{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_62868/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_62868","id":"gutenberg_62868","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62868","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Tales -- Orient"],"text":"[Illustration: FRONTISPIECE\n\n\u201cA certain Cham of Tartary going a progress with his nobles, was met by\na Dervise, who cried with a loud voice,\u201d\u2014\u201cWhoever will give me a hundred\npieces of gold, I will give him a piece of advice.\u201d\u2014\u2014Page 13.]\n\n\n\n\n                             ORIENTAL TALES,\n                                 FOR THE\n                        _ENTERTAINMENT OF YOUTH_:\n\n                            SELECTED FROM THE\n                      MOST EMINENT ENGLISH WRITERS.\n\n                                _LONDON_:\n                     PRINTED AND SOLD BY R. HARRILD,\n                       _No. 20, Great Eastcheap_.\n                                  1814\n\n\n\n\nORIENTAL TALES.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MERCHANT AND HIS SONS.\n\n\nA certain merchant had two sons, the eldest of whom was of so bad a\ndisposition as to behave with great hatred and ill-nature towards the\nyounger, who was of a temper more mild and gentle. It happened that the\nold gentleman, after having acquired a large estate by his trade, left it\nby his will to his eldest son, together with all his ships and stock in\nmerchandize, desiring him to continue in the business, and support his\nbrother.\n\nThe father was no sooner dead than the elder began to shew his ill-will\nto his brother. He desired him to leave his house, and, without giving\nhim any thing for his support, turned him loose into the wide world. The\nyoung man was much dejected with this treatment; but, considering that\nin his father\u2019s life-time he had acquired some knowledge of business, he\napplied to a neighbouring merchant, offering to serve him in the way of\ntrade.\n\nThe merchant received him into his house, and finding from long\nexperience that he was prudent, virtuous, and diligent in his business,\ngave him his daughter and only child in marriage, and, when he died,\nbequeathed to him his whole fortune. The young man, after the death of\nhis father-in-law, retired with his wife into a distant part of the\ncountry, where he purchased a fine estate, with a splendid dwelling; and\nthere he lived with great credit and reputation.\n\nThe elder brother, after the father\u2019s death, for some time had great\nsuccess in trade. At length, however, a violent storm tore to pieces many\nof his ships, which were coming home richly laden. About the same time\nsome persons failing, who had much of their money in his hands, he was\nreduced to great want. To complete his misfortunes, the little which he\nhad left at home was consumed by a sudden fire, which burnt his house,\nand every thing in it; so that he was brought into a state of beggary.\n\nIn this forlorn condition, he had no other resource to keep himself from\nstarving than to wander up and down the country, imploring the assistance\nof well-disposed persons. It happened one day, that having travelled many\nmiles, and obtained but little relief, he saw a gentleman walking in the\nfields, not far from a fine seat. To this gentleman he addressed himself,\nand having laid before him his misfortunes and his present necessitous\ncondition, he earnestly entreated him to grant him some assistance. The\ngentleman, who happened to be no other than his own brother, did not\nat first know him; but after some discourse with him, he perceived who\nhe was. At first, however, he did not make it appear that he had any\nknowledge of him, but brought him home, and ordered his servants to take\ncare of him, and furnish him for that night with lodgings and victuals.\n\nIn the mean time he resolved to discover himself to his brother next\nmorning, and offer him a constant habitation in his house, after he had\ngot the consent of his wife to the proposal. Accordingly, next morning,\nhe ordered the poor man to be sent for. When he was come into his\npresence, he asked if he knew him. The poor man answered, he did not. I\nam, said he, bursting into tears, your only brother! and immediately fell\non his neck, and embraced him with great tenderness. The elder, quite\nastonished at this accident, fell to the ground, and began to make many\nexcuses, and to beg pardon for his former cruel behaviour. To whom the\nother answered, \u201cBrother, let us forget those things; I heartily forgive\nyou all that is past; you need not range up and down the world; you shall\nbe welcome to live with me.\u201d He readily accepted the proposal, and they\nlived together with great comfort and happiness till death.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF MENCIUS.\n\n\nAs Mencius, the philosopher, was travelling in pursuit of wisdom,\nnight overtook him at the foot of a gloomy mountain, remote from the\nhabitations of men. Here, as he was straying, (while rain and thunder\nconspired to make solitude still more hideous) he perceived a hermit\u2019s\ncell, and approaching, asked for shelter. \u201cEnter,\u201d cries the hermit in a\nsevere tone; \u201cmen deserve not to be obliged; but it would be imitating\ntheir ingratitude to treat them as they deserve. Come in: examples of\nvice may sometimes strengthen us in the ways of virtue.\u201d\n\nAfter a frugal meal, which consisted of roots and tea, Mencius could not\nrepress his curiosity to know why the hermit had retired from mankind,\nwhose actions taught the truest lessons of wisdom. \u201cMention not the\nname of man,\u201d cried the hermit with indignation; \u201chere let me live\nretired from a base ungrateful world; here, in the forest I shall find\nno flatterers. The lion is an open enemy, and the dog a faithful friend;\nbut man, base man, can poison the bowl, and smile when he presents it.\u201d\n\u201cYou have then been used ill by mankind?\u201d interrupted the philosopher\ndrily. \u201cYes,\u201d replied the hermit; \u201con mankind I have exhausted my whole\nfortune; and this staff, that cup, and those roots, are all that I have\nin return.\u201d\u2014\u201cDid you bestow your fortune among them, or did you only\nlend it?\u201d returned Mencius. \u201cI bestowed it, undoubtedly,\u201d replied the\nother; \u201cfor where were the merit of being a money lender?\u201d\u2014\u201cDid they\never own that they received your benefits?\u201d still adds the philosopher.\n\u201cA thousand times,\u201d cries the hermit; \u201cthey every day loaded me with\nprofessions of gratitude for favours received, and solicitations for\nfuture ones.\u201d\u2014\u201cIf, then, (says Mencius smiling) you did not lend\nyour fortune in order to have it returned, it is injustice to accuse\nthem of ingratitude; they owned themselves obliged; you expected no\nmore; and they certainly earn a favour who stoop to acknowledge the\nobligation.\u201d\u2014The hermit was struck with the reply; and, surveying\nhis guest with emotion, \u201cI have heard of the great Mencius, and thou\ncertainly art the man. I am now fourscore years old, but still a child\nin wisdom; take me back to the world, and educate me as one of the most\nignorant, and youngest, of thy disciples.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF SCHACABAC.\n\n\nSchacabac being reduced to great poverty, and having eat nothing for two\ndays together, made a visit to a noble Barmecide, in Persia, who was very\nhospitable, but withal a great humourist.\u2014The Barmecide was sitting at\nhis table, that seemed ready covered for an entertainment. Upon hearing\nSchacabac\u2019s complaint, he desired him to sit down and fall on. He then\ngave him an empty plate, and asked him how he liked his rice-soup.\nSchacabac, who was a man of wit, and resolved to comply with the\nBarmecide in all his humours, told him it was admirable, and at the same\ntime, in imitation of the other, lifted up the empty spoon to his mouth\nwith great pleasure. The Barmecide then asked him if he ever saw whiter\nbread? Schacabac, who saw neither bread nor meat, If I did not like it,\nyou may be sure, says he, I should not eat so heartily of it. You oblige\nme mightily, replied the Barmecide, pray let me help you to this leg of\ngoose. Schacabac reached out his plate, and received nothing on it with\ngreat chearfulness. As he was eating very heartily of this imaginary\ngoose, and crying up the sauce to the skies, the Barmecide desired him to\nkeep a corner of his stomach for a roasted lamb, fed with pistachio-nuts,\nand after having called for it, as though it had really been served up,\nHere is a dish, says he, that you will see at nobody\u2019s table but my own.\nSchacabac was wonderfully delighted with the taste of it, which is like\nnothing, says he, I ever eat before. Several other nice dishes were\nserved up in idea, which both of them commended, and feasted on after the\nsame manner. This was followed by an invisible desert, no part of which\ndelighted Schacabac so much as a certain lozenge, which the Barmecide\ntold him was a sweet-meat of his own invention. Schacabac at length,\nbeing courteously reproached by the Barmecide, that he had no stomach,\nand that he eat nothing, and at the same time being tired with moving his\njaws up and down to no purpose, desired to be excused, for that really\nhe was so full that he could not eat a bit more. Come, then, says the\nBarmecide, the cloth shall be removed, and you shall taste of my wines,\nwhich I may say, without vanity, are the best in Persia. He then filled\nboth their glasses out of an empty decanter. Schacabac would have excused\nhimself from drinking so much at once, because he said he was a little\nquarrelsome in his liquor; however, being prest to it, he pretended\nto take it off, having before-hand praised the colour, and afterwards\nthe flavour. Being plied with two or three other imaginary bumpers of\ndifferent wines equally delicious, and a little vexed with this fantastic\ntreat, he pretended to grow fluttered, and gave the Barmecide a good\nbox on the ear; but immediately recovering himself, Sir, says he, I beg\nten thousand pardons, but I told you before, that it was my misfortune\nto be quarrelsome in my drink. The Barmecide could not but smile at the\nhumour of his guest, and instead of being angry with him, I find, says\nhe, thou art a complaisant fellow, and deservest to be entertained in my\nhouse. Since thou canst accommodate thyself to my humour, we will now\neat together in good earnest. Upon which calling for his supper, the\nrice-soup, the goose, the pistachio-lamb, the several other nice dishes,\nwith the desert, the lozenges, and all the variety of Persian wines, were\nserved up successively one after another; and Schacabac was feasted, in\nreality, with those very things which he had before been entertained\nwithin imagination.\n\n\n\n\nHAMET AND RASCHID.\n\n\nWhen the plains of India were burnt up by a long continuance of drought,\nHamet and Raschid, two neighbouring shepherds, faint with thirst, stood\nat the common boundary of their grounds, with their flocks and herds\npanting round them, and in extremity of distress prayed for water.\nOn a sudden the air was becalmed, the birds ceased to chirp, and the\nflocks to bleat. They turned their eyes every way, and saw a being of\nmighty stature advancing through the valley, whom they knew upon his\nnearer approach to be the Genius of Distribution. In one hand he held\nthe sheaves of plenty, and in the other, the sabre of destruction.\nThe shepherds stood trembling, and would have retired before him; but\nhe called to them with a voice gentle as the breeze that plays in the\nevening among the spices of Sab\u00e6a: \u201cFly not from your benefactor,\nchildren of the dust! I am come to offer you gifts, which only your own\nfolly can make vain. You here pray for water, and water I will bestow;\nlet me know with how much you will be satisfied: speak not rashly;\nconsider, that of whatever can be enjoyed by the body, excess is no less\ndangerous than scarcity. When you remember the pain of thirst, do not\nforget the danger of suffocation. Now, Hamet, tell me your request.\u201d\n\n\u201cO Being, kind and beneficent,\u201d says Hamet, \u201clet thine eye pardon my\nconfusion. I entreat a little brook, which in summer shall never be dry,\nand in winter never overflow.\u201d \u201cIt is granted,\u201d replies the Genius; and\nimmediately he opened the ground with his sabre, and a fountain bubbling\nup under their feet, scattered its rills over the meadows; the flowers\nrenewed their fragrance, the trees spread a greener foilage, and the\nflocks and herds quenched their thirst.\n\nThen turning to Raschid, the Genius invited him likewise to offer his\npetition. \u201cI request,\u201d says Raschid, \u201cthat thou wilt turn the Ganges\nthrough my grounds, with all his waters, and all their inhabitants.\u201d\nHamet was struck with the greatness of his neighbour\u2019s sentiments, and\nsecretly repined in his heart, that he had not made the same petition\nbefore him; when the Genius spoke, \u201cRash man, be not insatiable!\nremember, to thee that is nothing which thou canst not use; and how are\nthy wants greater than the wants of Hamet?\u201d Raschid repeated his desire,\nand pleased himself with the mean appearance that Hamet would make in the\npresence of the proprietor of the Ganges. The Genius then retired towards\nthe river, and the two shepherds stood waiting the event. As Raschid was\nlooking with contempt upon his neighbour, on a sudden was heard the roar\nof torrents, and they found by the mighty stream that the mounds of the\nGanges were broken. The flood rolled forward into the lands of Raschid,\nhis plantations were torn up, his flocks overwhelmed, he was swept away\nbefore it, and a crocodile devoured him.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHAM AND THE DERVISE.\n\n\nA certain Cham of Tartary going a progress with his nobles, was met by\na Dervise, who cried with a loud voice, _whoever will give me a hundred\npieces of gold, I will give him a piece of advice_. The Cham ordered him\nthe sum: upon which the Dervise said, _begin nothing of which thou hast\nnot well considered the end_.\n\nThe courtiers upon hearing this plain sentence, smiled, and said with\na sneer, \u201cThe dervise is well paid for his maxim.