e, I surrender myself wholly to thee. O
touch me with thy wand divine again; stir me once more in thy
mysterious alembics; remake me to suit the majestic silence of thy
hills, the supernal purity of thy sky, the mystic austerity of thy
groves, the modesty of thy slow-swelling, soft-rolling streams, the
imperious pride of thy pines, the wild beauty and constancy of thy
mountain rivulets. Take me in thine arms, and whisper to me of thy
secrets; fill my senses with thy breath divine; show me the bottom of
thy terrible spirit; buffet me in thy storms, infusing in me of thy
ruggedness and strength, thy power and grandeur; lull me in thine
autumn sun-downs to teach me in the arts that enrapture, exalt,
supernaturalise. Sing me a lullaby, O Mother eternal! Give me to drink
of thy love, divine and diabolic; thy cruelty and thy kindness, I
accept both, if thou wilt but whisper to me the secret of both. Anoint
me with the chrism of spontaneity that I may be ever worthy of
thee.--Withdraw not from me thy hand, lest universal love and sympathy
die in my breast.--I implore thee, O Mother eternal, O sea-throned,
heaven-canopied Goddess, I prostrate my face before thee, I surrender
myself wholly to thee. And whether I be to-morrow the censer in the
hand of thy High Priest, or the incense in the censer,--whether I
become a star-gem in thy cestus or a sun in thy diadem or even a
firefly in thy fane, I am content. For I am certain that it shall be
for the best._--KHALID.

CHAPTER I

THE DOWRY OF DEMOCRACY

Old Arabic books, printed in Bulaq, generally have a broad margin
wherein a separate work, independent of the text, adds gloom to the
page. We have before us one of these tomes in which the text treats of
the ethics of life and religion, and the margins are darkened with
certain adventures which Shahrazad might have added to her famous
Nights. The similarity between Khalid's life in its present stage and
some such book, is evident. Nay, he has been so assiduous in writing
the marginal Work, that ever since he set fire to his peddling-box, we
have had little in the Text worth transcribing. Nothing, in fact; for
many pages back are as blank as the evil genius of Bohemia could wish
them. And how could one with that mara upon him, write of the ethics
of life and religion?

Al-Hamazani used to say that in Jorajan the man from Khorasan must
open thrice his purse: first, to pay for the rent; second, for the
food; and third, for