procession of King Kumarapal's lovely daughter make the pilgrimage of the great temple of Girnar.

Ruparibah was sumptuously attired, as for her bridal. Her hair was braided with fine-wrought chains of Venetian gold, and her whole dress glittered with jewels. Her boddice was of pale rose-coloured silk, her muslin draperies were richly embroidered with silver flowers, her arms were encircled with golden bands, while her slender ancles were adorned with a sort of fringe of Venetian coins, from each of which was suspended a little bunch of pearls; but her eyes' dark hue needed not the radiance-giving soormai to add to their expression. She was seated in a superb palanquin, painted with a gorgeous pattern of flowers and animals, interwrought with gilding and fine lacker-work; but its doors were firmly closed, and the maiden pursued her way through the city, towards the sacred mount, surrounded by her brother's Arabs, armed to the teeth, and followed by a motley group-some pilgrims themselves, some rich donors to the temples, and some the simple gazers of a crowd. Powan Singh, mounted on a noble steed of Kattiwar, caracoled by the side of the palanquin; and although, from time to time, he directed a fierce glance towards the hills, as if the vision of Badouriah met his view, he thought tenderly of the beautiful object of his present service.

As long as the way lay by the bright gardens and the glittering waters of the Paleshini, the ascent was gradual, and consequently easy; but as it became more intricate, the shattered blocks of granite more frequent on the road, which wound on the edge of precipices and through tangled foliage, twining around, and winding up the scarped face of the sacred mount, Ruparibah was constrained to exchange the palanquin for a ruder seat; but this also was so closely curtained, that the poor maiden, panting for a closer view of the scenery, could with difficulty obtain a peep at intervals, and was perpetually reproached by her brother for the attempt she made to do so. Oh, how she yearned to spring from that seat, exchange her gems for wild blossoms, and stray among those richly foliaged heights, chasing the gorgeous butterflies, listening to the hum of bees, watching the eagle in his circling course, and speeding to track the young fawn to the mountain rill! Her whole being seemed to revel in the imaginary delights which freedom would give in such a scene, and for a moment Ruparibah even thought of the Bharwutteeah chief with something like envy for his lot, and even the poor ascetic, whose sacred shell was heard from the neighbouring caves, was scarcely pitied by her for his scant fare of mountain berries, and dangers from the wild animals of the neighbouring forest, when she thought of his freedom.

But now the ascent was crowned by the pilgrim throng, and Powan, having first proved that the priests and every other official had quitted the temple, which was prepared for the reception of Ruparibah, the curtained seats, which had borne the fair maiden, and her friend Kishen Koor, to the heights, were placed in the vestibule, while the attendants and guards remained without the building.

The great temple contained three apartments; and within the third stood the altar in its sanctum. The whole building was of granite, richly and delicately sculptured; but it seemed so vast and still, that Kishen Koor, who had already suffered much from the terrors of the journey, became appalled, and entreated Ruparibah not to require her presence further.

"Ah! what a sad trembler you are, Kishen Koor!" said her companion, smiling tenderly upon her; "what do you fear ?" "I cannot tell, Ruparibah, but my spirits seem oppressed; all is so still, so vast, so solemn here; and,

'tis said, there are passages below the altar, filled with strange figures and wild devotees, who guard them. Forgive me, Ruparibah, but I dare not go farther. How terrible seem the echoes of our voices; and the guards are so still without: it is very fearful !" "Dear Kishen Koor, you imagine all these horrors; who but yourself ever heard of passages, and strange figures, and wild devotees, below the great temple? Would not the priests have known it, and my father and Powan? Could our voices sound other than loud below these vast roofs; and would you have the guards around the temple talk and laugh as at a festival? You are a little coward, Kishen Koor; but sit down here, and I will present my gift alone." And Ruparibah, holding the embroidered drapery, with a light step passed on towards the sanctum.

The figure of the saint was colossal, and Ruparibah gazed on it with mingled reverence and awe. The breast and forehead were studded with gems of enormous value, while the position of the form, and expression of the countenance, of the idol, conveyed the idea of pure and abstract contemplation, Ruparibah stood for a moment with folded arms, gazing upon the figure; she then laid her gift upon the altar, and prostrating herself, repeated the prayer taught her by Beemah Bhye. It was a curious picture; a young, beautiful, and high-caste girl, lying in her rich bridal robes on the cold pavement, and pouring forth her petition for blessings at the foot of that grotesquely-carved altar. But when it was ended, Ruparibah arose, her eyes streaming with tears, and her arms raised imploringly towards the idol. Then it was that, with wild surprise, increased by her high-wrought excitement, she saw, standing beside the altar, a noble-looking, young, and handsome man, attired as a Rajpoot warrior, his eye beaming with admiration. A half-formed shriek rose to her lips; but as she gazed, there seemed so little cause for fear, that no sound escaped them.

