One day, a very learned professor brought all his pupils to pay their respects to Jelāl.

On their way to him, the young men agreed together to put some questions to Jelāl on certain points of Arabic grammar, with the design of comparing his knowledge in that science with that of their professor, whom they looked upon as unequalled.

When they were seated, Jelāl addressed them on various fitting subjects for a while, and thereby paved the way for the following anecdote:—

“An ingenuous jurist was once travelling with an Arabic grammarian, and they chanced to come to a ruinous well.

“The jurist hereupon began to recite the text (of Qur'ān xxii. 44): ‘And of a ruined well.’

“The Arabic word for ‘well’ he pronounced ‘bīr,’ with the vowel long. To this the grammarian instantly objected, telling the jurist to pronounce that word with a short vowel and hiatus—bi'r, so as to be in accord with the requirements of classical purity.

“A dispute now arose between the two on the point. It lasted all the rest of the day, and well on into a pitchy dark night; every author being ransacked by them, page by page, each sustaining his own theory of the word. No conclusion was arrived at, and each disputant remained of his own opinion still.

“It so happened in the dark, that the grammarian slipped into the well, and fell to the bottom. There he set up a wail of entreaty: ‘O my most courteous fellow-traveller, lend thy help to extricate me from this most darksome pit.’

“The jurist at once expressed his most pleasurable willingness to lend him that help, with only one trifling condition—that he should confess himself in error, and consent to suppress the hiatus in the word ‘bi'r.’ The grammarian's answer was ‘Never.’ So in the well he remained.”

“Now,” said Jelāl, “to apply this to yourselves. Unless you will consent to cast out from your hearts the ‘hiatus’ of indecision and of self-love, you can never hope to escape from the noisome pit of self-worship,—the well of man's nature and of fleshly lusts. The dungeon of ‘Joseph's well’ in the human breast is this very ‘self-worship;’ and from it you will not escape, nor will you ever attain to those heavenly regions—‘the spacious land of God’” (Qur'ān iv. 99, xxix. 56, xxxix. 13).

On hearing these pregnant words, the whole assembly of undergraduates uncovered their heads, and with fervent zeal professed themselves his spiritual disciples.

There was a great and good governor (apparently) of Qonya, of the name of Mu'īnu-'d-Dīn, whose title was the Perwāna (moth or fly-wheel, viz., of the far-distant Mogul Emperor, resident at the court of the king). He was a great friend to the dervishes, to the learned, and to Jelāl, whose loving disciple he was.

One day, a company of the dervishes and learned men united in extolling the Perwāna to the skies, in Jelāl's presence. He assented to all they advanced in that respect, and added: “The Perwāna merits a hundredfold all your eulogiums. But there is another side to the question, which may be exemplified by the following anecdote:—

“A company of pilgrims were once proceeding towards Mekka, when the camel of one of the party fell down in the desert, totally exhausted. The camel could not be got to rise again. Its load was, therefore, transferred to another beast, the fallen brute was abandoned to its fate, and the caravan resumed its journey.

“Ere long the fallen camel was surrounded by a circle of ravenous wild beasts,—wolves, jackals, &c. But none of these ventured to attack him. The members of the caravan became aware of this singularity, and one of them went back to investigate the matter. He found that an amulet had been left suspended on the animal's neck; and this he removed. When he had retreated to a short distance, the hungry brutes fell upon the poor camel, and soon tore him piecemeal.”

“Now,” said Jelāl, “this world is in an exactly similar category with that poor camel. The learned of the world are the company of pilgrims, and our (Jelāl's) existence among them is the amulet suspended round the neck of the camel—the world. So long as we remain so sus­pended, the world will go on, the caravan will proceed. But so soon as the divine mandate shall be spoken: ‘O thou submissive spirit, come thou back to thy Lord, content and approved’ (Qur'ān lxxxix. 27-8), and we be removed from the neck of the world-camel, people will see how it shall fare with the world,—how its inhabitants shall be driven, —what shall become of its sultans, its doctors, its scribes.”

It is said that these words were spoken a short time before Jelāl's death. When he departed this life, not much time elapsed ere the Sultan, with many of his great men of learning and nobles, followed him to the grave, while troubles of all kinds overwhelmed the land for a season, until God again vouchsafed it peace.

During one of his expositions, Jelāl said: “Thou seest naught, save that thou seest God therein.”

A dervish came forward and raised the objection that the term “therein” indicated a receptacle, whereas it could not be predicated of God that He is comprehensible by any receptacle, as this would imply a contradiction in terms. Jelāl answered him as follows:—

“Had not that unimpeachable proposition been true, we had not proffered it. There is therein, forsooth, a contra­diction in terms; but it is a contradiction in time, so that the receptacle and the recepted may differ,—may be two distinct things; even as the universe of God's qualities is the receptacle of the universe of God's essence. But, these two universes are really one. The first of them is not He; the second of them is not other than He. Those, apparently, two things are in truth one and the same. How, then, is a contradiction in terms implied? God comprises the exterior and the interior. If we cannot say He is the interior, He will not include the interior. But He comprises all, and in Him all things have their being. He is, then, the receptacle also, comprising all existences, as the Qur'ān (xli. 54) says: ‘He comprises all things.’”