\u201d But the king was so\nwell satisfied with the answer, that he ordered it to be written in\ngolden letters in several places of his palace, and engraved on all his\nplate. Not long after, the king\u2019s surgeon was bribed to kill him with a\npoisoned lancet at the time he let him blood. One day, when the king\u2019s\narm was bound, and the fatal lancet in the surgeon\u2019s hand, he read on\nthe bason, _begin nothing of which thou hast not well considered the\nend_. He immediately started, and let the lancet fall out of his hand.\nThe king observed his confusion, and enquired the reason: the surgeon\nfell prostrate, confessed the whole affair, and was pardoned, and the\nconspirators died. The Cham, turning to his courtiers who heard the\nadvice with contempt, told them, \u201cthat counsel could not be too much\nvalued, which had saved a king\u2019s life.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF OMAR.\n\n\nOmar, the hermit of the mountain Aubukabis, which rises on the east of\nMecca, and overlooks the city, found one evening a man sitting pensive\nand alone, within a few paces of his cell. Omar regarded him with\nattention, and perceived that his looks were wild and haggard, and that\nhis body was feeble and emaciated: the man also seemed to gaze stedfastly\non Omar; but such was the abstraction of his mind, that his eye did not\nimmediately take cognizance of its object. In the moment of recollection\nhe started as from a dream, he covered his face in confusion, and bowed\nhimself to the ground.\u2014\u201cSon of affliction,\u201d said Omar, \u201cwho art thou,\nand what is thy distress?\u201d \u201cMy name,\u201d replied the stranger, \u201cis Hassan,\nand I am a native of this city: the Angel of adversity has laid his hand\nupon me; and the wretch whom thine eye compassionates, thou canst not\ndeliver.\u201d \u201cTo deliver thee,\u201d said Omar, \u201cbelongs to Him only, from whom\nwe should receive with humility both good and evil; yet hide not thy life\nfrom me; for the burthen which I cannot remove, I may at least enable\nthee to sustain.\u201d Hassan fixed his eyes upon the ground, and remained\nsome time silent; then fetching a deep sigh, he looked up at the hermit,\nand thus complied with his request.\n\nIt is now six years since our mighty lord the Calif Almalic, whose\nmemory be blessed, first came privately to worship in the temple of the\nholy city. The blessings which he petitioned of the Prophet, as the\nProphet\u2019s vicegerent, he was diligent to dispense; in the intervals of\nhis devotion, therefore, he went about the city, relieving distress,\nand restraining oppression: the widow smiled under his protection, and\nthe weakness of age and infancy was sustained by his bounty. I, who\ndreaded no evil but sickness, and expected no good beyond the reward of\nmy labour, was singing at my work, when Almalic entered my dwelling.\nHe looked round with a smile of complacency; perceiving that though\nit was mean, it was neat, and that though I was poor, I appeared to\nbe content. As his habit was that of a pilgrim, I hastened to receive\nhim with such hospitality as was in my power; and my cheerfulness was\nrather increased than restrained by his presence. After he had accepted\nsome coffee, he asked me many questions; and though by my answers I\nalways endeavoured to excite him to mirth, yet I perceived that he grew\nthoughtful, and eyed me with a placid but fixed attention. I suspected\nthat he had some knowledge of me, and therefore inquired his country and\nhis name. \u201cHassan,\u201d said he, \u201cI have raised thy curiosity, and it shall\nbe satisfied: he who now talks with thee is Almalic, the sovereign of\nthe faithful, whose seat is the throne of Medina, and whose commission\nis from above.\u201d These words struck me dumb with astonishment, though I\nhad some doubt of their truth: but Almalic, throwing back his garment,\ndiscovered the peculiarity of his vest, and put the royal signet upon his\nfinger. I then started up, and was about to prostrate myself before him,\nbut he prevented me: \u201cHassan,\u201d said he, \u201cforbear; thou art greater than\nI, and from thee I have at once derived humility and wisdom.\u201d I answered,\n\u201cMock not thy servant, who is but as a worm before thee; life and death\nare in thy hand, and happiness and misery are the daughters of thy\nwill.\u201d \u201cHassan,\u201d he replied, \u201cI can no otherwise give life or happiness\nthan by not taking them away: thou art thyself beyond the reach of my\nbounty, and possessed of felicity which I can neither communicate nor\nobtain.\u2014My influence over others fills my bosom with perpetual solicitude\nand anxiety; and yet my influence over others extends only to their\nvices, whether I would reward or punish. By the bow-string, I can repress\nviolence and fraud; and by the delegation of my power, I can transfer the\ninsatiable wishes of avarice and ambition from one object to another;\nbut with respect to virtue, I am impotent: if I could reward it, I would\nreward it in thee. Thou art content, and hast therefore neither avarice\nnor ambition: to exalt thee, would destroy the simplicity of thy life,\nand diminish that happiness which I have no power either to increase\nor continue.\u201d He then rose up, and, commanding me not to disclose his\nsecret, departed.\n\nAs soon as I recovered from the confusion and astonishment in which the\nCalif left me, I began to regret that my behaviour had intercepted his\nbounty; and accused of folly, that cheerfulness which was the concomitant\nof poverty and labour. I now repined at the obscurity of my station,\nwhich my former insensibility had perpetuated: I neglected my labour,\nbecause I despised the reward; I spent the day in idleness, forming\nromantic projects to recover the advantages which I had lost; and at\nnight, instead of losing myself in that sweet and refreshing sleep, from\nwhich I used to rise with new health, cheerfulness, and vigour, I dreamt\nof splendid habits and a numerous retinue, of gardens, palaces, eunuchs,\nand women, and waked only to regret the illusions that had vanished. My\nhealth was at length impaired by the inquietude of my mind; I sold all\nmy moveables for subsistence: and reserved only a mattrass, upon which I\nsometimes lay from one night to another.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF OMAR.\n\n(CONCLUDED.)\n\n\nIn the first moon of the following year, the Calif came again to Mecca,\nwith the same secrecy, and for the same purposes. He was willing once\nmore to see the man, whom he considered as deriving felicity from\nhimself. But he found me, not singing at my work, ruddy with health, and\nvivid with cheerfulness; but pale and dejected, sitting on the ground,\nand chewing opium, which contributed to substitute the phantoms of\nimagination for the realities of greatness. He entered with a kind of\njoyful impatience in his countenance, which, the moment he beheld me, was\nchanged to a mixture of wonder and pity. I had often wished for another\nopportunity to address the Calif; yet I was confounded at his presence,\nand throwing myself at his feet, I laid my hand upon my head, and was\nspeechless. \u201cHassan,\u201d said he, \u201cwhat canst thou have lost, whose wealth\nwas the labour of thy own hand; and what can have made thee sad, the\nspring of whose joy was in thy own bosom?\u2014What evil has befallen thee?\nSpeak, and if I can remove it, thou art happy.\u201d I was now encouraged\nto look up, and I replied, \u201cLet my Lord forgive the presumption of his\nservant, who rather than utter a falsehood, would be dumb for ever. I am\nbecome wretched by the loss of that which I never possessed: thou hast\nraised wishes which indeed I am not worthy thou shouldst satisfy: but why\nshould it be thought, that he who was happy in obscurity and indigence,\nwould not have been rendered more happy by eminence and wealth?\u201d\n\nWhen I had finished this speech, Almalic stood some moments in suspense,\nand I continued prostrate before him. \u201cHassan,\u201d said he, \u201cI perceive, not\nwith indignation but regret, that I mistook thy character; I now discover\navarice and ambition in thy heart, which lay torpid only because their\nobjects were too remote to rouse them. I cannot, therefore, invest thee\nwith authority, because I would not subject my people to oppression; and\nbecause I would not be compelled to punish thee for crimes which I first\nenabled thee to commit.\n\n\u201cBut as I have taken from thee that which I cannot restore, I will\nat least gratify the wishes that I excited, lest thy heart accuse me\nof injustice, and thou continue still a stranger to thyself. Arise,\ntherefore, and follow me.\u201d I sprung from the ground as it were with\nthe wing of an eagle; I kissed the hem of his garment in an extasy of\ngratitude and joy; and when I went from my house, my heart leaped as\nif it had escaped from the den of a lion. I followed Almalic to the\ncaravansary in which he lodged; and after he had fulfilled his vows, he\ntook me with him to Medina. He gave me an apartment in the seraglio; I\nwas attended by his own servants; my provisions were sent from his own\ntable; and I received every week a sum from his treasury, which exceeded\nthe most romantic of my expectations. But I soon discovered, that no\ndainty was so tasteful, as the food to which labour procured an appetite;\nno slumbers so sweet as those which weariness invited; and no time so\nwell enjoyed, as that in which diligence is expecting its reward. I\nremembered these enjoyments with regret; and while I was sighing in the\nmidst of superfluities, which though they encumbered life, yet I could\nnot give up, they were suddenly taken away.\n\nAlmalic, in the midst of the glory of his kingdom, and in the full vigour\nof his life, expired suddenly in the bath; such, thou knowest, was the\ndestiny which the Almighty had written upon his head.\n\nHis son Aububeker, who succeeded to the throne, was incensed against\nme, by some who regarded me at once with contempt and envy: he suddenly\nwithdrew my pension, and commanded that I should be expelled the\npalace; a command which my enemies executed with so much rigour, that\nwithin twelve hours I found myself in the streets of Medina, indigent\nand friendless, exposed to hunger and derision, with all the habits of\nluxury, and all the sensibility of pride. O! let not thy heart despise\nme, thou whom experience hast not taught, that it is misery to lose that\nwhich it is not happiness to possess. O! that for me, this lesson had not\nbeen written on the tablets of Providence! I have travelled from Medina\nto Mecca: but I cannot fly from myself. How different are the states in\nwhich I have been placed! The remembrance of both is bitter; for the\npleasures of neither can return. Hassan, having thus ended his story,\nsmote his hands together, and looking upwards, burst into tears.\n\nOmar, having waited till this agony was past, went to him, and taking him\nby the hand, \u201cMy son,\u201d said he, \u201cmore is yet in thy power than Almalic\ncould give, or Aububeker take away. The lesson of thy life the Prophet\nhas in mercy appointed me to explain.\n\n\u201cThou wast once content with poverty and labour, only because they were\nbecome habitual, and ease and affluence were placed beyond thy hope; for\nwhen ease and affluence approached thee, thou wast content with poverty\nand labour no more. That which then became the object, was also the bound\nof thy hope; and he, whose utmost hope is disappointed, must inevitably\nbe wretched. If thy supreme desire had been the delights of Paradise, and\nthou hadst believed that by the tenor of thy life these delights had been\nsecured, as more could not have been given thee, thou wouldst not have\nregretted that less was not offered. The content which was once enjoyed\nwas but the lethargy of the soul; and the distress which is now suffered,\nwill but quicken it to action. Depart, therefore, and be thankful for all\nthings: put thy trust in Him, who alone can gratify the wish of reason,\nand satisfy the soul with good: fix thy hope upon that portion, in\ncomparison of which the world is as the drop of the bucket, and the dust\nof the balance. Return, my son, to thy labour; thy food shall be again\ntasteful, and thy rest shall be sweet: to thy content also will be added\nstability, when it depends not upon that which is possessed upon earth,\nbut upon that which is expected in Heaven.\u201d\n\nHassan, upon whose mind the Angel of instruction impressed the counsel of\nOmar, hastened to prostrate himself in the temple of the Prophet. Peace\ndawned upon his mind like the radiance of the morning: he returned to his\nlabour with cheerfulness; his devotion became fervent and habitual: and\nthe latter days of Hassan were happier than the first.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF A DERVISE.\n\n\nA Dervise, travelling through Tartary, went into the king\u2019s palace by\nmistake, as thinking it to be a public inn, or caravansary. Having\nlooked about him for some time, he entered into a long gallery, where he\nlaid down his wallet, and spread his carpet, in order to repose himself\nupon it, after the manner of the eastern nations.\n\nHe had not been long in this posture before he was discovered by some\nof the guards, who asked him what was his business in that place? The\ndervise told them that he intended to take up his night\u2019s lodging in that\ncaravansary. The guards told him, in a very angry manner, that the house\nhe was in was not a caravansary, but the king\u2019s palace. It happened that\nthe king himself passed through the gallery during this debate; and,\nsmiling at the mistake of the dervise, asked him how he could possibly be\nso dull as not to distinguish a palace from a caravansary.\n\nSir, says the dervise, give me leave to ask your majesty a question or\ntwo. Who were the persons that lodged in this house when it was first\nbuilt? The king replied, his ancestors. And who, says the dervise, was\nthe last person that lodged here? The king replied, his father. And who\nis it, says the dervise, that lodges here at present? The king told him\nthat it was himself. And who, says the dervise, will be here after you?\nThe king answered, the young prince his son. \u201cAh, Sir,\u201d said the dervise,\n\u201ca house that changes its inhabitants so often, and receives such a\nperpetual succession of guests, is not a palace, but a caravansary.