” THE FABLE OF THE ASS, THE OX, AND THE LABOURER. A very rich merchant had several houses in the country, where he bred a considerable number of cattle of various descriptions. It happened, that he went to reside on one of his estates with his wife and children, for the purpose of superintending some improvements. The merchant understood the language of beasts; but it was only on the condition of not imparting what he heard to any one, under the penalty of death. Consequently he was prevented from communicating the knowledge he might thus acquire. He had put by chance an ox and an ass into the same stall; and being one day seated near them, he heard the ox say to the ass: “How happy do I think your lot, when I consider the repose you enjoy, and the little labour you are required to perform. A servant looks after you with great care, washes you, feeds you with fine sifted barley, and gives you fresh and clean water; your greatest task is to carry the merchant, our master, when he has occasion to take a short journey; but for that, your whole life would be passed in idleness. How different now is the manner in which they treat me: my condition is as unfortunate as yours is pleasant. It is scarcely midnight when they yoke me to a plough, with which they make me turn up the ground the whole day; this sometimes quite exhausts me; while the labourer, who is constantly behind, continually urges me on with his goad. The weight and force of the plough, too, chafes all the skin from my neck. After having worked from morning till night, they give me unwholesome dirty beans, or even something worse; and to complete my misery, after having been obliged to satisfy my hunger upon such uninviting food, I am compelled to pass the night in my own filth. Have I not then reason to envy your lot?”