of all their possessions by the use of loaded dice, and driven into the wilderness. A savage war ensued, resulting in the triumph of the Pândavas, and their elevation over the neighboring rajahs.

The great Hindoo epics are both enlivened by charming episodes. The most beautiful of those interwoven in the Mahâbhârata are called "the Five Precious Gems." Of these, the magnificent philosophical poem entitled THE DIVINE SONG withdraws the reader for a while from the tumult of war, and introduces him to a profound theological dialogue between a disguised god and one of the principal combatants. It inculcates the existence of one Immutable, Eternal Being, and teems with grand thoughts not unlike those we should expect from a Christian teacher. The immortality of the soul is thus sublimely set forth by the deity, on the eve of a decisive battle, for the purpose of removing the scruples of the chief, while the latter humanely hesitates to precipitate the conflict in view of the slaughter that would ensue :— "Ne'er was the time when I was not, nor thou, nor yonder kings of earth:

Hereafter, ne'er shall be the time, when one of us shall cease to be. The soul, within its mortal frame, glides on thro' childhood, youth,

and age;

Then in another form renewed, renews its stated course again.
All indestructible is He that spread the living universe;
And who is he that shall destroy the work of the Indestructible?
Corruptible these bodies are that wrap the everlasting soul—
The eternal, unimaginable soul. Whence on to battle, Bhârata!
For he that thinks to slay the soul, or he that thinks the soul is
slain,

Are fondly both alike deceived: it is not slain—it slayeth not;
It is not born-it doth not die; past, present, future knows it not;
Ancient, eternal, and unchanged, it dies not with the dying frame.
Who knows it incorruptible, and everlasting, and unborn,
What heeds he whether he may slay, or fall himself in battle slain?
As their old garments men cast off, anon new raiment to assume,
So casts the soul its worn-out frame, and takes at once another form.
The weapon cannot pierce it through, nor wastes it the consuming

fire;

The liquid waters melt it not, nor dries it up the parching wind;

EPIC POETRY.

Impenetrable and unburned; impermeable and undried;
Perpetual, ever-wandering, firm, indissoluble, permanent,
Invisible, unspeakable."-MILMAN.

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But of all the episodes, that of Nala (nul'ă) and Damayanti is unsurpassed for pathos and tenderness of sentiment. King Nala, enamored of the "softly-smiling" Damayanti, "pearl among women," finds his love returned, and is accepted by her in preference to many other princes and even four of the gods. A jealous demon, however, possesses him, and causes him to lose at play everything except his bride, whom he cannot be prevailed upon to stake. Yet at last, in his madness, he deserts her in the forest, and Damayanti, after many strange adventures, reaches her father's court in safety. There she adopts the device of inviting suitors a second time to propose for her hand, in the hope of bringing her lost husband to her side if he should hear that there was danger of his losing her forever.

Nala, meanwhile, disguised as a charioteer, had entered the service of another king, who now sets forth to offer himself to the beauteous princess, driven by her husband. When they arrive Damayanti penetrates the disguise of the charioteer, and to prove the correctness of her suspicions, puts him to the severest test. She contrives to have his children brought before him. The father's heart is touched at once;

he clasps them in his arms, and bursts into tears.

"Soon as he young Indrasena and her little brother saw,

Up he sprang, his arms wound round them, to his bosom folding both.

When he gazed upon the children, like the children of the gods, All his heart o'erflowed with pity, and unwilling tears brake forth."

Not wishing, however, to reveal himself to a wife whom he thought false, he added by way of apology for his conduct,

"Oh! so like my own twin children was yon lovely infant pair, Seeing them thus unexpected, have I broken out in tears."

Finally Nala makes himself known to Damayanti, and, convinced of her faithfulness, is reunited to her and regains his

crown.

Such are the Indian epics and their episodes. They need but a skilful hand to file away their superfluities and reset their choicest gems together in fitting chaplets, that the names of their authors, Vâlmiki and Vyâsa, may be as familiar and as highly honored as those of Homer and Virgil.

LYRIC AND DIDACTIC POETRY.

