WE British-born are certainly, of all the inhabitants of earth, the most highly-favoured children of heaven. Let us feel that we are so, not in pride, but in humility; let our gratitude be love, and our love sympathy with the character and genius of all our brethren of mankind, of whatever colour, and under every climate. Our character and genius, in this the most fortunate of all the Fortunate Isles, have grown great under the sacred shelter of Trees and Towers, planted or built by the holy hands of Liberty and Religion. The sun has not been suffered to hurt them by day, nor the moon by night, so tempered has been the spirit of our beautiful native sky even in its tempests. Wars have been among us, long and loud, and blood has flowed like water; but for intervals, neither short nor far between, have the regions assigned us by Providence, enjoyed the sunshine and the airs of peace-sunshine sometimes settling down as if it would endure for ever-airs often wandering in their joy, as if every spot they visited were itself a home fit for the very sweetest in a perpetual paradise. Renovation has been ever accompanying decay and out of death, and the ashes of death, have arisen, brighter and bolder, new forms of life. In the spirit of each succeeding age the good and wise have still felt there was much over which to mourn; but Hope never left our patriot-prophets; their gifted eyes, piercing the thickest gloom, saw "far off the coming shine" of some destined glory; and now, after all those alternations, and revolutions which darkened the weak-eyed and astounded the faint-hearted, who dare say that we are degenerate from the ancestors whom all the world called a heroic race-that our present is dimmed by their past-or deny that it gives promise of a still greater future? Imagination dead! You may as well say that all our oaks are doddered, and that not a

primrose now at peep of Spring shakes its yellow leaflets to gladden the fairies dancing round their Queen, in annual celebration of the melting of the last wreath of snow. This is an age of poetry, and therefore must take delight in poetry-let the strains it loves, whether of higher or of lower mood, come whencesoever they may-whether now first rising from isles shadowing the remotest seas of the sunset, or born long ago in the kingdoms of the Orient, but their music brought now over the waves to mingle with that of the sweet singers native to the West. Shall we not delight in the inspiration of genius that two thousand years ago won the ear of Asia, and charmed, with a sweet reflection of their own country's life, the hearts of the Hindus, whose whole history seems to us a kind of glimmering poetry, in which interesting realities are too often shrouded in elusive fancies, but which, in their Drama, shews how Fiction can embody and embalm Truth, and preserve it from decay, for ever lovely in all eyes that desire nothing lovelier than the lineaments of nature?

That there is a Hindu Drama, and a noble one, was hardly known in England till Professor H. Wilson published his Select Specimens ; and how few people in England even now know any thing more about it than what we shewed by extracts and analysis of the beautiful Romance of Vikrama and Urvasi, or the Hero and the Nymph? Many thousands must have been surprised to find so much of finest fancy and of purest feeling in a poetry which they had before supposed was all emptiness or inflation-like air-bubbles, bright perhaps with variegated colours, but breaking at a touch-or like ill-assorted bunches of gaudy and flaring flowers, fit only for the few hours of a holiday shew, faded and scentless ere nightfall, as so many weeds. They wondered to see how genius, in spite of the many

debasing superstitions which they thought had killed all genius, had there the happy and heaven-taught art to beautify nature-and that the Hindus have a Shakspeare in their Kalidasa-such a Shakspeare as was possible to humanity so existing-for as the people are so must be their poet his inspiration coming from communion between his heart and theirs and though we call it heavenly-and though in one sense it be even so-yet of verity born of earth.

That Drama was of the loves of an Apsara, or one of the Nymphs of Heaven, sentenced by a heavenly curse to become the consort of a mortal; that mortal was Sun-andMoon descended; his chariot could cleave the sky-instinct with spirit-like an eagle on the wing

and in his course Pururavas accompanied the Sun. But now we are on the soil of the common earth, in the light of common day," among the life of common creatures --and you will wonder to feel that you are yourself a Hindu. Yes, you are a Brahman-your name is Charudatta-and you are the hero-no great hero after all-of the Toycart. Nay, what is better-a man, and a good one-and fit to shew your face either by the Hoogley or the Ganges, the Tweed or the Thames. For on the banks of one and all-in spite of all jugglery-it is felt that "An honest man's the noblest work of God."

