Tales out of school

by Frank R. Stockton

The great man lived in the simplest manner in a rocky cavern. Sybil found him outside his dwelling, seated on a mossy stone, sorting some plants that lay in his lap. He did not look up as she approached, and she had a good opportunity to study his countenance, which was so sweet and gentle that her fear of him vanished; and she came forward quite boldly, greeted him, and presented her book.

But the magician waved the volume aside. “I know why you seek me, sister of Maghar,” he said, kindly.

“Oh, can you tell me aught of my brother?” cried Sybil.

“I know not where he is. The oracles would not enlighten me without your presence. Come into my dwelling, and we will consult them.”

So saying he conducted her into his cave through a low, dark passage way. Great was Sybil’s astonishment when she found herself in a vast room, with a lofty ceiling. Around the circular walls was a continuous row of lamps, kept constantly burning. Their light was reflected from myriads of stalactites that hung from the roof, glowing with all the colors of the rainbow, making the rough, rocky chamber as brilliant and gorgeous as a fairy palace. In the centre of the room stood a brazier, filled with burning coals, and near it, a large iron harp, with silver strings, and a sort of cupboard, made of iron. A few rough couches were scattered around. And this was all the furniture the room contained.

The magician invited Sybil to take a seat. He then proceeded to place on his head a crown, woven of vines of magical virtues. He took from the cupboard some singular-looking vessels, and mixed in them various powders and liquids. Then, pouring all their contents into a copper pot, he placed it on the coals, seated himself on a stone near it, drew his harp in front of him, and motioned to Sybil to stand before it. He looked so pleasantly upon her she did not feel afraid, but her heart beat fast, not knowing what fearful thing she might see.

She saw nothing whatever but the harp, and the old man; for, as soon as the clouds of fragrant white smoke that poured out from the brazier, had completely enveloped the two, the magician swept his fingers over his harp, and began to sing. Then Sybil forgot everything else, for his chant was of Maghar.

SYBIL AND THE MAGICIAN.

He sang of the great deeds Maghar had done in the battle, and how he had made himself famous. He was the last prisoner taken by the Infidels; and was now confined in a castle several leagues distant. The Infidel army was there encamped. They would like to slay Maghar outright, but were afraid of the vengeance of the Christian armies near them if they murdered a man held in such esteem. He was at present undisturbed, but the probability was that, after a time, they would decide to starve him to death, and give out word that he had died from sickness. His sister had thus a little time in which to work to save him.