The stranger's admiration seemed to increase; for a moment more he looked on her in silence, and then exclaimed, "Brave girl, and not less beautiful than brave, well are you worthy of your pure Rajpoot origin! Forgive me, but I registered a vow to look on the fair daughter of King Kumarapal, and I have dared much to do so." "Know you," returned Ruparibah, her face dyed with blushes, “that my brother, Powan Singh, and his followers, are without, and that it is death to him who dares to look upon a Rajpoot maiden, even were she less than the daughter of King Kumarapal, and the affianced bride of RajKumah ?" "Yes, maiden! well I know the penalty; but I have dreamed of this by mountain rills, in silent hours, in solitary wanderings, in days of danger; dreamed of beauty such as thine; and well I know 'tis not thy voice that will betray me. She, who could see me here without a shriek, is too generous and brave to summon the swords which would destroy me. For your brother," continued the stranger, with a smile, "I fear him not; and for your rank, beauty is worthier far of homage, and that indeed you possess above the maidens of the land. But say not that you are the affianced of that stern and cold prince, the Raj-Kumah; he is no match for thee!" And the stranger drew nearer to her side.

And now Ruparibah remarked the manly beauty of the stranger's person, the richness of his ornaments and arms, the noble character of his bearing, with the bold and reckless expression of his full dark eyes, when, for a moment, his ear caught the sound of a footstep from without, and then beamed with tenderness, as they fell again upon her face; and as she looked, the maiden trembled now no more, but a smile played upon her lips, which was again succeeded by signs of earnestness and alarm.

"I will not betray your life," she said; "but pray, oh pray, begone; my brother Powan may summon me himself, and my friend waits me in the temple. Yet how can you escape? The guards surround us; oh! why did you dare all this?" "Fear not for me, maiden," was the calm reply; "my danger is from thee alone, from thy courage and thy beauty. I hold this mountain tributary to my power, and every tree and path is known to me, as to the wild bird that soars above them. As I came, so will I depart, and none may track my way."

Ruparibah trembled. "Who are you, then ?" she whispered, as if she now feared that her low soft voice might be heard beyond the walls; "who are you, then, and how came you hither ?"

The stranger gazed at her awhile irresolutely, and then, as if satisfied at the result of his scrutiny, answered with a smile, "First give me one of those pearl stars that hang on thy fair neck, and I will tell thee; but a remembrance of these moments shall be mine, even were thy brother's sword glittering above my head," and half playfully, half tenderly, he disengaged the trinket. "Now, fair girl, I will tell you what you ask. I came from my mountain home to gaze upon the daughter of my direst enemy, and the heart whose blood the father thirsts to pour upon the ground like water is from this hour all her own! My name," he added, hurriedly, "is one which oft ere now has fallen on your ear coupled with dark fear and deadly hate-I am Badouriah, the Bharwutteeah chief!"

A loud involuntary cry now burst from the lips of the maiden, which rung through the apartments of the temple, and even reached the ears of those without. Kishen Koor, her affection conquering her fear, rushed into the sanctum of the saint, and found Ruparibah stretched senseless upon the cold pavement, and the calm countenance of the idol directed on her, as it would seem, with an expression of pity. She raised the insensible form of her friend, but had partially only effected her recovery, when Powan Singh, summoned by those whose ears had caught the sound of her voice, rushed into the temple. Powerfully excited by the condition in which he found his sister, the young chief entreated her to speak to him, and called her repeatedly by name, in the tenderest tones. The familiar sounds tended to recal the wandering senses of poor Ruparibah, who at length opened her eyes, looked wildly and anxiously around, and then sunk, in a passion of tears, within her brother's arms.

"How is this, Kishen Koor?" inquired the young chief; "what has happened that I find my sister thus ?" Kishen Koor replied, that she believed Ruparibah had been alarmed, like herself, at the loneliness of the place, its stillness, and the solemn task she had undertaken; this, Ruparibah appeared to assent to by her silence. ""Tis strange, too," reasoned the young chief; "my sister was never of a timid disposition, or likely to be alarmed at trifles; perhaps some bird or animal, a snake perchance, that has found a shelter near the altar, may have terrified her by the suddenness of its appearance." Possessed with this idea, Powan, almost by force, disengaged himself from the soft arms which were now twined more closely round him, and, drawing his sword, prepared to examine the back of the altar. At this action, Ruparibah pressed her hand closely to her heart; the blood rushed to her cheek, and her eyes gleamed wildly, as she watched the progress of her brother's scrutiny. Nothing was to be seen, however, for Powan was little likely to discover that wellfitted revolving block, known only to the priests and the Bharwutteeah band, which last had purchased the secret by promises of safety to the trembling officials of the temple, and when he returned to his sister's side, she entreated,

with a heavy sigh, which seemed to prove a relief to her over-excited feelings, to be permitted instantly to return, attempting to smile faintly, as she wondered at the strange timidity which had overcome her, and attributing it to the previous fatigue of the ascent. Still, as she passed the curtained chair, Ruparibah looked tremulously around; her eyes wore a fevered and unusual brightness of expression, and as she descended the sacred hill, no longer occupied by the beauties around her, every sound caused her to start with terror, and even the rustling of the foliage made her heart beat quickly, with the most intense anxiety.

