Had Shakib been forewarned of Khalid’s mind, had he even seen him at the gate before he entered, he would have given him a few hints about the cross-signs and barbed-cordons therein. But should he not have divined that Khalid soon or late was coming? Did he not call enough to him, and aloud?
“Get thee behind me on this dromedary,” our Scribe, reading his al-Mutanabbi, would often say to his comrade, “and come from this desert of barren gold, if but for a day—come out with me to the oasis of poesy.”
But Khalid would only ride alone. And so, he begins his course of self-education. But how he shall manage it, in this cart-before-the-horse fashion, the reader shall know. Words before rules, ideas before systems, epigrams before texts—that is Khalid’s fancy. And that seems feasible, though not logical; it will prove effectual, too, if one finally brushed the text and glanced at the rules. For an epigram, when it takes possession of one, goes farther in influencing his thoughts and actions than whole tomes of ethical culture science. You know perhaps how the Arabs conquered the best half of the world with an epigram, a word. And Khalid loves a fine-sounding, easy-flowing word; a word of supple joints, so to speak; a word that you can twist and roll out, flexible as a bamboo switch, resilient as a fine steel rapier.
But once Shakib, after reading one of Khalid’s first attempts, gets up in the night when his friend is asleep, takes from the bottom drawer of the peddling-box the evil-working dictionary, and places therein a grammar. This touch of delicacy, this fine piece of criticism, brief and neat, without words withal, Khalid this time is not slow to grasp and appreciate.
He plunges, therefore, headlong into the grammar, turns a few somersaults in the mazes of Sibawayh and Niftawayh, and coming out with a broken noddle, writes on the door the following: “What do I care about your theories of nouns and verbs? Whether the one be derived