Miserable was the man who laid up his treasure in money-bags and built his happiness on the favour of princes! When the one was taken from him and the other failed him, where then was the hope of that man's salvation, whether in this world or the next?
The dungeon, the chain, the lash, the wooden jellab--what else was left to him?
Only the wail of the poor whom he has made poorer, the curse of the orphan whom he has made fatherless, and the execration of the down-trodden whom he has oppressed.

These followed him into his prison, and mingled their cries with the clank of his irons, for they were voices which had never yet deserted the man that made them, but clamoured loud at the last when his end had come, above the death-rattle in his throat.

One dim hour waited for all men always, whether in the prison or in the palace--one lonely hour wherein none could bear him company--and what was wealth and treasure to man's soul beyond it?
Was it power on earth?
Was it glory?
Was it riches?
Oh! glory of the earth--what could it be but a will-o'-the-wisp pursued in the darkness of the night! Oh! riches of gold and silver--what had they ever been but marsh-fire gathered in the dusk! The empire of the world was evil, and evil was the service of the prince of it! Then Israel thought of Naomi, his sweet treasure--so far away.

Though all else fell from him like dry sand from graspless fingers, yet if by God's good mercy the lot of the sin-offering could be lifted away from his child, he would be content and happy! Naomi! His love! His darling! His sweet flower afflicted for his transgression.

Oh! let him lose anything, everything, all that the world and all that the devil had given him; but let the curse be lifted from his helpless child! For what was gold without gladness, and what was plenty without peace?
Israel lit upon the Mahdi at last in the country of the verbena and the musk that lies outside the walls of Fez.