A Jumma Prayer.

AS OFFERED IN THE MOSQUE AT LIVERPOOL BY THE SHEIKHUL ISLAM OF THE BRITISH ISLES.

O! One Only and true God, the Creator of the boundless infinity of space who planted in the heavens the resplendent orb of the Sun to give us light by day and the fair luminaries of Moon and Stars by night, who in the magnitude of Thy unerring wisdom formed this world from nought and having made man planted him therein, and has sustained and protected the human race from the time of the creation until now. We, Thy weak, erring and frail servants humbly approach Thy throne to offer Thee adoration, to render thanks for Thy great and tender mercies vouchsafed to us in the past, and to offer our petition for a continuance of Thy Divine protection and blessing. We praise Thee for that Thou has created us and our ancestors who have been before us. Thou hast spread the earth as a bed for us, and the heavens as a covering, and hath caused water to descend from heaven, and thereby produced the fruits of the earth for our sustenance. We thank Thee for the revelation which Thou hast sent down to us by Thy holy prophet Muham med, as a direction to the pious who believe in the mysteries of faith, in order that they may have knowledge of and observe the appointed times of prayer, and distribute alms out of what Thou hast bestowed on them, and have a firm assurance in the life to come. We also pray Thee to protect and bless His Imperial Majesty Abdul-Hamid the Second, Sultan of Turkey, Caliph of the Faithful, Emir ul Moomencen, and Defender of Thy true faith, and all Mussulman Sovereigns everywhere. Guide them with wisdom from on high, so that their official acts may be for the lasting benefit of the people committed to their care. We further pray Thee, O Most Merciful God, to teach us words of prayer, even as thou taught them to Adam. Illumine our minds so that we can perceive at all times what Thou wouldst have us to do, so that whilst on earth we can follow Thy direction, and when our time in this world is past, finally bring us to dwell with Thee in the glorious gardens of perpetual and eternal bliss. And Thine shall be the glory and do minion for ever. Amin.

FRATERNITY OF EMETHACHAVAH. Mot'Su, or The Voice of Man." This is the title of a neat octavo pamphlet containing a blank-verse poem on "The Voice of Man." It is published by the Denver Fraternity of Emethachavah, Denver, Colorado.

This society takes it name from one of the divisions of the Book of Saphah in the Oahshe Bible. It is a Brotherhood of Faithists, the word Emeth meaning Faith. The Emethachavah. consists of three degrees or rites: First, M'git'ow (Dawn); Second, Hi'dang (Noon); Third, M-hak (Evening). These are conferred in darkness. These rites were founded or prac ticed about the time of Zarathrustra (Zoroaster), or say about 8000 or 9000 years before the Kosmon Era. There is a Chamber of Adepts. There are signs and passwords with the rites. The ceremonies of the Emethachavah are profound, enobling, and very suggestive to the Esoterist. They are founded on the One, of whom Zoroaster was a "bright and shining Light."

O Jehovih, what am I that I should supplicate Thee?

Know I mine own weakness, or understand I the way of my thoughts?
Thou hast placed before me most wonderful creations;

They impress me and my senses rise up in remembrance of Thee.

Wherin have I invented one thought but by looking upon Thy works?
How can I otherwise but remember Thee, my Creator?

And out of Thy creations find rich food for meditation all the days of my life.
MOT 'SU, OR THE VOICE OF MAN.

PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S FAVORITE POEM. As is well known to many persons, the exquisitely beautiful poem entitled "Motality," printed in the June number of NOTES AND QUERIES, was an especial favorite with our late President, but it is not so generally understood that the poem was written by a young Scotchman, who died at thirty-seven that age so fatal to Burns, Byron, Motherwell, and so many other children of song. One evening in December, 1863, Mr. Lincoln repeated this poem to Col. J. G. Wilson, then in Washington, when the latter said, Mr. President, you have omitted a portion of it." "What is there more of it?" responded Mr. Lincoln, with as much eagerness as did the ragged backwoodsman in the story of the Arkansas Traveler. "Yes, sir, two other stanzas ; and he thereupon repeated them to the great delight of the President. "Can you tell me who wrote it?" asked Mr. Lincoln, "for I can't find out. Some of the papers attribute it to me." "It was written," replied the Colonel, "by Willian Knox, a Scottish poet of considerable talent, who died at Edinburgh in 1825. He published several volumes of poems, and was well known to Sir Walter Scott," Christopher North,' of glorious memory, and to many other literary magnates of that day."

EPEA PTEROENTA.

OR, HOW MARTIN'S MOTHER GOT HER PIE,

PY LOUIS H. AVMÉ, GUADELOUPE, WEST Indies.

