A third time he was driving to his pleasure-garden through the western gate, when he saw a dead body on the road, lying on a bier, and covered with a cloth. The friends stood about, crying, sobbing, tearing their hair covering their heads with dust, striking their breasts and uttering wild cries. The prince, again calling his coachman to witness this painful scene, exclaimed: “O woe to youth, which must be destroyed by old age! Woe to health, which must be destroyed by so many diseases! Woe to this life, where a man remains so short a time! If there were no old age, no disease, no death; if these could be made captive forever!” Then betraying for the first time his intentions, the young prince said: “Let us turn back, I must think how to accomplish deliverance.” A last meeting put an end to his hesitation. He was driving through the northern gate, on the way to his pleasure-gardens, when he saw a mendicant, who appeared outwardly calm, subdued, looking downwards, wearing with an air of dignity his religious vestment, and carrying an alms-bowl. “Who is this man?” asked the prince. “Sir,” replied the coachman, “this man is one of those who are called bhikshus, or mendicants. He has renounced all pleasures, all desires, and leads a life of austerity. He tries to conquer himself. He has become a devotee. Without passion, without envy, he walks about asking for alms.” “This is good and well said,” replied the prince; “the life of a devotee has always been praised by the wise. It will be my refuge, and the refuge of other creatures; it will lead us to a real life, to happiness and immortality.” With these words, the young prince turned his chariot and abandoning his proposed ride returned to the city. THE GREAT RENUNCIATION. We now come to a most touching incident in Gautama’s life. Moved by the visions of which we have just spoken, Gautama determines to seek the solitude of the hermit’s hut. His life had been full of intense yearning which had never been satisfied. Not all the comfort and prosperity about him could drive away his desire to obtain peace. To him, life was a great enigma, and he determined to solve it. He was not dissatisfied, but, rather, unsatisfied. His determination to retire from active life was, however, by no means easy. For his wife and his only son, Rahula, he felt the warmest affection. It was to be a difficult task to break these ties. At midnight, he summoned his charioteer, Channa, to bring his horse to the palace gate. While Channa was gone to the stable, Gautama turned back to take a last look at his wife and child. The princess lay asleep upon her couch, surrounded with flowers, and her hand was embracing her little one. Gautama saw that he could not take the child up in his arms without disturbing the mother, and he was afraid that she might succeed in shaking his resolution, did she plead with him.