The dervish was convinced, bowed, and declared him­self a disciple.

Jelāl was one day seated in the shop of his great disciple the Goldbeater, Salāhu-'d-Dīn; and was surrounded by a circle of other disciples, listening to his discourse; when an old man came rushing in, beating his breast, and utter­ing loud lamentations. He entreated Jelāl to help him in his endeavours to recover his little son, a child seven years old, lost for several days past, in spite of every effort made to find him.

Jelāl expressed his disapprobation at the extreme importance the old man appeared to attach to his loss; and said: “Mankind in general have lost their God. Still, one does not hear that they go about in quest of Him, beating their breasts and making a great noise. What, then, has happened to thee so very particular, that thou makest all this fuss, and degradest thyself, an elder, by these symptoms of grief for the loss of a little child? Why seekest thou not for a time the Lord of the whole world, begging assistance of Him, that peradventure thy lost Joseph may be found, and thou be comforted, as was Jacob on the recovery of his child?”

The old man at once followed Jelāl's advice, and begged forgiveness of God. Just then, news was brought him there that his son had been found. Many who were wit­nesses of these circumstances became devoted followers of Jelāl.

Jelāl was one day lecturing, when a young man of dis­tinction came in, pushed his way, and took a seat higher up than an old man, one of the audience.

Jelāl at once remarked: “In days of yore it was the command of God, that, if any young man should take pre­cedence of an elder, the earth should at once swallow him up; such being the divine punishment for that offence. Now, however, I see that young men, barely out of leading-strings, show no respect for age, but trample over those in years. They have no dread of the earth's swallowing them up, nor any fear of being transformed into apes.* It happened, however, that one morning the Victorious Lion of God, 'Alī, son of Abū-Tālib, was hasting from his house to perform his devotions at dawn in the mosque of the Prophet. On his way, he overtook an old man, a Jew, who was going in the same direction. The future Caliph, out of innate nobility and politeness of nature, had respect for the Jew's age, and would not pass him, though the Jew's pace was slow. When 'Alī reached the mosque, the Prophet was already bowed down in his devotions, and was about to chant the ‘Gloria;’ but, by God's command, Gabriel came down, laid his hand on the Prophet's shoulder, and stopped him, lest 'Alī should lose the merit attaching to his being present at the opening of the dawn service; for it is more meritorious to perform that early service once, than to fulfil the devotions of a hundred years at other hours of the day. The Prophet has said: ‘The first act of reverence at dawn worship is of more value than the world and all that is therein.’

“When the Apostle of God had concluded his worship, offered up his customary prayers, and recited his usual lessons from the Qur'ān, he turned, and asked of Gabriel the occult cause of his interruption at that time. Gabriel replied that God had not seen fit that 'Alī should be deprived of the merit attaching to the performance of the first portion of the dawn worship, through the respect he had shown to the old Jew he had overtaken, but whom he would not pass.

“Now,” remarked Jelāl, “when a saint like 'Alī showed so much respect for a poor old misbelieving Jew, and when God viewed his respectful consideration in so highly favourable a manner, you may all infer how He will view any honour and veneration shown to an elderly saint of approved piety, whose beard has grown grey in the service of God, and whose companions are the elect of their Maker, whose chosen servant he is; and what reward He will mete out in consequence. For, in truth, glory and power belong to God, to the Apostle, and to the believers, as God hath Himself declared (Qur'ān lxiii. 8): ‘Unto God belongeth the power, and to the apostle, and to the believers.’

“If then,” added he, “ye wish to be prosperous in your affairs, take fast hold on the skirts of your spiritual elders. For, without the blessing of his pious elders, a young man will never live to be old, and will never attain the station of a spiritual elder.”

One day Jelāl took as his text the following words (Qur'ān xxxi. 18):—“Verily, the most discordant of all sounds is the voice of the asses.” He then put the question: “Do my friends know what this signifies?”

The congregation all bowed, and entreated him to expound it to them. Jelāl therefore proceeded:—

“All other brutes have a cry, a lesson, and a doxology, with which they commemorate their Maker and Provider. Such are, the yearning cry of the camel, the roar of the lion, the bleat of the gazelle, the buzz of the fly, the hum of the bee, &c.

“The angels in heaven, and the genii, have their doxologies also, even as man has his doxology—his Magnificat, and various forms of worship for his heart (or mind) and for his body.

“The poor ass, however, has nothing but his bray. He sounds this bray on two occasions only: when he desires his female, and when he feels hunger. He is the slave of his lust and of his gullet.

“In like manner, if man have not in his heart a doxology for God, a cry, and a love, together with a secret and a care in his mind, he is less than an ass in God's esteem; for He has said (Qur'ān vii. 178): ‘They are like the camels; nay, they are yet more erring.’” He then related the following anecdote:—

“In bygone days there was a monarch, who, by way of trial, requested another sovereign to send him three things, the worst of their several kinds that he could procure; namely, the worst article of food, the worst dispositioned thing, and the worst animal.

“The sovereign so applied to sent him some cheese, as the worst food; an Armenian slave, as the worst-disposi­tioned thing; and an ass, as the worst of animals. In the superscription to the epistle sent with these offerings, the sovereign quoted the verse of Scripture pointed out above.”