And so they parted. In the minster's aisle Thus fades away the altar-lamp's red light, It first grows dim, then flickers forth a while, Once more 'tis clear, then all is dark, dark night.

So died their love, lamented first with tears, With longing sighed for back, and thenforgot,

Until the past but as a dream appears,

A dream of love, where love was not.

Yet oft by moonlight from their couch they rose,

Moist with the tears that mourned their

wretched lot,

Still on their cheeks the burning drops repose; They had been dreaming both--I know not what.

They thought then of the blissful times long past,

And of her doubts, their broken plighted troth,

The gulf between them now, so deep, so vast, O God, forgive, forgive them both!

Translated by A. BASKERVILLE.

SCOTT'S GREETING TO BURNS. (The three Statues of Burns, Shakespeare, and Scott are near together in Central Park.) [Wallace Bruce was born in Hillsdale, Columbia county, N. Y., about 1844. He prepared for college at the Hudson River Institute, Claverack, N. Y., and graduated at Yale College in 1867, where he distinguished himself alike in scholarship and literature; was elected editor of the Yale Literary Magazine by the largest vote recorded in the fifty years' history of that publication; studied law with the late William A. Beach; went to Europe in 1870; was in Paris during the stormy season of the Franco-Prussian war; returned home, and adopted literature and lecturing as his life work. Whatever he does he does well. The first poem which gave him national prominence was "Parson Allen's Ride," delivered at the Bennington Centennial in 1875. In 1878 he published "The Land of Burns; made a lecture trip to California in 1879; published his poem, "The Yosemite," in 1880; "The Hudson," in 1882; the Newburgh Centennial poem, "The Long Drama," in 1883; "From the Hudson to the Yosemite," in 1884. He has in hand two other works, which, with his regular lectures, at an average of five nights a week, fills full to overflowing a busy life. He has made his way to the very front of the lecture platform without sensation, and has won his position by his qualifications

as an orator and a genial man of letters. His poetry and oratory are both full of the sunshine and enthusiasm of his nature.]

SCENE.-Central Park, New York, 1880.
We greet you, Robie, here to-night,
Beneath these stars so pure and bright;
We greet you, poet, come at last
With "Will" and me your lot to cast.

We've talked about you many a day,
And wondered when you'd be this way.
Reach out your hand, and gie 's a shake
Just ance, for auld acquaintance' sake.

We welcome you from Scotia's land,
And reach to you a brither's hand;
A kindred soul to greet you turns-
Will Shakespeare, this is Robie Burns.

We've sung your songs here many a night
Till that dear star is lost in light,
And Willie says the lines you wrote
Will even do for him to quote.

He likes your verses wondrous weel,
And says you are a glorious chiel;
In fact, the only one that knows
The space 'twixt poetry and prose.

O Robie, if we had a plaid,
We'd quite convert yon Stratford lad.
He said, in truth, but yester-morn,
"I'm Scotch in wit, though English born;

"And, Walter, it may yet appear
That Scotland takes in Warwickshire.
Let Avon be the border line,
Blot out the Tweed, or draw it fine."

So, Willie, brew your peck o' maut,
And set the board wi' Attic saut,
For Rob has come at last, you see-
We were a pair, but now we 're three.

We need nae ither comrade now, No modern bard o' classic brow; 'Tis lang before anither man Will be admitted to our clan.

In stormy nights 'twas lonesome here
When "Will" recited half o' "Lear;"
But now he quotes O'Shanter's tale
In thunder, lightning, and in hail,

And says his witches can't compare

With those that chased O'Shanter's mare.
He's even learned your "De'il Address,"
To quote some night for good Queen Bess,
For, Robie, this is haunted ground,
Where spirits keep their nightly round,
And when the witchin' hour is near
You'll see strange beings gather here.

I saw Queen Bess the other night
Beside him, clad in vesture bright,
While kings, and queens, a noble throng,
In dim procession passed along;

And walls seemed rising from the earth,
Like Leicester's tower at Kenilworth;
And all the pageant that was there
Seemed floating in the moonlit air.

Ay, beauty, jealousy, and pride,
In Dudley's halls walked side by side,
While Amy Robsart seemed to stand
With fair Ophelia, hand in hand.

And, Robie, what a vision came
As Willie whispered Ariel's name!

The towers dissolved, and round him drew
The stately, gentle, fair, and true-

Miranda, Juliet, Imogen,
Hermione, and Katherine,
While Rosalind among them stood-
The sunlight of sweet Arden's wood.

"Twere long to pass them in review,
For still the circle wider grew,
Until the airy vision bright
Was lost at last in liquid light.

