ORIENTAL TALES.

THE MERCHANT AND HIS SONS.

A certain merchant had two sons, the eldest of whom was of so bad a disposition as to behave with great hatred and ill-nature towards the younger, who was of a temper more mild and gentle. It happened that the old gentleman, after having acquired a large estate by his trade, left it by his will to his eldest son, together with all his ships and stock in merchandize, desiring him to continue in the business, and support his brother.

The father was no sooner dead than the elder[4] began to shew his ill-will to his brother. He desired him to leave his house, and, without giving him any thing for his support, turned him loose into the wide world. The young man was much dejected with this treatment; but, considering that in his father’s life-time he had acquired some knowledge of business, he applied to a neighbouring merchant, offering to serve him in the way of trade.

The merchant received him into his house, and finding from long experience that he was prudent, virtuous, and diligent in his business, gave him his daughter and only child in marriage, and, when he died, bequeathed to him his whole fortune. The young man, after the death of his father-in-law, retired with his wife into a distant part of the country, where he purchased a fine estate, with a splendid dwelling; and there he lived with great credit and reputation.

The elder brother, after the father’s death, for some time had great success in trade. At length, however, a violent storm tore to pieces many of his ships, which were coming home richly laden. About the same time some persons failing, who[5] had much of their money in his hands, he was reduced to great want. To complete his misfortunes, the little which he had left at home was consumed by a sudden fire, which burnt his house, and every thing in it; so that he was brought into a state of beggary.

In this forlorn condition, he had no other resource to keep himself from starving than to wander up and down the country, imploring the assistance of well-disposed persons. It happened one day, that having travelled many miles, and obtained but little relief, he saw a gentleman walking in the fields, not far from a fine seat. To this gentleman he addressed himself, and having laid before him his misfortunes and his present necessitous condition, he earnestly entreated him to grant him some assistance. The gentleman, who happened to be no other than his own brother, did not at first know him; but after some discourse with him, he perceived who he was. At first, however, he did not make it appear that he had any knowledge of him, but brought him home, and ordered his servants to[6] take care of him, and furnish him for that night with lodgings and victuals.

In the mean time he resolved to discover himself to his brother next morning, and offer him a constant habitation in his house, after he had got the consent of his wife to the proposal. Accordingly, next morning, he ordered the poor man to be sent for. When he was come into his presence, he asked if he knew him. The poor man answered, he did not. I am, said he, bursting into tears, your only brother! and immediately fell on his neck, and embraced him with great tenderness. The elder, quite astonished at this accident, fell to the ground, and began to make many excuses, and to beg pardon for his former cruel behaviour. To whom the other answered, “Brother, let us forget those things; I heartily forgive you all that is past; you need not range up and down the world; you shall be welcome to live with me.” He readily accepted the proposal, and they lived together with great comfort and happiness till death.

[7]

STORY OF MENCIUS.

As Mencius, the philosopher, was travelling in pursuit of wisdom, night overtook him at the foot of a gloomy mountain, remote from the habitations of men. Here, as he was straying, (while rain and thunder conspired to make solitude still more hideous) he perceived a hermit’s cell, and approaching, asked for shelter. “Enter,” cries the hermit in a severe tone; “men deserve not to be obliged; but it would be imitating their ingratitude to treat them as they deserve. Come in: examples of vice may sometimes strengthen us in the ways of virtue.”

After a frugal meal, which consisted of roots and tea, Mencius could not repress his curiosity to know why the hermit had retired from mankind, whose actions taught the truest lessons of wisdom. “Mention not the name of man,” cried the hermit with indignation; “here let me live retired from a base ungrateful world; here, in the forest I shall find no flatterers. The lion is an open enemy, and the dog a faithful friend; but man, base man, can poison the bowl, and[8] smile when he presents it.” “You have then been used ill by mankind?” interrupted the philosopher drily. “Yes,” replied the hermit; “on mankind I have exhausted my whole fortune; and this staff, that cup, and those roots, are all that I have in return.”—“Did you bestow your fortune among them, or did you only lend it?” returned Mencius. “I bestowed it, undoubtedly,” replied the other; “for where were the merit of being a money lender?”—“Did they ever own that they received your benefits?” still adds the philosopher. “A thousand times,” cries the hermit; “they every day loaded

