The design is thus purely literary. The fifty "sessions" of Hariri, which are written in rhymed prose interspersed with poetry, contain oratorical, poetical, moral, encomiastic, and satirical discourses, which only the merest thread holds together. Each Makámah is a unit, and has no necessary connection with that which follows. The thread which so loosely binds them together is the delineation of the character of Abu Zeid, the hero, in his own words. He is one of those wandering minstrels and happy improvisers whom the favor of princes had turned into poetizing beggars. In each Makámah is related some ruse, by means of which Abu Zeid, because of his wonderful gift of speech, either persuades or forces those whom he meets to pay for his sustenance, and furnish the means for his debauches. Not the least of those thus ensnared is his great admirer, Háreth ibn Hammám, the narrator of the whole, who is none other than Hariri. Wearied at last with his life of travel, debauch, and deception, Abu Zeid retires to his native city and becomes an ascetic, thus to atone in a measure for his past sins. The whole might be called, not improperly, a tale, a novel. But the intention of the poet is to show forth the richness and variety of the Arabic language; and his own power over this great mass brings the descriptive-one might almost say the lexicographic-side too much to the front. A poem that can be read either backward or forward, or which contains all the words in the language beginning with a certain letter, may be a wonderful mosaic, but is nothing more. The merit of Hariri liès just in this: that working in such cramped quarters, with such intent and design continually guiding his pen, he has often really done more. He has produced rhymed prose and verses which are certainly elegant in diction and elevated in tone.

Such tales as these, told as an exercise of linguistic gymnastics, must not blind us to the presence of real tales, told for their own sake. Arabic literature has been very prolific in these. They lightened the graver subjects discussed in the tent,-philosophy, religion, and grammar,-and they furnished entertainment for the more boisterous assemblies in the coffee-houses and around the bowl. For the Arab is an inveterate story-teller; and in nearly all the prose that he writes, this character of the "teller" shimmers clearly through the work of the "writer." He is an elegant narrator. Not only does he intersperse verses and lines more frequently than our own taste would license: by nature, he easily falls into the half-hearted poetry of rhymed prose, for which the rich assonances of his language predispose. His own learning was further cultivated by his early contact with Persian literature; through which the fable and the wisdom of India spoken from the mouths of dumb animals reached him. In this more frivolous form of inculcating wisdom, the Prophet scented

danger to his strait-laced demands: "men who bring sportive legends, to lead astray from God's path without knowledge and to make a jest of it; for such is shameful woe," is written in the thirty-first Surah. In vain; for in hours of relaxation, such works as the 'Fables of Bidpai' (translated from the Persian in 750 by 'Abd Allah ibn Mukáffah), the 'Ten Viziers,' the Seven Wise Masters,' etc., proved to be food too palatable. Nor were the Arabs wanting in their own peculiar Romances,' influenced only in some portions of the setting by Persian ideas. Such were the Story of Saif ibn dhi Yázan,' the 'Tale of al-Zir,' the 'Romance of Dálhmah,' and especially the 'Romance of Antar' and the Thousand Nights and A Night.' The last two romances are excellent commentaries on Arab life, at its dawn and at its fullness, among the roving chiefs of the desert and the homes of revelry in Bagdad. As the rough-hewn poetry of Imr-alKais and Zuhéir is a clearer exponent of the real Arab mind, roving at its own suggestion, than the more perfect and softer lines of a Mutanábbi, so is the 'Romance of Antar' the full expression of real Arab hero-worship. And even in the cities of the Orient to-day, the loungers in their cups can never weary of following the exploits of this black son of the desert, who in his person unites the great virtues of his people, magnanimity and bravery, with the gift of poetic speech. Its tone is elevated; its coarseness has as its origin the outspokenness of unvarnished man; it does not peep through the thin veneer of licentious suggestiveness. It is never trivial, even in its long and wearisome descriptions, in its ever-recurring outbursts of love. Its language suits its thought: choice and educated, and not descending as in the Nights'-to the common expressions of ordinary speech. In this it resembles the 'Makamat' of Hariri, though much less artificial and more enjoyable. It is the Arabic romance of chivalry, and may not have been without influence on the spread of the romance of medieval Europe. For though its central figure is a hero of pre-Islamic times, it was put together by the learned philologian, al-'Asmái, in the days of Harun the Just, at the time when Charlemagne was ruling in Europe.

