ve been
long in chase of great things, and the hope of attaining them is great;
yet, wullahy! would I barter all for one refreshing meal, and the sense
of fulness. 'Tis so, and sad is it!' And he was mindful of the poet's
words,--

Who seeks the shadow to the substance sinneth,
And daily craving what is not, he thinneth:
His lean ambition how shall he attain?
For with this constant foolishness he doeth,
He, waxing liker to what he pursueth,
Himself becometh what he chased in vain!

And again:

Of honour half my fellows boast,--
A thing that scorns and kills us:
Methinks that honours us the most
Which nourishes and fills us.

So he thought he would of a surety fling far away his tackle, discard
barbercraft, and be as other men, a mortal, forgotten with his
generation. And he cried aloud, 'O thou old woman! thou deceiver! what
halt thou obtained for me by thy deceits? and why put I faith in thee to
the purchase of a thwacking? Woe's me! I would thou hadst been but a
dream, thou crone! thou guileful parcel of belabouring bones!'

Now, while he lounged and strolled, and was abusing the old woman, he
looked before him, and lo, one lolling in his shop-front, and people
standing outside the shop, marking him with admiration and reverence, and
pointing him out to each other with approving gestures. He who lolled
there was indeed a miracle of hairiness, black with hair as he had been
muzzled with it, and his head as it were a berry in a bush by reason of
it. Then thought Shibli Bagarag, ''Tis Shagpat! If the mole could swear
to him, surely can I.' So he regarded the clothier, and there was naught
seen on earth like the gravity of Shagpat as he lolled before those
people, that failed not to assemble in groups and gaze at him. He was as
a sleepy lion cased in his mane; as an owl drowsy in the daylight. Now
would he close an eye, or move two fingers, but of other motion made he
none, yet the people gazed at him with eagerness. Shibli Bagarag was
astonished at them, thinking, 'Hair! hair! There is might in hair; but
there is greater might in the barber! Nevertheless here the barber is
scorned, the grower of crops held in amazing reverence.' Then thought he,
''Tis truly wondrous the crop he groweth; not even King Shamshureen,
after a thousand years, sported such mighty profusion! Him I sheared: it
was a high task!--why not this Shagpat?'

Now, long gazing on Shag