The hearty life and realism of Sindbad are made to stand out in strong relief by the deep melancholy which pervades “The City of Brass” (vol. vi. 83), a dreadful book for a dreary day.  It is curious to compare the doleful verses (pp. 103, 105) with those spoken to Caliph Al-Mutawakkil by Abu al-Hasan Ali (A1-Mas’udi, vii. 246).  We then enter upon the venerable Sindibad-nameh, the Malice of Women (vol. vi. 122), of which, according to the Kitab al-Fihrist (vol. i. 305), there were two editions, a Sinzibad al-Kabir and a Sinzibad al-Saghir, the latter being probably an epitome of the former.  This bundle of legends, I have shown, was incorporated with the Nights as an editor’s addition; and as an independent work it has made the round of the world.

Space forbids any detailed notice of this choice collection of anecdotes for which a volume would be required.  I may, however, note that the “Wife’s device” (vol. vi. 152) has its analogues in the Katha (chapt. xiii.) in the Gesta Romanorum (No. xxviii.) and in Boccaccio (Day iii. 6 and Day vi. 8), modified by La Fontaine to Richard Minutolo (Contes lib. i. tale 2):  it is quoted almost in the words of The Nights by the Shaykh al-Nafzawi (p. 207).  That most witty and indecent tale The Three Wishes (vol. vi. 180) has forced its way disguised as a babe into our nurseries.  Another form of it is found in the Arab proverb “More luckless than Basus” (Kamus), a fair Israelite who persuaded her husband, also a Jew, to wish that she might become the loveliest of women.  Jehovah granted it, spitefully as Jupiter; the consequence was that her contumacious treatment of her mate made him pray that the beauty might be turned into a bitch; and the third wish restored her to her original state.

The Story of Judar (vol. vi. 207) is Egyptian, to judge from its local knowledge (pp. 217 and 254) together with its ignorance of Marocco (p. 223).  It shows a contrast, in which Arabs delight, of an almost angelical goodness and forgiveness with a well-nigh diabolical malignity, and we find the same extremes in Abu Sir the noble-minded Barber and the hideously inhuman Abu Kir.  The excursion to Mauritania is artfully managed and gives a novelty to the mise-en-scene.  Gharib and Ajib (vi. 207, vii. 91) belongs to the cycle of Antar and King Omar bin Nu’man:  its exaggerations make it a fine type of Oriental Chauvinism, pitting the superhuman virtues, valour, nobility and success of all that is Moslem, against the scum of the earth which is non-Moslem.  Like the exploits of Friar John of the Chopping-knives (Rabelais i. c. 27) it suggests ridicule cast on impossible battles and tales of giants, paynims and paladins.  The long romance is followed by thirteen historiettes all apparently historical:  compare “Hind, daughter of Al-Nu’man” (vol. viii. 7-145) and “Isaac of Mosul and the Devil” (vol. vii. 136-139) with Al Mas’udi v. 365 and vi. 340.  They end in two long detective-tales like those which M. Gaboriau has popularised, the Rogueries of Dalilah and the Adventures of Mercury Ali, based upon the principle, “One thief wots another.”  The former, who has appeared before (vol. ii. 329), seems to have been a noted character:  Al-Mas’udi says (viii. 175) “in a word this Shaykh (Al-’Ukab) outrivalled in his rogueries and the ingenuities of his wiles Dallah (Dalilah?) the Crafty and other tricksters and coney-catchers, ancient and modern.”