Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul That not your tresspass, but my madness speaks.' He is by turns desponding and energetic. When alone, he seems to question the source of his information, and wonder whether he is not acting under the instigation of some dark and mysterious agency. When in the presence of his mother or the king, no doubt any longer lingers about his mind. The enormity of the crime alone impresses him; his speech becomes impassioned, and he grows impatient of delay; but his stormy zeal seems to vent itself in vigorous and violent language, and resolution dies the moment he is left alone. In speech, like all madmen of his mind and temperament, he is perfectly terrible, but in action as weak and unsteady as a child. There is method in his madness, and he appears to act with a preconceived design; but for all that there is a fickleness and irresolution about him, and a wildness that casts suspicion over his whole character, and leaves us at times in doubt whether we are listening to the insane ravings of a madman possessed of a strange and mysterious plot, or following the course of an injured prince who seeks redress of a wrong beyond the power of the law, and justice upon the head that wears the crown. We had intended to inquire somewhat carefully into the nature of insanity, the condition of mind, and real ability of the insane. But our limits on this occasion forbid us to do more than simply refer to the subject; and point out the fact that among the insane, there are but few, not more, perhaps, than one in a hundred, who are totally insane, so that a jury might with propriety pronounce them incapable of distinguishing between right and wrong. Most of those confined in our asylums are what we commonly call monomaniacs their insanity being connected with particular subjects. They are insane on religious questions, on money matters, love affairs, and schemes of speculation; from sickness, disease of the brain, loss of friends, and a thousand other causes, some of which we are acquainted with, while others escape observation. At present we confine our attention to the legal and moral responsibilities of the nsane. And here, if we mistake not, had no rule ever been adopted, and the ques tion were now for the first time presented whether the law should make any distinction in its treatment of the insane, between what is termed partial and total insanity, there would, we apprehend, be but one opinion. The impossibility of drawing the line between them, would alone be sufficient to demonstrate its impolicy, if not injustice. Besides, on a matter of so much moment and practical importance, a rule that is to be enforced, ought to be clearly drawn ; so that the distinction need not be left to the jury to make, according as their prejudices or the circumstances of the case may incline. The language of the law should be clear and definite, such as may not be misunderstood by judge or jury. As the rule now stands, the administration of it, is exceedingly difficult ; it is plain enough theoretically, but practically, infinitely difficult to be applied. The witness shows the conduct of the prisoner to be insane; the judge declares that if he be so insane as not to know what is right, he cannot be convicted of crime. Here the jury take the case with almost legislative powers, and set themselves to inquire about the prisoner's capacity to distinguish between good and evil—an inquiry where insanity is shown, involving difficulties to the jury and dangers to the citizen, to which neither should be subjected under wise and just laws. Now under the old principle, as laid down by the early writers, it is quite possible that the law be rigidly enforced while the most monstrous injustice is perpetrated; and this fact alone demonstrates the propriety of such an amendment as will forever render it impossible to commit so grievous a wrong in the sacred name of justice. Under the present decisions of our courts, they are understood to hold that an individual may be insane in respect to money affairs, and still capable of committing the crime of murder or arson; and so of all monomaniacs. On the immediate subject of their delusion, they are considered moral agents; on all others they are held to a strict accountability. The man I saw in the asylum at Utica, who considered himself the great financial agent of the state, controlling the operations of Wall street, and the slightest transactions in the market, coining gold and silver, and sending them forth as a convenient cur rency for the accommodation of communi- | hold that if a man be insane, the law ought ty-that man, under the legal rule, would to regard him as an infant, incapable of not, perhaps, be deemed capable of theft crime. It should not be a question or robbery. The particular nature of his whether he knows right from wrong, but delusion would render it impossible. Not whether he be sane or not. For if he be so in reference to other subjects. True, it is a monomaniac, he should not be punished, thought by some that such an unsound- even though a jury be able to say, upon ness destroys the idea of moral