Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul That not your tresspass, but my madness speaks.' He is by turns desponding and energetic. When alone, he seems to question the source of his information, and wonder whether he is not acting under the instigation of some dark and mysterious agency. When in the presence of his mother or the king, no doubt any longer lingers about his mind. The enormity of the crime alone impresses him; his speech becomes impassioned, and he grows impatient of delay; but his stormy zeal seems to vent itself in vigorous and violent language, and resolution dies the moment he is left alone. In speech, like all madmen of his mind and temperament, he is perfectly terrible, but in action as weak and unsteady as a child. There is method in his madness, and he appears to act with a preconceived design; but for all that there is a fickleness and irresolution about him, and a wildness that casts suspicion over his whole character, and leaves us at times in doubt whether we are listening to the insane ravings of a madman possessed of a strange and mysterious plot, or following the course of an injured prince who seeks redress of a wrong beyond the power of the law, and justice upon the head that wears the crown. We had intended to inquire somewhat carefully into the nature of insanity, the condition of mind, and real ability of the insane. But our limits on this occasion forbid us to do more than simply refer to the subject; and point out the fact that among the insane, there are but few, not more, perhaps, than one in a hundred, who are totally insane, so that a jury might with propriety pronounce them incapable of distinguishing between right and wrong. Most of those confined in our asylums are what we commonly call monomaniacs-their insanity being connected with particular subjects. They are insane on religious questions, on money matters, love affairs, and schemes of speculation; from sickness, disease of the brain, loss of friends, and a thousand other causes, some of which we are acquainted with, while others escape observation. At present we confine our attention to the legal and moral responsibilities of the nsane. And here, if we mistake not, had no rule ever been adopted, and the ques tion were now for the first time presented whether the law should make any distinction in its treatment of the insane, between what is termed partial and total insanity, there would, we apprehend, be but one opinion. The impossibility of drawing the line between them, would alone be sufficient to demonstrate its impolicy, if not injustice. Besides, on a matter of so much moment and practical importance, a rule that is to be enforced, ought to be clearly drawn; so that the distinction need not be left to the jury to make, according as their prejudices or the circumstances of the case may incline. The language of the law should be clear and definite, such as may not be misunderstood by judge or jury. As the rule now stands, the administration of it, is exceedingly difficult; it is plain enough theoretically, but practically, infinitely difficult to be applied. The witness shows the conduct of the prisoner to be insane; the judge declares that if he be so insane as not to know what is right, he cannot be convicted of crime. Here the jury take the case with almost legislative powers, and set themselves to inquire about the prisoner's capacity to distinguish between good and evil—an inquiry where insanity is shown, involving difficulties to the jury and dangers to the citizen, to which neither should be subjected under wise and just laws. Now under the old principle, as laid down by the early writers, it is quite possible that the law be rigidly enforced while the most monstrous injustice is perpetrated; and this fact alone demonstrates the propriety of such an amendment as will forever render it impossible to commit so grievous a wrong in the sacred name of justice. Under the present decisions of our courts, they are understood to hold that an individual may be insane in respect to money affairs, and still capable of committing the crime of murder or arson; and so of all monomaniacs. On the immediate subject of their delusion, they are considered moral agents; on all others they are held to a strict accountability. The man I saw in the asylum at Utica, who considered himself the great financial agent of the state, controlling the operations of Wall street, and the slightest transactions in the market, coining gold and silver, and sending them forth as a convenient cur their oath, that he knew the act he performed was wrong. The association of ideas in the mind of the insane, is too subtle for our comprehension, and the mys tery of his motive too profound for our investigation. We assume to punish guilt, because we understand what constitutes crime in the case of a sane man; possess rency for the accommodation of communi- | hold that if a man be insane, the law ought ty-that man, under the legal rule, would