me with professions of gratitude for favours received, and solicitations for future ones.”—“If, then, (says Mencius smiling) you did not lend your fortune in order to have it returned, it is injustice to accuse them of ingratitude; they owned themselves obliged; you expected no more; and they certainly earn a favour who stoop to acknowledge the obligation.”—The hermit was struck with the reply; and, surveying his guest with emotion, “I have heard of the great Mencius, and thou certainly art the man.[9] I am now fourscore years old, but still a child in wisdom; take me back to the world, and educate me as one of the most ignorant, and youngest, of thy disciples.”

THE STORY OF SCHACABAC.

Schacabac being reduced to great poverty, and having eat nothing for two days together, made a visit to a noble Barmecide, in Persia, who was very hospitable, but withal a great humourist.—The Barmecide was sitting at his table, that seemed ready covered for an entertainment. Upon hearing Schacabac’s complaint, he desired him to sit down and fall on. He then gave him an empty plate, and asked him how he liked his rice-soup. Schacabac, who was a man of wit, and resolved to comply with the Barmecide in all his humours, told him it was admirable, and at the same time, in imitation of the other, lifted up the empty spoon to his mouth with great pleasure. The Barmecide then asked him if he ever saw whiter bread? Schacabac, who saw[10] neither bread nor meat, If I did not like it, you may be sure, says he, I should not eat so heartily of it. You oblige me mightily, replied the Barmecide, pray let me help you to this leg of goose. Schacabac reached out his plate, and received nothing on it with great chearfulness. As he was eating very heartily of this imaginary

goose, and crying up the sauce to the skies, the Barmecide desired him to keep a corner of his stomach for a roasted lamb, fed with pistachio-nuts, and after having called for it, as though it had really been served up, Here is a dish, says he, that you will see at nobody’s table but my own. Schacabac was wonderfully delighted with the taste of it, which is like nothing, says he, I ever eat before. Several other nice dishes were served up in idea, which both of them commended, and feasted on after the same manner. This was followed by an invisible desert, no part of which delighted Schacabac so much as a certain lozenge, which the Barmecide told him was a sweet-meat of his own invention. Schacabac at length, being courteously reproached by the Barmecide, that he had no stomach[11], and that he eat nothing, and at the same time being tired with moving his jaws up and down to no purpose, desired to be excused, for that really he was so full that he could not eat a bit more. Come, then, says the Barmecide, the cloth shall be removed, and you shall taste of my

wines, which I may say, without vanity, are the best in Persia. He then filled both their glasses out of an empty decanter. Schacabac would have excused himself from drinking so much at once, because he said he was a little quarrelsome in his liquor; however, being prest to it, he pretended to take it off, having before-hand praised the colour, and afterwards the flavour. Being plied with two or three other imaginary bumpers of different wines equally delicious, and a little vexed with this fantastic treat, he pretended to grow fluttered, and gave the Barmecide a good box on the ear; but immediately recovering himself, Sir, says he, I beg ten thousand pardons, but I told you before, that it was my misfortune to be quarrelsome in my drink. The Barmecide could not but smile at the humour of his guest, and instead of being angry with him,[12] I find, says he, thou art a complaisant fellow, and deservest to be entertained in my house. Since thou canst accommodate thyself to my humour, we will now eat together in good earnest. Upon which calling for his supper, the rice-soup, the

goose, the pistachio-lamb, the several other nice dishes, with the desert, the lozenges, and all the variety of Persian wines, were served up successively one after another; and Schacabac was feasted, in reality, with those very things which he had before been entertained within imagination.

HAMET AND RASCHID.

