_The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam._
He was a grave personable Moor of middle age, and full of the dignity that
would seem to be the birthright of his race. His official position gave
him a certain knowledge of political developments without affecting his
serene outlook upon life. Whether he sat outside the Kasbah of his native
town and administered the law according to his lights, or, summoned to the
capital, rode attended so far as the Dar el Makhzan, there to take his
part in a council of the Sultan's advisers, or whether, removed for a time
from cares of office, he rested at ease among his cushions as he was doing
now, this Moorish gentleman's placid and unruffled features would lead the
Western observer to suppose that he was a very simple person with no sort
of interest in affairs. I had occasion to know him, however, for a
statesman, after the Moorish fashion--a keen if resigned observer of the
tragic-comedy of his country's politics, and a pious man withal, who had
visited Mecca in the month that is called Shawall, and had cast stones on
the hill of Arafat, as the custom is among True Believers. Some years had
passed since our first meeting, when I was the bearer of a letter of
introduction written by a high official in the intricate Arabic character.
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