to regard him as an infant, incapable of not, perhaps, be deemed capable of theft crime. It should not be a question or robbery. The particular nature of his whether he knows right from wrong, but delusion would render it impossible. Not whether he be sane or not. For if he be so in reference to other subjects. True, it is a monomaniac, he should not be punished, thought by some that such an unsound-even though a jury be able to say, upon ness destroys the idea of moral responsibility. The law, however, is more rigid and stoical; it holds there may be insanity and a moral sense still remaining in the mind with a responsible judgment; and makes the circumstances of each particular case determine whether the moral sense be entirely destroyed, or only affected by the general unsoundness. If the indi-ing, as we do, his thoughts and feelings, vidual labor under a single delusion that will not yield to evidence, and remain otherwise sane; the philosophy of the law, as at present expounded, assumes that upon questions in which the delusive ideas are not necessarily involved, they will have no influence upon the mind. So that if there remain the bare knowledge of right and wrong, the person is capable of committing crime, no matter how strange and absurd may be the action of his passions. with enough of his motives to enable us to pronounce upon his conduct. But in respect to the insane, who knows the operations of his mind, or what dark power reigns over him? Who can enter into his spirit, or explore the labyrinth of his inconceivable thoughts? Who can become so like him as to take upon himself the very feeling of insanity, and understand him as we understand each other? We are Lone of us able to do so. Would it not then be modest in us to waive a principle of la implying such knowledge. The man, Mr. Erskine, mentioned in the Hadfield trial, who believed himself the In children we frequently discern (or Christ, evidently could distingnish right think we do) a knowledge of right and and wrong. His standing a severe cross- wrong long before any man of sane judg examination so long, baffling the utmost ment would think of holding them responst skill of counsel, as well as his complaints ble for crime. The moral sense seems to against the committee of his estate, showed grow with the faculties. It is at first feehis sense of justice, and that he appre- ble, its existence barely appearing to our ciated, to some extent, his own rights and observation. Gradually it becomes strong relations to others. But for all that, who er, as the mind itself approaches the stat would think of holding him capable of ure of manhood; so that the time when crime? He really believes himself the it assumes the guidance of conduct, and Saviour of mankind, and as such empower- the child becomes capable of contracting ed to forgive sins. Shall such a man be guilt, is always doubtful and difficult punished for the dreamy speculations and fix; depending, as it does, so directly up uncertain action of a shattered intellect? the mental growth, the complete and har It would be a monstrous doctrine to main-monious development of each attribute and tain, and still more monstrous to enforce. And yet, under the rule, the jury must either make the law what the justice of the case requires, and thereby liberally construe the oath they take, to render a verdict according to the evidence, into a general obligation to do what is right in the particular case; or they must find the unfortunate man guilty of a crime at which na ture shudders. The true rule, it should seem, would quality of mind. The moral sense-v languid, he delights in passing his time in a dreamy contemplation of the beauties of nature, but his penetrating, and refined intellect requires something more than sensual enjoyment. Fond of the marvellous, and a believer in superstition, he listens willingly to the legends of ancient days, and to the wild rehearsals of events which transpired in the land of the fairies and the genii, even before the time when Ali split the moon in halves with one stroke of his ponderous scimitar. Sentimental as all indolent people are, he is found to be even tender and melancholy, ready to melt into tears at the recital of stories which his better reason informs him are merely fictitious. His hot oriental blood will mount to his cheek, his bright dark eye will flash at the recital of wrong and oppression, so that not only the reciter of the tale allows his feelings to become so strong as to accompany his words with violent gestures, but even the listener clenches his hand, strikes his breast, shakes his tur The Persians have been called "les | highly poetic one. Naturally indolent and Français de l'Asie." They are certainly a curious medley of genius and passion, spirit and flesh, especially when considered in a poetical point of view. The imagination seems to attend not only to the embellishments required, but even to take unto itself the arrangement of more serious