and familiarized with that perversion of judgment, which looks with admiration on the disgusting spectacle, so offensive to all the feelings of humanity, which meets the eye of the traveller on the river, almost at every step he advances.

Among all the popular Bengali books, the Annada Mangal is the one most entitled to a prominent notice, for various reasons. It probably is the greatest favourite with the middle and upper classes, especially with the fair sex; and may be regarded, upon the whole, as a more creditable specimen of elegant literature, than any other work of genuine Bengali origin. As the complete collection of its various parts is somewhat large, the high price is an impediment to its circulation. It is, in some respects, an interesting production. The author, Bharata Chandra Ráy, appears to have been the poet laureate of the celebrated Raja Krishna Chandra Ray of Nadiya, the Augustus of his age, who lived about a century ago. Not many years after the great inundation of 1739, and the devastation of Bengal by the Mahratta hordes under Bháskar Pandit, the Raja, on some particular occasion, made a great feast, somewhat similar, in its pretensions, to that of Ahasuerus, which is described at the commencement of the book of Esther. For the entertainment of the illustrious guests assembled in his palace, poetical performances were got up, accompanied with music, which evidently were an equivalent to our modern theatricals. Bhárat Chandra appears to have been a votary of Durgá, to whom, in the work under consideration, he gave the epithet of Annadá, "the giver of food," alluding to the distress and famine, from which the country had lately been delivered, in his opinion, through the favour of that goddess. The term Mangal, "welfare," is another of her titles. She encouraged him in a vision to undertake the task imposed upon him, and by her inspiration enabled him to acquit himself in a creditable manner. His verses were recited or sung, in successive portions, every morning and evening for a whole week, probably in accordance with a preconcerted plan. It is possible that he found it somewhat difficult to fill up the whole of this measure: at all events the work consists of several distinct portions, the only connecting link between which is the constant endeavour to magnify his favourite deity.

Bharat Chandra appears to have been possessed of a true poetical genius. His work contains poetry of almost all kinds, and in all metres; and some of the pieces are really beautiful. Nothing can be more pleasing than the cadence of certain of his verses; and he displays a wonderful mastery of all the resources of the language. In the narrative parts, however, he

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introduces very large number of Hindustani words; and many of his Bengali terms have ceased to be intelligible.

The copy before us consists of two volumes,* the first of which contains various mythological tales, taken from the history of Shiva and Durgá, including also a quarrel, which the celebrated Vyasa had with the former, upon being refused a dwelling-place at Káshi. The stories are those most widely circulated in Bengal, with which every native is acquainted from the nursery. To give an idea of the genius of our author, we subjoin two specimens from this part of his work. The first is an Invocation of the Sun, to which it is impossible to do justice in English prose. It will be seen that one passage in

it bears some resemblance to a part of the 19th Psalm :

INVOCATION OF THE SUN.

Hail, source of light, remove my darkness! Giver of the day, have mercy. The four Vedas proclaim that thou art the resplendent divinity; the god most excellent. Giver of the day, look upon the distressed. Thy glory, according to the Vedas, knows no limits. Forgive the sins of the sufferer. The cause of the universe, the eye of the universe, the life of the universe, art thou;-all divine, the refuge of all divinities, of heaven, hell, and earth. On thy one-wheeled chariot thou drivest on the road of heaven, from the eastern mountain to the western, accomplishing the race in a single day. Who can describe thy strength? Thy burning rays consume the hills, and dry up the waters of the ocean. How sweetly the lotus smiles, when gladdened by thee! Who can comprehend thy essence? Lord of the twelve signs, and of all the planets; blessed are thy spouses Sangya and Chhayá (Shadow). Shani, Yama, and Manu are thy sons, and Yamuná thy daughter. Preserver of the universe; purifier of the universe; whence thy name Savita (purifier), thou art the essence of the universe. Convey me safely into eternity; I ask it with a million of salutations. Enthroned for ever on the red lotus, thou ocean of boundless virtue, the giver of security, endowed with three eyes, thy head adorned with a costly ruby,-the remembrance of thee banishes sin; be gracious to this company. Regard in thy own way king Krishna Chandra, in answer to the praises of Bharat Chandra.

The other piece is a hymn, which is equally beautiful in the original with the foregoing:

A HYMN.

The Supreme has turned against me. When the Supreme is a man's opponent, what avails his ability?

My misery is most distressing. In all my devotions, my intention is good, but my performance evil. I have fallen into a state of infatuation.

This edition is very neatly and correctly printed, on good paper. It was got up at the "Sanscrit Press," and professes to have been critically edited, which we doubt. At all events, some of its readings are widely different from those of older editions. As this book is by far the best specimen extant of Bengali poetry, it would not be amiss to have a really good critical edition of it.

The common bazar editions, which contain only Bidya and Sundar, are wretched specimens of typography; some of them, however, are adorned with wood-cuts-one of which represents Sundar in the costume of Young Bengal!

I know that religion leads to happiness; yet my heart dislikes it. I have a great dread of wickedness; yet it pleases me.

me.

My wife and child-these vain things-please me; vain delights delight He, who rests in self-seeking, is plunged in distress.

The will of God alone is truth; all else is vanity. This Bhárata has found, through the favour of his teacher.

Let not the Christian reader be deceived by the phraseology here used. It is not a true index of the author's real feelings, but mere talk, put into the mouth of some other person. What we call the domestic virtues, such as attachment to one's wife and children, are here branded as the most glaring sin; and religion is made to consist in an unfeeling state of metaphysical contemplation.

The most interesting portion of the Annadá Mangal is a tale, called Bidya and Sundar, a young couple, of whose adventures Mánsingha is stated to have heard at Burdwan, when on his way to Jessore, where he had to put down the rebellious Raja Pratápáditya-an exploit which forms the subject of one of the subsequent short pieces.

Bidya and Sundar is the title of a poem, which might appropriately have been put into the form of a play, and which actually does bear some resemblance to the text of a modern Italian opera. We cannot tell how far the similarity extends, as regards the musical accompaniment. It is this composition, which is the great favourite of Hindu ladies. The outline of the plot is as follows:

There lived at Burdwan a king, named Birasingha, whose beautiful daughter Bidyá (Learning) was allowed to choose her own husband. Having received a very superior education, she declared she would belong only to him, who should surpass her in learning. This condition being proclaimed, and invitations sent out, many princes came to woo the proud maiden, but were all unsuccessful. One of her father's messengers, however, having gone to the court of Kanchi (Conje veram) in the Deccan, the prince royal, whose name was Sundar (Handsome), determined to try his fortune. In an incredibly short time he proceeded to Burdwan with a large train of horses, &c. of which, however, he was eased on his arrival by the guard, who, in the true native style, threatened to imprison him, if all was not surrendered. Having given himself the name of a "Follower of Learning," he was allowed to keep only his satchel, his books, and a favourite parrot, with some money. strolling about the city and viewing its wonders, he found his way to a tank, where, sitting under the shade of a tree, he fell asleep. The women, who came to bathe and draw water there, were thrown into a delirium of ecstacy at the sight of this

After

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.'

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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.