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and bitter disgust at his new felicity, his rich bride, and of hatred and aversion to the whole sex. How Sadi escaped from this new misfortune, whether he deserted, was driven away, or paid his ransom from this second captivity, we are at a loss to know. She may have died in the interval, for we find him not long afterwards & great favorite in the Court of Abubekir. Here it was that he enjoyed fully that contemplative tranquillity he had for so long desired, and here he wrote, or finished at least, the work which has rendered him immortal

by the Crusaders. The charms of orien- | expressions, in his works, of unqualified tal imagery, and the sweet fluency of Persian and Arabic verses, would have been completely lost upon these worthies, and had Sadi even quoted his friend Seneca, for their edification, it is extremely doubtful whether that would have done much good. Their business was to forage for provisions, and, in the meanwhile, make any prisoners they might chance to catch, Sadi had to submit to his fate, and follow them most unwillingly to their castle. Ever since the time of Godfrey de Bouillon they had maintained some fortified places all along the frontiers of Syria. At that time they had a numerous army Gulistan―the name he gave to his book at Ptolemaide, or St. John of Acri. Sadi-signifies a bed or collection of roses, was soon fettered and sent to Tripoli, where he was obliged to toil with the other captives upon the fortifications, thus exchanging his accustomed occupation of inditing verses, and tumbling over ancient manuscripts, for the vile labor of digging entrenchments and transporting earth. And thus, says his Latin biographer, Guadagni, "The same wars which caused such exultation amongst the Italic Muses by the birth of Tasso's Jerusalem-by the captivity of Sadi overwhelmed the Persic Muses with unspeakable grief,"-" dato in captivitatem Sadio Persicas Musas mœrore prostravit."

strictly, a Rosary. Its name is derived from the incident which first led to its publication. Walking with one of the few whom he admitted to his conversation, or, as others have it, whose importunity he could not get rid of, he referred to a bunch of roses his companion had collected, admonishing him to reflect how soon they would wither and die, and how much worthier of being carefully gathered. and diligently preserved, were those room which never fade, and never lose the beauty and their fragrance. By this sk of comparison, familiar amongst the Easterns, he meant to indicate the precepts f They were refreshed and consoled by moral philosophy, illustrated from vario the generosity of a rich merchant of Alep- sources, which formed the usual subjec po, who soon after paid the ransom of the of his musings and his discourses. H poet to the Christians, and was so much visitor instantly cast away the flowers b pleased with his good breeding and wis- had collected, and told Sadi that he de dom, that he gave him the hand of his sired nothing more than to possess thos daughter with a handsome dowry. Ran-ever-blooming roses of which he spoke som from captivity, a rich heiress, and a bag of ready money, was a windfall, sufficient, it might be supposed, to satisfy a needy poet, who had not only begged his bread in the dress of a Dervish, but done hard work without wages in the bargain. But, alas! for poor human nature, and Sadi, or "the Happy!" The poet's new bride turned out such an incorrigible termagant that poor Sadi had no comfort from morning to evening. His contemplations were all broken and disturbed, his long, smooth Persian lines gnarled and twisted, and so desperately hen-pecked was he, as to express a doubt whether his former captivity, or his present liberty were the harder to bear. We find other

The plan of the work, of which this cident was the occasion, is very sirk It is divided into short sections, incad» every variety of metre, and even passa of prose. Each section is an epigra fable, or a short ode, as the case may containing some moral maxim, mostly trated by some of the observations of ture, of which Sadi's mind was a pe store-house. Sometimes he is face sometimes sublime, often descriptive. always accurate and keen. Sadi's anecdotes, pious aspirations original comparisons, some striking tences are found. A quotation from -> now quite common, are the lines Mahomet II. is said to have repeatri ə

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the taking of Constantinople. "The spider | translated portions of his Gulistan and holds the veil in the palace of Cæsar, and Bostan, i. e. Orchard" into Latin; and the owl stand sentinel in the watch-tower Professor Wilson, in the "Asiatic Reof Afrasyab." His advice sometimes is view," has rendered some passages into tinged with a satyrical dye. As a strata- English. gem for getting rid of importunate friends, he says, Lend to those who are poor, and borrow from those who are rich." Elsewhere, he says, "Take your wife's opinion and act in opposition to it."