When the plains of India were burnt up by a long continuance of drought, Hamet and Raschid, two neighbouring shepherds, faint with thirst, stood at the common boundary of their grounds, with their flocks and herds panting round them, and in extremity of distress prayed for water. On a sudden the air was becalmed, the birds ceased to chirp, and the flocks to bleat.[13] They turned their eyes every way, and saw a being of mighty stature advancing through the valley, whom they knew upon his nearer approach to be the Genius of Distribution. In one hand he held the sheaves of plenty, and in the other, the sabre of destruction. The shepherds stood trembling, and would have retired before him; but he called to them with a voice gentle as the breeze that plays in the evening among the spices of Sabæa: “Fly not from your benefactor, children of the dust! I am come to offer you gifts, which only your own folly can make vain. You here pray for water, and water I will bestow; let me know with how much you will be satisfied: speak not rashly; consider, that of whatever

can be enjoyed by the body, excess is no less dangerous than scarcity. When you remember the pain of thirst, do not forget the danger of suffocation. Now, Hamet, tell me your request.”

“O Being, kind and beneficent,” says Hamet, “let thine eye pardon my confusion. I entreat a little brook, which in summer shall never be dry, and in winter never overflow.” “It is[14] granted,” replies the Genius; and immediately he opened the ground with his sabre, and a fountain bubbling up under their feet, scattered its rills over the meadows; the flowers renewed their fragrance, the trees spread a greener foilage, and the flocks and herds quenched their thirst.

Then turning to Raschid, the Genius invited him likewise to offer his petition. “I request,” says Raschid, “that thou wilt turn the Ganges through my grounds, with all his waters, and all their inhabitants.” Hamet was struck with the greatness of his neighbour’s sentiments, and secretly repined in his heart, that he had not made the same petition before him; when the Genius spoke, “Rash man, be not insatiable! remember, to thee that is nothing which thou canst not use; and how are thy wants greater than the wants of Hamet?” Raschid repeated his desire, and pleased himself with the mean appearance that Hamet would make in the presence of the proprietor of the Ganges. The Genius then retired towards the river, and the two shepherds stood waiting the event. As Raschid was looking[15] with contempt upon his neighbour, on a sudden was heard the roar of torrents, and they found by the mighty stream that the mounds of the Ganges were broken. The flood rolled forward into the lands of Raschid, his plantations were torn up, his flocks overwhelmed, he was

swept away before it, and a crocodile devoured him.

THE CHAM AND THE DERVISE.

A certain Cham of Tartary going a progress with his nobles, was met by a Dervise, who cried with a loud voice, whoever will give me a hundred pieces of gold, I will give him a piece of advice. The Cham ordered him the sum: upon which the Dervise said, begin nothing of which thou hast not well considered the end.

The courtiers upon hearing this plain sentence, smiled, and said with a sneer, “The dervise is well paid for his maxim.” But the king was so well satisfied with the answer, that he ordered it to be written in golden letters in several[16] places of his palace, and engraved on all his plate. Not long after, the king’s surgeon was bribed to kill him with a poisoned lancet at the time he let him blood. One day, when the king’s arm was bound, and the fatal lancet in the surgeon’s hand, he read on the bason, begin nothing of which thou hast not well considered the end. He immediately started, and let the lancet fall out of his hand. The king observed his confusion, and enquired the reason: the surgeon fell prostrate, confessed the whole affair, and was pardoned, and the conspirators died. The Cham, turning to his courtiers who heard the advice with contempt, told them, “that counsel could not be too much valued, which had saved a king’s life.”

THE STORY OF OMAR.