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nOMAR\u2019S PLAN OF LIFE.\n\n\nOmar, the son of Hassan, had passed seventy-five years in honour and\nprosperity. The favour of three successive califs had filled his house\nwith gold and silver; and whenever he appeared, the benedictions of the\npeople proclaimed his passage.\n\nTerrestrial happiness is of short continuance. The brightness of the\nflame is wasting its fuel; the fragrant flower is passing away in its own\nodours. The vigour of Omar began to fail, the curls of beauty fell from\nhis head, strength departed from his hands, and agility from his feet.\nHe gave back to the calif the keys of trust, and the seals of secrecy;\nand sought no other pleasure for the remains of life than the converse of\nthe wise, and the gratitude of the good.\n\nThe powers of his mind were yet unimpaired. His chamber was filled by\nvisitants, eager to catch the dictates of experience, and officious to\npay the tribute of admiration. Caled, the son of the viceroy of Egypt,\nentered every day early, and retired late. He was beautiful and eloquent;\nOmar admired his wit and loved his docility. Tell me, said Caled, thou\nto whose voice nations have listened, and whose wisdom is known to the\nextremities of Asia, tell me how I may resemble Omar the prudent. The\narts by which you have gained power and preserved it, are to you no\nlonger necessary or useful; impart to me the secret of your conduct, and\nteach me the plan upon which your wisdom has built your fortune.\n\nYoung man, said Omar, it is of little use to form plans of life. When\nI took my first survey of the world, in my twentieth year, having\nconsidered the various conditions of mankind, in the hour of solicitude,\nI said thus to myself, leaning against a cedar which spread its branches\nover my head: Seventy years are allowed to man; I have yet fifty\nremaining: ten years I will allot to the attainment of knowledge, and ten\nI will pass in foreign countries; I shall be learned, and therefore shall\nbe honoured; every city will shout at my arrival, and every student will\nsolicit my friendship. Twenty years thus passed will store my mind with\nimages which I shall be busy through the rest of my life in combining and\ncomparing. I shall revel in inexhaustible accumulations of intellectual\nriches; I shall find new pleasures for every moment, and shall never more\nbe weary of myself. I will, however, not deviate too far from the beaten\ntrack of life, but will try what can be found in female delicacy. I will\nmarry a wife beautiful as the Houries, and wise as Zobeide; with her I\nwill live twenty years within the suburbs of Bagdat, in every pleasure\nthat wealth can purchase, and fancy can invent. I will then retire to a\nrural dwelling, pass my last days in obscurity and contemplation, and lie\nsilently down on the bed of death. Through my life it shall be my settled\nresolution, that I will never depend upon the smile of princes; that I\nwill never stand exposed to the artifices of courts: I will never pant\nfor public honours, nor disturb my quiet with affairs of state. Such was\nmy scheme of life, which I impressed indelibly upon my memory.\n\nThe first part of my ensuing time was to be spent in search of knowledge;\nand I know not how I was diverted from my design. I had no visible\nimpediments without, nor any ungovernable passions within. I regarded\nknowledge as the highest honour and the most engaging pleasure; yet day\nstole upon day, and month glided after month, till I found that seven\nyears of the first ten had vanished, and left nothing behind them. I now\npostponed my purpose of travelling; for why should I go abroad while so\nmuch remained to be learned at home? I immured myself for four years, and\nstudied the laws of the empire. The fame of my skill reached the judges;\nI was found able to speak upon doubtful questions, and was commanded to\nstand at the footstool of the calif. I was heard with attention, I was\nconsulted with confidence, and the love of praise fastened on my heart.\n\nI still wished to see distant countries, listened with rapture to the\nrelations of travellers, and resolved some time to ask my dismission,\nthat I might feast my soul with novelty; but my presence was always\nnecessary, and the stream of business hurried me along. Sometimes I was\nafraid lest I should be charged with ingratitude; but I still proposed to\ntravel, and therefore would not confine myself by marriage.\n\nIn my fiftieth year I began to suspect that the time of travelling was\npast, and thought it best to lay hold on the felicity yet in my power,\nand indulge myself in domestic pleasures. But at fifty no man easily\nfinds a woman beautiful as the Houries, and wise as Zobeide. I inquired\nand rejected, consulted and deliberated, till the sixty-second year made\nme ashamed of gazing upon girls. I had now nothing left but retirement,\nand for retirement I never found a time, till disease forced me from\npublic employment.\n\nSuch was my scheme, and such has been its consequence. With an insatiable\nthirst for knowledge, I trifled away the years of improvement; with a\nrestless desire of seeing different countries, I have always resided in\nthe same city; with the highest expectation of connubial felicity, I\nhave lived unmarried; and with unalterable resolutions of contemplative\nretirement, I am going to die within the walls of Bagdat.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BASKET MAKER.\n\n\nIn the midst of that vast ocean, commonly called the South-Sea, lie the\nislands of Solomon. In the centre of these lies one not only distant from\nthe rest, which are immensely scattered round it, but also larger beyond\nproportion. An ancestor of the prince, who now reigns absolute in this\ncentral island, has, through a long descent of ages, entailed the name of\nSolomon\u2019s Islands on the whole, by the effect of that wisdom wherewith he\npolished the manners of his people.\n\nA descendant of one of the great men of this happy island, becoming a\ngentleman to so improved a degree as to despise the good qualities\nwhich had originally ennobled his family, thought of nothing but how to\nsupport and distinguish his dignity by the pride of an ignorant mind,\nand a disposition abandoned to pleasure. He had a house on the sea-side,\nwhere he spent great part of his time in hunting and fishing; but found\nhimself at a loss in pursuit of those important diversions, by means of\na long slip of marsh land, overgrown with high reeds, that lay between\nhis house and the sea. Resolving, at length, that it became not a man\nof his quality to submit to a restraint in his pleasures, for the ease\nand convenience of an obstinate mechanic; and having often endeavoured,\nin vain, to buy out the owner, who was an honest poor basket-maker, and\nwhose livelihood depended on working up the flags of those reeds, in a\nmanner peculiar to himself, the gentleman took advantage of a very high\nwind, and commanded his servants to burn down the barrier.\n\nThe basket-maker, who saw himself undone, complained of the oppression in\nterms more suited to his sense of the injury, than the respect due to\nthe rank of the offender; and the reward this imprudence procured him,\nwas the additional injustice of blows and reproaches, and all kinds of\ninsult and indignity.\n\nThere was but one way to a remedy, and he took it: for going to the\ncapital, with the marks of his hard usage upon him, he threw himself\nat the feet of the king, and procured a citation for his oppressor\u2019s\nappearance; who, confessing the charge, proceeded to justify his\nbehaviour by the poor man\u2019s unmindfulness of the submission due from the\nvulgar to gentlemen of rank and distinction.\n\n\u201cBut pray,\u201d replied the king, \u201cwhat distinction of rank had the\ngrand-father of your father, when, being a cleaver of wood in the palace\nof my ancestors, he was raised from among those vulgar you speak of with\nsuch contempt, in reward for an instance he gave of his courage and\nloyalty in defence of his master? Yet his distinction was nobler than\nyours: it was the distinction of soul, not of birth; the superiority of\nworth, not of fortune! I am sorry I have a gentleman in my kingdom who\nis base enough to be ignorant that ease and distinction of fortune were\nbestowed on him but to this end, that, being at rest from all cares of\nproviding for himself, he might apply his heart, head, and hand, for the\npublic advantage of others.\u201d\n\nHere the king, discontinuing his speech, fixed an eye of indignation on a\nsullen resentment of mien which he observed in the haughty offender, who\nmuttered out his dislike of the encouragement this way of thinking must\ngive to the commonality, who, he said, were to be considered as persons\nof no consequence, in comparison of men who were born to be honoured.\n\u201cWhere reflection is wanting,\u201d replied the king, with a smile of disdain,\n\u201cmen must find their defects in the pain of their sufferings. Yanhuma,\u201d\nadded he, turning to a captain of his gallies, \u201cstrip the injured and the\ninjurer; and, conveying them to one of the most barbarous and remote of\nthe islands, set them ashore in the night, and leave them both to their\nfortune.\u201d\n\nThe place in which they were landed was a marsh; under cover of those\nflags the gentleman was in hopes of concealing himself, and giving the\nslip to his companion, whom he thought it a disgrace to be found with:\nbut the lights in the galley having giving an alarm to the savages, a\nconsiderable body of them came down, and discovered in the morning the\ntwo strangers in their hiding-place. Setting up a dismal yell, they\nsurrounded them; and advancing nearer and nearer with a kind of clubs,\nseemed determined to dispatch them, without sense of hospitality or mercy.\n\nHere the gentleman began to discover that the superiority of his blood\nwas imaginary; for between the consciousness of shame and cold, under\nthe nakedness he had never been used to; a fear of the event from the\nfierceness of the savages approach; and the want of an idea whereby to\nsoften or divert their asperity, he fell behind the poor sharer of his\ncalamity, and with an unsinewed, apprehensive, unmanly sneakingness of\nmien, gave up the post of honour, and made a leader of the very man whom\nhe had thought it a disgrace to consider as a companion.\n\nThe basket-maker on the contrary, to whom the poverty of his condition\nhad made nakedness habitual, to whom a life of pain and mortification\nrepresented death as not dreadful, and whose remembrance of his skill in\narts, of which these savages were ignorant, gave him hopes of becoming\nsafe, from demonstrating that he could be useful, moved with bolder and\nmore open freedom; and having plucked a handful of the flags, sat down\nwithout emotion, and making signs that he would shew them something\nworthy of their attention, fell to work with smiles and noddings; while\nthe savages drew near, and gazed with expectation of the consequence.\n\nIt was not long before he had wreathed a kind of coronet of pretty\nworkmanship; and rising with respect and fearfulness, approached the\nsavage who appeared the chief, and placed it gently on his head; whose\nfigure, under this new ornament, so charmed and struck his followers,\nthat they all threw down their clubs, and formed a dance of welcome and\ncongratulation round the author of so prized a favour.\n\nThere was not one but shewed the marks of his impatience to be as\nfine as the captain: so the poor basket-maker had his hands full of\nemployment: and the savages, observing one quite idle, while the other\nwas so busy in their service, took up arms in behalf of natural justice,\nand began to lay on arguments in favour of their purpose.\n\nThe basket-maker\u2019s pity now effaced the remembrance of his sufferings; so\nhe arose and rescued his oppressor, by making signs that he was ignorant\nof the art; but might, if they thought fit, be usefully employed in\nwaiting on the work, and fetching flags to his supply, as fast as he\nshould want them.\n\nThis proposition luckily fell in with a desire the savages expressed to\nkeep themselves at leisure, that they might crowd round, and mark the\nprogress of a work they took such pleasure in. They left the gentleman\ntherefore to his duty in the basket-maker\u2019s service; and considered\nhim, from that time forward, as one who was, and ought to be treated as\ninferior to their benefactor.\n\nMen, women, and children, from all corners of the island, came in droves\nfor coronets; and, setting the gentleman to work to gather boughs and\npoles, made a fine hut to lodge the basket-maker; and brought down daily\nfrom the country such provisions as they lived upon themselves, taking\ncare to offer the imagined servant nothing till his master had done\neating.\n\nThree months reflection, in this mortified condition, gave a new and just\nturn to our gentleman\u2019s improved ideas; insomuch that, lying weeping\nand awake one night, he thus confessed his sentiments in favour of the\nbasket-maker. \u201cI have been to blame, and wanted judgment to distinguish\nbetween accident and excellence. When I should have measured nature,\nI but looked to vanity. The preference which fortune gives, is empty\nand imaginary; and I perceive, too late, that only things of use are\nnaturally honourable. I am ashamed, when I compare my malice, to remember\nyour humanity; but if the gods should please to call me to a repossession\nof my rank and happiness, I would divide all with you, in atonement for\nmy justly punished arrogance.\u201d\n\nHe promised, and performed his promise: for the king, soon after, sent\nthe captain who had landed them with presents to the savages, and ordered\nhim to bring both back again. And it continues to this day a custom in\nthat island, to degrade all gentlemen who cannot give a better reason for\ntheir pride, than they were born to do nothing: and the word for this due\npunishment is, send him to the basket-maker.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF ALMET.\n\n\nAlmet, the dervise, who watched the sacred lamp in the sepulchre of the\nProphet, as he one day rose up from the devotions of the morning, which\nhe had performed at the gate of the temple, with his body turned towards\nthe east, and his forehead on the earth, saw before him a man in splendid\napparel, attended by a long retinue, who gazed stedfastly at him, with a\nlook of mournful complacence, and seemed desirous to speak, but unwilling\nto offend.