towards him, and pointed out some characters inlaid in the surface of
the wonderful skin, as if they had grown on the animal to which it
once belonged.

"I must admit," said the stranger, "that I have no idea how the
letters could be engraved so deeply on the skin of a wild ass." And he
turned quickly to the tables strewn with curiosities and seemed to
look for something.

"What is it that you want?" asked the old man.

"Something that will cut the leather, so that I can see whether the
letters are printed or inlaid."

The old man held out his stiletto. The stranger took it and tried to
cut the skin above the lettering; but when he had removed a thin
shaving of leather from them, the characters still appeared below, so
clear and so exactly like the surface impression, that for a moment he
was not sure that he had cut anything away after all.

"The craftsmen of the Levant have secrets known only to themselves,"
he said, half in vexation, as he eyed the characters of this Oriental
sentence.

"Yes," said the old man, "it is better to attribute it to man's agency
than to God's."

The mysterious words were thus arranged:

[Drawing of apparently Sanskrit characters omitted]