plays so distinguished a part. Here the manager is the chief personage; and the object is to announce the play about to be performed, and by this very inartificial contrivance to insinuate the plot into the boxes.' All these interludes are evidently modern, and have been prefixed to the more popular and celebrated plays on their revival; their authority is a point of great importance in the history of the Indian drama. The play before us is announced as the work of a celebrated King, Sudraka, who terminated a life of the highest political, literary, and religious distinction, by voluntarily entering the fatal fire,' like the Calanus and other Indian Sages, who excited the astonishment and admiration of the Greeks. According to one calculation, Sudraka lived one hundred and ninety-two years after the Christian æra, by another before it; but we must acknowledge that both dates appear to rest on but slender and unsatisfactory evidence; nor do we understand how Mr. Wilson reconciles his strongest argument for the antiquity of the Toy Cart,' the remarkable fact that the Budhist and Brahminical religions appear co-existing almost in amity, at least by no means in fierce and intolerant hostility, with the appearance of the same historical phenomenon in the Mádhava and Malatì, to which he assigns, on more solid grounds, the much later date, A. D. 720. If in the work attributed to king Sudraka, the Budhists, though denominated heretics, enjoy perfect toleration, and their monasteries appear to flourish under the royal protection, in the later play the virtues and the gentleness of the Budha priestess are strongly contrasted with the bloodthirsty and ferocious hierophants of the dark rites of the Sivaite superstition. Her intimate connexion with the hero and heroine shows clearly to which side the poet intended the interest of his audience to incline. Those who are aware of the great importance of throwing light on the relation of these two religions to each other, in every question of Indian history and antiquities, will excuse this short digression. Nothing has caused so much perplexity as the co-existence, at different periods, of the symbols of Budhism and Brahminism, in general thought to have been opposed to each other with implacable hostility, as for instance in the great cave temples, particularly those of Ellora. We will merely add, that the insurrection of a cowherd, and his dethronement of the ruling sovereign, is rather a singular incident to be celebrated by a royal poet.

But at whatever time, or by whatever poet it was written, this drama displays a very singular picture of Indian manners, and we must add, of Indian morals. The poets and novelists of polygamous countries certainly enjoy one inestimable privilege; when they have sufficiently excited our interest by the passion of two

' rival

'rival queens' for one hero, they have an easy way of extricating themselves from the embarrassment, by permitting him to marry both. So the Chinese novelist, in the very curious tale, the Two Cousins, translated by Mons. Rémusat, and reviewed in this journal a few years ago; and so in the present drama, the lawful wife, though she has actually prepared a suttee, in expectation of the death of her lord, submits, without remonstrance, and apparently without the least jealous reluctance, to her husband's additional union with the heroine of the piece. This heroine is neither more nor less than a courtezan, but no low or mercenary being; she is a wealthy and highly accomplished female, as Mr. Wilson observes, like the hetaira of the Greeks. Her passion for the hero is full of the deepest devotion and disinterestedness; it rests on her admiration of his noble and virtuous character, which, although he has sunk into the lowest state of poverty, commands universal respect; and for him she rejects the importunities of the king's brother. We fear that in our rapid sketch we shall scarcely give a clear notion of an extremely lively plot, full of quick and sudden turns, and even more busy and diversified, both in the incidents and characters which it brings forward, than most Spanish comedies. The scene opens with the lamentations of the gracioso, the friend of the Bramin Charudatta, at whose hospitable board he had been accustomed to feast, but who is now reduced to the utmost poverty. To Charudatta himself, the Brahmin, among the bitterest of the feelings excited by his humbled state, is the scantiness of his offerings to his household gods. Alas! how changed, the offerings to the gods, That swans and stately storks, in better times, About my threshold flocking, bore away;

Now a scant tribute to the insect tribe

Falls midst rank grass, by worms to be devoured.'