responsi- their oath, that he knew the act he perbility. The law, however, is more rigid formed was wrong. The association of and stoical; it holds there may be insani- ideas in the mind of the insane, is too subty and a moral sense still remaining in the tle for our comprehension, and the mysmind with a responsible judgment; and tery of his motive too profound for our makes the circumstances of each particular investigation. We assume to punish guilt, case determine whether the moral sense because we understand what constitutes be entirely destroyed, or only affected by crime in the case of a sane man; possessthe general unsoundness. If the indi-ing, as we do, his thoughts and feelings, vidual labor under a single delusion that will not yield to evidence, and remain otherwise sane; the philosophy of the law, as at present expounded, assumes that upon questions in which the delusive ideas are not necessarily involved, they will have no influence upon the mind. So that if there remain the bare knowledge of right and wrong, the person is capable of committing crime, no matter how strange and absurd may be the action of his passions. The man, Mr. Erskine, mentioned in the Hadfield trial, who believed himself the Christ, evidently could distingnish right and wrong. His standing His standing a severe crossexamination so long, baffling the utmost skill of counsel, as well as his complaints against the committee of his estate, showed his sense of justice, and that he appreciated, to some extent, his own rights and relations to others. But for all that, who would think of holding him capable of crime? He really believes himself the Saviour of mankind, and as such empowered to forgive sins. Shall such a man be punished for the dreamy speculations and uncertain action of a shattered intellect? It would be a monstrous doctrine to maintain, and still more monstrous to enforce. And yet, under the rule, the jury must either make the law what the justice of the case requires, and thereby liberally construe the oath they take, to render a verdict according to the evidence, into a general obligation to do what is right in the particular case; or they must find the unfortunate man guilty of a crime at which nature shudders. The true rule, it should seem, would with enough of his motives to enable us to pronounce upon his conduct. But in respect to the insane, who knows the operations of his mind, or what dark power reigns over him? Who can enter into his spirit, or explore the labyrinth of his inconceivable thoughts? Who can become so like him as to take upon himself the very feeling of insanity, and understand him as we understand each other? We are none of us able to do so. Would it not then be modest in us to waive a principle of law. implying such knowledge. In children we frequently discern (or think we do) a knowledge of right and wrong long before any man of sane judgment would think of holding them responsible for crime. The moral sense seems to grow with the faculties. It is at first feeble, its existence barely appearing to our observation. Gradually it becomes stronger, as the mind itself approaches the stature of manhood; so that the time when it assumes the guidance of conduct, and the child becomes capable of contracting guilt, is always doubtful and difficult to fix; depending, as it does, so directly upon the mental growth, the complete and harmonious development of each attribute and quality of mind. The moral sense-what is it indeed in any case but the simple judgment of a mind in which the intellect and sentiments unite in healthy activity ? As we speak of it sometimes, a stranger to the common phraseology would think us talking of some imaginary being above and beyond us; when, in reality, we mean to discuss simply the mind's capacity of feeling and acting rightly; a capacity depending equally upon the natural action of the passions, and the perfect use of reason., This is our reasoning when we speak of children; why should we not apply the same principles, and allow ourselves to be governed by an equal sense of justice when we come into the presence of reason-bereft and strangely afflicted children of misfortune. SADI, THE PERSIAN POET. The Persians have been called "les | highly poetic one. Naturally indolent and Français de l'Asie." They are certainly languid, he delights in passing his time in a curious medley of genius and passion, a dreamy contemplation of the beauties of spirit and flesh, especially when con- nature, but his penetrating, and refined insidered in a poetical point of view. The tellect requires something more than senimagination seems to attend not only to sual enjoyment. Fond of the marvellous, the embellishments required, but even to and a believer in superstition, he listens take unto itself the arrangement of more willingly to the legends of ancient days, and serious matters. When the fantastic little to the wild rehearsals of events which sprite mounts its own Pegasus and urges transpired in the land of the fairies and him on with all his speed of hoof and wing, the genii, even before the time when Ali we do not wonder so much at the exhibition. split