hast spoken truth; and the ode is thine without doubt.  I have never heard it before.  Produce, therefore, what it is written upon, and I will give thee its weight in money, as I have promised.”  “Wilt thou,” said the poet, “send one of the attendants to carry it?” “To carry what?” demanded the king.  “Is it not upon a paper in thy possession?” “No, O our lord the khalif.  At the time I composed it I could not procure a piece of paper on which to write it, and could find nothing but a fragment of a marble column left me by my father; so I engraved it upon that, and it lies in the courtyard of the palace.”  He had brought it, wrapped up, on the back of a camel.  The king, to fulfil his promise, was obliged to exhaust his treasury; and, to prevent a repetition of this trick, in future rewarded poets according to the custom of kings.

* * * * *

Apropos of royal gifts to poets, it is related that, when the Afghans had possession of Persia, a rude chief of that nation was governor of Shiraz.  A poet composed a panegyric on his wisdom, his valour, and his virtues.  As he was taking it to the palace he was met by a friend at the outer gate, who inquired where he was going, and he informed him of his purpose.  His friend asked him if he was insane, to offer an ode to a barbarian who hardly understood a word of the Persian language.  “All that you say may be very true,” said the poor poet, “but I am starving, and have no means of livelihood but by making verses.  I must, therefore, proceed.”  He went and stood before the governor with his ode in his hand.  “Who is that fellow?” said the Afghan lord.  “And what is that paper which he holds?” “I am a poet,” answered the man, “and this paper contains some poetry.”  “What is the use of poetry?” demanded the governor.  “To render great men like you immortal,” he replied, making at the same time a profound bow.  “Let us hear some of it.”  The poet, on this mandate, began reading his composition aloud, but he had not finished the second stanza when he was interrupted.  “Enough!” exclaimed the governor; “I understand it all.  Give the poor man some money—­that is what he wants.”  As the poet retired he met his friend, who again commented on the folly of carrying odes to a man who did not understand one of them.  “Not understand!” he replied.  “You are quite mistaken.  He has beyond all men the quickest apprehension of a poet’s meaning!”

The khalifs were frequently lavish of their gifts to poets, but they were fond of having their little jokes with them when in merry mood.  One day the Arabian poet Thalebi read before the khalif Al-Mansur a poem which he had just composed, and it found acceptance.  The khalif said:  “O Thalebi, which wouldst thou rather have—­that I give thee 300 gold dinars [about L150], or three wise sayings, each worth 100 dinars?” The poet replied:  “Learning, O Commander of the Faithful, is better than transitory treasure.”  “Well, then,” said