were unladen, "that you, so young in
years, can totally renounce the world? I esteem your application; but
you should not forget that next to our holy Koran, nature herself is
the wisest book, and contains the most sublime doctrines on every page.
What is knowledge without experience? Has not one of our wise men
himself said, that a journey is a fire, around which the raw meat must
be turned in order to become eatable and savoury."

"Dear father," answered Ali, "leave me but a few years longer to
myself, and then on entering the world I shall work with much more
energy. You were right in saying that nature is the wisest book; yet
it is often written in so indistinct a style that it requires strong
eyes to see and read it correctly. What we cannot do for ourselves we
must leave to others to do for us; and thus I travel perhaps as much in
my own room as you do upon your camel through the desert. All cannot
travel. If I in conformity to the duty of a good Mussulman make a
single journey in my life to Mecca, I shall perhaps have travelled
enough."

Though Ibrahim was not satisfied altogether by this contradiction of
his favourite opinions, he could not help commending the singular
industry of his son; moreover, it was not displeasing to his paternal
vanity to hear all who knew Ali call him the pattern of a young man.

The words of the father were not, however, uttered without making some
impression upon the son. He began to perceive the difference between
mere ideas and actual enjoyments, and when he read of any thing grand,
beautiful, or wonderful, he was no longer in such raptures at the mere
reading. He now wished to experience the things themselves. When in
this mood, he often ascended the balcony of the house, where he had a
clear view of the Tigris and the sandy desert, and of the distant
mountains, and where, in serene weather, he could descry the ruins of
ancient Babylon on the banks of the Euphrates. For whole hours he
would stand and dream himself into the most wonderful and adventurous
situations. When, as usual, he went in the evening to Izaser's temple
under the date trees, it seemed to him monotonous and insignificant.
He fancied he felt contempt for himself in contemplating the rapidly
flowing waves of the Tigris, which had made such enormous journeys from
the highland of Asia through caverns and rocks never yet seen. When
thus sitting in the dusk of evening, it appeared as if the foaming
waves