the moon in halves with one stroke of But in Persian poetry it often seems as if his ponderous scimitar. Sentimental as the mischief-loving Fay bids Reason to take all indolent people are, he is found to be a nap for awhile, then mounts the heavy even tender and melancholy, ready to melt philosophic stock-horse, driving him over into tears at the recital of stories which ditch, and over hedge with a rapidity and his better reason informs him are merely glee quite unseemly in an animal of de- fictitious. His hot oriental blood will mure habits. The result of this is some- mount to his cheek, his bright dark eye times striking and happy originality, will flash at the recital of wrong and opsometimes bold and successful innovation pression, so that not only the reciter of the on travelled ground, and sometimes-as tale allows his feelings to become so strong the extremes of sublimity and flatness as to accompany his words with violent meet-decided rhodomontade, or ridicu- gestures, but even the listener clenches his lous puerility. Hence that constant veer- hand, strikes his breast, shakes his turing of the Persian Bards from licentious-baned head, or grasps impetuously the ness to the highest morality, from noble hilt of his sabre at the different stages of and graphic description to minute and mis- the soul-stirring narrative. placed levity, from thrilling, inimitable abruptness, to rambling and drowsy verbosity. Still, if we can forget the defects of Persian poetry for the sake of the beauties of which they are the vehicle, we often find in their writers passages unsurpassed even by the Bards of Greece and Rome. Arabic literature stands at the head of what the East has been able to produce, and Persian poetry absorbs the merit of all the families of the great Arabic idiom. The temperament of the Persian is a The extreme richness and variety of the Persian tongue, its wonderful flexibility, and peculiar softness was the effect and became an apt vehicle of these qualities, feelings, passions, and impulses of the "Children of the Sun." There is perhaps no oriental language to which a foreigner wholly unacquainted with it, can listen with so much pleasure, and with such a clear perception of its harmonious cadence, and sonorous rotundity, as to the Persian. We have often found ourselves delighted at the declamation of some extract from Ferdousi or Hafis, without understanding | green throughout the year. The folds of the meaning of a single word. This accounts in many instances for the free introduction of Persian names and words in English verses. We have all been delighted with the Peri, the Gul, and the Bulbul, before we knew what they were, and the ear as well as the eye is pleased with " Oman's green water," the "Bower of Roses by Bendemeer's Stream," and the enchanting valleys of Cashmere, Shiraz, and Chilminar. A rose by another name would not smell half so sweet-in poetic description at least-and in fact we doubt very much whether the above-named places would seem half so beautiful, although in fact, perhaps, they are just equal, if they were called Throg's Neck, Haverstraw, Tarry town, or Sleepy Hollow. Though enjoying the advantages derived from the intercourse with other nations of the East, the Persians are in many particulars distinguished from them, a fact which gives an original character to their literature. They had no sympathy for the ruder and grosser votaries of the Khoran, and had the greatest contempt for their ignorance and want of refinement. They hated the first Caliphs as the enemies of their country, and their successors they considered as foreign barbarians. They detested their chief law-givers as the murderers of the religious and generous Ali, avoiding their followers as schismatics and heretics, and refusing especially to participate in the ceremonies and rites of their worship. From these general remarks let us pass to say something in particular of Saadi, a fair specimen of the literary Per sians. Shiraz, the birth-place of our poet, is famed in history and song. Its name, says Chardin, derives from shir or sherab, one of which words signifies milk and the other wine. It is the metropolis of the Province of Farsistan, and is beautifully situated on the banks of the river Bendemeer. The climate of this gifted region is proverbial for its mildness and clearness. The city is surrounded by orchards laden with the choicest fruits, vineyards from which a wine is obtained, amous all over Persia, and meadows * Voyages en Perse, Tom. 2. p. 146. the neighborhood of Shiraz yield the best milk of the country. Extremely proud of the advantages possessed by their city, the inhabitants see a testimony of praise given to it by numerous foreigners, who flock there from all the commercial cities of Asia. According to the accurate German geographer, Hubbner, the ruins of Persepolis, the celebrated capital of ancient Persia, are yet to be seen in the vicinity of Shiraz, and the mouldering remains of its royal palace, destroyed at the instigation. of a woman, by Alexander, in a drunken fit, are still pointed out to the stranger. "Yon waste, where roaming