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He gives an account in one place of an adventure which happened during his less palmy days. He was chaffering with a merchant for a house which he desired to purchase, when a neighboring Hebrew came up, and with great volubility of tongue assured the poet that the price requested was reasonable, and the house without a single defect, as he well knew, for he lived next door to it. "How can it be free from defects," said Sadi, when it is so ill-starred as to have thee dwelling near it." And turning to his friend"You ask," said he, seventy-two pieces for this house. Now, by Ali, I would not purchase it for a mite. But when this Jewish knave is hanged, as he will surely be one day, I will not only pay down the seventy-two pieces, but present you with a penny or two into the bargain.'

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The Gulistan forms the book of meditation of the Persians, who even now frequently meet in their Khawakhanas to mbibe the moral wisdom of the Bard of Shiraz, along with copious draughts of highly-flavored coffee. It is the favorite book of the nation at large, is frequently net with written on parchment, with rabesqued margins, and gilt edges; and he oriental ladies carry portions of it endant from the neck, as the western adies do their smelling-bottles.

The work has been translated into everal languages. A copy of it in the foorish tongue, written in Persian letters, as brought to Europe from India by fonsieur Anquetil Du Perron.* George tentius published a Latin translation of it Amsterdam, in 1651. It has been also anslated into the Turkish idiom, and here is an English version of it taken robably from the Latin of Gentius. uadagni and Sir William Jones have

*¡See his Zendavesta, Tome I. Appendix, page

In French there are several versions of the Gulistan. The best known is that of the Abbé Gaudin; the oldest that of Monsieur De Ryer, published in Paris, anno 1634. A Persic Anthology, published by the Academy of Vienna, in 1778, contains extracts from his works in Persian, with a literal version in Latin. Besides his Gulistan and Bostan, we have another work of Sadi's, entitled "Molamaat," a word signifying beams, or sparks.

Voltaire, in his usual flippant manner, takes it upon himself to say that the Gulistan "ne vaut pas grande chose" after all. But Voltaire did not understand Persian, and the extract he gives is the best refutation of his judgment. probably translated it from the literal version of Gentius, and gives us Sadi's idea of the Supreme Being:

He

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Dans les immensités de l'espace et du vide : Qu'il parle et l'univers repasse en un instant Des abîmes du rien dans les plaines de l'être."

There is a fable in the Bostan the purport of which has been transferred to every language. The Latin translation by Sir William Jones is so beautiful that we are sure the classic reader will thank us for transcribing it. The fable is referred by Chardin, (Voyages de M. Le Chevalier Chardin en Perse. Amsterdam: 1735) and is quoted by Addison. Sir William's elegant and accurate version "Poeseos Asiaticæ we take from his Commentarium," which has now become a rare book :

"Rigente molles imbre campos Persidis E nube in æquor lapsa pluviæ gattula est, Quæ cum modestus eloqui sineret pudor

Quid hoc loci? inquit, quid rei misella sum?
Quo me repente ah quo redactam sentio!
Cum se verecundanti animula sperneret,
Illam recepit gemmeo concha sinu;
Tandemque tenuis aquula facta est unio.
Nunc in corona læta Regis emicat
Docens sit humuli quanta laus modestiæ."

That the plain English reader may have an idea of what is going on, in default of a better, we will give him the sense of the fable in a version of our

own:

From a cloud a lucid droplet

Falling toward the summer main, Like a tear upon a mirror,

Sought concealment, but in vain.

"Where," exclaimed the tiny stranger, "Where, poor outcast, shall I fly? There's no place in this vast ocean For so mean a wretch as I!"

Self-despised the little rain-drop Thus its lowliness confessed, When a shell its wreathed chamber Gently oped to yield it rest.

In that cool retreat the droplet Soon became a precious gem. Humility's reward proclaiming It now adorns a diadem.

