“The divine Hyspiros!” he exclaimed pointing to it in a sort of ecstasy—­“The Master from whom it may be I have caught the perfect entrancement of my own verse-melody!  His fame, as thou knowest, is unrivalled and universal—­yet—­canst thou believe it! ... there has been of late an ass found in Al-Kyris who hath chosen him as a subject for his braying—­and other asses join in the uneuphonius chorus.  The marvellous Plays of Hyspiros! ... the grandest tragedies, the airiest comedies, the tenderest fantasies, ever created by human brain, have been called in question by these thistle-eating animals!—­and one most untractable mule-head hath made pretence to discover therein a passage of secret writing which shall, so the fool thinks, prove that Hyspiros was not the author of his own works, but only a literary cheat, and forger of another and lesser man’s inspiration!  By the gods!—­one’s sides would split with laughter at the silly brute, were he not altogether too contemptible to provoke even derision!  Hyspiros a traitor to the art he served and glorified? ...  Hyspiros a literary juggler and trickster? ...  By the Serpent’s Head! they may as well seek to prove the fiery Sun in Heaven a common oil-lamp, as strive to lessen by one iota the transcendent glory of the noblest poet the centuries have ever seen!”

Warmed by enthusiasm, with his eyes flashing and the impetuous words coursing from his lips, his head thrown back, his hand uplifted, Sah-luma looked magnificent,—­and Theos, to whose misty brain the names of Oruzel and Hyspiros carried no positively distinct meaning, was nevertheless struck by a certain suggestiveness in his remarks that seemed to bear on some discussion in the literary world that had taken place quite recently.  He was puzzled and tried to fix the precise point round which his thoughts strayed so hesitatingly, but he could arrive at no definite conclusion.  The brilliant, meteor-like Sah-luma meantime flashed hither and thither about the room, selecting certain volumes from his loaded book-stands, and bringing them in a pile, he set them on a small table by his visitor’s side.

“These are some of the earliest editions of the plays of Hyspiros”—­he went on, talking in that rapid, fluent way of his that was as musical as a bird’s song—­“They are rare and curious.  See you!—­the names of the scribes and the dates of issue are all distinct.  Ah!—­the treasures of poetry enshrined within these pages! ... was ever papyrus so gemmed with pearls of thought and wisdom?—­If there were a next world, my friend,”—­and here he placed his hand familiarly on his guest’s shoulder, while the bright, steel-gray under-gleam sparkled in his splendid eyes—­ “’twould be worth dwelling in for the sake of Hyspiros,—­as grand a god as any of the Thunderers in the empyrean!”

“Surely there is a next world”—­murmured Theos, scarcely knowing what he said—­“A world where thou and I, Sah-luma, and all the masters and servants of song shall meet and hold high festival!”