lions howl, clime, soars sublime!" Ogilvie. Ode to Time. In this delightful region, hallowed by the memory of departed greatness, was born the author of the Gulistan, about the year 553, of the Hegira, A. D., 1175, in Christian parlance. He was called Meslahiddin, but his surname Sadi, "The Happy," or, as the Orientals call him, Scheick-Sadi, has outlived the other. Being of noble lineage he was, it appears, brought up and initiated in the literature of the country, at the court of Persia, and under no less a personage than Scheabeddin, "magni nominis Doctore," "a doctor of great name," as Guadagni somewhat equivocally entitles him. Scheick-Sadi was one of those dry old souls who seem to be most seriously inclined just at the very moment they are going to utter the oddest allusions. One of the subjects to which the old poet used to revert in after life, was the fact of his having been born under an unlucky star. Many sly things are said thereupon, and sundry cunning allusions made to his name Sadi, or, "The Happy," he contending, for the innocent diversion of the reader, that the surname was ill-applied, or ironical, that it should have been the unlucky, etc. etc. How could a true poet be otherwise than unhappy, or how could a man who had never been unhappy be a true poet? Leaving the reader to settle | bantering. Entering a public bath in one these questions, we will continue our narrative. In the brightest of his career, Sadi was obliged to abandon the court in consequence of a war between his country and the barbarous inhabitants of the Caspian coast. Sickened at the scenes of bloodshed which he was not unfrequently obliged to witness, and desiring a life of quiet retirement afar from all noisy and turbulent proceedings, he resolved to quit his native country, and increase his stock of knowledge by travelling. To pass along without being observed or questioned, and perhaps to solicit the aid of the rich more successfully, having lost his possessions from the asperity of the times, he disguised himself as a Dervish. In this garb he visited the principal cities of Asia, crossing wild and waste to examine the ruins of ancient towns and castles, and ponder over the brawling tendencies of mankind which had caused their destruction. We are not especially informed of the places visited by the Poet. Koempfer* relates that during his wanderings he touched the shores of Italy, and there acquired a knowledge of the Latin language understood by all educated persons and even spoken by the people, although corrupted by the Romanchio, or Provençal from which Italian and French were subsequently formed. We are even told that the author who pleased him most was Seneca. No doubt the indocile imagination of the Persian was fed by the "dulcia vitia" of the tumid Cordovan, and his serious contemplative turn of mind well met by his sententious wisdom. Certain it is that he studied deeply the Eastern languages, tracing them back to their origin with the exactness of a man of sci of the chief cities of the Levant, he met a certain Tabriz, a Persian, and popular poet of his day. Tabriz told Sadi, during their conversation, that he was from Tauris. To this the other replied, with some contempt, that he was a native of Shiraz. While bathing Sadi took off his turban, and showed his head, according to the custom of his people, perfectly bald. Tabriz, who wore long hair, lifting towards him the smooth, convex part of a drinkingcup, much used in the East, asked him why the heads of the Shirazians were such a perfect copy of the outside of that cup? Sadi, nothing discomposed at the sally, raised his cup, and, pointing to the bottom of it, asked Tabriz why the heads of the Taurisians were so much like the inside of it. Now, although the accusation of having an empty head is worse than that of having a bald one, this sharp answer caused no ill-feeling between them. They mutually disclosed their names, and were ever afterwards sincere friends. What great people those ancient poets were! Poor Sadi soon got into hot water much worse than that of the bath-room. He had reason to repent of his fondness for travel, and to repeat with Hassan, the camel-driver, in Collins' Oriental Eclogues, "Sad was the hour and luckless was the day, When first from Shiraz' walls I bent my way." He was extremely fond of roving over hill and dell, losing himself meanwhile in the mazy paths of his own boundless imagination. While indulging this vein one day, according to his wont, among the woody mountains of Palestine, the poet not only lost the thread of his subject, but in a most woful manner strayed from the path, and got completely bewildered in the windings of the forest. For a long time he rambled hither and thither in the hopes of meeting some habitation, or falling in with some human being. He was finally gratified in his latter wish, for he first heard the tramp of horses, and then discovered a small band of soldiers walking towards him. Great was his delight thereat, but how unspeakable was his surprise and dismay when he discovered them to be band of marauding Franks, who belonge to some strong-hold built upon those h |