In death, as in a life _sans peur et sans reproche_, ´Antarah was true to the chivalry of his race. There are many instances like this of the knightly courtesy of the Arab chief in ‘the Time of Ignorance.’ In the old days, as an ancient writer says, the true Arab had but one love, and her he loved till death, and she him. Even when polygamy became commoner, especially in the towns, it was not what is meant by polygamy in a modern Muslim state: it was rather the patriarchal system of Abram and Sarai. There is much in the fragments of the ancient poetry which reflects this fine spirit. It is ofttimes ‘tender and true,’ and even Islám could not wholly root out the real Arab sentiment, which reappears in Muslim times in the poems of Aboo-Firás. Especially valuable is the evidence of the old poetry with regard to the love of a father for his daughters. Infanticide, which is commonly attributed to the whole Arab nation of every age before Islám, was in reality exceedingly rare in the desert, and after almost dying out only revived about the time of Moḥammad. It was probably adopted by poor and weak clans, either from inability to support their children, or in order to protect themselves from the stain of having their children dishonoured by stronger tribes, and the occasional practice of this barbarous and suicidal custom affords no ground for assuming an unnatural hatred and contempt for girls among the ancient Arabs. These verses of a father to his daughter tell a different story:— If no Umeymeh were there, no want would trouble my soul, no labour call me to toil for bread through pitchiest night; What moves my longing to live is but that well do I know how low the fatherless lies, how hard the kindness of kin. I quake before loss of wealth lest lacking fall upon her, and leave her shieldless and bare as flesh set forth on a board. My life she prays for, and I from mere love pray for her death— yea death, the gentlest and kindest guest to visit a maid. I fear an uncle’s rebuke, a brother’s harshness for her; my chiefest end was to spare her heart the grief of a word. Once more, the following lines do not breathe the spirit of infanticide:— Fortune has brought me down (her wonted way) from station great and high to low estate; Fortune has rent away my plenteous store: of all my wealth, honour alone is left. Fortune has turned my joy to tears: how oft did Fortune make me laugh with what she gave! But for these girls, the Ḳaṭa’s downy brood, unkindly thrust from door to door as hard, Far would I roam and wide to seek my bread in earth that has no lack of breadth and length; Nay, but our children in our midst, what else but our hearts are they walking on the ground? If but the wind blow harsh on one of them, mine eye says no to slumber all night long.