matters. When the fantastic little sprite mounts its own Pegasus and urges him on with all his speed of hoof and wing, we do not wonder so much at the exhibition. But in Persian poetry it often seems as if he mischief-loving Fay bids Reason to take 1 nap for awhile, then mounts the heavy philosophic stock-horse, driving him over litch, and over hedge with a rapidity and lee quite unseemly in an animal of deaure habits. The result of this is someimes striking and happy originality, ometimes bold and successful innovation n travelled ground, and sometimes-as e extremes of sublimity and flatness eet-decided rhodomontade, or ridicuus puerility. Hence that constant veerg of the Persian Bards from licentious-baned head, or grasps impetuously the ess to the highest morality, from noble id graphic description to minute and misaced levity, from thrilling, inimitable ruptness, to rambling and drowsy verosity. Still, if we can forget the defects of Perin poetry for the sake of the beauties of ich they are the vehicle, we often find their writers passages unsurpassed en by the Bards of Greece and Rome. abic literature stands at the head of at the East has been able to produce, d Persian poetry absorbs the merit of the families of the great Arabic idiom. The temperament of the Persian is a hilt of his sabre at the different stages of the soul-stirring narrative. The extreme richness and variety of the Persian tongue, its wonderful flexibility, and peculiar softness was the effect and became an apt vehicle of these qualities, feelings, passions, and impulses of the "Children of the Sun." There is perhaps no oriental language to which a foreigner wholly unacquainted with it, can listen with so much pleasure, and with such a clear perception of its harmonious cadence, and sonorous rotundity, as to the Persian. We have often found ourselves delighted at the declamation of some extract fro Ferdousi or Hafis, without understanding | green throughout the year. The foll the meaning of a single word. This accounts in many instances for the free introduction of Persian names and words in English verses. We have all been delighted with the Peri, the Gul, and the Bulbul, before we knew what they were, and the ear as well as the eye is pleased with "Oman's green water," the "Bower of Roses by Bendemeer's Stream," and the enchanting valleys of Cashmere, Shiraz, and Chilminar. A rose by another name would not smell half so sweet-in poetic description at least-and in fact we doubt very much whether the above-named places would seem half so beautiful, although in fact, perhaps, they are just equal, if they were called Throg's Neck, Haverstraw, Tarry town, or Sleepy Hollow. Though enjoying the advantages deriv ed from the intercourse with other nations of the East, the Persians are in many particulars distinguished from them, a fact which gives an original character to their literature. They had no sympathy for the ruder and grosser votaries of the Khoran, and had the greatest contempt for their ignorance and want of refinement. They hated the first Caliphs as the enemies of their country, and their successors they considered as foreign barbarians. They detested their chief law-givers as the murderers of the religious and generous Ali, avoiding their followers as schismatics and heretics, and refusing especially to participate in the ceremonies and rites of their worship. From these general remarks let us pass to say something in particular of Saadi, a fair specimen of the literary Per sians. Shiraz, the birth-place of our poet, is famed in history and song. Its name, says Chardin,* * derives from shir or sherab, one of which words signifies milk and the other wine. It is the metropolis of the Province of Farsistan, and is beautifully situated on the banks of the river Bendemeer. The climate of this gifted region is proverbial for its mildness and clearness. The city is surrounded by orchards laden wil. the choicest fruits, vineyards from wh a wine is obtained, famous all over ersia, and meadows * Voyages en P e, Tom. 2. p. 146. the neighborhood of Shiraz yield the ba milk of the country. Extremely prod the advantages possessed by their city. inhabitants see a testimony of praise gr to it by numerous foreigners, who f there from all the commercial cities a Asia. According to the accurate Ge geographer, Hubbner, the ruins of P polis, the celebrated capital of an Persia, are yet to be seen in the viciti Shiraz, and the mouldering remains of royal palace, destroyed at the insti of a woman, by Alexander, in a drurit fit, are still pointed out to the stranger. In this delightful region, hallowed by memory of departed greatness, was the author of the Gulistan, about the y 553, of the Hegira, A. D., 1175, in C tian parlance. He was called Mesl din, but his surname Sadi, "The Hap. or, as the Orientals call him, Scheick-S has outlived the other. Being of n lineage he was, it appears, brought upinitiated in the literature of the cou at the court of Persia, and under