I now, for the first time, produced Captain Lyon’s book in Boo Khaloom’s tent, and on turning over the prints of the natives he swore, and exclaimed, and insisted upon it, that he knew every face:—“This was such a one’s slave—that was his own—he was right—he knew it. Praised be God for the talents he gave the English! they were shater, clever; wolla shater, very clever!” Of a landscape, however, I found that he had not the least idea; nor could I make him at all understand the intention of the print of the sand-wind in the desert, which is really so well described by Captain Lyon’s drawing; he would look at it upside down; and when I twice reversed it for him, he exclaimed, “Why! why! it is all the same.” A camel or a human figure was all I could make him understand, and at these he was all agitation and delight—“Gieb! gieb! Wonderful! wonderful!” The eyes first took his attention, then the other features: at the sight of the sword, he exclaimed, “Allah! Allah!” and on discovering the guns instantly exclaimed, “Where is the powder?” This want of perception, as I imagined, in so intelligent a man, excited at first my surprise; but perhaps just the same would an European have felt under similar circumstances. Were an European to attain manhood without ever casting his eye upon the representation of a landscape on paper, would he immediately feel the particular beauties of the picture, the perspective and the distant objects? Certainly not: it is from our opportunities of contemplating works of art, even in the common walks of life, as well as to cultivation of mind, and associations of the finer feelings by an intercourse with the enlightened and accomplished, that we owe our quick perception in matters of this kind, rather than from nature.