The question of the age of the Avesta is one of those problems the solution of which will have the most important bearing on the history of the religions and civilizations of the East. It is not surprising, then, that it has occupied the attention of so many scholars, nor need we wonder that the results they have arrived at have been so various. From the time of Burnouf, who was the first to attack the problem with a scientific method, up to our own days, our knowledge on the point has passed through several stages. The founder of Iranian research came to the conclusion that the date of the Zoroastrian reform should be placed before B.C. 2900. On the other hand, the leading Iranian scholars of our own day, men like Spiegel, Darmesteter and Wilhelm, believe, as I do, that the Avesta, at least, is of comparatively recent date. It is therefore not a little surprising to see M. Q-eiger, the author of many learned works, returning to the former view on this matter in an essay which he presented, last year, to the Royal Academy of Münster.

There are two or three corners in the world's surface, in which a strange collection of diverse languages is found, the survivals of extinct races, once great and strong. The Central Provinces of India, the refuge of the Kolarian aboriginal tribes; the hills and valleys of Abyssinia, in which remnants of Hamitic, or even Pre-Hamitic, races, pushed aside by the advent of the powerful Semites, are still found: the plateau of Tibet, and the Eastern slopes of that plateau: all these three are instances of the phenomena, which I describe: but none is so noticeable as the Range of the Caucasus, one of the dividing lines of Europe and Asia. As after a great hunt animals of all descriptions and sizes take refuge in some secure copse, or some unapproachable mountain, so, when the great Procession of the Indo-European or Aryan, races from their primeval home on the Hindu Kúsh commenced, all the Pre-Aryan races, which were not destroyed, were pushed aside. In the West of Europe there is one solitary survival, the Basque in the Pyrenees: on the extreme East of Europe we find a cluster of languages in the Caucasus, which are neither Aryan, nor Semitic, nor Altaic.

Tamba is a small, mountainous, thickly-wooded province lying to the north-west of the late capital city of Japan. Long after the removal of the Mikado's ‘Kiyô’ or court from Nara, at the close of the eighth century, to the site of the ‘City of Perfect Peace,’ afterwards Kiyôto, Miyako, and lastly Saikiyô, the hills and forests of this wild region were probably infested by remnants of the aboriginal ‘yebisu,’ at whose expense the Japanese state had slowly extended its scanty territory. It was, probably, not always under the leadership of aboriginal chieftains that bands of these autochthones, commonly described by Japanese writers as horrid, hairy, cannibal monsters, harried the lower country. They were often, no doubt, cajoled into serving the purposes of revenge or plunder of Japanese rebels or outlaws, the wickedness of whose frequent defiance of the divine authority of the Mikado is dwelt upon with pious horror by the early annalists. Of some such ‘strong thief’ dexterously availing himself of aboriginal aid, we have perhaps a memory in the gruesome legend recounted in the following pages. The tale is a favourite one with the makers of makimono, and in a set of six of these illuminated rolls in my possession is told in a manner that well exemplifies the literary style affected in such recitals. Of Oriental literature dramatic power is not usually a characteristic, and we have here no exception to the rule.

In common with other Oriental nations the Chinese have possessed a knowledge of the game of chess for many centuries. As is well known, the invention of this noble game has in turn been attributed by various writers to many nations and peoples of antiquity, nor have there been wanting champions who have asserted that the knowledge of this deeply interesting game was first derived from the Chinese. The historians of China do not, however, lay claim to any such honour, nor indeed do they appear to be aware that it is known to any other country.

The Sámbhur Lake, as the most important salt source in North-West India, must have always been a possession of value; it is, therefore, astonishing that there are few indications of a large population in ancient times having existed along its shores, notwithstanding that it is, in the rainy season, twenty miles in length, with a maximum width of seven miles and a half.

The writer desires to say something regarding the Vernacular Languages of Southern India; to urge upon Englishmen whose work lies there the value of their cultivation; to give some account especially of a certain department of Tamil literature; and to lay before English scholars a few specimens of what is believed to be unique among the productions of Oriental thought.

