would seem that the medical and sanitary rules of Hinduism deserve less abuse than they generally receive.  Col.  King, Sanitary Commissioner of the Madras Presidency, is quoted as saying in a lecture[84]:  “The Institutes of Vishnu and the Laws of Manu fit in excellently with the bacteriology, parasitology and applied hygiene of the West.  The hygiene of food and water, private and public conservancy, disease suppression and prevention, are all carefully dealt with.”

Hinduism certainly has proved marvellously stimulating to the intellect or—­shall we put it the other way?—­is the product of profound, acute, and restless minds.  It cannot be justly accused of being enervating or melancholy, for many Hindu states were vigorous and warlike[85] and the accounts of early travellers indicate that in pre-mohammedan days the people were humane, civilized and contented.  It created an original and spiritual art, for Indian art, more than any other, is the direct product of religion and not merely inspired by it.  In ages when original talent is rare this close relation has disadvantages for it tends to make all art symbolic and conventional.  An artist must not represent a deity in the way that he thinks most effective:  the proportions, attitude and ornaments are all prescribed, not because they suit a picture or statue but because they mean something.

Indian literature is also directly related to religion.  Its extent is well-nigh immeasurable.  I will not alarm the reader with statistics of the theological and metaphysical treatises which it contains.  A little of such goes a long way even when they are first-rate, but India may at least boast of having more theological works which, if considered as intellectual productions, must be placed in the first class than Europe.  Nor are religious writings of a more human type absent—­the language of heart to heart and of the heart to God.  The Ramayana of Tulsi Das and the Tiruvwcagam are extolled by Groase, Grierson and Pope (all of them Christians, I believe) as not only masterpieces of literature but as noble expressions of pure devotion, and the poems of Kabir and Tukaram, if less considerable as literary efforts, show the same spiritual quality.  Indian poetry, even when nominally secular, is perhaps too much under religious influence to suit our taste and the long didactic and philosophic harangues which interrupt the action of the Mahabharata seem to us inartistic, yet to those who take the pains to familiarize themselves with what at first is strange, the Mahabharata is, I think, a greater poem than the Iliad.  It should not be regarded as an epic distended and interrupted by interpolated sermons but as the scripture of the warrior caste, which sees in the soldier’s life a form of religion.