magicians of the story-loving Al-Raschid. Or he was of the type
Rabbinical that sat with Caiphas in judgment upon the gentle Nazarene.
Only the centuries could have evolved the apparition. Who was he?

In the course of half an hour the man stirred, raised his head, looked
hurriedly at his attendants, then at the parts of the ship in view, then
at the steersman still dozing by the rudder; then he sat up, and brought
the roll to his lap, whereat the rigor of his expression relaxed. The
parcel was safe! And the conditions about him were as they should be!

He next set about undoing the buckles of his treasure. The long fingers
were expert; but just when the roll was ready to open he lifted his
face, and fixed his eyes upon the section of blue expanse outside the
edge of the awning, and dropped into thought. And straightway it was
settled that he was not a diplomatist or a statesman or a man of
business of any kind. The reflection which occupied him had nothing to
do with intrigues or statecraft; its centre was in his heart as the look
proved. So, in tender moods, a father gazes upon his child, a husband at
the beloved wife, restfully, lovingly.

And that moment the observer, continuing his study, would have forgotten
the parcel, the white slaves, the gigantic negro, the self-willed hair
and beard of pride--the face alone would have held him. The countenance
of the Sphinx has no beauty now; and standing before it, we feel no stir
of the admiration always a certificate that what we are beholding is
charming out of the common lines; yet we are drawn to it irresistibly,
and by a wish vague, foolish--so foolish we would hesitate long before
putting it in words to be heard by our best lover--a wish that the
monster would tell us all about itself. The feeling awakened by the face
of the traveller would have been similar, for it was distinctly