idea did not come to Khalid, as it were, by instalments. In his
puerperal pains of mind he was subject to such crises, shaken by such
downrushes of light, as only the few among mortals experience. (We are
quoting our Scribe, remember.) And in certain moments he had more
faith in his instincts than in his reason. "Our instincts," says he,
"never lie. They are honest, and though they be sometimes blind." And
here, he seems to have struck the truth. He can be practical too.
Honesty in thought, in word, in deed--this he would have as the
cornerstone of his truth. Moral rectitude he places above all the
cardinal virtues, natural and theological. "Better keep away from the
truth, O Khalid," he writes, "better remain a stranger to it all thy
life, if thou must sully it with the slimy fingers of a mercenary
juggler." Now, these brave words, we can not in conscience criticise.
But we venture to observe that Khalid must have had in mind that
Gospel of Soap and the incident at the stage door.

And in this, we, too, rejoice. We, too, forgetting the dignity of our
position, participate of the revelry in the cellar on this occasion.
For our editorialship, dear Reader, is neither American nor English.
We are not bound, therefore, to maintain in any degree the algidity
and indifference of our confreres' sublime attitude. We rejoice in the
spiritual safety of Khalid. We rejoice that he and Shakib are now
reconciled. For the reclaimed runagate is now even permitted to draw
on the poet's balance at the banker. Ay, even Khalid can dissimulate
when he needs the cash. For with the assistance of second-hand Jerry
and the box-office of the atheistical jugglers, he had exhausted his
little saving. He would not even go out peddling any more. And when
Shakib asks him one morning to shoulder the box and come out, he
replies: "I have a little business with it here." For after having
impeached the High Priests of Atheism he seems to have turned upon
himself. We translate from the K. L. MS.

"When I was disenchanted with atheism, when I saw somewhat of the
meanness and selfishness of its protagonists, I began to doubt in
the honesty of men. If these, our supposed teachers, are so vile,
so mercenary, so false,--why, welcome Juhannam! But the more I
doubted in the honesty of men, the more did I believe that honesty
should be the cardinal virtue of the soul. I go so far in this, that
an honest thief in my eyes is more worthy of esteem than a canting