Kâlidâsa.—In lyric poetry, embracing idyls and amatory pieces, Sanscrit is no less rich than in epic, whether quantity or quality be considered. Foremost in this department is Kâlidâsa (kah'le-dah'să), about whose life, and even his exact period, nothing is certainly known, but whose works have crowned him with immortality. He is the author of many charming verses; and his poem, "the Seasons," which draws fascinating pictures of the luxuriant landscapes of India, displaying on every page the poet's ardent love for the beauties of nature, has the honor of being the first book ever printed in Sanscrit.

AUTUMN.

FROM KALIDASA'S SEASONS.

"Welcome Autumn, lovely bride,
Full of beauty, full of pride!
Hear her anklets' silver ring:
'Tis the swans that round her sing.

Mark the glory of her face:

'Tis the lotus lends its grace.

See the garb around her thrown;

Look and wonder at her zone.
Robes of maize her limbs enfold,
Girt with rice like shining gold.
Streams are white with silver wings
Of the swans that autumn brings.
Lakes are sweet with opening flowers;
Gardens, gay with jasmine bowers;

EXTRACT FROM KALIDÂSA'S SEASONS.

While the woods, to charm the sight,
Show their bloom of purest white.
Vainly might the fairest try

With the charms around to vie.
How can India's graceful daughter
Match that swan upon the water?
Fair her arching brow above,
Swimming eyes that melt with love:
But that charming brow can never
Beat that ripple on the river;
And those eyes must still confess
Lilies' rarer loveliness.

Perfect are those rounded arms,
Aided by the bracelets' charms:
Fairer still those branches are,
And those creepers, better far,
Ring them round with many a fold,
Lovelier than gems and gold.
Now no more doth Indra's Bow
In the evening sunlight glow,
Nor his flag, the lightning's glare,
Flash across the murky air.
Beauty too has left the trees,

Which but now were wont to please :
Other darlings claim her care,

And she pours her blossoms there.

Now beneath the moonlight sweet,
Many troops of maidens meet.
Many a pleasant tale they tell
Of the youths that love them well;
Of the word, the flush, the glance,
The kiss, the sigh, the dalliance.

Not a youth can wander when
Jasmine blossoms scent the glen,
While the notes of many a bird
From the garden shades are heard,
But his melting soul must feel
Sweetest longing o'er it steal.
Not a maid can brush away
Morning dew-drops from the spray,
But she feels a sweet unrest
Wooingly disturb her breast.
As the breezes fresh and cool
From the lilies on the pool,

Sweet with all the fragrance there,
Play, like lovers, with her hair."

GRIFFITH.

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Surpassing "the Seasons" in dignity and elegance, "the Cloud Messenger," by the same author, contains some fine flights of fancy. It tells how an inferior god, banished for twelve months to a sacred forest and thus separated from a wife whom he fondly loves, commits to a passing cloud a message for his goddess. He directs its imaginary journey through the sky, over forests and hills, to the city of the gods. There it will easily distinguish his wife, whom he paints to the cloud in glowing colors as the "first, best work of the Creator's hand," mourning over their separation.

"And sad and silent shalt thou find my wife,
Half of my soul and partner of my life;
Nipped by chill sorrow, as the flowers enfold
Their shrinking petals from the withering cold.
I view her now! Long weeping swells her eyes,
And those dear lips are dried by parching sighs.
Sad on her hand her pallid cheek declines,
And half unseen through veiling tresses shines;
As when a darkling night the moon enshrouds,

A few faint rays break straggling through the clouds."

He then intrusts the cloud with the tender words that he would breathe; bids it tell his beloved how he sees her in the rippling brooks, how

"O'er the rude stone her pictured beauties rise;"

and finally he charges his messenger to console her afflicted heart with assurances of his unabated love, and to hasten back with tidings that may relieve his soul of its anxiety. The cloud obeys; but meanwhile the supreme deity learns of the message, repents of his severity, restores the exile to his wife, and blesses the pair with ceaseless joy.

Kâlidâsa also wrote three epics of a romantic character, one of them on the adventures of Nala and his devoted Damayanti. Well does he merit the title conferred on him by his admiring countrymen,-" the Bridegroom of Poesy."

Jayadeva (ji-ă-dā'vă), a poet probably of more recent times,