you my love. In

those days I was covered with pearls and fine muslin. Now I am mangled and covered with filth and blood. My hands, my feet, my nose, my ears have been struck off by the common executioner!"

The young man with great gentleness comforted poor Vâsavadatta in her agony. "Sister, it is not for my pleasure and happiness that I now draw near." And he pointed out the "true nature" of the charms that she mourned. He proved to her that they had proved torments and not joys, and if immodesty, and vanity, and greed, and the murderous instinct had been lopped away it was lucky. He then told her of the Tathâgata that he had seen walking upon this very earth, a Tathagata who specially loves the suffering.

His speech brought calm to the soul of Vâsavadatta. She died after having professed her faith in Buddha.1 She was carried by spirits to the penitential heavens of the Devaloca,

PARABLE OF THE BLAZING MANSION.

Once there was an old man, broken, decrepit, but very rich. He possessed much land and many gold pieces. Moreover, he possessed a large rambling mansion which also showed plain proofs of time's decay. Its rafters were worm-eaten; its pillars were rotten; its galleries were tumbling down; the thatch on its roof was dry and combustible. Inside this mansion were several hundreds of the old man's servants and retainers, so extensive was the collection of rambling old buildings.

Unfortunately this mansion possessed only one door. The old man was also the father of many childrenfive, ten, twenty, let us say. One day there was a smell of burning, and he ran out by the solitary door. To his horror he saw the thatch in a mass of flame, the rotten old pillars were catching fire one by one, the rafters were

1 Burnouf, Introduction, pp. 131, 132.

blazing like tinder.

Inside, his children, whom he loved most tenderly, were romping and amusing themselves with their toys.

The distracted father said to himself, "I will run in and save my children. I will seize them in my strong arms. I will bear them harmless through the falling rafters and the blazing beams!" Then the sad thought seized him that his children were romping and ignorant. “If I tell them that the house is on fire they will not understand me. If I try to seize them they will romp about and try to escape. Alas! not a moment is to be lost!”

Suddenly a bright thought flashed across the old man. "My children are ignorant," he mentally said, "but they love toys and glittering playthings. I will promise them some playthings of unheard-of beauty. Then they will listen to me!"

So the old man shouted out with a loud voice, " Children, children, come out of the house and see these beautiful toys. Chariots with white oxen, all gold and tinsel. See these exquisite little antelopes ! Whoever saw such goats as these! Children, children, come quickly or they will all be gone!"

Forth from the blazing ruin came the children in hot haste. The word "playthings" was almost the only word that they could understand. Then the fond father, in his great joy at seeing his offspring freed from peril, procured for them some of the most beautiful chariots ever seen. Each chariot had a canopy like a pagoda. It had tiny rails and balustrades and rows of jingling bells. It was formed of the seven precious substances. Chaplets of glittering pearls were hung aloft upon it; standards and wreaths of the most lovely flowers. Milk-white oxen drew these chariots. The children were astonished when they were placed inside.

The meaning of this parable is thus rendered in the "White Lotus of Dharma." The old man is Tathagata, and his children the blind suffering children of sin and

passion. Tathagata fondly loves them, and would save them from their unhappiness. The old rambling mansion, unsightly, rotten, perilous, is the domain of Kâma, the domain of appetite, the three great worlds of the visible cosmos. This old mansion is ablaze with the fire of mortal passions and hates and lusts. Tathagata in his "immense compassion" would lead all his beloved children away from this great peril, but they do not understand his language. Their only thought is of tinsel toys and childish pastimes. If he speaks to them of the great inner quickening which makes man conquer human pain, they cannot understand him. If he talks to them of wondrous supernatural gifts accorded to mortals, they turn a deaf ear to him. The tinsel chariots provided for the children of Tathâgata are the "greater" and "lesser" vehicles of the Buddhist teaching.

THE SERMON TO RÂHULA RESPECTING FALSEHOOD.

