“There, my friend, is a specimen of the true mob-literature! ... written to-day, forgotten to-morrow!  ’Tis a droll thing to meditate upon, the ephemeral nature of all this pouring-out of unnecessary words and stale stock-phrases!—­and, wouldst thou believe it, Theos! each little paid scribe that adds his poor quota to this ill-assorted trash deems himself wiser and greater far than any poet or philosopher dead or living!  Why, in this very news-sheet I have seen the immortal works of the divine Hyspiros so hacked by the blunt knives of ignorant and vulgar criticism that, by my faith! ... were it not for contempt, one would be disposed to nail the hands of such trumpery scribblers to a post, and scourge their bare backs with thorny rods to cure them of their insolence!  Nay, even my fool Zabastes hath found place in these narrow columns, to write his carping diatribes against me,—­ me, the King’s Laureate! ...  As I live, his cumbersome diction hath caused me infinite mirth, and I have laughed at his crabbed and feeble wit till my sides have ached most potently!  Now get thee gone, fellow!—­thou and thy news!”—­and he nodded a good-humored dismissal to the deferential Zibya, who with his woolly gray head very much on one side stood listening gravely and approvingly to all that was said,—­” Yet stay! ... has gossip whispered thee the name of the poor virgin self-destined for this evening’s sacrifice?”

“No, my lord”—­responded Zibya promptly—­“’Tis veiled in deeper mystery than usual.  I have inquired of many, but in vain,—­and even the Chief Flamen of the Outside Court of the Temple, always drunk and garrulous as he is, can tell me naught of the holy victim’s title or parentage.  “Tis a passing fair wench!’ said he, with a chuckle..  ’That is all I know concerning her ... a passing fair wench!’ Ah!” and Zibya rolled up the whites of his eyes and sighed in a comically contemplative manner..  “If ever a Flamen deserved expulsion from his office, it is surely yon ancient, crafty, carnal-minded soul! ... so keen a glance for a woman’s beauty is not a needful qualification for a servant of the Snake Divine!  Methinks we have fallen upon evil days! ... maybe the crazed Prophet is right after all, and things are coming to an end!”

“Like thy discourse, I hope, Zibya!” observed Sah-luma, yawning and flinging himself lazily back on his velvet couch,—­“Get hence, and serve thy customers with their cheap news, . . depend upon it, some of them are cursing thee mightily for thy delay!  And if thou shouldst chance to meet the singing-maiden of my household, Niphrata, bid her make haste homeward,—­she hath been absent since the break of morn,—­too long for my contentment.  Maybe I did unwisely to give the child her freedom,—­as slave she would not have presumed to gad abroad thus wantonly, without her lord’s permission.  Say, if thou seest her, that I am wrathful,—­the thought of mine anger will be as a swift wing to waft her hither like a trembling dove,—­afraid, all penitent, and eager for my pardon!  Remember! ... be sure thou tell her of my deep displeasure!”