He laments his poverty, but in a fine, manly spirit :

'I do not, trust me, grieve for my lost wealth;
But that the guest no longer seeks the dwelling
Whence wealth has vanished, does, I own, afflict me.
Like the ungrateful bees, who wanton fly
The elephant's broad front when thick congeals
The dried up dew, they visit me no more.

'Tis true, I think not of my wasted fortunes.
As fate decrees, so riches come and vanish.
But I lament to find the love of friends
Hangs all unstrung, because a man is poor.
And then with poverty comes disrespect;
From disrespect does self-dependence fail;
Then scorn and sorrow, following, overwhelm

The

The intellect; and when the judgment fails,
The being perishes; and thus, from poverty,
Each ill that pains humanity proceeds.'

The next scene presents us with Vasantasenà, the courtesan pursued by the king's brother,—a character who rather reminds us of the queen's son, Cloten, in Cymbeline;' but Samsthanaka is a kind of literary coxcomb, and sadly misquotes the poets. He is attended by the Vità, a character which we have before described. While Vasantasena is struggling in vain to escape, the door of Charudatta's house opens, and the maid, Radanika, comes out. Vasantasena, in the dark, slips within the door, and the maid is seized by mistake, but she is rescued by the gracioso, who asserts with great spirit the Brahminical dignity, and the inviolability of his mansion; nor indeed does he treat the king's relative with much respect-a trait which strikingly exemplifies the sanctity of the Brahminical character. Even the Vità is struck with reverence by the virtues of the noble Brahmin.

VITA.-I am afraid. SAMSTHANAKA. Of what?

VIT. Of the eminent virtues of Charudatta.

SAMS.-Very eminent, indeed, when they cannot afford his visiters a dinner.

VIT. Never mind that; he has become impoverished by his liberality, like the lake in the summer, which is exhausted by relieving the thirst of the travellers. In his prosperity he was kind to all, and never treated any one with disrespect.

SAMS.-Who is this slave? the son of a slave? Is he a warrior? a hero? Is he Pandu? Swetaketu?-(And so the prince runs on through a whole list of mythological names.)

VIT.-No. I will tell you what he is. He is Charudatta, the tree of plenty to the poor, bowed down by its abundant fruit. He is the cherisher of the good, the mirror of the wise, a touchstone of piety, an ocean of decorum, the doer of good to all--of evil to none; a treasure of manly virtues-intelligent, liberal, and upright. In a word, he only is worthy of admiration. In the plenitude of his merits he may be said to live: other men merely breathe. So come, we had better depart.'

The scene within the house, between Charudatta and Vasantasena, is conducted with the utmost courtesy and propriety. The lady departs, leaving a valuable casket of jewels in the charge of the Brahmin. The two following acts open scenes of Indian low life: an adventure at the door of a gambling-house, and an act of burglary, executed with an ingenuity which might move the envy of some of the worthy opponents of the new police in our metropolis. Both, however, advance the progress of the story, by introducing characters which contribute to the denouement.

The

The thief, of course, steals the casket of the courtesan, and the gracioso is despatched to her dwelling (where the casket had already arrived by another course) to replace the loss by a valuable chain of jewels, cheerfully sacrificed by the Brahmin's wife, lest her husband's honour should be impeached. The description of the dwelling of this oriental Aspasia appears to us so curious that we shall give it at length.

'ATTENDANT.-This is the outer door, Sir.

MAITREYA. *—A very pretty entrance, indeed. The threshold is very neatly coloured, well swept and watered; the floor is beautified with strings of sweet flowers; the top of the gate is lofty, and gives one the pleasure of looking up to the clouds; whilst the jasmine festoon hangs tremblingly down, as if it were now hanging on the trunk of Indra's elephant. Over the door is a lofty arch of ivory; above it, again, wave flags, dyed with safflower, their fringes curling in the wind, like fingers that beckon me, Come hither. Ön either side the capitals of the door-posts support elegant crystal flower-pots, in which young mango-trees are springing up. The door-pannels are of gold, like the stout breast of a demon, stuck with studs of adamant. The whole cries "Away!" to a poor man; whilst its splendour catches the eye of the wisest.