There exist in Arabic literature very few romances of the length of Antar. Though the Arab delights to hear and to recount tales, his tales are generally short and pithy. It is in this shorter form that he delights to inculcate principles of morality and norms of character. He is most adroit at repartee and at pungent replies. He has a way of stating principles which delights while it instructs. The anecdote is at home in the East: many a favor is gained, many a punishment averted, by a quick answer and a felicitously turned expression. Such anecdotes exist as popular traditions in very large numbers; and he receives much consideration whose mind is well

stocked with them. Collections of anecdotes have been put to writing from time to time. Those dealing with the early history of the caliphate are among the best prose that the Arabs have produced. For pure prose was never greatly cultivated. The literature dealing with their own history, or with the geography and culture of the nations with which they came in contact, is very large, and as a record of facts is most important. Ibn Hishám (died 767), Wákidi · (died 822), Tabari (838-923), Masudí (died 957), Ibn Athír (died 1233), Ibn Khaldún (died 1406), Makrísi (died 1442), Suyúti (died 1505), and Makkári (died 1631), are only a few of those who have given us large and comprehensive histories. Al-Birúni (died 1038), writer, mathematician, and traveler, has left us an account of the India of his day which has earned for him the title "Herodotus of India," though for careful observation and faithful presentation he stands far above the writer with whose name he is adorned. But nearly all of these historical writers are mere chronologists, dry and wearisome to the general reader. It is only in the Preface, or 'Exordium,' often the most elaborate part of the whole book viewed from a rhetorical standpoint, that they attempt to rise above mere incidents and strive after literary form. Besides the regard in which anecdotes are held, it is considered a mark of education to insert in one's speech as often as possible a familiar saying, a proverb, a bon mot. These are largely used in the moral addresses (Khútbah) made in the mosque or elsewhere, ― addresses which take on also the form of rhymed prose. A famous collection of such sayings is attributed to 'Ali, the fourth successor of Muhammad. In these the whole power of the Arab for subtle distinctions in matters of wordly wisdom, and the truly religious feeling of the East, are clearly manifested.

The propensity of the Arab mind for the tale and the anecdote | has had a wider influence in shaping the religious and legal development, of Muhammadanism than would appear at first sight. The 'Qur'an' might well suffice as a directive code for a small body of men whose daily life was simple, and whose organization was of the crudest kind. But even Muhammad in his own later days was called on to supplement the written word by the spoken, to interpret such parts of his "book" as were unintelligible, to reconcile conflicting statements, and to fit the older legislation to changed circumstances. As the religious head of the community, his dictum became law; and these logia of the Prophet were handed around and handed down as the unwritten law by which his lieutenants were to be guided, in matters not only religious, but also legal. For "law" to them was part and parcel of "religion." This "hadith" grew apace, until, in the third century of the Hijrah, it was put to writing. Nothing bears weight which has not the stamp of Muhammad's authority, as

reported by his near surroundings and his friends.

In such a mass of tradition, great care is taken to separate the chaff from the wheat. The chain of tradition (Isnád) must be given for each tradition, for each anecdote. But the "friends" of the Prophet are said to have numbered seven thousand five hundred, and it has not been easy to keep out fraud and deception. The subjects treated are most varied, sometimes even trivial, but dealing usually with recondite questions of law and morals. Three great collections of the 'Hadith' have been made by al-Buchári (869), Múslim (874), and al-Tirmídhi (892). The first two only are considered canonical. From these are derived the three great systems of jurisprudence which to this day hold good in the Muhammadan world.

