sleeping Adonis; one of them going so far as to charge Providence with injustice, for not having been made his wife. In the evening an old woman, a dealer in flowers, comes to the spot, and, upon his awaking, offers him an asylum in her house, which he accepts upon learning that she daily disposes of flowers in the royal palace. She becomes the house-keeper of her lodger, taking care to secure for herself a portion of the money which passes through her hands. Sundar, having learned from her all the particulars of the royal family, and being charmed with her account of Bidya, devises a plan for opening a communication with the princess. He constructs a human figure of flowers, and places in its folded hands a box, which cannot be removed without discharging a flowery arrow at the intruder, and which contains a card with a riddle, in the shape of a Sanskrit sloke. With this chef-d'œuvre of her guest, the old woman proceeds to the palace. The plot succeeds to admiration; and the princess returns an answer to the riddle in the same shape, requesting the old woman, on her leaving, to procure her an interview with her ingenious correspondent. This takes place near the Rath.* Though no conversation ensues, yet they both fall into the snare of each other's eyes; the hearts of both are caught; they exchange hearts, and each returns home, with a heart for his trophy."

66

66

At her next interview with the old woman, the princess tells her that she is determined to marry the young man secretly, and leave the result to Káli. The remonstrances of the other are all unavailing; she insists upon Sundar paying her a visit. On receiving this message, compliance with which appears to him altogether impossible, he applies for aid to Káli, who graciously answers him, by sending down from heaven a brass instrument for house-breaking. Delighted with this gift, he prays that it may cut through bricks and stones, through earth and rock." He next, without the knowledge of his hostess, cuts a subterranean passage, which leads from his lodging to the middle of Bidya's apartment, where he unexpectedly makes his appearance, and is favourably received. The first interview commences with a vain attempt to perform a kind of secret marriage ceremony, and ends in the loss of the young lady's honour. Sundar pays her many nightly visits, which, after some time, she ventures to return, bringing, on one occasion, a companion for the solitary parrot of her lover.

In the meanwhile, Sundar makes his appearance at court

The car of Jagannath, which is to be found in every town or village of Bengal. ↑ Kali is another form of Durga.

in the day time, disguised as a disgusting religious mendicant, who puts in his claim for the princess, and bids fair to be successful, since he is able to out-do in learning all the "ornaments" of the court. Bidyá is twitted by her companions on account of her fine prospect of becoming the wife of such a vagabond. Sundar keeps his secret, both from her and from his hostess, who at length suggests to him that he has no chance of success, unless he also becomes a Sanyasi, and manages to cut out his rival.

After some time, the disgrace of Bidyá becomes manifest. Her mother, hearing of it, almost becomes deranged, and threatens to do, what every disappointed woman in Bengal professes to be prepared for; viz., to drown herself, or take poison. Her father flies into a dreadful rage, and sends for Dhumketu,* the kotwal, or police officer, a man of the most brutal cruelty, who had been appointed to his office on the principle of setting a thief to catch a thief. The king threatens to punish him for all his former crimes, unless he succeed in apprehending the daring housebreaker, who violated his daughter. The old rogue, in a great fright, asks for a respite of seven days, and sets to work. On searching the apartments of the princess, the passage is discovered, and, instead of the expected super-human monster, Sundar is caught, to the horror of his mistress, and his own utter consternation. He is roughly handled by the unfeeling kotwal, and cast into prison. The old flower-dealer also, to her great indignation, is cruelly beaten, and all her property confiscated. Sundar's prospects now are gloomy indeed. However, through the intervention of Káli, whom he invokes,† his real name and character are brought to light by the parrot; and finally, the prince is honourably dismissed, with his bride, to his native country.

Impartiality compels us to acknowledge that this romantic. story is treated in a manner, which commands admiration, so far as the beauty of its language and the richness of its descriptions are concerned: but its tendency is essentially and grossly immoral, and its perusal by native females must be injurious in the extreme. Both the hero and the heroine are, throughout, the objects of the writer's admiration. Faith in Káli is, according to him, rewarded by the successful issue of their criminal undertakings. And the lascivious interviews between them are described, again and again, with disgusting minuteness, and in the most glowing language. If ever vice has been

* Smoke-tail, or comet.

+ His prayer occupies fifty couplets, arranged in the order of the Bengali alphabet,--a couplet being devoted to each letter.

decked out in gaudy colours, and made to appear attractive, it has been in this novel. The study of it must destroy all purity of mind; and yet it cannot be doubted, that if any book is read by, and to, respectable Bengali females, this is it. But we must not forget that there are to be found in Calcutta European ladies, who can read with equal interest and delight the most licentious novels of Eugene Sue and other French writers of the same stamp,-a taste in them much more reprehensible than that of their Bengali sisters, who admire Bidya and Sundar. Passing over the remaining portions of Bharat Chandra's poesies, which we believe are not very popular, the work, which next claims our attention, is an account of Nala and Damayanti. This interesting and beautiful story is best narrated in the original Mahabharata; but it also forms the topic of several special works, both in Sanscrit and Bengali, and probably in most of the languages of India. Although it is pretty extensively known to Sanscrit scholars, yet it may be new to many of our readers, and we therefore venture to give an outline of it :