There are few Oriental races more superstitious than the Sinhalese of Ceylon. Omens, charms, divinations, etc., are as much sought after by them as by any other Indian people, and no undertaking of any importance is commenced without a previous consultation with the Neket Kórayá, the astrologer of the village. He is supposed to be acquainted with the temper, habits and movements of the planet gods, and to be able to prescribe of Ferings for their propitiation; while the Kapurála or Giganarála, the minister of the gods, the Kattadiya or devil charmer, and the Yakkadura or devil dancer, are scarcely less important personages when it becomes necessary to perform the ceremonies prescribed by the astrologer.

The accumulation of materials for the history of the Pallavas during the last few years has been remarkably rapid and extensive: and those materials are of high quality and great importance. The broad outlines of the history of these old kings during the greater portion of their long political existence are now known fairly well: and we may wait hopefully for a similar discovery of such additional details as are wanted to fill up the open spaces within those outlines. A great gain has thus been obtained for the students of the ancient history of Southern India: the rule of a powerful and enlightened dynasty over a large portion of the Dakhaṇ now fills up a long period of time which until quite recently was supposed to have been occupied by the wanderings of a few half-savage nomads; and a natural position has been thus found in the civilized progress of these kings, for some of the most remarkable works of ancient Indian art, lying as they do within the limits which are now known to have formed the territory of the Pallavas. It is a very remarkable rehabilitation; and all the more so because it was so unexpected: and it is not the less welcome though it has destroyed the old pet theory of the Daṇḍakáraṇya in its numerous shapes and chameleon colourings, which has so persistently claimed to be the key of the ancient history of the Dakhaṇ.

In 1784, just a century ago, the Asiatic Society was founded at Calcutta, and since then a great movement has been going on, leading to the discovery and study of Sanskrit and other Indian languages, and resulting in what is called Comparative Philology or the Science of Language.

The Mahâtmya Devî is an episode of thirteen chapters (81–93) occurring in the Mârkaṇḍeya Purâṇa, and, as the title suggests, is occupied with an account of the Great power of Devî, or Durgâ, the wife of Śiva. The story is introduced by a Râjâ, named Suratha, and a Vaisya, named Samâdhi. The Râjâ has been overcome by enemies, and finally driven from his kingdom by his ministers, who have taken possession of his treasures. The Vaisya's own family have risen against him and sent him adrift, after seizing on his riches. Both of these two unfortunate persons retire into solitude to meditate on their troubles, and in the course of their wanderings in a certain forest, they meet and become acquainted. They mutually relate their difficulties, and in comparing notes, find with astonishment that they are both possessed by the same feeling—attachment or affection for those who have ill-treated them. The Râjâ, is full of anxiety for the welfare of the ministers and people who have risen against him; the Vaisya still retains his affection for his unworthy wives and children. They ask each other—What means this ? How is it that we still feel affection for worthless people, even though they be relations ? Unable to discover any solution of this difficulty, they agree to consult the Sage, whose dwelling was not far distant.

The Arabic texts of the two following poems, of which I have ventured to offer translations to English readers, were published in 1854 in London, under the patronage of the Oriental Translation Fund. They formed part of the Hudsailite Poems contained in the manuscript of Leyden, which were edited and were to have been translated, with annotations, by a very distinguished German Orientalist, John Godfrey Lewis Kosegarten, late Professor of Theology and Oriental Literature in the University of Greifswald. The poems were composed by two sisters, named Amra and Janûb, Arab poetesses of the tribe of Hudsail. Overwhelmed with grief at the loss of their brother Amr, or Amru, whom they tenderly loved as a relative and stood in need of as a protector, they sought relief in song, and in composing elegiac tributes to his memory. Three of these have come down to us, two by Janûb and one by Amra. For translation I have selected the latter and one only of the two former, as the second poem by Janûb is less adapted than that which I have chosen for translation into English verse. Amr, or Amrun, the master of the dog, was the designation by which the brother of the poetesses was distinguished among the Arabs of his time. He was himself a poet, and would seem, from the tributes which his sisters paid to his memory, to have been possessed of those high qualities which, in the estimation of the Arabs, were typical of heroism and virtue.

The aim of the present paper is to give some idea of what is known of the ‘Vernacular Literature and Folklore of the Panjáb.’ It lays no claim to be the result of original research. It is, in fact, little more than an epitome of information collected from books, periodicals, and official records, or gathered from the lips of Indian friends. Moreover, the task of collecting information has been greatly simplified by the appearance, within the last year, of a remarkable work by a rising Indian civilian. I refer to the Report of the late census of the Panjáb, by Mr. Denzil Ibbetson. The Report is a monument of elaborate research, is written in a most attractive style, and has been justly described by high authority as a “mine of information,”— not only regarding census operations—but also concerning the history, races, languages, and literature of the Panjáb. For the first portion of this paper free use has been made of the contents of that valuable work. I shall conclude by a few observations on the effects of thirty-five years of British rule on the development of vernacular literature and the intellectual condition of the people.