Badouriah had, however, read the character of Ruparibah aright, and as, emerging from the secret passages of the temple, he stood on a distant part of the hills, and watched the descent of the procession, bis heart beat tenderly towards the noble-spirited girl, to whose courage he had dared to trust his life. The Bharwutteeah chief saw that no excitement prevailed amongst the troops, and consequently knew that she had preserved his secret. He was right; never, from the moment in which Kishen Koor raised her inanimate form from the temple pavement, did Ruparibah breathe a word of the true cause of her alarm. It was in vain that Kishen Koor inquired, that Beemah Bhye wondered, and questioned angrily on the subject; nothing could be learnt more than that some strange feeling of alarm had arisen in her mind.

And now, if the mount of Girnar, with the massive foliage of the neighbouring hills, had ever charms for Ruparibah, they were increased a thousandfold. Her marriage, her rich embroideries, her jewels, and even her flowers, were all forgotten; her sole pleasure seemed to consist in gazing, at early dawn, on the mists which gradually revealed to her the temple-crowned heights, and in watching the kindling fires, as they gleamed at the evening hour; and, while the fair girl would thus sit from morn to mid-day, and again late after the inmates of the harem had fallen asleep on their soft cushions, her thoughts were fixed upon her brief interview with the outlaw chief, and on the dangers which overhung his fate. Influenced by the hatred and violence of Powan and her mother, she had imagined Badouriah to herself as wild and fierce, rude and uncourteous; she had found him gentle and grateful, handsome, and of gallant bearing; formed, in short, to inspire love;-and she did love him, with all the enthusiasm of a first affection. His free and reckless life, his noble birth, the devotion of his followers, his personal bravery and contempt for danger-all invested the character of the Bharwutteeah chief with a charm which to the Rajpoot girl was irresistible; and while she recalled his words, his looks, his tender admiration, her heart told her he had dared all to gaze on her, and she felt that he had loved her ere they parted. Yet her marriagehour drew nearer, and every moment was charged with the dread of seeing her brother Powan Singh return, flushed with conquest, his sword stained with the blood of the Bharwutteeah chief.

[The conclusion next month.]

Asiat. Journ.N.S. VOL. 36. No. 144.

2 I

PROFESSOR WILSON'S SANSCRIT GRAMMAR.

PROFESSOR WILSON could not have dedicated his time and talents to better purpose than in preparing for the use of juvenile students this valuable introduction to an elementary acquaintance with the highly artificial language which contains the vast literature of the Hindus. Grammars of the Sanscrit are, as he observes, not absolutely wanting, but they are either too voluminous and difficult for beginners, or written in a foreign tongue, or not readily procurable. His "Introduction" is, moreover, compiled, in many respects, upon a new and an improved plan, and it will be found to facilitate the study of this majestic language by the excellence of its system and arrangement, the perspicuity of its rules and explanations, the appositeness of its illustrations, and the general conciseness and symmetry of its method. "The structure of a highly-elaborated form of speech," he observes, "such as is Sanskrit, abounding with grammatical inflexions, cannot be explained with that brevity which more simply constituted languages permit;" but, although the volume consists of only 432 pages, and includes a chapter on prosody, its greatest bulk consists of examples which, though useful, and indeed indispensable for reference, are not necessary to be committed to memory.

We cannot deny ourselves the pleasure of quoting the following passage from the Preface, in which Mr. Wilson recommends the cultivation of this language to general students :

It were superfluous in the present day to offer any observations upon the value and interest of Sanskrit literature. The study constitutes an era in the branch of intellectual inquiry just referred to, and has given an entirely new character to philology. The principles of etymological affinity have been placed upon secure grounds, and the history of languages, and through them the history of man, has received novel and important elucidation. Nor is this the only service which it has rendered to general literature. The history of philosophy and science is also largely indebted to it; and in the civil and religious codes which it has laid open to our knowledge, and in the mythological and legendary traditions, and the dramatic and heroic poems, which it offers to our curiosity, it presents a series of new, interesting, and instructive pictures of society, in which the features of a highly artificial, but original civilization are singularly blended with the characteristics of primitive manners and archaic institutions. The history of mankind can be but imperfectly appreciated without some acquaintance with the literature of the Hindus.

* An Introduction to the Grammar of the Sanskrit Language, for the use of early Students. By H. H. WILSON, M.A., F.R.S., &c. &c. Boden Professor of Sanskrit at the University of Oxford. London, 1841. Madden and Co.