\n\nThe Dervise, after a short silence, advanced, and saluting him with the\ncalm dignity which independence confers upon humility, requested that he\nwould reveal his purpose.\n\n\u201cAlmet,\u201d said the stranger, \u201cthou seest before thee a man whom the hand\nof prosperity has overwhelmed with wretchedness. Whatever I once desired\nas the means of happiness, I now possess; but I am not yet happy, and\ntherefore I despair. I regret the lapse of time, because it glides away\nwithout enjoyment; and as I expect nothing in the future but the vanities\nof the past, I do not wish that the future should arrive. Yet I tremble\nlest it should be cut off; and my heart sinks when I anticipate the\nmoment in which eternity shall close over the vacuity of my life, like\nthe sea upon the path of a ship, and leave no traces of my existence more\ndurable than the furrow which remains after the waves have united. If\nin the treasures of thy wisdom there is any precept to obtain felicity,\nvouchsafe it to me: for this purpose am I come; a purpose which yet I\nfeared to reveal, lest, like all the former, it should be disappointed.\u201d\n\nAlmet listened, with looks of astonishment and pity, to this complaint of\na being, in whom reason was known to be a pledge of immortality; but the\nserenity of his countenance soon returned; and stretching out his hand\ntowards heaven, \u201cStranger,\u201d said he, \u201cthe knowledge which I have received\nfrom the Prophet, I will communicate to thee.\n\n\u201cAs I was sitting one evening at the porch of the temple, pensive and\nalone, mine eye wandered among the multitude that was scattered before\nme; and while I remarked the weariness and solicitude which was visible\nin every countenance, I was suddenly struck with a sense of their\ncondition. \u2018Wretched mortals,\u2019 said I, \u2018to what purpose are you busy?\nDo the linens of Egypt, and the silks of Persia, bestow felicity on\nthose who wear them, equal to the wretchedness of yonder slaves, whom I\nsee leading the camels that bring them? Is the fineness of the texture,\nor the splendour of the tints, regarded with delight by those to whom\ncustom has rendered them familiar? or can the power of habit render\nothers insensible of pain, who live only to traverse the desart; a\nscene of dreadful uniformity, where a barren level is bounded only by\nthe horizon; where no change of prospect, or variety of images, relieves\nthe traveller from a sense of toil and danger, of whirlwinds which in\na moment may bury him in the sand, and of thirst, which the wealthy\nhave given half their possessions to allay? Do those on whom hereditary\ndiamonds sparkle with unregarded lustre, gain from the possession what is\nlost by the wretch who seeks them in the mine; who lives excluded from\nthe common bounties of nature; to whom even the vicissitude of day and\nnight is not known; who sighs in perpetual darkness, and whose life is\none alternative of insensibility and labour? If those are not happy who\npossess, in proportion as those are wretched who bestow, how vain a dream\nis the life of man! and if there is, indeed, such difference in the value\nof existence, how shall we acquit of partiality the hand by which this\ndifference has been made?\u201d\n\nWhile my thoughts thus multiplied, and my heart burned within me, I\nbecame sensible of a sudden influence from above. The streets and the\ncrowds of Mecca disappeared; I found myself sitting on the declivity of\na mountain, and perceived at my right hand an angel, whom I knew to be\nAzoran, the minister of reproof. When I saw him I was afraid. I cast\nmine eye upon the ground, and was about to deprecate his anger, when he\ncommanded me to be silent. \u201cAlmet,\u201d said he, \u201cthou has devoted thy life\nto meditation, that thy counsel might deliver ignorance from the mazes of\nerror, and deter presumption from the precipice of guilt; but the book\nof nature thou hast read without understanding: it is again open before\nthee: look up, consider it, and be wise.\u201d\n\nI looked up, and beheld an inclosure, beautiful as the gardens of\nParadise, but of a small extent. Through the middle there was a green\nwalk; at the end a wild desart; and beyond, impenetrable darkness. The\nwalk was shaded with trees of every kind, that were covered at once with\nblossoms and fruit; innumerable birds were singing in the branches; the\ngrass was intermingled with flowers, which impregnated the breeze with\nfragrance, and painted the path with beauty; on one side flowed a gentle,\ntransparent stream, which was just heard to murmur over the golden sands\nthat sparkled at the bottom; and on the other were walks and bowers,\nfountains, grottoes, and cascades, which diversified the scene with\nendless variety, but did not conceal the bounds.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF ALMET, CONCLUDED.\n\n\nWhile I was gazing in a transport of delight and wonder on this\nenchanting spot, I perceived a man stealing along the walk with a\nthoughtful and deliberate pace; his eyes were fixed upon the earth, and\nhis arms crossed on his bosom; he sometimes started, as if a sudden pang\nhad seized him; his countenance expressed solicitude and terror; he\nlooked round with a sigh, and having gazed a moment on the desart that\nlay before him, he seemed as if he wished to stop, but was impelled\nforwards by some invisible power; his features however soon settled again\nin a calm melancholy; his eye was again fixed on the ground; and he\nwent on as before, with apparent reluctance, but without emotion. I was\nstruck with his appearance; and turning hastily to the angel, was about\nto enquire what could produce such infelicity in a being surrounded with\nevery object that could gratify every sense; but he prevented my request:\n\u201cThe book of nature,\u201d said he, \u201cis before thee; look up, consider it, and\nbe wise.\u201d I looked, and beheld a valley between two mountains that were\ncraggy and barren; on the path there was no verdure, and the mountains\nafforded no shade; the sun burned in the zenith, and every spring was\ndried up; but the valley terminated in a country that was pleasant and\nfertile, shaded with woods, and adorned with buildings. At a second\nview, I discovered a man in this valley, meagre indeed and naked, but\nhis countenance was cheerful, and his deportment active; he kept his eye\nfixed upon the country before him, and looked as if he would have run,\nbut that he was restrained, as the other had been impelled, by some\nsecret influence: sometimes, indeed, I perceived a sudden impression of\npain, and sometimes he stepped short, as if his foot was pierced by the\nasperities of the way; but the sprightliness of his countenance instantly\nreturned, and he pressed forward without appearance of repining or\ncomplaint.\n\nI turned again towards the angel, impatient to enquire from what secret\nsource happiness was derived, in a situation so different from that in\nwhich it might have been expected: but he again prevented my requested:\n\u201cAlmet,\u201d said he, \u201cremember what thou hast seen, and let this memorial be\nwritten upon the tablets of thy heart. Remember, Almet, that the world\nin which thou art placed, is but the road to another; and that happiness\ndepends not upon the path, but the end; the value of this period of thy\nexistence is fixed by hope and fear. The wretch who wished to linger in\nthe garden, who looked round upon its limits with terror, was destitute\nof hope, and was perpetually tormented by the dread of losing that which\nyet he did not enjoy; the song of the birds had been repeated till it\nwas not heard, and the flowers had so often recurred, that their beauty\nwas not seen; the river glided by unnoticed; and he feared to lift his\neye to the prospect, lest he should behold the waste that circumscribed\nit. But he that toiled through the valley was happy, because he looked\nforward with hope. Thus to the sojourner upon earth it is of little\nmoment whether the path he treads be strewed with flowers or with thorns,\nif he perceives himself to approach these regions, in comparison of which\nthe thorns and the flowers of this wilderness lose their distinction, and\nare both alike impotent to give pleasure or pain.\n\n\u201cWhat then has Eternal Wisdom unequally distributed? That which can make\nevery station happy, and without which every station must be wretched, is\nacquired by virtue, and virtue is possible to all. Remember, Almet, the\nvision which thou hast seen; and let my words be written on the tablet of\nthy heart, that thou mayest direct the wanderer to happiness, and justify\nGod to men.\u201d\n\nWhile the voice of Azoran was yet sounding in my ear, the prospect\nvanished from before me, and I found myself again sitting at the porch of\nthe temple. The sun was gone down, the multitude was retired to rest, and\nthe solemn quiet of midnight concurred with the resolution of my doubts\nto complete the tranquillity of my mind.\n\nSuch, my son, was the vision which the Prophet vouchsafed me, not for my\nsake only, but for thine. Thou hast sought felicity in temporal things;\nand, therefore, thou art disappointed. Let not instruction be lost upon\nthee, as the seal of Mahomet in the well of Aris: but go thy way, let\nthy flock clothe the naked, and thy table feed the hungry; deliver the\npoor from oppression, and let thy conversation be Above. Thus shalt\nthou \u201crejoice in Hope,\u201d and look forward to the end of life as the\nconsummation of thy felicity.\n\nAlmet, in whose breast devotion kindled as he spake, returned into the\ntemple, and the stranger departed in peace.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF GELALEDDIN OF BASSORA.\n\n\nIn the time when Bassora was considered as the school of Asia, and\nflourished by the reputation of its professors, and the confluence of its\nstudents, among the students that listened round the chair of Albumazar\nwas Gelaleddin, a native of Taurus, in Persia, a young man, amiable in\nhis manners, and beautiful in his form, of boundless curiosity, incessant\ndiligence, and irresistible genius, of quick apprehension and tenacious\nmemory, accurate without narrowness, and eager for novelty without\ninconstancy.\n\nNo sooner did Gelaleddin appear at Bassora, than his virtues and\nabilities raised him to distinction. He passed from class to class rather\nadmired than envied by those whom the rapidity of his progress left\nbehind; he was consulted by his fellow-students as an oraculous guide,\nand admitted as a competent auditor to the conference of the sages.\n\nAfter a few years, having passed through all the exercises of probation,\nGelaleddin was invited to a professor\u2019s seat, and intreated to increase\nthe splendour of Bassora. Gelaleddin affected to deliberate on the\nproposal, with which, before he considered it, he resolved to comply;\nand next morning retired to a garden planted for the recreation of the\nstudents, and entering a solitary walk, began to meditate upon his future\nlife.\n\n\u201cIf I am thus eminent,\u201d said he, \u201cin the regions of literature, I shall\nbe yet more conspicuous in any other place: If I should now devote myself\nto study and retirement, I must pass my life in silence, unacquainted\nwith the delights of wealth, the influence of power, the pomp of\ngreatness, and the charms of elegance, with all that man envies and\ndesires, with all that keeps the world in motion, by the hope of gaining\nor the fear of losing it. I will, therefore, depart to Tauris, where\nthe Persian monarch resides in all the splendour of absolute dominion:\nmy reputation will fly before me, my arrival will be congratulated by\nmy kinsmen and friends; I shall see the eyes of those who predicted my\ngreatness sparkling with exultation, and the faces of those that once\ndespised me clouded with envy, or counterfeiting kindness by artificial\nsmiles. I will show my wisdom by my discourse, and my moderation by my\nsilence; I will instruct the modest with easy gentleness, and repress\nthe ostentatious by seasonable superciliousness. My apartments will be\ncrowded by the inquisite and the vain, by those that honour and those\nthat rival me; my name will soon reach the court; I shall stand before\nthe throne of the emperor; the judges of the law will confess my wisdom,\nand the nobles will contend to heap gifts upon me. If I shall find\nthat my merit, like that of others, excites malignity, or feel myself\ntottering on the seat of elevation, I may at last retire to academical\nobscurity, and become, in my lowest state, a professor of Bassora.\u201d\n\nHaving thus settled his determination, he declared to his friends his\ndesign of visiting Tauris, and saw with more pleasure than he ventured to\nexpress, the regret with which he was dismissed. He could not bear to\ndelay the honours to which he was destined, and therefore hastened away,\nand in a short time entered the capital of Persia. He was immediately\nimmersed in the crowd, and passed unobserved to his father\u2019s house. He\nentered, and was received, though not unkindly, yet without any excess\nof fondness, or exclamations of rapture. His father had, in his absence,\nsuffered many losses, and Gelaleddin was considered as an additional\nburthen to a fallen family.\n\nWhen he recovered from his surprise, he began to display his\nacquisitions, and practised all the arts of narration and disquisition;\nbut the poor have no leisure to be pleased with eloquence; they heard\nhis arguments without reflection, and his pleasantries without a smile.\nHe then applied himself singly to his brothers and sisters, but found\nthem all chained down by invariable attention to their own fortunes,\nand insensible of any other excellence than that which could bring some\nremedy for indigence.\n\nIt was now known in the neighbourhood that Gelaleddin was returned, and\nhe sat for some days in expectation that the learned would visit him for\nconsultation, or the great for entertainment. But who would be pleased\nor instructed in the mansions of poverty? He then frequented places of\npublic resort, and endeavoured to attract notice by the copiousness of\nhis talk. The sprightly were silenced, and went away to censure in some\nother place his arrogance and his pedantry; and the dull listened quietly\nfor a while, and then wondered why any man should take pains to obtain so\nmuch knowledge which would never do him good.