Some weeks later the _Bi-Monthly Review_ gave to the world, under the guarantee of the Rev. Wilfrid Gaspilton, some fragments of Persian verse, alleged to have been unearthed and translated by a nephew who was at present campaigning somewhere in the Tigris valley. The Rev. Wilfrid possessed a host of nephews, and it was of course, quite possible that one or more of them might be in military employ in Mesopotamia, though no one could call to mind any particular nephew who could have been suspected of being a Persian scholar. The verses were attributed to one Ghurab, a hunter, or, according to other accounts, warden of the royal fishponds, who lived, in some unspecified century, in the neighbourhood of Karmanshah. They breathed a spirit of comfortable, even-tempered satire and philosophy, disclosing a mockery that did not trouble to be bitter, a joy in life that was not passionate to the verge of being troublesome. “A Mouse that prayed for Allah’s aid Blasphemed when no such aid befell: A Cat, who feasted on that mouse, Thought Allah managed vastly well. Pray not for aid to One who made A set of never-changing Laws, But in your need remember well He gave you speed, or guile—or claws. Some laud a life of mild content: Content may fall, as well as Pride. The Frog who hugged his lowly Ditch Was much disgruntled when it dried. ‘You are not on the Road to Hell,’ You tell me with fanatic glee: Vain boaster, what shall that avail If Hell is on the road to thee? A Poet praised the Evening Star, Another praised the Parrot’s hue: A Merchant praised his merchandise, And he, at least, praised what he knew.” It was this verse which gave the critics and commentators some clue as to the probable date of the composition; the parrot, they reminded the public, was in high vogue as a type of elegance in the days of Hafiz of Shiraz; in the quatrains of Omar it makes no appearance. The next verse, it was pointed out, would apply to the political conditions of the present day as strikingly as to the region and era for which it was written— “A Sultan dreamed day-long of Peace, The while his Rivals’ armies grew: They changed his Day-dreams into sleep —The Peace, methinks, he never knew.” Woman appeared little, and wine not at all in the verse of the hunter-poet, but there was at least one contribution to the love-philosophy of the East— “O Moon-faced Charmer, and Star-drownèd Eyes, And cheeks of soft delight, exhaling musk, They tell me that thy charm will fade; ah well, The Rose itself grows hue-less in the Dusk.” Finally, there was a recognition of the Inevitable, a chill breath blowing across the poet’s comfortable estimate of life— “There is a sadness in each Dawn, A sadness that you cannot rede: The joyous Day brings in its train The Feast, the Loved One, and the Steed.