swayed by thy matchless sceptre of sweet song, the passions of thy countrymen! Hadst thou been true to that first flame of Thought within thee, O Sah-luma, how thy glory would have dwarfed the power of kings! Empires might have fallen, cities decayed, and nations been absorbed in ruin,--and yet thy clear-convincing voice, rendered imperishable by its faithfulness should have sounded forth in triumph above the foundering wrecks of Time! O Poet unworthy of thy calling! ... How thou hast wantoned with the sacred Muse! ... how thou hast led her stainless feet into the mire of sensual hypocrisies, and decked her with the trumpery gew-gaws of a meaningless fair speech!--How thou hast caught her by the virginal hair and made her chastity the screen for all thine own licentiousness! ... Thou shouldst have humbly sought her benediction,--thou shouldst have handled her with gentle reverence and patient ardor,--from her wise lips thou shouldst have learned how best to PRACTICE those virtues whose praise thou didst evasively proclaim, ... thou shouldst have shrined her, throned her, worshiped her, and served her, . . yea! ... even as a sinful man may serve an Angel who loves him!" Ah, what a strange, cold thrill ran through Theos as he heard these last words! 'As a sinful man may serve an Angel who loves him!' How happy the man thus loved! ... how fortunate the sinner thus permitted to serve! ... WHO WAS HE? ... Could there be any one so marvellously privileged? He wondered dimly,--and a dull, aching pain throbbed heavily in his brows. It was a very singular thing too, that he should find himself strongly and personally affected by Khosrul's address to Sah-luma, yet such was the case, ... so much so, indeed, that he accepted all the Prophet's reproaches as though they applied solely TO HIS OWN PAST LIFE! He could not understand his emotion, ... nevertheless he kept on dreamily regretting that things WERE as Khosrul had said, ... that he had NOT fulfilled his vocation,--and that he had neither been humble enough nor devout enough nor unselfish enough to deserve the high and imperial name of POET. Round and round like a flying mote this troublesome idea circled in his brain, ... he must do better in future, he resolved, supposing that any future remained to Him in which to work, . . HE MUST REDEEM THE PAST! ... Here he roused his mental faculties with a start and forced himself to realize that it was SAH-LUMA to whom the Prophet spoke, . . Sah-luma, ONLY Sah-luma,--not himself! Then straightway he became indignant on his friend's behalf,--why should Sah-luma be blamed? ... Sah-luma was a glorious poet!--a master-singer of singers! ... his fume must and should endure forever! ... Thus thinking, he regained his composure by degrees, and strove to assume the same air of easy indifference as that exhibited by his companion, when again Khosrul's declamatory tones thundered forth with an absoluteness of emphasis that was both startling and convincing: