I make the truest observations and distinctions then when the will is yet wholly asleep, and mind works like a machine without friction. I was conscious of having in my sleep transcended the limits of the individual, and made observations and carried on conversations which in my waking hours I can neither recall nor appreciate. As if, in sleep, our individual fell into the infinite mind, and at the moment of awakening we found ourselves on the confines of the latter. On awakening, we resume our enterprise, take up our bodies, and become limited minds again. We meet and converse with those bodies which we have previously animated. There is a moment in the dawn when the darkness of the night is dissipated, and before the exhalations of the day begin to rise, when we see all things more truly than at any other time. The light is more trustworthy, since our senses are pure and the atmosphere is less gross. By afternoon, all objects are seen in mirage." All men are spiritualists in finer or coarser manners, as temperament and teaching dictate and determine,- the spiritual world revealing itself accordingly. Speculation has in all ages delighted itself in this preternatural realm from whence have risen the ghosts of realities too unsubstantial and fugitive for ordinary senses to apprehend. Whatever the facts, they receive interpretation according to the spirit and intelligence of the believer. The past is full of such prodigies and phenomena, for whose solution all learning, sacred and profane, is revived in its turn. It appears that like opinions have their rounds to run, like theories with their disciples, reappearing in all great crises of thought, and reaching a fuller solution at each succeeding period. A faith, were such possible, destitute of an element of preternaturalism, or of mysticism, pure or mixed, could not gain general acceptance. Some hold on the invisible connects the known with unknown, yet leaving the cupola to be divined. We define it on our lips when we pronounce the word Person, and so approach, as near as we may, to the "I Am" of things. Complete. "Unseen our spirits move, are such; So eager they to clasp, they feel, they touch; The distance that divides, confines their need." Copyright by Roberts Brothers 1888. The foregoing essays of Alcott are from "Concord Days,” by permission of Little, Brown & Co., successors to Roberts Brothers, Boston. WILLIAM ROUNSEVILLE ALGER (1822-) HE Introduction to the "Poetry of the East," published by William Rounseville Alger in 1856, made it possible for American readers to suspect in advance of the general circulation of Fitzgerald's translation of Omar Khayyam something of the extraordinary quality of Persian poetry. Fitzgerald's masterpiece, first published in 1859, did not achieve its greatest popularity until nearly twenty years later. As a poet, Fitzgerald is much Alger's superior, but those who think, as many have done, that they are more indebted to the modern Caucasian than to the Persian spirit for the distinctive quality of Fitzgerald's work will find material in Alger's versions of Persian lyric poetry for correcting their opinions. It shows insight which is rarely found in like measure in classical poets later than Homer, and, in spite of its extravagances, it is likely to do much for the poetry of the twentieth century, especially in redeeming it from the matter-of-fact quality of intellect incident to an age of criticism. Alger was born at Freetown, Massachusetts, December 30th, 1822. Besides his works on Oriental Poetry, he published "The Friendships of Women," etc. He was by profession a Unitarian clergyman. A THE LYRIC POETRY OF PERSIA S WE enter the realm of Persian lyric poetry, we approach the most intoxicating cordials and the daintiest viands anywhere furnished at the world banquet of literature. The eye is inebriate at the sight of ruby vases filled with honey, and crystal goblets brimmed with thick-purpled wine, and golden baskets full of sliced pomegranates. The flavor of nectarines, tamarinds, and figs is on the tongue. If we lean from the balcony for relief, a breeze comes wafted over acres of roses, and the air is full of the odor of cloves and precious gums, sandalwood and cedar, frankincense forests, and cinnamon groves. A Persian poet of rich genius, who wrote but little, being asked why he did not produce more, replied: "I intended, as soon as I should reach the rose trees, to fill my lap and bring presents for my companions; but when I arrived there the fragrance of the roses so intoxicated me that the skirt of my robe slipped from my hands.» The true Persian poet, as Mirza Schaffy declares, in his songs burns sun, moon, and stars as sacrifice on the altar of beauty. Every kiss the maidens plant on his lips springs up as a song in his mouth. One describes a battlefield looking as if the earth were covered over with crimson tulips. The evening star is a moth, and the moon a lamp. A devotee in a dream heard the cherubs in heaven softly singing the poetry of Saadi, and saying, "This couplet of Saadi is worth the hymns of angel worship for a whole year." Upon awakening he went to Saadi and found him reverently reciting the following lines: "To pious minds each verdant leaf displays A volume teeming with the Almighty's