Nala, the youthful king of Nishadha, and Damayanti, the daughter of the king of Vidarbha, were both paragons of beauty, and, each having heard of the other's charms, a mutual affection sprung up between them, before they had ever met. This affection was strengthened by some celestial geese, which appeared first to Nala, and carried a message from him to the princess. The love-sick maid soon fell into a decline, which so alarmed her father, that he adopted the expedient of allowing her to choose her own husband. Invitations being sent out, numerous princes soon began to gather at the palace. Nala, whilst on his way to the spot, was met by the four principal gods, who also wished to enter the lists as competitors, and was compelled by them to communicate their suit to the lady in a private interview, rendered practicable through their omnipotence. He faithfully delivered his awkward message; and in reply was told by the admiring beauty, that he himself was the chosen of her heart. When all the aspirants were assembled, the poor princess was sorely puzzled at the sight of five Nalas; but, in answer to prayer, was at length enabled to dis tinguish the true one from the four gods, who had assumed his shape; whereupon she nobly chose him for her partner, and was met, on his part, by the most solemn assurances of constant attachment. The gods, on taking their leave, conferred various boons upon Nala, such as a perfect and instantaneous command of fire and water and their effects. On their way home, the gods are met by Kali,* a malicious colleague of

Pronounce Koli; he is not the same as the goddess Káli.

theirs, who, finding he was too late, from sheer envy vowed to to do Nala all the harm in his power; in return for which he is threatened with the severest punishments by the rest.

For many years Nala and his queen lived together in splendour and happiness at Nishadha. By observing all the rites of his religion, Nala prevented Kali from obtaining an opportun ity of entering his person. At length, one unfortunate evening, Nala inadvertently forgets a trifling ceremony, when Kali, who had watched him all the time, immediately takes possession of him, and incites him to gamble with his brother, a favourite of his own. Nala is a constant loser, and, by continuing the play with increased recklessness, finds himself at length stripped of every thing, even his clothes. The queen had previously secured the children by sending them to her own parents; and Nala had just virtue enough left not to gamble away his wife. Expelled the city and the country, but accompanied by his faithful spouse, and covered with the undivided half of her garment, he begins his dismal wanderings. After a few days they find themselves in a boundless forest, where towards evening they take shelter in a hut. The queen, exhausted by fatigue, sinks into a profound sleep, and Nala avails himself of it, and deserts her, having first cut off half of her garment for his own use. Damayanti's despair, on finding herself alone, drives her almost mad. She wanders about, and incurs many imminent dangers, but is somewhat quieted by the consoling predictions of some ascetics; and, after many adventures, at length reaches the residence of her parents, where she also finds her children again.

Nala, who professes to have forsaken her, because he could not bear the sight of her distress, in his wanderings, falls in with a boa constrictor, enveloped in a huge mass of fire, by which he is almost consumed. The cries of the perishing creature (which appears to have spoken Sanscrit) arrest his attention and move his compassion, and he delivers it from death; when the serpent assumes the form of Karkata, the king of snakes, who, professing the most unbounded gratitude, forthwith endeavours to manifest it by his conduct. By a good bite, he changes the beautiful form of Nala into that of a hideous old man, consoling him with the assurance that the venom shall prove a source of constant torment to Kali, and that his beauty shall be restored to him in due time. Nala at length enters the service of king Rituparna at Ayodhya, as a charioteer, and soon discovers in the groom his own former servant, and with difficulty keeps his secret from, his sagacious old acquaintance. In the mean while, Damayanti and her parents make every

imaginable effort to discover the retreat of Nala. At last an active Brahman, by repeating at Ayodhya the slokes taught him by Damayanti, which contain an allusion to her peculiar history, succeeds in discovering a trace of him, which leaves no doubt in the mind of the disconsolate queen. She now adopts the stratagem of persuading her father to send (ostensibly to all the courts, but in reality only to that of Rituparna) a message to the effect, that, as Nala had not been heard of for years, his queen would proceed, after two days, to the choice of a second husband. Rituparna determines to seek her hand, and Nala is more anxious still to ascertain the truth or falsehood of the alarming message. The charioteer was a good whip; with more than railway speed he carried his master through midair; only stopping on the way to give him a proof of his most wonderful skill in arithmetic. Rituparna makes an exchange with him, paying him for his acquirements in driving and arithmetic by making over to him his own skill and luck in playing at dice; which being done, Kali is compelled, under excruciating agonies, to go out of him.

On arriving at Bidarbha, Rituparna discovers that he has been duped; but, as he ought to have known better than to believe in the second marriage of a Hindu woman, he is obliged to conceal his disappointment, and stays long enough to witness the metamorphosis of his charioteer, and his recognition by Damayanti. The happy couple, once more united, return to Nishadha, where Nala, by means of the skill received from Rituparna, now defeats his brother in gambling, and recovers back all that he had lost, without taking any revenge upon the usurper. After a number of blissful years, both the hero and the heroine ascend to heaven.

This narrative, as given in the third book of the Mahábhárata, is truly charming. In its Bengali form, it is by far the least immoral of all the popular tales in that language, which we have ever seen. And yet we are compelled to point out the injurious influence which it must exercise. It was originally related to Judhisthira, for the purpose of encouraging him to bear his sufferings with patience. It is not the innocent Damayanti, but the gambler Nala, that is made the object of compas sion and admiration. The sin, which enabled Kali to obtain possession of him, was his forgetting to carry a cup of water with him to a certain place. His recklessness, in gambling away his all, and deserting his faithful wife, is represented as his misfortune, and not as his crime. And finally, the perusal of this story is repeatedly recommended, at least in all the Bengali editions, as a sure road to heaven.