So let me whisper in your ear, Never to tell what passes here. There'll be a grand reception soon To greet the lad frae Bonnie Doon.

We'll gather up the jolliest crew-
Falstaff, Prince Hal, and Rhoderick Dhu;
And "a' the rantin' brither Scots
Frae Maiden Kirk tae John O' Groat's."

So, Robie, mak' yoursel' at home,
'Mang friends and brithers you have come,
And here's a land that's quite as fair
As that between the Doon and Ayr.

A land that glories in its youth,
That owns no creed but living truth,
Where "pith o' sense and pride o' worth"
A refuge find frae rank and birth;

A land that's made your verses real,
Whose guinea-stamp is honor's seal;
Ay, Robie, here they've quite forgot
To write the "Sir"-just Walter Scott.
And here your songs will ever ring
Through a' the years the centuries bring,
Till all are free, and every sea
Shall know nae shore but liberty.

THE MRICHCHAKATI; OR, THE TOY-CART.

[The drama of which the translation of the third act is here published is a work of great interest, both in the literary and national history of the Hindus.

The introduction of the Mrichchakati attributes the composition to a king named Súdraka, and gives him a high character, both in arms and letters; he lived, it is said, a hundred years, and then burnt himself, leaving his kingdom to his son.

Over what kingdom Súdraka ruled is not mentioned. The writer of the Kámandaki says it was Avanti or Ougein; tradition, especially in the Dekhin, includes him amongst the universal monarchs of India, and places him between Chandragupta and Vikramaditya, without specifying his capital. The late Colonel Wilford (As. Res., Vol. IX.) considers him the same with the founder of the A'ndhra dynasty of Magadha kings, succeeding to the throne by deposing his master, the last of the Kanwa race, to whom he was minister, but these averments are very questionable. The circumstances are in fact attributed, it is said (page 116), to a prince named Balihita, or Sipraka, or Sindhuka, or (page 103) Mahakarni; and the identification of Súdraka with either or all of these rests upon chronological data by no means satisfactorily established. From these (page 100) it appears that the first A'ndhra king of Magadha reigned 456 years earlier than the last, or Puliman, who it is said died A. D. 648 (page 111), consequently the former reigned about A. D. 192. But it is stated that, in a work called the Kumarika Khanda, a portion of the Skanda Purana, it is asserted that in the year of the Kali 3300 (save 10) a great king would reign (it does not appear where) named Súdraka. This date in our era is 190; the date of the first A'ndhra king, as mentioned above, is 192; therefore, Súdraka must be that kinga deduction which may possibly be correct, but which depends too much upon the accuracy of a work very little known, and upon a calculation that yet requires to be revised, to be considered as decidedly invalidating the popular notion that Súdraka preceded Vikramá«

ditya, and consequently the era of Christianity, by a century at least.

The place which the Mrichchakati holds in the dramatic literature of all nations will, however, 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. It represents a state of society sufficiently advanced in civilization to be luxurious and corrupt, and is certainly very far from offering a flattering similitude, although not without some attractive features. There will probably be more variety of opinion on its merits as a literary composition, and its title to rank with the more polished dramas of the West may be called in question by competent judges.]

A worthy kind master, even though he be poor, is the delight of his servants; whilst a morose, haughty fellow, who has only his wealth to boast of, is a constant vexation. There is no changing nature; nothing can keep an ox out of a field of corn, nor stop a man who covets another's wife. There is no parting a gamester from the dice, and there is no remedy for an innate defect. My excellent master has gone to a concert. It is not quite midnight, I suppose; I need not expect his return yet a while, I shall therefore take a nap in the hall.

[Sleeps.

CHÁRUDATTA.

MAITREYA.

To be sure I am; like the boa amongst serpents, so am I, a Brahman amongst Brahmans. VERDHAMÁNA.

I cry you mercy: that being the case, I will wash your feet. [Does so.] Now, Mai

tréya, this gold casket, of which I have had the charge by day, it is your turn to take care of. [Gives it to him and exit.] MAITREYA.

So; it is safe through the day. What, have we no thieves in Ujayin, that no one could have carried off this viler pilferer of my rest? pray let me carry it into the court-yard. CHÁRUDATTA.

Impossible; it has been left in trust;
And is not to be parted with to any
But the right owner; Brahman, take heed
to it. [Lies down.]

Still do I hear the soothing strain.
MAITREYA.

Pray, sir, is it your intention to go to sleep?
CHÁRUDATTA.

Very true, so let us go to sleep. [They sleep.]

SERVILLACA. [Enter outside. Creeping along the ground, like a snake crawling out of his old skin, I effect with slight and strength a passage for my cowering

VERDHAMÁNA.