Omar, the hermit of the mountain Aubukabis, which rises on the east of Mecca, and overlooks the city, found one evening a man sitting pensive and alone, within a few paces of his cell.[17] Omar regarded him with attention, and perceived that his looks were wild and haggard, and that his body was feeble and emaciated: the man also seemed to gaze stedfastly on Omar; but such was the abstraction of his mind, that his eye did not immediately take cognizance of its object. In the moment of recollection he started as from a dream, he covered his face in confusion, and bowed himself to the ground.—“Son of affliction,” said Omar, “who art thou, and what is thy distress?” “My name,” replied the stranger, “is Hassan, and I am a native of this city: the Angel of adversity has laid his hand upon me; and the wretch whom thine eye compassionates, thou canst not deliver.” “To deliver thee,” said Omar, “belongs to Him only, from whom we should receive with humility both good and evil; yet hide not thy life from me; for the burthen which I cannot remove, I may at

least enable thee to sustain.” Hassan fixed his eyes upon the ground, and remained some time silent; then fetching a deep sigh, he looked up at the hermit, and thus complied with his request.

[18]

It is now six years since our mighty lord the Calif Almalic, whose memory be blessed, first came privately to worship in the temple of the holy city. The blessings which he petitioned of the Prophet, as the Prophet’s vicegerent, he was diligent to dispense; in the intervals of his devotion, therefore, he went about the city, relieving distress, and restraining oppression: the widow smiled under his protection, and the weakness of age and infancy was sustained by his bounty. I, who dreaded no evil but sickness, and expected no good beyond the reward of my labour, was singing at my work, when Almalic entered my dwelling. He looked round with a smile of complacency; perceiving that though it was mean, it was neat, and that though I was poor, I appeared to be content. As his habit was that of a pilgrim, I hastened to receive him with such hospitality as was in my power; and my cheerfulness was rather increased than restrained by his presence. After he had accepted some coffee, he asked me many questions; and though by my answers I always endeavoured

to excite him to mirth, yet I perceived that[19] he grew thoughtful, and eyed me with a placid but fixed attention. I suspected that he had some knowledge of me, and therefore inquired his country and his name. “Hassan,” said he, “I have raised thy curiosity, and it shall be satisfied: he who now talks with thee is Almalic, the sovereign of the faithful, whose seat is the throne of Medina, and whose commission is from above.” These words struck me dumb with astonishment, though I had some doubt of their truth: but Almalic, throwing back his garment, discovered the peculiarity of his vest, and put the royal signet upon his finger. I then started up, and was about to prostrate myself before him, but he prevented me: “Hassan,” said he, “forbear; thou art greater than I, and from thee I have at once derived humility and wisdom.” I answered, “Mock not thy servant, who is but as a worm before thee; life and death are in thy hand, and happiness and misery are the daughters of thy will.” “Hassan,” he replied, “I can no otherwise give life or happiness than by

not taking them away: thou art thyself beyond the reach of my bounty, and possessed of felicity[20] which I can neither communicate nor obtain.—My influence over others fills my bosom with perpetual solicitude and anxiety; and yet my influence over others extends only to their vices, whether I would reward or punish. By the bow-string, I can repress violence and fraud; and by the delegation of my power, I can transfer the insatiable wishes of avarice and ambition from one object to another; but with respect to virtue, I am impotent: if I could reward it, I would reward it in thee. Thou art content, and hast therefore neither avarice nor ambition: to exalt thee, would destroy the simplicity of thy life, and diminish that happiness which I have no power either to increase or continue.” He then rose up, and, commanding me not to disclose his secret, departed.

As soon as I recovered from the confusion and astonishment in which the Calif left me, I began to regret that my behaviour had intercepted his bounty; and accused of folly, that cheerfulness which was the concomitant of poverty and labour. I now repined at the obscurity of my station, which my former insensibility had perpetuated:[21] I neglected my labour, because I despised the reward; I spent the day in idleness, forming romantic projects to recover the advantages which I had lost; and at night, instead of losing myself in that sweet and refreshing sleep, from which I used to rise with new health, cheerfulness, and vigour, I dreamt of splendid habits and a numerous retinue, of gardens, palaces, eunuchs, and women, and waked only to regret the illusions that had vanished. My health was at length impaired by the inquietude of my mind; I sold all my moveables for subsistence: and reserved only a mattrass, upon which I sometimes lay from one night to another.

THE STORY OF OMAR. (CONCLUDED.)