fox; so exert thy industry that thou mayst abound like the lion, for why shouldst thou put up with leavings like the fox?" God thus bestows his bounty on that his chosen servant, whose life becomes the medium of his fellow-creature's well being.

In the Annowari Sohaili, or Persian copy of Bidpai's fables, this story is told of a falcon and rook; and in No. 38. of the Adventurer, Dr. Hawkesworth has turned this falcon into an eagle, and joined to it, not very naturally, Sadi's fox; yet I know not through what channel he reached them, but the doctor is original, and most happy in all his oriental apo❤ logues.

In the beautiful language of our scriptures, life is often termed a pilgrimage; and we that are passing through it are called strangers and sojourners on this earth. In Risallah II. sermon 4. Sadi tells us, "That Noah, at the age of twelve hundred, was asked how he who was the oldest of the prophets, had found this world?' He replied, like a house with two doors, at one of which I entered, and shall soon leave it by the other.'

·

"Like pilgrims to th' appointed place we tend,
The world's an inn, and death's our journey's end."

In No. 289. of the Spectator, that Raphael, as Johnson styles him, of essay writing, (Addison,) has, through Sir John Chardin, copied, with his usual taste and judgment, the following parable of Sadi on the instability of this life. Risallah II. sermon 4.

One day Ibrahim Idham, King of Balkh, was sitting in the porch of his palace, with all his ministers and retinue standing by him in attendance, when behold! a poor dervis, with a patched cloak, a scrip, and a staff, presented itself, and was making his way into Ibrahim's palace. The servants called to him, and said, " reverend Sir! whither art thou going?" He answered them, "I am going into this inn." They said, "this is the palace of the king of Balkh." The king desired they would allow him to approach, when he observed, "O dervis! this is my palace, and no inn." The dervis asked him, "O Ibrahim! whose house was this originally?" replied, "the house of my grandfather." And when he departed this life, whose house was it?" "My father's." "And when thy father died, whose did it become?" "It became mine." "And when thou also art gone, to whom will it belong?" "To the prince, my son." The dervis now said, "O Ibraham! a house which one man is after this manner

He

entering, and another quitting, may be an inn, but is no palace or fixed habitation for prince, or common man."

"Ev'n kings but act their parts; and when they've done,
Some other, worse or better, mount their throne."

In No. 293. of the Spectator, Addison has again, through Chardin, Itin. Persic. Vol. III. 189. 4to. Amst. enriched his vernacular language, by copying the following parable on humility, from Sadi's Bustan IV. 2. It is understood in the East, that the pearl is originally formed in the oyster, from a drop of rain water having previously been caught by that animal. Conformably with this idea :—

"As a solitary drop of water was falling from the sky, it blushed when it came to see the huge extent of the sea, saying to itself, where this ocean is, what place is left for me; if that immense body of water be present, my God! what an inconsiderable atom of matter am I?' Whilst it was thus reviewing itself with an eye of humility, an oyster took it into its shell, and nourished it with its whole soul; fortune raised it soon into an exalted station, for it ripened into a precious pearl, and became the chief jewel in the imperial crown of Persia."

The luxurious frequenters of an Eastern public bath can, in their loitering idleness, draw Satan with cloven feet, horns, and other features as hideous as the devil of our nurseries. Yet, like Milton's, Sadi's Satan was really handsome.

"He above the rest,

In shape and stature, proudly eminent,

Stood like a tower: his form had yet not lost
All her original brightness, nor appeared
Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess
Of glory obscur'd."

In Bustan I. 6. Sadi says, "I know not where I read it in a book, that a person saw the devil in a dream ; he had the stature of a cypress, and the eyes of a huri of Paradise, and his face was like the sun encircled with rays of glory. He gently went up to him, and said, can this possibly be you; never did any angel appear more handsome or lovely? Why should mankind make your deformity proverbial throughout the world, while you can show them this face, which is splendid as a full moon? Why, in the palace of our sovereign the king, has the painter given you a distorted, ugly, and forbidding visage? They recognise your face with horror and disgust, and represent you on the walls of the public baths hideous to common decency.' The ill-omened demon listened to these

words, and replied to them in a vexed and exulting tone of voice, saying, My well disposed friend! that is no likeness of me, for the pencil that drew it was held in the hand of an enemy. I routed mankind of old forth from Paradise, therefore, in despite, they now paint me so ugly.''

DESCRIPTION OF THE TOMB OF HAFIZ, THE PERSIAN POET,

NEAR SHIRAZ.

