ftly, seemed to die--as fades the moon at dawn away.
"Ah, Rama! ah, my son!" thus said--or scarcely said, the king of men,
His gentle hapless spirit fled--in sorrow for his Rama then,
The shepherd of his people old--at midnight on his bed of death,
The tale of his son's exile told--and breathed away his dying breath.

EXTRACTS FROM THE MAHABHARATA.

THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT.

The hostility of the kindred races of Pandu and Kuru forms
one of the great circles of Indian fable. It fills great part
of the immense poem, the Mahabharata. At this period the five
sons of Pandu and their mother Kunti have been driven into
the wilderness from the court of their uncle Dritarashtra at
Nagapur. The brothers, during their residence in the forest,
have an encounter with a terrible giant, Hidimba, the
prototype of the Cyclops of Homer, and of the whole race of
giants of northern origin, who, after amusing our ancestors,
children of larger growth, descended to our nurseries, from
whence they are now well-nigh exploded. After this adventure
the brothers take up their residence in the city of Ekachara,
where they are hospitably received in the house of a Brahmin.
The neighbourhood of this city is haunted by another terrible
giant, Baka, whose cannibal appetite has been glutted by a
succession of meaner victims. It is now come to the Brahmin's
turn to furnish the fatal banquet; they overhear the
following complaint of their host, whose family, consisting
of himself, his wife, a grown up daughter, and a son a little
child, must surrender one to become the horrible repast of
the monster. In turn, the father, the mother, in what may be
fairly called three singularly pathetic Indian elegies,
enforce each their claim to the privilege of suffering for
the rest.

THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT.

Alas for life, so vain, so weary--in this changing world below,
Ever-teeming root of sorrow--still dependent, full of woe!
Still to life clings strong affliction--life that's one long suffering all,
Whoso lives must bear his sorrow--soon or late that must befall.

* * * * *

Oh to find a place of refuge--in this dire extremity,
For my wife, my son, my daughter--and myself what hope may be?
Oft I've said to thee, my dearest--Priestess, that thou knowest well,
But my word t