ri, deplored his fate in a beautiful poem, of
which this is one line: _I never saw a tree, before this, enabled to
sustain all that was generous._

Abu 'l-Hasan, on composing his elegy, copied it out and threw it into
one of the streets of Baghdad.

It fell into the hands of the literati, who passed it one to another,
till Adud Ad-Dawlat was at length informed of its existence. He caused
it to be recited in his presence, and, struck with admiration at its
beauty, he exclaimed: "O that I were the person crucified, not he! Let
the poet be brought to me!"

During a whole year strict search was made for the author, and the Sahib
Ibn Abbad who was then at Rai, being informed of the circumstance, wrote
out a letter of protection in favour of the poet. When Abu 'l-Hasan
heard of this, he went to the court of the Sahib and was asked by him if
it was he who had composed the verses. He replied in the affirmative, on
which the Sahib expressed the desire to hear them from his own mouth.
When Abu 'l-Hasan came to the verse, _I never saw a tree, before this,
enabled to sustain all that was generous_, the Sahib rose up and
embraced him, kissing him on the lips; he then sent him to Adud
Ad-Dawlat.

When he appeared before Adud Ad-Dawlat, that prince said to him: "What
motive could have induced thee to compose an elegy on the death of my
enemy?"

Abu 'l-Hasan replied: "Former obligations and favours granted long
since; my heart therefore overflowed with sorrow, and I lamented his
fate."

There were wax-lights burning, at the time, before the prince, and this
led him to say to the poet: "Canst thou recollect any verses on
wax-lights?" and to this the other replied by the following lines: _The
wax-lights, showing their ends tipped with fire, seemed like the fingers
of thy trembling foes, humbly stretched forth to implore thy mercy._

On hearing these verses, Adud Ad-Dawlat clothed him in a pelisse of
honour and bestowed on him a horse and a bag of money.

IX.--A WESTERN INTERLUDE

That beautiful phrase of the poet on his crucified hero--_I never saw a
tree, before this, enabled to sustain all that was generous_--has an
oddly close parallel, which I am tempted to record here: a phrase, not
less beautiful, used by a modern Frenchman, also of a dead man and a
tree. It occurs in a letter written by Francois Bonvin on the death of
his brother, Leon, the painter of flowers. Leon Bonvin's work is little
known and there is little of