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"Is not her love a pledge by all mankind confest? * The house that hometh Hinda be forever blest' Her love all levels; man can reck of naught beside; * Naught or before or after can for man have zest 'Tis though the vale is paved with musk and ambergris * That day when Hinda's footstep on its face is prest: Hail to the beauty of our camp, the pride of folk, * The dearling who en' Slaves all hearts by her behest: Allah on 'Time's Delight' send large dropped clouds that teem * With genial rain but bear no thunder in their breast."
It was the morning after her walk to the old home of her guardian that Dr. Asbury threw down the paper on the breakfast table with an exclamation of horror. "What is the matter, George?" cried his wife, while Beulah grew deadly pale, and clutched the paper; her mind, like "Hinda's," "Still singling ONE from all mankind." "Matter!
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