\n\nHe next solicited the viziers for employment, not doubting but his\nservice would be eagerly accepted. He was told by one, that there was no\nvacancy in his office; by another, that his merit was above any patronage\nbut that of the emperor; by a third, that he would not forget him; and\nby the chief vizier, that he did not think, literature of any great use\nin public business. He was sometimes admitted to their tables, where he\nexerted his wit and diffused his knowledge; but he observed, that where,\nby endeavour or accident, he had remarkably excelled, he was seldom\ninvited a second time.\n\nHe now returned to Bassora, wearied and disgusted, but confident of\nresuming his former rank, and revelling again in satiety of praise. But\nhe who had been neglected at Tauris, was not much regarded at Bassora; he\nwas considered as a fugitive, who returned only because he could live in\nno other place; his companions found that they had formerly over-rated\nhis abilities, and he lived long without notice or esteem.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF ORTOGRUL OF BASRA.\n\n\nAs Ortogrul of Basra was one day wandering along the streets of Bagdat,\nmusing on the varieties of merchandize which the shops offered to his\nview, and observing the different occupations which busied the multitudes\non every side, he was awakened from the tranquility of meditation by a\ncrowd that obstructed his passage. He raised his eyes, and saw the chief\nvizier, who having returned from the divan, was entering his palace.\n\nOrtogrul mingled with the attendants, and being supposed to have some\npetition for the vizier, was permitted to enter. He surveyed the\nspaciousness of the apartments, admired the walks hung with golden\ntapestry, and the floors covered with silken carpets, and despised the\nsimple neatness of his own little habitation.\n\nSurely, said he to himself, this palace is that seat of happiness where\npleasure succeeds to pleasure, and discontent and sorrow can have no\nadmission. Whatever nature has provided for the delight of sense, is\nhere spread forth to be enjoyed. What can mortals hope or imagine which\nthe master of this palace has not obtained. The dishes of luxury cover\nhis table, the voice of harmony lulls him in his bowers; he breathes\nthe fragrance of the groves of Java, and sleeps upon the down of the\ncygnets of the Ganges. He speaks, and his mandate is obeyed; he wishes,\nand his wish is gratified; all whom he sees obey him; and all whom he\nhears flatter him. How different, Ortogrul, is thy condition, who art\ndoomed to the perpetual torments of unsatisfied desire, and who hast no\namusement in thy power that can withhold thee from thy own reflections!\nThey tell thee that thou art wise, but what does wisdom avail with\npoverty? None will flatter the poor, and the wise have very little power\nof flattering themselves. That man is surely the most wretched of the\nsons of wretchedness who lives with his own faults and follies always\nbefore him, and who has none to reconcile him to himself by praise and\nveneration. I have long sought content, and have not found it; I will\nfrom this moment endeavour to be rich.\n\nFull of his new resolution, he shut himself in his chamber for six\nmonths, to deliberate how he should grow rich; he sometimes proposed to\noffer himself as a counsellor to one of the kings of India, and sometimes\nresolved to dig for diamonds in the mines of Golconda. One day, after\nsome hours passed in violent fluctuation of opinion, sleep insensibly\nseized him in his chair; he dreamed that he was ranging a desart country,\nin search of some one that might teach him to grow rich! and as he\nstood on the top of a hill shaded with cypress, in doubt whither to\ndirect his steps, his father appeared on a sudden standing before him.\n\u201cOrtogrul,\u201d said the old man, \u201cI know thy perplexity; listen to thy\nfather, turn thine eye on the opposite mountain.\u201d Ortogrul looked, and\nsaw a torrent tumbling down the rocks, roaring with the noise of thunder,\nand scattering its foam on the impending woods. \u201cNow,\u201d said his father,\n\u201cbehold the valley that lies between the hills.\u201d Ortogrul looked, and\nespied a little well, out of which issued a small rivulet. \u201cTell me now,\u201d\nsaid his father, \u201cdost thou wish for sudden affluence, that may pour\nupon thee like the mountain torrent, or for a slow and gradual increase,\nresembling the rill gliding from the well?\u201d \u201cLet me be quickly rich,\u201d\nsaid Ortogrul; \u201clet the golden stream be quick and violent.\u201d \u201cLook round\nthee,\u201d said his father, \u201conce again.\u201d Ortogrul looked, and perceived the\nchannel of the torrent dry and dusty; but following the rivulet from the\nwell, he traced it to a wide lake, which the supply, slow and constant,\nkept always full. He waked, and determined to grow rich by silent profit,\nand persevering industry.\n\nHaving sold his patrimony, he engaged in merchandize, and in twenty years\npurchased lands, on which he raised a house, equal in sumptuousness to\nthat of the vizier, to which he invited all the ministers of pleasure,\nexpecting to enjoy all the felicity which he imagined riches able to\nafford. Leisure soon made him weary of himself, and he longed to be\npersuaded that he was great and happy. He was courteous and liberal; he\ngave all that approached him hopes of pleasing him, and all who should\nplease him hopes of being rewarded. Every art of praise was tried, and\nevery source of adulatory fiction was exhausted. Ortogrul heard his\nflatters without delight, because he found himself unable to believe\nthem. His own heart told him its frailties, his own understanding\nreproached him with his faults. \u201cHow long,\u201d said he, with a deep sigh,\n\u201chave I been labouring in vain to amass wealth, which at last is\nuseless. Let no man hereafter wish to be rich, who is already too wise\nto be flattered.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF ALNASCHAR.\n\n\nIt is a precept oftentimes inculcated, that we should not entertain an\nhope of any thing in life which lies at a great distance from us. The\nshortness and uncertainty of our time here, makes such a kind of hope\nunreasonable and absurd. The grave lies unseen between us and the object\nwhich we reach after: where one man lives to enjoy the good he has in\nview, ten thousand are cut off in the pursuit of it.\n\nMen of warm imaginations and towering thoughts are apt to overlook the\ngoods of fortune which are near them, for something that glitters in the\nsight at a distance; to neglect solid and substantial happiness, for what\nis showy and superficial; and to contemn that good that lies within their\nreach, for that which they are not capable of attaining. Hope calculates\nits schemes for a long and durable life; presses forward to imaginary\npoints of bliss; and grasps at impossibilities; and consequently very\noften insnares men into beggary, ruin, and dishonour.\n\nWhat I have here said, may serve as a moral to an Arabian fable, which\nI find translated into French by Monsieur Galland. The fable has in it\nsuch a wild, but natural symplicity, that I question not but my reader\nwill be as much pleased with it as I have been, and that he will consider\nhimself, if he reflects on the several amusements of hope which have\nsometimes passed in his mind, as a near relation to the Persian Glass-man.\n\nAlnaschar, says the fable, was a very idle fellow, that never would\nset his hand to any business during his father\u2019s life. When his father\ndied, he left him to the value of an hundred drachmas in Persian money.\nAlnaschar, in order to make the best of it, laid it out in glasses,\nbottles, and the finest earthenware. These he piled up in a large open\nbasket, and having made choice of a very little shop, placed the basket\nat his feet, and leaned his back upon the wall, in expectation of\ncustomers. As he sat in this posture, with his eyes upon the basket, he\nfell into a most amusing train of thought, and was overheard by one of\nhis neighbours, as he talked to himself in the following manner:\n\n\u201cThis basket,\u201d says he, \u201ccost me, at the wholesale merchant\u2019s, an hundred\ndrachmas, which is all I have in the world. I shall quickly make two\nhundred of it, by selling it in retail. These two hundred drachmas will\nin a very little while rise to four hundred, which of course will amount\nin time to four thousand. Four thousand drachmas cannot fail of making\neight thousand. As soon as by this means I am master of ten thousand, I\nwill lay aside my trade of a glass-man, and turn jeweller. I shall then\ndeal in diamonds, pearls, and all sorts of rich stones. When I have got\ntogether as much wealth as I can well desire, I will make a purchase of\nthe finest house I can find, with lands, slaves, eunuchs, and horses. I\nshall then begin to enjoy myself, and make a noise in the world. I will\nnot, however, stop there, but still continue my traffic, until I have\ngot together an hundred thousand drachmas. When I have thus made myself\nmaster of an hundred thousand drachmas, I shall naturally set myself on\nthe footing of a prince, and will demand the grand vizier\u2019s daughter in\nmarriage, after having represented to that minister the information which\nI have received of the beauty, wit, discretion, and other high qualities\nwhich his daughter possesses. I will let him know at the same time, that\nit is my intention to make him a present of a thousand pieces of gold,\non our marriage night. As soon as I have married the grand vizier\u2019s\ndaughter, I will buy her twelve black eunuchs, the youngest and best\nthat can be bought for money. I must afterwards make my father-in-law a\nvisit, with a great train of equipage. And when I am placed at his right\nhand, which he will do of course, if it be only to honour his daughter,\nI will give him the thousand pieces of gold which I promised him, and\nafterwards, to his great surprise, will present him with another purse\nof the same value, with some short speech, as, \u2018Sir, you see I am a man\nof my word; I always give more than I promise.\u2019\n\n\u201cWhen I have brought the princess to my house, I shall take a particular\ncare to breed her in a due respect to me, before I give the reins to love\nand dalliance. To this end I shall confine her to her own apartment, make\nher a short visit, and talk but little to her. Her women will represent\nto me that she is inconsolable by reason of my unkindness, and beg me,\nwith tears, to caress her, and let her sit down by me; but I shall still\nremain inexorable, and will turn my back upon her all the first night.\nHer mother will then come and bring her daughter to me, as I am seated\nupon my sofa. The daughter, with tears in her eyes, will fling herself\nat my feet, and beg of me to receive her into my favour. Then will I, to\nimprint in her a thorough veneration for my person, draw up my legs and\nspurn her from me with my foot, in such a manner that she shall fall\ndown several paces from the sofa.\u201d\n\nAlnaschar was entirely swallowed up in this chimerical vision, and could\nnot forbear acting with his foot what he had in his thoughts; so that\nunluckily striking his basket of brittle ware, which was the foundation\nof all his grandeur, he kicked his glasses to a great distance from him\ninto the street, and broke them into ten thousand pieces.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF CARAZAN.\n\n\nCarazan, the merchant of Bagdat, was eminent throughout all the East\nfor his avarice and his wealth: his origin was obscure, as that of the\nspark, which by the collision of steel and adamant, is struck out of\ndarkness; and the patient labour of persevering diligence alone had made\nhim rich. It was remembered, that when he was indigent, he was thought to\nbe generous; and he was still acknowledged to be inexorably just. But\nwhether in his dealings with men he discovered a perfidy which tempted\nhim to put his trust in gold, or whether in proportion as he accumulated\nwealth he discovered his own importance to increase, Carazan prized it\nmore as he used it less; he gradually lost the inclination to do good, as\nhe acquired the power; and as the hand of time scattered snow upon his\nhead, the freezing influence extended to his bosom.\n\nBut though the door of Carazan was never opened by hospitality, nor his\nhand by compassion, yet fear led him constantly to the mosque at the\nstated hours of prayer; he performed all the rites of devotion with the\nmost scrupulous punctuality, and had thrice paid his vows at the temple\nof the Prophet. That devotion which arises from the love of God, and\nnecessarily includes the love of man, as it connects gratitude with\nbeneficence, and exalts that which was moral to divine, confers new\ndignity upon goodness, and is the object not only of affection but of\nreverence. On the contrary, the devotion of the selfish, whether it be\nthought to avert the punishment which every one wishes to be inflicted,\nor to insure it by the complication of hypocrisy with guilt, never\nfails to excite indignation and abhorrence. Carazan, therefore, when he\nhad locked his door, and turning round with a look of circumspective\nsuspicion proceeded to the mosque, was followed by every eye with silent\nmalignity: the poor suspended their supplication when he passed by; and\nthough he was known by every man, no one saluted him.\n\nSuch had long been the life of Carazan, and such was the character\nwhich he had acquired, when notice was given by proclamation, that he\nwas removed to a magnificent building in the centre of the city, that\nhis table should be spread for the public, and that the stranger should\nbe welcome to his bed, the multitude soon rushed like a torrent to his\ndoor, where they beheld him distributing bread to the hungry, and apparel\nto the naked, his eye softened with compassion, and his cheek glowing\nwith delight. Every one gazed with astonishment at the prodigy; and the\nmurmur of innumerable voices increasing like the sound of approaching\nthunder, Carazan beckoned with his hand; attention suspended the tumult\nin a moment, and he thus gratified the curiosity which had procured him\naudience.\n\nTo him who touches the mountains and they smoke, the Almighty and the\nMost Merciful, be everlasting honour! he has ordained sleep to be the\nminister of instruction, and his visions have reproved me in the night.