no personage than Scheabeddin, "magni 5inis Doctore," "a doctor of great name, Guadagni somewhat equivocally en him. Scheick-Sadi was one of those dry souls who seem to be most seriously clined just at the very moment they going to utter the oddest allusions. of the subjects to which the old poet to revert in after life, was the fact having been born under an unluckyMany sly things are said thereupon, a sundry cunning allusions made to name Sadi, or, "The Happy," he contr ing, for the innocent diversion of the Te er, that the surname was ill-appel. ironical, that it should have been the lucky, etc. etc. How could a true pri be otherwise than unhappy, or how e a man who had never been unhappy b true poet? Leaving the reader to settle | bantering. Entering a public bath in one these questions, we will continue our nar- of the chief cities of the Levant, he met a rative. certain Tabriz, a Persian, and popular poet of his day. Tabriz told Sadi, during their conversation, that he was from Tauris. To this the other replied, with some contempt, that he was a native of Shiraz. While bathing Sadi took off his turban, and showed his head, according to the custom of his people, perfectly bald. Tabriz, who wore long hair, lifting towards him the smooth, convex part of a drinkingcup, much used in the East, asked him why the heads of the Shirazians were such a perfect copy of the outside of that cup? Sadi, nothing discomposed at the sally, raised his cup, and, pointing to the bottom of it, asked Tabriz why the heads of the Taurisians were so much like the inside of it. Now, although the accusation of having an empty head is worse than that of having a bald one, this sharp answer caused no ill-feeling between them. They mutually disclosed their names, and were ever afterwards sincere friends. What great people those ancient poets were! In the brightest of his career, Sadi was obliged to abandon the court in consequence of a war between his country and the barbarous inhabitants of the Caspian coast. Sickened at the scenes of bloodshed which he was not unfrequently obliged to witness, and desiring a life of quiet retirement afar from all noisy and turbulent proceedings, he resolved to quit his native country, and increase his stock of knowledge by travelling. To pass along without being observed or questioned, and perhaps to solicit the aid of the rich more successfully, having lost his possessions from the asperity of the times, he disguised himself as a Dervish. In this garb he visited the principal cities of Asia, crossing wild and waste to examine the ruins of ancient towns and castles, and ponder over the brawling tendencies of mankind which had caused their destruction. We are not especially informed of the places visited by the Poet. Kompfer relates that during his wanderings he touched the shores of Italy, and there acquired a knowledge of the Latin language understood by all educated persons and even spoken by the people, although corrupted by the Romanchio, or Provençal from which Italian and French were subsequently formed. We are even told that the author who pleased him most was Seneca. No doubt the indocile imagination of the Persian was fed by the "dulcia vitia" of the tumid Cordovan, and his serious contemplative turn of mind well met by his sententious wisdom. Certain it is that he studied deeply the Eastern languages, tracing them back to their origin with the exactness of a man of sci ence. We have said that Sadi did not dislike joke when it crossed his path, although his disposition was taciturn and serious. During his travels, one of those singular scenes took place which were common mongst his learned cotemporaries, who often discovered a poet or a philosopher in man who recommended himself only by smart repartee, or an agreeable piece of * Amenitates Exoticæ. Fascicul. ii. Relat. 7, 3. Poor Sadi soon got into hot water much worse than that of the bath-room. He had reason to repent of his fondness for travel, and to repeat with Hassan, the camel-driver, in Collins' Oriental Eclogues, "Sad was the hour and luckless was the day, When first from Shiraz' walls I bent my way." He was extremely fond of roving over hill and dell, losing himself meanwhile in the mazy paths of his own boundless imagination. While indulging this vein one day, according to his wont, among the woody mountains of Palestine, the poet not only lost the thread of his subject, but in a most woful manner strayed from the path, and got completely bewildered in the windings of the forest. For a long time he rambled hither and thither in the hopes of meeting some habitation, or falling in with some human being. He was finally gratified in his latter wish, for he first heard the tramp of horses, and then discovered a small band of soldiers walking towards him. Great was his delight thereat, but how unspeakable was his surprise and dismay when he discovered them to be a band of marauding Franks, who belonged to some strong-hold built upon those hi' |