face towards the door, it was full ten minutes before his minister, after repeated ineffectual attempts, could obtain an opportunity of rising sufficiently to reach the latch, without being seen by his royal master. The mission on which he was dispatched was urgent, and the Susúnan himself inconvenienced by the delay; but these inconveniences were insignificant, compared with the indecorum of being seen out of the dódok posture. Where it is necessary for an inferior to move, he must still retain that position, and walk with his hams upon his heels until he is out of his superior's sight.'-p. 309. The Hindoo origin of these simple people is sufficiently indicated by the vestiges of their institutions, which the Mahomedanism of three centuries has not been able to obliterate. To the eastward of Surabaya, are the Zeng'ger mountains, on which is found the remnant of a people who still follow the Hindoo worship, and who, with the Bédui of Bantam, are the depositaries of that religion existing at this day in Java. These people exhibit an interesting singularity and simplicity of character: they occupy about forty villages, the site of which, as well as the construction of the houses, differs entirely from what is elsewhere observed in Java. The latter are not shaded by trees, but built on spacious open terraces, rising one above the other, each house occupying a terrace, and being in length from thirty to seventy, or eighty feet. The head of the village takes the name of Peting'gi, and the Dúkuns, or priests, have the care of the state records and the sacred books: they know nothing of those from whom they received these books; they were handed down (they say) by their forefathers, and they consider it as a sacred duty to transmit them to their children, and to perform the puga (praisegiving) according to their directions: these books are written on the 'ontar-leaf, and contain an account of the origin of the world, and the attributes of the Deity; they also prescribe the various forms of worship. The whole population does not exceed twelve hundred souls; and Mr. Raffles says they occupy, without exception, the most beautifully rich and romantic spots in Java;' a region where the thermometer is frequently as low as 42°; where the summits and slopes of the hills are covered with Alpine firs, and where plants common to an European climate flourish in luxuriance. He describes them as a quiet, inoffensive people, whose moral character is highly extolled by the native agents and European residents; they seem (he adds) to be almost without crime, and are universally peaceable, orderly, honest, industrious and happy.' At the opposite extremity of the island, in the interior of Bantam, is another tribe of people called the Bédui, the descendants of those who escaped into the woods after the fall of the western capital of Pajajaran in the fifteenth century, because they would not not change their religion; and who, when at length they submitted to the Sultan of Bantam, did it on condition that they should not be compelled to adopt the doctrine of the Koran: they retain some singular customs, but their numbers are inconsiderable. In the island of Bali, however, to the eastward of Java, containing nearly a million of inhabitants, a perfect system of Hindooism prevails. In Bali not more than one in two hundred, if so many, are Mahomedans, and the great body of the people profess the creed, and observe the institutions of a religion which has become extinct in the rest of the archipelago. On Java we find Hinduism only amid the ruins of temples, images, and inscriptions; on Bali, in the laws, ideas, and worship of the people. On Java this singular and interesting system of religion is classed among the antiquities of the island; here it is a living source of action, and universal rule of conduct. The present state of Bali, therefore, may be considered as a kind of commentary on the ancient condition of the natives of Java. Hinduism has here severed society into castes; it has introduced its divinities; it has extended its ceremonies into most of the transactions of life; it has enjoined or recommended some of its severest sacrifices, such as the burning of a widow on the funeral pile of her husband: but yet the individual retains all the native manliness of his character, and all the fire of the savage state.'-Vol. ii. App. p. 235. But in Java still enough remains to make their Hindoo origin sufficiently apparent in their drama-their wayangs, or scenic shadows, a sort of Ombres Chinoises—in their dalangs, or ancient bards, their dancing girls, &c. One generic language prevails through the whole of Java, Madúra, and Bali; the dialects indeed are different, but the root of all is the Sanscrit, and the written character closely resembles, and is constructed on the principle of, the Devanagari. Their classic or poetic language is called Kawi, (the Sanscrit word for poetry,) and Mr. Raffles endeavours (E. No. 2.) to shew how very nearly the Sanscrit, the Pali, and the Káwi, are allied. In Bali, the Káwi is still the language of religion and law; in Java it is only that of poetry and ancient fable; in the former, the knowledge of it is almost exclusively confined to the Bramins; in the latter a slight knowledge of it is deemed essential for every man of condition. From the vocabularies which we now possess, it is pretty clear that the Sanscrit language has not only furnished words for all the languages of Europe, but constitutes the principal part of the language of almost all the innumerable islands of the South Sea and the eastern Pacific. Mr. Raffles observes→→ 'One original language seems, in a very remote period, to have pervaded the whole Archipelago, and to have spread (perhaps with the population) towards Madagascar on one side, and the islands in the South Sea on the other; but in the proportion that we find any of these tribes more highly advanced in the arts of civilized life than others, in nearly nearly the same proportion do we find the language enriched by a corresponding accession of Sanscrit terms, directing us at once to the source whence civilization flowed towards these regions.'