The best presentations of Arabic literature have been made by Clément Huart, (A History of Arabic Literature) (London, 1903); Reynold A. Nicholson, (A Literary History of the Arabs) (London, 1907); Italo Pizzi, Letteratura Araba) (Milan, 1903) and Carl Brockelmann, (Geschichte der Arabischen Litteratur) (Leipzig, 1901). Translations of Arabic poetry into English have been published by E. H. Palmer, (The Poetical Works of Beha-ed-din Zobeir, Vol. ii. (Cambridge, 1877); W. A. Clouston, (Arabian Poetry) (Glasgow, 1881); C. J. Lyall, Translations of Ancient Arabic Poetry) (London, 1885); Henry Baerlein, (The Singing Caravan; Some Echoes of Arabic Poetry) (London, 1910); ib. (The Diwan of Abu'l-Ala) (London, 1908); Heinrich Schaefer, (The Songs of an Egyptian Peasant) (Leipzig, 1904). See also John Wortabet, (Arabian Wisdom) (London, 1907) and Claud Field, (Tales of the Caliphs) (New York, 1909).

A

DESCRIPTION OF A MOUNTAIN STORM

From the most celebrated of the Mu allakât,' that of Imr-al-Kais, The Wandering King': Translation of C. J. Lyall

FRIEND, see the lightning there! it flickered and now is gone,

as though flashed a pair of hands in the pillar of crowned

cloud.

Now, was it its blaze, or the lamps of a hermit that dwells alone, and pours o'er the twisted wicks the oil from his slender cruse? We sat there, my fellows and I, 'twixt Dárij and al-Udhaib,

and gazed as the distance gloomed, and waited its oncoming. The right of its mighty rain advanced over Katan's ridge; the left of its trailing skirt swept Yadhbul and as-Sitar: Then over Kutaifah's steep the flood of its onset drave,

and headlong before its storm the tall trees were borne to ground;

And the drift of its waters passed o'er the crags of al-Kanân, and drave forth the white-legged deer from the refuge they sought therein.

And Taimá-it left not there the stem of a palm aloft,

nor ever a tower, save ours, firm built on the living rock. And when first its misty shroud bore down upon Mount Thabîr, he stood like an ancient man in a gray-streaked mantle wrapt. The clouds cast their burdens down on the broad plain of al-Ghabit, as a trader from al-Yaman unfolds from the bales his store; And the topmost crest, on the morrow, of al-Mujaimir's cairn, was heaped with the flood-borne wrack, like wool on wound.

a distaff

FROM THE MU 'ALLAKAT OF ZUHÉIR

A lament for the desertion, through a war, of his former home and the haunts of his tribe: Translation of C. J. Lyall

I

A'

RE they of Umm Aufà's tents-these black lines that speak no word

in the stony plain of al-Mutathellam and al-Darraj?

Yea, and the place where his camp stood in ar-Rakmatan is now like the tracery drawn afresh by the veins of the inner wrist. The wild kine roam there large-eyed, and the deer pass to and fro, and their younglings rise up to suck from the spots where they

all lie round.

I stood there and gazed; since I saw it last twenty years had flown, and much I pondered thereon: hard was it to know again The black stones in order laid in the place where the pot was set,

and the trench like a cistern's root with its sides unbroken still. And when I knew it, at last, for his resting-place, I cried, "Good greeting to thee, O house! Fair peace in the morn to thee!"

Look forth, O friend! canst thou see aught of ladies, camel-borne, that journey along the upland there, above Jurthum well? Their litters are hung with precious stuffs, and their veils thereon cast loosely, their borders rose, as though they were dyed in blood.

Sideways they sat as their beasts clomb the ridge of as-Sûbân:

in them were the sweetness and grace of one nourished in wealth

and ease.