I'm a Dove for good temper, it's not easily spoiled,
But I'm worse than a HAWK when I'm properly roiled.
Let me have my own way like a SWAN to its haven,

I'll go, but I won't ask for rabbit and put up with a RAVEN.

The road ran by a marsh where she noticed a CRANE;
Next, a THRUSH that was singing with might and with main ;
Then a boy with a KITE, who slipped and fell in it,
Into the marsh, - whereat a pert LINNET,

Like any CANARY began to carol, until

An EAGLE o'erhead made him forthwith be still;
A BITTERN boomed an oath in his gutteral bird lingo
That brought into view a strayed scarlet FLAMINGO.

A ROBIN before her was hopping and carfully eying
The sky, where a murderous FALCON was flying;
She saw a ruffed GROUSE in the woods on her right.
"What a LARK! I'll tell Martin about this tonight!"

She had just seen a WREN, with a chattering squeal,
Drive into the marsh an inquisitive TEAL,
Who in turn hit a Goose a mean, vicious wipe,
Then flew on in a hurry to his crony the SNIPE.

As each bird came in sight no leave did she ask it,

But popped it forthwith in her big market basket,
Then hied her way homeward, this old dame so cunning,
Who got pie material not by paying but punning.

It fulfills

The sbove comes in answer to the "Twenty-Four Birds-in-aPie" Puzzle, in the July-August number, page 181. the conditions of the puzzle and the prize will be given to him.

"Four-and-Twenty Birds Baked in A Pie."

HERE ARE THEIR NAMES.

An old woman went to the mart in haste,
In a scarlet cape, a cocked hat, laced,
In her hand a crook, and she said:
How lucky it is this is market day!"

Well, I say,

She had over two miles from her home to speed,
And with awkward steps, she went fast, indeed.

66

My sons want a pie as large as can be,

And a brave, noble pie they shall have," quoth she.

She in a panic ran ever so quickly,

Where the ground with rushes was covered thickly;
So thick, I tell you, she ran, that she
Fell in nettles quite up to her knee.

Just where one can a rye-field espy,

And through the oak tree a gleam of pure sky,
There fell the dame, "Bitter nuts, I must say,
Who thought of laming one's self in this way."

Her heart did throb in dismay and fear;
A fall doth befal conceit, that is clear;

This comes of being roused, for variety's sake,
A regular kingly party to make.

At length up she scrambled: how rent was her gown!
"Too late, all too late, I shall be in the town!

To go, O severely, my limbs it will try!

Yet a parsnip, eggs, bacon, and birds I must buy.

However, she managed to hobble away,

And for twenty-four birds all her money did pay;

In a wonderful pie then the birds did she cook;

You will find all their name in these lines, if you look.

While no one has complied with the conditions as proposed on page 181, to give the names in rhymed verse, yet we have received five correct lists of the names of the birds and shall present Vol. XVIII, 1900, as proposed. EDITOR.

Rubaiyat of Rubaiyat Collectors.

BY JOHN ALBERT MACY IN N. Y. TIMES.

And as the Cock crew, One who stood before
The Threshold of mine House, beat hard the Door,
Cried, "Open! Lover of Old Books, I bring
Your aching Shelves one rare Edition more!"

Whether at Mosher's or at Roycrofton,
Whether the Type in Black or Ruby run,

Squeezed from the oozing Presses Drop by Drop,
The printed Leaves keep falling, one by one.

Some Book of Verse that no Collectors know
Save only Me! With it afar I'd go

And hide it, singing, in the Wilderness,
Return, and mount the Tavern-Roof, and crow!

Some for the Glories of this World must sigh,
And some for Riches tell the strenuous Lie;
Oh, let the Cook, the Cash, the Credit go,
A Miser of rare Volumes let me die!

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
The Stalls antique, and many Shekels spent;
Now Tier on Tier de Luxe Editions rise.
And I upon the Quest am still intent.

Once I remember stopping to address

A Printer sweating o'er his noisy Press,

"What print you?" With his half illiterate Tongue He leaned unto my ear and murmured "Guess!"

And when the Author of the Final Book

Shall write the Lines whereon no Man may look,
That single copy of the Wiser Word

I'll steal from Heaven by any Hook or Crook!

THE BOOK OF THE LAW. An Inquiry Respecting the Nature and Characteristics of the Sacred Writings of the Royal Arch Traditions. By Geo. W. Warvelle, LL.D., Grand High Priest of Illinois. Published by the Grand Royal Arch Chapter. Chicago, 1901.

This inquiry is one of best and concise expositions of that hertofore indefinite portion of Royal Arch Masonry. What was the Law? This monograph most clearly analyses the ques iion, and Royal Arch Masons will be better informed about the contents of the Ark if they will read this Inquiry.