\nAs I was sitting alone in my Haram, with my lamp burning before me,\ncomputing the product of my merchandize, and exulting in the increase of\nmy wealth, I fell into a deep sleep, and the hand of him who dwells in\nthe third heaven was upon me. I beheld the angel of death coming forward\nlike a whirlwind, and he smote me before I could deprecate the blow. At\nthe same moment I felt myself lifted from the ground, and transported\nwith astonishing rapidity through the regions of the air.\u2014The earth was\ncontracted to an atom beneath; and the stars glowed round me with a\nlustre that obscured the sun. The gate of Paradise was new in sight; and\nI was intercepted by a sudden brightness which no human eye could behold:\nthe irrevocable sentence was now to be pronounced; my day of probation\nwas past: and from the evil of my life nothing could be taken away, nor\ncould any thing be added to the good. When I reflected that my lot for\neternity was cast, which not all the powers of nature could reverse, my\nconfidence totally forsook me; and while I stood trembling and silent,\ncovered with confusion, and chilled with horror, I was thus addressed by\nthe radiance that flamed before me:\u2014\n\n\u201cCarazan, thy worship has not been accepted, because it was not prompted\nby love of God: neither can thy righteousness be rewarded, because it was\nnot produced by love of man: for thy own sake only hast thou rendered\nto every man his due; and thou hast approached the Almighty only for\nthyself. Thou hast not looked up with gratitude, nor around thee with\nkindness. Around thee, thou hast indeed beheld vice and folly; but if\nvice and folly could justify thy parsimony, would they not condemn the\nbounty of heaven? If not upon the foolish and the vicious, where shall\nthe sun diffuse his light, or the clouds distil the dew? Where shall the\nlips of the spring breathe fragrance, or the hand of autumn diffuse\nplenty? Remember, Carazan, that thou hast shut compassion from thine\nheart, and grasped thy treasures with a hand of iron: thou hast lived for\nthyself; and, therefore, henceforth for ever thou shalt subsist alone.\nFrom the light of heaven, and from the society of all beings shalt thou\nbe driven; solitude shall protract the lingering hours of eternity, and\ndarkness aggravate the horrors of despair.\u201d At this moment I was driven\nby some secret and irresistible power through the glowing system of\ncreation, and passed innumerable worlds in a moment. As I approached\nthe verge of nature, I perceived the shadows of total and boundless\nvacuity deepen before me, a dreadful region of eternal silence, solitude,\nand darkness! Unutterable horror seized me at the prospect, and this\nexclamation burst from me with all the vehemence of desire: \u201cO! that I\nhad been doomed for ever to the common receptacle of impenitence and\nguilt! there society would have alleviated the torment of despair, and\nthe rage of fire could not have excluded the comfort of light. Or, if I\nhad been condemned to reside in a comet, that would return but once in\na thousand years to their regions of light and life; the hope of these\nperiods, however distant, would cheer men in the dread interval of cold\nand darkness, and the vicissitude would divide eternity into time.\u201d While\nthis thought passed over my mind, I lost sight of the remotest star, and\nthe last glimmering of light was quenched in utter darkness. The agonies\nof despair every moment increased, as every moment augmented my distance\nfrom the last habitable world. I reflected with intolerable anguish, that\nwhen ten thousand thousand years had carried me beyond the reach of all\nbut that power who fills infinitude, I should still look forward into an\nimmense abyss of darkness, through which I should still drive without\nsuccour and without society, farther and farther still, for ever and for\never. I then stretched out my hand towards the regions of existence, with\nan emotion that awaked me. Thus have I been taught to estimate society,\nlike every other blessing, by its loss. My heart is warmed to liberality;\nand I am zealous to communicate the happiness which I feel, to those from\nwhom it is derived; for the society of one wretch, whom in the pride\nof prosperity I would have spurned from my door, would, in the dreadful\nsolitude to which I was condemned, have been more highly prized than the\ngold of Afric, or the gems of Golconda.\n\nAt this reflection upon his dream, Carazan became suddenly silent, and\nlooked upward in ecstacy of gratitude and devotion. The multitude were\nstruck at once with the precept and example; and the Caliph, to whom the\nevent was related, that he might be liberal beyond the power of gold,\ncommanded it to be recorded for the benefit of posterity.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF ALMAMOULIN.\n\n\nIn the reign of Jenghiz Khan, conqueror of the East, in the city of\nSamarcand, lived Nouradin the merchant, renowned throughout all the\nregions of India for the extent of his commerce, and the integrity of\nhis dealings. His warehouses were filled with all the commodities of\nthe remotest nations; every rarity of nature, every curiosity of art,\nwhatever was useful, hastened to his hand. The streets were crowded with\nhis carriages; the sea was covered with his ships; the streams of Oxus\nwere wearied with conveyance, and every breeze of the sky wafted wealth\nto Nouradin.\n\nAt length Nouradin felt himself seized with a slow malady; he called to\nhim Almamoulin, his only son; and, dismissing his attendants, \u201cMy son,\u201d\nsays he, \u201cbehold here the weakness and fragility of man; look backward\na few days, thy father was great and happy. Now, Almamoulin, look upon\nme withering and prostrate; look upon me, and attend. My purpose was,\nafter ten months more spent in commerce, to have withdrawn my wealth to\na safer country; to have given seven years to delight and festivity, and\nthe remaining part of my days to solitude and repentence; but the hand of\ndeath is upon me; I am now leaving the produce of my toil, which it must\nbe thy business to enjoy with wisdom.\u201d\u2014The thought of leaving his wealth,\nfilled Nouradin with such grief, that he fell into convulsions, became\ndelirious, and expired.\n\nAlmamoulin, who loved his father, was touched a while with honest\nsorrow, and sat two hours in profound meditation, without perusing the\npaper which he held in his hand. He then retired to his own chamber,\nas overborn with affliction, and there read the inventory of his new\npossessions, which swelled his heart with such transports, that he no\nlonger lamented his father\u2019s death.\n\nHe was now sufficiently composed to order a funeral of modest\nmagnificence, suitable at once to the rank of Nouradin\u2019s profession, and\nthe reputation of his wealth. The two next nights he spent in visiting\nthe tower and the caverns, and found the treasures greater to his eye\nthan to his imagination.\n\nAlmamoulin had been bred to the practice of exact frugality, and had\noften looked with envy on the finery and expences of other young men: he\ntherefore believed, that happiness was now in his power, since he could\nobtain all of which he had hitherto been accustomed to regret the want.\n\nHe immediately procured a splendid equipage, dressed his servants in rich\nembroidery, and covered his horses with golden caparisons. He showered\ndown silver on the populace, and suffered their acclamations to swell him\nwith insolence. The nobles saw him with anger, the wise men of the state\ncombined against him, the leaders of armies threatened his destruction.\nAlmamoulin was informed of his danger: he put on the robe of mourning in\nthe presence of his enemies, and appeased them with gold, and gems, and\nsupplication.\n\nHe then sought to strengthen himself, by an alliance with the princes of\nTartary, and offered the price of kingdoms for a wife of noble birth. His\nsuit was generally rejected, and his presents refused; but a princess of\nAstracan once condescended to admit him to her presence. She received him\nsitting on a throne, attired in the robe of royalty, and shining with the\njewels of Golconda; command sparkled in her eyes, and dignity towered on\nher forehead. Almamoulin approached and trembled. She saw his confusion,\nand disdained him: How, says she, dares the wretch hope my obedience,\nwho thus shrinks at my glance? Retire, and enjoy thy riches in sordid\nostentation; thou wast born to be wealthy, but never canst be great.\n\nHe then contracted his desires to more private and domestic pleasures.\nHe built palaces, he laid out gardens, he changed the face of the land,\nhe transplanted forests, he levelled mountains, opened prospects into\ndistant regions, poured fountains from the tops of turrets, and rolled\nrivers through new channels.\n\nThese amusements pleased him for a time; but languor and weariness soon\ninvaded him.\n\nHe therefore returned to Samarcand, and set open his doors to those whom\nidleness sends out in search of pleasure. His tables were always covered\nwith delicacies; wines of every vintage sparkled in his bowels, and\nhis lamps scattered perfumes. The sound of the flute, and the voice of\nthe singer, chased away sadness; every hour was crowded with pleasure;\nand the day ended and began with feasts and dances, and revelry and\nmerriment. Almamoulin cried out, \u201cI have at last found the use of riches:\nI am surrounded by companions, who view my greatness without envy; and I\nenjoy at once the raptures of popularity, and the safety of an obscure\nstation.\u2014What trouble can he feel, whom all are studious to please, that\nthey may be repaid with pleasure? What danger can he dread, to whom every\nman is a friend?\u201d\n\nSuch were the thoughts of Almamoulin, as he looked down from a gallery\nupon the gay assembly, regaling at his expence; but in the midst of this\nsoliloquy, an officer of justice entered the house, and in the form of\nlegal citation, summoned Almamoulin to appear before the emperor. The\nguests stood awhile aghast, then stole imperceptibly away, and he was\nled off without a single voice to witness his integrity. He now found\none of his most frequent visitors accusing him of treason, in hopes of\nsharing his confiscation; yet, unpatronized, and unsupported, he cleared\nhimself by the openness of innocence, and the consistence of truth; he\nwas dismissed with honour, and his accuser perished in prison.\n\nAlmamoulin now perceived with how little reason he had hoped for justice\nor fidelity from those who live only to gratify their senses; and being\nnow weary with vain experiments upon life, and fruitless researches\nafter felicity, he had recourse to a sage, who, after spending his\nyouth in travel and observation, had retired from all human cares, to\na small habitation, on the banks of Oxus, where he conversed only with\nsuch as solicited his counsel. \u201cBrother,\u201d said the philosopher, \u201cthou\nhast suffered thy reason to be deluded by idle hopes, and fallacious\nappearances. Having long looked with desire upon riches, thou hast\ntaught thyself to think them more valuable than nature designed them,\nand to expect from them what, as experience has now taught thee, they\ncannot give. That they do not confer wisdom, thou mayest be convinced\nby considering at how dear a price they tempted thee, upon thy first\nentrance into the world, to purchase the empty sound of vulgar\nacclamation. That they cannot bestow fortitude or magnanimity, that\nman may be certain, who stood trembling at Astracan before a being not\nnaturally superior to himself. That they will not supply unexhausted\npleasure, the recollection of forsaken palaces, and neglected gardens,\nwill easily inform thee. That they rarely purchase friends, thou didst\nsoon discover, when thou wert left to stand thy trial uncountenanced and\nalone. Yet think not riches useless; there are purposes to which a wise\nman may be delighted to apply them: they may, by a rational distribution\nto those who want them, ease the pains of helpless disease, still the\nthrobs of restless anxiety, relieve innocence from oppression, and raise\nimbecility to chearfulness and vigour. This they will enable thee to\nperform, and this will afford the only happiness ordained for our present\nstate, the confidence of divine favour, and the hope of future reward.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF BOZALDAB.\n\n\nBozaldab, Calif of Egypt, had dwelt securely for many years in the silken\npavilions of pleasure, and had every morning anointed his head with\nthe oil of gladness, when his only son Aboram, for whom he had crowded\nhis treasuries with gold, extended his dominions with conquests, and\nsecured them with impregnable fortresses, was suddenly wounded, as he was\nhunting, with an arrow from an unknown hand, and expired in the field.\n\nBozaldab, in the distraction of grief and despair, refused to return\nto his palace, and retired to the gloomiest grotto in the neighbouring\nmountain: he there rolled himself on the dust, tore away the hairs\nof his hoary beard, and dashed the cup of consolation that Patience\noffered him to the ground. He suffered not his minstrels to approach his\npresence; but listened to the melancholy birds of midnight, that flit\nthrough the solitary vaults and echoing chambers of the Pyramids. \u201cCan\nthat God be benevolent,\u201d he cried, \u201cwho thus wounds the soul, as from an\nambush, with unexpected sorrows, and crushes his creatures in a moment\nwith irremediable calamity? Ye lying Imans, prate to us no more of the\njustness and the kindness of an all-directing and all-loving Providence!\nHe, whom ye pretend reigns in heaven, is so far from protecting the sons\nof men, that he perpetually delights to blast the sweetest flowerets in\nthe garden of Hope; and like a malignant giant to beat down the strongest\ntowers of happiness with the iron mace of his anger. If this Being\npossessed the goodness and the power with which flattering priests have\ninvested him, he would doubtless be inclined and enabled to banish those\nevils which render the world a dungeon of distress, a vale of vanity and\nwoe.\u2014I will continue in it no longer!