teemed the greatest master, and his famous Gulistan the finest specimen.

Having at last brought the reader, by a circuitous route, indeed, but safely, and we trust not disagreeably, to land, we invite his attention to a rapid sketch of the worthy sheikh himself, preparatory to some notice of the work before us.

Of Sadi himself we have little to communicate. He was born at Shiraz, the Persian Athens, near the close of the twelfth century. We are somewhat doubtful what degree of credence should be given to the scraps of autobiography scattered through his writings, and particularly through the Gulistan. If these may be considered as authentic, his father was a strict Mohammedan and rigid moralist, and the bard himself was brought up under that ascetic discipline, common to the Christian monk and the Oriental dervish. This latter word in strictness means a poor man, but, like fakir, its synonyme in Arabic, has been appropriated, by the usage of the East, to denote the voluntary poverty assumed from religious motives. Mohammedan monachism is an interesting subject, and one which has as yet been but partially elucidated. How far it has been reduced into a system, and what the precise nature of that system is, we are unable to determine. Certain it is, however, that convents of dervishes are numerous in Western Asia, and that it is impossible to open any Oriental work of history or fiction, without meeting with allusions to religious mendicants as a distinct and organized class of the community.

The manner in which Sadi passed the earlier period of his life, is unknown to us in its details. We should infer, however, from some passages of the Gulistan, that his youth, notwithstanding the restraints to which he was subjected, was stained with immoralities of no small magnitude. It is probable that on escaping from the rigid discipline of the cœnobium, where he received his first instructions, he was overcome by the temptations of the world, and plunged into its pleasures, with that headlong eagerness peculiar to those who pass abruptly from a strict life to a loose one. Another circumstance which leads us to the same conclusion is, that there is still extant in the East a production of his younger days, now known by the appropriate name of the Book of Impurities, though it, no doubt, bore originally a less startling title. This work presents us with a lamentable instance of the depth to which genius can be sunk by moral depravation. Though written in the language of Shiraz, the most elegant and pure dialect of Persia, and containing many indications of its author's talents, it is perfectly disgusting from its undisguised and gross licentiousness. We are happy to add, that its author was eventually fortunate enough to form a just estimate of its merits, and looked back upon its com

position with remorse and shame. These feelings may indeed be traced in all his later writings. There runs through such of them as we have seen, a vein of compunctious feeling on the subject of morality, which, though frequently expressed in general terms, or wrought into the texture of a lively fiction, has evidently something personally referrible to the author. This is particularly visible in the serious prefaces or proems, which, according to the Oriental custom, are prefixed to all his writings. In the mukeddemah or prologue to the Gulistan, he assigns as his reason for the composition of the book, a deep sense of the obligation resting on him, to promote the welfare of his fellowmen, and of his own remissness in discharging it. The same feeling is still more observable in the beautiful preface to the Pundnameh. With his other writings we have no direct acquaintance.

We cannot leave this topic without hinting at the coincidence in this respect, between the Persian moralist and a celebrated English poet of the present day. The first publications of the latter were no less remarkable for poetical ability, exercised with the worst of purposes upon the worst of objects. His subsequent publications, at least the more recent,* have been no less remarkable for their correct and even moral tendency, as well as for a strong infusion of the same penitential spirit which pervades the later works of Sadi. Nor are these cases singular. It might be proved by multiplied examples, that no remorse stings more severely, than that suffered by the man who has contributed to vitiate the public taste and deprave the public morals. Multitudes never feel its salutary pangs; but when once felt, it seldom fails to rouse its victim to some active efforts to redeem his own fame, and neutralize the poison which he has infused into the public mind.

Of the personal qualities of Sadi, we know little by report. From his works we should infer, that he was of a cheerful temper, a keen wit, a lively rather than a strong mind, a memory well stored with facts and sentiments, and an honest disposition to do good, the whole somewhat qualified and tinctured with an inoffensive vanity. This last, which might have made a large deduction from the aggregate value of a European writer, should have no such influence in computations which relate to Orientals. The literati of the East, especially those gifted with what we call popular abilities, are raised so far above the mass of their society, and treated with such boundless admiration and respect, that they seem almost to form another species. Oriental genius is accustomed to a sort of homage never yielded to the most ex

It may be well to say, that the remarks which have allusion to Mr. Moore, were written before the Memoirs of Lord Byron had appeared.

alted intellects with us. The warmest admirer, or to use the phrase, adorer of a Byron or a Goëthe, clings fast to his own independence all the while, and would rather see the object of his adoration perish, than abandon his own right to play the critic. The Persian, on the contrary, with Sadi, Hafiz, or Ferdusi in his hands, resigns the privilege of thinking for himself, and drinks in every thing with just as much unhesitating confidence as if it were a revelation from the skies. This circumstance has, no doubt, tended greatly to stereotype the taste and judgment of the Orientals. Instead of bringing their best writers to a standard founded upon just principles of criticism, they judge them altogether by themselves, and are no more likely, therefore, to pronounce an unfavourable sentence, than we are to complain of a standard weight or measure as fraudulently light or unlawfully contracted. The fact which we have stated is, however, quite sufficient to evince, that the same language which in the mouth of a European would be absurdly egotistical, may be almost reckoned modest in the mouth of an Asiatic; because, in the latter case, it falls immensely short of the extravagant expressions which he daily hears applied to him by others. Bearing this fact in mind, and also recollecting that radical deficiency of taste which generally (for there are exceptions) tarnishes all issues from the Oriental mint, we think the most fastidious may afford to pardon the slight dash of self-conceit which is apparent in our author. For ourselves, we find no difficulty in forgiving even such transgressions of decorum as the following:

"Virtue, in the eye of an enemy, is the grossest vice: So, Sadi is a rose, but in the eyes of his enemies, a thorn;" Or the still stronger case, in which after enumerating the staple commodities of different countries, he sums all up with this genuine Orientalism,—

"From Egypt comes sugar, but from Shiraz Sadi!"