praise." The Persian seems born with a lyre in his hand and a song on his tongue. It is related of the celebrated poet, Abderrhaman, son of Hissân, that when an infant, being stung by a wasp, he ran to his father, crying in spontaneous verse: "Father, I have been stung by an insect I know not; but his breast With white and yellow spots is covered, like the border of my vest." The tones of the Persian harp are extremely tender and pathetic. They seem to sigh, Wherever sad Memory walks in the halls of the past, her step wakes the echoes of long-lost joys. They frequently accord with a strain like this: "I saw some handfuls of the rose in bloom, I said, 'What means this worthless grass, that it "Then wept the grass, and said: 'Be still! and know The kind their old associates ne'er forego. Mine is no beauty, hue, or fragrance, true! Among the epic poets of Persia, Firdousi is chief; among the romantic poets, Nisami; among the moral-didactic, Saadi; among the purely lyric, Hafiz; among the religious, Ferideddin Attar. In their respective provinces these indisputably and unapproached bear the palm. There are three objects as famous in Persian poetry as the Holy Grail in the legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. One is Jemschid's cup. This was a magic goblet with seven circling lines dividing it into seven compartments, corresponding to the seven worlds. Filling it with wine, Jemschid had only to look in it and behold all the events of the creation, past, present, and future: "It is that goblet round whose wondrous rim Firdousi has described Jemschid upon a certain occasion consulting this cup: "The vessel in his hand revolving shook, And earth's whole surface glimmered on his look: Nor less the secrets of the starry sphere, The what, and when, and how, depicted clear: All nature floated in the magic glass." Another is Solomon's signet ring. Such were the incredible virtues of this little talisman, that the touch of it exorcised all evil spirits, commanded the instant presence and services of the Genii, laid every secret bare, and gave its possessor almost unlimited powers of knowledge, dominion, and performance. The third is Iskander's mirror. By looking on this the future was revealed, unknown climes brought to view, and whatever its owner wished was made visible. By means of this glass, Alexander for the Oriental "Iskander" is no other-accomplished the expedition to Paradise, so celebrated in the mythic annals of the East. There is scarcely an end to the allusions and anecdotes referring to these three wondrous objects. Furthermore, there are five standard allegories of hapless love which the poets of Persia have wrought out in innumerable forms of passionate imagery and beauteous versification. The constant Nightingale loves the Rose, and when she perishes, his laments pain the evening air and fill grove and garden with heartbreaking melodies: "The bulbul wanders to and fro; His wing is weak, his note is low; No more sheds perfume on the air around: The bloom is past, and only left the stain. Where once amidst the blossoms was his nest, Thorns raise their daggers at his bleeding breast." The Lily loves the Sun, and opens the dazzling white of her bosom to his greeting smile as he rises; and when he sets, covers her face and droops her head, forlorn, all night. The Lotus loves the Moon; and soon as his silver light gilds the waters she lifts her snowy neck above the tide and sheds the perfume of her amorous breath over the waves, till shaming day ends her dalliance. The Ball loves the Bat, and still solicitingly returns, flying to meet him, however oft and cruelly repulsed and spurned. The Moth and the Taper are two fond lovers separated by the fierce flame. He draws her with resistless invitation: she flies with reckless resolve; the merciless flame devours her, and melts him away. From this rapid glance at the wealth of the Iranian bards, let us now turn, for a moment, to the Sufis. The circulating lifesap of Sufism is piety, its efflorescence is poetry, which it yields in spontaneous abundance of brilliant bloom. The Sufis are a sect, of comparatively modern origin, which sprouted from the trunk of Mohammedanism, where the mysticism of India was grafted into it, and was nourished in the passionate sluggishness of Eastern reverie by the soothing dreams and fanatic fires of that wondrous race and clime. They flourished chiefly in Persia, but rightfully claimed as virtual members of their sect the most distinguished religionists, philosophers, and poets of the whole Orient for thousands of years; because all these agreed with them in the fundamental principles of their system of thought, rules of life, and aims of aspiration. A detailed account of the Sufis may be found in Sir John Malcolm's "History of Persia,” and a good sketch of their dogmas is presented in Tholuck's "Sufism"; but the best exposition of their experience and literary expression is afforded by Tholuck's "Anthology from the Oriental Mystics.' The Sufis are a sect of meditative devotees, whose absorption in spiritual contemplations and hallowed raptures is unparalleled, whose piety penetrates to a depth where the mind gropingly staggers among the bottomless roots of being, in mazes of wonder and delight, and reaches to a height |