INDRA.

Immortality and fellowship with me, and the height of joy and felicity,

All these hast thou reached to-day; leave, then, the dog behind thee.

YUDHISTTHIRA.

The good may oft act an evil part, but never a part like this;

Away, then, with that felicity whose price is to abandon the faithful!

INDRA.

My heaven hath no place for dogs; they steal away our offerings on earth:

Leave, then, thy dog behind thee, nor think in thy heart that it is cruel.

YUDHISTTHIRA.

To abandon the faithful and devoted is an endless crime, like the murder of a Brahmin ;

Never, therefore, come weal or woe, will I abandon yon faithful dog.

Yon poor creature, in fear and distress, hath trusted in my power to save it:

Not, therefore, for e'en life itself will I break my plighted word.

INDRA.

If a dog but beholds a sacrifice, men esteem it unholy

and void;

Forsake, then, the dog, O hero, and heaven is thine own as a reward.

Already thou hast borne to forsake thy fondly loved brothers, and Draupadi;

Why, then, forsakest thou not the dog? Wherefore now fails thy heart?

YUDHISTTHIRA.

Mortals, when they are dead, are dead to love or hate, so runs the world's belief;

I could not bring them back to life, but while they lived I never left them.

To oppress the suppliant, to kill a wife, to rob a Brahmin, and to betray one's friend,

These are the four great crimes; and to forsake a dependent I count equal to them.

ALGER'S Oriental Poetry.

ULYSSES AND ARGUS.

This story, from the Odyssey, is also of an unknown antiquity. Ulysses, after many years of absence, returns to his home to find himself unrecognized by his family. With Eumæus Ulysses walked about the familiar grounds:

Thus near the gates conferring as they drew,
Argus, the dog, his ancient master knew ;
He, not unconscious of the voice and tread,
Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head;
Bred by Ulysses, nourished at his board,
But, ah! not fated long to please his lord!
To him, his swiftness and his strength were vain ;
The voice of glory called him o'er the main.
Till then, in every sylvan chase renowned,
With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around:
With him the youth pursued the goat or fawn,
Or traced the mazy leveret o'er the lawn;

Now left to man's ingratitude he lay,

Unhoused, neglected in the public way.

He knew his lord: he knew, and strove to meet; In vain he strove to crawl, and kiss his feet; Yet (all he could) his tail, his ears, his eyes. Salute his master, and confess his joys. Soft pity touched the mighty master's soul; Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole,

Stole unperceived: he turned his head and dried The drop humane: then thus impassioned cried:

"What noble beast in this abandoned state Lies here all helpless at Ulysses' gate? His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise: If, as he seems, he was in better days, Some care his age deserves; or was he prized For worthless beauty? therefore now despised: Such dogs and men there are, mere things of state, And always cherished by their friends the great."

Not Argus so (Eumæus thus rejoined),

But served a master of a nobler kind,

Who never, never, shall behold him more!

Long, long since perished on a distant shore!
Oh, had you seen him, vigorous, bold, and young,
Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong:

Him no fell savage on the plain withstood,

None 'scaped him bosomed in the gloomy wood;
His eye how piercing, and his scent how true,
To wind the vapor in the tainted dew!
Such, when Ulysses left his natal coast:
Now years unnerve him, and his lord is lost.

Odyssey, Pope's translation.

TOM.

Yes, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew.

When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell through,
And I with it, helpless there, full in my view
What do you think my eyes saw through the fire
That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher,
But Robin, my baby-boy, laughing to see

The shining? He must have come there after me,
Toddled alone from the cottage without

Any one's missing him. Then, what a shout-
Oh! how I shouted, "For Heaven's sake, men,
Save little Robin!" Again and again

They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall.
I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call,
"Never mind, baby, sit still like a man!

He sat

We're coming to get you as fast as we can."
They could not see him, but I could.
Still on a beam, his little straw hat
Carefully placed by his side; and his eyes
Stared at the flame with a baby's surprise,
Calm and unconscious, as nearer it crept.
The roar of the fire up above must have kept
The sound of his mother's voice shrieking his name
From reaching the child. But I heard it.
Again and again. O God, what a cry!
The axes went faster; I saw the sparks fly

It came

Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat That scorched them, when, suddenly, there at their

feet,

The great beams leaned in

they saw him then,

crash,

Down came the wall! The men made a dash,
Jumped to get out of the way, - and I thought,
"All's up with poor little Robin!" and brought
Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide

The sight of the child there, - when swift, at my side, Some one rushed by, and went right through the flame, Straight as a dart caught the child — and then came Back with him, choking and crying, but saved! Saved safe and sound!

Oh, how the men raved,

Shouted, and cried, and hurrahed! Then they all
Rushed at the work again, lest the back wall

Where I was lying, away from the fire,

Should fall in and bury me.

Oh ! you 'd admire

To see Robin now: he's as bright as a dime,
Deep in some mischief, too, most of the time.
Tom, it was, saved him. Now, is n't it true
Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew?
There's Robin now! See, he's strong as a log!
And there comes Tom, too

Yes, Tom was our dog.
CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON.

WILLIAM OF ORANGE SAVED BY HIS DOG.

On the night of the 11th and 12th of September, 1572, a chosen band of six hundred Spaniards made an attack within the lines of the Dutch army. The sentinels were cut down, the whole army surprised and for a moment powerless. The Prince of Orange and his guards were in profound sleep; "but a small spaniel dog," says Mr. Motley, "who always passed the night