The refined taste will perceive, in such examples, something much more disagreeable than the mere vanity which prompted them. We mean the puerility of the conception. In Sadi, it is true, this weakness is redeemed by divers excellencies. But of this anon.

From his youth, Sadi appears to have been a traveller. His works contain numberless allusions to his pilgrimages, which seem, indeed, to have supplied him with a large proportion of the matter here wrought into such a popular and entertaining form. Like most of the Eastern devotees, he probably performed the great hajj, or pilgrimage to Mecca, more than once, be

"Huner-becheshm-i-adawet-buzurgter-aib-est:

Gul-est-Sadi-wa-der-cheshm-i-dushmenan-Khar-est." p. 109

"Shekr-ez-Misr-va-Sadi-ez-Shiraz."

sides visits of the same kind to minor keblas, or consecrated places of less note. All his voyages seem to have been undertaken with religious views; for though he often speaks of having been in company with merchants, in most parts of Asia, there is no intimation of his having been himself engaged in trade. In the second book or chapter of the work before us, (page 71,) we have an account of an important incident in his biography. He there states, that having left Damascus, for the purpose of performing his devotions in the wilderness, he fell into the clutches of the Franks, and was forced to labour in the trenches at Tripoli, until he was redeemed by a merchant of Aleppo, who, not content with this kindness, took him home. and married him to his daughter. How long he was a captive, we are not informed. It was long enough, however, to inspire him with a strong dislike to his new masters; for we meet with more than one ill-natured and contemptuous allusion to the Christians in his writings.

We have already mentioned, that our author was a dervish. We may add, that he was a khateeb or public preacher. There are many expressions in the Gulistan from which this might be gathered; but, on page 59, we have proof positive. He there not only speaks of his having said a few words in the mosque at Baalbec, by way of exhortation, (be-tarîk-waaz,) but records his text, and gives an abstract of the sermon, with an account of its effect upon the congregation. It would seem, indeed, from his phraseology throughout this book, that he spent most of his time, when not upon his pilgrimages, in the mosques of Syria and Persia, engaged in religious services or attending the levees of the Ulema.

These are all the detached fragments of our author's history worth preserving that we are able to communicate, and the reader is, perhaps, already satisfied. We shall pass, therefore, to his works. Of these not one within our knowledge is composed in prose. A mere prose work is, indeed, the niger cygnus of Oriental literature. Even their most systematic works of science teem with poetical quotations and allusions, while a large proportion of the prose itself would, with us, be denominated. doggerel. But Sadi's works are not even prose in this sense. They are either wholly metrical, as the Bostan and Pundnameh, or mixed, as the Gulistan. These, with the Moallamat or Rays of Light, are by far the most popular of his productions; and indeed, few books in any language have enjoyed so wide a circulation as the Pundnameh and the work before us. The former is a compendious manual of ethics, comprising the most valuable moral precepts, in less than two hundred couplets.

The Crusaders,

It is used as a class book in all schools wherever the language is vernacular, and quoted by the gravest writers as infallible authority.

In popularity, however, it must yield to the Gulistan, which, in addition to the merits common to it with other works, possesses a peculiar claim in the variety of the subjects which it comprehends, and of the styles in which it is composed. While the others are applauded by the Eastern critics as so many master-pieces, the Gulistan is in every body's mouth, furnishing the philosopher with argument, the wit with repartee, and all with mingled entertainment and instruction. It is indeed an interesting fact, that a book may be, nay that one has been written, capable of affording exquisite delight as well as sound instruction to all classes of society, from Cape Comorin to the Caspian, from the Indus to the Nile.* That any book, with such a circulation, for six hundred years, must have excited a decisive influence, is quite self-evident. And here we must beg leave to interpose a few words in behalf of the whole class of writings to which this belongs. We have already said, that this style of composition is a favourite with the writers and readers of the East. With us, on the contrary, it is apt to be regarded with contempt, as puerile. Sitting down to the perusal of such works, with principles of taste derived from higher models, and without allowance for circumstances, we can have no relish for their beauties or forbearance for their faults. Rhetorically, this contempt is just. We see nothing admirable in the Oriental style as such. But the works of which we speak may plead exemption, upon other grounds, from a sentence of entire condemnation. For our own part, we believe that they have been employed as instruments in the accomplishment of most important ends. With all their deficiencies in point of taste, and sometimes of good sense, they have served to insinuate a tincture of sound morals into the putrescent mass of Mohammedan society; just as the Mohammedan religion has itself been instrumental in the preservation of whole nations from idolatry. With more depth and less vivacity, they might have made their readers more profoundly skilled in ethics; and with less gaudy decoration, they would, no doubt, have been more agreeable to Western taste. But these very qualities have been their passport to the understanding of vast multitudes, who would have turned away from better books. We are far from meaning to assert, that the moral standard which these works establish is the highest possible; but we do mean to say, that it is far higher than the standard of

The Persian is the language of judicial proceeding in Hindostan, and is also spoken at the courts of all the native princes. In Egypt it is not, we believe, spoken by any class; but that it is understood, may be inferred from the fact, that the Pacha has recently published an elegant edition of the Gulistan.