ATT.

This leads to the first court.

Enter, Sir, enter. (They enter the first court.) MAIT.-Bless me! why here is a line of palaces as white as the moon, as the conch, as the stalk of the water-lily! The stucco has been laid on here by handfuls. Golden steps, embellished with various stones, lead to the upper apartments, where the crystal windows, festooned with pearls, and bright as the eyes of a moon-faced maid, look down upon Ujayin. The porter dozes on an easy chair, as stately as a Brahmin deep in the Vedas; and the very crows, crammed with rice and curds, disdain the fragments of the sacrifice, as if they were no more than scattered plaster. Proceed.

ATT.-This is the second court. Enter.

(They enter the second court.)

MAIT.-Oh! here are the stables. The carriage oxen are in good case, pampered with jawasa, I declare; and straw and oil-cakes are ready for them: their horns are bright with grease. Here we have a buffalo snorting indignantly, like a Brahmin of high caste whom somebody has affronted; here the ram stands to have his neck well rubbed, like a wrestler after a match; here they dress the manes of the horses; here is a monkey tied as fast as a thief; and here the mahauts (elephant drivers) are plying the elephants with balls of rice and ghee. Proceed.

ATT.-This, Sir, is the third gateway.

(They enter the third court.) MAIT.-Oh! this is the public court, where the young bucks of

* The gracioso-the friend and messenger of Charudatta.

Ujayin

Ujayin assemble: these are their seats, I suppose. The half-read book lies on the gaming-table, the men of which are made of jewels. Oh! yonder are some old libertines lounging about; they seem to have pictures in their hands, studying, I conclude, to improve their skill in the peace and war of love. What next?

ATT. This is the entrance to the fourth court. (They enter the fourth court.)

MAIT.-Oh, ho! this is a very gay scene. Here the drums, whilst beaten by taper fingers, emit, like clouds, a murmuring; there the cymbals, beating time, flash as they descend, like the unlucky stars that fall from heaven. The flute here breathes the soft hum of the bee; whilst here a damsel holds the vina in her lap, and frets its wires with her finger-nails, like some wild minx, that sets her mark on the face of her offending swain. Some damsels are singing, like so many bees intoxicated with flowery nectar; others are practising the graceful dance; and others are employed in reading plays and poems. The place is hung with water-jars, to catch the cooling breeze. What comes next?

ATT.-This is the gate of the fifth court.

(They enter the fifth court.)

MAIT.-Oh, how my mouth waters! what a savoury scent of oil and assafoetida! The kitchen sighs softly forth its fragrant and abundant smoke: the odours are delicious; they fill me with rapture. The butcher's boy is washing the skin of an animal just slain, like so much foul linen. The cook is surrounded with dishes; the sweetmeats are mixing; the cakes are baking. (Apart.) O that I could meet with some one to do me a friendly turn! one who would wash my feet, and say, "Eat, Sir, eat!" This is certainly Indra's heaven; the damsels are Apsarásas; the bandhulas are Gandharbhas........ ATT. This is the sixth entry.

(They enter.)

MAIT. The arched gateway is of gold and many coloured gems on a ground of sapphire, and looks like the bow of Indra on an azure sky. What is going forward here so busily? This is the jeweller's court; skilful artists are examining pearls, topazes, sapphires, emeralds, rubies, the lapis-lazuli, coral, and other jewels; some set rubies. in gold, some work gold ornaments on coloured thread, some string pearls, some grind the lapis-lazuli, some pierce shells, and some cut coral; there we have perfumers drying the saffron-bags, shaking the musk-bags, expressing the sandal-juice, and compounding essences. Whom have we here? fair damsels and their gallants, laughing, talking, chewing musk and betel, and drinking wine. Here are the male and female hangers on-men that neglected their own families, and spent their all upon the harlot, and are now glad to quaff the drainings of her wine-cup.

ATT.-This is the seventh court. Enter.

(They enter the seventh court.)

MAIT. This is the aviary; very handsome indeed-the doves bill

and