Author. — I don’t know. {With' a re^etful look) Oh ! that yon were here ! Bat yet, let me console myself with at least knowing what priceless treasures I have been denied to possess.
Sfdrada.—W owlA you ? Well, it would be' a lesson to yon not to make such a fool of yourself another time. {JFIe straightens himself and puts out his chest— then with a triumphant air) Now look here, your ‘Life,’ is it not a bald catch-penny affair, like the accounts in Whets Who or Beeton’s Biography — a dry matter-of-fact record of dates, names, places and events ? Come, don’t deny it.
Author .—IA q. What on earth made yon think that /, of all men would go in for such trash ? You have heard of Edwin Arnold’s Light of Asia; you have read it, eh ! good. Arnold wrote the life of Lord Buddha as a devout Buddhist would have done it, who loved the Master for his love of men. Well, my work is a similar attempt, liowcvcr humble, in that direction ; and I opine that a ‘ Life ’ written on any other lines is not worth the rag on which it is scribbled. I love Ramanuja for his love of us. I write not for the Orientalists, or their pale imitators in India; but I aim to bring home to the hearts of all good men and true, the priceless Doctrine of Devotion en- shrined in his teachings ; the grand Personality that was the living exponent thereof ; the broad love that em- braced all Humanity and knew no distinction of caste or creed, race or color, rank or sex ; and the spirit of perfect self-sacrifice that made him dare his Teaclier’s curse and the horrors of eternal damnation, that mankind may drink of the Waters of Life.
Narada-^Stop, stop. What ! No scientific treatment ! No historical criticism ! How did you fix the date of Ramanuja and his works ?
