ay surprised
him as he languidly mused in a balcony that overhung the water, and
spoke to him in accents strange to his ear and yet at once comprehended.

"'Come, O king, my voice obey;
Come where hidden things are seen;
Come with me from garish day,
Withering, blasting, grievous, vain,
To retreat of mystery,
Haunt of holy mystery.'

"These words, as I have related, were spoken in an unknown tongue, and
yet my story gives the mystic speech in pleasant and familiar rhythm. I
do not know how this may be," and Nawab Khan gravely shook his head,
"but perchance in recounting his experience, the king, unable to exactly
reproduce in his own tongue the message brought to him by the sprite,
for the thoughts of the Immortals cannot be expressed in human speech,
conveyed a semblance of it in such words as he could command, and sought
to veil their incompetency by an agreeable measure. In like manner I
think may the art of poetry have been invented. It is an effort to
cover by wile of dulcet utterance the impotence of mortal speech to tell
the things that belong to the spirit. And, after all, language as we
know it is an uncertain interpreter of even human emotions. So many of
our words, and they our dearest, are but symbols representing unknown
quantities.

"But to return to my story," continued the Nawab, "the sprite waving her
arms beckoned the king to follow her, and led the way towards the
river's mouth. It entered the lake only a short distance from where they
were. The king experienced a poignant grief when for a moment he feared
that, unable to follow her, he must forever lose sight of his beauteous
visitant. But in another instant he was stepping into a tiny skiff which
suddenly appeared where a moment before had floated a lily. The magical
craft followed its spirit guide, moving against the tide, impelled by
unseen power, and ever and anon the sprite beckoned him onward. Soon
they entered the river, which here was deep, broad, and smoothly
flowing. Motion ceased when they were under a high overhanging bank
whose drooping foliage screened them from view. Here his guide again
spoke:

"'Ask and ye hear, O king, 'tis meet
That mortal want should be replete
From fulness of immortal state.'

"At once his soul's sadness found voice and he cried:

"'Tell me how may my increase in virtue resemble this river in its
onward flow?'

"Then the spirit answe