The writer was once acquainted with an old Chaldæan, named Dinha Bar Yunan, who was full of odds and ends from the Persian poets, and frequently quoted them for the amusement of his friends. He used to talk of Enweri, and Ferrehi, as if he had met them; named Sheik Ferdousi with great veneration, and spoke of " that old rogue," Sheik Sadi, with as much familiarity as if he had gone to school with him. One of the stories he used to tell about Sadi may not be unacceptable to the reader. It ran somewhat in this strain:"One of the queerest peculiarities that queer old rascal Sheik Sadi possessed was, that he hated the Jews, and could not bear to meet a Jew without getting into a flaming passion. Well, once upon a time, Sheik Sadi was travelling on board of a ship, in company with twenty-nine passengers, thirty counting himself, and, singular to say, one half of these passengers were Mussulmans, and the other half of all Ile world what should they be but Bye-and-bye, a terrible black storm |

came on such as had never been seen or heard of in those seas before. The ship pitched this way and that way, and tossed and jumped, until every body thought they were going down to the bottom of the sea as quick as they could. They threw into the sea every thing they had on board, and finally, the danger still increasing, the captain, like a great big brute of an unbelieving infidel, told them that it was no use making a long story of it—that the pas sengers must be decimated, so that part should be thrown overboard, or the whole would certainly die; for that with such & multitude of people on board he could not reach the port. You may imagine the horror and dismay of those luxurious Turks and grovelling money-worshipping Jews at such an announcement. But there were no two ways about it. If the captain were obeyed, there was hope for some of being saved-certain inevitable death for all was the alternative.

The fat Mahommedans tried to wheedle and coax the Jews to make heroes of themselves-show the force of their religion by despising danger. They offered them money, and then tried to overawe and browbeat them into submission All to no use; for the Jews would do any thing to please their highnesses, but as to pitching themselves to the sharks for any body's sake this they stoutly refused even to listen to. The danger pressed, and. finally, the terrible mode of ballot was resorted to. Old Sadi was chosen to con duct the affair of which life or death w the result, and in which he was hime! involved. With admiral coolness he sign fied to the companions of his religion to keep good courage, and not fear tr made bail-water of, while any Jewish fiest formed part or parcel of the cargo, but r occupy promptly the places he would sign to them. He then selected number nine for the counting, and asked the Jews whether they desired him to begin by a Jew or a Mussulman. "A Mussulman, of course," was the reply. He then nounced the number chosen; and they after having agreed that every ninth man up to fifteen should submit to his fate it the salvation of the rest, he disposed t in order for the counting. Every was obliged to keep the place which fallen to him. Sadi proceeded to exa

one, two, three, up to nine, and it was a Jew: nine more another Jew, another, another, and another. "To be short," exclaimed Dinha Bar Yunan, " all the fifteen were Jews, so that all the Jews, and none but the Jews, were thrown splash into the waves. How did this happen? This was the secret, and if any of you can find it out you may. Ha ha! ha! he! hoo!" said the old Chaldæan, throwing himself back in his seat, laughing and chuckling until the tears ran down on his beard.

The secret was contained in six Persian verses, (which are found in some editions of the Gulistan,) and which the old Chaldæan explained to the writer on condition that he would put them in Latin. This was done, as well as could be, in the following epigram. The reader must remark that wherever any white object is named it signifies a Mussulman-wherever any black object it means a Jew. Now for our epigram:

Bis duo sint Turcae-quinque Indi-sint duo Græci

Post quos turpis erit rite locandus Arabs, Tres luces-nox una-dies una-et duo

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What was a mystery to the people who heard of this incident, and to our worthy friend Bar Yunan, came from the adroit collocation of the men. If you want the mathematical reason of all this, you can find it by putting down thirty white chessmen. Begin then to count from the first, and, when you come to the ninth, remove the white man and put a black one in his place. Then count on to the ninth again; displace him with a black one, until you have removed nine whites and put in nine blacks. Then count again, rejecting all the nines, and "you'll kill Jews all through." Undoubtedly, this is the way in which Sheik Sadi found out his plan for giving the Jews a cold bath.

