Among the sayings of other wise men (whose names, however, Saadi does not mention) are the following:  A devotee, who had quitted his monastery and become a member of a college, being asked what difference there is between a learned man and a religious man to induce him thus to change his associates, answered:  “The devotee saves his own blanket out of the waves, and the learned man endeavours to save others from drowning.”—­A young man complained to his spiritual guide of his studies being frequently interrupted by idle and impudent visitors, and desired to know by what means he might rid himself of the annoyance.  The sage replied:  “To such as are poor lend money, and of such as are rich ask money, and, depend upon it, you will never see one of them again.”

Saadi’s own aphorisms are not less striking and instructive.  They are indeed calculated to stimulate the faltering to manly exertion, and to counsel the inexperienced.  It is to youthful minds, however, that the “words of the wise” are more especially addressed; for it is during the spring-time of life that the seeds of good and evil take root; and so we find the sage Hebrew king frequently addressing his maxims to the young:  “My son,” is his formula, “my son, attend to my words, and bow thine ear to my understanding; that thou mayest regard discretion, and that thy lips may keep knowledge.”  And the “good and notable sentences” of Saadi are well worthy of being treasured by the young man on the threshold of life.  For example: 

“Life is snow, and the summer advanceth; only a small portion remaineth:  art thou still slothful?”

This warning has been reiterated by moralists in all ages and countries;—­the Great Teacher says:  “Work while it is day, for the night cometh when no man can work.”  And Saadi, in one of his sermons (which is found in another of his books), recounts this beautiful fable, in illustration of the fortunes of the slothful and the industrious: 

It is related that in a certain garden a Nightingale had built his nest on the bough of a rose-bush.  It so happened that a poor little Ant had fixed her dwelling at the root of this same bush, and managed as best she could to store her wretched hut of care with winter provision.  Day and night was the Nightingale fluttering round the rose-bower, and tuning the barbut[13] of his soul-deluding melody; indeed, whilst the Ant was night and day industriously occupied, the thousand-songed bird seemed fascinated with his own sweet voice, echoing amidst the trees.  The Nightingale was whispering his secret to the Rose,[14] and that, full-blown by the zephyr of the dawn, would ogle him in return.  The poor Ant could not help admiring the coquettish airs of the Rose, and the gay blandishments of the Nightingale, and incontinently remarking:  “Time alone can disclose what may be the end of this frivolity and talk!” After the flowery season of summer was gone, and the black time of winter was come, thorns took the station