\u201d\n\nAt that moment he furiously raised his hand, which Despair had armed with\na dagger, to strike deep into his bosom; when suddenly thick flashes of\nlightning shot through the cavern, and a being of more than human beauty\nand magnitude, arrayed in azure robes, crowned with amaranth, and waving\na branch of palm in his right hand, arrested the arm of the trembling and\nastonished Calif, and said with a majestic smile, \u201cFollow me to the top\nof this mountain.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook from hence,\u201d said the awful conductor; \u201cI am Caloc, the Angel of\nPeace; Look from hence into the valley.\u201d\n\nBozaldab opened his eyes and beheld a barren, a sultry, and solitary\nisland, in the midst of which sat a pale, meagre, and ghastly figure:\nit was a merchant just perishing with famine, and lamenting that he\ncould find neither wild berries, nor a single spring in this forlorn\nand uninhabited desert; and begging the protection of heaven against\nthe tigers that would now certainly destroy him, since he had consumed\nthe last fuel he had collected to make nightly fires to affright them.\nHe then cast a casket of jewels on the sand, as trifles of no use; and\ncrept, feeble and trembling, to an eminence, where he was accustomed to\nsit to watch the setting sun, and to give signal to any ship that might\nhaply approach the island.\n\n\u201cInhabitant of heaven,\u201d cried Bozaldab, \u201csuffer not this wretch to perish\nby the fury of wild beasts!\u201d\n\n\u201cPeace,\u201d said the angel, \u201cand observe.\u201d\n\nHe looked again, and behold a vessel arrived at the desolate isle. What\nwords can paint the rapture of the starving merchant, when the captain\noffered to transport him to his native country, if he would reward\nhim with half the jewels of his casket? No sooner had this pityless\ncommander received the stipulated sum, than he held a consultation with\nhis crew, and they agreed to seize the remaining jewels, and leave the\nunhappy exile in the same helpless and lamentable condition in which they\ndiscovered him. He wept and trembled, intreated and implored in vain.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF BOZALDAB.\n\n(CONCLUDED.)\n\n\n\u201cWill Heaven permit such injustice to be practised?\u201d exclaimed Bozaldab.\n\u201cLook again,\u201d said the angel, \u201cand behold the very ship in which,\nshort-sighted as thou art, thou wishedst the merchant might embark,\ndashed in pieces on a rock: dost thou not hear the cries of the sinking\nsailors? Presume not to direct the Governor of the Universe in his\ndisposal of events. The man whom thou hast pitied shall be taken from\nthis dreary solitude, but not by the method thou wouldst prescribe. His\nvice was avarice, by which he became not only abominable, but wretched;\nhe fancied some mighty charm in wealth, which, like the wand of Abdiel,\nwould gratify every wish and obviate every fear. This wealth he has now\nbeen taught not only to despise but abhor: he cast his jewels upon the\nsand, and confessed them to be useless; he offered part of them to the\nmariners, and perceived them to be pernicious: he has now learnt, that\nthey are useful or vain, good or evil, only by the situation and temper\nof the possessor. Happy is he whom distress has taught wisdom! But turn\nthine eyes to another and more interesting scene.\u201d\n\nThe Calif instantly beheld a magnificent palace, adorned with the statues\nof his ancestors wrought in jasper; the ivory doors of which, turning\non hinges of the gold of Golconda, discovered a throne of diamonds,\nsurrounded with the Rajas of fifty nations, and with ambassadors in\nvarious habits, and of different complexions; on which sat Aboram, the\nmuch-lamented son of Bozaldab, and by his side a princess fairer than a\nHouri.\n\n\u201cGracious Alla!\u2014it is my son,\u201d cried the Calif\u2014\u201cO let me hold him to\nmy heart!\u201d \u201cThou canst not grasp an unsubstantial vision,\u201d replied the\nangel: \u201cI have now shewn thee what would have been the destiny of thy\nson, had he continued longer on the earth.\u201d \u201cAnd why,\u201d returned Bozaldab,\n\u201cwas he not permitted to continue? Why was not I suffered to be a witness\nof so much felicity and power?\u201d \u201cConsider the sequel,\u201d replied he that\ndwells in the fifth heaven. Bozaldab looked earnestly, and saw the\ncountenance of his son, on which he had been used to behold the placid\nsimplicity and the vivid blushes of health, now distorted with rage, and\nnow fixed in the insensibility of drunkenness: it was again animated with\ndisdain, it became pale with apprehension, and appeared to be withered by\nintemperance; his hands were stained with blood, and he trembled by turns\nwith fury and terror. The palace so lately shining with oriental pomp,\nchanged suddenly into the cell of a dungeon, where his son lay stretched\nout on the cold pavement, gagged and bound, with his eyes put out. Soon\nafter he perceived the favourite Sultana, who before was seated by his\nside, enter with a bowl of poison, which she compelled Aboram to drink,\nand afterwards married the successor to his throne.\n\n\u201cHappy,\u201d said Caloc, \u201cis he whom Providence has by the angel of death\nsnatched from guilt! from whom that power is withheld, which, if he had\npossessed, would have accumulated upon himself yet greater misery than it\ncould bring upon others.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is enough,\u201d cried Bozaldab; \u201cI adore the inscrutable schemes of\nomniscience!\u2014From what dreadful evil has my son been rescued by a\ndeath, which I rashly bewailed as unfortunate and premature; a death\nof innocence and peace, which has blessed his memory upon earth, and\ntransmitted his spirit to the skies!\u201d\n\n\u201cCast away the dagger,\u201d replied the heavenly messenger, \u201cwhich thou wast\npreparing to plunge into thine own heart. Exchange complaint for silence,\nand doubt for adoration. Can a mortal look down, without giddiness and\nstupifaction, in the vast abyss of Eternal Wisdom? Can a mind that sees\nnot infinitely, perfectly comprehend any thing among an infinity of\nobjects mutually relative? Can the channels, which thou commandest to be\ncut to receive the annual inundations of the Nile, contain the waters\nof the ocean? Remember, that perfect happiness cannot be conferred on\na creature; for perfect happiness is an attribute as incommunicable as\nperfect power and eternity.\u201d\n\nThe Angel, while he was speaking thus, stretched out his pinions to fly\nback to the Empyreum; and the flutter of his wings was like the rushing\nof a cataract.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF OBIDAH.\n\n\nObidah, the son of Abensina, left the caravansera early in the morning,\nand pursued his journey through the plains of Indostan. He was fresh and\nvigourous with rest; he was animated with hope; he was incited by desire;\nhe walked swiftly forward over the vallies, and saw the hills gradually\nrising before him. As he passed along, his ears were delighted with the\nmorning song of the bird of Paradise; he was fanned by the last flutters\nof the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with dew by groves of spices: he\nsometimes contemplated the towering height of the oak, monarch of the\nhills; and sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, eldest\ndaughter of the spring: all his senses were gratified, and all care was\nbanished from his heart.\n\nThus he went on till the sun approached his meridian, and the increasing\nheat preyed upon his strength; he then looked round about him for some\nmore commodious path. He saw, on his right hand, a grove that seemed\nto wave its shades as a sign of invitation; he entered it, and found\nthe coolness and verdure irresistibly pleasant. He did not however,\nforget whither he was travelling, but found a narrow way, bordered with\nflowers, which appeared to have the same direction with the main road,\nand was pleased that, by this happy experiment, he had found means to\nunite pleasure with business, and gain the rewards of diligence without\nsuffering its fatigues. He therefore still continued to walk for a time,\nwithout the least remission of his ardour, except that he was sometimes\ntempted to stop by the music of the birds, whom the heat had assembled\nin the shade, and sometimes amused himself with plucking the flowers\nthat covered the banks on either side, or the fruits that hung upon\nthe branches. At last the green path began to decline from its first\ntendency, and to wind among hills and thickets, cooled with fountains,\nand murmuring with waterfalls. Here Obidah paused for a time, and began\nto consider whether it were longer safe to forsake the known and common\ntrack; but remembering that the heat was now in its greatest violence,\nand that the plain was dusty and uneven, he resolved to pursue the new\npath, which he supposed only to make a few meanders, in compliance with\nthe varieties of the ground, and to end at last in the common road.\n\nHaving thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his pace, though he\nsuspected that he was not gaining ground. This uneasiness of his mind\ninclined him to lay hold on every new object, and give way to every\nsensation that might sooth and divert him. He listened to every echo,\nhe mounted every hill for a fresh prospect, he turned aside to every\ncascade, and pleased himself with tracing the course of a gentle river\nthat rolled among the trees, and watered a large region with innumerable\ncircumvolutions. In these amusements the hours passed away unaccounted,\nhis deviations had perplexed his memory, and he knew not towards what\npoint to travel. He stood pensive and confused, afraid to go forward lest\nhe should go wrong, yet conscious that the time of loitering was now\npast. While he was thus tortured with uncertainty, the sky was overspread\nwith clouds, the day vanished from before him, and a sudden tempest\ngathered round his head. He was now roused by his danger to a quick and\npainful remembrance of his folly; he now saw how happiness is lost when\nease is consulted; he lamented the unmanly impatience that prompted him\nto seek shelter in the grove, and despised the petty curiosity that led\nhim on from trifle to trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew\nblacker, and a clap of thunder broke his meditation.\n\nHe now resolved to do what remained yet in his power, to tread back the\nground which he had passed, and try to find some issue where the wood\nmight open into the plain. He prostrated himself on the ground, and\ncommended his life to the Lord of Nature. He rose with confidence and\ntranquillity, and pressed on with his sabre in hand, for the beasts of\nthe desart were in motion, and on every hand were mingled howls of rage\nand fear, and savage expiration; all the horrors of darkness and solitude\nsurrounded him; the winds roared in the woods, and the torrents tumbled\nfrom the hills.\n\n    Work\u2019d into sudden rage by wint\u2019ry show\u2019rs,\n    Down the steep hill the roaring torrent pours;\n    The mountain shepherd hears the distant noise.\n\nThus forlorn and distressed, he wandered through the wild, without\nknowing whither he was going, or whether he was every moment drawing\nnearer to safety or to destruction. At length not fear but labour began\nto overcome him; his breath grew short, and his knees trembled, and he\nwas on the point of lying down in resignation to his fate, when he beheld\nthrough the branches the glimmer of a taper. He advanced towards the\nlight, and finding that it proceeded from the cottage of a hermit, he\ncalled humbly at the door, and obtained admission. The old man set before\nhim such provisions as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed\nwith eagerness and gratitude.\n\nWhen the repast was over, \u201cTell me,\u201d said the hermit, \u201cby what chance\nthou hast been brought hither; I have been now twenty years an inhabitant\nof the wilderness, in which I never saw a man before.\u201d Obidah then\nrelated the occurrences of his journey, without any concealment or\npalliation.\n\n\u201cSon,\u201d said the hermit, \u201clet the errors and follies, the dangers and\nescapes, of this day, sink deep into thy heart. Remember, my son, that\nhuman life is the journey of a day: we rise in the morning of youth,\nfull of vigour, and full of expectation; we set forward with spirit and\nhope, with gaiety and with diligence, and travel on awhile in the strait\nroad of piety towards the mansions of rest. In a short time we remit our\nfervour, and endeavour to find some mitigation of our duty, and some\nmore easy means of obtaining the same end. We then relax our vigour, and\nresolve no longer to be terrified with crimes at a distance, but rely\nupon our own constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve never\nto touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease, and repose in the shades of\nsecurity. Here the heart softens, and vigilance subsides; we are then\nwilling to inquire whether another advance cannot be made, and whether we\nmay not at least turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach\nthem with scruple and hesitation; we enter them, but enter timorous and\ntrembling, and always hope to pass through them without losing the road\nof virtue, which we, for awhile, keep in our sight, and to which we\npropose to return. But temptation succeeds temptation, and one compliance\nprepares us for another; we in time lose the happiness of innocence, and\nsolace our disquiet with sensual gratifications. By degrees we let fall\nthe remembrance of our original intention, and quit the only adequate\nobject of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in business, immerge\nourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths of inconstancy, till\nthe darkness of old age begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety\nobstruct our way. We then look back upon our lives with horror, with\nsorrow, with repentance; and wish, but too often vainly wish, that we had\nnot forsaken the ways of virtue. Happy are they, my son, who shall learn\nfrom thy example not to despair, but shall remember, that though the day\nis past, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains one effort to\nbe made; that reformation is never hopeless, nor sincere endeavours ever\nunassisted; that the wanderer may at length return after all his errors,\nand that he who implores strength and courage from above, shall find\ndanger and difficulty give way before him. Go now, my son, to thy repose,\ncommit thyself to the care of Omnipotence, and when the morning calls\nagain to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nINGRATITUDE PUNISHED.