flourished through the ages. It offers so little by way of inducement and dwells more on the vices than the virtues of human nature.

In Buddhism there can be no such thing as thankfulness for the boon of life, no recognition of a virile youthful joy in life itself wholly innocent and pure; still less of that most poignant joy found in closest juxtaposition with sorrow.

Yet on the other side it may be said, that the purest source of all joy, loving-kindness in its widest sense, is not only not barred out, but insisted on. "Let him (the disciple) cultivate toward the whole world-above, below, around-a heart of love unstinted, unmixed with the sense of differing or opposing interests. Let a man maintain this mindfulness all the while he is awake, whether he be standing, walking, sitting, or lying down." "Our mind shall not waver. No evil speech will we utter. Tender and compassionate will we abide, loving in heart, void of malice within. And we will be ever suffusing such a one with the rays of our loving thought."

1

No ideal could be more beautiful, and the mind of an Arahat, who could attain to the fulfilment of it, would doubtless find in itself a heaven on earth, which was all that the great teacher intended.

Buddha was no believer in unnecessary selfmortification; it was the discovery of the barrenness of this mode of overcoming the body which caused his very earliest disciples to break away from him only to return to him later. His view was to get rid of the body altogether in regard to

1 Early Buddhism (Ibid.).

any hold it had, not to emphasise its importance by increasing the evil thing, suffering.

It is true that in Buddhist practice the way is to be made easier to the monks by the removal of all but the minimum of possessions necessary for life and cleanliness, thus lessening objects of desire, but this is far from inflicted penance.

Great stress in the creed is laid on the attainment of knowledge, but this knowledge is quite different from the Christian wisdom, which may be interpreted as the ability to take a true view of things, to look at life in its real proportion, which, if it were fully attained, would necessitate the cessation of sin.

It is also quite apart from the earthly knowledge defined as science. Buddhist knowledge means knowledge of self, and how to get rid of that self, to rid oneself of all that is included in "I am."

The disciple must learn the Four Noble Truths. First, that sorrow is universal; second, that desire is the cause of sorrow; third, that cessation of sorrow can only be attained by eradication of desire; fourth, that the truth shows the eightfold way of living.

It seems incredible that the ordinary people worshipping at the temples, carrying with them their fragrant offerings of flowers, or burning their little candles, should have grasped even the faintest notion of their teacher's meaning, for much of it is high philosophy. Probably the secret of the success of Buddhism is that they do not grasp it and never attempt to do so. They regulate their conduct, more or less, by the ex

cellent rules of practical application set before them. They believe that if they abstain from taking life, keep themselves clean, visit the shrines, speak truth and are kind to their neighbours, they are all right, and most of them probe no deeper.

There is no idolatry in Buddhism; the images of the master constantly set up in sacred shrines are not intended to be worshipped, but merely to remind the devotees of the sage. Yet undoubtedly, as is the case with all uneducated peoples, the tangible material object in some sense seems to them to imbibe and to emanate the power and holiness of the object represented; still more is this the case with those sacred relics, which, they firmly believe, were a part of Buddha's own body, or used by him. And they attribute to those relics miraculous power which was never claimed by Gautama himself when alive.

A curious problem seems to be that a religion made up for the most part of such gloomy tenets, and at the best so negative in its prospects, should inspire its followers with such everyday cheerfulness. No one who knows nations which are overwhelmingly Buddhist, in contrast with others, which are not, can class Buddhism among gloomy beliefs. The Burmese, with whom Buddhism is the predominant faith, are notoriously cheerful. It may be contended that this is due to a preBuddhistic temperament, but we have no means of proving it one way or the other. It is true, their Buddhism is tinged with nat or spiritworship, and the means taken to placate the unfriendly nats (the friendly ones wouldn't hurt

you anyhow, so they may be disregarded) enter largely into the life of the people, so their Buddhism is not pure. In Ceylon too there is a horror of demons and evil spirits, and the solitudes of the jungles are supposed to be infested by them, especially after dark. But this hardly affects the question, as, if Buddhism were really a gloomy influence, it would make itself felt anyhow, reinforcing these intermingled beliefs.

Of all the Buddhist shrines remaining in Ceylon, with the possible exception of Adam's Peak, Anuradhapura attracts the most devotees. It is essentially a sacred as well as a royal city.

Its foundation indeed had taken place before the introduction of Buddhism into the island, but it was there, subsequently, that the most sacred relics were enshrined, the greatest monuments of piety erected, and, above all, the sacred bo-tree planted. The city was the capital of the kingdom for more than eleven centuries of varying fortunes, with one small exception, so it is amazing to consider that many English-speaking people to whom Persepolis, Karnac, and Babylon are household names, have never even heard of it.

The Mahawansa records the length of each king's reign, hence by working backwards a chronological table of dates has been compiled. There are, however, a few discrepancies and some ambiguities, so there is room for divergence of opinion, and the later part of the table of kings given by Turnour in his version of the Mahawansa does not altogether accord with that compiled by Wijesinha. Don Martino de Z. Wickremasinghe,

working on evidence deduced from the inscriptions found in Ceylon, has yet another chronology which in most cases differs from either of these. In this book Turnour is followed, as far as he goes historically in his text, and after that the dates. given by Wijesinha are preferred, as the kings can be identified in the accounts he gives of them, and as most of the Cingalese kings had two or more names, this is an important matter. A table of the principal kings mentioned, giving also Don Wickremasinghe's version, will be found on p. xvi. King Tissa, as has been said, reigned for forty years, and the roll of his pious deeds is long. Among meritorious works, that of the making of great reservoirs of water, which served to supply the land by means of canals, was counted high. These tanks, as they are called, in many cases exist to-day though dwindled in extent, and they have been restored by the English Government. The word "tank" is a misnomer; they resemble beautiful lakes, and form one of the most attractive features in a lovely country.

All through the history of Ceylon we hear of raids of the Tamils (" damilos," as the Mahawansa calls them), who descended in hordes from southern India upon the little island, just as the Danes and Northmen did upon England, harrying and destroying, being driven off and conquering alternately. It was not only the Cholyans, but other races of south India, such as the Pandyans, who swarmed over to seek spoil and carry off loot. Fergusson, in his History of Indian Architecture, describes the Pandyan kingdom as occupying the extreme south of the Indian Penin