sheddest on this side, thou wilt
surely be poked in the ribs on the other. Go--thy--but--let
Nature be thy guide; acquaint thyself with one or two of her
laws ere thou runnest wild."

And to what extent did this fantastic mystic son of a Phoenician
acquaint himself with Nature's laws, we do not know. But truly, he was
already running wild in the great cosmopolis of New York. From his
stivy cellar he issues forth into the plashing, plangent currents of
city life. Before he does this, however, he rids himself of all the
encumbrances of peddlery which hitherto have been his sole means of
support. His little stock of crosses, rosaries, scapulars, false
jewellery, mother-of-pearl gewgaws, and such like, which he has on the
little shelf in the cellar, he takes down one morning--but we will let
our Scribe tell the story.

"My love for Khalid," he writes, "has been severely tried. We could no
longer agree about anything. He had become such a dissenter that often
would he take the wrong side of a question if only for the sake of
bucking. True, he ceased to frequent the cellar of second-hand Jerry,
and the lectures of the infidels he no longer attended. We were in
accord about atheism, therefore, but in riotous discord about many
other things, chief among which was the propriety, the necessity, of
doing something to replenish his balance at the banker. For he was now
impecunious, and withal importunate. Of a truth, what I had I was
always ready to share with him; but for his own good I advised him to
take up the peddling-box again. I reminded him of his saying once,
'Peddling is a healthy and profitable business.' 'Come out,' I
insisted, 'and though it be for the exercise. Walking is the whetstone
of thought.'

"One evening we quarrelled about this, and Im-Hanna sided with me. She
rated Khalid, saying, 'You're a good-for-nothing loafer; you don't
deserve the _mojadderah_ you eat.' And I remember how she took me
aside that evening and whispered something about books, and Khalid's
head, and Mar-Kizhayiah.[1] Indeed, Im-Hanna seriously believed that
Khalid should be taken to Mar-Kizhayiah. She did not know that New
York was full of such institutions.[2] Her scolding, however, seemed
to have more effect on Khalid than my reasoning. And consenting to go
out with me, he got up the following morning, took down his stock from
the shelf, every little article of it--he left nothing there--and
packed all into his peddling-box. He