I was the son of a respectable merchant in Moussoul. My father intended to bring me up to his own trade, but I was idle and did not like it. One day, as I was playing in the street, a very old man came up to me and asked me if I would go with him. I asked him where he was going. He replied that if I would go with him he would show me very wonderful things. This raised my curiosity and I consented. He immediately took me by the hand and hurried me out of the city of Moussoul so quickly that my breath was almost stopped, and it seemed as if we glided along in the air, for I could hear no sound of any footsteps. We continued on our course for a long time, till we came to a glen surrounded by very high mountains. How we passed over these mountains I could never tell. In the middle of the glen there was a small fountain of very clear water. My conductor directed me to drink of it. This I did and immediately I found myself in a palace, the glory of which far exceeds any description which I can give. The tall, stately pillars, reaching from heaven to earth, were formed of the finest, purest diamonds; the pavement sparkling with gold and precious stones; and the mighty dome, made solemn and awful by its stupendous magnitude, was of a single emerald. In the midst of this grand and magnificent palace was a lamp like the sun, the radiance of which made all the palace to flash and glitter with an almost fearful grandeur. The ruby sent forth a streak of crimson light, the topaz gold, the sapphire intensest purple, and the dome poured a flood of deep, clear splendour which overcame all the other gaudy lights by its mild, triumphant glory. In this palace were thousands and tens of thousands of fairies and genii, some of whom flitted lightly among the blazing lamps to the sound of unearthly music, which died and swelled in a stream of wild grandeur, suited to the words they sang:— In this fairy land of light No mortals e’er have been; And the dreadful grandeur of this sight By them hath not been seen. It would strike them shuddering to the earth Like the flash from a thunder-cloud; It would quench their light and joyous mirth And fit them for the shroud. The rising of our palaces Like visions of the deep, And the glory of their structure, No mortal voice can speak. _Chorus:_ The music of our songs, And our mighty trumpet’s swell, And the sounding of our silver harps, No mortal tongue can tell. Of us they know but little, Save when the storm doth rise, And the mighty waves are tossing Against the archèd skies. Then oft they see us striding O’er the billow’s snow-white foam, Or hear us speak in thunder When we stand, in grandeur lone, On the darkest of the mighty clouds Which veil the pearly moon, Around us lightning flashing, Night’s blackness to illume.