OUT of the high road, which is fifty feet broad and very even; and following a smaller path on the right is the Hafizeea, or the tomb of Hafiz, the most favourite of Persian poets. This monument also, in its present state at least, is the work of Kerim Khan. It is placed in the court of a pleasure-house, which marks the spot frequented by the poet. The building extends across an enclosure: so that the front of it which looks towards the city, has a small court before it, and the back has another. In the centre is an open vestibule supported by four marble columns, opening on each side into neat apartments. The tomb of Hafiz is placed in the back court, at the foot of one of the cypress trees, which he planted with his own hands. It is a parallelogram with a projecting base, and its superficies is carved in the most exquisite manner. One of the Odes of the Poet is engraved upon it, and the artist has succeeded so well, that the letters seem rather to have been formed with the finest pen than sculptured by a hard chisel. The whole is of the diaphanous marble of Tabriz, in colour a combination of light greens, with here and there veins of red, and sometimes of blue. Some of the cypresses are very large, but Aga Besheer, the present chief of the queen's eunuchs, who happened to require timber for a building, cut down two of the most magnificent trees. This is a place of great resort for the Persians, who go there to smoke kaleoons, drink coffee, and recite verses.

How different are the feelings of nations on the spectacle and paraphernalia of death!-To resort to a tomb for pastime and amusement would be thought a strange habit in the citizens of London, yet it appears that such is the habit of the citizens of Shiraz. The tombs of many eminent persons of the Eastern nations are placed in gardens; and where the nature of the ground did not afford such enjoyments, plantations around the tomb brought them to the spot. Groves sacred to meditation might certainly be formed by this manage

ment; or, perhaps, the rapidity with which flowers arrive to maturity and fade, might afford instructive objects of comparison and contemplation. Among ourselves, the flowers strewed on graves, the garlands hung up at church over the vacant seat of a young person prematurely snatched away, are memorials frail and fading, but expressive. In counties remote from the metropolis, as in Wales, it is customary to plant around graves, shrubs and flowers, to renew them annually, and to cut away nettles or weeds, if they have dared to profane the spot. But none of these recollections approaches in the least towards the customs of the Persians, or contributes to vindicate the resort of the inhabitants of Shiraz to the groves, the garden, and the tomb of Hafiz, for the purpose of smoking kaleoons, drinking coffee, and reciting verses.

COOKE THE TRAGEDIAN.

[An interesting and amusing life of this celebrated personage has just made its appearance, written by W. DUNLAP, Esq. The late period at which we received it, permits us to make but scanty extracts.]

On Wednesday the twenty-first of November, he made his first appearance on the American stage, in the character of Richard the third.

The throng at the avenues was unexampled; the press violent and dangerous; many, in the confusion, without wishing it, were forced through the doors, and no payments received for them. Many ladies were taken round to the back door of the theatre, in Theatre Alley, and introduced to the boxes from behind the curtain. The confusion was very great, but it was caused principally by a want of foresight; the inconvenience of the entrance to the boxes never having been made manifest before by any great press upon the house.

On Mr. Cooke's appearance this evening, the burst of welcome was such as may be imagined to come from 2,200 people assembled to greet him with the warmest expression of their satisfaction on his arrival. He entered on the right hand of the audience, and with a dignified, erect deportment walked to the centre of the stage amidst their plaudits. appearance was picturesque, and proudly noble; his head elevated, his step firm, his eye beaming fire. I saw no vestige of the venerable gray-haired old gentleman I had been introduced to at the Coffee-House; and the utmost effort of ima

His

gination could not have reconciled the figure I now saw with that of imbecility and intemperance.

He returned the salutes of the audience, not as a player to the public on whom he depended, but as a victorious prince, acknowledging the acclamations of the populace on his return from a successful campaign-as Richard Duke of Gloster, the most valiant branch of the triumphant house of York. When he spoke

"Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by the sun of York,
And all the clouds that lowered upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried;

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our stern alarums," &c.

the high key in which he pitched his voice, and its sharp and rather grating tones, caused a sensation of disappointment in some, and a fear in others, that such tones could not be modulated to the various cadences of nature, or such a voice have compass for the varied expression of harmonious diction and distracting passion, which the characters of Shakspeare require; but disappointment and fear vanished, and conviction and admiration succeeded, and increased to the dropping of the curtain; when reiterated plaudits expressed the fulness with which expectation had been realized, and taste and feeling gratified.

Previous to his going on, Mr. Cooke's agitation was extreme. He trembled like an untried candidate who had never faced an audience; and he has afterwards said, feelingly, that the idea of appearing before a new people, and in a new world, at his advanced time of life, agitated him even more than his first appearance before that London audience which was to decide his fate.

There were on this occasion received, eighteen hundred and twenty dollars. The amount would have been more, but for the confusion before mentioned. There were 1,358 persons accounted for in the boxes.

The following short memoir, written by Mr. Cooke soon after his arrival, evinces the impression made upon him by his reception in the new world.

"On Wednesday evening I made my appearance before the New-York audience, and was received in the most warm and flattering manner. My applause throughout the play, and at the conclusion, exceeded my utmost expectations. It was said to be the greatest house ever known in America. It was a resemblance of the audiences at Drury Lane, when Mrs. Siddons first appeared there, many hundreds being unable to