—p. 369. The account which Mr. Raffles gives of the alphabets and the dialects of the Javan language and of its literature is detailed and full, and cannot fail to prove highly acceptable to the oriental scholar. The poetry is, in general, far superior to any which we had imagined to exist in any part of the Asiatic archipelago; but we presume it must have been imported from the continent; it is, at any rate, descended from a Hindoo stock. The literary compositions in the Arabic character are chiefly confined to matters of religion. Copious examples are given of the various measures and stauzas of Javan poetry. From these it will be seen that it is by no means deficient in moral sentiment, in accurate description, and bold metaphor; although it abounds, at the same time, in all that extravagant imagery, far-fetched resemblance, and outrageous hyperbole which characterize oriental fable and romance. The following is a specimen 'Stumbling as she went, The princess walked with faltering pace, Laying hold of her under garment, she unconsciously drew it up, When from the exposed calf of her leg A flash like lightning darted, Which illumin'd the Hall of Audience.' The Brata Yudha, or The War of Woe,' an epic poem, in the Kawi, is said to be the most popular and celebrated work in that language. Of this poem a great part has been translated by Mr. Raffles, with the assistance of a learned native, and of the remainder he has given an analysis. His object has been to keep as close to the original as possible, but he thinks it proper to state that the illustrations now given afford but a very imperfect specimen of the beauty, sublimity, and real poetry of the original.' It contains 719 páda, or metrical stanzas, of four long lines each, and is said to have been composed by a learned pundit, in the year 1079. The Javans claim it as their own, but it is not certain whether it was actually written on the island or brought thither by some of the early colonists. The subject of the poem is a destructive war in consequence of a rejection of the proposal of the incarnate Déwa, or deity, Kréstua, to divide the kingdom of Astina, between the Kuráwa and Pandawa. The repose of a country, under a good prince, when its enemies have been vanquished, is thus described: Tranquil and happy was every country. The thief stood aloof during the reign of this prince, And And the lover alone stole his pleasure, seeking his object by the light of the moon.' The procession of Kréstna, and his reception at the city of Astina, the crowds of men, women and children, hastening to procure a sight of the blessed among men,' are well described, but too long for us to extract. Kréstna's anger, on being told that a plot was laid to slay him, was like unto the fury of the god Kala.' 'The power and divinity of every deity now entered into his Bráma, the saints, the powerful deities, the chiefs of the Then swaying his body from side to side, and breathing hard The earth shook to its base, disturbing the foundation of every thing; The mountain tops nodding, and the mountains themselves rocking to and fro; The waves of the sea rising like mountains, forming whirlpools, and casting the deep-sea fish on the adjacent shore.'" The march of the Pandawa and his chiefs to meet the enemy, with their war-elephants, their horses and chariots, in numbers great, compact, and like an overwhelming sea,' is extravagantly but finely described; and so is the first onset of the battle: 'Quickly the contending armies mutually and fearlessly rush upon each other, Amid the roar of elephants, the neighing of steeds, the beat- Till the whole air and sky are filled with the jarring sounds, The feats of valour on either side are then described, and the battle ceases only with night. The King of Wirata and his wife weep over the dead bodies of their three sons slain in battle, and vainly endeavour, by shaking them, to recal their departed spirits; the dead are burned by moonlight; next day the battle again rages. The air is darkened with dust, which clearing away, the field of battle is described as appearing like a sea of blood, in which the dead bodies of elephants, horses, and men, with the fragments of chariots, weapons, &c. resemble so many rocks and stones. For three days the enraged armies contend with various success, and wonderful deeds of valour are performed on both sides. They continue the fight after sunset; friends and foes mingle together and kill each other by mistake in the dark. Thus day after day the battle rages for about a month, when the Kurawa are ultimately defeated, and the kingdom of Astina recovered by the Pandawa. There are in this Epic of the War of Woe' a multitude of oc currences currences which forcibly remind the reader of the Iliad-the interposition of the divine aid of Krestua in enveloping the sun in a dark cloud, &c.—the parting of Súlia and his wife Satia Wáti-the death of Sália, and the prowess of the several chiefs who are slain, may be said, and it is saying the least of it, to be very much in the manner of Homer. The following passage, which describes the faithful Sútia Wati wandering over the field of battle in search of the dead body of Sália, abounds with true touches of nature:it was put into a poetical dress by the Rev. Thomas Raffles of Liverpool, from the verbal translation of our author, to which it adheres with an unusual degree of closeness. It is indeed so exquisitely beautiful, and the subject is so new and so interesting, that we are inclined to regret, with Mr. Raffles, that the limits of his work would admit of no further extracts: we hope, however, not only in justice to the poetry of Java, but to the talent displayed by this gentleman, that the whole of his metrical version will be given to the public. 603. Wearied with fruitless search, and in despair Her murder'd lord, who on the battle plain Points to the spot where Sália's carriage lies, And to his wounds its healing balm applied; She wip'd the blood-drops from his mangled breast. 606. "Ah! |