But who wrote the Drama with the magnificent name of the Toycart? A King. For hear the Manager in the Prelude. "There was a poet whose gait was that of an elephant, whose eyes resembled those of the chakora (the Greek partridge), whose countenance was like the full moon, and who was of stately person, amiable manners, and profound veracity; of the Kshetriya race, and distinguished by the appellation SuDRA; he was well versed in the Rig and the Sama Vedas, in mathematical sciences, in the elegant arts, and the management of elephants. By the favour of Siva he enjoyed eyes uninvaded by darkness, and beheld his son seated on the throne; after performing the exalted Aswamedha, (the emblematic sacrifice of a horse

-one of the most solemn rites of the Hindus in ancient times,) having attained the age of a hundred years and ten days, he entered the fatal fire. Violent was he in war, and ready to encounter with his single arm the elephant of his adversary; yet he was void of wrath; eminent among those skilled in the Vedas, and affluent in piety-a Prince was Sudra."

He wrote the Toy-cart; and when did he flourish? Some think about the end of the second century after Christ; the traditional chronology places him about a century before our era. But Professor Wilson rightly observes, that the place which the Mrichchakati holds in the dramatic literature of all nations will be thought matter of more interest by most readers than its antiquity or historical importance. That it is a curious and interesting picture of national manners, every one will readily admit; and it is not the less valuable in this respect, that it is free from all exterior influence or adulteration. It is a portrait purely Indian.

The Manager, in the Prelude, tells us that in Avanti lived a young Brahman of distinguished rank, but of exceeding poverty-by name Charudatta. Of his many excellences, a courtezan, Vasantasena by name, became enamoured; and the story of their loves is the subject of King Sudra's Drama, which will exhibit the infamy of wickedness, the villany of law, the efficacy of virtue, and the triumph of faithful love." What better ends can the legitimate drama have in view? And it is a legitimate drama, in Ten Acts, giving a picture of Hindu domestic life-its manners and its morals-in much different from ours, but exhibiting the power of the same passions, for good or for evil, and the authority of Conscience presiding over them all-and that, too, majestically, in the midst of the most trying and appalling miseries. The state of society represented is one, Mr Wilson says, "sufficiently advanced to be luxurious and corrupt, and is certainly very far from offering a flattering similitude, although not without some attractive features." There is meanness, baseness, cowardice, and cruelty; but generosity

too, honour, courage, and a forgiving spirit; and at the close, we cannot but feel that Sudra deserves to stand high among Royal authors—and that happy must have been the subjects of such a King. Gibbon, we think it was, who sneeringly said that 'twas not easy to believe that the wisdom of Solomon could have been possessed by one who was a Jew and a King. Sudra was a Hindu and a King, and lived in a palace; but of his own high heart he had learned the same wisdom, that " from heaven descended on the low-roof'd house of Socrates." He taught in the Toycart, that nothing was good but virtue. The character of Charudatta is throughout preserved in all he says, does, or suffers, and without the slightest tendency to exaggeration; the charm of the whole being a simple single-mindedness, and a trustful integrity which never for a moment is he in danger of let ting go, and which being in him religion, appears in worst extremities sublime. Environed with death and its most frightful accompaniments, opaniments he appears-Hindu as he

own poverty, and believes that he is despised; a natural mistake in the mind of a magnanimous man, who had once been munificent. For knowing that the source of his bounties had been dried up, and that the streams could flow no more, he doubted not, from his knowledge of the ingratitude of human nature, that the past would be forgotten, and contempt accumulate on the head of one once so rich and now so poor, For public opinion is shaken by such a change. Yet he is as far as may be from a misanthrope; and it is manifest that were he again wealthy, his hand would be as lavish as ever. He is very sensitive, but not in the least soured; and his strength of mind under all trials shews that misfortune had not taken away the props on which his character had been borne up, but merely the means of being in outward act what he still is in his own inward spirit—a man whose happiness lies in making others happy-and what higher happiness can there be either for Brahman or Christian on that side of the grave where all miseries grow rankly, and

almost of a Christian martyr. Whenever he appears, during the progress of the drama, all ranks of men, and all kinds of characters, do honour to his virtues; and his name is never once mentioned from beginning to end but with praise. Yet he is depressed by the consciousness of his 27- 21stnud dtlesy adi ta

ab.

scattered far and wide over the fairest fields where what we call joys are trying to grow-even by airs so soft and sweet, that one might well believe they were breathed from heaven!