Come then, worthy Maitreya, pour out the water. [Verdhamána washes Chárudatta's feet and is going.]

CHÁRUDATTA.

skies is in his decline: 'tis well. Night, like a tender mother, shrouds with her protecting darkness those of her children whose prowess assails the dwellings of mankind, and shrinks from an encounter with the servants of the king. I have made a breach in the garden wall and have got into the midst of the garden.

infamous, whose chief success is gained from the sleep of others, and whose booty is won by craft. If not heroism, it is at least independence, and preferable to the homage paid by slaves. As to nocturnal attacks, did not Aswatthámá long ago overpower in a night-onset

breach; what part is softened by recent damp;

where is it likely that no noise will be made | by the falling fragments; where is a wide opening most practicable which will not be afterwards visible; in what part of the wall are the bricks old, and corroded by saline exudations; where can I penetrate without encountering women; and where am I likely to light upon my booty? [Feels the wall.] The ground here is softened by continual sprinkling with water and exposure to the sun, and is crusted with salt. Here is a rat-hole. The prize is sure; this is the first omen of success the sons of Skanda have laid down. Let me see how shall I proceed? The God of the golden spear' teaches four modes of breaching a house: picking out burnt bricks; cutting through unbaked ones; throwing water on a mud wall; and boring through one of wood. This wall is of baked bricks; they must be picked out: but I must give them a sample of my skill. Shall the breach be the lotus blossom, the full sun or the new moon, the lake, the swastika, or the water jar? It must be something to astonish the natives. The water jar looks best in a brick wall;-that shall be the shape. In other walls that I have breached by night, the neighbors have had occasion both to censure and approve my talents. Reverence to the prince Kártikéya, the giver of all good; reverence to the God of the golden spear; to Brahmanya, the celestial champion of the celestials; the son of fire. Reverence to Yogáchárya, whose chief scholar I am, and by whom well pleased was the magic unguent conferred upon me, anointed with which no eye beholds nor weapon harms me. Shame on me, I have forgotten my measuring line,-never mind, my Brahminical thread will answer the purpose. This thread is a most useful appendage to a Brahman, especially one of my complexion: it serves to measure the depth and height of walls, and to withdraw ornaments from their position; it opens a latch in a door as well as a key, and is an excellent ligature for the bite of a snake. Let us take measure, and go to work: so, so [extracting the bricks]; one brick alone remains; ha! hang it; I am bitten by a snake

1 These considerations, and much of what follows, are agreeable to the Thief's Manual, which is said to exist in Sanskrit.

Kartikeya-the Hindú Mercury.

[ties the finger with the cord]: 'tis well again,I must get on. [Looks in.] How! a lamp alight! the golden ray streaming through the opening in the wall shows amidst the exterior darkness, like the yellow streak of pure metal on the touch-stone. The breach is perfect; now to enter. There is no one. Reverence to Kártikéya. [Enters.] Here are two men asleep; let me set the outer door open to get off easily if there should be occasion; how it creaks! it is stiff with age; a little water will be of use. [Sprinkles the floor.] Nay, not so, it makes too much noise pattering on the ground. [Supports the door with his back, and opens it.] So far, so well. Now, are these true sleepers or only counterfeits? [He tries them.] They are sound: the breathing is regular and not fluttered; the eye is fast and firmly shut; the body is all relaxed; the joints are loose, and the limbs protrude beyond the limits of the bed. If shamming sleep, they will not bear the gleam of the lamp upon their faces. [Passes the lamp over their faces.] All is safe. What have we here? a drum, a tabor, a lute, pipes, and here are books; why, zounds, I have got into the house of a dancer or poet. I took it for the dwelling of some man of consequence, or I should have let it alone. Is this poverty or only the show of poverty? fear of thieves, or dread of the King? Are the effects hid under ground? Whatever is under ground is my property. Let us scatter the seed, whose sowing leaves nothing undiscernible. [Throws about seeds.] The man is an absolute pauper, and so I leave him. [Going.

MAITREYA. [Dreaming.

Master, they are breaking into the house. I see the thief. Here, here, do you take care of the gold casket.

SERVILLACA.

How does he perceive me? does he mock me with his poverty? he dies [approaching]. Haply he dreams [looking at Maitreya]. Eh, sure enough, there is in the light of the lamp something like a casket wrapped up in a ragged bathing-gown; that must be mine. No, no, it is cruel to ruin a worthy man, so miserably reduced already. I will even let it alone.

MAITREYA. [Dreaming.

My friend, if you do not take the casket, may you incur the guilt of disappointing a cow, and of deceiving a Brahman.