In p. 7, col. 5, of the Times newspaper for Saturday, 30th August, 1884, may be read the following paragraph of the opening Address of Prof. E. B. Tylor, President of the Anthropological Section of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, delivered in Montreal, Canada, on the day before that date : “ The comparison of peoples according to their social framework of family and tribe has been assuming more and more importance since it was brought forward by Bachofen, M'Lellan, and Morgan. One of its broadest distinctions comes into view within the Dominion of Canada. The Esquimaux are patriarchal, the father being head of the family, and descent and inheritance following the male line. But the Indian tribes further south are largely matriarchal, reckoning descent not on the father's but on the mother's side. In fact, it was through becoming an adopted Iroquois that Morgan became aware of this system, so foreign to European ideas, and which he supposed, at first, to be an isolated peculiarity. No less a person than Herodotus had fallen into the same mistake over two thousand years ago, when he thought the Lykians, in taking their names from their mothers, were unlike all other men. It is now, however, an accepted matter of anthropology, that in Herodotus's time, nations of the civilized world had passed through this matriarchal stage, as appears from the survivals of it retained in the midst of their newer patriarchal institutions.

Man writes, as he speaks, by a special aptness of his nature. As a consequence he has used all sorts of methods and devices which are now in practice, more or less, for the transmission of thought by images, symbols, or arbitrary signs. Rude systems of writing are found everywhere in use, survival or tradition. Many more have totally disapppeared in course of time, superseded by some preferable system, either more advanced or better fitted to the surrounding circumstances. It is not a necessity of nature that these low means of communication should always be pictorial. Conventional marks used alone or in connection with figures play quite as great a part as images among these embryonic writings. And combinations of material and conventional symbols are frequently met.

While studying the Akkadian pronominal forms, I was brought to a closer examination of the Assyrian pronouns, and I arrived at the conclusion that Assyrian had retained forms lost or forgotten in all the other Semitic dialects. Though in Assyrian the various pronominal forms are used rather loosely, the writers however seem to have retained an unconscious feeling of their primitive value: I find that by means of postpositions, the independent use of which is lost, added to the possessive suffixes, real cases are formed to express the pronouns in regimen: -ia ‘my,’ iāši ‘to me,’ iāti ‘m e’ accusative, iau ‘of me’ or ‘mine.’ When I communicated this to Mr. Pinches, he, with his usual kindness, gave me to examine a most important unpublished tablet, giving the Akkadian (or rather the Sumerian or dialectical) pronouns, with an Assyrian translation. As it is often the case in syllabaries or grammatical lists, the forms given are generally the most primitive. I will examine these forms further on and I give the copy of this important tablet as reference.

De Mailla tells us that the Shato were descended from the horde Chu yué of the Western Tu kiu (Chu yué was the family name of its chiefs, vide infra), who had settled to the south of the mountain Kin po shan, and to the east of the lake Pu lei hai (i.e. the Kukunor), and near the stream called Shato, whence they derived their name (op. cit. vol. vi. p. 378). Hyacinthe tells us they lived south of Kara Mannai Ola, in Khur-Kara-Ussu (Borgs, Hyacinthe, p. 277). He derives their name from the Mongol word Shato, meaning a leader (id.). De Guignes tells us the Chu yué Turks lived in the neighbourhood of lake Lop, near which was a great desert which the Turks called Shato, whence these Turks derived their name (cf. Hist. des Huns, vol. ii. p. 37). Like Klaproth, De Guignes identifies them with the Ta ghaz ghaz, a view to which I shall revert in a future paper on the Uighurs. De Guignes tell us the Shato horde was subject to the Great Khans of the Western Turks, and assisted them in their various expeditions.

Substantives are either masculine or feminine. Those relating to human beings and animals are according to sex; for others there is no rule.

Both numbers have two forms, the nominative and the oblique; the dative and ablative are expressed by postpositions added to the oblique form. In some words elision is used. The plural is formed by adding i, or changing the o into é.