\n\n\nA Dervise, venerable by his age, fell ill in the house of a woman who\nhad been long a widow, and lived in extreme poverty in the suburbs of\nBalsora. He was so touched with the care and zeal with which she had\nassisted him, that at his departure he said to her, \u201cI have remarked that\nyou have wherewith to subsist alone, but that you have not subsistence\nenough to share it with your only son, the young Abdallah. If you will\ntrust him to my care, I will endeavour to acknowledge, in his person,\nthe obligations I have to you for your care of me.\u201d The good woman\nreceived this proposal with joy; and the Dervise departed with the young\nman, advertising her, that they must perform a journey which would last\nnearly two years. As they travelled he kept him in affluence, gave him\nexcellent instructions, cured him of a dangerous disease with which he\nwas attacked; in fine, he took the same care of him as if he had been his\nown son. Abdallah a hundred times testified his gratitude to him for all\nhis bounties; but the old man always answered, \u201cMy son, it is by actions\nthat gratitude is proved; we shall see in a proper time and place,\nwhether you are so grateful as you pretend.\u201d\n\nOne day, as they continued their travels, they found themselves in a\nsolitary place, and the Dervise said to Abdallah, \u201cMy son, we are now at\nthe end of our journey; I shall employ my prayers to obtain from Heaven,\nthat the earth may open and make an entrance wide enough to permit\nthee to descend into a place where thou wilt find one of the greatest\ntreasures that the earth incloses into her bowels. Hast thou courage to\ndescend into this subterraneous vault?\u201d continued he. Abdallah swore\nto him, he might depend upon his obedience and zeal. Then the Dervise\nlighted a small fire, into which he cast a perfume; he read and prayed\nfor some moments, after which the earth opened, and the Dervise said to\nhim\u2014\u201cThou mayest now enter, my dear Abdallah, remember that it is in\nthy power to do me a great service; and that this is, perhaps, the only\nopportunity thou canst ever have of testifying to me that thou art not\nungrateful: Do not let thyself be dazzled by all the riches thou wilt\nfind there; think only of seizing upon an iron candlestick with twelve\nbranches, which thou wilt find close to a door; that is absolutely\nnecessary to me; come up immediately, and bring it to me.\u201d Abdallah\npromised every thing, and descended boldly into the vault. But forgetting\nwhat had been expressly recommended to him, whilst he was filling his\nvest and bosom with gold and jewels, which this subterraneous vault\ninclosed in prodigious heaps, the opening by which he entered closed of\nitself. He had, however, presence of mind enough to seize on the iron\ncandlestick, which the Dervise had so strongly recommended to him; and\nthough the situation he was in was very terrible, he did not abandon\nhimself to despair; and thinking only in what manner he should get out\nof a place which might become his grave, he apprehended that the vault\nhad closed only because he had not followed the order of the Dervise;\nhe recalled to his memory the care and goodness he had loaded him with;\nreproached himself with his ingratitude, and finished his meditation by\nhumbling himself before God. At length, after much pains and inquietude,\nhe was fortunate enough to find a narrow passage which led him out\nof this obscure cave; though it was not till he had followed it a\nconsiderable way, that he perceived a small opening covered with briars\nand thorns, through which he returned to the light of the sun. He looked\non all sides, to see if he could perceive the Dervise, but in vain; he\ndesigned to deliver him the iron candlestick he so much wished for, and\nformed a design of quitting him, being rich enough with what he had taken\nout of the cavern, to live in affluence without his assistance.\n\nNot perceiving the Dervise, nor remembering any of the places through\nwhich he had passed, he went on as fortune had directed him, and was\nextremely astonished to find himself opposite to his mother\u2019s house,\nwhich he imagined he was at a great distance from him. She immediately\nenquired after the holy Dervise. Abdallah told her frankly what had\nhappened to him, and the danger he had run to satisfy his unreasonable\ndesires; he afterwards shewed her the riches with which he was loaded.\nHis mother concluded, upon the sight of them, that the Dervise only\ndesigned to make trial of his courage and obedience, and that they ought\nto make use of the happiness which fortune had presented to them; adding,\nthat doubtless such was the intention of the holy Dervise. Whilst they\ncontemplated upon these treasures with avidity; whilst they were dazzled\nwith the lustre of them, and formed a thousand projects in consequence of\nthem, they all vanished away before their eyes. It was then that Abdallah\nsincerely reproached himself for his ingratitude and disobedience; and,\nperceiving that the iron candlestick had resisted the enchantment, or\nrather the just punishment which those deserve who do not execute what\nthey promise, he said, prostrating himself, \u201cWhat happened to me is just;\nI have lost what I had no design to restore, and the candlestick which I\nintended to deliver to the Dervise, remains with me: It is a proof that\nit rightly belongs to him, and that the rest was unjustly acquired.\u201d As\nhe finished these words, he placed the candlestick in the midst of their\nlittle house.\n\nWhen the night was come, without reflecting upon it, he placed the light\nin the candlestick. Immediately they saw a Dervise appear, who turned\nround for an hour, and disappeared, after having thrown them an asper.\nThe candlestick had twelve branches. Abdallah, who was meditating all\nthe day upon what he had seen the night before, was willing to know what\nwould happen the next night, if he put a light in each of them; he did\nso, and twelve Dervises appeared that instant; they turned round also for\nan hour, and each threw an asper as they disappeared. He repeated every\nday the same ceremony, which had always the same success; but he could\nnever make it succeed more than once in twenty-four hours. This trifling\nsum was enough to make his mother and himself subsist tolerably: there\nwas a time when they would have desired no more to be happy; but it was\nnot considerable enough to change their fortune: it is always dangerous\nfor the imagination to be fixed upon the idea of riches. The sight of\nwhat he believed he should possess; the projects he had formed for the\nemployment of it; all these things had left such profound traces in the\nmind of Abdallah, that nothing could efface them. Therefore, seeing the\nsmall advantage he drew from the candlestick, he resolved to carry it\nback to the Dervise, in hopes that he might obtain of him the treasure\nhe had seen, or at least find again the riches which had vanished from\ntheir sight, by restoring to him a thing for which he testified so\nearnest a desire. He was so fortunate as to remember his name, and that\nof the city where he inhabited. He departed, therefore, immediately for\nMagrebi, carrying with him his candlestick, which he lighted every night,\nand by that means furnished himself with what was necessary on the road,\nwithout being obliged to implore the assistance and compassion of the\nfaithful. When he arrived at Magrebi, his first care was to enquire in\nwhat house, or in what convent, Abounadar lodged; he was so well known\nthat every body told him his habitation. He repaired thither directly,\nand found fifty porters who kept the gate of his house, having each a\nstaff with a head of gold in their hands: the court of this palace was\nfilled with slaves and domestics; in fine, the residence of a prince\ncould not expose to view greater magnificence. Abdallah, struck with\nastonishment and admiration, feared to proceed. Certainly, thought he,\nI either explained myself wrong, or those to whom I addressed myself\ndesigned to make a jest of me, because I was a stranger: this is not\nthe habitation of a Dervise, it is that of a king. He was in this\nembarrassment when a man approached him, and said to him, \u201cAbdallah,\nthou art welcome; my master, Abounadar, has long expected thee.\u201d He\nthen conducted him to an agreeable and magnificent pavilion, where the\nDervise was seated. Abdallah, struck with the riches which he beheld\non all sides, would have prostrated himself at his feet, but Abounadar\nprevented him, and interrupted him when he would have made a merit of\nthe candlestick, which he presented to him. \u201cThou art but an ungrateful\nwretch,\u201d said he to him: \u201cDost thou imagine that thou canst impose upon\nme? I am not ignorant of any one of thy thoughts; and if thou hadst known\nthe value of this candlestick, thou would never have brought it to me: I\nwill make thee sensible of its true use.\u201d Immediately he placed a light\nin each of its branches; and when the twelve Dervises had turned round\nfor some time, Abounadar gave each of them a blow with a cane, and in\na moment they were converted into twelve sequins, diamonds, and other\nprecious stones. \u201cThis,\u201d said he, \u201cis the proper use to be made of this\nmarvellous candlestick. As to me, I never desired it, but to place it\nin my cabinet, as a talisman composed by a sage whom I revere, and am\npleased to expose sometimes to those who come to visit me: and to prove\nto thee,\u201d added he, \u201cthat curiosity was the only occasion of my search\nfor it; here are keys of my magazines, open them, and thou shalt judge\nof my riches: thou shalt tell me whether the most insatiable miser would\nnot be satisfied with them.\u201d Abdallah obeyed him, and examined twelve\nmagazines of great extent, so full of all manner of riches, that he could\nnot distinguish what merited his admiration most; they all deserved it,\nand produced new desires. The regret of having restored the candlestick,\nand that of not having found out the use of it, pierced the heart of\nAbdallah. Abounadar seemed not to perceive it; on the contrary, he loaded\nhim with caresses, kept him some days in the house, and commanded him to\nbe treated as himself. When he was at the eve of the day which he had\nfixed for his departure, he said to him, \u201cAbdallah, my son, I believe\nby what has happened to thee, thou art corrected of the frightful vice\nof ingratitude; however, I owe thee a mark of my affection, for having\nundertaken so long a journey, with a view of bringing me the thing I had\ndesired: thou may\u2019st depart, I shall detain thee no longer. Thou shalt\nfind to-morrow, at the gate of my palace, one of my horses to carry thee;\nI make thee a present of it, as well as of a slave, who shall conduct\nthee to thy house; and two camels loaded with gold and jewels, which thou\nshalt choose thyself out of my treasures.\u201d Abdallah said to him all that\na heart sensible to avarice could express when its passion was satisfied,\nand went to lie down till the morning arrived, which was fixed for his\ndeparture.\n\nDuring the night he was still agitated, without being able to think of\nany thing but the candlestick and what it produced. \u201cI had it,\u201d said he,\n\u201cso long in my power; Abounadar, without me, had never been the possessor\nof it: what risks did I not run in the subterraneous vault? Why does he\nnow possess this treasure of treasures? Because I had the probity, or\nrather the folly, to bring it back to him; he profits by my labour, and\nthe danger I have incurred in so long a journey. And what does he give\nme in return? Two camels loaded with gold and jewels; in one moment the\ncandlestick will furnish him with ten times as much. It is Abounadar who\nis ungrateful: what wrong shall I do him in taking this candlestick?\nNone, certainly, for he is rich: and what do I possess?\u201d These ideas\ndetermined him, at length, to make all possible attempts to seize upon\nthe candlestick. The thing was not difficult, Abounadar having trusted\nhim with the keys of the magazines. He knew where the candlestick was\nplaced; he seized upon it, hid it in the bottom of one of the sacks,\nwhich he filled with pieces of gold and other riches which he was allowed\nto take, and loaded it, as well as the rest, upon his camels. He had no\nother eagerness now than for his departure; and after having hastily bid\nadieu to the generous Abounadar, he delivered him his keys, and departed\nwith his horse, and slave, and two camels.\n\nWhen he was some days journey from Balsora, he sold his slave, resolving\nnot to have a witness of his former poverty, nor of the source of his\npresent riches. He bought another, and arrived without any obstacle at\nhis mother\u2019s, whom he would scarcely look upon, so much was he taken up\nwith his treasure. His first care was to place the loads of his camels,\nand the candlestick, in the most private part of the house; and, in his\nimpatience to feed his eyes, with his great opulence, he placed lights\nimmediately in the candlestick: the twelve Dervises appearing, he gave\neach of them a blow with a cane with all his strength, lest he should\nbe failing in the laws of the talisman: but he had not remarked, that\nAbounadar, when he struck them, had the cane in his left hand. Abdallah,\nby a natural motion, made use of his right; and the Dervises, instead\nof becoming heaps of riches, immediately drew from beneath their robes\neach a formidable club, with which they struck him almost dead, and\ndisappeared, carrying with them all his treasures, the camels, the horse,\nthe slave, and the candlestick.\n\nThus was Abdallah punished by poverty, and almost by death, for his\nunreasonable ambition, which perhaps might have been pardonable, if it\nhad not been accompanied by an ingratitude as wicked as it was audacious,\nsince he had not so much as the resource of being able to conceal his\nperfidies from the too piercing eyes of his benefactor.\n\nFINIS.\n\nHarrild, Printer, Eastcheap.","title":"Oriental tales, for the entertainment of youth: Selected from the most eminent English writers","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":19653}