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This startled him somewhat, for he jumped back in surprise.

After gazing at me for some moments in silence, he asked:

“Do you speak English?”

I told him I did and asked him to tell me what he saw or heard when he looked through the glass.

Thereupon he spoke as follows, which I reported in shorthand, verbatim et literatim, at one time having learned the art from Sir Isaac Pitman when he was a lad:

“O, thou of the sky, whose flight is swifter than that of the old eagle; whose movements are more graceful than those of the young fawn at day-break; whose actions are as noiseless as the kiss of the dew upon the tulip; whose voice is as sweet as the murmur of the rivulet; whose countenance is as glorious as the full-robed orb of night as she rises from her eastern couch; whose mind is as brilliant as the scintillations of the Milky Way;

“O, listen to the words of thy servant, who kneels before thee, who feels the honor a monarch bestows on his subject; whose right hand and whose left hand; whose right foot and whose left foot; whose right ear and whose left ear; whose right eye and whose left eye; whose right nostril and whose left nostril, shall be at thy service; whose mouth shall speak thy messages; whose mind shall think thy thoughts—thy servant of the Desert, We Ali.