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feelingly chanting the sweet name of Hari. An imposing presence, it is said, always danced before his eyes; and the name of Hari constantly rang in his ears. The world faded away into empty nothingness. His task by day and rest by night was an enthusiastic singing of the praise and glory of Hari. But after a time, at the earnest request of his friends, Chaitanya reopened his school, but only to close it once for all. On the first day of the reopening, he completely digresses from the topic on hand. "Hari," he bursts out all of a sudden, "is the soul of all the sastras. Hari is the Almighty Being. Theirs is a fruitless task who endeavour to acquire knowledge without the helping grace of Hari. The learning of the so-called Pandits, unleavened by love of Hari, is like the load carried by an ass. Too much 00learning breeds pride in them; and pride goeth before a fall. But an unlettered man led by his love for Hari, finds a royal road to Heaven. I exhort you there-fore to give yourselves up to Hari." The