Here is the Brahman:

(Sits down.)

ui

Health to you, may you

thus describes the profession of Vasantasena. "Why, you are quite out of character: the dwelling of a harlot is the free resort of youth; a courtezan is like a creeper that grows by the road-side-her person is an article for sale-her love a thing that money will buy, and her welcome is equally bestowed upon the amiable and disgusting. The sage and the idiot, the Brahman and the outcast, all bathe in the same stream, and the crow and the peacock perch upon the branches of the same creeper. The Brahman, the Kshetriya, the Vaisya, and all of every caste are ferried over in the same boat, and like the boat, the creeper, and the stream, the courtezan is equally accessible to all."

And is this the heroine of a moral drama? Even so-the heroine of the Toy-cart; and despicable a thing as you may think her, even from your eyes, before all the play is over, haply she may draw tears. To these brutal words she meekly replies, "What you say may be just-but believe me, merit alone, not brutal violence, inspires love.”

Maitreya, who is also a Brahman, the friend and companion of Charudatta, and the Vidushaka or Gracioso of the piece, (a character of mixed shrewdness and simplicity, with an affectionate disposition,) hesitates to go, alleging that the royal road is crowded with loose persons, with cut-throats, courtiers, and courtezans and that amongst such a set he will fare like the unhappy mouse that fell into the clutches of the snake, which was lying in ambush for the frog. Cries are heard behind the scenes, and Vasantasena appears, pursued by Samsthanaka, the king's brother-in-law, along with the Vita, or parasite companion and minister of his pleasures, and his servant. This Prince, an ignorant, frivolous, and cruel coxcomb," is enamoured of the beautiful Courtezan, and wooes her after a royal fashion. "I have called her," quoth he to the Vita, "the taper lash of that filcher of broad pieces, Kama; the blue-bottle, the figurante, the pug-nosed untameable shrew. I have termed her love's dining dish-the gulf of the poor man's substancethe walking frippery-the husseythe baggage-the wanton. I have addressed her by all these pretty names, and yet she will have nothing to say to me." The Vita, too, wastes his eloquence in vain. "You fly like the female crane that starts away from the sound of thunder. The trembling pendants in your ears toss agitated against your cheeks, and make such music as the lute to a master's touch. Believe me, you look like the guardian goddess of the city, as round your slender waist sparkles with starlike gems that tinkling zone and your countenance is pale with terror." The poor girl calls for her female attendants-"Pullava! Parapuria!" and the King's brother in-law, much alarmed, says to the Vita, "Eh! sir! sir! Men? men?" But on being assured that they are women-women-he heroically draws his sword, and exclaims, "Who is afraid-I am a hero-a match for a hundred of them--I would take them like Duhsasana, by the hair, and, as you shall see, with one touch of my well-sharpened sword, off goes your head." She implores mercy, and he answers, "You may live." The Vita again uses his arts, and

Vasantasena is a courtezan; but we are not, says the learned and enlightened Translator, "to understand by that name a female who disregarded the obligations of law or the lessons of virtue; but a character reared by the state of manners unfriendly to the admission of wedded females into society, and opening it only at the expense of reputation to women, who were trained for association with men, by personal and mental accomplishments to which the matron was a stranger. The Vesya of the Hindus was the Hetera of the Greeks. Without the talents of Aspasia, or the profligacy of Lais, Vasantasena is a gentle, affectionate being, who, with the conventions of society in her favour, unites, as the Hetera often did, accomplishments calculated to dazzle, with qualities of the heart, which raise her above the contempt that, in spite of all precaution, falls upon her situation.' The defective education of the virtuous portion of the sex, and their consequent uninteresting character, held out an inducement to the unprincipled masters both of Greek and Hindu society, to rear a class of females who should supply those wants which rendered