We happen to have at hand another extract from Sadi's Bostan, which, as it contains a beautiful moral, we will transcribe for the edification of the readers. It is copied from a foreign Review :— "Smile not, nor think the legend vain,

That in old times a worthless stone
Such power in holy hands could gain
That straight a silver heap it shone.
Thy alchemist contentment be
Equal is stone or ore to thee.

"The infant's pure unruffled breast
No avarice nor pride molest;
He fills his little hands with earth,
Nor knows that silver has more worth."

"The Sultan sits in pomp and state,
And sees the Dervish at his gate;
And yet of wealth the sage has more
Than the great King with all his store.
"Rich is a beggar, worn and spent,
To whom a silver coin is thrown;
But Feridun was not content
Though Ajum's Kingdom was his own."

Sadi is represented as a man of very pure and simple habits. He shows frequently in his writings a strong devotional feeling-a longing for something to fill his heart, sickened at the worthless vanities of this 'worldly-minded world. He performed several times the pilgrimage to Mecca, seeking the friendly intercession of the Great Prophet at the throne of Allah. And certainly if he had really been a prophet sent upon earth to recall the straying children of Ishmael to the worship of their Creator, it would be hard to blame Sadi for thinking that even in Paradise he

would continue to feel an interest in their welfare, and that Allah would not turn a deaf ear to his supplications in behalf of his former disciples. Probably, however, his love of romance was the chief motive of these voyages; and however much we may admire a pilgrimage to some hallowed spot where the Almighty was once pleased to manifest his power, when undertaken with feelings of unostentatious humility, and sincere devotion, we can see nothing but common-place sentimentality in the rovings of a worshipper of self who goes a long distance to adore an idol he can always find at home.

Sadi reached a very advanced period of life, having passed his hundredth year. He was buried with great solemnity on a mountain near Shiraz, where a garden and lake sacred to his memory are guarded by a brotherhood of Dervices, under the protection of the governor of the city, so inviolably that even the fish of the water honored by the memory of Sadi are never molested or extracted with impunity.

Century after century has rolled away, each burying the tomb of the bard, as it were, beneath a new stratum of earth, and yet the name of Sadi is lisped by the children of his country as familiarly as a household word. Few have heard of the glory of the Sapors, and fewer still of the proud expeditions of Yesdedgerd. No one cares about the Caliph Kader Billah, although he was a great prince, and nobody troubles himself about Mahmoud Sebettighin. Yet the glory of Sadi, who had once to beg his bread in the sack of a Derwish, will survive long after the Derwishes are forgotten, along with the creed itself, which once threatened to bear the blood-stained ban

ner of conquest from the rising to the setting of the sun. Here in a new continent, gentle reader, thou hearest of Sadi, feelest pity at his reverses, smilest at his facetious remarks, which excited the Persian to mirta long before the Sophi took his seat upon the throne of Ispahan. What knew Sadi of our Review, which, after all, is merely the best issued from a continent unheard of until a few centuries ago? Sail, wong may you wait before we will spare any of the space given to a record of Sadi's wasderings, to register the forgotten exploits of the Bouyah dynasty, the combat of Rustem and Afrasyab, or even the later campaigns of Thamas Kouli Khan. Those who once fed the poor bard in the hour of hunger, owe their glory to his undying strains. The fame of monarchs and warriors, to be preserved, must be embalmed in the fame of the poet. What remains of them is merely a lifeless corse; but the glory of the bard is the myrrh and the incense, the aromatic gin which preserves them from corruption. Oh, if people wish to be immortal, why do they not become poets? Or, as this is impossible, why do they not love the sweet strains of the muse, that loving them in return, she may reward their devotion by immortality, which all their exploits tend merely, not to seize upon by themselves, but to merit of her. "There were heroes," says the Latin Saadi. "before Agamemnon, but because no poet told of their valor, they have been lost and forgotten in the obscure night of time."

"Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
Multi: sed omnes illachrymabiles
Urgentur ignotique longa
Nocte, carent quia Vate sacro."

Horace, lib. vi., ode 9.

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