I have mentioned the extreme probability that of the seven sacred books recognised in the days of Asoka we possess two, namely, the "Song (or epic) of the Muni" (Munigâthâ), and "The Supernatural Powers of the Masters." In the "Lalita Vistara" and the "White Lotus of Dharma" we have these works, I think, although in a corrupted form. A third work, also mentioned in the Bhabra edict, has lately come to light; and this has been found, not in the vaunted ancient canon of Ceylon, but in China. I give this short work in extenso as translated by the invaluable Professor Beal.1

"In days of old, before Râhula had attained to supreme wisdom, his natural disposition being somewhat low and disorderly, his words were not always marked by love of truth. On one occasion Buddha had ordered him to go to the Kien-tai (Ghanda or Ghanta?) Vihâra, and there remain guarding his mouth (tongue) and governing his thoughts, at 1 Dhammapada, p. 142.

the same time diligently studying (or observing) the rules of conduct laid down in the scriptures. Râhula, having heard the command, made his obeisance and went. For ninety days he remained in deep shame and penitence. At length Buddha repaired to the place and showed himself. On seeing him, Râhula was filled with joy, and reverently bowed down and worshipped him. After this, Buddha having taken the seat provided for him, he desired Rahula to fill a water-basin with water and bring it to him and wash his feet. Having done so, and the washing being over, Buddha asked Râhula if the water so used was now fit for any purpose of domestic use (drinking, &c.); and on Râhula replying in the negative because the water was defiled with dust and dirt, Buddha added, And such is your case; for although you are my son and the grandchild of the king, although you have voluntarily given up everything to become a Shaman, nevertheless you are unable to guard your tongue from untruth and the defilement of loose conversation, and so you are like this defiled water-useful for no further purpose.' And again he asked him, after the water had been thrown away, whether the vessel was now fit for holding water to drink; to which Râhula replied, 'No, for the vessel is still defiled, and is known as an unclean thing, and therefore not used for any purpose such as that indicated.' To which Buddha again replied,' And such is your case. By not guarding your tongue, &c., you are known and recognised as unfit for any high purpose, although you profess to be a Shaman.' And then once more lifting the empty basin on to his foot, and whirling it round and round, he asked Râhula if he were not afraid lest it should fall and be broken; to which Râhula replied that he had no such fear, for the vessel was but a cheap and common one, and therefore its loss would be a matter of small moment. And such is your case,' again said Buddha; 'for though you are a Shaman, yet being unable to guard your mouth or your tongue, you are destined, as a small

and insignificant thing, to be whirled in the endless eddies of transmigration, an object of contempt to all the wise.' Râhula being filled with shame, Buddha addressed him once more. 'Listen, and I will speak to you a parable. There was in old time the king of a certain country, who had a large and very powerful elephant, able to overpower by its own strength five hundred smaller elephants. This king, being about to go to war with some rebellious dependency, brought forth the iron armour belonging to the elephant, and directed the master of the animal to put it on him, to wit, two sharp-pointed swords on his tusks, two iron hooks (scythes) on his ears, a crooked spear on each foot, an iron club (or ball) attached to his tail, and to accompany him were appointed nine soldiers as escort. Then the elephant-master rejoiced to see the creature thus equipped, and trained him above all things to keep his trunk well coiled up, knowing that an arrow piercing that in the midst must be fatal. But lo! in the middle of the battle the elephant, uncoiling his trunk, sought to seize a sword with it. On which the master was affrighted, and, in consultation with the king and his ministers, it was agreed that he should no more be brought into the battlefield.' In continuation Buddha said: 'Râhula! if men committing the nine faults only guard their tongue as this elephant was trained to guard his trunk, all would be well. Let them guard against the arrow that strikes in the middle! let them keep their mouth, lest they die, and fall into the misery of future births in the three evil paths!' And then he added these stanzas:

"I am like the fighting elephant without any fear of the middle arrow (the arrow wounding the middle part). By sincerity and truth I escape the unprincipled man (lawless man). Like the elephant, well subdued and quiet, permits the king to mount on his trunk (offers his trunk for the king to ascend), thus tamed is the reverend man; he also endures truthfully and in faith.'

"Râhula, hearing these words, was filled with sorrow for

M