first it was assumed when the eldest son was born; when Bakr came into the world his father took the name of Abu Bakr, and acquired a new importance.  This was not by any means peculiar to the Arabs:  “O Queen,” says Das, a king of Indian folk-song, “O Queen, the name of childless has departed from me.”  When the Arab had no son, he used an honorific patronymic (such as Abu’l-Ala, father of excellence, or Abu’l-Feda, father of redemption).  At times this manufactured patronymic was a thing of mockery, more or less gentle (such as a companion of the Prophet who was fond of cats, and was entitled “father of the cat").  The prevalence among the Arabs of the patronymic is immediately noticed, (a camel is the father of Job; a strongly built person is the father of the locust; a licentious person is the father of the night; and there are multitudes of such formations). . . .  With regard to surnames, it was not the custom always for them to denote that so-and-so was the son of his father’s family.  “Who is your father?” says an Arab to the mule, and he replies, “The horse is my maternal uncle.”  So there are some people who, for shame, prefer that we should think of them as members of their mother’s family. . . .

The following additional quatrains may be quoted: 

  Unasking have we come,—­too late, too soon
    Unasking from this plot of earth are sent. 
    But we, the sons of noble discontent,
  Use half our lives in asking for the moon.

("We all sorely complain,” says Seneca, “of the shortness of time, and yet have much more than we know what to do with.  Our lives are either spent in doing nothing at all or in doing nothing to the purpose, or in doing nothing that we ought to do.  We are always complaining that our days are few, and acting as though there would be no end of them.”)

  So then your hand has guarded me!  Be blessed,
    And, if you like such reading, read, I pray,
    Through Moses’ book, or credit them who say
  That old Isaiah’s hand is far the best.

  Some day, some day the potter shall return
    Into the dust.  O potter, will you make
    An earth which I would not refuse to take,
  Or such unpleasant earth as you would spurn?

  Then out of that—­men swear with godly skill—­
    Perchance another potter may devise
    Another pot, a piece of merchandise
  Which they can love and break, if so they will.

  And from a resting-place you may be hurled
    And from a score of countries may be thrust—­
    Poor brother, you the freeman of the dust,
  Like any slave are flung about the world.